#Fluff and Smut

[rainbowpopeworld]

Idea from @hermajestyoflichtenstein

[pearlessance]

Cupid's Chokehold — part one!

FEEL SO CLOSE

[next chapter]

summary: Tommy meets Joel's new girlfriend and takes a twisted liking to her live-in daughter.

pairing: step uncle!Tommy Miller x f!Reader

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI. step-cest, age gap (unspecified, but reader is 19/20, Tommy in his early-mid 30s), unprotected piv, oral sex (both f! and m! receiving), attempted seduction (from reader), pussy pronouns, praise, dirty talk, creampie, begging, dacryphilia, alcohol consumption, no outbreak AU, Tommy POV

note: genuinely this is the filthiest most diabolic thing I've ever written and I'm absolutely terrified to post it!!! if it's not your cup of tea pls keep scrolling, and if you do read it, let me know what you think!! also, I wrote the nightclub scene with the song Feel So Close by Calvin Harris in mind (iykyk), but feel free to imagine whatever you like!

wc: 12.1k

[series masterlist]

[main masterlist] [AO3]

You’ve always been close.

Since that first night you’d met in Joel’s kitchen, Tommy has always felt drawn to you. Like you were one and the same. Two peas in a fucking pod, despite how…indecent it sometimes felt.

It was late summer. Hot. Your mother and Joel had arranged a dinner. They’d wanted everyone to ‘get to know each other.’ Grilled burgers and made pasta salad and poured glasses of cheap champagne. The whole nine yards. 

Joel had warned Tommy about you ahead of time. Talked about his new girlfriend’s daughter, about how you were a bit…wild. Impulsive. Too pretty and too smart for your own good.

You’re a couple of years older than Sarah, freshly out of high school with a devil-may-care attitude. The two of you get along well—Sarah thinks the whispered comments you pour in her ear all night are just hilarious. The two of you spend most of the afternoon on the side of the pool chattering while Tommy…well, Tommy certainly feels a bit like a third wheel. 

He knows it’s not intentional. Joel isn’t like that, he’s just…excited. He loves your mom and is eager to start this new chapter of his life, to expand his family the way he’s always wanted to. And your mom is nice enough. Sweet and easy going, a good match for his brother. But she’s a mom. And Joel’s Joel. 

It’s Saturday night, and Tommy Miller is bored half to death sipping champagne and watching two teenage girls giggle over something on their cell phones. 

And it’s not like he can leave right away. At least, not until after his desert has settled. But he knows where Joel keeps the good liquor, and dismisses himself in search of it.

He’s pouring two shots of whiskey into a glass tumbler when he hears the back door open. Tommy expects it to be Joel, coming to offer a penny for his thoughts. He opens his mouth to soothe his brother's nerves, to reassure him that his other half does fit him as perfectly as it seems. To tell him that he’s crazy for letting another little girl live under his roof, to warn him it’ll be double the hormones and double the attitude, but if it makes him happy…

“Hey.”

It’s not Joel who speaks at all. It’s your voice, soft but sultry. Tommy smiles at you over his shoulder. “Hey, kiddo.”

You saddle up to his side, so close your elbow brushes his as you lean on the counter, eyes focused on his hands as he pours. “This is the most boring party I’ve ever been to,” you say with a dispirited sigh.

It makes Tommy laugh. He sets the bottle down and lifts the tumbler to his mouth, grinning all the while. “Can’t say this little soirée is particularly, uh…exhilarating,” he says, sipping from his glass.

He can feel your attention on him, hotter even than the burn of the whiskey. Your eyes slide down the column of his throat, over his chest, stopping at his waist. You turn your head the smallest bit, not dissimilar to that of a curious little puppy. Crude and shameless in your examination. You look back up to find him staring at you, unable and unwilling to fight his knowing smirk. “Can I have some of that?”

“You old enough?” Tommy doesn’t even know why he asks, because he already knows the answer.

With a shrug of your shoulders and a sweet little smile, you say, ��No. But it’s not like it would be my first time. No cherry to pop here.”

Filthy mouth for a girl your age. Funny, though. It’s kind of endearing. He was an awful lot younger than you are now when he started drinking. The first time he’d blacked out had been his sophomore year of high school—barely sixteen, woke up in the middle of a field two hours away from home. He’d had to use a pay phone to get ahold of Joel to come pick him up. 

And it’s better this way, isn’t it? To do it at home, surrounded by people who care about you. Who will keep you safe. It’s not like one drink’s going to put you on your ass, anyway.

He nods slowly. “Alright,” he says, opening the cupboard to find another tumbler. 

You stop him, delicate hand around his wrist. “Are you crazy? That’s evidence.”

Tommy furrows his brows. “What, the cup? I’ll wash it when you’re done. S’alright.”

“Waste of time.” You take the whiskey and twist off the cap, pushing the smooth glass bottle into his hands. “You know how to waterfall without drowning me?”

He likes you, Tommy thinks. Probably more than he should. He gets that familiar tug in his lower abdomen, the one that urges him to move closer, to speak slower. 

It’s a little fucked up, he knows. You’re so young, and odds are your mom will marry into the family, and then you’d be…well, you’d be his niece. Kind of. 

His heart races a little faster at the thought. 

“Well?”

“Yeah,” Tommy promises. “Yeah, I got you. Tilt your head back.”

You step further in front of him, spine pressed against the edge of the countertop. He can feel the heat of your skin against his, and it makes Tommy feel dizzy. You tilt your head back, just as he said, but it’s not quite enough. 

He reaches up, cradling your jaw in his hand, thumb pressed against the underside of your chin. He knows he could just tell you, could just use the words ‘a little more’ and you’d do as he asks. But the heated look in your eyes as he touches you so gently…it’s worth it. “Like this,” he tells you, pushing your chin back. “There you go. Now open your mouth.”

It sounds so vulgar in his ears. And Tommy doesn’t mean it that way, but you smile up at him and say, “You’re supposed to take me out on a date first, I think.”

“You think?” He scoffs. “You ever let another man in your mouth and he doesn’t wine an’ dine you first, you let me know so I can take care of him.” Tommy’s only sort of kidding. If you ever asked, he’d do it in a heartbeat. 

“Alright,” you say. “No other man, then. Just you.”

He has to look away, unable to contain his amusement. “Christ, girl.” Tommy shakes his head, delighting in the sound of your giggling. He can feel the vibration of it in his hand, still pressed against the side of your neck. “Ridiculous.”

Joel’s voice cuts through the kitchen, calling Tommy’s name. 

He tries to take a step back, get some distance, but you hook your leg around his to keep him close, bare and exposed to him from the hem of your denim shorts down. Tommy grips your thigh tightly but doesn’t quite push you away. “Yeah, Joel?”

You tilt your head back, perfect this time, just like he showed you.

Tommy shakes his head again, surprised by your brazenness, but he just can’t seem to stop smiling. He lifts the glass bottle and pours the whiskey slowly, holding in his laughter all the while.

“Bring out another slice of that pie,” Joel says from the back door. “The key lime one. Sarah wants some more.”

“Yeah, sure. One slice of key lime,” Tommy calls back, watching with rapt attention as the amber liquid pools in your pretty mouth. And then, more to you than to Joel, he says, “You got it.”

He stops just before your mouth is too full and sets the bottle back on the counter as the back door closes. You tilt your head back down, grimacing as you swallow. You have to do it twice, and Tommy knows that shit burns.

He’d feel bad if it weren’t for the drop of liquid that spills from the corner of your pursed lips, leaving a trail of whiskey as it drips down your chin. It’s such a sight to behold that his mouth waters. It takes every last ounce of his common sense to keep from leaning forward and licking it up.

Instead, he runs his thumb across the seam of your lips, collecting every last drop, and proceeds to suck it clean. “No man left behind,” he says playfully, painfully aware of the slight lift of your hips and the almost unnoticeable arch of your back.

“Right, no. Of course,” you say, words just a little breathless. “It would be, like, alcohol abuse.”

Tommy chuckles as he finally steps away, surprised by the complete lack of guilt he feels. He pulls a plate from the cupboard and finds the remainder of the key lime pie in the fridge.

Your steps echo in the kitchen when you leave, the screen door creaking as you push it open. He catches the words as you speak them under your breath just before disappearing from view. “Certainly not boring anymore.”

Tommy returns to the backyard with Sarah’s key lime pie in one hand and his refilled glass tumbler in the other, a newfound spring in his step.

It doesn’t take long for family dinners to become a tradition. They’re moved to Sunday nights, though, which works a hell of a lot better for Tommy. He usually shows up hungover, sporting a headache and a bad mood.

You’re real good at pulling him out of it, though. Always making those dirty jokes, uncaring of who hears, often earning a scolding from your mother when your humor graces the dinner table. 

Eventually, it takes nothing but a shared glance before you slink off to the kitchen, one at a time, to steal more of Joel’s whiskey. Like a secret, shared language that only the two of you understand. As if the moment the thought crosses his mind, it crosses yours, too. Almost like you’re connected, somehow. 

Sometimes Sunday dinners will be paired with a movie. Often, it’s a film Joel rented for the weekend that he claims has ‘good reviews,’ but never has a satisfying ending.

Tommy doesn’t stay for the popcorn or the candy, though. He doesn’t even stay for the movie, in truth. 

He stays because you always sit beside him on the loveseat.

It always starts innocently enough. You pull the scratchy, old blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over you both. And then you’re poking his thigh while murmuring comments in his ear.

You’ll say, “God, that guy has the worst fake crying face I’ve ever seen. Looks like he’s constipated.”

And Tommy will laugh, and Sarah will scowl and shush him, and your hand will linger on his knee. 

Halfway through, you’ll shift in your seat, trying to get comfortable. You’ll lean back against the armrest and lay your legs across his lap. And Tommy, impulsive man that he is, will slide his hands between your thighs and rub circles into your soft skin, careful not to move too fast, to be too obvious. 

Once you reach this point of the night, Tommy doesn’t pay attention to the movie at all. He focuses on you instead, on the way your breath catches in your throat when he squeezes hard, on the way your knees slowly drift further and further apart, on the flush that crawls up your cheeks each time he catches your eye.

It never feels quite so innocent when the movie ends and Tommy has to sit on the couch with that blanket over his lap just a little longer than everyone else.

In September, Joel tells him you and your mom are moving in permanently. No more weekend sleepovers. You’re taking the spare room across the hall from Sarah, the one Tommy knows like the back of his hand after crashing in it countless times.

He’s not sure why, but there’s something satisfying about knowing you’ll be there, sleeping in the bed he’s slept in hundreds of times.

Joel asks him to help move some of the furniture, and Tommy doesn’t hesitate to agree. They move the larger things, while you and Sarah excitedly unpack cardboard boxes and talk about sharing clothes and shoes.

Tommy remembers the times Sarah would beg Joel for a sibling when she was younger, and it warms his heart to see she’s finally gotten the sister she’s always wanted.

He sees you a whole lot more often after that. Tommy picks Joel and Sarah up every morning and drops Joel off after work every day.

Most of the time, you’re still sleeping when he shows up at seven. But the evidence of you is littered all over the house; your shoes by the front door, your jacket slung over the dining room chair, your denim shorts on the floor beside the laundry basket in the bathroom. 

And after work, he always comes inside to visit you. Just to see how you’re doing, to see if you’ve had a good day, often making some silly joke just so he gets to hear your sweet laughter. Sometimes he finds you watching one of those teen dramas in the living room, and he loves to poke fun at you for it. “These weird ass vampires again? What, now there’s werewolves, too? How original.”

“Shut up,” you’ll say, tossing a throw pillow at his head. 

“I’m just fuckin’ with you, darlin.’ I know how you love that freaky shit.” The embarrassment will show on your face, and Tommy will laugh but his shoulders will drop as all the stress from the day melts away.

Some nights, he’ll find you in the backyard by the pool with that tiny lime colored bikini on, lying on your belly, soaking up the sun. He’ll try to scare you, try to get close with soundless movements. 

But you always catch him. Can always sense he’s there. “Now, what if I suddenly decided I didn’t want tan lines and took off my top while you tried sneaking up on me? Tits out. Then what?”

Tommy stops just a few paces away from the spot in the grass where you’ve thrown out your beach towel. He towers over you, casting shadows across your spine. “Wouldn’t be nothin’ I haven’t seen before,” he says.

“You peeping on me, Tommy? Is that where you got your name?”

He snorts, but the idea isn’t half bad. “You fuckin’ wish.”

“Yeah, maybe I do.” The comment gives him pause, but he doesn’t have time to think too hard about it because you’re turning on your back and reaching for the string tied loosely around your neck.

You stare up at him, eyes all glittering and mischievous, hair splayed out in a perfect halo around your head. Tommy knows that he should stop you. Should laugh it off and walk away.

He doesn’t, though. His feet stay firmly planted, pressure building in his lower abdomen, cock pulsing behind the chrome zipper of his jeans.

You tug at the strings until the fabric falls slack. Still covering your chest, but only just barely. 

Tommy thinks green might be his new favorite color.

You hook your thumb around the thin string across your ribcage, the only resistance left between this moment and the next, a lone scrap of polyester that stands between Tommy being the fun uncle and the weird one.

He doesn’t say it out loud, doesn’t say anything at all. But he admits to himself only that he does want it. That he wants you. To see you, to touch you, to feel you. It’s wrong and perverted and maybe even a little gross, but you’re just so fucking pretty. 

Slowly, those loose-fitting triangles drift lower and lower, almost there. His breath comes fast and labored. The seconds tick by, feeling much longer than they truly are. 

 And then—

“Dinner!” Your mom’s voice carries through the backyard, kind and airy. “Are you staying, Tommy? We’re having pasta tonight.”

Tommy clears his throat and looks over his shoulder at your mom, who stands on the back deck completely oblivious. “Uh, no,” he says. “Not tonight. Thanks, though.”

“Suit yourself,” she says before disappearing back into the kitchen.

You extend your hand to him, the other held tightly over the fabric of your top to keep it in place. “Help me up,” you say, and he does. 

He watches as you turn your back to him, straining to memorize every last second of this moment because he never, ever wants to forget it. The smoothness of your skin, the shallow slope at the small of your back, the delicious curve of your ass—if this is all he ever gets to see, Tommy wants it stuck in his brain like glue. Permanent.

You move the arm that’s held to your chest, and the green fabric finally drops, exposing you completely. With your back still to him, all Tommy can see is the subtle curves of the sides of your breasts, but it’s enough to make his heart race. You gather your hair at the nape of your neck and ask, “Can you tie it for me?”

Tommy knows you’re doing this on purpose. Trying to get a rise out of him, and it’s working. “Course,” he says, stepping forward, placing his rough, calloused hands on your delicate shoulders. He reaches down your body and gathers the nylon strands between his fingers, careful not to touch you more than what’s necessary.

He wants to, though. Christ, does he. His lungs stutter at the thought alone. It takes everything in him to resist lowering himself to his knees and giving you the tender, loving care you deserve. He’d worship you, Tommy decides. He’d demonstrate how a girl like you is supposed to be treated. Touched slowly, gently—until you beg him for more, until you whimper and cry and remember no words but his fucking name. 

Until his touch is so deeply embedded in your skin that you’d never be able to root him out. 

But he doesn’t give you so much as a clue to what he’s thinking. Instead, he exhales a shaky breath, fanning across the back of your neck, and ties the lime colored strands into a perfect bow. He presses a chaste kiss to the crown of your head and says, “Be good, now. Alright?”

You turn to face him, that familiar, provocative smirk on your sweet mouth. “Never,” you promise, and he knows you mean it.

Tommy doesn’t even notice he’s speeding the entire way back to his shitty apartment. What’s worse is that he doesn’t even make it inside. He sits behind the wheel of his truck, right in the open, empty parking lot, squeezing his aching cock in his hand, head filled with thoughts of you.

The next time he stays for dinner, your mom makes fajitas. You sit beside him on the steps of the back porch and pick red peppers off his plate.

You and Sarah belly-laugh about some YouTube video you watched together late last night, mimicking impressions of an animatronic voice. And it’s at this very moment that Tommy realizes he might be in real trouble.

Because he wants to fuck you. Thinks about it almost every goddamn night. Can’t even get off with the women he meets at the bars anymore without closing his eyes and recalling that lime bikini or the arch of your back or the way your thighs fit so perfectly in his big hands. It’s a carnal desire. Uncontrollable.

But this? Feeling a sense of elation provoked only by knowing you're here beside him, safe, happy, and fed? It’s something else. Something heavy. Something he can’t quite put a name to because he doesn’t have any experience with it, despite his age.

All Tommy Miller knows is that he smiles just at the sound of your name.

The thought crosses his mind that he should try to keep his distance, and he tells himself he will. He lies in bed thinking about it, conducting a plan in his head while staring at the ceiling at two in the morning. He can’t not see you. But maybe he doesn’t have to be so inviting. Maybe he doesn’t have to seek you out every afternoon, doesn’t have to check in and make sure you’ve had a good day. 

Maybe he sits on the opposite end of the table during Sunday dinner. Maybe when you give him that look and head to the kitchen in search of whiskey, Tommy keeps his ass on the couch.

But then the next morning rolls around, and he’s picking Sarah and Joel up with dark circles under his eyes and a cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. He sits on the front steps and glances over his shoulder when the door creaks open and is only a little surprised when you step outside with bare feet, wearing nothing but a thin tank top and a pair of sleep shorts.

Your hair’s messy, and there’s an imprint from your pillow on your cheek. Still half asleep, you let out the cutest whimper he’s ever heard and crawl right into his lap like it’s where you belong. 

Tommy spreads his knees apart to make room for you, stubbing his cigarette out on the concrete and tossing it in the grass. He brackets his arms around your waist and interlocks his fingers at your hip while you curl up against him, stealing his warmth. 

It feels so easy, so natural that he doesn’t fight it for a second. Doesn’t even realize he should. All those big plans he made six hours ago to right this wrong dissolve as easily as sugar in water. He kisses your forehead and holds you close and says, “Hey, sweetheart. You alright? Somethin’ wrong?”

You nuzzle your nose against the crook of his neck and murmur sleepily, “Missed you.”

Just two words, but that’s all it takes. He decides that the heavy feeling inside his chest is his to cope with. He won’t make you suffer for it. Can’t imagine ever pushing you away or sitting across from you instead of at your side.

There’s only one word for this, he knows. Only one explanation for why he continuously fights for your laughter, your comfort. Only one reason he’s memorized the pattern of your breathing and would know the touch of your hands with his eyes closed.

It’s not right. 

It’s not, and Tommy knows it, but he doesn’t have the strength to fight it. So, he cradles this feeling in his hands. Holds it gently. Sees it for what it is. 

And then he tucks it away. Locks it up tight and promises never to speak of it. 

Joel takes your mom to Galveston for the weekend on their anniversary. He asks Tommy to keep an eye on you and Sarah, to keep his phone on in case the two of you need anything.

He brings takeout over after work on Friday night, but leaves the two of you to your own devices after that. Tommy remembers being your age and doesn’t want to hover, doesn’t want anyone involved to consider him a fucking babysitter. So he gives you the space he wanted when he was young. Figures if you need him, you’ll call him, and he’ll come running.

The phone doesn’t ring until late Sunday afternoon. 

Joel and your mom are due home in the next few hours, and your voice is panicky on the other end of the line. “Hey. Can you—can you come over? We sort of broke something, and I tried to fix it but I think I only made it worse.”

Tommy’s in his truck before the call even ends. He asks a hundred questions, tries to get some sort of clarification on the way over. But you don’t give much in the way of answers, and his confusion only increases when he pulls into Joel’s driveway and sees you standing on the porch with a trash bag in hand. “Okay, before you come inside, you have to swear to secrecy,” you say.

Tommy’s brows furrow.  “Christ, kid. What the hell’d you do? There a fuckin’ dead body in there?”

You roll your eyes. “Just promise you won’t tell Joel or my mom.”

“Can’t promise nothin’ if I don’t know—”

“Just promise me, Tommy,” you say, frustration building. He’s never seen you this serious, he realizes.

Even if there was a dead body behind the front door, Tommy knows he’d do nothing but protect you from the fallout. And he hates how nervous you look, so the decision comes easily. “Hey.” He reaches out and takes your hand in his, running his thumb across your knuckles. “I promise, alright?”

You let out a sigh of relief. “Good. Cause Sarah’s in there freaking the fuck out cause I called you.”

Tommy follows you inside, mouth open with the intent to ask more questions. But they’re all answered rather quickly when he sees the state of Joel’s living room.

There are half-empty beer cans and red solo cups littered all over every viable surface. Pink and green and orange streamers hang from the ceiling fan and over the stair bannister. Confetti covers the floor and there’s a shattered glass bottle in the kitchen sink, but the most obvious stressor is the six-inch hole in the wall beside the fridge.

Sarah’s footsteps rush down the hall, finger pointed at Tommy. Her eyes are wide, and there’s genuine tension on her face. “Did you swear?”

Tommy raises both hands in surrender. “Cross my heart,” he says, and means it. “Let me take care of the wall first. I’ll get the broken glass after. Don’t wanna see either one of you near it. The last thing we need right now is a trip to the emergency room for stitches.”

Between the three of you, it doesn’t take long. Tommy finds a mesh patch, spackle, and a half-empty gallon of paint in Joel’s garage that matches the kitchen walls. He fills the cavity as quickly as he can, using the box fan from Joel’s bedroom window to speed up the drying process.

You make quick progress, and yet still, he feels his heart sink to his feet at the sound of tires in the driveway.

Both you and Sarah freeze in place, staring at each other with expressions that are somehow both horrified and amused. “We’re so fucked, dude,” you whisper.

But when it comes to hiding things like this, Tommy Miller might just consider himself an expert. “Not just yet,” he swears. “Throw it all out back. I’ll keep them outside for a minute, and then when I leave, I’ll take care of it, alright? Be quick.”

He tries not to laugh as you and Sarah launch into action, running around the room and filling your hands with what remains.

Tommy meets Joel at his truck and asks him how their vacation was, making comments and drawing the discussion out as your mom talks about the aquarium and the restaurants on the pier and how the hotel staff folded your towels into the shape of little swans. 

Joel asks how you and Sarah behaved, asks if there had been any trouble. Tommy shakes his head, leaning against the side of the truck. “Nah,” he lies easily. “They were perfect angels as usual.”

When he can no longer make viable conversation points, he very nosily helps them bring their luggage and souvenirs inside. He finds you and Sarah cuddled up on the couch, both reading books that Tommy knows you’ve never cracked open a day in your life.

You both look so out of place that it almost gives you away. He tries not to laugh, but it doesn’t quite work. Joel stares at him in confusion while you and Sarah glare at him from across the room, and so Tommy dismisses himself quickly. “Gonna head home,” he says. “Have to, uh…check on the neighbor's cat. Watching it for the weekend, too.”

He leaves through the front door, but sneaks around through the gate and quietly grabs the trash from the backyard just as he promised. It takes two trips to get it all, and he throws everything into the back of his truck on the off chance that Joel checks the bin before trash day.

Tommy’s tossing the last one when he sees you come sprinting off the front porch. He thinks maybe he’s forgotten something, or maybe Joel and your mom had seen right through the lie and all that acting was for nothing.

But then you’re throwing your arms around his neck and wrapping your legs around his waist, face buried in his shoulder. 

Holding you is as easy as breathing. He keeps you upright, keeps you close, with his big hands spread wide over your back.

You say, “Thank you, Uncle Tommy,” and the air is punched from his fucking lungs. 

It’s the first time you've said it. The very first time, and he feels giddy and nervous, and his stomach gets all tied in knots like he’s some teenage boy. He squeezes you tighter, and his laughter slips out unrestrained this time. 

It’s filthy and dirty and disgusting, but he loves it. “I’ve always got you, darlin',” he says. “You know that.”

You lift your head to look at him, and your pretty mouth is suddenly so close to his that you share the same breath. “Yeah,” you giggle. “I know you do.”

It warms him from the inside out to hear it. He loves being this for you. A holder of secrets, a shoulder to lean on, a solver of problems. He loves that you make him feel needed—wanted in a way he’s never been before.

He loves being your Uncle Tommy. 

You press your forehead to his, and desire creeps up his spine, hot and thick and asphyxiating. His limbs feel heavy, and his breath gets caught in his lungs. It’s painful how badly he wants you. Like a peak he can’t quite reach, an itch he can’t quite scratch. You thread your hands in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling gently, and his eyelids flutter closed. 

Nothing has ever felt as good as it feels to be touched by you, Tommy realizes. And he knows nothing will ever compare. 

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck, sweetheart, I…”

There are no words to say. They get all jumbled in his head, and the only thing he can make out in the chaos is his yearning.

“I know,” you say. Because of course you do. You’ve always known him, have always understood him in a way no one else has. Have always been able to see the look on his face and read the thoughts in his head. “I know.”

Slowly, carefully, you untangle your legs from around his waist. You slide down his body and he knows you can feel it. Knows there’s no way in hell the throbbing of his cock could ever be mistaken as just his belt buckle. 

But you say nothing. Just smile up at him with those hungry eyes and press a sweet, soft kiss to his cheek.

He drives home in silence.

No music, no news station. Even the windows he leaves up. Tommy can’t think beyond the taste of your oxygen, can’t see past the absolute fucking shit show he’s gotten himself into. He sits in his truck outside his apartment for twenty minutes before he moves again, scratching the stubble along his jaw.

And then, as if he hadn’t almost kissed you in broad daylight, the world keeps turning.

He cleans out the bed of his truck, showers the smell of paint and cheap beer from his skin, and then he goes to work the next morning. He teases Joel about the swan-shaped towels, but there’s no salt to it. Truly, he’s happy for his brother. 

Joel’s been so selfless his whole life. Has given the first half of it up to raise Tommy and the second half to raise Sarah and never complained, not even once.

If anyone in the world deserves that gooey, cliche kind of love that’s just good and uncomplicated and easy, it’s Joel. They really are perfect for each other, he and your mother.

Tommy tries not to think about how his happiness for his brother is paired with a simmering jealousy underneath. Decides to take that green-eyed confession to his grave.

Friday afternoon, one of the electricians Joel hired a few months ago invites Tommy out to a nightclub. “The whole team’s going tomorrow,” he says. “Booze, girls, drugs if you’re into that kinda thing. One of those pop-up ones. It’s in that old warehouse on the other side of town.”

Sounds tempting, he’ll admit. Right up his alley. But Tommy knows himself, and knows that in a place like that he’s likely to go a little overboard. Spend too much money, have too many drinks, wake up the next morning with a girl in his bed he doesn’t remember talking to. And if he does that, he likely won’t make it to Sunday dinner at Joel’s. 

Which means no time with you. 

No stolen, longing glances across the room. No heat of your thigh pressed against his. No thieving fingers on his plate.

Tommy shakes his head. “Thanks, Mike. But, uh…I’m—I’m good.”

He thinks that’s the end of it. But then Joel asks, real gently, “You got a girl or somethin’ I don’t know about?”

“What? Nah, man. No. Definitely not.” Tommy knows his answer comes too quickly, too dismissive for it to be even remotely believable. But it’s true, isn’t it? You’re not his girl. You just…well, you’re his niece. Sort of.

Joel eyes him suspiciously. All he says is, “Never would’ve imagined you’d skip out on that.” But it’s enough to convince Tommy that his brother doesn’t believe him for even a second.

He lay awake that night, head filled with thoughts of you. Because Tommy knows Joel’s right. Before you’d waltzed into his life and altered its course, he would’ve been all over that. Would’ve jumped at the opportunity for an exclusive warehouse party, even knowing what would likely happen. He’d take the migraine and the dehydration and the overdrafted checking account at just the plausible idea of a good time.

And he’d declined so quickly. That’s the part that gets him. The thing that gives him perspective. He hadn’t even debated it for a single second because the things that once brought him joy pale in comparison to simply being at your side. 

Saturday morning, Tommy makes a phone call. Says he changed his mind and gets the address of the warehouse.

He spends his afternoon running errands, doing everything he knows he won’t have the energy for tomorrow. And then he showers and puts gel in his hair and picks out a nice outfit. Starched blue jeans that fit him nicely and an expensive leather belt and a white t-shirt. He puts on a simple gold chain and sprays his favorite cologne (trying not to think about the fact that it’s only his favorite because one afternoon you’d said he smelled so good he was ‘edible’). 

On the drive over, he has to hype himself up. Has to try and convince himself that this is a good thing. It’s what he needs. To get out there again, to find someone who makes him feel the way you do. Someone nice and age-appropriate and not loosely familial. Someone who doesn’t know Joel or your mother or Sarah or you in any fucking capactiy whatsoever. 

Tommy doesn’t think it’s likely that he’ll find that person here, of course. But there’s a possibility, right? To meet someone who could be the love of his life. A slim chance, but a chance nonetheless.

There are more people than he expects. The warehouse looks almost dark on the outside. Quiet and empty. But once the bouncer checks his ID and lets him through the double doors, the inside is a different world entirely. 

There are three different bars. One on the left wall, one on the right, and one in the very center of the room in the shape of an oval. There’s a big stage with a live DJ and house music playing loud over the speakers. The dance floor is lively and drenched in neon lights and the air is thick with humidity and the smell of liquor.

Excitement trickles into his bloodstream. It’s been a long while since he’s been in a place like this, but Tommy thinks it might just cure him.

All it takes is a quick text before he finds Mike and the rest of the guys from the work site that decided to show up. There’s only a handful of them, but they all split the bill for a round of shots, and Tommy orders a whiskey and coke. 

They’re here for one reason, of course—and Tommy’s no different. They chat for a while, but eventually the guys all peel off from the group one by one after buying a girl a drink and then proceeding to disappear into the crowd of dancing bodies. 

Mike has a wife, but even he finds someone to dance with, and eventually Tommy sits at the bar alone. 

He pulls out his phone. Opens your thread of messages and smiles to himself as he scrolls through them. It’s filled with silly photos and dirty jokes and the occasional text from you that reads, ‘miss you today<3’ and his perpetual response, ‘I always miss you more. Be good, sweetheart.’ 

Tommy’s so deeply focused on his phone that he nearly jumps out of his skin when his drink is pulled right out of his hands.

He looks up with a scowl on his face, not anticipating a fight but preparing for one, and then—

“Can I have some of that?” You don’t wait for his answer before sipping from his glass, leaving lip gloss stains in the same place his mouth was moments ago.

“What in the fuck?” A crease forms between his brows as he takes in your familiar face, backlit by green and yellow lights. “They’re checking IDs at the door,” he says. “How did you even get in here?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, come on, Uncle Tommy. You’re telling me you never had a fake when you were my age?”

Tommy knows he probably should say something…responsible right now. Should probably warn you of the dangers in a place like this, especially for a girl like you. Should be taught about covetous men with wandering hands and powders dropped in drinks and cigarettes laced with God knows what.

But he did have a fake ID at your age and could be found at places a whole lot like this one. Two peas in a fucking pod, he thinks. 

So, instead, he asks, “Did you, uh…come here with someone? Friends or…I don’t know. A boyfriend, maybe?”

He steels himself in preparation for your answer. You’ve never mentioned a boyfriend before, but you’re at that age. Probably experimenting a little, sifting through the options to find which one suits you best.

But you’re standing at a bar, all alone, buying your own drink. Shitty fucking option, Tommy thinks.

“Why? You jealous or something?” There’s a teasing lilt to your voice, and Tommy knows you’re just trying to get a rise out of him. But the sad part is that you’re not too far off, and that’s what has him turning to the bartender and ordering another.

“Got no reason to be jealous,” Tommy answers with a shrug. “Ain’t exactly like I’ve got a spot on the roster, darlin’.”

Your smile falls. Just barely, almost undetectable. But Tommy notices. Would notice it even if you were across the room. “Is that what you think?”

“It’s what I know.”

“Well, then you’re a fucking idiot, Tommy Miller.” You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. The words are sharp, icy. You take a long drink from his stolen glass. “What stops you?”

His brows furrow. “Stops me…?”

“From doing what you want to me.” It gives him pause, laying it out so boldly like that. The truth he’s never spoken aloud falls so easily from your tongue. “We get so close,” you elaborate. “Just one moment, one choice away…but you never do it. You always hesitate, and then the moment’s gone. So what stops you?”

His morals, your age, your vibrance. You’re so good, so lively and carefree and happy. How does he explain that he doesn’t want to ruin this? Ruin you? How does he explain that taking that next step with you would tarnish both of you forever? Red to blue, green to yellow. It would never be the same. 

He’s supposed to protect you. Supposed to give you a shoulder to cry on and a soft landing in your time of need and spot you a twenty when you’re short on cash. Supposed to be a guiding hand as an uncle should. He’s not supposed to be…whatever this is.

Tommy’s relieved when the bartender hands him his drink. “You know what stops me,” he says as if it’s obvious, throwing back half the glass in one long drink. The whiskey burns.

“Would it be different if you didn’t know me?”

“Very,” he answers honestly, his mind filling so easily with those obscene possibilities. “But I do know you, so it doesn’t matter.”

That familiar, troublesome smirk finds its way to your glossy lips. You toss back what remains in your glass, set it on the bar, and say, “I’m going to walk away. Okay? And you’re going to have one of those cases of temporary amnesia.”

Tommy laughs and shakes his head. “You’re crazy,” he says.

But you don’t pay him any mind. “You’re going to forget everything you know about me. Every last detail. I’m just some girl at a club, and you’re just some guy at the bar.” You put your hands on his shoulders, shaking lightly, staring up at him with starry eyes. Tommy’s heart races behind his sternum, but he can’t stop grinning. “I’m not me, and you’re not you. And tomorrow, you’ll be cured. Everything will go back to normal, just like it was. Okay?”

“S’a real bad idea, darlin’,” he warns.

“So don’t make me do it alone.”

Tommy swallows hard. He’s never said no to you in all his life, and it’s just…it’s just one night, right? Maybe it’s what he needs. A slow release of pressure, a controlled indulgence to prevent an explosion.

You see the decision as he makes it. Know what he’s thinking without him speaking a single word. Tommy covers his mouth to stifle his rugged amusement as he watches you take five steps away from him, turn in a complete circle, and then make your way back to the bar.

In a dramatic show of film-esque seduction, you lean against the bar and say, “Well, aren’t you a tall glass of water?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Tommy mutters to himself, smiling so hard the apples of his cheeks hurt.

You playfully slap his bicep with the back of your hand. “Aren’t you going to ask if you can buy me a drink? Wine and dine me?”

He recalls your very first conversation, that one in Joel’s kitchen when you’d promised not to let any man inside your mouth without properly romancing you first. “Alright, then,” he resigns. “What’re you havin,’ sweetheart?”

“Whiskey,” you say, and he’s not the least bit surprised.

Tommy buys your drink and says, “You look…really beautiful.” You’re wearing a silvery satin dress, sinfully short, tight in all the right places. The straps are thin against your otherwise bare shoulders, and he reaches out and gently runs his knuckles down the curve of your collarbone. He thinks it might be the very first time he’s ever touched you here, and it’s not inherently a sexual caress, but it feels so… intimate. Heavy.

You glance down at yourself, at the strappy black heels on your feet. “Thank you,” you say. “But I think it’d look even better on your bedroom floor.”

“Fuck yeah it would,” he agrees, chuckling.

“Do you wanna dance?”

Tommy’s never abandoned a drink so fast in his life. He takes your hand in his and says, “I thought you’d never ask.”

He leads you through the crowd while the DJ plays some bass-heavy pop song he’s heard on the radio a hundred times. He finds a reasonable space and raises your hand above your head, turning you so he can properly appreciate the sight of that dress.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he says. “Do you know that?”

You roll your eyes like it’s a joke, but Tommy’s being dead serious. You say, “Shut up.” But he sees the way your cheeks heat, even beneath the flashing lights.

You sway your hips in time to the beat, body moving in sync with the music. There’s nothing shy or timid about it; that allure of yours comes so easily, glowing from the inside out.

Tommy’s never been a good dancer, and he knows it, but it doesn’t feel that way at all. You seem to find such amusement in his nonsensical movements, not a drop of apprehension trickles into his psyche. 

When you grab his hands and place them on your hips, he lets his instinct take over. Pulls you in close, chests pressed together, his thigh between your legs. You sing the lyrics as if every song is your favorite with a face-splitting grin and those sweet giggles falling from your lips. He pushes you away and spins you around, only to pull you right back. Right into his waiting embrace, right where you belong. Your breath comes fast, but you don’t slow down, and neither does he.

He’s not sure he’s ever felt like this in his entire life. This open, this full. A strange sort of nostalgia passes through him, a homesickness, missing the moment before it’s even passed, knowing he’ll eventually look back on this night as the best he’s ever had.

The air is hot and stiff, but he breathes in your oxygen, and it gives him life. You move together so seamlessly, and Tommy thinks about how he’d come here seeking the possible love of his life and wonders if it’s fate that you were here.

Fate that you had a fake ID, that you somehow knew about the same exclusive pop-up party he’d declined and then came to anyway. Fate that you’d be here alone, that you’d choose one bar out of three others, and that he just happened to be standing there at the very same time. In a warehouse filled with a thousand strangers, you’d somehow found him.

The songs flow and fade, bleeding from one to the next. You dance and dance, and Tommy watches you—enthralled, obsessed, in love.

He loses track of the time, thinks hours could have passed without his notice, and he wouldn’t have even cared. But when he sees a bead of sweat trickle down your neck, he asks, “Wanna step out for a minute?”

You nod once, and Tommy grabs your hand again and pulls you out of the crowd. He gives the bouncer a tight-lipped smile as you slip out of the wide doors. There’s a designated smoking area near the entrance, and that’s where Tommy leads you. 

The music can still be heard outside, muffled and low. He pulls the pack of Marlboros out of his back pocket, lights one, and inhales deeply. When he looks up, he finds you watching him, leaning back against the concrete wall of the warehouse, the blue light of the moon reflected in your eyes. 

You outstretch your hand and take the cigarette from between his fingers, taking a slow drag. “Do you bring girls you don’t know home often?”

Tommy can see right through you. Sees that unease beneath your smile, sees the way you feel the need to ask but don’t want the answer, and relates to it. It makes his stomach turn, though. Because he doesn’t ever want you to think of yourself that way, doesn’t want you to think for a single second that this is anything like that.

Because you’re not a girl he doesn’t know. Not just a means to an end. You’re you.

You’re everything.

“I don’t like this,” he admits quietly. “The pretending.”

You pass the cigarette back to him, and when he puts it to his mouth, he can taste the cherry flavor of your lip gloss on the orange filter. “Would you have as much fun, though? With all that added weight.”

Tommy doesn’t know. Has never had a fucking clue about anything in all his life, really. Never knew what he wanted to do or who he wanted to be.

The only thing that has ever been clear to him is you.

“If we stopped pretending,” you say. “What would you do?”

He hesitates.

And then decides not to let this moment pass him.

He places both hands on either side of your face and kisses you hard, hungry. Tasting you feels like a breath of fresh air, like relief. Your bottom lip slots between his so perfectly that he thinks you must have been made for him, that there could never be anyone else. When you let out the most delicious whimper he’s ever heard, Tommy slides his tongue into your mouth and moans.

It feels like time wasted, like this is what he’s been meant to do his whole life, and now he has to make up for the opportunity lost.

When he pulls away, it’s reluctant, still cradling your pretty face in his hands. Your eyes are wide, and your breath is labored. 

“That’s what I would do,” he says.

A minute passes, and you just stare at him, searching his eyes for something. Doubt, maybe. But you won’t find any, because Tommy Miller has never been more sure of anything in his entire life.

And then, finally—

“Uncle Tommy?”

No more pretending. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I want you to take me home. Right now,” you say.

“Now?”

“Yes. Right the fuck now. Please.”

He smiles widely. “C’mon, baby.”

Tommy takes you to his truck and buckles you in. The ride back to his apartment feels like a blur. He’s barely had two drinks, but you make him feel drunk.

You can’t keep your hands off him. It only takes three seconds once he pulls onto the road before you’re unbuckling your seatbelt and sliding across the cab. You press wet, open-mouthed kisses to the side of his neck and run your hands over his strong thighs, giggling all the while.

He has to reel you in a little after almost running a red light. “Careful, now,” he says, taking your hand in his free one and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “If I die before I get to eat your pussy I’ll come back and haunt the fuck out of you.”

You throw your head back and laugh, but Tommy means it.

It’s a relief when he pulls in the parking lot in one piece, but before he even cuts the ignition, you’re crawling into his lap.

His pretty, desperate girl. 

You kiss him deep, tongue sliding against his, hips tilting over the already hard cock in his jeans. He could cum just like this, Tommy knows, with you on top of him and your hands tangled in the curls at the nape of his neck. You smell sweet and seductive, and he can think of nothing beyond this singular moment.

“Let’s just do it right here,” you say, panting, hands sliding beneath his t-shirt. “I want you so bad. I’ve wanted it for so long, please.”

There are no words to describe how much it satisfies him to hear it, to hear you beg for him. But you deserve better than this. Deserve so much more than a back seat fuck. He wants to give you everything, wants to give you all of him. “I know, sweetheart, I know,” he says. Because he does. “Wanna see you in my bed, though.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, and Tommy uses it to his advantage, holding you close as he quickly gets out of the truck and locks it behind him. You’re a giggling mess, pressing kisses to his face as he makes his way inside and up the stairs to his apartment. “You’re so handsome,” you say. “Have I ever told you that?” 

“A hundred times,” he says, kicking the door closed behind him. “But one more won’t hurt.”

His apartment is a mess. There are dishes in the sink and clothes on the floor and an empty plate on the coffee table, but just seeing you here makes his heart swell in his chest. 

He begins to wonder if this is where you’re meant to be; taking up room in his space, kicking off your shoes at the front door.

Tommy’s cock pulses in the confines of his jeans.

“Kiss me again,” you say. “Kiss me like you mean it.”

He does. His mouth clashes against yours, tongue licking into your sweet mouth, savoring the taste of what remains of your shimmery lip gloss.

Tommy’s hands drift lower, squeezing at the round globes of your ass, pulling you impossibly closer. One of his hands dips between your thighs, feeling the soft lace you wear beneath that sinful dress. “Fuck,” he hisses. “Fuck, I need to taste you. Been dreamin’ about it.”

“You dream about me?”

He wraps his big arms around your waist and lifts you. “Every fuckin’ night,” he admits, turning towards his bedroom. 

Doesn’t make it very far, though. Because when you wrap your legs around his waist and rut against him, Tommy lets out a low sound from somewhere deep inside his chest before laying you back against the kitchen island. 

“Fuck it,” he murmurs to himself. Close enough, he thinks.

You look so fucking pretty like this. All sprawled out for him, flushed with your swollen lips parted and your pupils blown wide. He’d always known it would be a sight to behold, but this…it’s something else entirely. 

Cataclysmic. Divine sacriliege.

He leans over you and kisses your chest softly. “Tell me you want this,” he says. “That you want me.”

Your answer comes fast. “I want you, Uncle Tommy.” 

And he feels a deep-seated desire swirl low in his abdomen. Because it’s fucked up. He knows it is. Is completely, lucidly aware that this is all wrong. Filthy and twisted.

Yet he wants it anyway. Maybe not despite it, but because of it. Pleasure heightened with this sick perversion.

He slides his hands under your dress and hooks his fingers around the lace, pulling it down your legs. You’re so wet for him he can see it stick, webs of slick snapping as he groans at the sight. “Goddamn, sweetheart,” he whispers. “Didn’t tell me it was like this.”

“I need you so bad it hurts,” you tell him. “Get so wet just thinking about it.” Your voice is low and desperate, almost a cry. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” he says. “Uncle Tommy’s going to take care of you, okay? Gonna make that ache go away.”

He kisses you slowly. Starts at your ankle and slowly works his way up. He kisses and bites the insides of your thighs, savoring the moment not for you but for him, leaving indentations of his teeth in your flesh. A memory, he thinks. A promise that you’ll think of this tomorrow and the next day. That you’ll remember the way he made you feel.

Then he’s rolling your dress up your hips, delighting in the way you get all shy and squirmy as he takes you in, unashamed in his study. “Such a pretty little pussy,” he says. “Gonna make her feel real good, sweetheart. Don’t you worry.”

He surges forward, licking through your folds. memorizing the way your slit feels beneath his tongue because he never wants to forget this. Never wants to forget the way you gasp beneath him or the way your hands pull at his hair. “Oh my god.”

“Shhh,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you, pretty girl.” he kisses your clit. Once, twice, before sucking it between his lips. He spreads your legs wide and presses his mouth to you, nose crinkling against your pubic bone. 

He could die here a happy man. You taste divine, better than anything his mind could have ever conjured up. He licks and sucks until you’re writhing, and when he presses two fingers gently into your opening, your back arches off the counter top. 

Tommy hooks two fingers inside you, hitting that sweet spot, your perfect moans echoing through his kitchen. He wraps an arm around your thigh and pulls you roughly to the edge of the counter. His tongue is warm and wet as he uses it to circle your clit, groaning against you, sending vibrations through your body.

His name falls from your mouth between gasping breaths. You grind yourself against him, making a delicious mess of his face and pulling at the roots of his hair.

He can feel you clenching around his fingers, chasing that high, chasing release. Tommy decides to give you a little encouragement. “Go on, now,” he mutters against your spit-soaked clit. “Take it, baby. You deserve it. Been so fuckin’ good for so long. Deserve a reward.”

Your breath halts, just for a second. And then you let out a long, salacious moan and your legs tremble around his head. Tommy feels your walls pulse around his two fingers, squeezing them hard. “Fuck, fuck—”

“That’s it,” he praises, flicking his soft tongue gently over your clit, fingers working you through it, pressing in deep. “There you go, shhh. Just like that.”

He looks up at you, branding this image in his brain. The arch of your back, the strain in your throat as you desperately take in oxygen, the way the shimmery, silver sequins on your dress cast little rainbows across his apartment. He’ll never forget it for as long as he lives.

“You look so beautiful, darlin’,” he says. “So pretty when you cum for your Uncle Tommy.”

Only when your writhing stops and your breath evens out does he slow the rhythm of his fingers, caressing your insides slowly, gently, making sure he coaxes it all out of you and delighting in the little whimpers you make in response. And then he carefully slides them out of you, digits slick and glossy with your release. Your eyes are glued to his as he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean, not wasting a single drop. That smirk of yours forms as you say, breathless, “Kiss me.”

Tommy grips the back of your neck and pulls you forward, grinning as he gives you what you need. He kisses you eagerly, tongue finding yours, licking into your mouth.

“Can taste it,” you mutter, giggling against his lips. “I made a real mess of you.”

In more ways than one, Tommy thinks. “Tastes fuckin’ good, though,” he says. “Just gettin’ started, anyway.”

He lifts you off the counter, laughing as you squeal in surprise when he tosses you over his shoulder so easily. You fist your hands in the bottom of his wrinkled t-shirt, seeking stability. “I bet you have blue sheets,” you say.

Tommy snorts. “You’ve thought about the color of my sheets?” Such a simple thing, an irrelevant part of his life that has never mattered to him in any capacity.

“Duh,” you say as if it’s obvious, and Tommy’s suddenly overwhelmed with warmth. He likes that you think about it—his sheets, his bedroom, him. Likes knowing he’s not been alone in his mania. “Always knew I’d end up in them.”

He laughs darkly as he pushes open the door and shoulders you onto his bed, right in the center of his navy blue sheets.

You smile up at him, beaming with pride, and he shakes his head as you say, “Told ya.”

It doesn’t surprise him that you’d guessed correctly because you know him. Better than anyone else ever has. Because you and Tommy are one and the same, two sides to the same twisted coin. “Yeah, yeah, alright,” he teases, crawling over you, knees braced on either side of your thighs. “S’enough outta you, know it all.”

You open your mouth, probably to make some filthy joke, but whatever it is never sees the light of day because Tommy hooks his fingers around the thin straps of your dress and pulls them down your shoulders. He tugs at the fabric until your breasts are bared to him, pretty and soft and perfect.

He cups them tenderly in his hands, thumbs grazing the hardened peaks of your nipples. He watches goosebumps rise across your chest, and it brings a sick smile to his face. “S’that feel good, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes heavy. “Touch me more. Wanna feel you.”

Tommy’s never heard a more tempting request in his life. He leans over and presses his mouth to your chest, hands roaming over your skin. He takes your nipple in his mouth and flicks his tongue over the sensitive flesh, sighing against you at the sound of your moan.

He pushes your dress down to your hips and lets you shimmy the rest of the way out of it, kicking the shiny fabric onto the floor. You lift your hips to meet his, and his cock is so hard and needy that the smallest bit of friction nearly knocks him on his ass. “Shit,” he hisses, trailing kisses across your chest, spreading his worship. He plans to take his time, wants to see just how close he can get you with just his mouth on your tits.

But then your voice breaks through your breathy whimpers. “Uncle Tommy,” you say. “Wait. Wait, I—”

He stops, pulling back, giving you room to breathe. The coldness of fear begins to trickle in as he anticipates your next words. Has he gone too far? Said too much, moved too fast?

“I want you in my mouth,” you say with those pretty eyes, and he convinces himself he’s dreaming. “Please.”

Because this can’t be real. There’s no way in hell he’s looking at you, naked in his bed, begging to suck his cock. His pretty, perfect girl. Tommy runs his hands down his face, and a sound of utter disbelief escapes him. But then he’s nodding, just as eager. “Yeah, baby,” he says. “Course you can.”

Your responding smile sends a shiver down his spine. Carefully, you move from beneath him, hands tugging at the buckle of his leather belt. He can do nothing but watch with reverence as you unbutton his jeans and pull at his zipper, tongue wetting your lips. 

The air gets stuck in his lungs as you reach into his boxers and pull him out with gentle fingers. It’s hypnotic, the way you touch him. You press a sweet, chaste kiss to his tip and with that one touch alone he’s already fighting for his fucking life.

But he lets you do what you want to him. Lets you move at your own pace. Tommy’s grateful you’re slow in your pursuit, though. Tasting him, tongue gliding down the underside of his shaft, savoring.

When you finally take him fully in your mouth, his head falls back and he sighs deeply. It’s almost too much to feel you and look at you, but Tommy doesn’t want to miss it. He strokes your hair as you hollow out your cheeks and greedily swallow him down. “Fuck,” he groans. “Look so good with my dick in your mouth. Yeah, there you go. Just like that.”

You suck harder, take him in deeper. His vision blurs, and pleasure builds and builds and builds, rushing to the surface of his skin. 

“Easy,” he warns. You look at him through your lashes, lips parted around his heavy cock. It’s the most pornographic image he’s ever fucking seen and it’s going to have him cumming down your throat. “Easy, easy, easy—” Tommy takes a handful of your hair and pulls you back, dick pulsing as he watches strands of your spit stick to him. “Jesus Christ, sweetheart.”

Pure, sprightly giggles bubble from your glossy lips. So beautiful it hurts him. “Can I tell you what I want?”

“Always,” he promises, and means it.

You move across his bed, crawling back towards the headboard. Your voice is low, a seductive whisper as you tell him, “I want you to take off your clothes.”

He does. Starts by pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor. Then he takes off his boots and shoves his jeans and boxers down, discarding them beside your pretty little dress.

“I want you to come over here and kiss me,” you say. Tommy moves on instinct, crawling towards you. He’s nearly there when you speak again, mouth hovering over yours. “And then I want you inside me, Uncle Tommy.”

He shivers as you spread your legs slowly, putting on a sweet little show. All for him. “Yeah?”

“Mmhm,” you murmur. You slide your hands down your body, that troublesome look on your face, teasing. As you glide your fingers through your pussy, slick and glossy, you continue. “Wanna watch it go in. Wanna see it here,” you say, pressing hard against your lower abdomen.

Tommy’s always given you everything you’ve ever wanted. Has never had any problem satisfying all your needs. And that doesn’t change now, either.

He kisses you slowly. Meaningfully. There’s intent behind it. Love. Adoration. He hopes you can feel it. Hope you can sense it.

With his forehead against yours, he lines himself up at your entrance. He cradles your face with his hand. Says, “Tell me if it hurts.”

And then he’s pushing inside you, and his hands shake. You watch it, just as you wanted. Watch his cock split you open, watch your pretty pussy make room for him. And Tommy watches you, delighting in the way your eyes go wide and watery, in the way your lips part in a gasp.

He sinks into you all the way, hips pressed tight against yours. And when he pulls back out his cock is covered in your slick. “How’s it feel, baby?”

You nod frantically, chest heaving. “S’good,” you answer. “So fucking…God. You’re so big.”

Tommy tilts his hips, quickly finding a cadence that makes you cry out his name. You feel like heaven. Warm and wet, soaked. The sounds echo in his bedroom, obscene and filthy. He kisses your forehead, your nose, your temple. Every part of you he can reach. “This what you wanted? Hm?”

“Yes, yes, please—”

“Shh, s’alright, darlin’. Ain’t gotta beg me. Uncle Tommy’s got you.” Your silky walls grip his cock tighter as he says it, and he knows then and there that you’re the same in this, too. Knows that you like the perversion, the corruption, the filth. 

He thrusts harder, deeper. Your back arches, and your hand reaches for his. Tommy laces his fingers through yours and has never felt closer to anyone in his life. You say, “I needed you,” and he agrees.

“I know, baby. Me too. I’m here now. Gonna make you cum for me.” He uses his free hand and presses it to your lips. “Open your mouth.”

You do. His perfect girl. He presses his fingers past your lips, into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around them, coating them in your spit. And then he snakes his arm between you and circles your clit, tortorously gentle. “Oh my fucking God,” you cry, squeezing your eyes shut.

But Tommy won’t have it. “Nuh-uh. Look at me, baby,” he says. “C’mon. Wanna see the way you look cumming on Uncle Tommy’s cock, huh?” You do as he says, and a tear rolls down your cheek. “There you go. Just like that. Good job.”

“Tommy,” you whimper, pussy fluttering around him. He’s not going to last long, not like this. Not when you cry for him so beautifully. 

He circles your clit faster, fighting off the bliss that creeps up his spine. “Right here,” he says, kissing your tears away, salt clinging to his lips. “Stay right here with me, sweet girl. Takin’ it so fuckin’ well for me.”

Your fingernails dig into the back of his hand and he knows you’re there, can feel your pussy sucking him in deeper. “Cum with me,” you say, breath ragged. “Cum with me, please.”

“Fuck, fuck…baby, I don’t know if—”

“It’s okay, I promise,” you tell him, voice pleading. “I’m on birth control, I swear. Just…I want to feel it, Uncle Tommy. Want you to fill me up.”

This will damn him, he knows.

“Please, please, please. I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum, oh my God—”

He’d do anything for you.

“Always gonna give you what you want,” he says. “My favorite girl.”

Your eyes are starry as you crest that high, somehow even more exquisite than the first time. Sweet moans fill the room, and your thighs shake as your release rocks through you, spine bending off his blue sheets. You cry out his name, and that’s what sets him over the edge.

His cock pulses inside of you, painting your insides with thick, sticky ropes of cum. It’s the most intense orgasm he’s ever had, and he knows he’ll chase this high for the rest of his fucking life. “That’s it,” he whispers, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. “Such a filthy little thing, beggin’ for your Uncle Tommy to fill you up with his cum. You’re so perfect for me.”

He gives you every last drop, thrusting in deep until his cock is so overstimulated it almost hurts. But he circles your clit with his spit-soaked fingers until you come down, walls spasming uncontrollably around him.

When he finally pulls out of you, he does it gently. And then he collapses on the bed beside you, panting to try and slow the racing of his heart. He turns his head to look at you and catches your eye, and he’s not quite sure why, but you both grin and just laugh.

There’s no dirty joke or any sort of amusement. Nothing’s funny, but Tommy supposes he’s just…well, he’s happy. Seeing you on the right side of his mattress, all naked and fucked out and satisfied, it just feels so right.

And he knows it’s not. Knows it’s so far removed from the idea of right that it’s absurd, but you’re stifling your laughter behind your hands and turning away from him to try and find some sort of composure, and Tommy thinks maybe he just doesn’t fucking care.

Doesn’t care about right or wrong, doesn’t care about what anyone would think or say. Because how could he when you’re at his side? How could anything else on God’s green earth ever matter to him as much as you?

It can’t happen again. He knows that.

But this is enough, Tommy thinks. This one night. A stolen moment in time that will forever belong only to the two of you, where nothing and no one matters beyond his apartment. The life here, the love between you, encased so perfectly in these four walls…it’s a gift. One he doesn’t deserve. Sweet as maple syrup and warm as the hot summer sun.

And yet it’s been given to him anyway, and Tommy Miller’s going to cherish it for the rest of his life.

When you finally turn back to him, you lie on your side with a face-splitting grin. “We’re so fucked,” you say.

Tommy laughs. “Oh, absolutely,” he agrees, pulling you close. He wraps his arms around your waist and treasures the weight of your head on his chest. “Totally, completely fucked.”

“Well, at least we’re together.”

He smiles. Presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah,” he whispers. “At least there’s that.”

Two peas in a fucking pod.

(ermmmm ik i said i wanted to write more single part fics this year but if literally just one person asks for a part two I'll cave)

[divider by @bernardsbendystraws]

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

A/N: another kofi request!

When you walked for a while through the thick forest near your home, you were able to find a meadow full of deer hybrids.

It was a secret place, one only a few human beings knew about. Among those humans was you, a young woman currently being courted by one of those feet hybrids.

“My dear!”

You felt arms wrap around your torso from behind, your neck being peppered in warm kisses as you were pulled close.

This was your current predicament. A few months ago you spotted a deer hybrid struggling in a trap meant for regular deer. You knew if the hunter found them he’d be taken to the city and sold as a pet, so you quickly used your pocket knife to cut him free.

The second he was out of his bonds, he nearly tackled you, rubbing and butting against your neck and nearly impaling you with his horns.

“Mate… my mate…”

And that’s how you ended up at the meadow again, visiting him. If you didn’t come once a week to see the fluffy thing, he’d try coming out of the woods and into your neighborhood.

Of course, that was dangerous. Between cars, hunters, and lots of people wanting a cute deer hybrid as a pet, the human world wasn’t safe.

You made a deal with him. Every weekend you’d come and spend time with him. The first time you proposed this deal to him, he leapt with joy, his fluffy tail wiggling super fast.

So today you brought your picnic basket, setting out a blanket and preparing the snacks as he waited patiently nearby. Sometimes he could be a bit shy after greeting you, quickly retreating behind other deer hybrids and peaking out at you with his big doe eyes.

The second you were done, he trotted back, letting out a happy whine when you patted your lap. He loved laying his head there.

His ears flicked, and he looked up at you through his lashes, batting them. Clearly, he was a whore for your attention.

You always knew the best spots to scratch and rub, always getting behind his ears and at the base of his antlers.

His tail wagged, and you couldn’t help but lift it slightly too look at his cute butt, making his head jerk up.

“Mate? You want to mate?”

The deer hybrid excitedly nuzzled against you, pushing you down on the blanket. He let out little grunts, his tail still going crazy behind him.

“N-not yet, not yet.”

He pouted, but quickly returned to relaxing in your lap, almost purring at every scratch and pet. You knew rutting season was soon by now antsy he had been to mate with you lately… and you were preparing yourself to help him.

The guy always wanted to be by your side, bringing you fresh berries and honey he collected. You were his mate, and he wanted to give you all the sweet things he could find!

And boy was he possessive! He would let out whines and grunts when other males approached, pointing his antlers at them and holding you close. It was just too cute!

For months you came and went, giving him the attention he needed while getting to relax and escape all the stress life had to give.

Curling up with him, playing with his soft puffy hair and watching him get all giddy and excited really calmed you down. His fluffy tail always wagged when you were around, wagging even harder when you scratched a good spot or gave him snuggles.

But his rut had finally come in full force, and you knew he needed you.

This time when you came to visit, he was alone, whimpering softly and pumping his cock. He seemed distressed, and you were quick to lower yourself by his side, your fingers gently glazing his swollen tip.

“Shh, shh… I’m here. It’ll be okay.”

He looked up at you through his thick lashes, sniffling. It seemed he had grown attached and reliant on you.

“Please…”

How could you say no to those big, warm doe eyes?

The second your fingers wrapped around his cock, he let out a moan, his hips bucking lightly. He needed his release, and your hand wouldn’t cut it soon enough.

He came quicker than expected, and soon he was mounting you.

The entire time he mated with you, he was more gentle than you’d think a buck in rut would be. He was constantly nuzzling into you, thrusting just hard enough to satisfy you, but not any harder.

When he came inside, his ears twitched and tail wagged, and he melted when you reached out to play with his ears while his cum shot into your womb.

After mating you, he was a happy little thing, making a sort of purring sound while he nuzzled his face against your neck.

Perhaps being mates with him wouldn’t be so bad after all…

————————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko

[jupiterpilgrim]

After All

Kwon Eunbi x male reader

word count: 20k

commissioned fic

The clock’s ticking past midnight, and Eunbi’s apartment is a battlefield of empty soju bottles, crumpled napkins, and half-eaten trays of tteokbokki scattered across her sleek kitchen island. It’s her 30th birthday, and you're resting on her couch, nursing a lukewarm beer you’ve been sipping for the last hour, more out of habit than any real desire to get trashed. The private party’s been a chaotic little mess—just a handful of her closest friends, some industry folks she trusts not to leak shit, and you, her self-appointed babysitter for the night. The music’s still humming low from her Bluetooth speaker, but the vibe’s shifted from rowdy laughter to a quieter, sloppier haze now that everyone’s stumbled out the door. You’re watching her sway around the living room in a pair of mismatched socks—one pink with little stars, the other a plain gray that’s probably yours from some sleepover months back—her hair a wild tangle from all the times she’s run her hands through it while belting out karaoke off-key. She’s drunk as hell, giggling at nothing, and you can’t help but grin despite the ache in your legs from chasing her around all night.

She’s been clinging to you since the third shot of peach soju hit her system, her arm looped through yours like you’re her personal anchor, dragging you into every conversation with slurred enthusiasm. “You should’ve seen his face when I told him I’m 30 now—30!—like, bitch, I’m still hotter than your girlfriend,” she’d crowed earlier, leaning into you so hard you nearly toppled into the snack table. For everyone else, she’s Kwon Eunbi, the idol with the killer voice and curves that make headlines, but for you, she’s just Eunbi—Eunbi who used to steal your crayons in third grade, who’d cry when you beat her at Mario Kart, who’d text you at 3 a.m. during her trainee days just to say she missed your dumb jokes. Now, she’s flopped onto the floor in front of the coffee table, legs splayed out, her oversized hoodie riding up to show a sliver of her stomach as she tries to stack beer cans into a wobbly tower. “Look, I’m an architect,” she declares, tongue poking out in concentration, and you snort, knowing damn well it’s gonna collapse in three seconds flat.

The party’s over, and you’re the last one standing—well, sitting, technically—because there’s no way you’re leaving her like this. She’s a disaster when she’s sober, let alone after a night of drinking her age in shots. You’ve already started picking up the wreckage, tossing plastic cups into a trash bag while she watches you with hazy eyes, chin propped on her hand like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world. “You’re so good to me,” she mumbles. “Yeah, yeah, someone’s gotta make sure you don’t pass out in a pile of kimchi fries,” you shoot back, grabbing a sponge to tackle the sticky mess on the counter where someone—probably her—spilled a whole bottle of soda. She laughs, loud and unfiltered, then hiccups, and it’s so ridiculously Eunbi that you can’t help but chuckle too.

She’s still chattering away, even as you move around her apartment, picking up streamers and wiping down surfaces. “Did you see Chae’s face when I did that twerk? She was, like, scandalized—I’ve got moves, right? Tell me I’ve got moves.” She’s trying to wiggle her hips from her spot on the floor, but it’s more of a sad little shimmy, and you bite back a laugh. “Oh, you’ve got something, alright. I think the word’s embarrassing, though,” you tease, dodging the balled-up napkin she chucks at you. It misses by a mile, landing somewhere near the TV, and she pouts, all dramatic and exaggerated, like she’s auditioning for a rom-com. “You’re so mean to me. Always so mean... And yet, here you are, cleaning my shit up like a good little boyfriend.” The word slips out casual as hell, but it lands like a grenade, and you freeze for half a second, sponge dripping in your hand, before brushing it off with a grunt. “Someone’s gotta keep you alive, dumbass. And I’m not your boyfriend—yet.”

That “yet” hangs in the air, and her eyes lock onto yours, wide and suddenly sharper despite the drunken flush on her cheeks. You both know about the pact—some stupid, half-serious promise you made back when you were hormonal teens sneaking cheap beer behind her parents’ garage, laughing about how if you both hit 30 and still hadn’t found “the one,” you’d just marry each other. It was a joke, or at least it started that way, but now here you are, 30 and single, and she’s 30 and single, and she’s staring at you like she’s daring you to bring it up first. You don’t. Instead, you turn back to the counter, scrubbing harder than necessary, while she drags herself up off the floor, stumbling over to you with all the grace of a newborn giraffe. “You’re staying, right?” she asks, leaning against the counter so close her elbow bumps yours, her voice dropping into that bossy tone she gets when she wants something. “Gotta tuck me in, make sure I don’t die in my sleep or whatever.”

You smirk, glancing at her out of the corner of your eye—she’s a mess, mascara smudged under her eyes, lipstick faded into a pink stain, but still unfairly gorgeous. “Yeah, ‘cause I’d hate to explain to your fans why their precious Eunbi choked on her own drool. I’ll stay, but you’re sleeping on the couch if you puke on me.” She grins, triumphant, and slings an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a sloppy half-hug that smells like soju and her floral perfume. “My hero,” she coos, sarcastic as hell, but there’s a flicker of something real in it. You shake it off, steering her toward the bedroom with a hand on her back, her weight leaning into you more with every step. She’s still rambling—about the party, about how you’re the only one who gets her, about how she’s gonna make you cook her hangover soup tomorrow—and you’re only half-listening, too focused on getting her to bed without tripping over the rug.

By the time you hit the hallway, she’s practically dead weight, her head lolling against your shoulder, breath warm against your neck. You nudge her bedroom door open with your foot, the soft glow of her fairy lights spilling out, and ease her onto the mattress, where she flops down with a groan. “You’re the best,” she slurs, grabbing your wrist before you can pull away, her grip surprisingly strong for someone who looks ready to pass out. “Don’t go far, ‘kay? Need you here.” It’s the alcohol talking, you tell yourself, but the way her fingers linger on your skin feels too deliberate, too loaded. You mutter something about getting her water, slipping out of her hold, and as you head back to the kitchen.

You’re back in her bedroom, a glass of water in one hand and a damp washcloth in the other, figuring she’ll thank you later for not letting her wake up looking like a raccoon with last night’s makeup smeared everywhere. The fairy lights are still doing their thing, casting a warm, golden glow over the room, and Eunbi’s sprawled out on her bed, one arm flung over her face like she’s trying to block out the world—or maybe just the spins. Her hoodie’s ridden up again, showing off that stupidly toned stomach she’s always flexing on Instagram, and her socks are half-off, one dangling from her toes like it’s staging a breakout. She looks like a hot mess, but it’s Eunbi, so she’s still pulling it off somehow. You set the glass on her nightstand and nudge her leg with your knee. “Hey, drunkass, sit up for a sec. You need water or you’re gonna hate me tomorrow.”

She groans, dramatic as fuck, but peels her arm off her face and squints at you, eyes glassy and unfocused. “You’re so bossy,” she mumbles, but there’s a grin tugging at her lips, sloppy and real, and she fumbles to prop herself up on her elbows. Her hair’s a disaster, falling into her face, and you reach over without thinking, brushing it back with your fingers. She leans into it, just a little, and for a second, it’s quiet—just the hum of the speaker still looping that lo-fi track and her breathing, slow and heavy. You hand her the water, and she takes it with both hands like a kid, gulping it down so fast some of it dribbles down her chin. “Classy,” you tease, wiping it off with the washcloth before she can bitch about it, and she snickers, batting your hand away halfheartedly. “Shut up, you love me,” she slurs.

You’re about to fire back—something dumb like “yeah, when you’re not a walking tornado”—but she cuts you off, setting the glass down with a clumsy clink and grabbing your wrist again, pulling you closer. “You remember that pact we made?” Her voice is softer now, less playful, and there’s this edge to it that makes your stomach twist. You know exactly what she’s talking about, but you play dumb anyway, raising an eyebrow. “What, the one where we said we’d rob a bank if we ever got broke? ‘Cause I’m still down, but you’re the one with the idol cash now.” She doesn’t laugh, though, just shakes her head, and her grip tightens, nails digging into your skin a little. “No, dumbass. The marriage one. When we were, like, sixteen? Said if we hit 30 and no one else locked us down, we’d just marry each other. You swore on it—pinky promise and everything.”

You try to laugh it off, because that’s your go-to when shit gets real—deflect, joke, anything to keep it light. “Yeah, I also swore I’d get a tattoo of your face on my ass, but you don’t see me running to the parlor,” you say, but it sounds weak even to you. She’s not buying it, and her eyes are searching your face now, all hazy and drunk but piercing, like she’s peeling back every layer you’ve ever put up. “Don’t bullshit me,” she says, and there’s that commanding tone she gets sometimes, the one that makes people sit up straight and listen, even when she’s three sheets to the wind. “We’re both 30 now. I’m 30 today. And you’re here, and I’m here, and—fuck, dude, why not? Let’s do it. Let’s get married.”

Your heart’s doing some wild shit in your chest, pounding like you just ran a marathon, and you tell yourself it’s the alcohol talking. She’s plastered, emotional, probably doesn’t even mean it—she’ll wake up tomorrow and laugh her ass off at the thought, right? But she’s looking at you like she’s dead serious, lips parted, cheeks flushed, and there’s this raw, messy love in her voice that’s fucking with your head. “Eunbi, you’re drunk as hell,” you manage, voice rougher than you mean it to be. “You don’t just decide to marry someone ‘cause you had too much soju and feel mushy. Sleep it off, yeah? We’ll laugh about this in the morning.” You try to pull your wrist free, but she’s not letting go, and now she’s sitting up fully, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed so she’s right in front of you, close enough that you can smell the peach liquor on her breath, her free hand landing on your chest, fingers curling into your shirt.

“I’m not joking,” she says, quieter but fiercer, and her hand slides up, brushing your neck, her thumb grazing your jaw. “I’ve been thinking about it—today, this year, maybe longer. You’re my best friend, you dick. You’ve stuck with me through every breakup, every stage, every meltdown. I’ve got you too—always have. So why not? We’d kill it together.” Her voice wavers, and her eyes are shiny now, not just from the liquor, and it’s shredding you because she’s never this open, this raw.

“Eunbi, chill,” you say, softer, because snapping at her feels wrong when she’s spilling her soul like this. “You’re not thinking clear. You’re an idol—your life’s a circus, your fans would riot, and I’m just… me. The dude who can’t keep a cactus alive. You don’t mean this. Not really.” But your words are faltering, because she’s leaning in, her hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you down ‘til her forehead’s almost touching yours. “I don’t care about that,” she whispers, breath hot against your lips, and fuck, she’s so close you can taste the peach soju, feel the heat of her. “I don’t care about any of it if I’ve got you. I love you, you moron. Always have.”

It’s a fucking knockout blow, and your brain’s short-circuiting, every nerve screaming to just give in. Her lips brush yours—just a ghost of a touch, soft and trembling—and you almost lose it, almost let her pull you under. Your hands are on her shoulders, and for a split second, you’re kissing her back, tasting the liquor and the years of unspoken shit between you. But then your brain kicks in, screaming she’s drunk, this isn’t right, not like this. You pull back, heart pounding, hands shaking as you hold her at arm’s length. “Eunbi, no,” you say, firm but cracking. “Not like this. You’re wasted—you need to rest, not… this.” She whines, reaching for you again, but you dodge, standing up fast, chest heaving. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? Just… get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.” She flops back on the bed, pouting hard, but her eyes are already drooping, the fight draining out of her. You grab the blanket, tucking it over her as she mumbles something incoherent, and you’re left standing there, reeling, wondering if you just dodged a bullet or broke something delicate.

—

A week’s rolled by since Eunbi’s wild 30th birthday bash, and it’s been radio silence from her end—zero texts, no drunk voicemails, not even a meme tossed your way, which is weird as hell because she’s usually blowing up your phone with random shit. You’ve been keeping busy, trying not to overthink it, but she’s been creeping into your head more than usual—those sloppy, half-serious words she slung at you about loving you, about wanting to marry you, the way she clung to you like you were her lifeline… The next day, though, she seemed fine. Hungover, but fine. Almost as if she had forgotten about the whole accidental confession that alcohol had caused. But you can't be completely sure. So when your phone buzzes on a lazy Thursday afternoon and it’s her name lighting up the screen with a casual, “Hey, dinner at my place tonight? 7ish?” you don’t even hesitate. “Yeah, I’m in,” you shoot back, already mentally mapping out your evening. You figure it’s a good excuse to check in on her, make sure she’s not still recovering from that hangover or, worse, avoiding you for some reason you can’t pin down. On your way over, you swing by the market down the street from her place. You grab a six-pack of Heineken because you know she likes it cold, and a bottle of that fancy grapefruit soda she’s obsessed with—non-alcoholic, just in case she’s still swearing off the hard stuff after last week. Walking out, you catch her face plastered on a billboard across the street, all glossy lips and sultry eyes, selling some new makeup line. It’s surreal, seeing your goofy childhood buddy up there like some untouchable goddess, but then you smirk because you know she’d probably laugh her ass off at the idea of anyone calling her that.

You get to her apartment a little early, buzzing up from the lobby, and when she opens the door, it’s like she’s flipped a switch from the drunk disaster you left last week. She’s all sweet smiles and soft edges, pulling you into a hug that lingers a beat too long, her hair smelling like lavender and something expensive. “Hey, you,” she says, voice warm, and you’re already shrugging off your jacket, holding up the drinks like a peace offering. “Brought supplies,” you say, and she laughs, grabbing the soda bottle with a little “Ooh, you remembered!” that makes you feel oddly proud. Her place looks better than it did post-party—clean, cozy, with a few candles flickering on the counter, the kind that smell like vanilla and money. Dinner’s already set up, a spread of takeout containers from that Korean BBQ joint you both love, the one with the spicy pork that makes your nose run. She’s got the table laid out casual but cute—mismatched plates, a couple of chipped mugs for water, and a playlist humming through her speaker, some chill lo-fi beats that don’t drown out the vibe. You settle in across from her, cracking open a beer while she digs into a pile of kimchi, and it’s easy at first—catching up, joking about how she’s pretty sure she scared off half her friends with her karaoke rendition of “Sweet Child O’ Mine” last week. You’re laughing, she’s laughing, and it’s like old times, except she’s quieter than usual, her eyes lingering on you when she thinks you’re not looking.

You’re halfway through your second beer, picking at some bulgogi with your chopsticks, when you catch her staring again—chin propped on her hand, a little smile tugging at her lips, but her gaze is steady, almost heavy. It’s not the usual Eunbi chaos you’re used to, the teasing or the loud cackling; it’s something else, something that you’re not ready to name. She’s been weird all night, not bad weird, just… off, like she’s holding something back. You set your chopsticks down, wiping your hands on a napkin, and finally just go for it. “Okay, what’s up with you? You’re being all quiet and stare-y, it’s freaking me out.” She blinks, caught, then laughs—a soft, nervous sound that’s not her usual full-on snort. She leans back in her chair, twirling her mug between her fingers, and you can tell she’s gearing up to say something big. “I’ve been thinking about you all week,” she says, and it lands like a sucker punch, totally out of left field. You freeze, beer bottle halfway to your mouth, because what the hell do you even say to that? She’s not done, though—she sets the mug down, leans forward, and it’s like the floodgates open. “Not just you, like, in general. The pact. Us. Everything. I’ve been replaying it all in my head—how we’ve been through every dumb phase together, how you’re always there, how you stayed last week when I was a total mess. You’re… you’re special to me, you know that, right?”

It’s a lot, and you’re just sitting there, letting it wash over you. Her words hit hard because, fuck, you’ve been thinking about her too—more than you’d admit out loud. That night on her couch, her drunk rambling about marrying you, it stuck with you, wormed its way into your brain and wouldn’t leave. You’ve been seeing her everywhere, not just on billboards but in random shit—like the way the light hits your coffee in the morning and reminds you of her smile, or how you caught yourself humming one of her songs in the shower yesterday. You clear your throat, trying to play it cool even though your heart’s doing some dumb acrobatics in your chest. “Yeah, well, you’re kinda special to me too,” you mumble, and it’s not smooth, but it’s honest, and her face lights up like you just handed her the moon. She stands up, motioning to the couch with a little “C’mon, let’s chill,” and you follow, grabbing your beer and the soda bottle because you’re not ready to let go of something to fidget with.

The couch is comfier than the kitchen chairs, and you sink into it, kicking your shoes off while she curls up next to you, closer than she needs to be but not close enough to make it weird. The TV’s off, but the candles are still going, casting this warm glow that makes the whole room feel smaller, softer. She’s got her legs tucked under her, sipping that grapefruit soda, and she’s still watching you, but now it’s less intense, more curious. “So, the pact,” she starts, and you groan, half-laughing, because of course she’s circling back to that. “You seriously wanna talk about that now?” you ask, but she’s already nodding, all earnest. “Yeah, I do. I mean, we’re thirty, dude. No one’s swooped in to lock us down. And I keep thinking… maybe that’s not a bad thing? Like, maybe it’s been you this whole time and I was just too dumb to see it.” She’s laying it all out, and it’s messing with you, because you’ve been wondering the same damn thing. You take a long pull from your beer, stalling, then set it on the coffee table with a clink. “I’ve been thinking about it too,” you admit, and her eyes widen, like she wasn’t expecting you to meet her halfway. “Not just the pact, but… you. How you’re always the one I wanna call when shit’s good or bad. How you get me in a way no one else does.”

She shifts closer, her knee brushing yours, and it’s electric, that tiny contact sparking something you’ve both been dancing around. “So what are we doing about it?” she asks, voice low, and there’s this challenge in her eyes, like she’s daring you to make a move. You’re not sure who leans in first—maybe it’s her, maybe it’s you—but suddenly you’re kissing, slow and tentative at first, then deeper, her hands sliding up your chest while yours find her waist. It’s not fireworks or some movie bullshit; it’s better, realer, like coming home after being gone too long. When you pull back, she’s grinning, breathless, and you’re both laughing because it’s ridiculous and perfect all at once. “Guess we’re doing this, then,” she says, and you nod, still dazed. “Guess we are.”

It’s like someone flipped a switch—everything’s electric, buzzing, and you can’t get enough. The kissing started soft, almost careful, but now it’s deeper, hungrier, her hands gripping your shirt like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she lets go. You’re only just now clocking how goddamn gorgeous she is, and yeah, she’s always been a knockout, but this is different. She’s not the Eunbi you’re used to, the one who’d roll up to your place in sweats and a messy bun, no makeup, eating takeout straight from the box. Tonight, she’s all done up—hair falling in loose waves, a slinky black top that hugs her curves just right, and a skirt that’s short enough to make your brain short-circuit. She’s got this subtle shimmer on her skin, probably some fancy highlighter shit from one of those brands she’s always posing for, and her lips are glossy, tasting faintly of cherry when you kiss her again. You pull back for a second, breathless, and the words just tumble out: “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” It’s cheesy as hell, but you mean it, and her face lights up—big, goofy smile and all—before she swings a leg over you and climbs into your lap. Her petite frame settles against you, but there’s nothing delicate about the way she presses herself close, her chest—those full, perfect tits—squishing against you.

She tilts her head back as you lean in, kissing along her neck, all soft skin and that lavender scent mixed with something warmer, sexier, like her body’s radiating heat just for you. Your lips brush that spot under her jaw, and she lets out this little sigh—half moan, half giggle—that sends a jolt straight through you. Her hands slide up to your shoulders, fingers digging in, and you’re hyper-aware of every inch of her, the way her thighs grip your hips, the slight shift of her weight when she adjusts herself. You nip at her collarbone, and she squirms, laughing softly before her voice drops, low and needy: “Take me to the bedroom.” It’s not a question—it’s Eunbi, all commanding and sure, and fuck if that doesn’t make you want her even more. You don’t hesitate, sliding your hands under her ass—firm, perfect—and hoisting her up. She wraps her legs around your waist, locking her ankles behind you, and you can feel her grinning against your shoulder as you carry her down the hall. Her skirt rides up, and you’re palming bare skin, her body warm and solid against yours, and it’s a miracle you don’t trip over the random pair of sneakers she left by the door.

You nudge the bedroom door open with your elbow, the space dimly lit by a lamp on her nightstand, casting everything in this soft, golden glow. Her bed’s a mess—sheets tangled, a couple of pillows shoved to one side—but it’s hers, and that’s enough. You ease her down onto the mattress, and she lands with a little bounce, propping herself up on her elbows, skirt hiked up around her hips, black lace peeking out from underneath. She’s watching you, eyes dark and playful, and you’re just standing there for a second, taking her in—hair splayed out, lips parted, that top clinging to her like a second skin. “Drawer,” she says, nodding toward the dresser across the room, her voice cutting through the haze in your head. “Top one.” You quirk an eyebrow, stepping over to it, and when you slide it open, there’s a strip of condoms sitting right there next to a tube of lip balm and some tangled jewelry. You pick one up, turning it over in your hand, and glance back at her. “You planning this or what?” you ask, half-teasing, half-serious, because it’s Eunbi—she’s always got something up her sleeve. She chuckles, kicking off her heels so they clatter to the floor, and shrugs. “Just in case, you know. Figured if we’re doing this whole pact thing, might as well be ready.”

You smirk, tossing the foil packet onto the bed beside her, and she scoots back, making room as you climb over her. She’s pulling you down by the front of your shirt, kissing you again—harder this time, all tongue and teeth, like she’s been waiting for this as long as you have. Then you start kissing her body, starting at that delicate stretch of her neck, soft and warm under your lips, and she sighs, this tiny, breathy sound that’s got your heart thudding loud enough you’re sure she can hear it. You trail lower, brushing your mouth over her collarbone, then down to her chest, where her black top’s still clinging to her like it’s got a personal grudge against you. Your hands roam, sliding up her sides, thumbs brushing the underside of her tits, and she arches into you, a quiet “Mmm” vibrating against your lips. You tug at her top, and she lifts her arms, letting you peel it off—black bra underneath, lacy and sheer, doing a piss-poor job of hiding how hard her nipples are. Her skin’s flushed, a little sweaty from the heat building between you, and your hands slide up, cupping her tits through the fabric—full, heavy, driving you absolutely insane. You’ve always known she’s stacked, it’s not news, but feeling them like this, in this moment, is frying your brain. “Can I take this off?” you murmur, tugging at her bra strap. She giggles, this light, playful sound that cuts through the tension, and nods, arching her back a little to give you room. “Go for it, perv,” she teases, but her eyes are locked on yours, dark and wanting, and you’re fumbling with the clasp like it’s your first time because holy shit, this is Eunbi—your Eunbi—and it’s actually happening.

The bra comes off, and you toss it somewhere—floor, chair, who gives a fuck—and just stare for a second, because her breasts are unreal. Big, yeah, but it’s more than that—they’re perfect, soft curves sloping into these gorgeous, rosy areolas, nipples already perked up like they’re begging for you. You’ve seen her in bikinis, tight shirts, all that, but this? This is next-level, and you’re still wrapping your head around the fact that you’re here, with her, like this. “You can touch,” she says, voice softer now, a little shy, and your hands move before your brain catches up, fingers brushing over her skin, careful at first, like you’re afraid she’ll vanish if you go too fast. She’s warm, silky, and the way she sighs—quiet, needy—sends a shiver down your spine. You squeeze gently, testing the weight of her in your palms, and she tips her head back, lips parting. “You like this?” you ask, because you need to hear it, need to know you’re not screwing this up. “Yeah,” she breathes, “so much. I can’t believe we’re doing this.” You laugh, a little shaky, and say, “Me neither. You don’t think it’s weird?” She shakes her head fast, reaching for your wrist to keep your hand on her. “No way. It’s you. Feels right. And, uh, it’s making me really fucking horny.”

That hits you like a truck, her saying it so plain, so Eunbi, and before you can overthink it, you lean in and wrap your lips around one of her nipples, sucking slow and deliberate. She moans, loud and surprised, her back arching into you, and it’s the hottest sound you’ve ever heard. “Oh—fuck,” she gasps, and you feel her hand slide into your hair, tugging just enough to make you groan against her skin. “Keep going,” she begs, voice cracking, and you don’t need to be told twice. You swirl your tongue, flicking over the hard peak, then switch to the other one because you’re greedy and she’s letting you, her fingers tightening in your hair like she’s anchoring herself. You’re lost in it—her taste, the little whimpers she’s making, the way her body shifts under you, restless and wanting. When you finally pull back, catching your breath, her face is pure lust—eyes half-lidded, cheeks pink, lips wet from biting them. She stares at you like you’ve just rocked her world, and then she says, “You need to fuck me. Like, right now,” all commanding and desperate, and it’s not even a question—you’re nodding, already on board, because there’s no way you’re saying no to her.

You’re both scrambling then, a frantic, clumsy rush to get naked. You yank your shirt over your head, nearly choking yourself in the process, and she’s laughing—god, that laugh—even as she wiggles out of her skirt, kicking it off her ankles. You’re down to your boxers, and she’s peeling off her panties, black lace that matches the bra you yeeted earlier, and you’re trying not to stare too hard because you’ll lose it before you even start. She’s sprawled out on the bed now, legs parted just enough to make your mouth dry, and you shove your jeans off, kicking them into the chaos of her room. Your boxers follow, and when you straighten up, condom packet in hand from where it’s been chilling on the bed, she’s looking at you—really looking—and her eyes widen. “Damn,” she says, propping herself up on her elbows, “you’ve been holding out on me. Should’ve jumped you years ago.” You laugh, but it’s strained because she’s naked and staring at your dick like it’s a revelation, and your ego’s taking a victory lap while your nerves are screaming.

You rip the foil open with your teeth (smooth, you hope) and roll the condom on, hands shaking a little because she’s watching you, all impatient and gorgeous, and you’re still processing that this is your best friend, the girl who once cried on your shoulder after a shitty audition, now spread out and waiting for you to fuck her. “You good?” you ask, climbing back onto the bed, settling between her thighs, and she nods, reaching for you, pulling you closer. “So good,” she murmurs, her voice husky, and you feel her hand on your hip, guiding you like she’s done this with you a million times. You line up, heart pounding, and she’s warm, wet, ready—fuck, it’s Eunbi, and it’s perfect. You stop there, hovering, because once you start, there’s no going back, and you’re both teetering on the edge of something huge—best friends to lovers, a pact turning real, all of it crashing together in this sweaty, messy, incredible moment.

She shifts under you, impatient, and you catch her smirk, that little challenge in her eyes. “You gonna make me wait forever, or what?” she says, and it’s so her—bossy, bratty, the Eunbi you’ve known forever but with this new, wild edge. You grin, leaning down to kiss her quick and hard, and mutter, “Hold on, princess, I’ve got you.” Her laugh’s cut off by a gasp as you ease in, and yeah, this is happening, and it’s better than you ever dreamed. Her nails dig into your shoulders, and she’s whispering your name like it’s a secret she’s been keeping too long, and you’re gone—lost in her, in this, in the insane, beautiful reality of you and Eunbi finally crossing that line.

You sink into Eunbi, and it’s like the world tilts—everything narrows down to the heat of her, the way her pussy grips you, tight and wet and so fucking perfect it’s almost too much. You’re on top of her, your chest pressed against hers, her tits squashed between you, soft and warm, and you can feel her heartbeat hammering against your ribs, matching the wild thud of your own. The condom’s doing its job, but it barely dulls the sensation; she’s addictive, like some drug you didn’t know you needed until now. You start moving, slow at first, just to feel her out, but she’s already rocking her hips up to meet you, and that’s it—you’re gone. You thrust harder, pinning her to the mattress with your weight, the bed creaking under you, and she melts into it, legs wrapping around your waist, pulling you deeper. Her breath’s hot against your neck, little gasps and moans spilling out every time you drive into her, and it’s driving you insane.

You kiss her, messy and desperate, all tongue and teeth clashing, because you need more of her—need to taste her, feel her everywhere. She kisses back just as hard, her hands sliding up your back, nails scratching trails you’ll probably feel tomorrow but don’t give a shit about now. “Fuck, you’re so good,” she mutters against your lips, voice all shaky and wrecked, and it’s unreal hearing her like this. You pull back just enough to look at her—face flushed, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted—and it’s a punch to the gut how gorgeous she is, how much you’ve always wanted this without even knowing it. “You’re killing me,” you say, and she cracks a grin, all smug even while she’s getting railed. “Good,” she shoots back, “you deserve it for making me wait this long.”

Her legs tighten around you, heels digging into your ass, and you pick up the pace, slamming into her harder, the slap of skin on skin filling the room alongside her gasps and your grunts. The bed’s a mess—sheets twisted, pillows shoved aside—and her room smells like sex and that lavender shit she loves, mixing into something heady and overwhelming. You bury your face in her neck, kissing and sucking at the skin there, leaving marks because fuck it, she’s yours now, right? She tilts her head to give you more room, moaning your name—your actual name, not some dumb nickname—and it’s like a jolt straight to your dick, making you thrust even deeper. “Shit, say that again,” you rasp, and she does, over and over, each time a little louder, a little needier, until it’s a chant that’s got you drunk on her.

You shift, propping yourself up on your forearms so you can watch her—watch the way her tits bounce with every thrust, the way her stomach tenses, the way her hands claw at your shoulders like she’s trying to anchor herself. “You’re so fucking hot,” you say, because it’s true and you can’t keep it in, and she laughs, breathless, her voice hitching when you hit just the right spot. “Took you long enough to notice, dumbass,” she manages, but then you angle your hips and she’s gasping instead, all “Oh—fuck, there, right there,” and you know you’ve got her. You keep at it, relentless, because she’s squeezing you so tight it’s like she’s trying to pull you in and never let go, and you’re happy to oblige—hell, you’d live here if she asked.

Her hair’s fanned out on the pillow, dark strands sticking to her sweaty forehead, and you brush it aside, kissing her again because you can’t not—she’s too much, too perfect, too everything. “Always knew you’d be trouble,” you murmur against her mouth, and she nips at your lip, grinning. “You love it, though,” she says, and yeah, you do—love the way she’s unraveling under you, love the way she’s still somehow calling the shots even when she’s pinned beneath you, love that this is Eunbi, your best friend, the one person who’s been there through every stupid fight and late-night rant, now moaning like she can’t get enough. You slide a hand down her side, gripping her hip to pull her closer, and she arches, meeting every thrust like she’s daring you to go harder. “Don’t stop,” she whispers, bossy and hot, and you groan, shaking your head. “Not a chance.”

The rhythm’s steady now, hard and fast, and she’s matching you, rolling her hips up in time, her thighs trembling against your sides. You can feel the sweat slick between you, her skin sliding against yours, and it’s filthy and raw and so fucking good. “You feel so amazing,” you say, because you need her to know, and she nods, eyes fluttering open to lock on yours. “You too,” she breathes, and there’s this moment—brief, electric—where it’s not just sex, it’s you and her, years of friendship crashing into something bigger, something real. Then she’s grabbing your face, pulling you down for another kiss, and it’s sloppy, uncoordinated, but you don’t care because she’s grinding up against you, chasing whatever’s building between you, and you’re right there with her, lost in the heat and the want.

You shift again, hooking one of her legs over your shoulder, and she gasps, loud and sharp, her hands fisting the sheets. “Fuck, that’s—yeah, keep going,” she says, and you do, driving into her at this new angle that’s got her shaking, got you seeing stars. Her other leg’s still wrapped around you, pulling you in, and you’re pressed so close it’s like you’re trying to fuse into her. “You’re insane,” you mutter, half-laughing. She smirks, even now, and says, “You’re welcome,” like she’s doing you a favor, and maybe she is—maybe this is the best damn favor anyone’s ever done you. You kiss her again, swallowing her moans, and keep going, hard and steady, because she’s still melting under you, still begging for more with every thrust, and you’re not about to disappoint her—not now.

You’re deep in it with Eunbi, pounding into her like there’s no tomorrow, the bedframe rattling with every thrust, and it’s this wild, relentless rhythm that’s got sweat dripping down your back and her moaning into your mouth. Her pussy’s tight and slick around you, pulling you in with every move, and you’re pressed so close her tits are mashed against your chest, her nipples hard against your skin. She’s clawing at your shoulders, legs locked around your hips, and you’re both lost in it—grunting, gasping, chasing that high together. It’s been nonstop, a blur of heat and need, and you’re so wrapped up in how fucking incredible she feels that you barely register the way her breath hitches, sharper now, like she’s shifting gears. Then she’s pushing against your chest, not hard, just enough to get your attention, and her voice cuts through the haze, all raspy and commanding: “Wait—let me ride you.” You freeze for a split second, brain catching up, but she’s already moving, nudging you back with that bossy little smirk she’s always had, and fuck if it doesn’t make you want her even more. You let her take the lead—because it’s Eunbi, and she’s been running this show since you started—and flop back onto the bed, pillows bunching under your head as she straddles you, confidence and hunger in her eyes.

She doesn’t waste a second, swinging a leg over you and settling on your lap, her hands flat on your chest as she lines herself up. You’re still hard as hell, cock twitching when she grips you, giving you a quick stroke that has you biting your lip to keep from groaning too loud. Then she sinks down, slow at first, taking you in inch by inch, and—shit—it’s a whole new kind of torture, watching her take control like this. Her pussy’s so wet you can hear it, this filthy little sound mixing with her moans as she bottoms out, hips flush against yours. “Oh fuck, that’s good,” she breathes, head tipping back, and you can’t tear your eyes off her—her hair’s a sweaty mess, sticking to her neck, and her body’s glistening in the dim light of her room. She starts moving, rolling her hips in this smooth, deliberate way that’s got you gripping the sheets, and her tits—those big, perfect tits—swing with every bounce, heavy and hypnotic. It’s sexy as hell, seeing her dominate you like this, owning every second, every thrust, and knowing she’s getting off on your cock just as much as you’re losing it over her.

She’s not quiet about it either—Eunbi’s never been shy, but this is next-level. “Goddamn, your cock’s so fucking good,” she says, and she’s looking down at you now, eyes dark and wild. “I can’t believe how perfect you feel—shit, I’m gonna be addicted to this.” Her hands slide up her own body, cupping her breasts, squeezing them hard enough that her fingers sink into the soft flesh, and she groans, loud and unfiltered, like she’s putting on a show just for you. You grin, chest heaving, and shoot back, “That’s no problem, babe. Once we’re married, you’ll get this dick every damn day.” It’s half a joke, half a promise, but the way her eyes light up, you know it lands. She laughs, this bright, giddy sound that’s so her—your best friend, your partner-in-crime—and leans down, still riding you, her hips never missing a beat. Her lips crash into yours, and it’s messy, her moaning into your mouth while she grinds down harder, chasing whatever’s building in her.

You’ve got your hands on her hips now, fingers digging into the curve of her ass, helping her move because you can’t just lie there and take it—you need to feel her, need to meet her halfway. She’s bouncing faster, tits swaying right in your face, and you’re mesmerized by the way they jiggle, the way her nipples brush your chest every time she leans forward. “You like this, huh?” she pants, smirking down at you, and you nod, too caught up to play it cool. “Fuck yeah, you’re killing me,” you say, voice rough, and she giggles again, squeezing her own tits harder, thumbs flicking over her nipples. “Good. Been wanting to ride you forever—should’ve known you’d be this fun to fuck.” It’s classic Eunbi, that mix of teasing and raw honesty, and it hits you square in the chest—years of friendship flipping into this, into her on top of you, talking dirty like it’s nothing, like it’s always been leading here.

Her pace picks up, hips snapping down with this wet, rhythmic slap that’s got your head spinning, and she’s loud now—moans, curses, your name tumbling out like she can’t help it. “Fuck, you’re so deep,” she gasps, one hand braced on your chest, the other still kneading her breast, and you can feel her tightening around you, hot and slick and relentless. You slide a hand up her thigh, gripping hard, and she shudders, leaning into you more, her hair falling over her face like a curtain. You brush it back, wanting to see her—see the way her mouth hangs open, the way her eyes flutter shut when you thrust up to meet her, matching her rhythm. “You’re so fucking sexy like this,” you tell her, because it’s true, and she grins, breathless, leaning down again to kiss you, her tongue sliding against yours in this sloppy, perfect mess. “Takes one to know one,” she murmurs against your lips, and you laugh, the sound catching in your throat when she clenches around you, riding you harder.

She’s in total control now, hips rolling and grinding, and you’re just along for the ride—literally—watching her take what she wants, loving every second of it. Her thighs flex against your sides, strong and soft all at once, and you can’t stop staring—at her face, her body, the way she’s so into it, so into you. “God, why didn’t we do this sooner?” she says, and you groan, hands roaming her back, her ass, anywhere you can reach. “Beats me,” you mutter, “but we’re here now, so fucking enjoy it.” She nods, kissing you again, and it’s all heat and want, her tongue tangling with yours as she keeps moving, keeps fucking you like she’s got something to prove. Her breasts bounce against you, and you’re tempted to grab them, but she’s already got that covered, squeezing them herself, moaning louder every time she shifts just right.

“You’re stuck with me now,” she says, grinning through a moan, and you fire back, “Like I’d ever wanna get rid of you.” It’s cheesy, yeah, but it’s real, and she leans into it, kissing you deep, her hips never slowing, her body pressed so tight against yours it’s like you’re one person. You’re drowning in her—in the feel of her, the sound of her, the fact that this is Eunbi, your best friend, riding you like she’s claiming you for good. And honestly? You’re totally fucking fine with that.

The rhythm’s relentless, her pussy squeezing you so tight it’s like she’s got you in a vice, all wet and hot and addictive. She’s panting hard, sweat beading on her forehead, her hair sticking to her neck in damp strands, and you can feel her starting to unravel, her movements getting sloppier, more desperate. Then she grabs your shoulders, nails digging in, and her voice comes out all shaky and raw: “Fuck, I’m close—I’m gonna cum on your dick.” It’s like a switch flips in you—her saying that, so filthy and sure, lights something wild up in your chest. You wrap your arms around her back, locking her against you, her skin slick against yours, and take over. You thrust up into her, hard and nonstop, slamming into that tight, pink heat with everything you’ve got, and she screams—this loud, wild sound that bounces off the walls, pure pleasure ripping out of her.

“Shit, babe, cum for me,” you say, the pet name slipping out natural as hell, and her eyes widen, like it’s flipped some switch in her too. She’s a mess now—moaning your name, clawing at your back, her tits pressed so tight against you they’re practically suffocating, and you love it. “Oh my god—yes, fuck, keep going,” she gasps, her head tipping back, exposing her throat, and you lean in, kissing the sweat-salted skin there, tasting her as you pound into her. Her pussy’s making these wet, sloppy noises, loud and obscene, and it’s driving you insane, every thrust sinking you deeper into her, her walls fluttering like she’s about to lose it. “I’m gonna cum—fuck, I’m cumming,” she cries, and then it hits—her whole body locks up, trembling hard against you, her thighs shaking around your hips as she comes apart. It’s intense, like she’s shattering, her moans turning into these broken little gasps, and you hold her tight, arms wrapped around her like you’re keeping her from flying off the bed. You slow down, just enough to let her ride it out, and kiss her—deep, slow, her lips trembling against yours as she tries to catch her breath.

When you pull back, her eyes are wide, glassy, staring at you like she’s seeing you for the first time. She’s still shaking, her chest heaving, and then she says it, voice soft but so fucking clear: “I love you.” It’s not a whisper, not a throwaway—it’s real, raw, like the orgasm cracked something open inside her. “Oh my god, I love you,” she repeats, almost laughing, like she can’t believe she’s saying it but can’t stop either. Your heart does this stupid flip, because—fuck—you’ve always felt it too, buried somewhere under years of dumb jokes and late-night hangouts. “I love you too,” you say, grinning, and it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever said. “Always have.” Her face lights up, this mix of shock and joy, and she grabs you, kissing you hard, all teeth and tongue and desperation, like she’s trying to pour everything she’s feeling into it. You kiss her back just as fierce, hands sliding up her back, fingers digging into her skin, and she’s still clenching around you, still riding the aftershocks, but now she’s got this fire in her eyes. “I’m gonna make you cum, babe,” she says, and the way she calls you babe—affectionate and possessive—makes your dick twitch inside her.

She pulls off you then, slow and deliberate, and you almost groan at the loss of her heat, but she’s already moving, sliding off your lap with this sexy little smirk. “Sit on the edge,” she says, nodding toward the bed, and you don’t argue—why would you? You scoot over, planting your feet on the floor, legs spread, and she’s on her knees in front of you in a flash, smooth skin and wild hair, looking up at you like she’s about to ruin you in the best way. Your cock’s still hard, slick with her, and she reaches for the condom, peeling it off with this slow, teasing tug that has you gritting your teeth. “Don’t need this anymore,” she mutters, tossing it aside, and before you can process that, she’s stroking you—light, loose, her fingers barely grazing you but enough to make you hiss. Then she leans in, purses her lips, and spits on your dick—straight-up, no hesitation, this wet little glob sliding down the shaft, and it’s filthy and hot and so fucking Eunbi. You groan, head tipping back, and she grins, all smug, before scooting closer, her hands cupping her tits and pushing them together.

She wraps those big, perfect breasts around your cock, and—holy shit—it’s unreal. Soft, warm, squeezing you tight as she slides them up and down, the spit and her sweat making it slick and smooth. “You like that, babe?” she asks, voice low and playful, and you nod, too choked up to talk properly. “Fuck yes,” you manage, and she laughs, this bright, happy sound that’s so at odds with how dirty this is—but that’s her, always been her, mixing sweet and wild like it’s nothing. Her nipples are hard, brushing your thighs as she moves, and you can’t stop staring—her tits swallowing your dick, the way her hands press them tighter, the little moans she lets out like she’s getting off on this as much as you are. “Always wanted to do this,” she says, looking up at you through her lashes, and you believe her—there’s this hunger in her eyes, like she’s been holding back for years, same as you. “Should’ve known you’d be perfect for it,” you say, and she winks, sliding her tits down slow, then back up, dragging it out just to fuck with you.

Her pace picks up, hands working her breasts around you, and she’s talking now, all breathy and hot: “God, your cock feels so good like this—gonna need this all the time now.” You groan, hands fisting the sheets because she’s relentless, the wet slide of her skin against you driving you up the wall. “You’ve got me whenever you want,” you tell her, and it’s a promise—pact or not, she’s got you hooked. She leans forward, kissing the tip of your dick where it peeks out between her tits, and it’s so soft, so unexpected, you nearly lose it right there. “Good,” she murmurs, lips brushing you as she speaks, “because I’m not letting you go, babe.” That word again—babe—and it’s doing shit to you, making this feel bigger than just sex, like it’s always been more with her. She keeps going, tits bouncing around you, her eyes locked on yours, and it’s intense—passionate, dirty, and so fucking personal, like she’s rewriting every rule you ever had about what you are to each other. You’re hers, she’s yours, and this—her on her knees, fucking you with her tits—is just the start.

You’re so fucking close you can feel it building, this tight, hot pressure in your gut. She knows it too—can tell by the way your breath’s hitching, the way your hands are gripping the sheets like they’re your lifeline. Her eyes lock on yours, dark and wicked, and she smirks, slowing down just enough to drag it out, to make you squirm. Then she gets naughtier, leaning in close, her voice dropping to this sweet, needy little whine that hits you hard. “Cum for me, babe,” she begs, lips pouting like she’s pleading for her life. “Please—give it to me, I need it.” It’s so hot, so filthy coming from her—Eunbi, your best friend turned lover, begging like she’s starving for you—and it’s shredding what’s left of your self-control.

She doesn’t stop there, oh no—she’s on a mission now, pushing you right to the edge. “Mark me,” she says, voice trembling with want, “make me yours forever—cover me in you.” Her tits slide up and down faster, squeezing tighter, and she’s staring at you like you’re the only thing in her world. “That’s what you want, right? To make me yours?” There’s this challenge in her tone, daring you to deny it, but fuck, you can’t—because it is what you want, more than anything. “Yeah,” you rasp, “that’s exactly what I want—been wanting it forever.” Her smile turns feral, triumphant, and she leans in closer, her breath hot against your cock as it peeks out between her breasts. “Then do it,” she whispers, “cum on my tits—make me yours, babe.” It’s the babe that does it, that little pet name she’s claimed for you, dripping with affection and ownership, and you’re done for. She picks up the pace, relentless now, her hands pressing her breasts together so tight it’s almost painful, and you can feel it—the heat, the pressure, the way she’s moaning like she’s getting off on this as much as you are.

“I’m gonna cum,” you groan, head tipping back, and she lights up, this eager, hungry glint in her eyes. “Yes—fuck, do it,” she moans, and it’s like she’s egging you on, her voice wrapping around you, pulling you over the line. You explode—thick, hot jets shooting out, painting her tits in messy streaks, and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. You moan loud, this guttural sound ripping out of you, and she’s right there with you, gasping, “More, babe—give me more!” like she’s addicted already. And you do—cum keeps coming, splashing across her chest, dripping down between her breasts, and she’s loving it, tilting her head back so it catches the light, all glossy and hypnotic. Her skin’s glistening, covered in you, and you’re shaking, legs weak, watching it spread, marking her like she asked. She’s grinning, this wild, delighted smile, and her hands slide over her tits, smearing it around, rubbing it in like it’s some kind of trophy. “Look at you,” she says, voice husky and proud, “fucking wrecked me—made me yours.”

You’re panting, chest heaving, and when you finally look at her—really look—she’s a vision: hair a sweaty mess, cheeks flushed, cum streaked across her chest like some dirty masterpiece. There’s this beat of silence, just the two of you breathing hard, staring at each other, and then you say it again, because it’s bursting out of you: “I love you.” It’s raw, unguarded, and her face softens, that smug edge melting into something adorable, something real. Her lips curve into this shy, perfect smile, and she crawls up the bed, straddling your lap again, her messy, cum-slick tits pressing against your chest as she leans in close. “I love you too,” she whispers, and it’s not just words—it’s everything, years of friendship crashing into this moment, turning it into something permanent. You grab her face, pulling her into a kiss, tasting of sweat and sex and promises neither of you can take back.

She pulls away, just enough to look at you, her forehead resting against yours, and you’re still reeling from it all—the titjob, the way she begged, the way you lost it all over her. “You need to be mine,” you say, “what just happened—it’s different, Eunbi. I’ve never felt anything like this.” Your hands slide down her back, gripping her ass, holding her there like you’re afraid she’ll slip away. She nods, eyes shining, and says, “I want that—I wanna be yours, only yours.” It’s quiet, serious, and you feel it settle in your bones—this isn’t just a hookup, not some pact gone wild. It’s you and her, rewriting the rules, crossing every line you ever drew, and there’s no going back. She kisses you again, hard and possessive, her tongue claiming you like she’s sealing the deal, and you’re all in—heart pounding, hands roaming, totally fucking smitten by the girl who’s been your everything since day one.

She breaks the kiss, sliding off you, and you’re still dazed, watching her move. She grabs a towel from the floor—some random thing she must’ve tossed earlier—and wipes herself down, casual as hell, like she didn’t just change your entire world. “Guess we’re official now, huh?” she says, smirking, and you laugh, this shaky, relieved sound, because yeah, you are—official, exclusive, whatever the fuck you wanna call it. “Damn right,” you say, pulling her back to you, her body warm and sticky against yours. “You’re stuck with me, babe.” She grins, all teeth and mischief, and says, “Good, ‘cause I’m not letting you off easy.” And that’s it—friendship torched, replaced with this messy, beautiful thing that’s all yours, all hers, forever marked by the night she begged for you and you gave her everything.

—

A few months fly by since that wild night with Eunbi, and it’s been this whirlwind of figuring shit out together—dates squeezed between her insane idol schedule, late-night takeout sessions at her place, and sneaky hookups whenever you can steal a moment. You’re not just best friends anymore; you’re together, like, for real, and it’s messy and amazing all at once. She’s still the same Eunbi—teasing you over dumb stuff like how you always burn the toast, or laughing her ass off when you trip over her heels she leaves lying around—but now there’s this extra layer, this warmth when she looks at you, and you catch yourself staring at her like a total sap sometimes. Then, out of nowhere, it happens: the wedding. You’d talked about the pact turning real, half-joking at first, but one day she just looks at you over coffee and says, “Let’s do it—let’s get married,” and you’re like, “Fuck yeah, let’s do it.” So you plan it quick—nothing huge, just enough to make it official—and the news drops like a bomb on her fans. Twitter’s a mess, all “EUNBI’S MARRIED???” and “WHO’S THE GUY?”, but she’s not fazed. She’s not quitting the idol life—hell no, she’s too good at it—but she’s all in with you, and that’s what matters. Her inner circle, though? They’re not shocked at all. Her manager just smirks and says, “About damn time,” and your mutual friends—ones who’ve watched you two dance around each other since high school—act like they’ve been holding their breath for this forever. “Finally,” one of them texts you, with a string of eye-roll emojis, and you can’t help but laugh because maybe they’re right—maybe everyone’s been waiting for this as long as you have.

The wedding day hits, and it’s this perfect mix of chaos and chill, set in this sleek little venue just outside the city—modern vibes with big windows, fairy lights strung up everywhere, and a view of the skyline that’s straight out of a movie. You’re in a sharp black suit, nothing too flashy, but Eunbi picked it out and said you looked “hot as hell,” so you’re feeling yourself. She walks in, and—fuck—she’s unreal. Her dress is this slinky, off-white number that hugs her curves perfectly, simple but sexy, with a slit up the leg that’s got you sweating already. Her hair’s down, loose waves framing her face, and she’s got this glow, like she’s lit up from the inside. The ceremony’s small—her parents, yours, a tight crew of friends, and her group members who’ve basically adopted you as their brother-in-law already. You stand at the front, palms sweaty, heart doing flips, and when she walks toward you, grinning like an idiot, you’re nervous as shit but so damn excited you can barely stand it. The officiant’s some cool, laid-back guy you found online, keeping it short and sweet—no cheesy vows, just the basics, because you and Eunbi agreed you’d rather wing it than read some scripted crap. You slip the ring on her finger—a thin gold band with a tiny diamond she insisted on because “I’m not flashy, babe”—and she slides yours on, her hands steady even though her eyes are glistening.

You say “I do,” she says it back, and then you’re kissing her—harder than you probably should in front of everyone, but the cheers and whistles from your friends drown out any awkwardness. She’s laughing against your lips, and you pull her close, her body pressed against yours, and it’s like the world clicks into place. The reception’s a blur of good vibes—there’s a playlist blasting all her favorite songs, a mix of Iz*One, her solo hits and some random 2000s throwbacks you both love, and you’re dancing like idiots, her spinning you around until you’re dizzy. She’s giggling, tipsy on champagne, and you’re right there with her, sneaking kisses between bites of cake—chocolate with raspberry filling, her pick because she’s obsessed with anything sweet and tart. Her mom hugs you tight, whispering, “Take care of her, okay?” and your dad claps you on the back, grinning like he’s proud as hell. Eunbi’s dad just nods, all stoic, but you catch him smiling later when he thinks no one’s looking. Your mom’s crying, of course, and Eunbi teases her about it, which makes everyone laugh.

At one point, you snag a quiet moment—just you and her on the venue’s balcony, city lights sprawling out below, the air cool against your flushed skin. She’s leaning against the railing, dress fluttering in the breeze, and you wrap your arms around her from behind, chin on her shoulder. “This is real, huh?” you ask, because it still feels surreal—married to your best friend, the girl who once dared you to jump into a freezing lake just to see if you’d do it. She turns in your arms, looking up at you with those big, dark eyes, and nods. “Yeah, babe, it’s real—and I’m freaking out a little, but in a good way.” You laugh, kissing her forehead, then her nose, then her lips, soft and slow this time. “Me too. Nervous as shit, but excited. We’re in this together, right?” She smiles, that wide, goofy one that’s always gotten you, and says, “Always. We’ll figure it out—new life, new rules, whatever. Just don’t burn the house down trying to cook, okay?” You snort, because yeah, fair point, and pull her closer, her head tucking under your chin like it’s made to fit there.

The party winds down, friends stumbling out with hugs and sloppy goodbyes, and you’re left standing there with Eunbi, her hand in yours, rings glinting under the lights. You’re both a little buzzed, a little teary from the emotional rollercoaster, but so fucking happy it’s ridiculous. She drags you back inside to grab one last dance—some slow, sappy song she loves—and you sway together, her cheek against your chest, your arms tight around her. “You’re my husband now,” she murmurs, testing the word, and you grin, this dumb, lovesick thing that won’t leave your face. “And you’re my wife. Still can’t believe it.” She tilts her head up, kissing you deep, and it’s not just a kiss—it’s a promise, a kickstart to whatever this new chapter’s gonna be. The night ends with you driving back to her place—your place now, technically—her hand on your thigh, the city blurring past, and you’re both quiet, soaking it in. It’s the start of something huge, scary, thrilling, and you’re diving in headfirst, together, like you always have.

—

The first few weeks of married life with Eunbi are this weird, hilarious mix of disbelief and dumbassery, like neither of you can wrap your heads around the whole “husband and wife” thing. You’re stumbling over the words, especially when you’re drunk—slouched on the couch with a beer in hand, her giggling over a glass of wine, and you’ll slur out, “Hey, wife, pass me the remote,” and she’ll cackle, tossing a cushion at your face instead, yelling, “Shut up, husband, get it yourself!” It’s all a joke, this exaggerated play-acting that cracks you both up, but then there’s the sex—holy shit, the sex—and it’s like a whole other level of unreal. You’re fucking like newlyweds, which, duh, you are, but it’s not just hot—it’s mind-blowing, the kind of sex that leaves you both sweaty and panting, tangled in sheets, staring at the ceiling like what the fuck just happened? Afterward, though, it’s not just hormones—it’s this quiet, gooey moment where you’re lying there, her head on your chest, your fingers in her hair, and you’re hit with it: you’re in love, stupidly, totally in love. She’ll mumble something sleepy like, “You’re stuck with me now, babe,” and you’ll kiss her forehead, muttering back, “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” and it’s cheesy as hell but true.

Work’s a trip too—word got around fast that you’re hitched to Kwon Eunbi, the idol, and it’s this running gag now. Your coworkers rib you constantly, like, “How’s it feel being Mr. Superstar?” or “Dude, you’re living a K-drama,” you just laugh, grinning, because yeah, it’s wild, but you’re lowkey proud of it. Meanwhile, Eunbi’s in beast mode—working on her new solo album, late-night studio sessions and vocal takes, while filming some reality show where she’s probably charming the pants off everyone. She’s busy as fuck, always on the go, but when she comes home—your home now, her sleek apartment with the killer view—she’s all smiles, kicking off her sneakers and collapsing onto the couch with a dramatic groan. “Missed you, loser,” she’ll say, and you’re already there, tossing her a water bottle, rubbing her shoulders because she’s wrecked from dance practice. She takes care of you too—cooking ramen at 2 a.m. when you’re both starving, or dragging you to bed when you’ve been up too late scrolling Tiktok. You’re texting nonstop when she’s away—dumb memes, her sending selfies with captions like “Your wife’s hot, deal with it,” and you firing back, “Yeah, my husband’s a snack too, what’s new?” It’s this constant thread, keeping you tethered even when her schedule’s a nightmare.

Weeks bleed into months, and you settle into this rhythm that’s equal parts new and familiar. Waking up next to Eunbi is the best damn part of your day—her sleepy face is adorable, all puffy cheeks and half-open eyes, hair a tangled mess across the pillow. She’ll grumble something incoherent, swatting at you if you try to wake her too early, but then she’ll roll over, snuggling into your chest like she’s claiming you, and you’re just lying there, grinning like an idiot because this is your life now. Mornings are a vibe—she’ll shuffle around the apartment in a tank top and panties, legs bare, that perfect ass on display, and you can’t help yourself. You’ll catch her mid-pancake flip or while she’s brewing coffee, sliding up behind her, hands on her hips, kissing her neck until she squeals and shoves you off—except half the time she doesn’t, and it turns into more. “Babe, I’m gonna burn the eggs!” she’ll laugh, but then you’re spinning her around, pinning her against the counter, and breakfast’s forgotten. One thing leads to another—her legs wrapped around you, tank top shoved up, panties on the floor—and you’re fucking right there in the kitchen, her moaning into your mouth, messy and desperate like it’s still the honeymoon phase. The friendship’s still there, rock-solid, just layered with this new heat—she’ll still roast you for leaving socks everywhere, but now it’s followed by a kiss that lingers too long to be platonic.

The apartment’s your little bubble—her minimalist decor mixed with your random junk, like the beat-up guitar you insist you’ll learn to play someday, or the stack of takeout menus you’ve hoarded “just in case.” She’s got her awards lined up on a shelf, shiny reminders of her idol life, but she’s just as happy sprawled on the couch with you, bingeing some trashy Netflix show, her feet in your lap while you argue over who’d survive a zombie apocalypse. When she’s wiped from a long day—voice hoarse from recording, body aching from choreography—you’re there, running her a bath, making her laugh with dumb impressions until she’s relaxed again. She does the same for you—when work’s kicking your ass, she’ll show up with coffee and a playlist, pulling you out of your funk with that smile that’s always worked on you. Months in, it’s routine but never boring—waking up to her, trading texts, coming home to each other. The sex is still fire, the love’s deep, and the friendship? Stronger than ever, like marriage didn’t just add a ring but superglued what you already had.

—

After months of Eunbi being swallowed whole by her insane schedule—tour dates stacked back-to-back, promo shoots, and those late-night studio sessions that left her voice raspy and her texts to you half-asleep—you finally catch a break. Her new solo album’s a hit, the tour’s wrapped, and she’s got some rare free time stretching out ahead of her like a gift. You’re quick to cash in on it, begging your boss for that long-delayed vacation you’ve been sitting on forever, and when it’s approved, you don’t even hesitate—Paris. It’s been on Eunbi’s bucket list since you were just best friends, back when she’d sprawl across your couch with a bowl of popcorn, scrolling through Instagram, sighing over pics of the Eiffel Tower and croissants, saying, “One day, dude, I’m dragging you there with me.” Now, here you are, married to her, making it happen. You book the flights, snag a cute little Airbnb near Montmartre with a balcony that’s begging for lazy mornings, and when you land in the city of love, it’s like the universe hands you both a gold star—perfect weather, crisp and cool, with that golden Paris light making everything look like a postcard.

The first big stop is the Eiffel Tower, because, well, you can’t not. It’s this crisp afternoon, the kind where the wind’s just chilly enough to justify the scarf Eunbi insisted you pack, and she’s bouncing around like a kid, her puffy jacket zipped up tight, a beanie squashing her hair flat. She’s got her phone out, snapping pics like a tourist—selfies with the tower looming behind you, her dragging you into frame even though you’re grumbling about how you hate photos. “Babe, come on, we need this for the memories!” she says, grinning, and you can’t say no to that smile, so you let her pose you—arm around her waist, her leaning into you, the iron lattice of the tower stretching up into the sky as if it were the Eighth Wonder of the World. You take some too, catching her off-guard when she’s laughing at some dumb joke you made about the French berets, her eyes crinkling, cheeks pink from the cold. There’s this one shot—her dazzled by the view, smiling, hair flying in the wind, the tower sharp in the background—that you know’s going straight to your lockscreen when you’re back home. You climb up to the second level, her dragging you by the hand, and when you’re looking out over the city—Seine glittering below, all those rooftops sprawling out—she squeezes your fingers, whispering, “This is fucking unreal,” and you’re nodding, too choked up to say much because yeah, it is, and it’s her you’re here with.

Nights are for romantic dinners, and Paris delivers hard. You find this little bistro near the Seine, tucked away with ivy crawling up the walls, candles flickering on every table, and a menu that’s all in French but smells like heaven. Eunbi’s in this slinky black dress she packed “just in case,” and you’re in the one nice jacket you own, feeling like a king when she keeps stealing glances at you over her wine glass. The waiter’s rattling off specials in this thick accent, and you’re both pretending to understand, nodding like idiots until you just point at something with “canard” in it—duck, you figure—and hope for the best. It’s delicious, rich and tender, paired with this red wine she picked that’s got her giggling after two sips. “You’re my husband,” she says out of nowhere, twirling her fork, “and we’re in Paris—how did we get here?” You laugh, reaching across the table to grab her hand, thumb brushing her ring. “Beats me, but I’m not complaining.” The food keeps coming—crusty bread, some creamy soup she moans over, and a dessert that’s all chocolate and raspberries, which she feeds you a bite of, smirking when you get some on your chin. It’s intimate, easy, and you’re falling harder for her under the soft glow of the restaurant, the hum of French chatter around you making it feel like you’re in some dreamy movie.

You wander the city too—not just the big stuff, but the little streets, the ones with cobblestones and pastel storefronts selling macarons and flowers. She’s obsessed with the patisseries, dragging you into every one she spots, and you’re stuffed on croissants and éclairs by day three, but you don’t care because she’s licking powdered sugar off her fingers and laughing at you when you try to speak French to the cashier and butcher it. “Stick to English, babe,” she teases, but she’s proud anyway, you can tell. One evening, you’re strolling along the Champs-Élysées, lights twinkling, her arm looped through yours, and she stops to watch some street musician playing accordion. She’s swaying a little, humming along, and you pull her into this goofy slow dance right there on the sidewalk, people dodging around you, some smiling, some rolling their eyes. “You’re such a dork,” she mutters, but she’s grinning, her cheek pressed to your chest, and you feel like the luckiest guy alive.

Back at the Airbnb, it’s all cozy vibes—big windows letting in the night, a bottle of cheap wine you grabbed from a corner store, and her curled up against you on the tiny couch. You’re both buzzed, talking about everything—how she wants to come back for your anniversary, how you’re gonna frame that Eiffel Tower pic for the apartment. She’s in one of your hoodies, legs thrown over your lap, and you’re playing with her hair, twirling it around your fingers, when she looks up at you, all soft and serious. “I didn’t think I could love you more than I already did,” she says, voice quiet, “but this—us, here—it’s like… more.” You swallow hard, because fuck, you feel it too, this deep, steady thing that’s bigger than Paris, bigger than the wedding. “Same,” you say, leaning in to kiss her, slow and lazy, tasting wine and her, and it’s like every cheesy love song rolled into one perfect moment.

The days blur together—museums where she drags you to see Monet paintings and you pretend to get it, boat rides on the Seine where she’s snapping pics of you instead of the scenery, late mornings tangled in bed because neither of you wants to get up. You’re falling harder in the city of love, not just because it’s Paris, but because it’s her—Eunbi, your wife, the girl who’s always been it for you. By the time you’re packing to leave, suitcases stuffed with souvenirs and her whining about how she didn’t get enough macarons, you’re already planning the next trip. “We’re coming back,” she declares, zipping her bag, and you grin, pulling her into a hug. “Hell yeah, we are.”

—

You and Eunbi stumble through the door of your apartment, jet-lagged as hell from the Paris trip, dragging suitcases that feel like they’ve gained ten pounds from all the souvenirs and random shit you couldn’t resist buying. The flight back was a nightmare—turbulence, a crying baby two rows up, and Eunbi accidentally spilling her in-flight coffee on your lap—but you’re home now, and that’s all that matters. You’re both wrecked, clothes rumpled, eyes heavy, but there’s this quiet, happy buzz between you, like you’ve just pulled off something epic. Paris was a dream—croissants flaky enough to make you cry, the Eiffel Tower sparkling at night, Eunbi dragging you into every cute café she could find—and you’re still riding that high. After kicking off your shoes and leaving a trail of bags by the door, you both agree a bath’s non-negotiable. The tub’s big enough for two, thank God, and you sink into the hot water together, her back against your chest, steam curling up around you. She’s got her hair piled into a messy bun, and you’re just soaking there, letting the ache melt out of your bones, laughing about how she almost got pickpocketed by some slick dude near Notre-Dame but scared him off with her death glare. “I’m a badass, babe,” she says, smirking, and you kiss the top of her head, muttering, “Yeah, my badass wife.”

Clean and lazy, you flop onto the bed in nothing but towels, still damp, too tired to bother with clothes. The mattress feels like heaven after long hours of flying, and you grab your phone, scrolling through the Paris pics—Eunbi cheesing in front of the Louvre, you pretending to hold up the Arc de Triomphe, a blurry selfie of you two kissing on a Seine river cruise. She scoots closer, resting her chin on your shoulder, and you can feel her smiling against your skin. “Paris was my dream, you know,” she says, voice soft, “and doing it with you? Fucking perfect.” You turn your head, catching her eyes, and there’s this warm, mushy thing in your chest because yeah, it was perfect—wandering Montmartre, getting lost in those winding streets, her laughing so hard at your shitty French accent that wine came out her nose. But then she goes quiet, scrolling through more pics, and her vibe shifts—nostalgic, almost wistful. “Remember when we were just friends?” she starts, and you know she’s about to dive deep. “Like, all those late nights at my old place, me bitching about auditions, you bringing me ramen because I was too broke to eat out. I told you stuff I never told anyone—how scared I was I’d flop, how I thought I’d never make it. You just got me, always did, and I was so fucking blind to how obvious it was.”

You laugh, setting the phone down, rolling onto your side to face her. “Obvious, huh? Guess I was clueless too—thought you were just my annoying best friend who stole my fries and cried during horror movies.” She smacks your arm, grinning, but there’s this tenderness in her eyes. “We were idiots,” she says, “all those years, and it was right there. Like that time you stayed over after my first big show, sleeping on that shitty couch because you didn’t wanna leave me alone—I should’ve known then.” You nod, remembering—her buzzing with adrenaline, you half-dead from cheering so loud, crashing out with her head on your shoulder. “Yeah, or that time you dragged me to the beach at 3 a.m. just to scream at the ocean after that dickhead dumped you,” you add, and she snorts, burying her face in the pillow. “God, I was a mess. But you were there—always were.” It’s heavy, this trip down memory lane, but it’s sweet too, stitching together all those moments that led to now—married, in love, still the same dumbasses but better.

The next day, you’re up and at it, hitting the grocery store like some normal-ass couple, which still feels wild to you. Eunbi’s in a hoodie and sweats, hair tucked under a cap to dodge any fans, and you’re pushing the cart, bickering over whether to get the spicy ramen or the mild one. “You’re such a wimp,” she teases, tossing the spicy pack in, and you fire back, “Says the girl who cried eating hot wings last week.” She hip-checks you, laughing, and it’s easy, domestic, but then you’re in the cereal aisle, and she gets quiet again, picking up a box of Frosted Flakes like it’s a time machine. “Did you ever, like, feel something back then?” she asks, not looking at you, and you lean against the cart, thinking. “Yeah, sometimes,” you admit, “like when you’d hug me a little too long after a bad day, or that time you fell asleep on me during movie night—I’d catch myself staring, wondering, but I’d shove it down ‘cause I didn’t wanna fuck us up.” She nods, chewing her lip, then says, “Me too. That summer at the lake house, you in those stupid board shorts—I’d catch myself staring, thinking, ‘Shit, he’s hot,’ but I’d panic and pretend it was nothing.”

You laugh, loud enough that some old lady glares at you from the next aisle, and Eunbi shushes you, giggling. “We’re so dumb,” she says, but it’s fond, and you grab her hand, lacing your fingers through hers. “Guess we figured it out eventually,” you say, and she squeezes back, smiling. Then it shifts—future talk sneaking in over canned goods. “You think we’ll have kids someday?” she asks, casual but not, and you shrug, grabbing some soup. “Yeah, maybe—little terrors running around, half you, half me. They’d be cute as hell, though.” She grins, tossing in some pasta. “They’d get your dumb laugh and my killer vocals—unstoppable.” You’re both laughing now, plotting this hypothetical life—where you’ll live, how you’ll juggle her career, maybe a dog first because “practice parenting,” she says. It’s light but real, this shared dream unfolding between shelves of snacks and detergent.

—

You and Eunbi are knee-deep in moving boxes, the new apartment a chaotic sprawl of cardboard, bubble wrap, and random shit you didn’t even know you owned. It's an improved version of her old place, providing more space to build a future. The hardwood floors gleam under the afternoon sun, but right now, they’re a minefield of half-unpacked crap—your old gaming console tangled in cords, her collection of stage outfits spilling out of a suitcase, a lamp you’re pretty sure you broke two moves ago but keep hauling around anyway. She’s in cutoff shorts and one of your old tees, hair tied up in a sloppy ponytail, and you’re in sweats. Music’s blasting from her portable speaker, some upbeat pop track she’s humming along to, and you’re both trying to make this fun, even if you’re sweaty and half-dead from the effort.

“Pass me the scissors, babe,” she says, wrestling with a box labeled Kitchen Stuff in her stylized handwriting. You rummage through the mess on the counter, find them under a pile of takeout menus, and toss them her way—except your aim’s trash, and they clatter onto the floor, sliding under the fridge. She shoots you a look, one eyebrow cocked, and you grin, shrugging. “Oops, my bad—guess you’re diving for those.” She groans, dramatic as hell, and drops to her knees, fishing them out with a string of fake curses—“You’re useless, I swear”—but she’s laughing, and you’re laughing, and it’s this dumb, perfect chaos that’s so you two. You grab a box of books next, slicing it open with a pocketknife, and start stacking them on the shelf—your beat-up sci-fi novels next to her glossy idol photobooks, a weirdly cute mashup of your worlds. Then she yelps behind you, and you spin around to see her tangled in a string of fairy lights she was trying to hang. “Help me, you asshole!” she cries, flailing, and you rush over, untangling her while she’s giggling so hard she’s useless.

It’s a mess—boxes tipping over, you tripping on a stray sneaker and nearly face-planting into the couch, her dropping a mug that—thank fuck—doesn’t break but rolls under the coffee table instead. “We’re a disaster,” you say, crawling to grab it, and she’s sprawled on the floor, catching her breath, nodding. “Yeah, but we’re our disaster.” You finally get the mug, plop down next to her, and you’re both just sitting there, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes, the apartment looking like a tornado hit it. But it’s starting to feel like home—her vinyl records leaning against the wall, your dumb bobblehead collection on the windowsill, a framed pic of you two from Paris already up on the mantle. She hops up eventually, brushing off her shorts, and declares, “Break time—I’m not touching another box ‘til I’ve got something cold in my hand.” You follow her to the kitchen, where she digs out a bottle of lemonade she bought on the way here—tart and sweet, just how she likes it—and pours two glasses.

You crash on the couch, the one piece of furniture you’ve managed to set up right, and she flops next to you, legs slung over your lap. The lemonade’s perfect, cutting through the sticky heat of the day, and you both just sit there, sipping, staring out at the new place. “Not bad, huh?” you say, nodding at the view—tall buildings glinting in the sun, a sliver of green from some park nearby. She leans her head on your shoulder, glass sweaty in her hand, and hums. “Yeah, we did good, babe. This feels… right.” There’s this quiet pride in her voice, and you get it—new apartment, new chapter, all that sappy shit you’d never say out loud but totally feel. The boxes are still a nightmare, but the bones of the place are solid—open living room, a bedroom big enough for her to hog the bed like she always does, a little nook she’s already eyeing for her music gear. You’re pleased as hell, and she is too, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your arm like she’s content just being here with you.

Then she shifts, sitting up a little, and you can tell she’s got that look—the one where she’s about to drop some random thought that’s been bouncing around her head. “You know what’d make this place even better?” she says, smirking, and you raise an eyebrow, waiting. “A dog. Or maybe a cat. Something fuzzy to trip over all this crap we’re unpacking.” You laugh, because of course she’d go there—she’s been dropping pet hints since you got married, pointing at every dog on the street like a kid at a candy store. “A dog, huh? You gonna walk it when you’re filming at 3 a.m.?” you tease, and she shoves you, spilling a little lemonade on your shirt—oops, clumsy strikes again. “Okay, fine, a cat then—low maintenance, just sits there looking cute, like me,” she says, batting her lashes, and you snort, wiping at the wet spot. “You’re not low maintenance, babe, but I see your point. A cat could work—curl up on all these boxes we’re too lazy to finish.”

She grins, sipping her drink, and you’re both picturing it now—some fluffy little gremlin padding around, knocking over her awards or shedding on your couch. “We could name it something dumb,” you say, “like… Croissant, after Paris.” She cackles, nearly choking on her lemonade. “Croissant? Oh my god, yes—or Baguette, keep it French.” You’re cracking up, the kind of laughter that makes your stomach hurt, and it’s so easy, so you two. The apartment’s still a wreck, boxes everywhere, but it’s yours—hers and yours—and that’s enough. You lean over, kissing her quick, tasting lemonade on her lips, and she smiles against you, murmuring, “Love you, you dork.” “Love you too, klutz,” you shoot back, and you’re both just sitting there, happy as hell, plotting a future with a pet called Croissant (or Baguette).

—

Time slips by in this sneaky, quiet way, and before you even clock it, the new apartment’s not just a place with your stuff—it’s home. The boxes are long gone, replaced with little touches that scream you and Eunbi: her vinyls stacked by the record player, your dumb gaming chair shoved in the corner, a shelf of Polaroids from Paris and random nights out. The fairy lights she got tangled in that first day are strung up over the couch now, glowing soft at night when you’re bingeing shows or screwing around—sometimes literally. Croissant, the fluffy tabby cat you adopted a few months back, rules the place like a tiny dictator, knocking over coasters and napping on Eunbi’s laundry. You’ve settled into this rhythm—her coming home from shoots or studio sessions, you cooking something half-decent or ordering takeout when you’re both too wiped, the two of you texting dumb shit all day like “don’t forget cat food” or “miss u, loser.” It’s normal, cozy, and yours. Then, bam, it’s your first wedding anniversary, and you’re both looking at each other like, “Holy shit, we made it a year—how’d that happen?”

You’re at this swanky little restaurant for the occasion, tucked into a corner booth with dim lighting and candles flickering on the table, the kind of spot that’s romantic without being try-hard. Eunbi’s across from you, and—fuck—she’s stunning. She’s in this sleek black dress, sleeveless with a deep neckline that shows off her collarbones and just enough cleavage to make your brain stutter, the fabric hugging her curves like it’s custom-made. Her hair’s down, waves falling over her shoulders, and she’s got this subtle red lip thing going that’s driving you quietly insane. You’re in a dark button-up, sleeves rolled to your elbows because she said it makes you look “stupidly hot,” and you’re trying not to stare too hard, but it’s a losing battle. The waiter drops off a bottle of wine—some fancy-ass Pinot she picked—and you pour, clinking glasses with this goofy grin because you still can’t believe you’re married to her. “To us, babe,” you say, and she smirks, tapping her glass against yours. “To us—and to not killing each other over who gets the remote.” You laugh, sipping, and the wine’s smooth, warming you up as the night kicks off.

She’s glowing tonight, not just from the dress or the candlelight, but from this quiet happiness that’s been building since you tied the knot. You’d caught her interview earlier this week—some glossy magazine sit-down where she talked about married life, and she’d gone off about you in the best way. “He’s my rock,” she’d said, “keeps me sane when everything’s crazy—plus, he’s not bad to look at.” The host had laughed, and she’d added, “No, seriously, I lucked out—he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You’d read it on your lunch break, grinning like an idiot at your desk, and when you texted her, “Saw the interview, you’re too nice,” she’d shot back, “Just facts, babe—deal with it.” Now, sitting here, you bring it up, leaning in a little. “That interview you did? You made me sound like some perfect dude—my ego’s never recovering.” She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, twirling her wine glass. “Oh, please, you love it. And it’s true—you’re my favorite person, even when you’re hogging the blankets or leaving the wet towel on the bed.” You chuckle, reaching for her hand across the table, and she laces her fingers with yours, her thumb brushing your knuckles like it’s second nature.

The food comes—some fancy pasta for her, steak for you—and you’re digging in, trading bites like you always do, her stealing half your fries because “they taste better off your plate.” It’s easy, flirty, the kind of night where every look feels loaded. “You look fucking incredible tonight,” you say, and she smirks, leaning forward so the dress dips just enough to tease. “Thanks, husband—you clean up pretty nice yourself. Been thinking about jumping you since we left the house.” You nearly choke on your wine, laughing, and she’s got this wicked grin, loving how she still catches you off guard. “Keep talking like that, and we’re not making it to dessert,” you warn, and she shrugs, all innocent. “Who needs dessert when I’ve got you?” It’s cheesy, but it lands—your chest does that warm, tight thing it always does when she’s being cute and hot at the same time.

Between bites, you start tossing around plans for your next trip—anniversary’s got you both in this dreamy, let’s-do-something-big mood. “So, where we headed next, babe?” you ask, popping a fry into your mouth, and she lights up like you just handed her the keys to the world, setting her fork down with a little clink. “Okay, hear me out—I’ve been obsessed with the idea of Italy lately. Like, picture it: Rome, all that ancient ruin shit, pizza straight from Naples, maybe a boat ride in Venice.” You nod, already picturing it, your grin spreading wide. “Hell yeah—pasta every day, you in one of those flowy sundresses? I’m sold.” She laughs, sipping her wine, the sound bright and teasing. “You just wanna see my ass in something skimpy, don’t you, perv?” “Caught me,” you shoot back, winking, and she kicks you under the table—light, playful, but her foot lingers against your shin. “Guilty as charged,” you add, and she rolls her eyes, smirking.

“But real talk,” she says, leaning in a little, her voice dropping softer, “I love that we do this—jet off somewhere, make memories. Paris was unreal, but I’m itching to keep it going with you.” You squeeze her hand across the table, her fingers warm against yours, and you’re feeling all mushy inside. “Same, babe—anywhere, as long as I’ve got you with me.” She smiles, that soft, heart-melting one, but then she tilts her head, tapping her glass with a nail. “Okay, but what about Greece? Santorini’s been all over my feed—those white houses, blue roofs, insane sunsets. We could just chill on a beach, drink ouzo ‘til we’re stupid.” You lean back, chewing it over. “Fuck, that sounds dope—lounging on some cliff, staring at the ocean, you in a bikini? Yeah, I could get behind that.” She snorts, shaking her head. “You’re so predictable—always about the outfits.” “Can you blame me? You’d kill it,” you say, grinning, and she flicks a breadcrumb at you, laughing when it bounces off your chest.

“True, true—I’d rock a bikini or a toga, whatever vibe we’re going for,” she says, then takes another sip, her eyes glinting with ideas. “But what about Iceland? Kinda random, but hear me out—hot springs, northern lights, all that rugged, wild shit. We could rent one of those cozy cabins, fuck around in a geothermal pool.” You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Okay, damn, that’s a curveball—I’m picturing you naked in a hot spring, steam everywhere, me freezing my balls off ‘til I jump in with you. I’d be down.” She cackles, nearly choking on her wine. “You’d look so dumb shivering—‘save me, babe, I’m too pretty to die!’” she mimics, and you kick her back under the table, both of you cracking up. “Hey, I’d make it sexy—you’d be all over me,” you say, and she shrugs, smirking. “Maybe. But Italy’s still my top pick—gelato on the Spanish Steps, you trying to pronounce ‘carbonara’ and butchering it. I need that in my life.”

You laugh, picturing it—her in sunglasses, licking a cone, you stumbling over Italian like an idiot. “Alright, Italy’s got my vote too—Rome’s got that Colosseum vibe, and I’d kill for some real-deal pizza. But Greece is tempting—could do both, you know, hop from pasta to tzatziki.” She tilts her head, considering it, then nods. “Ooh, a double whammy—greedy, but I like it. We could start in Rome, eat our weight in carbs, then bounce to Santorini for the beach-and-booze combo. You’d look hot with a tan, babe.” “And you’d look hotter soaking it up—deal,” you say, squeezing her hand again, and she leans forward, her foot sliding up your calf now, teasing. “You’re just imagining me half-naked everywhere, huh?” “Pretty much,” you admit, grinning, and she kicks you again, harder this time, but her laugh says she’s right there with you.

“Seriously, though,” she says, her voice softening, eyes locking on yours over the candlelight, “I love this—us planning shit, going places. Paris was fucking magic, but wherever we end up next, I just want it to be you and me, making it ours.” You feel that sappy warmth bloom in your chest again, her words hitting deep, and you rub your thumb over her knuckles. “Same, babe—doesn’t matter if it’s Italy, Greece, Iceland, wherever. You’re my vibe, my home—gonna keep chasing that with you.” She smiles, big and real.

And that's how the night goes on, slow and sweet—more wine, her laughing at your dumb jokes, you sneaking glances at how the candlelight catches her eyes. She’s talking about her solo album, how the reality show’s a pain but worth it, and you’re just listening, smitten, because she’s so her—driven, funny, gorgeous. “You’re proud of me, right?” she asks out of nowhere, and it’s so sudden you almost fumble your glass. “Are you kidding? Fuck yeah, I’m proud—watching you kill it out there, then come home to me? You’re unreal.” Her smile goes soft, a little shy, and she leans over the table, kissing you quick but deep, the taste of wine on her lips. “Love you,” she whispers, and you murmur it back, “Love you too,” feeling like the luckiest bastard alive.

—

You stumble into the apartment with Eunbi, the door barely clicking shut before the vibe shifts—there’s this thick, electric tension crackling between you, built up from the whole ride home. It started at the restaurant, those flirty little jabs over dinner, her foot brushing your leg under the table, but the car ride? That’s where it kicked into overdrive. She’d leaned over at a red light, smirking, whispering, “You keep looking at me like that, babe, and we’re not making it to the bed,” and you’d fired back, “Try me—I’ve got plans for that dress.” Now, the air’s buzzing as you kick off your shoes by the door, her tossing her purse onto the counter with a clatter, Croissant darting out of the way like he knows shit’s about to go down. You’re both giggling, a little tipsy from the wine, but it’s more than that—it’s the heat, the want, the way she’s glancing over her shoulder at you like she’s daring you to make the first move. You head for the bedroom, already peeling off your blazer, letting it flop onto the chair in the corner, and she’s right behind you, kicking off her heels one by one, the soft thud of them hitting the hardwood echoing in the quiet.

You’re loosening your tie, watching her in the mirror as she fumbles with her second shoe, and you can’t help yourself—you step closer, hands sliding around her waist, lips brushing her neck. “You’re taking too long,” you murmur, voice low, and she laughs, swatting at you half-heartedly. “Chill, babe, I’m—oh, fuck it,” she says, turning in your arms, and before you know it, she’s shrugging out of that black dress like it’s nothing. It pools at her feet, and—holy shit—she’s standing there in lingerie, this lacy red set that’s all straps and sheer fabric, hugging her curves in a way you weren't prepared for. You’re frozen for a hot second, and then she’s on you, hands grabbing your face, kissing you hard. Her lips crash into yours, red lipstick smearing across your mouth, and she’s climbing you like a tree—legs wrapping around your waist, pushing you back toward the bed. “I’ve been horny all fucking night,” she breathes against your lips. You stumble, hitting the mattress with her on top, and she’s straddling you, hair falling wild around her face, lipstick marks blooming on your cheek, your jaw, everywhere.

“Jesus, Eunbi,” you manage, laughing a little, hands gripping her hips as she grinds down just enough to make you groan. “You’re a menace—you know that dress was killing me, right?” She smirks, and starts unbuttoning your shirt with quick, eager fingers. “Good, that was the point—now get this off, I need you naked, like, yesterday.” You help her out, shrugging the shirt off your shoulders, tossing it somewhere—fuck if you care where—and then you’re pulling her down, kissing her back, hungry and messy. Your lips find her jaw, her throat, that soft spot under her ear that makes her shiver, and you’re murmuring against her skin, “You’re so fucking beautiful—hot as hell, babe.” She moans softly, and you keep going, kissing down her neck, her collarbone, tasting the salt of her skin, the faint floral of her perfume. Your hands roam—over her back, her ass, squeezing through the lace, loving every inch of her like she’s a goddamn miracle, which, yeah, she is.

She pushes you back, flattening you against the bed with this look in her eyes—half-lidded, wild, all in charge. “Stay,” she says, like you’re her personal plaything, and you’re not arguing—why would you? Her hands are on your belt now, fumbling with the buckle, and you lift your hips to help her out, grinning as she curses under her breath. “Why are these so complicated—there, got it,” she mutters, yanking the belt free, and then she’s tugging your pants down, taking your boxers with them in one impatient pull. They hit the floor, and you’re bare under her, cock hard and twitching as she sits back, straddling your thighs. She wraps her hand around your cock, stroking slow and deliberate, her thumb brushing the tip just to fuck with you, and she’s staring—straight into your eyes, unblinking, like she’s memorizing every hitch in your breath. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this,” she says, and then she leans down, lips hovering over you. You hold your breath, and she gives the tip this gentle, teasing kiss—barely there, but enough to make your hips jerk, a low groan spilling out before you can stop it.

She pulls back, smirking at the mess she’s already making of you, red lipstick smudged from all the kissing, her lingerie a stark contrast against the pale sheets. “Been thinking about this all night,” she admits, stroking you again, her grip tightening just enough to drive you nuts, and you’re gripping the bedspread, trying to keep it together. “Yeah?” you rasp, voice rough, “Same—couldn’t stop watching you, thinking about getting you home.” She laughs, this low, sultry sound, and shifts closer, her thighs brushing yours, the lace of her bra scratching faintly against your chest when she leans in. “Well, we’re here now, babe—so what’re we gonna do about it?” she asks, then she leans in, breath hot against the tip, and you feel the first brush of her lips—soft, barely there, a tease that’s got your hips shifting impatiently. “Relax, babe,” she murmurs, “I’ve got you all night.”

She starts slow, like she’s testing the waters, her tongue flicking out to swirl around the head, wet and warm. You groan, low and rough, hands fisting the sheets. She takes her time, lips wrapping around the tip, sucking gently, just enough to make your head spin but nowhere near enough to satisfy. Her eyes flick up to meet yours, dark and playful under those long lashes, and she smirks around you, knowing exactly what she’s doing—drawing it out, making you squirm. “You’re so fucking cute when you’re desperate,” she says, pulling off for a second, her hand pumping you in this lazy rhythm while spit glistens on her lips. You open your mouth to fire back, but then she dives in again, and whatever smartass reply you had dies in your throat.

She slides her mouth down further now, taking you in deeper, her tongue flat against the underside, pressing hard enough to make your toes curl. It’s wet, messy, the sound of it—soft little sucks, the slick slide of her lips—mixing with your ragged breathing, filling the room. Her hair’s falling forward, brushing your thighs, and you reach down, threading your fingers through it, not pushing, just holding on because you need something to ground you. She hums, this pleased little noise that vibrates through you, and shifts her weight, one hand bracing on your hip while the other grips the base of your cock, guiding it exactly where she wants it. She’s teasing still, not going all in, bobbing her head slow and shallow, lips stretching around you, leaving red streaks from that lipstick she knows drives you wild. “Fuck, you’re so good at this,” you rasp, voice scraping out, and she pulls off just enough to flash you a grin, spit-slick and smug. “Yeah? You’re welcome, babe—been dying to taste you all night.”

Then she dives back in, and this time she’s not playing around—she takes you deeper, throat relaxing as she swallows you down, inch by inch, until her nose is brushing your skin and you’re seeing stars. It’s tight, hot, her tongue working in these lazy, filthy swirls that make your hips buck involuntarily. She gags a little, just once, but doesn’t stop—pulls back slightly, then goes again, deeper still, like she’s determined to take all of you. You’re a wreck, groaning her name, “Eunbi—shit,” and she’s loving it, you can tell—her eyes water a bit, but she’s locked on you, watching every twitch, every gasp, feeding off how gone you are. Her hand’s moving too, stroking what her mouth can’t reach, twisting just right.

You tug her hair a little, not hard, just enough to get her to look up again, and when she does—fuck, that sight. Her lips stretched around you, cheeks hollowed, eyes glassy with lust and effort—it’s pornographic, but it’s more than that, it’s her, giving you everything like it’s her goddamn mission. She pulls off for a breath, panting, her hand still working you, slick and fast, and she’s grinning, all proud and messy. “You taste so fucking good,” she says, voice wrecked, and then she’s licking you, long, slow stripes from base to tip, like she’s worshipping every inch. You’re shaking, thighs flexing under her, and she just keeps going—sucks the head again, harder this time, then slides down, swallowing deep, her throat fluttering around you. It’s overwhelming, and she’s relentless, switching between teasing little licks and full-on deep-throating like she’s trying to unravel you piece by piece.

Now she shifts lower, her lips brushing down past your shaft like she’s exploring every damn inch of you. She gets to your balls, and—fuck—she doesn’t hesitate, taking one into her mouth with this slow, deliberate pull that’s got your back arching off the sheets. Her tongue’s swirling, wet and warm, and she’s sucking just hard enough to make your head spin, a low groan ripping out of you before you can stop it. She pops off, grinning up at you, spit shining on her lips. “God, babe, I fucking love your cock—like, I’m obsessed with it, with you.” She dives back in, licking them sloppy and slow, her hands stroking your thighs, and you can feel the drool dripping down, leaving everything slick and messy in the best way. “You’re so perfect,” she mumbles against you, sucking the other one now, her tongue flicking in this filthy little dance that’s got you shaking. “I could do this all night—fuck, I’d live down here if you let me.”

She’s relentless, leaving your balls soaked and heavy, and you’re barely coherent, hands tangled in her hair, tugging just to feel her moan against you. Then she pulls back, sitting up on her knees, and you’re still catching your breath when she hooks her fingers into the sides of her red lace panties. She tugs them aside, not even bothering to take them off, the fabric stretching tight against her hip as she exposes herself—glistening, wet, ready. She climbs up your body, straddling you again, her thighs flexing as she positions herself right over your cock, and you can feel the heat radiating off her before she even touches you. “Wait—babe, no condom,” you say, voice rough, half-lost in the haze but still aware enough to clock it. She freezes for a second, looking down at you with those dark, hungry eyes, and shakes her head. “Don’t need it,” she says, firm, desperate, “I want you raw—need it, babe, I’m so fucking horny I can’t think straight.” You blink, brain scrambling to catch up, and choke out, “You sure? Like, really sure?” because this is big—first time without that barrier, and you’re not about to fuck this up.

She leans down, hands braced on your chest, her face so close her breath’s hot against your lips. “Yes, I’m sure—you’re the man of my life, my husband, nothing’s more important than this, than you.” Her voice is all heat, full of conviction, and it hits you square in the chest—lust, yeah, but something deeper too, that trust you’ve built over years crashing into this moment. She’s practically vibrating with want, her nails digging into your skin, and you nod, hands sliding to her hips. “Okay, fuck—let’s do it,” you say, and her grin’s pure fire, wild and needy. She doesn’t waste a second—lines you up, the tip of your cock brushing her entrance, and then she sinks down, slow at first, taking you in inch by inch. Holy shit—it’s different, raw, the heat of her pussy bare around you, no latex in the way, and it’s like your whole nervous system lights up. She’s tight, wetter than ever, and the feeling’s so intense you gasp, fingers gripping her ass.

“Oh my god,” she moans, loud and unfiltered, head tipping back as she bottoms out, her thighs trembling against your sides. “Fuck, babe, you feel—so—fucking—good,” she stutters, rocking her hips a little, adjusting, and you can feel every pulse, every flutter of her around you—it’s unreal, addictive. “You’re huge—shit, I can’t get enough,” she pants, and she’s already moving, lifting up just to slam back down, her hands splayed on your chest for balance. You groan, deep and guttural, because this—this is next-level, the slick, hot slide of her taking you raw, her walls gripping you like she’s claiming you all over again. “Eunbi—fuck, you’re killing me,” you manage, and she laughs, this breathy, horny sound that’s a synthesis of lust and power. “Good,” she says, “I want you wrecked—been thinking about this all night, feeling you bare inside me.”

You’re mesmerized, watching her—lipstick-smeared mouth parted, eyes half-shut, her body moving like sin itself. “You’re so fucking hot,” you say, hands roaming up her back. She leans down, kissing you sloppy and deep, tongue tangling with yours as she grinds down. “Love you—love this,” she murmurs against your lips, and then she’s off again, sitting up, riding you harder, like she’s trying to break you, her hips slamming down with this relentless, hungry rhythm, and the raw heat of her pussy—bare, tight, and so fucking wet—has you teetering on the edge of sanity. You’re lost in it, hands gripping her ass, feeling her clench around you with every thrust, when you slide your fingers up her back, fumbling with the clasp of that red lace bra. It’s been taunting you all night, barely holding her in, and now you’re done waiting. The hooks pop free, and she shrugs it off quick, letting it fall on the bed like it’s nothing. Her big tits spill out, heavy and perfect, bouncing with every move she makes, and—fuck—you can’t take your eyes off them. They’re gorgeous, full and round, nipples already hard and begging for attention, and you can’t help yourself. “Goddamn, babe, I fucking love your tits,” you say, voice rough with want, staring up at her like she’s a goddess—which, let’s be real, she is. She smirks down at you, smug and horny, and leans closer, her voice dripping with heat. “They’re all yours, babe—always have been.”

You reach up, hands greedy, cupping them as she keeps riding you, her skin soft and warm under your palms. They fill your hands perfectly, heavy and plush, and you squeeze, thumbs brushing over her nipples because you know how sensitive they are, how they drive her wild. She gasps, this sharp little sound that shoots straight to your dick, and her pace falters for a second, hips stuttering as you tease her. “Fuck—yes, play with them,” she moans, arching her back to push them closer, and you’re in heaven, kneading them, rolling her nipples between your fingers until they’re tight little peaks. She’s panting now, her nails digging into your chest, leaving half-moon marks, and you can feel her getting wetter, slicker, her thighs trembling against you. “You love that, huh?” you say, grinning, voice all gravel and lust. “Love how I can’t get enough of these perfect fucking tits.” She nods, breathless, and bites her lip, that red lipstick smudged and sexy as hell. “Yeah—fuck, I love it—keep going, babe, don’t stop.”

Then she shifts, slowing her hips just enough to lean forward, dangling those heavy breasts right in your face like an offering. “Suck them,” she says, more like a command than a request, and you don’t need to be told twice. You lift your head, wrapping your lips around one nipple, sucking hard, tongue flicking over the sensitive tip, and she moans—loud, shameless, this sound that’s pure sex. Her tits are so full, so soft against your mouth, and you’re obsessed—sucking one, then the other, tasting her skin, feeling her shiver as you tease with your teeth, just a graze because you know it makes her crazy. “Fuck, yes—harder,” she gasps, her hands in your hair, pulling you closer, and you oblige, sucking deeper, your tongue swirling, lips tugging until she’s squirming, her breath hitching like she’s about to lose it. “You’re so fucking good at that,” she pants, her hips grinding down on you again, slower now but deeper, like she’s savoring every inch of you inside her.

You switch, taking the other nipple into your mouth, one hand squeezing the free one, rolling the wet peak between your fingers, and she’s a mess—head tipped back, hair spilling wild, moaning your name like a prayer. “God, babe, your mouth—fuck, I could ride you all night just for this,” she says, and you groan against her, the vibration making her gasp again. You pull back for a second, just to look—her tits glistening with your spit, flushed from the attention, nipples swollen and red—and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. “You’re so fucking sexy,” you tell her, kissing the valley between them, then licking a slow stripe up to her collarbone. “These tits—they’re mine, yeah? All fucking mine.” She nods, desperate, leaning down to kiss you, sloppy and deep, her tongue tangling with yours as she grinds harder. “All yours—always,” she whispers against your lips, then pulls back, offering them again, pressing them into your face. “Suck them more—please, babe, need it.”

You dive back in, hungry, sucking one nipple while pinching the other, and she’s riding you again, her pussy so wet you can feel it dripping down your thighs, soaking the sheets. She’s loud—moaning, cursing, this stream of dirty talk spilling out like she can’t help it. “Fuck, you feel so good inside me—love your cock, love your mouth—gonna fuck you ‘til I can’t walk,” she says, and you’re matching her energy, thrusting up to meet her, hands full of her tits, squeezing as you suck, tongue flicking fast. Her breathing’s ragged, her body trembling, and you can tell she’s losing herself in it—libido dialed up to a hundred, chasing that high with you. You bite down, just a little, and she cries out, this raw, needy sound that’s got you feral, sucking harder, loving her with every flick, every thrust, every filthy word bouncing between you. She’s all yours, and she’s making damn sure you know it—riding you raw, tits in your face, owning this night like it’s hers to take.

“Fuck, babe, your cock’s so good,” she groans, her hands braced on your chest for leverage as she grinds down harder. Then she looks down at you, eyes dark and glassy, and smirks, panting, “I’m already close—wanna make your wife cum, huh?” It’s half a taunt, half a plea, and it lights you up like a match to gasoline. “Fuck yes,” you say, voice rough, hands sliding up her thighs, “wanna feel you lose it all over me.”

She grins, this wicked, horny flash of teeth, but before she can ride herself over the edge, you take charge—grabbing her hips, flipping her onto her side in one smooth move. It’s a position you know she loves—spooning her from behind, one arm hooked under her leg to lift it just enough, giving you all the access you need. She twists her head back to look at you, all flushed and needy, and you dive in, kissing her neck, lips dragging slow and wet over that sensitive spot that always makes her shiver. “Goddamn, you’re perfect,” you murmur against her skin, hands roaming up to her tits, squeezing them hard as you thrust into her, deep and steady. They fill your palms, soft and heavy, nipples still swollen from earlier, and you can’t get over how much you love them—love her. “I fucking love you, Eunbi—so much,” you say, and she moans, this soft, broken sound that hits you right in the chest. “Love you too—fuck, don’t stop,” she breathes, turning her head more, catching your lips in a kiss.

You’re pounding into her now, her pussy so wet it’s obscene—slick sounds mixing with her gasps, her walls fluttering around you like she’s right on the edge. Your hand’s still on her tit, kneading it, thumb flicking the nipple just to hear her whimper, while your other arm’s wrapped around her, holding her tight against you. She’s kissing you back, messy and fierce, her tongue sliding against yours, her teeth grazing your lip as she moans into your mouth. “So good—fuck, you’re so deep,” she pants between kisses, her voice shaking, and you can tell she’s close—her breathing’s all ragged, her body tensing, thighs trembling against you. You slide a hand down her stomach, fingers finding her clit, and she jolts, a sharp “Oh—shit!” spilling out as you start rubbing, slow circles at first, teasing her. “Yeah, babe, right there—fuck, you know me so well,” she groans, her head tipping back against your shoulder, giving you more of her neck to kiss, to bite, as you pick up the pace.

Your fingers are relentless now, rubbing her clit faster, slick and swollen under your touch, and she’s losing it—moaning loud, no filter, just pure, horny need. “Gonna—fuck, I’m gonna—” she stutters, words cutting off as you thrust harder, angling just right to hit that spot inside her that makes her see stars. Your lips are on her neck, sucking a mark into her skin, and you growl against her, “Come on, babe—cum for me, let me feel my wife fall apart.” She’s kissing you again, frantic, her hand grabbing yours on her clit to press it harder, guiding you. “Yes—yes—fuck, right there!” she cries, and then she’s done for—her whole body locks up, shuddering hard against you, her pussy clenching tight around your cock as she cums, wave after wave ripping through her.

She’s trembling, gasping, her walls pulsing around you so hard it’s like she’s trying to pull you in deeper, and you don’t let up—fucking her through it, slower now but still deep, your fingers still teasing her clit until she’s squirming, oversensitive and wrecked. “Oh my god—babe, fuck,” she pants, turning her head to kiss you again, softer this time, but still sloppy, her tongue weak from how hard she just came. You pull your hand off her clit, wrapping it around her waist instead, holding her close as you kiss her back, tasting the sweat on her lips, the raw need still lingering there. “You’re so fucking hot when you cum,” you murmur, nipping at her jaw, and she laughs, this shaky, blissed-out sound, her chest heaving against you. “Only for you, babe—shit, you’re too good at this,” she says, voice hoarse and satisfiedll.

You slide your cock out of her, slow and deliberate, and she lets out this soft, needy whimper, her body twitching like she’s already missing you inside her. You climb up, hovering over her, and kiss her deep—lips crashing together. Her hands grab at your shoulders, pulling you closer, and she’s kissing you back like she’s starved for it, her breath hot against your mouth. “Fuck, babe,” she pants when you pull back, “I’m never using a condom with you again—shit, that was too good. Why the hell didn’t we do this sooner?” Her words hit hard, your cock throbbing hard, already aching to get back inside her, and you groan, nodding. “Yeah, fuck condoms—your pussy’s too hot, too tight bare. Can’t believe we waited this long.”

She smirks up at you, all lazy and satisfied but still burning with that wild edge, her eyes flicking down to where your cock’s hovering just above her. You shift, brushing the tip against her entrance—slow, teasing, dragging it through her slick folds—and she whimpers again, hips twitching up like she’s desperate for it. “Still horny,” she murmurs, voice soft but loaded with want, her fingers digging into your arms. You grin, leaning down to nip at her ear, your breath hot against her skin. “Then beg for it, babe—beg for my cock like a good girl.” She shudders under you, and—fuck—when she starts talking, it’s like gasoline on the fire in your gut. “Please, babe—please fuck me,” she says, eyes locked on yours, wide and pleading. “Need your cock so bad—want you raw, want you deep, please.” It’s filthy and hot, and your dick pulses in your hand, rock-hard and ready, just from hearing her like that—your wife, begging for you like she’s losing her mind.

But she doesn’t stop there—she’s too far gone, too horny, too slutty. “Fuck me hard,” she demands, her tone shifting, sharper now, commanding, her legs spreading wider like she’s daring you to hold back. “Want your cum inside me—need it, babe, fill my fucking womb with your thick cum.” That’s it—that breed kink she’s throwing at you, raw and unfiltered, and it’s got your cock throbbing so hard you can feel your pulse in it, your whole body lit up with horny, primal need. “Keep going,” you growl, teasing her entrance more, sliding the tip in just an inch then pulling back, making her squirm. “Tell me how bad you want it.” She moans, frustrated and desperate, her hands clawing at your back, leaving red streaks. “Goddamn it, I want it so bad—fuck me ‘til I can’t walk, babe, pump me full—please, I need your cock, need you to fuck me raw and hard, want your cum dripping out of me.” You can’t resist her anymore—she’s got you hooked, and you’re ready to give her everything.

You line up, gripping her hips, and slam into her—no warning, no easing in, just a hard, deep thrust that makes her scream, this raw, guttural sound that bounces off the walls. Her pussy’s tight, hot, and so fucking wet, swallowing you whole, and you don’t hold back—pounding into her with a rhythm that’s fast and brutal, the bed shaking under you. “Fuck, yes—like that!” she yells, her voice breaking, hands flying to the headboard to brace herself as you rail her, her tits bouncing wildly with every slap of your hips against hers. You lean down, kissing her neck, biting just hard enough to leave marks, and she’s moaning, arching into you, her walls clenching tight like she’s already chasing that next high. “You’re so fucking perfect,” you growl against her skin, one hand sliding up to squeeze her tit again, thumb flicking her nipple as you fuck her senseless. “Gonna give you what you want—gonna fuck you raw ‘til you’re full of me.”

She’s kissing you back now, sloppy and frantic, her tongue tangling with yours as she moans into your mouth, her legs hooking around your waist to pull you deeper. “Harder—fuck, harder,” she gasps, breaking the kiss, her nails raking down your back, and you oblige—slamming into her so hard the headboard bangs against the wall, a steady thud-thud-thud that matches her cries. Her pussy’s loud—wet, squelching sounds every time you bury yourself in her, and she’s dripping, soaking your thighs, the sheets, everything. “Love this—love you—fuck, don’t stop,” she pants, her voice all over the place, needy and fierce, and you can feel her getting close again, her body tensing, her breath hitching. You slide a hand down, rubbing her clit fast and rough, and she bucks against you, whimpering, “Yes—fuck, right there—gonna lose it again.” You’re relentless, pounding her into the mattress, loving the way she’s unraveling—your wife, your horny, insatiable wife, begging for your cock, your cum, like it’s all she’s ever wanted.

Sweat’s dripping down your back, her legs locked around your hips, pulling you in deeper with every brutal thrust, and you can feel it building, that tight coil in your gut winding up fast. “Fuck, babe, I’m close,” you groan, voice ragged, and her eyes light up, wild and hungry, like that’s the magic word she’s been waiting for. She’s already a mess—hair plastered to her forehead, red lipstick smeared across her lips and your neck, tits bouncing hard from how rough you’re going—but hearing you’re close flips a switch in her. She moans, loud and desperate, and suddenly she’s moving, pushing against your chest with this frantic energy. “Get on your back—now,” she demands, and before you can process it, she’s shifting her weight, shoving you down flat on the bed. You hit the mattress with a grunt, and she’s on top of you in a flash, straddling you, her thighs clamping tight around your hips like she’s claiming you all over again.

She doesn’t waste a second—grabs your cock, slick with her juices, and lines it up, sinking down hard, taking you to the hilt in one smooth, greedy drop. “Fuck—yes,” she gasps, head thrown back, and then she’s riding you, bouncing with this fierce, relentless rhythm that’s got the whole room shaking. Her tits swing wild above you, heavy and perfect, and you grab her hips, digging your fingers into her flesh, thrusting up to meet her every time she slams down. “Cum for me, babe—cum with me,” she pants, her voice breaking, eyes locked on yours, dark and pleading. “I want it—want you to fill me up.” Your cock throbs hard at that, and you groan, gripping her tighter. “Gonna give you so much cum, babe—promise you’ll get it all,” you say, and she nods, frantic, her nails raking your chest. “That’s all I want—fuck, just you, all of you,” she moans, and then she’s leaning forward, one hand planting on your neck, fingers curling just enough to squeeze, this light pressure that makes your head spin and your dick pulse even harder inside her.

She’s riding you like a woman possessed now, hips slamming down with wet, filthy slaps, her pussy so soaked you can feel it dripping down your thighs, pooling on the sheets. “Breed me,” she says, voice low and dirty, and that hits you in a way you weren't expecting, your whole body lighting up with raw, primal want. “Fuck, I need it—want you to breed me, babe, pump me full,” she begs, bouncing harder, her hand tightening on your neck, and you’re gone. “Yeah? Want me to knock you up?” you growl, thrusting up harder, your hands sliding to her ass, spanking her once just to hear her yelp. “Gonna fill this tight little pussy—breed my slutty wife like she deserves.” She moans louder, this wild, unhinged sound, and squeezes your neck a little more, her eyes rolling back. “Yes—fuck, yes—do it, breed me, make me yours forever,” she chants, her voice shaking with how bad she wants it, and it’s pushing you right to the edge.

“Keep talking,” you rasp, voice thick with lust, and she does—oh, she fucking does. “Cum in me—fucking breed me, babe, want your cum so deep I can feel it for days,” she demands, her hips grinding down, circling just to tease you, her pussy clenching tight like she’s trying to squeeze the life out of you. “Make me drip with it—fuck, I need it, need you to fill me up, give me everything.” Her hand’s steady on your neck, not choking, just holding you there, pinning you under her as she rides you harder, her tits bouncing in your face, her thighs trembling from the effort. You’re thrusting up to match her, slamming into her so hard the headboard’s banging again, and you’re growling, “Gonna breed you so good—fill that pussy ‘til it’s overflowing, babe, you’re mine.” She’s losing it, whimpering and gasping, her walls fluttering like she’s about to break again, and you can feel yourself tipping over, the heat pooling fast, your cock throbbing inside her with every filthy word.

“I’m gonna cum—fuck, do it, breed me now!” she moans, loud and desperate, her hand slipping from your neck to brace on your chest as she bounces even harder, her pussy so wet it’s obscene, squelching loud with every thrust. You grab her hips, yanking her down one last time, burying yourself as deep as you can go, and—fuck—it happens. You explode inside her, hot and thick, pulsing hard, flooding her pussy with everything you’ve got. It’s intense, raw, this primal rush of unloading bare into your wife for the first time, and she feels it—gasps sharp, her eyes going wide, then squeezing shut as she screams, “Yes—fuck, yes!” Her body shakes, convulsing as she cums too, her pussy clamping down tight, milking you for every last drop like she’s determined to drain you dry. You’re still pumping into her, thick spurts spilling out, and it’s a lot—more than you expected—coating her insides, seeping out around your cock where you’re still buried deep.

She’s trembling hard, collapsing forward onto your chest, her breath hot and ragged against your skin, and you wrap your arms around her, holding her tight as she shudders through the aftershocks. “Fuck—babe, I feel it—feel you,” she pants, voice breaking with this mix of awe and satisfaction, her hips twitching like she’s still chasing it, still squeezing you inside her. Your cock’s softening but still nestled in her, and you can feel the mess—your cum dripping out, slick and warm, pooling where you’re joined. “Love you—fuck, I love you so much,” she murmurs, her lips brushing your collarbone, and you pull her closer, kissing the top of her head, your voice rough but soft. “Love you too, babe—always.” She shifts, just enough to look up at you, her eyes hazy but glowing, a tired, blissed-out smile tugging at her lips, and you’re both just lying there, tangled up, sweaty and spent, your cum still leaking out of her pussy onto the sheets.

“That was—fuck, insane,” she whispers, her voice hoarse from all the moaning, and you nod, running your fingers through her hair, still damp with sweat. “Yeah—best anniversary ever,” you say. She nuzzles into you, murmuring, “Gonna want that again—raw, full of you."

Your cock’s still inside her, softening now, and you can feel the sticky mess of your cum and her wetness seeping out, pooling on the sheets beneath you. It’s quiet, just the sound of your breathing syncing up, the faint hum of the city outside the window, and Croissant probably prowling around somewhere in the apartment. You’re both spent, limbs heavy, but there’s this glow between you—raw, real, like you’ve just peeled back another layer of each other. You run your fingers through her tangled hair, brushing it back from her face, and she hums, nuzzling closer, her lips brushing your collarbone in this lazy, affectionate way. “Fuck, babe, I could stay like this forever,” she mumbles, voice all hoarse and sleepy, and you chuckle, kissing the top of her head. “Yeah, me too—but we’re a mess, and these sheets are screaming for mercy.”

She groans, dramatic as hell, shifting just enough to look up at you with those hazy, post-sex eyes, her cheeks still flushed. “Ugh, don’t make me move—I’m dead, you killed me with that dick.” You laugh, and nudge her side. “Come on, you’ll thank me later. Hot bath, you and me, clean slate—sounds good, right?” She squints at you, pretending to think it over, then flops back down with a huff. “Too lazy—carry me or I’m not going.” You sigh but you’re grinning, because this is Eunbi—stubborn, bratty, and all yours. “Fine, princess,” you say, and with a grunt, you scoop her up, her legs dangling over your arm as you haul her off the bed. She yelps, clinging to your neck, and you can feel the wet mess of her pussy against your skin as you carry her, your cum still dripping out of her, leaving a trail you’ll deal with later.

You make it to the bathroom, kicking the door open with your foot, and set her down on the edge of the tub. She’s still pouting, arms crossed like she’s mad you made her move, but her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile. You turn on the faucet, hot water rushing out, steam curling up into the air, and grab that fancy lavender bath bomb she loves—the one she says makes her feel “expensive.” “You’re spoiling me now,” she teases, watching you drop it in, the water fizzing purple and bubbling up fast. “Only the best for my wife,” you shoot back, winking, and she finally cracks, that big, goofy grin breaking through. You help her out of the last scraps of her lingerie—those stretched-out panties still clinging to one side of her hips—and she slides into the tub with a sigh, sinking in up to her shoulders, the water lapping at her skin. “Get in here, babe,” she says, patting the space behind her, and you don’t need convincing, you climb in, settling behind her, pulling her back against your chest.

The water’s hot, soothing the ache in your muscles, and her body fits against yours like it was made to—her head resting on your shoulder, your arms wrapping around her waist under the surface. Bubbles pop softly around you, the lavender scent filling the room, and it’s quiet, peaceful, a stark shift from the feral fucking you were lost in not twenty minutes ago. You trail your fingers over her stomach, lazy circles, and she hums, this content little sound that makes your heart squeeze. “This is nice,” she murmurs, tilting her head to look up at you, her eyes soft, no trace of that wild hunger now—just love, pure and simple. “Yeah, it is,” you say, kissing her temple, and she nestles closer, her wet hair sticking to your skin. “Better than the bed?” you ask, smirking, and she laughs, soft and tired. “Okay, maybe not better—but close. You’re too good at this husband thing.”

You chuckle, grabbing a sponge from the side and dipping it into the water, running it over her shoulders, down her arms, washing away the sweat and stickiness of the night. “Gotta keep my wife happy—can’t have you complaining about me on your next interview,” you tease, and she twists around, splashing you lightly, water dripping down your face. “Oh, please—I’d just brag about how you fuck me stupid and then run me a bath after,” she says, grinning, and you laugh, wiping the water off your eyes. “Fair—guess I’m stuck being perfect then.” She leans back again, letting you wash her, and it’s intimate—not the loud, messy intimacy of sex, but this quiet, tender thing where you’re just together, taking care of each other. “You know,” she says after a beat, voice quieter now, “I didn’t think it’d feel like this—marriage, us. Thought it’d be the same old shit with a ring, but… it’s more. You’re more.”

Her words hit you, soft but heavy, and you pause, sponge hovering over her collarbone, water trickling down her skin. “Yeah,” you say, throat tight, “you’re more too—like, I didn’t know I could love someone this much ‘til you.” She turns her head, catching your lips in a kiss—not hungry this time, but slow, deep, the kind that says everything you’re both too tired to put into words. Her hand finds yours under the water, squeezing, and you kiss her back, tasting lavender and her, your heart thudding steady against her back. “We’re gross, huh?” she whispers when she pulls away, smiling, and you laugh, resting your forehead against hers. “The grossest—stupid in love, the whole deal.”

The water’s cooling now, but you don’t care—you stay there, wrapped up in each other, her body slotted against yours like a puzzle piece. You wash her hair, fingers massaging her scalp, and she sighs, eyes closed, totally relaxed. “You’re too good to me,” she mumbles, and you shake your head, even though she can’t see it. “Nah, just right—you deserve it, babe.” She doesn’t argue, just lets you rinse her off, the suds swirling away in the purple water. When you’re done, you don’t rush to get out—there’s no hurry, no next thing. It’s just you and her, the steam fading, the night settling soft around you. “Love you,” she says, and you pull her closer, her wet skin sticking to yours, your voice low and sure. “Love you too—forever, yeah?” She nods, sleepy and safe in your arms, and you hold her tight, the bathtub your little world, the end of a wild night melting into something warm, steady, romantic as hell—the kind of love you’ll carry into every night after this one.

[greengoblinswifey]

Reunited— Luigi Mangione x Fem!Reader

summary— You’re reunited with your boyfriend luigi and he shows you just how much he missed you.

warnings— fingering, slight voyeurism, oral(f!receiving) praise kink, bit of crying but luigi comforts you, L bombs, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, aftercare, fluff.

a/n— originally posted on my ao3, where there’s another luigi fic <3 FREE MY MF MAN!

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Luigi Mangione was not just another face in the crowd, he was a polarizing figure. He gained national attention after allegedly carrying out a calculated act of vengeance against a corrupt CEO you couldn’t care less about. He claimed his actions were a response to widespread exploitation and inequality in the healthcare system and you were 100% on board.

After leaving behind a manifesto that exposed systemic greed and corruption, he disappeared, sparking an instant nationwide search. Supporters hailed him as a modern day vigilante, while detractors condemned him as a criminal. You were by his side through it all, not only as his girlfriend but as his confidant and staunchest ally.

You had met Luigi three years ago at a charity gala. While his presence was understated, his charisma was undeniable. You had a passion for uncovering the truth and you were drawn to his fiery intellect and his conviction to make a difference. When he confided in you about his disillusionment with the corporate world and his dream to spark real change, you stood by him, even as the risks escalated.

When the authorities finally caught him, it shattered your world. Luigi was supposed to be halfway across the country by then, safe and untouchable. But fate had other plans.

After days of navigating legal hurdles, your boyfriend was granted bail thanks to the efforts of the legal team you assembled and the donations pouring in from his legion of supporters. The day you picked him up from jail was a whirlwind of emotions. Crowds of people gathered outside the facility, holding signs and chanting his name. The media swarmed like vultures, cameras flashing as Luigi emerged, his posture unyielding despite the chaos.

The car was parked a block away, avoiding the thick of the chaos. As he stepped out, the crowd screamed. He lifted his hand in acknowledgment, his voice cutting through the noise.

“Read the manifesto,” he said, his tone commanding yet calm. “The answers you seek are in there.”

The crowd erupted, some cheering, others debating. But Luigi didn’t linger. He moved toward you, his gaze softening the moment he saw you waiting.

The lawyer drove the two of you to a safe house on the outskirts of the city. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, noticing the tension in his shoulders and the faint bruising along his jawline.

“Baby, did they hurt you?” you asked, your voice trembling.

He exhaled, brushing your concern aside. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. I’m just angry they didn’t let me speak.”

You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers with his. “They’ll hear you soon enough. You’ve already started something they can’t ignore.”

His eyes softened as he turned to you. “I missed you,” he murmured, his hand finding your thigh. “Every damn second I was in that shithole.”

You smiled, leaning closer. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

He kissed you deeply, his hand tightening its grip. “You’ve been my anchor through all of this. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

The car ride felt impossibly long as the reality of the situation weighed down on you. You kept glancing at Luigi, his sharp profile shown by the fleeting city lights. Despite the calm mask he wore, you could see the exhaustion in his eyes.

You reached over, your fingers brushing his arm. “I was so scared for you,” you whispered, your voice breaking. Tears began to spill before you could stop them.

Luigi turned to you immediately, his expression softening. “Don’t cry, amore. I’m here now,” he murmured, pulling you closer. He pressed a series of tender kisses to your cheeks, wiping away the tears with his thumbs.

“It’s just so unfair,” you choked out. “The media, the critics—they don’t know you like I do. You’re not some monster. You’re brave, kind, and caring. You only wanted to help people.”

He cupped your face, his gaze locking with yours. “Let them say what they want. I don’t need their approval. I have you, and that’s all I care about.”

You leaned into him, his words wrapping around your heart like a balm. “I just don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t,” he promised, his voice low and steady. “No one can keep me from you.”

As the car drove deeper into the night, Luigi’s hand found its way to your thigh, his touch warm against your skin. He glanced down at your dress, his lips curving into a sly smile.

“You look so sexy in this,” he murmured, his voice a husky whisper. “Did you wear it for me?”

“Yes,” you admitted, heat rushing to your face.

He chuckled softly, his fingers tracing circles on your thigh. “Good. Because it’s driving me crazy.”

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your neck. You shivered as he placed a trail of slow kisses along your skin. “You smell amazing,” he murmured against you.

His hand slid higher, and when his fingers brushed your bare pussy, he froze for a moment before letting out a low, appreciative moan. “You’re not wearing anything underneath?” he asked.

You shook your head, your breath hitching.

“Naughty girl,” he whispered, his voice laced with both amusement and desire. His fingers trailed to your clit, the heat of his touch making you bite your lip to keep from making a sound.

“Luigi,” you whispered, your voice trembling with both anticipation and the need for discretion.

“Shh, amore,” he said, his lips still pressed to your neck. “Be good for me. Stay quiet.”

His fingers moved with purpose, his slow circles on your clit sending your nerves into a frenzy. “You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. “I missed this, missed you.”

The car hit a bump, jolting you both, and you bit back a gasp as he slipped a finger into you immediately, your hand gripping his arm tightly.

Up front, the lawyer cleared his throat, oblivious. “Almost there,” he said.

Luigi smirked, his fingers still working their magic. “Good. But not soon enough,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear as he praised you softly.

His touch became more deliberate, his fingers moving in a way that left you struggling to suppress your reactions. His gaze flicked up to yours, a teasing smirk playing on his lips.

“You’re doing so well for me, amore,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I can feel how much you missed me from how wet you are.”

Your breath hitched as he praised you, his movements precise and slow, building that feeling inside. He kissed the side of your neck again, murmuring against your skin, “I love seeing you like this, knowing I’m the only one who can make you feel this way.”

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, biting to suppress your moans as his fingers curled inside you with his thumb rubbing your clit.

“I can’t—” you breathed, biting your lip to quiet yourself as your orgasm built.

“Cum for me, beautiful,” he whispered, speeding up his movements.

You bit onto his shoulder, using your other hand to pull him onto you as your orgasm ripped through you like a knife. You really hoped the seats weren’t messy.

The car slowed as it neared the safe house, and Luigi reluctantly withdrew his hand, his eyes dark with unspoken promises. “Just wait til’ we’re inside,” he said softly, his fingers brushing your chin as he gave you a quick, knowing smile.

His lawyer parked the car in front of the nondescript safe house, stepping out to hold the door for both of you. Luigi exited first, straightening his suit jacket before reaching for your hand. “Thank you,” he said curtly to the lawyer, who nodded and drove off into the night.

The moment you were inside, Luigi shut the door, locking it and turned to you, his expression filled with an intensity that took your breath away.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he said, his voice rough as he pulled you close. His hands framed your face as he kissed you deeply, his body pressing you back against the nearest wall.

“Lui—,” you whispered, your hands tangling in his hair as his lips moved to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that made your knees weak.

“You’re mine,” he said firmly, his voice filled with both affection and possessiveness.

His hands roamed down your sides, gripping your waist as he pulled you even closer. “I’m going to remind you how much I missed you,” he said, his voice a mix of promise and passion.

Luigi carried you effortlessly, his strong arms wrapping you in the warmth of safety as he navigated the unfamiliar safe house. He gently kicked open the door to what you assumed was the bedroom, setting you down on the soft mattress. His touch was soft, fingers lingering on your shoulders as he slid your straps off, his eyes scanning every inch of you like he was seeing you for the first time.

“Do you have any idea how much I missed you?” he murmured, his voice filled with longing.

Your response was barely a whisper. “I’ve thought about you every second.”

He tilted your chin upward, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that deepened with every passing moment. As he undid the zipper of your dress, his movements were deliberate yet gentle. The fabric pooled at your feet, and his breath hitched slightly as his gaze took your naked body in.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his tone awestruck. His fingers threaded through your braids, tugging softly as he kissed you again, his lips tracing a path down your jawline and neck.

Your hands instinctively found his curls, tangling in them as he lowered himself to his knees before you. “Baby,” you whispered, the emotion in your voice evident.

“Shh,” he replied softly, his lips brushing your skin. “I need to take care of you first. Tell me how much you missed me.”

“I missed you so much,” you said, voice trembling with emotion. “I love you, Luigi.”

“I love you more than anything. Let me show you just how much,” he replied.

His hands caressed your thighs, his lips trailing kisses down your skin. His touch was reverent, almost as if he were worshiping every inch of you, his deep brown eyes gazing up with adoration.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice soft yet full of conviction. “Every part of you.”

His lips pressed against your pelvis, leaving a trail of warmth and affection that sent a shiver through your body. Each kiss was slow and deliberate, his presence grounding you even as your heartbeat quickened.

“Luigi,” you breathed, your voice trembling with emotion and pleasure. Your hand instinctively reached for his curls, tangling in them as he smiled against your pussy.

“Let me take care of you,” he said. “You’ve been so good for me—so patient, so strong.”

Your head tilted back, overwhelmed by the sensation of his devotion. His praises washed over you like a balm, soothing the ache of the days you’d spent apart.

His tongue moved with precision, licking your clit as he used his fingers to spread your juices across your hole. A gasp left your lips as he moved down, slipping his tongue inside your pussy then continuing his movements on your clit.

“You’re everything to me,” he continued, his hands gently gripping your hips as he sucked your clit. “I don’t deserve how good you’ve been throughout this, but I’ll spend my life proving how much I love you.”

His voice alone sent a rush of warmth through you, every syllable filled with sincerity. “I love you too,” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly as your emotions surged.

Luigi’s lips curved into a small smile. “You’re too good to me, but I’ll never take it for granted.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart swell. Every touch, every flick of his tongue was a promise that he would always cherish you, protect you.

He didn’t rush a single movement, cherishing the connection between you. You cried out as you gripped his curls tighter, your orgasm threatening to spill over.

“God baby, I can feel you clamping around my tongue, it’s okay, you can cum for me,” he urged.

With his name on your lips like a prayer, you trembled as you squirted on his tongue. He slurped your juices, guiding you through your high and savoring your taste.

When he finally finished and stood up, his arms pulled you close, cradling you as if shielding you from the world. “You’re my everything,” he whispered. “I’ll never let anything happen to us. I promise you that.”

Your hand rested on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “I believe you,” you said softly.

He smiled, brushing a strand of your braids from your face. “Good.”

Luigi’s chuckled as you gently ran your fingers along his chest, stripping him off his clothes then pushing him to sit on the edge of the bed. His dark eyes glimmered with warmth, his hands lightly brushing against your waist.

“You’ve done so much for me,” you murmured, leaning closer, your voice low but full of intent. “Now it’s my turn to show you how much I’ve missed you.”

His gaze softened, his hands sliding to your wrists as if to stop you. “You don’t have to do anything, amore,” he said, his voice tender. “Just having you here, holding you, it’s enough.”

You pouted but decided not to be a brat this once. “Whatever you say baby, anything you want.”

Luigi sat back, his strong arms pulling you onto him as if he couldn’t bear even a second without your closeness. He settled you against his chest, your bodies perfectly aligned, his heart beating steadily beneath your ear. “So obedient,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple before moving to your forehead for a lingering kiss.

He tilted your chin up gently, his dark eyes locking with yours. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly. “I need to hear you say it.”

You nodded, your breath catching. “I’ve been craving this—craving you—this whole time,” you whispered, your words trembling with sincerity.

That was all the encouragement he needed. His lips met yours in a deep kiss, one that spoke of everything unspoken, the longing, the love, the relief of being together again. His hands caressed your ass, grounding you as he shifted beneath you.

He paused, his movements deliberate, as he guided his cock against your pussy. “Slowly, baby,” he murmured, his hands firm but gentle on your hips. “I want you to feel every inch of me.”

A gasp escaped your lips as he sank deep inside you, your body adjusting to the slow, deliberate rhythm he set. “That’s it,” he praised, his voice rough with restrained need. “You’re perfect—so tight, so ready for me.”

Your nails dug lightly into his chest as the intensity built, his words spurring you on. “You can take it, baby,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. “You’re so incredible.”

Luigi's praises, whispered against your skin, grounded you in the moment. “You feel like heaven, amore,” he said, his voice breaking slightly as he kissed you again, swallowing your soft cries.

Luigi’s grip on your hips tightened, as he guided you into a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each thrust was purposeful, his body rising to meet yours. “That’s it, princess,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your jawline. “You’re so perfect. I’ve missed you more than you can imagine.”

You clung to him, your fingers tangling in his curls as he set a steady pace. Every thrust was measured, filling you and making your breath hitch. “You’re taking me so well,” he whispered, his voice breaking with restrained emotion. “I can feel how much you’ve missed me.”

Your head tilted back, exposing your throat as his lips pressed against your skin, leaving a trail of kisses that make you shiver. “Luigi,” you gasped, your voice trembling.

“Shh, amore,” he soothed, his hands running up and down your spine as he adjusted the angle slightly, his cock moving inside your wet pussy deliberate and controlled. “Let me take care of you. Just feel me.”

His thrusts deepened, his hips rolling in a way that sent shivers down your spine. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured, his dark eyes locked on yours, filled with unspoken affection and need. “So perfect for me.”

“Lu— I’m gonna cum,” you cried, your fingers gripping his hair tighter.

“I know baby, do it for me, cum on my cock,” he muttered.

Your body convulsed on top of him, your breath catching in your throat as your orgasm hit you like a truck. He continued thrusting inside you, guiding you through the intensity of the moment.

Without missing a beat, he flipped you so that he was on top of you, his cock still inside you. His soft lips came down onto your tits, swirling his tongue around your nipples as soft whimpers left you. You tried to grip onto him but he pinned your arms above your head, leaving you completely at his mercy.

He thrusted into you deeply, your body jolting upwards as you cried out.

“Oh, fuck, that feels amazing,” you moaned, feeling him continuously brush that sweet spot inside you.

He went faster at your praises, his hips snapping to meet yours. “God, you’re so wet for me, beautiful.”

His large hands gripped your waist, slamming you onto his thick cock. His hand then moved to your lower abdomen, pressing against the outline of his cock moving inside you.

“Feel me baby? Feel how deep I am inside you?” he murmured, pressing on your abdomen and slamming into you.

“S-so deep,” you whimpered.

He reached down to rub your clit, feeling your pussy flutter around him as his pace never faltered.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum baby, I know you are too. I’m gonna cum deep inside you, gonna breed this pretty fucking pussy,” he said.

You wrapped your legs around him, grinding against him. “That’s my good girl, trap me in baby, cum with me while I fuck a baby into you.”

His words sent you over the edge and you moaned his name as you felt his hot load spurt deep inside you. “Take it, take it, take it, beautiful,” he gasped, fucking you as ropes of his cum spurted inside you.

You babbled incoherent words, shivering under him as the intensity of the moment was almost too much.

“Now, when you get pregnant, you’ll always have a piece of me,” he cooed. He stayed buried inside you, relishing in the warmth and wetness of your pussy.

Luigi gently pulled out of you, his hands steady as he helped you shift. His concern for you was immediate, his touch soft as he carefully helped you to your feet. “Let’s take care of you,” he whispered, his voice filled with care. He guided you to the bath, his eyes never leaving you, as if making sure you were okay, every part of you.

He settled behind you in the large, warm tub, the water soothing as he wrapped his arms around you, his chest against your back. You leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body surround you, as he gently massaged the soap across your skin. His hands were steady and comforting, washing away the physical remnants of the day, but it was more than that—he was taking care of you in every way, his touch full of tenderness and love.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, kissing the back of your neck softly. “I promise, I won’t let them take me away again. We’ll fight this, together.”

You closed your eyes, your heart swelling with emotion as you leaned back against him. His hands gently cupped your face, turning you to look at him. “I really hope so,” you whispered, the fear from earlier still lingering, but his presence grounding you. “I’ll always be by your side, Luigi. No matter what happens.”

He smiled, a soft, knowing smile that reached his eyes. “I know,” he whispered, his voice full of reassurance. “And I’ll never let you go.”

As the warm water surrounded you both, the world outside seemed so far away. All that mattered was the two of you, in that moment, connected in a way that nothing could tear apart.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Of Duty and Desire | Ominis Gaunt x Reader

Extra Long One-Shot

This is my first Ominis fic, I hope I do all you Ominis lovers proud :') The plot was heavily inspired by these (1, 2, 3) artworks by @tamayula-hl !!! (they literally create such gorgeous work, I fuckin swoon every time I see them ;.;)

Summary: After years apart, you are forced into a marriage with Ominis Gaunt, someone you once considered a close friend but who pushed you away after Sebastian's breakdown in fifth year. The rift between you has left years of unresolved tension, and on your wedding night, the two of you are forced to confront the fallout.

Words: ~15,700

Tags: Explicit Smut, Pureblood Politics, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Drama, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House

The Gaunt family estate loomed like a mausoleum under the pale light of the crescent moon. Its dark stone walls seemed to absorb the light, and the air inside carried a suffocating chill that no roaring fire could banish. Ominis sat alone in his room, the only illumination coming from a single flickering candle perched on his desk. The Gaunt family ring, heavy and ornate, turned slowly between his fingers.

Tomorrow, it would sit on your finger.

His chest tightened at the thought of the ceremony, the vows, the look he imagined you’d give him as you forced to say, I do.

He wished you still saw him the way you did all those years ago, back when you’d shared tentative smiles across the library table, before fifth year shattered everything between you. He’d thought you were remarkable then—fierce, clever, and endlessly loyal to the people you cared about. He still thought so, though the years had placed a wall between you.

A wall he had built.

His hands clenched into fists, the metal of the ring biting into his palm. He could still hear the echo of your argument, that fateful day when Sebastian’s descent into darkness had reached its breaking point. You had wanted to help him, to pull him back, while Ominis had been determined to stop him at any cost. The two of you had stood on opposite sides of a chasm, and in his frustration, his fear, Ominis had pushed you away.

But now? Now, you were to be his bride.

The marriage contract had been delivered two months ago, the parchment sealed with the Gaunt crest and bearing the oppressive weight of their expectations. You had no grand family name, no wealth or influence to rival the Gaunts, but you had something far more valuable: ancient magic.

Your family had no power to refuse the offer—not when the Gaunts were known for their ruthlessness. You’d been given no choice, and neither had he.

Ominis exhaled a shaky breath, setting the ring down on the desk with a soft clink.

The bitter irony was that you had been right about Sebastian all along, and Ominis had destroyed what you had years ago for nothing.

Ominis had doubted Sebastian—had believed that his obsession with dark magic would destroy everything and everyone in its path. But eventually, with time and a painful amount of humility, Sebastian had begun to heal. He had come back to them. He had proven himself capable of change, of redemption.

And you’d seen it all along.

Ominis swallowed hard, the guilt twisting his stomach. You’d begged him to give Sebastian a chance, to believe in the person he could be. But Ominis had been too blinded by his own fears to listen. His distrust had cost him Sebastian’s friendship for years. And worse, it had cost him you ever since.

He rested his head in his hands, elbows braced on the desk. The weight of it all was suffocating.

The memory of your expression when you’d arrived at the Gaunt manor two days ago lingered in his mind.

Even without the clarity of sight, he could feel the weight you carried. He’d “seen” the stiffness in your shoulders, the faint tremor in your hands as you’d clasped them in front of you, your head turning ever so slightly toward him as his parents greeted you. For a fleeting second, he’d felt your attention, a thin, aching tether between you.

But you hadn’t spoken to him. Not then, and not since.

What could he possibly say to make this better? “I’m sorry” was laughable at this point. He was sorry, of course—sorry for every cruel word spoken in the heat of fifth year, sorry for not trusting you, sorry for not preventing you from falling into the Gaunt nightmare—but no apology could undo the damage.

A knock at the door startled him from his thoughts. He straightened, smoothing his hair as if that would make any difference. “Come in,” he called, his voice steadier than he felt.

The door creaked open, and one of the Gaunt family’s house-elves stepped hesitantly into the room. “Master Ominis,” the elf began, its voice trembling, “your bride-to-be is in the garden, sir.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut.

“Why?” he asked, his throat dry.

“She—she is pacing, sir. She looks… upset.“

Ominis nodded, rising from his chair. “Thank you,” he said, though the elf was already retreating, bowing its way out of the room.

You were upset. Of course, you were. Why wouldn’t you be? Tomorrow, you were being forced to marry him and tie yourself to a family that cared only about what they could take from you. And worse, tied to him—a man who had pushed you away when you’d needed him most, who had no right to ask anything of you, least of all forgiveness.

But the thought of you pacing alone in the gardens, trapped in your own swirling emotions, was unbearable. Ominis didn’t know if he could say anything to help, but he couldn’t just sit here and do nothing.

He moved swiftly through the dark corridors, and when he reached the door to the garden, he paused, letting his wand hum faintly to map the space before him. He sensed the vast openness of the ahead, the night air cool against his skin, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and dying roses.

And there you were.

Your silhouette materialized in his mind like a shadow against the darkness. You were pacing, just as the house-elf had said, your movements quick and restless. It was a knife to Ominis’s chest, seeing the person he cared for so deeply reduced to this.

Care.

No, he thought bitterly, that wasn’t the right word. He loved you. He had loved you since before he even understood what love truly was. And that made it all so much worse.

Because you would never love him.

Ominis stood stiffly in the doorway. You hadn’t noticed him yet, too consumed by your thoughts and frantic steps that sent gravel crunching underfoot. But when he shifted his weight, the faint sound of his movement caught your attention. You stopped abruptly, your head turning toward him, your posture instantly stiffening.

“Ominis,” you said, your voice calm but sharp like the edge of a blade. “…Couldn’t sleep?”

He hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to answer. He recognized the tension in your tone, the way you carefully shielded yourself with polite indifference. It was the same tone you’d used with his parents when you arrived, the one where he’d sensed every ounce of resentment you’d tucked away beneath a mask of cordiality.

“No,” he said softly, stepping further into the garden. “I was told you were out here.”

“Of course,” you replied, your voice carrying a detached sort of humor. "Not allowed a moment of solitude, hm?"

Ominis flinched inwardly, his wand picking up on the subtle tremor in your hands as you folded your arms across your chest.

“I thought… perhaps you might want to talk,” he said carefully, his voice low.

“With you? No,” you replied quickly, brushing off the suggestion as though it didn’t matter. You turned your back to him. “Talking to you won’t help.”

Ominis winced but didn’t respond. The silence stretched between you, the night air growing heavier with each passing second.

“I’m sorry,” he said at length, the words feeling inadequate even as they left his mouth.

You laughed, soft and humorless, as you turned back toward the fountain. “Sorry,” you echoed. “Of course. And that makes it all better, does it?”

He took a hesitant step closer, his wand pulsing faintly to track the distance between you. “I mean it,” he said. “I wish things were different.”

“Do you?” you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder. ““Because last time I checked, you’re the one who pushed me away."

Ominis froze, the accusation cutting through him like a blade. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat.

You turned fully to face him now, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. “Do you think I don’t remember?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly with the weight of unspoken emotion. “The things you said to me? The way you looked at me, like I was… like I was the problem?”

“That’s not what I—” Ominis started, but you cut him off with a sharp laugh, one that lacked any real humor.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said, your voice quieter now but no less firm. “Nothing either of us says now will change anything. And tomorrow, we’ll stand in front of your family and say the words they want to hear."

You turned abruptly, your footsteps crunching against the gravel as you moved past him. “Goodnight, Ominis,” you said, your tone clipped and distant as you made your way back toward the manor.

He turned slightly, his wand picking up the blur of your retreating figure as you disappeared into the cold, sterile halls of the estate. The faint trace of your magic lingered in the air, turbulent and raw, and he hated himself for not being able to ease it.

~~~

Morning came like a thief, stealing away the fragile moments of sleep Ominis had clung to in the restless hours of the night. The Gaunt manor, usually oppressive in its quiet, was unnaturally alive with activity. House-elves scurried through the halls, their frantic movements punctuated by the clinking of silver trays and hurried whispers. His parents had spared no effort to make the day grand, though their motives were far from sentimental.

Even worse, his extended family had descended like vultures, eager to witness the union that would bind your ancient magic to the Gaunt bloodline. Even Ominis’s older brother, Marvolo, had returned from his work abroad for the occasion, his mere presence enough to sour the air. Ominis had always loathed Marvolo—arrogant, cruel, and every bit the model Gaunt heir their parents had hoped for. The rest of the family wasn’t much better. Aunts, uncles, and distant cousins he resented filled the halls, their haughty laughter echoing off the cold stone walls.

Ominis moved through the chaos like a ghost, his mind as numb as his steps. He had imagined marrying you a hundred—no, a thousand—times, but never like this.

In his dreams, you loved him back. Your smiles were soft and unguarded, your laughter warm, your hand reaching for his not out of duty, but out of choice. But those dreams had always been fragile, built on a shaky foundation of what-ifs and hope he’d never dared voice aloud.

You wedding band weighed heavily in his pocket, a cruel reminder of the vows he would unwittingly force you to take. He told himself he was doing this to protect you—that he was backed into a corner with no way out. It wasn’t a lie. His parents had made their expectations clear: defy them, and Ominis would pay the price. The Gaunts had always been dangerous, even to their own blood. He’d seen it with his older cousins, the ones who had been disowned or “disappeared” for daring to cross the family.

And that didn’t even encompass what they might do to you.

The sharp knock on his door startled him. Ominis straightened instinctively, brushing a hand over his hair as if readying himself for battle.

“It’s me,” Sebastian’s voice called through the heavy wood, rough but familiar.

“Come in,” Ominis replied, his voice steadier than he felt.

The door creaked open, and Sebastian stepped inside, his expression a mix of concern and irritation. He was dressed sharply, though his tie was slightly crooked—a detail Ominis would have pointed out if he’d had the energy to notice.

“You look like hell,” Sebastian said, crossing the room and leaning against the desk.

“I feel worse,” Ominis admitted, lowering himself into the chair by the window.

Sebastian tilted his head, scrutinizing Ominis with a sharpness that felt impossible to ignore.

“…You love her, don’t you?” Sebastian asked suddenly, his voice blunt and cutting straight to the point. He had never been one to dance around difficult questions.

Ominis let out a hollow laugh, his hands tightening on the arms of the chair. “What kind of question is that?”

“A simple one,” Sebastian said, standing straighter, arms crossed. “Do. You. Love. Her?”

Ominis sighed heavily, his head tilting back as though seeking answers from the cracked ceiling above. “You already know the answer to that, Sebastian,” he said, his voice low and bitter. “You’ve always known.”

“Humor me,” Sebastian pressed.

Ominis’s lips curled into a humorless smile. “Of course I love her. I’ve always loved her. Since before I even understood what that meant. And you know that. So why ask?”

Sebastian scoffed, fixing Ominis with an unrelenting stare. “Because you’re acting like this is the end of the world. You love her. And now you’re marrying her. She’s about to be your wife.”

Ominis turned his head sharply, his sightless gaze narrowing slightly. “My wife?” His voice rose, edged with frustration. “This isn’t a marriage, Sebastian. It’s a transaction. A cage.” He gestured vaguely toward the window, where the distant hum of laughter and footsteps filled the courtyard. “She doesn’t want this. And she certainly doesn’t want me.”

Sebastian didn’t flinch, his calmness almost maddening. “But you love her,” he pointed out again. “That means you can make something of this. You can try.”

Ominis let out a sharp breath, his hands gripping the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Try what? To pretend that she doesn’t hate me?” He shook his head, his voice quieter now, but no less filled with anguish. “She does hate me, Sebastian. And why wouldn’t she?”

Sebastian frowned, his expression flickering with guilt. “You were scared. We all were. What happened back then…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t easy for any of us.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ominis snapped. “I made my choices. And now, she thinks I’m no better than my parents.” His voice cracked slightly, the weight of the words cutting deeper than he cared to admit. “She thinks I’m just like them, putting her through this. And maybe she’s right.”

“She doesn’t think that. You’re nothing like your parents,” Sebastian said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “And if you’d stop wallowing in self-pity for half a second, you might see that she doesn’t actually hate you.”

Ominis scoffed, shaking his head. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do,” Sebastian said, beginning to pace the room with his usual restless energy. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you, Ominis. She’s hurt, sure. Angry. But hate? No.”

Ominis leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. “You’re imagining things,” he muttered.

“Am I?” Sebastian challenged, stopping in his tracks to face him. “You’ve spent years convincing yourself she hates you, but did you ever stop to actually talk to her about it? Or did you just decide she hated you because it was easier than dealing with the mess you made?”

The words hit their mark, and Ominis flinched. He couldn’t deny it. He had avoided you for years, too ashamed of his actions to face you properly. He had assumed the worst because it was safer than hoping for anything else.

Sebastian sighed heavily, glancing over at the ornate clock hanging on the wall. The ticking sound, once faint, now seemed to echo in the room like a countdown to inevitability. He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze flicking back to Ominis.

“We’re out of time,” he said flatly. “They’re going to be expecting us downstairs.”

Ominis didn’t move at first, his hands still gripping the arms of his chair. He looked like a man on the edge of breaking, and for a moment, Sebastian considered calling the whole thing off himself. But he knew that wouldn’t solve anything. This wasn’t a fight they could win—not here, not now.

“Come on,” Sebastian urged, his voice softer. “Let’s get this over with.”

Ominis exhaled slowly, the sound heavy with resignation. He stood, his movements stiff and reluctant, his fingers brushing down the front of his suit as though trying to compose himself. His family had ensured every detail of his appearance was perfect—he looked every bit the polished Gaunt heir, the image they demanded. But inside, he felt hollow.

Sebastian gave him a faint nod, adjusting his own crooked tie. “You’ll survive this,” he said with a slight smile. “Everything will work out.”

Ominis didn’t respond, his throat too tight to form words. Instead, he followed Sebastian out of the room, the sound of their footsteps mingling with the distant hum of activity that filled the manor. Every step felt heavier than the last, the anticipation building in his chest like a storm.

The courtyard garden had been transformed into a grand display of pure-blood prestige. Rows of white chairs lined the manicured lawn, and a narrow aisle flanked by enchanted, softly glowing flowers led to an altar at the far end. Ivy climbed the stone arch that framed the altar, its dark green tendrils twisting delicately around clusters of pale blossoms.

Ominis stood at the altar, his back straight and his hands clasped tightly in front of him, his wand tucked away in his sleeve. The suit he wore was immaculate, tailored perfectly to his tall, lean frame. But even as he stood there, a picture of composure, his mind churned with unease.

Beyond him, countless guests sat in waiting—pure-bloods from every corner of their miserable society, their presence a suffocating reminder of the world he had tried—and failed—to escape.

His extended family dominated the seats closest to the altar, their self-satisfied smirks and sharp whispers grating against his already frayed nerves. The Gaunts had arrived in full force, a parade of arrogance and entitlement, each one more intolerable than the last.

Ominis’s parents sat in the front row, their expressions masks of triumph. His mother, draped in rich emerald, surveyed the scene with quiet pride, while his father sat like a statue, his posture rigid, his face a cold, unyielding mask. And then there was Marvolo, lounging casually in his seat beside them, his smirk a permanent fixture as though the entire event were for his personal amusement.

Across the aisle sat the members of your family, their expressions far less composed. Your mother’s hands were folded tightly in her lap, her face pale and drawn as she avoided meeting anyone’s gaze, eyes flicking nervously between the guests and the altar.

The contrast between them and the Gaunts couldn’t have been starker. Ominis’s family were predators, their confidence unshakable, while yours looked like cornered prey. And you… you were the sacrificial offering, the tether between their worlds.

The low hum of chatter faded as the first notes of music filled the courtyard, soft and lilting yet as heavy as a tolling bell. Ominis stiffened, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. This was it. The beginning of the end. The melody floated through the air, a cruel, elegant herald of what was to come.

He couldn’t breathe.

The sound of footsteps against the stone aisle cut through the music, and Ominis’s wand pulsed faintly in his sleeve, mapping the space before him. In his mind’s eye, he saw them—two figures approaching the altar. Anne and Sebastian. The only two friends he had managed to invite to this sham of a wedding. His parents had objected, of course, but for once, Ominis had refused to yield. If they were going to strip away every ounce of choice from this union, he would at least ensure that two people who truly cared about either of you would stand witness.

Anne walked with quiet grace beside her brother, her head held high and her movements calm, even as the weight of the moment pressed down on her. She had always been your rock, and now, she looked every bit the part.

Sebastian, meanwhile, walked with his usual subtle defiance, his jaw clenched as though he were biting back a dozen remarks that would surely have caused a scene.

As the Sallow twins joined Ominis at the altar, the music softened, a momentary pause that signaled what came next.

And then, you appeared.

The air in the courtyard seemed to shift as the music swelled once more, drawing every gaze to the entrance. Ominis’s wand hummed, and for the first time in his life, he felt as though he could truly see.

Shapes and shadows sharpened in his mind, the lines of the archway and the glow of the enchanted lanterns framing you like a painting. Your figure materialized with unprecedented clarity, every detail irreversibly etching itself into his memory.

You were breathtaking.

The soft glow of the lanterns seemed to chase after you down the aisle, casting a warm, ethereal light as you stepped forward, arm looped through your father’s. Your gown was simple yet striking, its flowing fabric a cascade of soft ivory that hugged your figure just enough to suggest elegance without excess.

Your hair was swept into an elegant updo, soft tendrils framing your face and neck, accentuating the graceful curve of your collarbone. The tasteful touch of makeup enhanced your features without overpowering them, the faint flush of color on your cheeks and lips lending you an almost otherworldly glow. You looked every bit the part of a bride—refined, poised, and heartbreakingly beautiful.

Ominis’s heart twisted painfully. Despite everything, despite knowing how wrong this was, he allowed himself a single moment of cruel, fleeting hope. He imagined that this was real. That you had chosen this. That the soft shimmer of your gown, the elegance of your updo, the deliberate grace with which you moved—all of it was for him.

For a heartbeat, he believed it. That you had taken your father’s arm and walked toward him because you loved him. That your choice to stand before this crowd, to become his wife, was born of something true, not forced by the iron will of his family.

But reality was cruel.

He could feel it in the tremor of your hand as you reached the altar, in the absence of warmth in your fleeting glance as your eyes locked with his. There was no joy in your expression, no affection, only quiet resolve and resignation. You weren’t here for him. You were here because you had no other choice.

Your father released your arm hesitantly, his hand lingering for a brief moment as though reluctant to let go. His face was pale and drawn, his jaw tight as he gave you a faint nod. You stepped forward alone, taking your place across from Ominis.

He caught the slight hitch in your breath as the officiant spoke. It was subtle—so subtle that no one else would have noticed—but to him, it felt like a scream. He wanted to reach for you, to close the distance, to bridge the gap he had created all those years ago. But his hands remained at his sides, his palms clammy against the cool fabric of his trousers.

The officiant’s words droned on, his low, measured tone a blur in Ominis’s ears. He could barely hear it over the roaring in his chest, the heavy thud of his heartbeat as he focused entirely on you.

And then the moment came.

“Do you, Ominis Gaunt, take her to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

The words cut through the fog in his mind like a knife. For a fraction of a second, he hesitated, his throat tightening painfully. He could feel his parents’ gaze burning into him, his father’s unyielding authority pressing down like a lead weight. The crowd’s silence was deafening, expectant, suffocating.

His lips parted, and the words tumbled out before he could stop them, heavy and hollow.

“I do.”

The officiant turned to you, repeating the same question.

“And do you take Ominis Gaunt to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Ominis held his breath, his entire body tense as he waited for your response. The pause that followed felt endless, each second stretching into an eternity. For a moment, he thought you might refuse.

But when you spoke, your voice was quiet and steady, though devoid of any joy.

“I do.”

The words hung in the air, final and irreversible. The officiant’s voice rose again, completing the ritual with the formal pronouncement that sealed your fates.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Mr. Gaunt, you may now kiss your bride.”

Ominis froze.

How had he forgotten about this part? He’d imagined this twisted mockery of a wedding day a thousand times, and yet this moment—the one he had once dreamed of with such hope—had slipped through the cracks of his planning. The girl of his dreams was standing right there, so close he could feel the warmth of you, and now he was meant to kiss you.

His hands twitched at his sides, his breath catching in his throat as he forced himself to move. The crowd was watching, their silence heavy with expectation. His parents’ satisfaction was palpable, his extended family practically giddy at the spectacle. But all Ominis could focus on was you—the tension radiating from your frame, the subtle way your shoulders stiffened as you waited.

He stepped closer, his wand mapping the space between you. His hand hovered near your waist, uncertain, before finally settling there lightly. He could feel the delicate fabric of your gown beneath his palm, the warmth of your body through the material.

Ominis leaned in slowly, his heart pounding so loudly he was certain you could hear it. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Not like this, not with the weight of obligation hanging between you like a curse.

With his eyes fluttering closed, his lips brushed yours in the faintest, most hesitant of kisses. As he expected, you were still—frozen, unmoving, your lips soft but lifeless against his. The kiss was chaste, obligatory, and for a moment, it felt like a dagger to his heart.

And then something expected happened.

You kissed him back.

Ominis’s mind went blank, his senses overwhelmed. It was subtle at first—a gentle press, a shift in the way your lips moved against his. But then it deepened, and the world seemed to explode around him. Fireworks erupted in his mind, a kaleidoscope of sensation, your warmth spreading through him like wildfire.

The taste of your lips, soft and slightly sweet, was unlike anything he had ever known. It was perfect. You were perfect. In that moment, everything else faded away—the oppressive weight of the crowd’s gaze, the suffocating expectations of his family, the years of distance and resentment between you.

His hands tightened instinctively at your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer, and he revelled in the curve of you beneath his fingers. It was everything, you were everything, he had ever dreamed of and infinitely more.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

You pulled away slowly, your movements deliberate, as though reminding both of you that the moment had passed. Ominis’s hands lingered at your waist for a fraction of a second before he let them drop to his sides, his fingers curling slightly as though trying to hold on to the ghost of your touch.

His breath was unsteady as he straightened, his mind reeling. You’d kissed him back.

Why?

Had it been part of the performance? A calculated move to play the part of the perfect bride? Or had it been something else entirely?

He didn’t have time to dwell on it. The officiant’s voice rose again, announcing the end of the ceremony and you were slipping your hand into his. Swallowing hard, Ominis led you back down the aisle.

The crowd rose to their feet, their clapping a dull roar in his ears as he walked with you at his side. Every step felt surreal, the moment between you still crackling like static in his chest.

He didn’t dare look at you. Not now. He wasn’t sure he could handle whatever answer your expression might hold.

But as the two of you passed beneath the ivy-draped arch, stepping into the unknown future that awaited you both, Ominis couldn’t help but wonder if, just maybe, that kiss had been real after all.

~~~

The reception had been nothing short of torturous for Ominis.

If the kiss at the altar had left him confused, the evening that followed only deepened the storm in his mind. Because from the moment you both entered the grand hall where the reception was held, you played the part of the happy bride.

You’d smile at Ominis, soft and convincing, allow him to hold your hand, to rest his palm lightly against the small of your back as the two of you made the rounds, greeting the guests who had gathered to witness your union.

You spoke to guests with grace and poise, weaving stories of your Hogwarts days into the conversation with ease. Tales of late-night library study sessions, Quidditch matches, and the occasional mischievous escapade were all recounted with a fondness that left Ominis reeling.

You spoke of those moments as though they had been golden—untarnished by the years of bitterness and distance that had followed. And for the guests, it was a perfect performance, a portrait of a couple deeply in love, bound not just by obligation but by shared memories and affection.

The guests were relentless in their attention, each one more insistent than the last in prying into your lives. How you met, what your future plans as a couple might be, when you fell in love, was it love at first sight.

Ominis had been stunned at how quickly you answered the last question. You didn’t miss a beat, your lips curling into a soft, polite smile. “Oh, absolutely not,” you said, your voice light with humor. “Our first meeting was… let’s say, less than ideal.”

His stomach twisted at your words, but you pressed on, the ease in your tone disarming the nosy crowd.

“He found me in his personal study spot,” you continued, glancing briefly at Ominis with a glimmer of something in your eyes that he couldn’t quite place. “I’ll never forget how furious he was.”

There were a few chuckles from the guests, and Ominis forced himself to smile faintly, though his mind was racing. He knew exactly what you were referring to. The Undercroft. But you’d never betray that secret, not even after all he'd done to you.

You went on, your tone growing softer, more reflective. “I thought I’d made a terrible first impression. And, well, I had.” A few more chuckles rippled through the group. “But a few days later, he apologized. He didn’t have to—he could’ve just ignored me forever—but he did. And...we became friends after that. It wasn’t easy at first. We’re both… stubborn.” You laughed lightly, the sound so genuine it felt like a blade cutting through the air. “But we figured it out.”

Ominis felt like the ground beneath him was shifting. These weren’t just pretty words spun to entertain the guests or to appease his family. This memory was real. Every moment you described was real.

In fact, he probably knew these memories better than you did, because he had held onto them as tightly as a drowning man clutches a piece of driftwood. They were the only part of you he’d been allowed to keep, and now, here you were, bringing them to life as though the years of distance and pain hadn’t fractured them beyond recognition.

“The moment I realized it was more than just friendship was not long after, right before Christmas,” you continued, your gaze growing distant as though you were looking back into the past. “We’d spent the day shopping in Hogsmeade. The three of us—Ominis, Sebastian, and me.”

Ominis’s heart twisted at the mention of that day. He remembered it vividly, every detail coming to life in his mind as you spoke.

“It had started snowing that afternoon,” you continued, a soft smile curling at your lips. “We’d bought sweets at Honeydukes, browsed the shop windows, even picked up a few last-minute gifts. By the time we made it to the Three Broomsticks, we were freezing.”

The guests chuckled, and Ominis’s lips quirked into a faint smile despite himself. He could almost feel the icy wind again, the way your cheeks had flushed red from the cold.

“And then,” you said, your smile widening slightly, “Sebastian—being Sebastian—managed to spill an entire mug of butterbeer all over me. It was awful, I was absolutely soaked, sticky, and cold.”

More laughter rippled through the group, and Ominis felt a faint heat rise to his cheeks as he remembered the way you’d looked—your expression caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement as you tried to wring out your sleeves.

“But then,” you continued, glancing briefly at Ominis, “he gave me his coat.”

That was true. He had. Though Ominis hadn’t thought much of it at the time—he’d just wanted to make sure you were comfortable and warm. But now, hearing you speak of it, he realized maybe it had meant more than he’d ever understood.

“And not just that,” you said, your voice softening. “He left the Three Broomsticks, in the middle of the snowstorm, and went to Gladrags to buy me a clean set of clothes. He didn’t have to, but he did. And when he came back, he handed me the bag like it was the most natural thing in the world, like it wasn’t a big deal at all.”

Ominis’s throat felt tight, his hands clenching at his sides as he remembered the look on your face when he’d handed you that bag. You had been startled at first, your eyes widening as you glanced between him and the neatly wrapped parcel. Then you’d smiled—a small, genuine smile that had left him momentarily speechless.

“That was the moment,” you said softly, your voice carrying a note of vulnerability that struck Ominis to his core. “The moment I realized he wasn’t just my friend. That he was… more. That I loved him.”

Your words hung in the air, a quiet confession wrapped in the guise of a story for the guests’ entertainment. Ominis could feel every gaze in the room turn toward him, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet any of them. His focus was entirely on you—on the way your voice had softened, the way your smile lingered just a fraction longer than it needed to.

Were you simply using a real memory to bolster your performance? Was this a carefully chosen story to charm the crowd? Or was there a flicker of truth buried beneath the polished delivery?

The rest of the evening passed in a blur for Ominis. The guests continued to press you both with questions, and you answered them all with the same ease and grace. He played his part, too. Smiled when he needed to, laughed when it was expected, but his mind was elsewhere, racing with memories of that day in Hogsmeade so long ago, of the way you’d looked at him then, and the way you’d spoken of it now.

By the time the reception finally came to an end, Ominis was exhausted—not from the physical effort of the evening, but from the mental and emotional toll it had taken.

And now, as the two of you walked through the opulent halls of the hotel where you would be spending your first night as husband and wife, the weight of it all was beginning to crush him.

The sound of your footsteps echoed softly against the marble floors, mingling with the faint hum of distant conversation and the soft rustle of your gown. The hotel was grand, each detail designed to impress, but Ominis barely noticed any of it. His focus was entirely on you—the way you walked beside him, close but not quite touching, your silence stretching between you like a chasm.

Finally, the two of you reached the door to your suite. Ominis hesitated for a moment, his fingers brushing against the ornate handle as he inserted the key.

Exhaling slowly, he turned the handle and pushed the door open. The suite beyond was as opulent as the rest of the hotel—richly furnished, with soft, glowing light and an enormous bed draped in luxurious fabrics. A chilled bottle of champagne sat waiting on a nearby table, two crystal flutes beside it.

The two of you stepped inside, and Ominis’s chest tightened as he shut the door behind you, the finality of the moment settling over him like a weight. Here you were. Alone with him, no audience, no expectations—just the two of you and the silence that neither of you seemed to know how to break.

You moved toward the corner of the room where the house-elves had neatly arranged your bags, the contents folded with meticulous care.

Without a word, you pulled a set of pajamas and your toothbrush from the bag, your movements quick and purposeful. Without meeting his gaze, you turned on your heel and headed straight for the bathroom. The soft click of the door closing behind you echoed through the stillness of the suite, louder than it had any right to be, and Ominis exhaled slowly, releasing a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

For a moment, he stood there, motionless, his fingers curling and uncurling at his sides. Then, with a quiet sigh, he began to loosen his tie, the fabric slipping easily from his collar. He tugged it free and let it drop onto the nearest chair before running a hand through his hair. The day’s events replayed in his mind like a loop he couldn’t escape—your words, your smile, the warmth of your laughter, and the kiss at the altar that had left him reeling.

It was too much.

Ominis moved to the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he sat heavily on the edge. He toed off his shoes, one after the other, and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His hands came up to his face, fingers pressing lightly against his temples as he tried to push the chaos in his mind into some semblance of order.

But there was no clarity to be found. Only questions he was too afraid to ask and doubts he couldn’t shake.

The sound of water running in the bathroom was faint but constant, a reminder that you were just on the other side of the door. He wondered what you were thinking, whether the evening had left you as drained as it had left him. He wondered if you’d meant the things you’d said during the reception, if there was truth hidden in the warmth of your words, or if it had all been part of the carefully orchestrated performance.

More than anything, he wondered what would happen when you came out of that bathroom—if the silence would continue to stretch between you, or if one of you would finally be brave enough to break it.

With a heavy sigh, he sat up, his movements mechanical as he made his way toward his own bag to prepare for bed. He crouched down, his fingers brushing over the neatly packed contents until he found his sleepwear.

He stood, the soft fabric of his dress shirt brushing against his skin as he worked to unbutton it. His fingers moved methodically, one button at a time, but his mind was elsewhere—on you, still behind the closed door, and the way everything about this night felt wrong.

This wasn’t how a wedding night was supposed to feel.

It wasn’t supposed to feel so strained, so heavy. There should have been laughter, warmth, the giddy sort of nervousness that came with embarking on a new chapter together. Instead, there was unrelenting tension. A chasm of unspoken words and unanswered questions that neither of you seemed ready to bridge.

Ominis shrugged out of his shirt, letting it fall to the floor behind him as he reached for the waistband of his dress pants. He unclasped them, the fabric loosening around his waist.

And then the bathroom door opened.

The quiet click of the handle made him freeze, his hands stilling as he turned his head slightly toward the sound.

You stepped out, and for a moment, neither of you moved.

Without his wand, Ominis couldn’t sense the details of your expression, couldn’t see the way your eyes might have widened or the way your lips might have parted slightly in surprise. He couldn’t tell what you were thinking, how you were reacting, and it left him feeling unmoored.

The air between you felt charged, the silence stretching out like a thread pulled taut. He was acutely aware of his state—bare-chested, his dress pants undone and hanging low on his hips. He wondered what you thought of him—what you saw when you looked at him now.

He had an idea of his appearance, of course. His wand’s mapping magic had given him a sense of his own features over the years, an understanding of the angles and planes of his face, the height and shape of his frame. He had been told, more than once, that he was conventionally attractive—sharp, aristocratic features that bore the unmistakable stamp of his bloodline.

But those compliments had always left a bitter taste in his mouth. His pale skin, high cheekbones, and long, slicked-back blonde hair—all of it tied him far too clearly to the Gaunt family, to a legacy he resented with every fiber of his being. Even his tall, lithe frame, lean from years of discipline and sparring practice, seemed more like a reminder of his upbringing than something to take pride in.

And now, standing here in this charged silence, he couldn’t help but wonder what you thought when you looked at him. Did you find him attractive? Or did you see only the Gaunt heir—a pawn in the endless, suffocating game of pure-blood politics?

He had no way of knowing. And for a moment, he almost reached for his wand, desperate for the faint hum of its magic to ground him. But he resisted, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“Sorry,” you murmured softly, your voice breaking the silence. It wasn’t sharp or cold—just quiet, almost tentative.

“N-no,” Ominis said quickly, his voice low and uneven. He straightened slightly, his hands falling to his sides. “I—I should be the one apologizing.”

You didn’t respond immediately, and he could hear the faint rustle of fabric as you shifted, likely clutching your wedding dress tighter against you. “I’m finished in the bathroom, if you want to change in there,” you offered, your tone polite, carefully neutral. “Or… I can just turn around, if that’s easier.”

Ominis’s fingers twitched at his sides, his throat tightening. The absurdity of the situation struck him. You were married, bound by the vows you’d exchanged earlier that day, and yet you could barely manage to exist in the same space without this unbearable awkwardness.

“No, I’ll—I’ll use the bathroom,” he said, his voice tight. “Thank you.”

His toothbrush and pajamas in hand, Ominis disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. He set his things down on the counter and leaned heavily against the sink, exhaling a shaky breath.

The mirror above the sink offered no reflection, but he didn’t need to see his face to know what he’d find there—a pale, drawn expression, tension etched into every line. He let his fingers trail over the cool porcelain of the sink before reaching to splash cold water on his face, hoping it might clear his mind, if only for a moment.

He quickly changed into his sleepwear and brushed his teeth, though the routine didn’t do much to ease the tightness in his chest.

When he finally emerged, his hair slightly damp from the water he’d splashed on his face, he reached for his wand then stopped in his tracks. The bed, massive and draped in luxurious fabrics, was untouched. Instead, you had set up a makeshift bed on the floor using a collection of spare blankets and pillows.

You were kneeling beside it, smoothing out a blanket, and when you noticed him, you straightened, brushing your hands against the fabric of your pajamas.

“I thought…” you began, your voice trailing off as though you were unsure how to explain yourself. “You should take the bed.”

Ominis blinked, stunned into silence for a moment. “You… you don’t have to do that,” he said quietly, his voice laced with something that sounded almost like guilt. “The bed is yours too.”

You shook your head, the motion subtle but certain. “It’s fine. Really. I’ll be more comfortable here.”

Ominis stiffened, watching you adjust the blankets and pillows as though you could somehow make the situation less absurd. It struck him all at once just how wrong this was. It was your wedding night—a night meant for intimacy and closeness—and yet here you were, offering to sleep on the floor.

Did you hate him that much? That the idea of sharing a bed with him, even in the most innocent sense, was so unbearable?

He couldn't keep quiet.

“I’ll take the floor,” Ominis said, his voice quiet but firm. He stepped closer, his fingers tightening around his wand. “You shouldn’t have to.”

You looked up at him, startled for a moment, before shaking your head. “Ominis, it’s fine,” you said, your tone polite but insistent. “I’ll be more comfortable here. Really.”

“It’s not fine,” he replied quickly. “It’s wrong. You shouldn’t have to sleep on the floor—especially not tonight.”

“It’s not wrong if I’m choosing to,” you countered, folding your arms across your chest. “The bed is yours. I don’t mind.”

Ominis’s frustration began to bubble beneath the surface, his composure slipping. “You don’t have to pretend you’re fine with this,” he insisted, his tone growing sharper despite his efforts to keep it even.

“I’m not pretending,” you shot back. “I said I don’t mind, and I meant it.”

“Why?” Ominis asked, his voice rising slightly. “Why are we doing this? All this… politeness and decorum?”

Your expression shifted, your jaw tightening as you glanced away. “What are you talking about?”

“This,” Ominis said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “The careful words, the pretending that any of this is normal. Why are we bothering? Why are we talking to each other like strangers? There’s no one here to see it. No one to keep up appearances for. It’s just us.”

You stared at him, your expression unreadable. “Maybe because we are strangers, Ominis. We have been for years, haven’t we?”

Ominis froze, your words striking him harder than he expected. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. You didn’t look away, your expression steady but tinged with something he couldn’t quite place—resignation, perhaps, or maybe sadness.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” you pressed, your voice quieter now but no less pointed. “After fifth year, you made it perfectly clear how you felt.”

He flinched, his jaw tightening as your words sank in. “I was trying to protect you,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “From Sebastian.”

“Don’t,” you said sharply, cutting him off. “Don’t put this on Sebastian. This isn’t about him. This is about you.”

Ominis turned his head slightly, his throat tightening as the weight of your accusation settled over him. He couldn’t argue with it—not entirely. You were right. It was his choice to push you away, though at the time he’d convinced himself it was the right thing to do.

“So no, you weren’t protecting me,” you continued sharply, your voice rising. “You were punishing me.”

He flinched as though you’d struck him, his sightless eyes widening. “Punishing you?” he echoed, his voice a mixture of disbelief and pain. “Why would I—”

“Because you didn’t trust me,” you cut in, your voice breaking slightly. “You thought I was wrong. You thought I didn’t understand, that I wasn’t on your side. So you pushed me away and you’ve done it ever since.”

“No,” Ominis said quickly, shaking his head. “That’s not—”

“Then what is it?” you demanded, taking a step closer, your anger and pain spilling out in equal measure. “Because that’s what it felt like. That’s what it’s always felt like. And now—” Your voice cracked, and you took a shaky breath before continuing. “And now, you’re stuck with me.” You lifted your left hand, the Gaunt family ring reflecting the lamplight. “And trust me, I know this isn’t what you want.”

Ominis froze, the weight of your words taking a moment to settle. And then, he almost laughed. The absurdity of the idea that he wouldn’t want you—you of all people—was almost too much to bear.

He’d imagined it—dreamed of it, hoped for it in the quiet, unguarded moments of his life. For years, he had spent his nights picturing you by his side, your hand in his, your voice soft and full of laughter as you spoke his name. He had clung to the idea of a future with you like a lifeline, even though, due to his own stupidity, it was impossible.

“If anyone doesn’t want this,” Ominis said finally, his voice trembling as he spoke, “it’s you.”

You blinked, your expression shifting from anger to confusion. “What?”

“You’re right,” he said, his grip tightening on his wand as he forced the words out. “You’re right about everything. About what I did, about why I pushed you away.” He swallowed hard, his throat tight. “Even if I didn’t realize it, I did punish you.”

You stared at him, your anger softening into something more complicated, though you didn’t interrupt.

“I’ve given you every reason to hate me,” Ominis continued, his voice breaking slightly, “For what I did to you then, and for what my family has done to you now.” He gestured vaguely at the room around you, at the bands on your fingers, at everything that bound you to him against your will. “I… I know you hate me, and I accept that. I know you hate this—hate us—and I accept that too. But if you think for one second that I didn’t want this—that I didn’t want you—you’re wrong.”

You rose slowly from where you’d been kneeling, your movements deliberate, your frame tense. Your arms hung loosely at your sides, and your gaze settled on him, unreadable. Ominis didn’t move, didn’t speak. The silence between you stretched taut, heavy and unbearable, his breath shallow as he waited, his heart pounding fiercely in his chest.

Then, finally, you spoke, your voice quiet, almost hesitant. “So… you... don’t hate me?”

“No,” he said immediately, the word escaping before you’d even finished. “Never.”

You blinked at him, as though startled by his vehemence. For a moment, he thought that would be the end of it—that you would leave it at that. But then you took a step closer, your voice trembling slightly as you asked, “Then why did you…?”

You trailed off, but he knew exactly what you meant. Why did you push me away for years?

“Because I’m an idiot,” Ominis said, the words escaping him sharper than he intended. His voice cracked slightly as he exhaled shakily, lowering his head in a mixture of frustration and shame. “Because I let fear and pride cloud my judgment. And Merlin, it’s the biggest regret of my life.”

Ominis's throat tightened painfully, the words he’d held back for years clawing their way up to the surface. They pressed against his chest, demanding release, and for once, he didn’t push them down. What was the point? You were already married, bound by vows neither of you could escape—trapped in this twisted arrangement orchestrated by his family. There was no undoing it, no going back.

“Because... because I’ve always loved you,” he stammered, his voice faltering but steady enough to carry the truth. He lifted his head slightly, his sightless eyes turned toward you as though he could see the effect of his words. “Always.”

The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, and the silence that followed was unbearable. The room felt suffocatingly still, every sound amplified in the oppressive quiet. He could hear the faint rush of blood in his ears, a relentless pounding that seemed to echo his racing thoughts. Even the soft cadence of his own uneven breathing felt deafening, filling the space as though to taunt him with the vulnerability he couldn’t take back.

“I…” you began, your voice unsteady, but you trailed off again, clearly struggling to find the words. “You… loved me?”

“Love,” he corrected softly. “Present tense.”

Your breath hitched, and he could hear the faint tremor in it. “Why... why didn’t you ever say anything?”

He hesitated, his hands tightening at his sides. “Because I was afraid,” he admitted. “Afraid you didn’t feel the same. Afraid of what it would mean if you did. I didn’t want you getting tied up with my family—with the Gaunts. I didn’t want you dragged into… into this.”

He gestured vaguely around the room, his frustration with himself evident in the sharpness of his movements. “Not that it ended up mattering,” he added bitterly.

You were silent again, and Ominis felt the weight of your hesitation like a physical thing pressing down on his chest. He’d said too much. He’d gone too far. And now—

“I wouldn’t have cared,” you said softly.

"...Pardon?”

“I wouldn’t have cared about your family,” you said again, your voice a little steadier now. “I never cared about any of that.”

Ominis's heart twisted painfully at your words, the faint flicker of hope they ignited almost too much to bear. “You…” He stopped, his voice faltering as he tried to process what you’d said. "You didn't?"

“No. In fact, I don’t care,” you continued, your voice quieter now, almost shy. “Present tense.”

Ominis felt as though the ground beneath him had shifted, his entire world tilting on its axis as his mind scattered, his carefully constructed thoughts unraveling at the edges. Present tense.

The implications swirled in his mind, overwhelming and impossible to fully grasp. If you didn’t care—if you truly didn’t care—then what did that mean? What did it say about the way you felt about him now?

“You mean…” he began, his voice faltering as he struggled to form the question that had lodged itself in his throat. “You mean you still…”

You looked away, a faint blush coloring your cheeks as you clasped your hands in front of you. “What I mean,” you began quietly, your voice barely audible. “Is that I... I love you too.”

Ominis thought he might collapse under the weight of your words. His head swam, his legs trembling as if they could no longer hold him upright. It was too much—too good to be true.

Surely, he’d imagined it.

This had to be some cruel trick of his mind, conjured from the depths of years of longing and guilt. Perhaps he was dreaming, caught in that fragile space between sleep and waking where impossible things felt real. Any moment now, he’d wake in his cold, oppressive bed at the Gaunt manor, the warmth of your voice nothing more than a fleeting echo in the dark.

But the longer he stood there, frozen and breathless, the clearer it became that this was no dream. You were still there, close enough that he could feel the faint warmth of your presence, the soft sound of your breathing in the silence.

“You…” His voice cracked, his grip on his wand tightening as though it were the only thing keeping him upright. “You love me?”

“Yes,” you said softly, unable to meet his eyes.

Ominis shook his head slightly, as though trying to shake loose the fog clouding his mind. “You… are you sure?”

“Yes, Ominis,” you said again, this time with a small, amused smile. The warmth in your voice should have soothed him, but instead, it sent his heart racing even faster.

“You’re serious. You… you lo—”

The words caught in his throat as you stepped closer, your movements soft but deliberate. The sudden proximity sent a shockwave through him, and what he was about to say dissolved on his tongue. The world narrowed until there was only you—the warmth of your presence, the faint rustle of fabric as you drew near, the soft sound of your breath mingling with his.

And then you kissed him.

The contact was gentle at first, tentative, as though testing the boundaries of a moment that neither of you could take back. But the moment his mind registered what was happening, something inside him snapped. Ominis dropped his wand, the dull thud barely registering in the haze of sensation that overtook him. His hands found your waist instinctively, trembling as they settled against you, holding you as though you might disappear if he let go.

It was everything—more than he had ever dared to imagine. The taste of you, the softness of your lips against his, the faint sigh you let out as you pressed closer. You were all he could feel, all he could think about, and the overwhelming reality of it, of you, left him breathless.

When you finally pulled away, his chest heaved, his forehead resting against yours as he struggled to find his breath.

“That story…” he murmured, his voice low and uneven. “The one you told at the reception. About Hogsmeade. Was it… was it true?”

You pulled back slightly, just enough for him to sense the shift in your posture. He couldn’t see your expression, but he could feel the heat rising from you, could hear the faint hitch in your breath.

“Yes,” you admitted softly, your voice tinged with embarrassment. “It was true.”

Ominis felt his knees nearly give out at the confirmation, his grip on your waist tightening reflexively. “Merlin,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “All this time…”

He swallowed hard, his throat tight as the weight of everything settled over him. The years he’d spent aching for you, the nights he’d lain awake tormenting himself with what-ifs—it all seemed so absurd now.

“You really…” He trailed off, shaking his head as though he couldn’t quite believe it. “You realized then?”

“At Hogsmeade?” you asked softly, your voice still tinged with shyness. You hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Yes... I did."

Ominis let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, his breath hitching as he shook his head slightly. “Because of some clothes?” he asked, the faintest trace of amusement coloring his voice. “Because I gave you my coat and bought you something dry to wear?”

"Sounds a lot less romantic when you say it like that," you mumbled, a hint of embarrassment coloring your voice. You glanced away, fidgeting slightly as though unsure how to explain yourself. “It wasn't just the clothes. I’d been falling you for some time, but I hadn’t really let myself acknowledge it. And then that day, it all just… clicked.”

His grip on your waist tightened slightly. “Clicked,” he repeated.

You swallowed hard as you cast your gaze downward. “You’ve always been… well, you, Ominis,” you began softly, your voice carrying a hesitant edge, as though you weren’t sure how much to say. “You, with your calm, your steadiness. Even when you’re angry, it’s controlled, measured, refined. It’s like you always know exactly what to do, like you were born knowing how to handle everything.”

He swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond to the quiet admiration in your voice. He’d spent so much of his life rejecting the parts of himself tied to his family’s legacy—the refinement, the composure, the quiet dignity that others associated with the Gaunt name. To hear you speak of it now, as though it were a part of him you valued, left him unsteady.

“And me?” you continued, your voice softening. “I’ve... I've never been like that. I’m messy. Emotional. I act too quickly and think too slowly. I’m… I don’t know. Chaotic, I guess.” You laughed softly, but there was no humor in it, just a quiet vulnerability that made Ominis’s chest ache.

“That’s not true,” he said quickly, his brow furrowing. “You’re—”

“What I’m trying to say is that you’ve always been my perfect opposite,” you continued gently, your voice carrying a faint edge of amusement. “My foil. You’re steady, and quiet, and level, and I’ve always felt like… like you even me out.”

Ominis’s heart twisted painfully at your words, the depth of your confession leaving him breathless. “You don’t need evening out,” he said softly, his voice trembling with emotion. “You’re brilliant just as you are.”

You gave a faint, self-deprecating laugh. “Well... that doesn’t change how I’ve always felt around you. Like you make me better. Like I can stand still and actually think when you're near.”

He was too overwhelmed to trust his voice, too unsure of how to put everything he felt into words. So instead, Ominis reached for you, his hand settling gently at the nape of your neck. And he held you there, his thumb brushing softly against your skin, his lips pressing a tentative kiss to your forehead.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was uneven, his voice quiet and raw as he asked, “Well, I’m here now. So… what are you thinking?”

You hesitated for a moment, your lips curving into the faintest smile. “I’m thinking…” You glanced toward the untouched bed before meeting his gaze again. “Maybe we can share the bed after all.”

"Is that so?" He murmured.

You nodded, your smile widening slightly. “Well, it’s a big bed. Plenty of room. And besides…” You reached for his left hand, spinning the wedding band around his finger. “You are my husband, after all.”

The words were light, teasing, but they sent a rush of warmth through Ominis that left him almost dizzy. He’d spent the entire day dreading what being your husband would mean, burdened by the weight of your resentment and his own guilt. But now, standing here with you, knowing you loved him, hearing you call him that—husband—filled him with an overwhelming, almost unbearable mixture of relief, joy, and hope.

Wordlessly, Ominis gently guided you toward the bed, his hand ghosted along your back. When you reached the edge of the mattress, he paused, his fingers brushing yours as he coaxed you to sit.

“Wait here,” he murmured softly, his voice warm and steady, though his chest was still tight with the weight of everything that had just happened.

Retrieving his wand from the floor, Ominis turned toward the small table where the champagne sat waiting, the chilled bottle glinting faintly in the soft lamplight. He reached for it with steady hands, though his heart was anything but calm. He needed the drink—something to take the edge off, to dull the sharp, almost unbearable clarity of this moment—the knowledge that you loved him, that he was about to share a bed with you not as strangers bound by duty, but as something far more significant.

Pouring the champagne into two crystal flutes, he turned back to you, carrying both glasses with a surprising steadiness for someone whose mind was in complete turmoil. Handing you one, he sat down beside you on the edge of the bed, closer than he’d dared to in years.

“To... new beginnings?” he offered softly, his voice carrying a tentative edge as he raised his glass slightly.

You hesitated for a moment, your gaze meeting his, before a small smile curved your lips. “To new beginnings,” you echoed, clinking your glass gently against his.

The crystal chime of the glasses meeting seemed to echo in the quiet room, a sound that felt impossibly delicate in the stillness between you. Ominis brought the glass to his lips, taking a small sip as his mind raced, the taste of the champagne crisp and cool against the tension still thrumming in his chest.

He inhaled deeply, steadying himself before speaking. “You looked…” His voice caught in his throat, hoarse and unsteady, and he cleared it softly before trying again. “You looked beautiful today.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and he could sense the faint blush that rose to your cheeks. “Ominis…” you began, but he shook his head, stopping you.

“I should’ve told you earlier,” he said quietly, his voice raw with sincerity. “You were… you are, the most stunning thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. I mean, um. Not that I can…” He trailed off, a faint, self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. “But I didn’t need to see you the way others do. I could feel it."

Your cheeks flushed faintly, and you glanced down at your own glass, swirling the champagne slightly as if to distract yourself. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice soft but genuine.

“I mean it,” he said softly. “You have always been beautiful. And today, seeing you in that dress… it felt like I was dreaming. I still feel like I’m dreaming.”

A deep flush spread across your cheeks, the warmth creeping down your neck as his words lingered in the air. You didn’t respond right away, instead lifting your glass in a swift motion and draining the champagne in one determined gulp. Ominis raised a brow at your boldness, his expression hovering between amusement and surprise. Before he could say anything, you leaned forward, stretching across his lap to place your empty glass on the bedside table.

The unexpected contact sent a jolt through him. His entire body stiffened, his breath catching in his throat as your warmth seeped through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Sorry,” you murmured, glancing at him as you sat back.

“It’s… it’s fine,” he stammered, a rush of warmth crawling up his neck and settling in his cheeks. He gripped his champagne flute more tightly than necessary, the coolness of the glass a poor counterbalance to the fire you’d ignited in his veins.

“You seem… tense,” you remarked, your eyes narrowing slightly.

“Tense?” he repeated, forcing his voice to remain steady even as his grip on the flute tightened. “I’m not tense.”

“You’re holding that glass like it’s about to leap out of your hand,” you pointed out with a soft laugh, leaning in just slightly, your shoulder brushing his. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes,” he said quickly, though his voice cracked slightly on the word.

You hummed softly in response, your amusement now evident. “If you say so."

Ominis turned his sightless gaze in your direction, his throat tightening as he tried to summon a reply that wouldn’t betray the chaos now swirling inside him. But you spoke again before he could, your tone as casual as if you were discussing the weather.

“By the way,” you said with deliberate slowness, “did I ever tell you that you clean up very well?”

He froze, his pulse thundering in his ears. “I… I’m sorry?”

“You,” you said simply, your gaze flicking over him again in a way that made his skin prickle with awareness. “In your suit earlier. You looked very handsome.”

Ominis’s face burned. He gripped his glass tightly, taking another long sip to buy himself a moment to think. “Th-thank you,” he managed.

“You’re welcome,” you said, a faint smile tugging at your lips. You leaned back onto your hands, the bed giving under your weight. "You really are very attractive, Ominis," you added softly, the undercurrent of sincerity that making his heart ache.

You’d never complimented him like that before, never indicated whether you found him attractive or not, and the revelation was dizzying.

“Why are you—why are you saying this?” he asked, his throat tight.

“Because it’s true,” you said simply. “And because I can.”

Ominis exhaled shakily. “You’re... you're very bold."

“And you are shy,” you replied, a playful glint in your eye as you tilted your head toward him. “I told you it’s a good thing we balance each other out.”

He wasn’t sure whether to be flustered or comforted by the ease in your voice. The warmth radiating from you, the teasing lilt in your tone, and the sincerity beneath it all—it was overwhelming, intoxicating.

“You’re relentless,” he muttered.

"Because you make it so easy." You explained smoothly.

Ominis cleared his throat, trying desperately to maintain some semblance of composure. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about."

You tilted your head, eyeing him. “Oh, I think you do."

Before he could respond, you leaned forward again, reaching past him toward the small table beside the bed. But this time, your free hand rested on his thigh for balance, the contact sending heat through his veins and a gasp threatening to pass his lips.

“Let’s see…” you murmured thoughtfully, your fingers brushing against a book as you pulled it toward you. “Huh. A bible. Why do hotels always have these?”

Ominis barely heard your question, his attention consumed by the weight of your hand on his leg, the warmth of your palm seeping through the thin fabric of his pants. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, as he tried—and failed—to focus on anything other than the proximity of your body to his.

“I suppose it’s tradition,” he managed weakly.

“Perhaps you’re right,” you mused, flipping the book closed with an air of exaggerated disappointment. “Though you’d think they’d leave something more interesting. A mystery novel, maybe.”

You shifted slightly to flip open the pages of the book, humming thoughtfully, but your elbow caught Ominis’s arm, sending champagne spilling directly into his lap, the cool liquid soaking through the fabric and clinging uncomfortably to his skin.

“Shit!” you exclaimed, sitting up quickly, your hand flying to your mouth. “I’m so sorry. Let me—”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, his voice strained as he tried to wave you off. “Really, I can—”

But you were already on your feet, grabbing a towel from the bathroom. Before he could protest further, you were kneeling in front of him on the floor.

“Let me help,” you insisted, your tone sweet but tinged with a something else that Ominis couldn’t quite place.

He stiffened further, his entire body locking up as your hand brushed dangerously close to the center of his lap.

“I-it’s fine, truly,” he stammered, his voice rising slightly in pitch. “You don’t need to—”

“Nonsense," you said lightly, shaking your head as you continued to blot the fabric. “It’s my fault.”

Ominis held in a groan, fighting to maintain even a shred of composure. Heat had already been pooling in his abdomen, a slow, insistent burn that now threatened to spiral out of control, but with your hands so dangerously close, with you kneeling before him, he felt as though his very sanity was slipping through his fingers.

His mind raced with a flood of thoughts—improper, indecent thoughts that he told himself he was far too much of a gentleman to entertain. And yet, he couldn’t stop them. Couldn’t stop imagining what it would feel like to give in, to let go of the rigid self-control that had defined so much of his life.

He bit down on the inside of his cheek. “Y-you really don’t need to,” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly as he shifted, trying in vain to create some distance between you. “I can handle it.”

“No, no," you murmured, your dabbing movements now turning into wiping motions. "Let me help.”

Help. The irony of the word wasn’t lost on him. If anything, your proximity, your touch, was undoing him entirely. And what was worse—what truly horrified him—was the knowledge that the evidence of his attraction would soon become blatantly, inescapably obvious.

His breath hitched as your hand brushed closer—too close—and he couldn't handle another moment.

Ominis shot to his feet so suddenly that it startled you, his wand clutched tightly in his trembling hand. The movement sent the towel slipping from your fingers as you instinctively leaned back, your wide eyes snapping up to meet his.

The image that his wand painted in his mind was delicious and utterly disastrous: you, on your knees before him, your hair slightly mussed, your lips slightly parted, and those impossibly wide eyes staring up at him.

He clenched his jaw, quickly lowering his wand, but no matter how hard he tried, the image wouldn’t leave him. It was burned into his mind, vivid and unrelenting.

Ominis opened his mouth, but his words came out as a jumble of incoherent stammers. “I—I’m sure the house elves packed… something—uh—extra pants.” His voice cracked slightly as he gestured vaguely toward the corner of the room where their bags were stacked. “I should—probably just—”

He moved to take a step, desperate to escape, but then your hands were on his thighs, stopping him mid-motion.

"Running off on me, are you?"

"I—I just thought—"

You tutted and gave him a gentle push, coaxing Ominis to sit back down on the edge of the bed. He resisted for a moment, but your persistence, combined with his legs trembling beneath him, left him with little choice. Slowly, he sank back down, his hands gripping at the sheets.

“There,” you said softly, your tone soothing yet carrying a playful undercurrent that made his pulse quicken. “That’s better.”

Better? Hardly. Ominis was certain he’d never been in a worse predicament in his life. You were now kneeling right between his legs, your hands still resting on his thighs, the heat of your palms searing through the thin fabric of his sleepwear.

He was painfully, achingly hard now, pressed uncomfortably against the fabric, and he knew—he knew—you must have noticed.

How could you not? You were so close, on your knees before him, your face dangerously near to the source of his torment. He clenched his jaw, his hands tightening into fists as he tried to will his body into submission, but it was no use. The evidence of his desire was blatant, inescapable.

And then, as if the situation wasn’t unbearable enough, you tilted your head slightly, feigning an expression of concern.

“You can’t be very comfortable like that,” you said softly, your voice laced with innocence. “Your pants, I mean. All damp and cold.” The corners of your mouth tugged into the faintest hint of a smile. “Maybe you should just take them off.”

Ominis stiffened. He knew exactly what you were doing—knew you weren’t nearly as innocent as you were pretending to be. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to call you out. Couldn’t bring himself to break the fragile thread of tension strung taut between you. Because some part of him—some reckless, desperate part of him—wanted to see how far you were willing to push him.

“I—I think I’ll just wait until—”

You leaned in slightly, your expression soft and oh-so-kind. “Until what?”

Ominis exhaled shakily, his hands tightening into fists. “Until I’m alone.”

Your eyebrows lifted slightly. “Alone?” you repeated, tilting your head as though the concept genuinely puzzled you. “Why? It's just me... and I'm your wife now, aren't I?"

His wife.

He swallowed hard. “You… you are,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But that doesn’t mean—”

“Doesn’t mean what?” you interrupted, trailing your hands further up his thighs. “That you can’t be comfortable around me? That you can’t let me take care of you?”

“Take care of me,” he repeated hoarsely, the word catching in his throat as his mind spiraled. He knew exactly what you were insinuating, and it was driving him to the brink of madness.

“Isn’t that what a good wife does?” you asked softly, your voice lilting as though you were enjoying this far too much.

Ominis swallowed hard, muttering your name. “…This is a dangerous game you're playing."

Your lips curved into a sly smile, your gaze never leaving his. “Is it?”

He forced himself to take a steadying breath. “You know exactly what you’re doing.

Your smile didn’t waver. If anything, it grew wider, teasing and entirely too confident for his fragile composure. “And what happens,” you asked, “if I keep playing?”

Your hands trailed upwards and his entire body went rigid, his fists tightening so hard that his knuckles ached.

And then you did it.

Your fingers hooked under the waistband of his pants, your touch light as you began to tug. And Ominis's composure shattered, the remainder of his control finally giving way.

He reached out, his hands catching your wrists and stilling your movements as he leaned down, his sightless gaze locked on you.

“Enough,” he said, his voice low, dangerous.

You blinked up at him, your playful smile faltering for the first time, though your eyes still held a glint of challenge. “Ominis—”

“Enough,” he repeated, his tone sharper this time. “You wanted to play a game, did you? Let me show you what it feels like to lose."

Ominis stood slowly, bringing your hands with him, guiding them back to the waistband of his pants. His breath was heavy, his voice low and rough when he spoke. “You started this,” he murmured, his tone carrying a dangerous edge that sent a shiver down your spine. “Now finish it.”

Your eyes widened, your earlier confidence faltering as you stared up at him. “Ominis, I—” you began, but he cut you off, his fingers tightening just slightly around your wrists.

“You wanted to see how far you could push me?” he muttered. “Congratulations. You found out. Now take them off."

You hesitated, your playful bravado faltering. This wasn’t the careful, reserved Ominis you were used to. This was someone raw, unguarded, and utterly unyielding.

But you had pushed him to this point, hadn’t you? Teased and taunted, knowing full well what you were doing. And now, you would face the consequences.

Your fingers trembled as they hooked under the waistband of his pants, tugging at the fabric. The damp material clung stubbornly to his skin, and the tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to choke on, but Ominis revelled in it, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

After a moment, the damp fabric finally gave way, sliding down his hips and pooling at his ankles, and for a moment, there was only silence.

Ominis tilted his head slightly, his fingers trailing along your jaw. “No teasing comments, hm? Not so bold now, are you?"

“I…” You hesitated, your breath hitching. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Didn’t mean to what?” he interrupted smoothly, his fingers ghosting along your skin. “Tease me? Push me? Make me want you until I could barely think straight?”

Your eyes widened, your lips parting in shock at his bluntness. He tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he took in your reaction.

“Because if that’s the case,” he continued, his voice dropping even lower, “then you failed. Now... where were you?"

He reached for your hands again, skimming them along his legs before hooking them into the fabric of his underwear. Your lips parted, a soft, unsteady exhale escaping as you gazed up at him.

“Go on,” he urged, his tone leaving no room for argument.

With a shaky breath, you complied with his demand, the fabric yielding beneath your touch as you began to tug it down past his hips and over the hard length of him.

Ominis’s breath hitched, his jaw tightening as he fought to maintain his composure. His one hand found your shoulder, the other tangling in your hair as you freed him from the confines of his underwear, the cool air of the room brushing against his heated skin.

He could feel your gaze moving over him, taking in every inch of his body. He didn't need to see her to know exactly what you were looking at. He could feel her hesitation, the quickening pace of your breathing, and it stirred something deep inside him.

"Like what you see?" His voice was low and rough. It wasn't a question so much as a challenge, a dare for her to speak the truth he already knew.

There was a pause, a moment where he could feel her nerves battling with her desire. Then her voice came, soft and trembling, yet unmistakably honest. "Yes. I… Ominis, you're... fuck, you're so big.”

Her words hit him like a spark to dry kindling, igniting a fire he could barely contain. A slow, wicked smile curled his lips as his confidence swelled at the admission. He let his thumb trace the curve of your jaw, the movement gentle even as his grip on your neck tightened slightly, coaxing you closer.

Your hands trembled against his thighs, and he felt you hesitate again. That flicker of uncertainty was intoxicating, drawing out the predator in him that wanted to take his time unraveling you.

"I don't even know if I can..." you whispered,

"Oh, you can," he said, his voice a mix of promise and challenge. "And you will. Open your mouth."

Your lips parted without hesitation, your trust in him making something primal surge within his chest. Ominis let out a low, satisfied chuckle as he guided you toward him with deliberate care. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with approval.

He could feel your breath ghosting over him, the slight tremor in your shoulders betraying her nervousness. But when your lips finally made contact, wrapping around him with warmth and softness, a sharp groan tore from his throat. The wet heat of your mouth was intoxicating, your tongue brushing against the sensitive underside of him sending jolts of pleasure rippling through his core.

He groaned, his voice low and gravelly, unrestrained. "God, you feel so good... yes, just like that."

His grip in your hair tightened, controlling your movements as he adjusted the angle with a firm but gentle tug. Each movement was controlled, his hips rocking forward slightly before pulling back just enough to keep you comfortable.

A low moan escaped him as your tongue flicked against the head of his cock, every slight drag of your lips sending waves of pleasure radiating through him like fire. His head tipped back briefly, a ragged exhale slipping from his lips.

"Relax your throat," he ordered breathlessly, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek. "Let me in. Let me feel you take all of me."

You responded instantly, a muffled moan escaping as you took him deeper, the vibrations sending a shockwave of pleasure through Ominis that left him teetering on the edge. His control slipped, and his hips jerked forward instinctively, driving himself further into the warmth of your mouth. The way your throat tightened around him, the way you surrendered so completely to his lead—it was undoing him, igniting a raw, primal need he couldn't restrain.

"I’m close," he breathed, his thumb brushing against your chin. "Keep going. Don't fucking stop."

Your kept pace, and every sensation sharpened, from the slick slide of your lips to the pressure of your tongue and the slight resistance of your throat.

Ominis's body shuddered violently when the tension coiled tight within him finally snapped, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as his hips pressed forward, forcing you to take his release. He groaned your name, his voice raw and broken, the sound laced with unrestrained pleasure as waves of his release surged through him. He felt you swallow, the rhythmic pull of your throat around him drawing out every last bit of his pleasure and leaving him utterly wrecked.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” he rasped, his voice hoarse and uneven as he brushed his thumb gently against your chin, a subtle caress full of approval. “So perfect.”

His breaths came in uneven gasps as the intensity began to ebb, though the memory of your mouth on him lingered, searing itself into his mind. The slick warmth of you, your complete submission to him, was something he knew he'd spend his life chasing.

Finally, his grip loosened in your hair, and with a soft, wet pop, he pulled himself from your mouth, the absence of your warmth almost jarring. His legs trembled as he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, his body still buzzing. Yet, even in his post-climactic haze, his hands remained steady, tracing the curve of your jaw with a reverence that felt entirely at odds with the raw dominance he'd displayed moments before.

“Are you alright?” he asked breathlessly, tilting your chin up to brush his thumb over your swollen lips.

Your breath was shallow, quick, and he could feel the faint tremor in your body under his hands. When you didn’t immediately answer, his brow furrowed. He withdrew his hand and reached for his wand.

The image of you that materialized made his breath catch—your breathing ragged, your cheeks flushed a deep, fiery red, your lips parted as you struggled to catch your breath, your eyes glassy.

He breathed your name, his voice tinged with worry as he cupped your face again. “I—I didn’t hurt you, did I? Please, tell me I didn’t hurt you.” His fingers brushed your hair back, searching for any sign of discomfort, his unseeing eyes filled with an almost frantic need for reassurance.

You blinked slowly, as if coming out of a haze, and the smallest of smiles tugged at your lips. Your breath hitched, and when you finally spoke, your voice was rough and shaky. “No,” you managed,“No, you didn’t hurt me.”

He let out a shaky exhale. “Are you sure you’re alright? Please tell me the truth.”

You nodded, your unsteady, watery smile sending a wave of relief coursing through Ominis, the tension in his chest easing ever so slightly. But that smile—soft, trembling, and paired with the glassiness in your eyes—made his heart falter for an entirely different reason. He had pushed you close to your limit; that much was undeniable. The sheen in your gaze spoke of intensity, perhaps even moments of overwhelming vulnerability. And yet, the faint curve of your lips said it all—you’d liked it.

You had trusted him so completely, surrendered so fully, giving yourself over to him for his pleasure, even when it stretched the boundaries of your comfort.

It was a realization that hit him hard, an almost overwhelming surge of emotion he wasn’t prepared for.

But Ominis couldn’t allow himself to dwell on it now. There was something far more important to focus on—taking care of you.

Ominis inhaled deeply, centering himself as he rose from the edge of the bed. He pulled back the covers with a smooth motion and turned back to you, his expression softening as he reached for you. “Come here,” he said gently.

Reaching down, his arms slid around you, steady and secure, as he helped you up from where you knelt on the floor. One hand pressed lightly against the small of your back, the other brushing against your arm as he guided you onto the bed.

Once you were settled, he tucked the covers around you, his hands lingering for a moment, brushing along your arm before moving to your face.

“There we are,” he murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair away as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You’re alright,” he assured, though it felt as much for him as it was for you. “I’ve got you.”

Your voice, hoarse and barely above a whisper, cut through the quiet. “Ominis, you can stop fussing. I’m alright.”

He froze for a moment, his lips curving into a faint smile as a soft chuckle escaped him. “You’re alright, are you?” he asked, his tone a blend of teasing and disbelief. “You can barely speak. Forgive me if I’m not entirely convinced.”

You rolled your eyes weakly, the smallest of smiles tugging at your lips. “I mean it,” you said, your voice still raspy. “I’m okay."

He shifted closer to the edge of the bed as he adjusted the covers once more, making sure they were snug around you. “You need water," he decided, his brow furrowing slightly.

Before you could protest, he was already moving, locating a glass and filling it at the bathroom sink. He returned swiftly, slipping one hand beneath the back of your neck to help you sit up just enough. The other hand brought the glass to your lips.

“Drink,” he murmured softly.

You sipped obediently and he smiled softly, chest rising and falling with a quiet steadiness now that he knew you were truly alright.

"You were so good," he murmured, as his fingers trailed down to your jaw, tilting your face slightly upward. "Do you have any idea how amazing you felt?"

He leaned closer, his lips finding the flushed heat of your cheek, pressing soft, lingering kisses there, each one accompanied by a murmured word of praise. “So perfect,” he whispered between kisses, his voice low and reverent. "So well behaved."

His lips trailed to your other cheek, brushing against the soft skin as he continued. “It was overwhelming in the best way possible. The way you felt, the way you took me—it was more than I could have ever imagined.”

You hummed softly, the sound a mixture of contentment and satisfaction as his lips trailed across your flushed skin. A shaky hand lifted from beneath the covers, reaching out to find his cheek, your fingers trembling slightly as you guided his lips to yours.

The kiss was a whisper, soft and delicate, barely more than a brush of your lips against his. Ominis exhaled against your mouth, his breath warm and steady, a low hum of contentment escaping him as he leaned into you. His hand slid from your jaw to the nape of your neck, cradling you as his lips moved against yours.

Your lips barely parted from his as you whispered against them, your voice still raspy but filled with quiet conviction, “I love you.”

The words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, Ominis stilled, as though trying to convince himself they were real. Then, his breath hitched, and he pressed his forehead against yours.

“I love you, too,” he murmured in return, his voice trembling with emotion. “Merlin, I love you so much. I always have.” He paused, his unseeing eyes searching for something he couldn’t quite articulate. “After everything, after all this time… I never dared to hope we’d find each other again like this.”

You smiled faintly, your thumb stroking his cheek as you closed the small distance between you for another kiss, your lips speaking what words couldn’t.

Ominis pulled back slowly, his fingers brushing through your hair one last time before he adjusted the covers around you. He slipped into bed beside you, his movements careful, his body naturally finding yours as his arms slid around you, drawing you close. Your head nestled against his chest, your breath warm against his neck, and he felt your heartbeat, steady and sure, beneath his hand.

As he held you, Ominis let his mind wander, reflecting on everything that had brought you both to this moment. The pain, the distance, the longing—it had all been worth it for this, for you. A soft, contented sigh escaped him as he pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

As he closed his eyes, his grip on you tightening slightly in an unconscious promise to never let you go again, a single thought echoed in his mind: This is where I’m meant to be. With you. Always.

Divider Credit

[sukunasteeth]

Marks

Sukuna doesn't understand the hold you have on him.

He's never particularly been a people person. In fact, people annoyed him. This has held true ever since he was a child with his twin brother, Yuji. That is, until Yuji brought you home one fateful day in middle school, claiming to have met a new friend. 

You, with your sweet little smile, and your boundlessly generous heart. You with your giggle that chimes through his darkened soul like a golden bell. With the innocent rosy lips that he'd dreamed of having his first kiss with until high school, when it finally came to fruition. You had been irrevocably his ever since then, and it had been almost seven years.

So why does it still feel like you're the one with all the power here?

Why does it feel like you could create a monster out of him if you truly wanted to? Why does it feel like he's constantly at your beck and call? Why are you the one person on this green earth that reduces him to the feeling of an emotion as pathetic as helplessness?

"'Kuna...hurts..."

He'll admit, he takes it out on you.

Like now, when you're lying naked beneath him (his favorite spot to have you in) and begging him to take it easy on you. He's got you covered in sweat, exerting you to your ultimate limit. He loved to see you train until failure, after all. Adored the way your legs quivered when he relentlessly made you keep riding him, despite your exhaustion. Cooed at the way you begged him to be gentle, even though he knows you prefer it rough. You were quick to submit when he had you behind closed doors, despite how independent you appeared outside of them. Sukuna knew you better. Knew how much you loved following his direction. Receiving his praise.

You were lucky you were such a good girl.

Sukuna was torturing you now already, and you hadn't even disobeyed him. He can't imagine what he would do if you were unruly. Actually, he can. And the thought has him salivating even more as he sucks relentlessly at the nape of your neck. You're covered in marks from his teeth or the raw scrape of his tongue. Your throat has been tormented by his worship to the extent that he's even broken skin in the spots where he can feel your pulse beneath his lips.

Even Sukuna has to admit that you didn't deserve this abuse. You hadn't done a thing out of line, besides selfishly tearing the heart out of his chest for good. It was yours now.

The thought makes him growl against you.

God, you weren't even trying.

Your victory over him was so effortless.

It pissed him off.

He doesn't realize that he's bitten you particularly hard until you're suddenly recoiling away, burrowing yourself into his pillows with a small yelp. Your hand has sprung up to press your palm over Sukuna's mouth in some weak attempt at getting him to stop. Your other hand holds your throat as you purse your lips at him, which have also seen a good amount of Sukuna's biting that day.

You looked good in his teeth marks, what can he say?

"Are you mad or something?" You're blinking up at him like a confused little deer. Sukuna can't help that it makes him hungry. You were a perfect prey to him and he would be chasing you to the end of this lifetime. He could tell solely in the way that your stupid little nickname for him makes his heartstrings snap.

He takes a frustrated breath through his nose over your hand, nipping at your fingers over his mouth like a muzzled dog. Before you can pull them away, he's grasping your wrist tightly, his unforgiving grip a warning in itself. Easily, he pins it to the side of your head, rendering you halfway useless.

"Don't interrupt." He murmurs, his gaze burning into yours.

A helpless sob escapes you, but otherwise you stop trying to squirm away from him. You allow the onslaught to continue without a peep, bracing yourself each and every time a new hickey is being bruised into your skin. He doesn't offer you any words in terms of praise, but his grip on your wrist eventually loosens a bit. He never fully lets you go, though.

While he appreciates your cooperation, you eventually go almost too quiet and Sukuna thinks for a moment that maybe he's pushed you too far. He pulls away from your neck to look at you, finding your pink little face screwed up in an intense mixture of pleasure and agony. He feels a content smile spread across his face but it's cut short when his eyes hone in on your lips, which you're currently biting hard enough to draw blood from.

His free hand reaches up and grasps your chin, pressing his thumb below your bottom lip and forcing you to relinquish it. You blink slowly, your logical brain having exhausted itself up until this point. You easily let him pry your teeth apart, panting in his grasp. 

"Mouth. Open." He commands.

You squirm in your overwhelming frustration, whining. "It hurts, 'Kuna!"

Sukuna hums in a mock sympathy, watching you suffer with a satisfied grin. You would have these marks for weeks. There were so many now, some more intense than others, and he wasn't even close to being done with you.

"You're being cruel." You accuse, watching your own hardship twinkle back at you in the reflection of his eyes. Your pout is purple and bruised from your attempts to keep quiet. Sukuna leans in closer and presses the sweetest kiss to your lips, as soft as the brush of a feather.

What was cruel was the fact that you had broken down everything Sukuna had ever known about himself. His strength was putty at your feet. His hatred for the world was a joke in your presence. His pride, a mere memory at the touch of your fingertips against his soul.

"You think this is cruel?" He whispers, mocking you. His voice is the taunt of a devilish trickster. "I think I've been going too easy on you. Allow me to rectify that."

There really is no curse more cruel than love.

[aliteralsemicolon]

Bad, bad news - 18+

Main masterlist | Part 2

"Bad, bad news, one of us is gonna lose, I'm the powder you're the fuse...just add some friction." You and Spencer play to see who can control themselves the longest. Loser is at the winner's mercy for the rest of the night.

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER I do not consent to my work being used to feed/train AI and/or re-posted anywhere by anybody else You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Minors do not interact at all. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read.

WARNING: Smut: Switch!/dom! Spencer, switch!/sub! reader, cock-warming, nipple play, dirty talk, edging/orgasm denial, clit stimulation, one singular spank, no use of protection, pet names (sweet girl, good girl, etc). Not proofread. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 2.9K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

Rolling around half naked in your bed sheets is like a harmonious duet on most days. You and Spencer mindlessly slip into your roles using non-verbal cues. Today was not one of those days. Today was a messy battle for dominance and your sheets bore the brunt. 

“Give in,” Spencer whispers, his knee strategically pressed against your heat. “You know you want to.”

You wiggle your wrists out of his grasp above your head and flatten your palms against his chest as you push him back down. He doesn't react fast enough and you’re straddling him again. You claim his mouth in a roaring kiss and swallow a desperate moan.

“Baby, if anyone’s going to give in it’s you.” You taunt, pulling away.

Without warning, Spencer bucks his hips up, rubbing his hardness against your core. It makes you jolt. 

“Yeah?” He licks his lips and flashes you a cocky smile.

“Y-yes.” You’re quick to regain composure, not wanting to let him rob you of the upper hand. “You can barely control yourself.”

He harshly cups your jaw in retaliation and pushes himself up until his lips are almost brushing yours. You have to brace yourself against his shoulder and his eyes lock in on yours. He lingers there for a second, his breath tickles your skin. Your eyes flicker between his eyes and his lips. His hold on your jaw loosens as the two of you slowly lean in. 

“I’m not the one that needs to be controlled.” It’s a low gravel that vibrates against your mouth as he retracts his head, making you chase after the kiss. 

Before you can catch his lips, he rolls you over and pushes himself on his knees. The noise that leaves you upon impact is something between a squeak and a grunt. He doesn’t give you time to assimilate, flipping you over and yanking you by your hips. Your cunt slams against his bulge and you groan, gripping the sheets. He grabs your hands, pinning them behind your back. You try to squirm out of his grip, but he’s got you pinned firmly. 

“Hey, that is not fair!” You whine. 

“Oh? Why not?” 

“You’re biologically stronger than I am!”

“Aw, poor baby.” He pouts with a mocking coo. 

You huff and make another futile attempt to set yourself free.

“Just give in and I’ll let go.” He chuckles. 

“Fuck off–ah!” A firm smack on your behind cuts you off. 

If that wasn’t so hot you could have at least pretended to be upset, but the way you involuntarily grind your hips gives you away before you can even make the effort. Spencer hisses in response. His eyes rake down your back to your ass pressed against him. So that backfired. 

You’re just as stubborn as he is and he doesn’t have the patience to wear you down. He needs to watch you squirm as you beg for him. He wants to feel how desperate you are for him. Using a featherlight touch, his hand travels up your back. He leans in, torso hovering over your back and brings his lips to your ear. 

“How about I make you a deal, hmm?” A trail of kisses starts from below your ear to your jaw.

“A deal?” You repeat, falling into a slight daze.

His fingers stop skimming over your back when he reaches the clasp of your bra and he undoes it in one swift motion. You can feel your heartbeat as your breasts spring free. 

“Mhm.” He releases his hold on you and moves off you to sit up against the headboard. 

“What deal?” You question as you sit up, eyeing him curiously.

“Well, it’s more of a bet.” 

Part of the reason you and Spencer work so well is because of your ability to keep up with each other's competitive nature. 

“Go on.” You rid yourself of the bra hanging on your shoulders. 

He tries to hide it, but, being met with your bare chest has an immediate effect on him. The silent but sharp inhale, the way he tries oh so hard to keep his eyes on your face and the way his lip rolls between his teeth. You can practically feel your arousal pooling in your underwear. 

“Come here.” He beckons you closer with his fingers.

A shrewd smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth. You position yourself on your hands and knees, effectively crawling toward him. It shouldn’t feel as alluring as it does, but the sight makes his cock twitch. Part of him wants to grab you and pull you onto his lap the second you’re within reach, but he waits for you to get there on your own, watching you intently with every step. 

His palms caress the sides of your ribcage as you straddle him and he swipes his tongue between his lips. You drape your arms on his shoulders, wrapping them so your fingers run through his hair. You let him kiss you on the chin, jaw and shoulder, but when he tries to go lower, you pull on his hair by the base. He turns his head back up to you and you both rest your foreheads together.

“You are impossibly stubborn.” He groans. 

“I wouldn’t have to be if you would simply do as I say.” 

“I should tie you up and make you watch as I take care of myself in front of you.” There’s an underlying playfulness in his sigh. 

“That sounds like a punishment.” You quirk your eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t have to if you had let me take care of you as I’ve wanted from the start.” 

“You won’t. At all.” You state point blank, indicating he's not the one in charge.

Spencer tsks and brushes his thumb against your nipple. You playfully slap his hand away. You don’t know it yet, but he’s already noting everything he’ll punish you for when the time comes. 

“Do you trust me?” 

You nod, giving him a cautious stare. 

“Do. you. trust. me?” He repeats, unsatisfied with the non-verbal confirmation. 

“Yes!” You huff. 

“Up.” He drops his hands to your hips, gripping the flesh and pushing it away from him. 

You lift yourself off him and on your knees. Spencer then lifts his hips, tugging his boxers down providing ample room for his length to bounce out. Looking down you can see just how hard he is. His tip’s swollen, pink and leaking with pre-cum. If you weren’t so turned on right now, you’d question what he’s up to. 

There is no shortage of things you want to do to him and he can tell as much when he runs a finger through your slit, pushing the fabric to the side. The action is unexpected and you have to use his shoulders for support, a whimper escaping your lips. You glare at him but he pays you no mind.

“Fuucck,” He breathily groans, “you are soaked.” 

It always takes you a little off guard when Spencer swears. He rarely does, saving it for when he feels very passionately about something. It makes you clench around nothing. Spencer guides your hips a little lower and runs his tip between your folds. You can only chuff in desperation as you try to keep yourself composed. 

“Sit.” He commands, lining himself up with your entrance. 

You’re sceptical but comply nonetheless. You slowly sink on his length and his fingers dig into the plush of your hips. The two of you exchange a gasp as you attempt to ground yourselves. Something about how he stretches your walls open is so delicious and palatable, that it makes you forget all sense or reason.

“Now what?” 

“Now,” his voice floats in and out of short breaths, “you sit still.” 

“I beg you pardon? Still?” Your perplexity makes him chuckle.

Shock waves travel between your cores and you squirm. 

“Uh-uh.” His grip on your body tightens as he holds you in place. “You heard me. Sit still.” 

You mull over his words and it clicks.

“Cockwarming?” 

“Precisely.” 

“That’s your deal?”

“Bet.” He corrects. 

A silent pause takes over the conversation. You try to study his challenging stare, but honestly, all you can focus on is how enchanting his eyes are. How ethereal they look when you have him begging for you. You’re smart enough to recognise that the only shot you have of making that happen is if you indulge him for now. 

“Okay, genius, I’ll bite. What are we betting on?” 

“Control. More specifically, which one of us is better at exhibiting control.”

“So not you.” You snort. 

He rolls his eyes but he’s unsure if it’s because of your comment or how warm you feel around his cock. He doesn’t point out that he’s already demonstrating a great amount of control by not flipping you over and fucking the shit out of you, because it might not work in his favour.

“What happens when I win?” 

Your follow-up question brings him back to you with brows raised in astonishment. 

“When you win?” 

“Or when you lose. Whatever way you wanna look at it.” 

His eyes narrow and his tongue swipes the inside of his cheek. Maybe if he brought up how good he is at holding his tongue, he could make a point about how much more control he’s in. 

“Whoever wins gets to do whatever they want to the other. For tonight.” 

You twist your lips to the side in contemplation. Spencer tracks every shift in your features. 

“Deal.” You answer with a genuine smile. 

“Thank you.” His gratitude is relayed in a husky whisper.

You don’t know if it’s the way he speaks or the words he says, but it makes you clench. You don’t realise until he hisses and throws his head back. 

“You can’t be doing that.” His thumbs caress the skin they’re resting on. 

“What? This?” You repeat the action intentionally and give him your most convincing doe eyes. 

Oh the things he plans to do to you. His thoughts hide behind a half-smirk and his eyes drop to your breasts. The look on his face borders between unsettling and erotic, sending shivers down your spine. Spencer lets his hand drift up your sides, stopping so his thumbs brush your nipples again. The feeling provokes goosebumps all over. 

You unintentionally whimper when he gently rolls them between his thumbs and forefingers. At first, Spencer was only trying to tease you for your antics, but the sound of your voice made him want to coax more out of you. He adds pressure to his hold and tugs. Your walls tighten around him again and he lessens the pressure to keep himself composed. If you don’t stop, he will. Your hands move to cup his wrists in place and you try to hold back the pathetic sounds threatening to spill out of you. 

“Can’t have your cake and eat it too, sweet girl. Tell me what you want.” His voice is a coo masking a command. 

“For you to stop playing games and give up already.” You try to keep your voice steady but fail. 

“You’re just delaying the inevitable at this point. The longer you fight, the harder you’ll have to beg.” He relays it like a scientific fact that can’t be proven wrong. 

“And you’re delusional if you think that’s happening. I won’t beg for you.” 

“That’s two bets you’re losing tonight.” 

You scoff but before you can get another word in, he pulls your taut nubs with a tighter grip than before. You have to fight the urge to lean away and roll your hips. Your breathing quickens, it’s almost as if you're quietly heaving. Then you make the mistake of looking down. Slender fingers toying with your hardened peaks and cock so deep inside you that your cores are touching at the base. 

Your senses feel heightened. Everything you sense is jumbled. You can practically taste the sweet ecstasy that fills your body when he’s driving into you so hard that he’s pressing against your stomach. You don’t realise how close you are to the edge, but Spencer does. He can tell by the slight shake in your legs as you try to keep yourself still. And the way your nails dig into his wrists. 

All your focus is on keeping yourself from clenching because you don’t want him to stop. The coil in your stomach has almost completely unravelled; you just need to sit still for a few more seconds. 

Seven. In your distracted state you let a few tiny moans slip out. 

Six. It elates Spencer, he almost feels bad for what he’s about to do. 

Five. As you grow louder, Spencer begins shushing you in his soft voice. 

Four. You shut your eyes, anticipating your release.

Three. Almost there, your lip rolls between your teeth. 

Two–

Your efforts are wasted because Spencer lets go right as you’re on the brink. 

“NofuckWHY?!” You speak so fast that you join your sentence into one word. 

A brash chuckle erupts from him. He releases his wrists from your grip.

“Come on, you didn’t actually think I was going to let you cum.” 

You let out a frustrated huff. 

“Only good girls get to come. Are you a good girl?” He adds, intertwining his hands with yours. 

It seems like an intimate act, but you can see past it. As always, the sneaky bastard has found himself a loophole. The truth is, Spencer doesn’t have more patience, he’s just too good at achieving results. He’s basically admitted defeat and you’ll still be the one to lose. You can only give him a narrowed stare, scouring his eyes with your jaw hanging.

“No?” He prompts when your silence is too long. 

This time, he only gives attention to one of your nubs and his other hand lands on your clit without warning. He doesn’t ease you into his brutal pace, flicking over your bud with his middle finger. The strain against your sensitive nipple, the stimulation on your inflamed bud and his erection still buried inside you. It’s an overwhelming sensation and you’re unsure of what to focus on. The result is a loud, strangled moan you try to muffle in the crook of his neck.

“Fuck! Spencer!” 

It doesn’t take long for the tension in your abdomen to start building again. You try to focus on your breathing and relieve the intensity by pressing your nails into his shoulders. Spencer remains undeterred and you can’t escape the feeling. It’s building fast and it’s going to run through you like a tidal wave. 

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck– oh God– oh fuck–” 

Your stringed obscenities are matched by Spencer's more silent hums and groans. He’s enjoying this, probably more than you are. His begins to twitch inside you at random intervals, he could cum just from this. 

“You’re close. Maybe I should stop. Hmm?” He mumbles his words as close to your ear as he can. 

“Pleaseplease–fucking–please– don’t stop. Don’t stop!” 

“Admit that you’re my good girl.”

“Spenc– mmh–” 

It’s too much but not enough at the same time. The tension inside is brewing too thick, you’re about to snap. 

“You’re not cumming until you say it,” Spencer warns sternly, “say you’re my good girl.” 

The sound of his voice only adds to your desperation. All you give him in return is your lewd mewls. He’s brought you back to the edge, you only need one final push. 

“Still nothing? You must not want it bad enough.” He starts to slow down his pace, indicating that he’s about to stop. 

The threat alone makes you break. 

“No!” You yelp. “Nonono– I’m a good girl– I’m your good girl! Please don’t stop!”

You’re panting frantically. He’s won.

“Yeah? You think so?” 

Yet he’s still going to make you work for it. He quickens his pace again and you don’t even try to keep yourself still anymore, squirming in his lap. 

“Mhm..” It’s a broken beg, your face still hiding in his neck. 

“Look at me.” He hisses gently, struggling against the friction you’ve started to build. 

You lazily lift your head to meet his eyes. He has a victorious smirk on his face. Your eyes struggle to stay open and you flutter your lids.  

“Oh, you look so pretty. All flushed and desperate.” He teases. “Tell me, what are you?”

You need release, now. Your legs try to close around his body. 

“I– ah– shit– I’m–fuck your g–good girl!” Your words exit as more of a moan than a coherent sentence. The coil in your stomach is about to burst any second. 

“I’m sorry. I can’t hear you.” He’s relishing in your struggle. 

You let out a frustrated whine. 

“I’m your good girl!” 

Spencer chuckles at just how agreeable you’ve become because of how badly you want to cum. Your brows furrow and you throw your head back, eyes squeezing shut. Just as you’re about to get your sweet release, Spencer stops. You snap your sights on him, utterly dazed, annoyed and confused. Spencer leans in, getting close enough for his whisper to reach you.

“Prove it.” 

Spoilers: Smut.

AN - When I said edging, I meant it. We’re all getting edged. Anyway first kinktober piece, I can’t promise I’ll deliver all of them in October. I’m just a girl (uni takes priority sorry guys). Also, this is kinda overdue now but thank you for 1K <3

TT has ruined so many things for me. I couldn’t write this without thinking of “asserting dominance” and giggling.

Thank you for reading!

[alastor-simp]

Heatwave🥵 - Sick Sylus x Fem Reader (R-18 Smut)

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧Summary: It's rare to see Sylus so weak at this moment, especially from a cold. It pained you to see him like this, so you took it upon yourself to give him proper care. Unfortunately, the care he wants from you may be too much for you to handle.

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ Genre: smut, fluff

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧Word count: 2K+

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧Warnings/Tags: mdni, explicit sexual content, sylus is needy when sick, spoilers from sylus secret times heatwave audio, sick fic, sick sylus, fingering, neck kissing, lots of kissing, top sylus, bottom reader, P in V, missionary position, horny sylus, mentions of sweat, soft sylus, unprotected sex, cuddling, nicknames (kitten, sweetie).

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧Notes: I adore all of Sylus Secret Time audios, but the one that I enjoy the most is his Heatwaves one. The raspy sound of his voice when we was sick was wayyyy to hot, and the fact he sounded so soft too, wanting to cuddle with the MC. I was inspired to write a smut story about this audio, and how I expected it to go. Enjoy

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧Link: Video to Sylus Secret Times Heatwave is here - Link

₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧Credit: Banner credit to @cafekitsune

Its been a while since you last saw Sylus, gazing at your phone at the last text message from him, cheeks blushing at the little nicknames he always called you, scrolling down to see the last message was from five days ago. Both of you had different lives, you being part of the Hunters association while he was doing his duties as the big Onychinus leader, yet you couldn't resist the urge to go and see him, missing him dearly.

Heading to the Onychinus base, that only you surprisingly had access to, you ventured into the long dark hallway, running into Luke and Kieran. "Hey! if it isn't the Boss's favorite person." said Luke, as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, giving you a noogie. Kieran chuckled at his brothers actions, turning to you with a head tilt, "What brings you here, Y/N? Pushing Luke away from messing up your hair, you looked up at Kieran, giving him a soft smile. "Wanted to see Sylus. Is he in?"

Both of the twins stood next to each other, gazing at themselves for a bit, before looking back at you. "He is, but he might not want to see you." Kierans words stunned you for a second, wondering what he meant by that. "The boss is feeling a bit under the weather at the moment. He ordered us specifically not to have anyone disturb him." Luke said, taking note of your sad expression after what his twin said.

So that's why Sylus wasn't messaging you, he was sick, and he was dealing with this by himself? "Well, I'm not one of his employers here, so that doesn't apply to me, plus he's sick so he needs someone to look after him." Walking past the both of them, you ventured closer to the door that led to his bedroom, not before turning back to look at the twins, " I'll make sure to cover for the both of you." Despite them both wearing masks, you could tell they were smiling as they gave you a thumbs up before walking away.

Knocking on the door, there was a groggy "Who is it," from the other side, as you entered into the bedroom, spotting Sylus. Adorning his robe, he was sitting on the couch, head leaning on the back of it. His pale face appeared very flushed, beads of sweat dripping down on it. His eyes were closed, yet they opened slowly, turning to gaze at who the intruder was, spotting you. "....Oh, its you." Lips drew into a tired smirk, he continued to watch you as you came closer to where he sat, giving him a kind smile. "Hey Sy." you said softly, eyes filled with softness. "Hey kitten." He repeated what you said, yet he winced as the aching in his head was becoming unbearable, moving to lean back against the couch cushion.

"Let me guess, Luke and Kieran told you about me, when I specifically said no one was allowed to disturb me," His groggy voice was laced with irritation, as the pounding in his head was getting worse. "Well I'm not part of your organization, so what you told the twins doesn't affect me. Besides, they were worried about you and so am I." His expression softened upon hearing that, the sweet words from you making his heart race. "Fine, fine, you are an exception." Patting the spot next to him, he urged you to sit, "Come here, I want to use your lap as a pillow."

Obeying his request, you sat down where his hand was, his body maneuvering so his head laid gently on your lap, both his legs stretching out on the other side of the couch. He let out a relax sigh, admiring the softness of your lap, shutting his eyes. Ruffling his hair, you asked how he was feeling, which he responded back in a tired tone, "I'm gravely ill, one might say." His hand grasped yours that was playing with his silver locks, moving it to place it on his forehead, feeling the intense warmth, "Touch it, its burning up." The coolness of your hand provided him some relief, as he let out a pleasant sigh.

"How long have you been sick for?" Rubbing his forehead, you asked him softly, as his crimson eyes gazed up at you. "Not sure, but it won't be going away anytime soon." Raising his finger to his lip, he wanted silence, as he continued to lay on your lap, while your hand rubbed his forehead. After a couple minutes, you grew weary, looking over and seeing his empty bed, tapping his forehead to get his attention. "Sy, lets go over to the bed." Groaning a bit, Sylus slowly came up, muttering an "okay" as you helped him up, using your hands to help carry him over.

Landing on the bed, Sylus turned towards you, arms stretching out wide, wanting you to come into his arms. Smiling, you threw your jacket on the couch, while flicking your shoes off. After doing that, your body jumped and landed on top of Sylus, causing him to let out a grunt, which was then replaced with a dry chuckle, as you laid down on him, face squished against his chest, looking at him with a cute expression. He gave you his signature smirk, giving you a soft forehead flick, "Why did you plop down on me like that? I could've died." "Haha, very funny," You said, with an annoyed laugh, nuzzling closer to his chest, putting a bit more of your weight on top of him, grabbing the covers to put it over the both of you.

"Ah...I see. You want to take advantage of me after I use up all of my stamina? That's very impressive, since many of the assassins that are sent to me couldn't even do this much." His smirk turn playful, enjoying the expressions your face made when he said that. "I figured as much, since kittens are predators who enjoy toying with their prey, especially ones that will struggle?" A smack to his chest was your response to him, a deep chuckle leaving his lips, "Ouch.....be gentle." Lifting your hands up, you grasped his cheeks softly, his body jolting a bit from how cold they were, before relaxing. "That feels nice," He muttered, leaning into your touch.

He's so feverish, it's not going down, you thought, worried it was going to get worse if he didn't take something. "Want me to get you something for your fever?" Voice filled with concern, you waited for him to answer you. He lifted his eyebrow, "Medicine? I'm not taking that, it's bitter." His face grimaced, refusing to take any of that nasty stuff. "Well, if you won't take anything, how are you going to lower your fever?" Grumbling, your head lifted up from his chest, looking down at him. His eyes twinkled with amusement, arms moving to grasp your waist, flipping you on your side. His head positioned on top of your forehead, nuzzling it, "If you want me to get better..........cool me down yourself."

Words died in your throat, eyes gazing at the silver-haired man who was rubbing against your face like a cat. "Do you want me to get you an ice pack?" You asked, innocently, hoping that would be a better alternative. His head moved, signifying a no, as he held you closer, "What ice pack? You are the ice pack." Shivers went down your back, the husky tone of his voice flustering you more than usual. Large hands traveled upward, from waist to upper back, holding you tenderly. "Hmm....we should've done this earlier." He whispered, warm breath hitting your face, intensifying your blush. After a few moments, he pulled away, warm eyes peering into yours, "Your face is warm.......let me using something else then."

Lowering his head, he positioned his face in the crook of your neck— inhaling your sweet scent. Part of you wanted to tell him to stop, but how he was acting right now—being super soft and vulnerable had devastating effects on your heart. Perhaps being a ice pack wasn't so bad. His nose continued to trace alongside your neck, stopping when his eyes glanced at the reddish mark on the surface of your skin. "What's this on your neck?" He asked, eyes squinting in confusion. Embarrassed, you explained the story of how you were in a rush and the little mishap you had with your lipstick. "You were putting on lipstick and it actually got on there?" He chuckled, feeling his face push further into your neck—luscious lips pressing against it.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest—amused at your surprised expression, "Your neck is warmer now that I kissed you. You can't focus on anything, huh." His ministrations continued, lips trailing all over your neck, back arching into him more—goosebumps traveling across your skin. "S-Sylus," You whispered, breath coming out in soft pants—the warmth from his body heating you up. Removing his face from your neck, his crimson eyes peering at you, "Your body is getting hotter." Your mind was still a mess from his actions, eyes glaring at him—fingers pinching his cheek, "It's your fault!"

Smirking, he positioned his body on top of yours, removing your hand from his cheek and pushing it against the mattress, "Is this how you treat sick people, sweetie?" You tried to move, hoping to push him off of your body, yet it was futile, "I'm trying to take care of you yet your acting like a brat." His eyebrow lifted at your words, smirk remaining on his face as he lowered his head, nuzzling into your neck again— his lower body gently laying on top of you. "I'm only using you to calm down my fever. Quite a reasonable request I would say." His breath continued to tickle your neck, his hand letting go of the one he pinned—returning back to caress your waist and back.

He lifted his head again, gazing down at you, unamused, "You're not a very good ice pack. You've failed to cool me down and warmed me up instead." His position on top of you was making you more flustered, turning your head away to avoid his stare. Soft fingers went to your chin, turning you back to look at him, "What's wrong, kitten? Are you sick too? Your cheeks are quite red." His voice was low, raspy—causing your lower panties to get soaked. He still held your chin, eyes trailing you up and down,"Oh I see. I wasn't using you correctly. I should be sweating it out." He grinded into you, feeling his grown length rubbing against your intimate area—a moan leaving your lips.

"That makes you perfect for this," He said, licking his lips—his hands entering inside your shirt, massaging your breasts tenderly. Moans escaped your lips as he continued to squeeze your mounds, fingers pinching your nipples. "Very hot." Dazed, your eyes focused on him in confusion, a seductive smirk gracing his face upon seeing it. "Of course I'm taking about you," he purred, his tongue licking against your ear—marking it softly with his teeth. One of his hands traveled down lower, slipping inside your pants, rubbing against your skin, "There's sweat here.......and it's all wet." Shaking your head at his words, you told him he was lying.

"Oh, you don't think I am," he whispered. "I can prove it to you right here, right now." His husky voice flowed through you, back arching from the bed. Removing his hand from your pants, he extended it out, "Gimme your hand." Grasping your hand softly, he pulled it down with him, entering your pants and into your panties, feeling how wet your core was, dripping with anticipation. His fingers hooked inside along with yours, curling inside your inner walls—soft gasps leaving your mouth, "Ah! Sy-Sylus!" He licked his lips, entranced by how quickly you were falling into pleasure in front of him. "Don't be shy, sweetie." he purred. "When ice melts, it's natural to be wet.."

His fingers and yours continued to tease your sex, his nails flicking occasionally against your clit—toes curling at the sensation. Kisses softly landed on you, from your forehead, to your cheeks, your neck and then your lips. "You're not that good at getting rid of my fever," he groaned, thrusting his hips, wanting to get closer to you. "But, as they say, once should make the most out of everything. Only response you gave back to him was a series of moans, hand flying to his silver locks, gripping them tightly. He let out a grunt, lust-filled eyes staring into your very soul, his lips a few inches from yours, "So, before you have completely melted........I won't stop."

His lips parted yours, his tongue exploring the depths of your mouth, silencing your moans as his fingers sped up—wet sounds becoming louder and louder. Your wet-covered hand had left his, attaching to his back, deepening your kiss—his own lips curling into a smile. A third finger entered you, curling in and out and in and out, back arching off the bed. You felt it, you knew you were about to explode, turning to break the kiss. "AH! Sylus. Mmm...I'm gonna. He attacked your neck, hickeys appearing on your skin. "Go ahead, kitten. Come for me."

Curling your toes, body tensing, you climaxed—his fingers becoming drenched in your release. He removed his hand, bringing it to his lips to lick at your delicious nectar, "Mmm so sweet," he drawls, his voice coated in honey. The robe shrugged away from him, his toned body appearing in front of you, doused in sweat—he's so gorgeous you thought. Positioning between your legs, you felt his erection poking at your entrance, ready to penetrate you—a soft moan leaving your lips. "Are you ready, kitten," he questioned, his eyes growing soft, making sure you were alright with this. You nodded at him, which he responded with a smile—his body slowly moving forward, inserting himself inside you.

The both of you stayed stiff, the pleasurable sensation immobilizing your bodies. He was panting heavily, beads of sweat dripping from his head, landing on your body as he slowly moved, the friction intensifying. The ecstasy was driving you insane, legs wrapping around him tighter, hearing him let out a grunt as he sped up, "Huff, you're so tight, kitten." He moans heavily, placing his head against yours— his fever affecting him more and more. His cock kept hitting your g-spot, making you see stars as you loudly moaned his name, "Sy! M—More!" His hips sped up to alarming speeds, fulfilling your wish—stars forming in your vision, climax growing near. Nails scratched along his back, red lines forming—earning a grunt from his lips, "Almost there, sweetie."

With one last thrust, he came inside of you—with you following along with him, back arching of the bed from the orgasmic bliss. He collapsed on top of you, his heavy breaths hitting your neck—reaching your hand up to rub his hair and forehead, "Are you okay?" A mumble was spoken into your neck—he was physically exhausted from the sex, his sickness catching up with him. Moving him slowly, you placed his head against the pillow, getting up from the bed to get him and you cleaned up.

Leaving the bathroom wearing one of his long shirts, you headed back to Sylus with a glass of water, medicine, and a wet cloth. Turning him over, you cleaned the sweat on his body and face, as well as cleaning the mess on his lower regions. Once that was all set, you told him to sit up a bit, helping him since he had barely any energy to move. As he leaned against the headboard, you took one of the pills in your mouth, drinking some water, then placed your lips against his, helping him to swallow the medicine despite his prior distaste about the bitterness, but he needed to take something. Grabbing his robe, you placed his arms back into the sleeves, covering him back up, pushing him softly to lay on the pillow again. You soon joined him, turning on your side as you pulled him closer, cuddling him into your chest—earning a contented sigh from him, his arms wrapping around you, "Mmm...thank..you....kitten." Smiling, you hugged him tighter, as the exhaustion from the previous activities caught up with both the both of you, falling asleep in each others arms.

—END—

[shycloudkitty]

Time off

Summary: A rare time off with your boyfriend spent in creative ways ;)

Pairing: Re4r Leon × Fem! reader

Tags: NSFW 18+, MDNI!!! , Soft dom Leon, Oral (f! receiving), spanking, Swear words, Fluff, Light angst, Mostly fluff, premature ejaculation

A/N: Long time no see you guys!!! Okay so this is my second time writing smut, it's kind of clunky ig? But I feel like it has improved (I really hope it has). Shoutout to @writingwisterias and @fawnsflowerbed for giving me useful advice, the writing is not perfect but I feel like it has gotten better. Okay so, Things written in italics are a flashback scene, so be mindful of that.

WC: 4.1K

Credits to @/strangergraphics for dividers

Masterlist | Ao3 account

Finally, God, finally. A week free from work.

A week where you could happily enjoy the company of your boyfriend. Surprisingly, he happened to be free at the same time as you. Miracles do exist, it seems.

And now these past few days, you were in your boyfriend's arms sleeping late just because you can. Cuddling and laughing while he made another corny joke, he was charming enough to get away with it. Making out lazily and whispering sweet nothings to each other.

It was a miracle because whenever he was free, your hectic job used to pull in for a new project or a meeting. You couldn't help but dread and curse at your job for pulling you out of your boyfriend's arms while he was kissing your neck and caressing you all over like he could do it all day. And then, you have to leave.

“Leon, I'm sorry baby but I have to leave. It's important.”

As soon as those dreadful words leave your mouth he immediately holds onto you tightly, muscular arms wrapping around your waist as if caging you and huffs like a child who was about to throw a tantrum.

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘No’?”

“No.”

You tried to wriggle yourself out of his grip but it was useless. Trying to push his arms away that were wrapped around you but they only grew tighter like a venus flytrap capturing a fly.

You couldn't help but groan half heartedly at his attempts. “Oh come on, Leon. You know I will be back soon.”

He rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Yeah… like an eternity later when I'm old and sad and…miserable thinking about where my one true love went…”

His hands slowly slipped inside your clothes as he caressed your skin there, you suppressed a shiver as his calloused hands roamed your soft skin.

He sighed dramatically. “You want me to die old thinking when that asshole of your boss would let you come home?”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. He could be dramatic when he needed to be. “Y'know I will come home by 8 right?”

“Same thing.” Honestly, if it was upto him he would have marched up to your office and gave your boss a ‘talk’ about calling you whenever he wanted some help with work but he knew you would be upset so he didn't.

You were sure if you rolled your eyes any further they would fall out of your skull. When did he got so dramatic? “Leon, I will make it upto you I promise but for now I have to go really.”

He held you tightly for a few more minutes and saw you weren't budging, he couldn't help but sigh deeply and loosen up a bit. Giving you a chance to slip out.

You don't, it's not like you were happy to leave him here all by himself. You definitely wanted to keep cuddling with him, feel him wrap around you like a warm blanket on a cold night. Talking to him until one of you falls asleep or till your talks drift somewhere else… that somewhere being your face buried in a pillow while he arranged your insides from behind, him whispering all kinds of dirty things that made you come undone.

You looked back at him and cupping his face in your hands, his eyes looked into yours giving you puppy eyes which could melt anyone's heart but reserved only for you. You kiss his cheek, softly whispering. “Leon, I'm sorry but it's important. I don't wanna leave you either.”

“Then don't.” His answer came immediately. He leaned into your touch pressing a soft kiss in your palm, making your heart melt once more.

You sigh and kiss his forehead softly. Your thumb caressed his cheek gently as you continued to console him with love. “Babe don't make it any more difficult than it has to be. I promise I will make it upto you tonight.”

He slowly nods and immediately hugs you tightly in his arms and grumbles. “Fine, but if works calls in once more, I'm going there myself to talk to your boss.”

You chuckled and kissed him. “Deal.” He kisses you back, a small smile appearing on his face.

You pulled away and started make your way out of bed when he immediately yanked you back and held you tightly, making you yelp in surprise.

“Leon!”

“Just pretty please. 30 more minutes.”

“30?!”

“Ugh. Fine. 20 minutes. God it's like you love your job more than me.”

“It kind of pays my bills y'know.”

“I can too. Stay. 20 minutes. Final offer.”

You knew it was useless to fight against this, might as well rest up while you can. You can tell your boss you got held up in traffic or something.

And whenever you were free, it was him getting yanked into his government missions to save the world, literally. Not that you weren't grateful. But him leaving always felt like a piece of your heart breaking. The type of work he was in… there was no telling when he would come back or if he would even come back.

What words might be his last to hear, which emotions would be his last to be feel, will it be fear or will it be anger?

It was kind of funny, in a dark way. When you left home, all he was complaining about was not getting enough cuddles.

But when he leaves home, you don't even know if he will be back. And neither did he, although he tried his best to make you think otherwise.

It was still early in the morning when some rustling sounds around the room, woke you up from your peaceful sleep.

Your eyes slowly open, adjusting to the dark room barely lit up from the sunlight. You could make out the silhouette of your boyfriend preparing his duffel bag for his mission. He was trying his best to be quiet, tiptoeing across the room to collect his things.

You watched him quietly, not wanting to interrupt what he was doing and also avoiding a goodbye.

Opening his closet to take some warm clothes, going to the bathroom to pack some essentials. Taking out his gun from his closet which was usually hidden well, although you never tried to search for his gun when he was home. Things were difficult as it is & to digest the fact that there was an actual gun in your home was a whole different tale.

You watched him wear his mission clothes, gearing up with his knives and keeping his gun to one of his pockets, fixing his tactical gloves.

He sighs to himself looking around if he was missing anything then he looked towards your sleeping form in the dark room, the only thing he had left was to say goodbye to you.

He walks towards you, his boots creaking against the floor, you closed your eyes immediately trying to look like you were sleeping. You felt your side of the bed dip slightly and a hand gently caressing your hair, his warm breath fanning your neck.

A soft whisper fill your ears. “It's time for me to go now, I know you will be pissed but I have to do this.”

He takes a deep breath and continues. “It's always dangerous but knowing you're here waiting for me, helps me through it all.”

His fingers towards your cheek and gently caresses it with his knuckles. “You put up with so much shit, I don't know how… you're still here with me. You're the most important person to me. I love you so much.”

He presses a soft kiss on your forehead and holds one of your hands tightly. He sighs and buries his face in your hair, closing his eyes.

You feel a lump rise in your throat as you just stay there with your eyes closed not wanting to say goodbye, it broke your heart every time as he left but you also had to be brave, the last thing you wanted is him worrying about you.

You let out a shaky breath and whispered. “I love you too…”

He simply wraps an arm around your waist and kisses your neck. “I will be back soon.”

“Okay… just be safe.” Leon nods at your words and then gently tilts your head to face him, pressing a soft slow kiss on your lips. He always said his goodbyes like this. He could never say it out loud, it was better to show you how much he would miss you.

You both slowly part from your kisses and look at each other like it was your last. You softly ask. “30 more minutes?”

A soft chuckle leaves his lips, his knuckles gently tracing your cheek and replies. “Not 20?”

You shake your head “No.”

“What if I have to leave in 20 minutes?”

“I don't care. I want you for 30.”

You see his familiar smirk blooming on his face whenever he is amused by you. “Bossy & demanding.”

You shrug and feel your smile widening. “Well, someone has to be The Woman in this relationship.”

His soft chuckle turns into a full laugh, the warm sound filling your shared bedroom, making this goodbye into something much warmer. His eyes crinkle around the corners and smile at you. “You're right, someone has to.”

He adds in with a shrug “I can do 30 minutes, if you add in the kisses.”

Your smile widens and nod. “Deal."

He lays down on your side, getting under the sheets once more but this time with full gear. “Scoot over.” He mumbles.

You scoff. “No way, I'm on my side, I'm too comfy to move.”

He rolls his eyes and says. “You want cuddles or not.”

You grumble under your breath but comply by shifting in bed, giving him plenty of space. After getting comfortable he pulls you in and wraps his arms around you, his chin resting on top of your head and your warm breath hitting the nape of his neck.

Your grip tightens around him, soaking it all in once more before he goes…

That's how usually things went for you both, just trying your best to be by each other's side. Testing fate whenever you both can.

But this week, finally, you are both home. Safe and sound. In each other's arms & watching a movie, what better way to spend time together as a couple… Or that was the plan at first.

Now, you are sitting on the couch with your legs spread, panting heavily and moaning his name endlessly, both hands gripping your thighs, so you can't squirm away from him while his face is buried in your warm cunt.

Movie plans being far forgotten now along with your clothes and the sly bastard was still in his clothes.

He was on his knees, tongue swirling around your puffy clit, sucking on it happily while you whined that it was getting too much for you and him getting hard as a rock in his sweatpants. Grinding his hips against the edge of the couch, letting out occasional grunts and low moans as he wats you out.

One of his hands leaves your thighs to dip his fingers into your entrance to collect the juices flowing out of you, using it to lubricate his fingers as he gently pushes them inside. A soft moan slipping your lips at the feeling. “Lee…”

He kisses your inner thigh in response and mumbles. “You're doing wonderful, sweetheart… such a good girl for me.”

He starts to move his fingers at a steady pace while his tongue plays with your clit. Coaxing soft whines with his pace but then he curls against that spongy spot that always makes you sing louder for him. He gets his answer pretty quickly when you eagerly grind against his mouth and fingers for more.

He couldn't help but smirk at how easy it is to get you riled up. A few kisses here and there, some filthy words spoken, careful measured touches…and soon you were a beautiful mess for him.

Huge ego boost too since only he could unravel you like this. And he loved you for it. The moans, the tiny whimpers and gasps you make when he touches or tastes you, never fails to send a shiver down his spine.

It turned him on just by looking at you, seeing the way you surrender yourself for him, let him do whatever he wants. To know you trust him so much that you'd surrender yourself to him so easily.

Panting for breaths, your legs weakly settle on his broad shoulders immediately wrapping around his head as he keeps going.

He removes his fingers briefly only to delve his tongue deep in your warm pussy, nose bumping your sensitive nub, hearing those pathetic moans of yours that were driving him insane.

He tips his head up a bit to see your expression and he couldn't help the growl that leaves his lips. Your pretty face flushed red, sweat forming on your forehead, your hair being a beautiful mess, framing you into a perfect image of sin.

And the combination is just enough for him to immediately cums, humping the couch chasing his relief. A guttural moan leaves his lips against your folds as he rides his high, his tongue eventually slowing down and closes his eyes because his head feels lighter and dizzy. He adjusts himself and grunts at the feeling, his cock twitching lightly in his sweatpants.

He pulls back briefly to rest his head on your cushiony thighs. His words are breathy, chest heaving as he catches his breath. “Sorry, princess… didn't mean to do that so early…Give me one minute…”

Your breath hitches at the sight, him losing control of himself like this was rare but a welcome sight. His usual perfect blonde hair now sticking to his forehead, pupils blown wide and lust written all over his face. It didn't bother you that he came earlier than you, if anything it made you proud of yourself that you can make him lose his mind like this.

He mentally curses himself for losing control of himself so early when you didn't even reach the peak yourself. But he couldn't help it, the taste of your juices along with the sight of you surrendered to him…it would take a miracle for any man to not lose control like he did. A part of him still felt wrong for cumming before you did and he tries not to focus on it too much.

He felt your hands gently tugging his hair upwards, he looks up to see you, panting heavily and mumbling softly. “Yeah?”

Your heart melts at the sight and smile at him. “You good?”

He closes his eyes once more and mumbles dryly. “Yeah… yeah, M’ good. Just catching my breath.”

Your fingers gently massage his scalp as his head rests on your thigh. Your tone turning more soft as you talk to him. “It's fine, take your time.”

He nods and slowly says. “Sorry, really…didn't mean to-”

You interrupt him with a soft shush and keep caressing his hair gently. “It's fine, baby, nothing’s wrong… We can stop, if you want. No shame in it.”

He shakes his head and peppers kisses across your inner thighs. “Mmm, no way, I ain't leaving you high and dry like that.”

After a few moments, when he feels much normal, he starts again, slow and steady. His hands gently grip your hips, gently biting the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, sending a jolt through your spine as you start to feel worked up once more.

His mouth dives back into your pussy, he lays his tongue flat as he slowly moves it up and down your folds. His tongue lazily circling around your clit, smirking to himself when he starts to feel your hips twitch in his grip, his grip tightens to prevent you from squirming too much and continues his work.

He closes his eyes once more and simply focuses on you. Your soft moans, the way you tug his hair helplessly, motivating him to go further. He slowly inserts one of his finger, moving it inside you, feeling your walls contract around it. He inserts another and hears you yelp, trying to pull away from his grip. He grumbles disapprovingly against your clit and pushes his fingers deeper inside you, occasionally curling them.

Your skin grows hotter like before, breathing coming in short pants, thighs clenching around his head from the pleasure coursing through your veins but he makes no motions to stop you.

His hand that was on your hips moves to caress your waist gently, rubbing your back, helping you relax. He flicks his tongue against your sensitive nub of nerves, sucking on it, anything to get you closer to the edge.

You arch your back, trying to bring him even close to your core. A plethora of names and broken whines leaving your sweet lips, indicating to him that you were close.

He suddenly pulls back, breaking his pace to look at you. “Look at you, dollface…So fucking pretty just for me.” His hands travel up towards your chest, roaming towards your smooth curves, feeling your skin under his own. He teasingly ran his hands over your plump breasts, cupping them and pinching your nipples playfully, slowly rolling those soft peaks between his index and middle finger.

You whine and huff at him, glaring at him to stop toying you like this. This was probably the second time he brought you this close. It did feel good but right now all you wanted was to just fall apart by his tongue and fingers.

He has a big smirk on his face when he sees you glaring daggers at him. “Use your words hon'.” Pinching your nipples once more for emphasis.

Words? You didn't even had a chance to breathe when he started all this. And now he was teasing you instead of finishing what he started.

You groan from frustration and try to speak but the words come out in a half broken moan. “Just make me cum, Leon… I was already so close.”

Leon smirk doesn't wavers if anything it only gets bigger when he hears you beg. “I was just admiring the view, baby” He raises himself up and starts to kiss the nape of your neck, kissing away the beads of sweat, tasting the salt on your hot skin.

Both of his hands drift back down to your hips, giving you few gentle spanks but also gently rubbing the spot to soothe the skin, the roughness of his hands raising goosebumps on the bare expanse of your skin. His touch slowly travels back to your inner thighs, pulling your hips near the couch’s edge so he could settle between them. He hears you whine near his ear, your desire and impatience apparent. “Leon…-”

He immediately captures your lips in a deep kiss and mumbles against them. “I know baby… I know…” He deepens the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in a passionate dance, demanding your focus into the demanding kiss instead of your delayed orgasm. One of his hands grabbed the back of your neck so you couldn't pull away from it either.

Your body shudders from the intensity of the kiss as he swallows every sound as it left your lips, eyes fluttering close, you allow yourself just enough to get lost in the kiss. And he feels your legs relax just enough. He suddenly pushes two fingers back inside your pussy, smirking when he sees your eyes opening wide and a yelp leaving your throat. “Fuckkk! Fuck! Leon-” You feel the familiar stretch of his fingers and try to push him away, mewling as your walls soon accommodate the feeling of his fingers.

Whines turn into desperate low moans as he starts to move his thick digits, once again curling them against your spongy spot. Your eyes roll in the back of your skull as he pulls you in a kiss once again. His voice turning into a mocking one. “You wanted to cum, yeah? Well, go on. Nothing's stopping you, not whining now are ya?”

You try to kiss him back but instead it's just more messier than before, string of saliva connecting your mouth to his as you pull back. Your vision blurs as you feel your orgasm starting to close on you with each thrust of his fingers. You choke up on your moan. “M’ gonna cum!”

Leon's smirk only widens as he hears it and leans in to gently tug at your earlobe and huskily whispers. “Ride those fingers for me, paint ‘em with your cum.”

Your body feels hotter at his words, hips starting to move at their own accord now, just need that sweet release that was nearing the edge.

He kisses your collarbone and keeps mumbling. “Yes, sweetheart, you're doing so well, look at you…” His sweet praises were what you needed as you suddenly felt your orgasm crashing over you, a scream of his name ripping through your chest, legs giving out as your juices gushed around his fingers.

He helps you ride out your high and slowly pulls out of your aching hole, immediately putting his digits in his mouth, softly groaning at the taste of your cum. “Mmhmm, Jesus…” He licks them clean and looks down at your spent body and grins to himself. “Would you look at that…So pretty.”

He gently caresses your body as it shakes from pleasure. Leaning down to pepper soft kisses from your waist to the swell of your chest, slowly making his way up your body. He finally reaches your lips as he drops a soft kiss. He leans back and grins at you. “I was good, wasn't I?”

You chuckle breathlessly as you stare at him, feeling like you probably have melted in goo on the couch. Replying to him in a breathy tone. “Good doesn't…even begin…to cover it.”

Leon chuckles along with you, gently brushing some of the hair away which was sticking on your skin cause of sweat. He drops a soft kiss on your forehead. “I aim to please, sweetheart…Now come ‘ere.”

He groans softly as he stands up front sitting on his knees for so long. He sits down on the couch, leaning back & spreads his legs, stretching them a bit. He gently pulls you in his lap, allowing you to just simply curl up as you sit there, his chin resting on the top of your head. His fingers thread through your hair, gently untangling any knots that came across his way while you came down your high.

You sigh, feeling your shudders subside in his arms and reply. “God, I don't think I can walk even now.”

His lips turn into a mischievous smile, his chest puffing up at your words. “I know & you're welcome.” And drops a kiss on your head.

You roll your eyes at his self-satisfied tone. “So Humble.”

You feel his chest rumble up from soft laugh as he replies smugly. “I know right, considering how much noise you were making I should brag more.”

You hit his chest lightly and feign annoyance at him. “Shut up.”

A stupid wide grin spreads across his face as you hit him, his arms squeeze around your body, pulling you closer and says. “What? It's not a bad thing to accept the fact that I'm just that good.”

“I didn't say that.”

“It felt like you did.”

“I was hoping for more quiet cuddling and less bragging.” Playful exasperation apparent in your words.

He rolls his eyes and dramatically sighs but his voice is full of teasing. “Jesus, fine, a guy can't even brag about making his girl satisfied. But okay, whatever the princess demands.”

He hears laughter spilling from your lips and feels his heart melt from the sound, his hands gently rub your back. And he buries his face in your neck, kissing you there softly. “Wanna get cleaned up in the shower or too tired?”

You nod and reply. “No… I wanna shower but only if you carry me.” Playfully batting your eyelashes at him.

He chuckles and stands up with you in his arms, prompting you to wrap your arms around his neck. He passed the same playful smile back at you. “Was gonna do that anyway, Princess.”

Your giggles fill the air as he carries you quite happily to the bathroom. You rest your head on his chest and briefly close your eyes praying, that you'd both get more time like this more often.

Hello, everyone!!! So happy to be back. Good news- I have already started working on some requests from last time, I wasn't writing anything for these few months cause of exams, I'm still not exactly free but I think I can manage.

Other than that, I hope the smut is good enough to enjoy, I know it's not perfect😅 but I'm working on that, this is the only area where I get stuck Lol. Do let me know if you guys want me to improve in some areas or anything else you'd like to see.

Hope you all have a good day!

-Bella

[jmliebert]

☆ astarion x shy!virgin ☆

oh, this one I adore...

think of Astarion at the beginning of your journey. he's restless, looking for someone he could effortlessly manipulate—someone who could be of use to him

some silly little creature like yourself, delightfully naive, shy, with cheeks that turn crimson every time he says something even slightly wicked

one of the first nights, Astarion was feeling so weak and sooo thirsty...he simply had to taste you. he needed to sink his fangs into your lovely skin, but you caught him and his body froze for a second shit

yet, instead of killing him (or at least trying to), you gave him a hesitant permission to drink from you. as he knelt before you, sinking his fangs into your delicious neck, he realised for a sweet, little moment that you were perfect—so good for him, your body beneath his, at his utter mercy

it did things to him, things he didn't yet understand

from that moment, Astarion's gaze was firmly fixed on you. he began to test the waters, offering playful flirtations, and your responses were utterly endearing...you were shy, deliciously shy, but it was clear you wanted him. everyone desired him, naturally, and you were no exception

or maybe you were?

as the two of you conversed more and more, he found himself increasingly drawn to you, though he wouldn’t admit it, not even to himself. he took pleasure in how effortlessly he could provoke you, especially when your eyes darted away under the intensity of his lustful gaze

it was clear you hadn't had much experience, so he took his time with you, careful not to scare you, as he needed to keep you close

or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself—an excuse, really. the truth was he truly enjoyed the slowness of it all

he gave you small but very deliberate touches, soft smiles, sweet words. oh god, he was really good with his words

Astarion felt a thrill when you were dancing around each other like this, clearly desiring one another, yet hesitating to act on those desires

it felt incredibly liberating to take his time with you, moving slowly. it felt so different from the hellish existence he once knew, of fucking senselessly

one night, when you were particularly lovely, nestled in his arms and slightly tipsy from wine, you told him you were a virgin

"a virgin, you say?"

well, as it was said before, it wasn't hard to tell you lacked experience, but Astarion surely didn't expect you to have none at all

if he didn’t already have such a strong feelings for you, he might have laughed. instead, he found your innocence endearing and oddly hot?

questions filled his mind: how did you manage it, why had you remained untouched, what was it like? and pondering these questions like that made him unexpectedly melancholic

mindfull even

so his touches were gentle, his kisses soft and reassuring. you were holding your hands a lot—an experience as new for you as it was for him

truthfully, it seemed that you both were discovering your sexuality together for the first time

Astarion would find his feelings for you deepening, and though it was complicated, and fucking scary, he couldn’t imagine being without you, although it might seem somewhat pathetic it was the truth

and he wanted to keep you safe, as you kept him

when the moment felt right—ideally after Cazador—his longing for you would be undeniable, and his neediness would be more apparent than ever

he would press his lips to yours in a deep, passionate kiss...then moving to your neck...then down to your collarbone, exploring every inch of your lovely skin

Astarion would took his time, making sure you felt every sensation, every touch, every kiss, every hooded look

he genuinely wanted to make this feel just... right, for both of you

his fingers would work wonders, his voice husky with desire

"so perfect. do you feel good, darling? tell me, does this feel good?"

he was very attentive to communication, eager to hear that you were enjoying every moment

his fingers would found your core, sliding in and out with a rhythm that made you go completely feral

after, what felt like a lifetime, he would slowly push the tip of his cock into your wet insides, stretching you gently

"Gods, you feel so good," he groaned, his voice thick with lust

and then more of the same questions would occur; "do you like this? does it feel good?"

and then; "you’re so wet for me, aren’t you?

oh my

his hips would move with a skilful rhythm, each thrust precise and perfectly timed. and as you reached the peak of your pleasure, he would bite your neck so beautifully displayed by you, his fangs sinking into your willing body

Astarion had fantasised about this moment for so long you see—being inside you while drinking your warm, delicious blood. it was undeniably erotic and felt indescribably amazing

after a few more of his tender thrusts, accompanied by sweet words and eager hands, your climax would overwhelm you, making you see star

as you clenched so deliciously around him, he felt an overwhelming urge to quicken his movements. he yearned to thrust harder, but he held back, mindful of it being your first time

yet! as you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer and encouraging him to move harder, he found it impossible to resist. your touch spurred him on, making him lose himself a little in the overwhelming pleasure and that's exactly what you wanted

his rapid thrusts, the feel of your warm blood flowing in his body and your tight wetness around him made his own release inevitable

he came with a deep groan, his eyes shut tight, his cock throbbing inside you

it felt so good he was literally trembling

despite his attempts to hide it, he was clearly touched by its intensity of it all. he held you tightly, wrapping you in an affectionate and soothing hug and for once he didn't utter a single word, there were no need to

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

you can find more of my works about astarion ♡here♡

also! my halsin x shy!virgin headcanons are right here...

[saintsanddevils]

hello there I love your stories so much would you be interested in doing a Garrick smut !!

Beg For It

Garrick Tavis x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: When Garrick comes back after being gone for so long, you don’t waste any time.

Warnings: ‼️18+ (MDNI) explicit content‼️ graphic smut, a whole lot of fluff, inappropriate use of Garrick’s signet (minor Onyx Storm spoiler)

Author’s Note: The way I stopped everything to write this. I was excited about it haha

Word Count: 3.3K

Posted on AO3

Masterlist

————

A knock at the door has me glancing at the clock on the mantel.

Who would be up at this hour?

Anxiety hits me, wondering if Venin have crossed the border or breached the wards of Tyrrendor. But if that was so, wouldn’t the bells be ringing? People stampeding in the hall? Dragons roaring in the distance?

I slowly get to my feet, grabbing a robe to cover the white lace nightdress that reaches to the tops of my thighs. If someone is here with a missive or I’m needed in battle, I’m definitely screwed in this outfit.

If it’s not anything life-threatening or imminent, I’ll be so pissed. Whoever is at the door is interrupting my only time to relax while at Riorson house. I’ve been re-reading Garrick’s latest letters by the fireplace.

A hollow ache burrows in my heart. It’s been five weeks since I’ve seen him. Over a month since I’ve held him in my arms, kissed him, or felt his curls beneath my fingers. Every day without him has been eating me alive.

The last time I saw him, he was rushing onto the flight field with me on his heels. Xaden had already taken to the skies after a long goodbye with Violet. Now, Garrick was expected to go with him, as always. I’d resent Xaden if I didn’t trust him with my life. Or, in this case, Garrick’s life. It’s because of this that I know he’ll bring Garrick back to me.

Rushing towards Chradh, Garrick had caught sight of Xaden overhead before whirling to me. He crashed into me, gravity pulling us together as he kissed the life out of me. His grip was hard and desperate before slowly loosening, caressing me. When his forehead met mine, I knew I wouldn’t see him for a very long time.

“You know I love you?” he whispered.

I nodded, tears choking me as he kissed me one last time.

Another knock at the door, this one more desperate, brings me out of my memories. I huff in annoyance before throwing open the door.

I immediately freeze.

“Garrick?” My whisper is full of uncertainty.

On the threshold, just beyond reach of the wards placed on the room, a man tall enough to tower over me with fair skin, dark curls, and heartbreaking hazel eyes grips the doorframe.

Garrick Tavis.

Heart pounding, I stare in open shock, wondering if this is a dream. Maybe I fell asleep by the fire and I’ll wake up soon to find that he’s not actually here.

Garrick’s eyes burn into me as he whispers my name like a prayer that’s been answered. The way he’s looking at me… It’s as if I’m air and he’s drowning, dying to reach for me with his last breath. It’s intoxicating to behold.

This feels entirely too real to be a dream.

His nostrils flare as he takes in my attire. His gaze scorching my skin as he scans me, slowly, methodically. Memorizing me.

“Well, fuck me,” he mutters. “If this is how you greet me after a month, I should leave more often.”

No way in hell is this a dream.

I bolt forward, gripping his leathers by the collar to pull him through the wards— pulling him into our room.

Copying Xaden months ago, Garrick ensured when he was gone, I’d be safe in our room. Even he couldn’t get in without my permission. It was part of his many backup plans and safety precautions when it came to me.

“You’re the only important person in my life,” he had whispered against my skin many months ago after setting up the wards. “I have to keep you safe. Promise me you’ll be safe?”

And I’ve been keeping that promise. Every day, hoping he’ll come home to me and stay longer between each time he’s allowed leave back to Riorson house.

And like every time before, he’s back.

Once Garrick is through the wards and standing before me, we collide.

Lips and teeth crash together, tongues intertwining as Garrick wraps around me, holding me tight. I grip him just as hard as I kiss him. His lips, gods, his lips are everything. I’ve missed him far too much to waste any time.

He’s taller than me, being dubbed “the Big One” by Violet. I remember fully agreeing with her when she told me. The top of my head can barely reach his shoulders. So while he towers over me, I use my height to my advantage and touch every inch of his torso, ensuring he’s actually here. His broad shoulders. The edges of the mark on his skin seen above his leathers. His dark curls. Even the tan marks of his flight goggles.

Garrick breaks from the kiss first. When our eyes meet, we both smile wide and carefree. At the same time, we tear off his flight jacket, revealing his well-built frame covered in a tight shirt that outlines his rippling muscles.

Gods, I missed him.

He rips the robe from my shoulders, tossing it over his shoulder as he dives back in to kiss me. His hands gripping my waist as my fingers hold on to his biceps.

The feel of him sends electric shockwaves up my nerves. Everything is entirely familiar, but different. More than a month away from one another feels like an eternity as I reach to grip the back of his head, bringing him closer as his teeth bite my bottom lip.

I moan into his mouth, sliding my free hand beneath his shirt. Skating my fingertips across his abdomen till I get to the rim of his pants, Garrick sucks in a breath. I toy with the button, pulling until it gives.

Slowly, I slip my hands beneath his pants, skimming his briefs before my fingers meet warm, veiny skin. Garrick pants against me, my pulse racing alongside his as my hand grips his cock.

“Fuck,” he moans.

I leisurely take my time sliding my skin over his— teasing, taunting. Garrick’s hands shake as they move from my waist down to my hips, pulling me closer. When I get to the head of his cock, my mouth waters at the feel of precum already dripping from the tip. With my thumb, I smooth it over the skin, pumping my hand once, twice, another before he grabs my wrist, stopping me.

“Baby, I’ve waited too long to have you,” his voice rough with desperation. “I’ll come if you keep doing that.”

I smirk. “Maybe I want you to.”

He huffs a laugh. “I know you’d love that, but I’ve had enough lonely nights to last me for the last five weeks.” He suddenly moves me backwards until my back hits the wall. “I need you.”

He bends forward, kissing my forehead, before tracing his lips to my temple. I exhale when his lips move to my cheek, stopping to smirk into my skin.

“I’ve missed you so much,” I confess, breathing in the smell of him.

Garrick’s mouth glides across my jaw before hovering over my swollen lips. “I missed you too, love.”

Warmth spreads through my limbs like I’m soaking in the sun. He kisses me briefly, before moving his mouth to my jaw. Breath hitching when his teeth prick at my pulse before his tongue slides along my collarbone.

“This dress,” he breathes, making the exposed flesh of my skin pebble. “Gods, you’ll be the death of me.”

His teeth latch to the top of the lace, pulling the fabric downward until my breast is fully exposed. The air is cool against my heated skin as Garrick takes the opportunity to slip his tongue over my nipple. He sucks, long, deep, and hard before pulling gently with his teeth, making me gasp.

My head falls back, hitting the wall as I close my eyes, lost to the feel of his lips and teeth. His hand yanks the rest of the material down, a ripping sound filling the silence of the room.

“I’ll buy you twenty more pairs of this exact dress, I promise.”

I laugh at the breathless sound of his voice, smiling towards the ceiling as he begins to nip at my other breast. The lace dress falls from my shoulders, pooling at my feet.

In only my matching lace panties, I feel Garrick still against me. I look down to find he’s now kneeling, his face inches from my underwear, gazing up at me through his lashes.

“They were a set,” I wink.

Garrick’s pupils are wide as he looks down at the lace. “Fuck, I love you and your shopping habits so much.”

A belly laugh escapes me, causing Garrick to join in as he nuzzles my abdomen before tracing his fingers over the garment.

He whispers my name, like a siren call, and I meet those lust-filled hazel eyes as he places a gentle kiss on my stomach.

This is love. We’ve had plenty of dark days, but it’s these quiet moments, the ones where we can find the light in the dark, that matter the most. Every laugh, caress, and smile he gives me is a gift. I’ve never felt more adored and cherished than in his arms.

And right now? With his face inches from where I need him desperately, I know he’ll always come back to me, no matter how far he travels or how long he’s gone.

I’m his home as much as he is mine.

Garrick’s gaze softens. “I know,” he whispers, kissing my skin once more.

Tears fill my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. I want to cherish this with him, for as long as I can.

His rough fingers slide beneath the lace, pulling my underwear completely off, leaving me exposed before him. A shiver echoes up my spine as his hands grip the backs of my thighs.

“I’ve been as patient as I can be, baby. But now,” his fingers reach down to my ankles. “Be a good girl and put your legs over my shoulders. I need to taste you on my tongue.”

I practically choke as he helps lift me to sit on his shoulders, my pussy inches from his face.

“That’s perfect,” he praises, making my cheeks flush. His eyes sparkle as he stares at my core, no doubt seeing the glistening wetness trailing down my thighs.

“Now, ride my face.”

I obey his command as he lifts me further and sits me on his waiting mouth. His lips part, and I feel his tongue lick me in one long strip. Pleasure racks up my spine, my fingers flying to his hair to grip onto something. With his hands holding my legs and pressing me against the wall, he dives in like a man starved. Licking and sucking. Nipping and teasing. Stars fill my vision as my core begins to tighten.

“Garrick,” I moan, mg fingers pulling his curls. “Baby, I’m—“

He doesn’t stop. If anything, he keeps going with fervor. One of his hands leaves my thigh to slide up my leg to my pussy. Just as his lips tease my clit, his fingers replace them. Pressing down and squeezing, a tickling sensation begins in the pit of my stomach, growing bigger and bigger as my walls tighten around his tongue.

“I need your fingers,” I gasp. “Please.”

Garrick obliges. Two long, thick fingers slide inside me, making me pant at the pressure. His fingers and tongue work in tandem. Another squeeze, lick, and press of his fingers, and I’m already climbing higher and higher until—

“Garrick!” I cry out.

I can feel him smirk against me as I continue to shatter. Waves of ecstasy wash over me as I scream his name again and again, riding out my orgasm until I’m left feeling boneless. My head swims as Garrick gently moves my legs back to the floor.

I stare down at him, lungs still heaving breaths as I catch sight of his mouth glistening with my slick. His dimple curves just as his tongue swipes across his lips. My knees shake at the sight, but his hands are there, securing around my body as he hoists me against him.

With his hands around my torso and legs, he holds me firmly before winking down at me. He takes a step and in the next breath, we’re across the room, on the bed.

I giggle. “Using your signet to seduce me, Tavis?”

Garrick’s smirk widens as he lays me down on the mattress, his arms caressing my skin as he lets me settle into the comforter.

“I don’t need magic to seduce you,” he raises a brow. “You’re mine already.”

Reaching to touch his cheek, smoothing my thumb across his dimple, I give him a soft smile. “I’ll always be yours.”

He’s kissing me just as the words float in the air, blending with the moonlight. The dark enfolds us as he slips off his trousers and briefs, caging me with his naked body.

With one bruising kiss, I part my legs, feeling him settle between them. I glance between our bodies, a moan escaping me at the sight of his long, hard cock.

I missed this as much as I missed him.

The head of his dick lazily coats in my wetness, taunting and teasing. I writhe beneath his hulking body.

“You better get inside me right now, Garrick, or-“

He pushes into me, bottoming out in one long, heavy thrust.

“Fuck,” he groans into my mouth as my back arches, eyes rolling back at the pressure. I’m so full, it’s toeing the line between pleasure and pain. It’s everything.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he hushes against my skin as I whimper.

He still doesn’t move. I need him to move.

I shift my hips, forcing some sort of friction. He stills me with a large hand, encasing most of my hip with its width.

Lips meet my ear, breath tickling my hair. His voice is deep and rough with want as he whispers, “Will you beg for it?”

I nod, gasping and writhing. The inner muscles of my core clench, tightening over and over again around his unmoving cock.

Garrick kisses the skin beneath my ear before sitting up. While still sheathed within me, he towers over me, sitting back on his haunches. He brings my knees up the bed, bending them so I’m straddling his hips. He presses himself forward, angling his dick to be even deeper inside of me.

Holy shit, this angle.

“I don’t hear you begging.”

A whimper escapes me as I claw at his hands on my hips. “Please, Garrick, please!”

He smirks, that damn dimple shining down on me. A firm, calloused hand glides up my body until he gathers both of my straining hands. He holds them above my head, grasping my wrists together in one large palm, pressing them into the sheets. My back arches into the angle, sliding him even closer, further inside of me.

“Do you trust me, baby?”

I nod over and over again, still straining against his hold. The heat rising inside of me is unbearable, the need to feel his cock pump and thrust against my walls is all I can think about.

Garrick stares at me from above, his gaze hooded as he watches me pant. He tightens his hold on my wrists as his free hand grabs the top of my knee and pulls it to the side, before doing the same to the other. I obey, making them stay in the position he wants them.

As I stretch my knees outward, my eyes widen. With my knees bent at this angle, my pussy locks around Garrick’s cock, exposing my clit to the air. All the while, he watches in fascination, completely enraptured.

With a flick of his wrist, sharp, cool air touches my clit. It startles me, making me want to clamp my legs shut on instinct.

As I try to do just that, Garrick holds firm, staring at my exposed clit. “Let me take care of you. It’s okay, I’m just….experimenting.”

He meets my eyes with a wink before twisting his hand in the air to make the breeze choppier. Almost in a vibrating motion. Warmth and pressure build slowly as the vibrating keeps going, stimulating my clit in a way I’ve never experienced.

Just as it intensifies, Garrick begins to thrust inside of me. Thank fuck. My head snaps back, a cry falling from my lips.

“There you go, baby,” he pumps faster, deeper. “You take me so well.”

Sweat builds at my temple just as his hand releases my hips, allowing me to meet him with every thrust. We moan together as pressure builds, the air he’s still bending around my clit is now flowing faster.

“Garrick,” I whine, my voice full of warning.

He nods, smiling. “I know, I’m right behind you.”

The air vibrating against my clit suddenly disappears. His fingers slip down from my caged hands, releasing them, to touch my clit, keeping me stimulated.

He thrusts, using my knees as leverage to pull me into him roughly. I grip the sheets, holding on as I feel myself cresting that wave once more.

“Come for me, love.”

I shatter with a cry, my voice straining as it echoes. My walls pulse and flutter, again and again, as his cock pounds into me. He soon follows with a roar, bending down so his lips find mine, groaning into my mouth as he fills me.

The entire time he spills inside of me, he whispers, “I love you, I love you, I love you,” over and over again.

I’m drunk off the feeling of him when we finally both come down from our highs. Gasping for breath, Garrick falls on top of me, spent. I laugh beneath him, shoving him playfully.

“I can’t breathe!”

He groans. “Gods, I missed fucking you.”

I kiss his sweaty temple, warmth filling my chest as he gives short, simple kisses to my collarbone.

“Just that?” I tease.

“Don’t even joke.” He rolls his eyes, shaking his head before rolling off of me, lying back on our bed.

He drags me with him, cradling me in the nook of his arms. His bare chest against the skin of my cheek brings so many memories of the past few years, it floods me with nostalgia.

How we met on the mat at Basgiath our first year, his mouth and eyebrow bleeding as he let me beat him into the mat. When he later brought me a bag of ice to help the bruise on my ribs, I knew I was a goner. His stupid dimple melted me as he showed me how to forget the pain by telling bad jokes and obviously flirting with me. It worked. And now, I can’t imagine not ever being his.

A sense of rightness settles within my chest. Garrick is finally home, after so long apart. He’s alive and he’s here with me.

“I’m happy you’re back,” I whisper against his skin.

I feel him kiss the top of my head as his hand strokes my arm. “You’re my home. I’ll always come back to you.”

Warm, comfortable silence settles over the room as we memorize one another’s breaths. Reveling in the feel of our heartbeats. Being here, together, is all we’ll ever need.

For the rest of the night, into forever, I’m his, and he’s mine.

[ladybyakuya]

| WHITE DRESS + JING YUAN.

+cw. — f!reader, established relationship, arrange marrige, fluff, pining, banter, teasing, suggestive content , mention of feixiao :D

+wc. — 1k

+syn.— a peek in general Jing Yuan's married life with you.

+notes. —can be read as stand-alone but if you wish to read the other parts can be found in my masterlists | redirect to blog navigation.

Jing Yuan had a very mundane morning routine before you walked into his life. That’s how he used to keep his sanity at bay. Being the General of Xianzhou Alliance's Cloud Knights for centuries, fighting and protecting his people he had rather grown comfortable in it. He is just too used to zone uproars and war turbulence but it has been peaceful for a while. He likes that. That’s why he is taking it easy. But when you came into his life he was on edge again. He has something to protect, something belonging only to him. It was like walking on a wire again. Surprisingly, you filled the boring gaps in his mundane morning routine.

Jing Yuan wakes up at seven o’clock in the morning, like he usually does but he is naked under sheets ever since he got you as a wife but that is not the case on all days. But often he wakes up to an empty bed running his hands on your side of the bed with a soft smile over his face that has a warmth of morning dews because he gets to spend the whole night with you after work. It’s not easy to have this abundance of mundanity for a man of such power, wealth, status, and responsibilities. He is more happy than he was before. He waters the plants, sinks in the lap that nature has to offer, and then gets ready for work— and that is when he first sees you. He used to wear his armor all alone before he married you, thinking that if he died people would mourn him, people would miss him, people would remember him but that is all they will do for the rest of the generals too. He is not something special. But with you in his life, he feels special. He has someone to come home to, someone who would be too devastated to live if he died on the battlefield. He does not do anything except coordinate his movements so that you can easily put on his suit but there are days when he throws tantrums. The whole corridor gets filled with giggles on days like that, your giggles especially.

“Wait,” Jing Yuan grabs you pulling you into his body. His hands immediately lock you in an embrace. “Let me take a good look at my wife.” This. This few minutes where there are no lingering staffs or any sort if interruption is an absolute bliss for him. He touches his forehead with yours as you refuse to look at him, playing with the brooch on his collar. He knows you feel shy at first. He always have to get you a little worked up to be comfortable but that denotes him off because it might be just a kiss to you but he is going to think of it for the rest of his day, wide awake— no dull moment in his life. You are the cure to his boredom. Despite such yeaning agony swelling in his heart, his lips wrap around yours. It's wet, coated with longing. One of your palms moves under his jaw and he knows his time is up. He pulls away with a groan. 

“I’ll set the table, yeah?” you mumble unlocking his hands easily now. If you hadn’t given in so easily like how you used to he would have ended up having you cave in to his cravings before he goes to work. Yeah! That’s how he is. You leave him in the room to get to work as thinks back to one of his most fond memories of you. Ever since he caught you having a midnight snack alone in the kitchen after few months of marriage,he demands to eat the food cooked by you. It was one hell of a night. It wasn’t the sex that set this night apart from others. Sex was good, of course, but amongst those dim lights, when you were busy stuffing your mouth with the food you freshly cooked as he stood beside you holding the plate for you, all he wanted was to protect you, your happiness, and your sadness — everything related to you.  

Jing Yuan sits to dine as the staff sets the table while you stand aside keeping rapt attention if anything is amiss. “Wait! you forgot something. he calls you out. You tilt your head and wait as he adds, “a kiss!” You immediately look around to see if any of the staff heard your husband or not but now they are all gone. They know better than you. Did he really forgot what happened in the dressing room? You saunter towards the table thinking its better just to give in rather resist; as you stand by his side, and lean to place a dry kiss on his cheek and then you turn on your heel to walk away.

“Just on my cheek?” Jing Yuan enquires with surprise in his tone as he stops you by grabbing your hand. Finally, you chuckle— ah! what a time to be alive. 

“Feixiao is waiting. I got her message.” You sit on his lap encapsulating your free arm around his shoulder while he refuses to let to of your other hand. “I have already made her favorites. Your too, love— He kisses your hand as you keep going on— and it's packed. I do have a lot to do today. The staff are getting lazy. . . ” Ah! He remembers how you were so silent during the first few months of marriage. Not that he is complaining but he is just. . .blessed to see this side of you. He does not particularly fancy sweets yet is but he feels nauseous at this point since you are too sweet for him. Oh! How can he ever deny you? He can deny sweets but not you.

You feel the gaps of your fingers being filled by his fingers. “can we stay like this a while longer?” Jing Yuan asked as he kisses the back of your hand. 

“You know we can’t.” You watch him pout a bit so you are compelled to add, “Come home soon.”

[stop-talking]

Sweet Dreams

Mike Schmidt x fem reader

2.1k words Tags: 18+, fem reader, somnophilia, free use, head (reader receiving), pre-established relationship, morning sex, pussy sniffing, edging sorta?, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie <3 ─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ Mike Schmidt is used to his sleep being interrupted. Whether it be nightmares, the annoying screech of an alarm, or even his own sister, he can't ever seem to catch a break when it comes to sleeping.

What he's not used to, however, is waking up to someone else in his bed. Someone else… shaking him? No, that's not right. What are you doing?

He finally opens his tired eyes, twisting to look over his shoulder and catch a glimpse of you as you cling to his back. His breathing slows, and the memories of last night flood back all at once. Right. He has a girlfriend now. Mike isn't sure he's ever going to get used to that.

"What is it, hun?" He asks, absentmindedly patting the leg you've thrown over him as you continue to lightly shake him awake.

When there's no response, he frowns, squinting at you in an attempt to make out your face in the dimly lit room.

Shit, are you… asleep? The realization hits him like a ton of bricks, and suddenly the "shaking" makes a lot more sense. You're not trying to wake him up. You aren't even awake yourself. You're fucking grinding on him in your sleep.

Mike lets out a guttural groan at the thought, closing his eyes and giving the plush skin of your thigh a squeeze as you continue to desperately hump his leg.

Fuck. He swears he can feel how wet you are even through your panties.

For a minute, he just lies there with his hand on you, letting you cling to him from behind and rock your core against his leg. Should he wake you? Or stay still and let you use him to get off? He only hopes you're dreaming about his cock. And shit, that thought has him stiffening in his boxers.

Past conversations flicker through his mind, and a shiver runs down his spine at the memory of you nipping at his neck and softly begging him to do the very thing he's trying to hold himself back from. Fucking you while you're asleep? It just seems... wrong.

Then again, you'd been not-so-subtly hinting to him that you wanted to try it for practically your whole relationship. Mike's face goes red hot as your words echo in his mind.

You all but begged him to fuck you in your sleep, dirty fantasies whispered in his ear during the heat of the moment more times than he could count. Mike knew very well you'd do almost anything for him.

And, well, if you're dreaming about him, he can't very well leave you hanging, can he? You deserve the real deal. It's his job to make sure you're satisfied, isn't it?

With a deep breath, Mike gently pries you from his body. A gentle nudge has you on your back, allowing him to peel away the blankets and get a better look at your sleeping form. The first few rays of morning sun peek through the blinds, highlighting your figure in a soft warm glow.

You're so pretty like this. Mike can't help but sit up and admire you, watching you squirm and whine on his bed. He absentmindedly rubs at his hardening cock through his shorts, grinding the heel of his hand against his length. He can't help himself, he knows it should be YOU getting off right now, but this view is just too good.

Not good enough. His other hand tugs at your panties, slowly, gently, trying his best not to wake you.

No, he's sure now that you need to stay asleep. You deserve to rest, to be taken care of. There's no reason to wake you.

He loses all interest in his own pleasure once your panties come off- going dizzy at the sight of you dripping on his sheets. Holy shit. THAT wet for him? How long had you been teasing yourself in your unconscious state before he'd finally woken up?

Fuck. Doesn't matter. He quietly lowers himself into position, struggling to go slow in an attempt not to wake you. Strong arms wrap around your thighs, spreading you open so his tongue can do the heavy lifting.

He wants to taste you, but can't resist the urge to smell you first. His eyes flutter shut as his nose buries between your folds, just barely nudging your clit as he inhales deeply.

Even with just the barest flicker of contact to your sensitive spot, your thighs start to tense in his arms. It was clear you wanted this, needed this, needed him.

"You're fuckin' lucky to have me," he whispers, the words getting lost in the soft wet licking sounds as he begins to lap at your wet pussy. You taste so familiar, so warm, like home. He closes his eyes and gets lost in you, groaning into your core as your taste and smell overwhelm his senses.

You may not be awake to instruct him, to guide him with a fistful of his hair like usual, but Mike's sure his performance is more than adequate as you start to lightly buck your hips against his face.

A quick glance up at you tells him you're still asleep, if only barely so. He gently circles your clit with his tongue, preening over the small hum it earns from you.

Your eyes dart rapidly under your eyelids, almost fluttering open as Mike's tongue movements grow more rapid. Fuck, you'd better be dreaming about him.

Mike knows he should finish you off. Put you out of your misery. His poor girl, who knows how long that pathetic attempt to get off on his leg had lasted? Still, he doesn't want this to end so soon.

Something about having you under his control, knowing he could make you cum at any moment, was just so delicious. Mercy be damned, he was going to enjoy this. Play with his pretty little toy till you wake up or gush all over his face. Whichever came first.

Gingerly, still scared to wake you, he prods at your entrance with a thick middle finger. It slides in perfectly, your pussy greedily taking what's offered. For a few moments, Mike just pulls away and stares, hypnotized by the way you perfectly swallow each thrust of his hand.

Usually, you'd be mumbling some kind of praise or thanks right now. Always so grateful when he ate you out, like it was an inconvenience, a favor, something that put you in his debt. Maybe if you could see just how hard his cock was, you'd realize the truth.

Mike enjoyed this just as much as, (if not more than) you.

The throbbing in his boxers made that painfully obvious to Mike as he latched onto your clit, giving it the faintest teasing tug with his lips. Your cunt clenched around his finger in response, hard. That close still, huh? He'd have to be careful.

He focused his attention inside. Quick, shallow thrusts of his hand had your walls fluttering around his finger in a way that made his dick jealous. Before you could tip over the edge, Mike took his hand away, groaning at the strand of slick that still connected his finger to your cunt. Like you didn't want to let him go.

Are you even asleep at this point? Mike spares a glance up at your face as he licks every trace of your taste off his hand. Somehow, you still seemed to be unconscious, through everything. He could imagine you faking it, pretending to be helpless knowing he'd do all the work for you. And he would, too. Mike would always take care of his pretty girl.

Still, he has to know for sure. It takes a little maneuvering, but in a few moments he's positioned over you, using all his willpower not to grind his stiff bulge into your pussy.

"Gonna fuck you, princess," he whispers, lips ghosting against the shell of your ear as he plants a quick kiss to the side of your head. No response.

Mike decides to push his luck even further, hiking your legs up on his shoulders and folding you over into an absolutely filthy mating press. He was so worked up from teasing you he couldn't even be bothered to fully kick off his underwear, simply pulling it down around his thighs as he lined himself up with your entrance. His poor cock was red-tipped and leaking precum that soaked him down to the base. A perfect match for your own soaked pussy.

It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time for him to finish. You started creaming around his cock after just a few shallow thrusts, pussy convulsing and milking every drop of cum from him. Mike swears he saw your eyes flutter open for a moment as your orgasm hit, shallow breaths and small whimpers music to his ears as he rode out the high.

As his pulse settled and dick softened, Mike melted into the bed next to you. He wasn't going to worry about clean up yet, not wanting to waste this time with you. No, he'd just throw a blanket over you both and worry about it later. Out of sight, out of mind.

Part of him couldn't believe you were still fucking sleeping after all his effort. Maybe he'd been working you too hard lately, or maybe you'd just built a tolerance over the months of sharing a bed with him. You may have mentioned his tendency to toss and turn in his sleep a few times. Oops. Was he that bad?

Mike wraps a strong arm around your torso, picking you up and guiding you to rest on his chest, no longer worried about the possibility of waking you. He drifted back off to sleep holding you in his arms, whispering a quick "thank you, baby".

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

When you finally wake up a couple hours later, Mike just smiles and nods as you tell him about the "wet dream" you had. He's content to lay there with you all morning, stroking your hair and listening to you babble into his chest.

"It felt so real, Mikey. You don't understand." You sigh longingly, tilting your head and focusing sleepy eyes on his.

Mike got the hint from your bedroom eyes alone. The pleading little pout was definitely overkill. Any other morning, he would have fallen victim right away, eagerly scrambling to undress you and lay claim to that perfect body.

However, with earlier satisfaction to tide him over, he had time to tease.

"Oh? I wouldn't understand?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"No!" you insist, shaking your head vehemently. "I don't think I've ever had a dream that strong. I... I think I might have actually..."

Mike just chuckles as you squirm in his arms, eyes going glassy and glazed over as you recall the vivid dream.

"Why are you so damn smug, Michael?" Your demeaner shifts in an instant, playfully nipping at his neck in mock anger. "It was dream Mike who made me cum. You're just lying here like a lump."

He scoffs and grabs at your wrist, pulling away the accusatory finger jabbing into his chest. "You sure about that sweetheart? Didn't you go to bed with panties on?"

For a moment, you just freeze. Mike watches the gears turn in your head as you make the connection, his smile only growing more smug. He had been wondering how long it'd take for you to notice his cum dripping down your thighs.

"Mike! You... you didn't..." gasping, you scan his face for any sign of dishonesty. Was this really happening? Did he really use you while you were asleep?

The chuckle that slips through his lips solidifies it for you, and suddenly you're very aware of just how bare your lower half is. That bastard.

Not that you didn't want it, oh the contrary. This was a dream. Literally. But the fact he'd let you gush over your wet dream to him in detail? Without telling you the truth?

Oh, that deserved punishment.

"Why didn't you tell me?" you squeal, sitting up and slamming a pillow onto his face with both hands.

Finally, Mike can't hold back anymore, and laughs. A true, genuine laugh that you only get to hear in rare moments of joy like this. Even muffled as it is through the pillow, it makes you smile.

He lets you feel like you're in control for all of sixty seconds, only using half his strength to push back against you as you smother him triumphantly.

In one quick, decisive swoop, Mike ends the little play wrestling match by flipping you over. He's on top of you now, forehead pressed against yours as he whispers mere centimeters from your lips.

"M'not letting you sleep through round two, sweetheart."

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Reminder that you should follow me on @stop-talking-vtwo if you only want to be updated for new fic drops and not my shitposts <3

masterlist

[harmonyrae]

Let You Make Me Juno

Synopsis: There’s a song you just can’t get out of your head. You just wanted to dance and sing along every time it came on. Which is exactly what you do and the boys have a very intense reaction to some of the lyrics.

AN: I hadn’t heard Juno by Sabrina Carpenter in its entirety until literally yesterday and I’ve been on a writing kick so… This happened. Smile. ENJOY!

Content Warnings: Heavy on the innuendos, also heavy on the implied activities, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, breeding kink (if you squint), the boys are shook & horny, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 3.1k

Whatever report Zayne is working on must be a hefty one, he’s been consistently typing for nearly an hour. You circle behind him and top off his coffee. He doesn’t look up, but hums as you pour - a silent thank you. You head back into the kitchen and continue making breakfast. 

It was rare that Zayne didn’t have to head to work early and the Association had given all Hunters a long weekend to celebrate the previous month. Only two injuries and no major incidents. You had both slept in and you were making pancakes. Usually Zayne would lecture you about “making sure you got protein and complex carbs” to start your day, but you promised to make chocolate chip pancakes and he stopped arguing. His sweet tooth won over in the end. 

You continue mixing the batter, swaying your hips to your playlist. Your “feel good” playlist, it always made you want to dance. You hum along while you wait for the pan to heat up. That’s when you hear the beginning notes of the song you’re obsessed with. 

“Zayne! Can you turn the music up?”

You look over your shoulder to see him nod, never taking his eyes off the screen. The music swells through the bluetooth speakers and you start bouncing in excitement. You immediately start singing along.

Don't have to tell your hot ass a thing Oh yeah, you just get it 

Finally, Zayne peels his eyes away from his report. He didn’t get a chance to write up the surgery debrief after getting home last night. He intended to stay up to finish it, but when he got home you were dressed in the black nightgown that drove him crazy. He spent his night doing something equally as important, but now he was rushing to get it completed. But when you started singing, he immediately took notice.

You usually didn’t sing out loud, preferring to hum along. And the way you bounced back and forth, your hips swaying seductively, was very distracting. You wore your satin sleep shorts and his dress shirt buttoned halfway, just a hint of your delicious cleavage peeking over the collar. Zayne straightens his back and tries to refocus.

Whole package, babe, I like the way you fit God bless your dad's genetics, mm, uh

He blinks rapidly before taking his glasses off to rub his eyes. He turns to look at you fully. Watching you dance and stir the pancake batter. You turn to look over at him, not expecting to see him looking at you. You see the tips of his ears have turned red and you giggle, continuing your dance while maintaining eye contact with him. 

You make me wanna make you fall in love Oh, late at night, I'm thinkin' 'bout you, ah, ah-ah Wanna try on my fuzzy pink handcuffs?

Zayne’s eyes widen and you can’t help but let out a loud laugh. The blush spread across his cheeks and down his neck. You set down the bowl and approach him, singing and dancing along the way. 

I know you want my touch for life If you love me right, then who knows? I might let you make me Juno

He finally stands, placing his hands on your hips. He doesn’t stop you from dancing, just holds you and feels you sway. You spot a smile creeping onto his face. You reach up and hold onto his shoulders. He leans down and starts placing open mouth kisses to the exposed skin of your chest. You close your eyes and feel his warm breath on your ear as he whispers.

“Isn’t ‘Juno’ that movie we watched a few weeks ago?”

You hum in agreement and Zayne doesn’t hesitate to pick you up, moving your legs to wrap around him. He squeezes your ass before he trails a hand under the back of your shirt. You shiver at his touch and cling to him. He turns and walks into the kitchen to turn off the stove.

“Don’t you want pancakes?”

Zayne smiles and his eyes sparkle with something you rarely see when you’re with him. 

“Oh, I’m still having cake for breakfast.”

How did you get roped into this? Tara is so damn persuasive. Or maybe you’ve had a few too many drinks? The little umbrellas make them seem so harmless though…

Xavier had tried to intercept and make sure you didn’t feel forced. But after Tara whispered what song she had picked for karaoke you were completely on board. Plus, you didn’t wear your favorite dress and heels for nothing. 

The fitted baby blue dress hugged your curves, but the tiered ruffles on the skirt made you feel like a ballerina when you twirled. The square neckline flattering your defined collarbone, while hiding a hickey on your shoulder. You tapped your sparkly heels along with your favorite song. Tara and you harmonized seamlessly.

Let you lock me down tonight One of me is cute, but two, though? Give it to me, baby You make me wanna make you fall in love

Xavier had been checked out for most of the night, he was just happy to spend time with you. And the other hunters he worked with - since this was a Hunter’s Appreciation party. But getting to watch you dress up and hold you close while dancing in the dimly lit club, yeah, that made the socializing worth it. 

His brain had finally registered the lyrics and he almost choked on his drink. He coughed quietly and looked up at you. Your cheeks flushed from the alcohol, your tits bouncing while you dance with Tara. He tries to keep his eyes locked on yours, but his eyes can’t help but wander. Two? Imagining a miniature version of you made Xavier’s heart pound against his ribcage.

I showed my friends, then we high-fived  Sorry if you feel objectified 

Xavier’s eyes widened and he nearly dropped his drink. He sets it down on the bar with a shaky hand. He tilts his head at you, as if asking what exactly did you show. He shook his head, surely not. It was just a song. But then again, you could “show” and he knew that. 

Xavier never asked you to send him nudes, but you were so easily turned on by him you spent weeks trying to figure out a way to level the playing field. Sure enough, sending him a picture from the shower did the trick. Of course, he matched your energy and offered to send his own. Which you didn’t reject. He definitely didn’t hold back after that. You’d send pictures and videos back and forth regularly. You could absolutely show Tara and you had zero doubts she would, indeed, high-five you.

Can't help myself, hormones are high Give me more than just some butterflies

You surprised yourself with how well you hit each note, your confidence growing. Your slightly hooded eyes stay locked on Xavier the whole song. You could feel the tension in the room grow. The hunger in Xavier’s eyes was evident. You watched as he slowly made his way to the side of the stage where you eventually climbed down.

Jeremiah was standing next to him, his cheeks flushed. Tara begged Xavier to invite him and after the performance - both you and Xavier finally figured out why. She launched herself into his arms, giggling. His whispered praises were almost lost in the club's noise. Xavier grabbed your waist and pulled you to him immediately. He leaned over to Jeremiah and whispered something before pulling you towards the exit. 

“Xavier! What about –”

“They’ll get a cab, we’re leaving.”

His tone was firm and his expression calm. You were almost concerned he was angry with you. Once outside, you expected to stop at the edge of the sidewalk to hail a cab, but Xavier took a sharp turn, heading into an alley behind the club.

“What are we –”

You couldn’t even finish speaking before Xavier’s lips captured yours. His hand reaches down to pull up your dress, his fingers swiftly pulling your panties aside to press against your clit. He presses you against the wall and his kiss turns frantic. You barely have a moment to moan, you breathe heavily, your hands wrapping around him and taking fistfuls of his sweater. 

Right as your legs start to shake, he pulls back and presses his forehead against yours.

“I need to get you home for this conversation.”

You scrunch your nose and look at him, confused. He nips at your bottom lip pulling another breathy moan from you.

“You are definitely cute, but two? That’d be exquisite.”

“No no no, higher!”

You pointed at the couch, urging Rafayel to get in the right spot to start recording. He huffed and crossed his arms.

“What about my artistic vision? Just because it’s a TikTok doesn’t mean it should look like shit. Let me work my magic!”

You put your hands on your hips and let him adjust the brightness of the overhead lights and try out different angles. You smile, knowing exactly what you’re up to. He’ll feel silly in about 15 minutes. 

You run a hand over your shorts and matching cropped hoodie, smoothing out the wrinkles from practicing. The pink color almost matches the blush on your cheeks - which was not just from practicing. You might be a bit nervous. 

You tighten your ponytail and press your lips, nibbling the corner of your mouth as you tap your foot impatiently. Rafayel finally looks up at you and rolls his eyes. 

“Sorry cutie, I know your best angles and it’ll be worth the wait.” 

He finally climbs up on the couch and looks at you through your phone. His brows knit together. He’s just now realizing you were right about where he needed to stand. You giggle while he puffs out a breath, his dusty purple fringe fluttering upwards. 

“Okay, are you ready?”

You nod enthusiastically before hopping over to your starting spot. 

“So you know what to do, right?”

“Why are you asking me that? Of course I know! I’m not a boomer.” 

You roll your eyes and grab your hairbrush, the best option you had for a makeshift microphone. You could have asked Rafayel to get you a real one but you didn’t want to ask him to put too much effort into this little video. A video you didn’t really plan on posting. 

Rafayel holds up three fingers and counts down before pointing at you. You smile and sway your hips, lip syncing to your latest obsession.

You make me wanna make you fall in love Oh, late at night, I'm thinkin' 'bout you, ah, ah-ah Wanna try out some freaky positions?

You swiftly lie down on your stomach and bend your knees, pulling your ankles up as close to your head as possible. You reach back and lock your fingers behind your ankles. You look at the camera and smile with a flush.

Have you ever tried this one?

Rafayel almost drops your phone. He ends the recording and stares at you. His ears turned bright red and his eyes darken, turning an even deeper shade of purple. 

“I didn’t realize you were doing this trend…”

You roll over and cross your legs in front of you, resting your hands on your knees. You raise a brow and glare at him. 

“How many videos of this trend have you watched, Rafayel?”

His eyes widen and he coughs, straightening his back before hopping off the couch in one swift motion. He crosses his arms and looks down at you, his mouth settled into that adorably irritating pout. 

“I just know of the trend, not -- I don’t watch them like –”

You interrupt him, your voice a tad more raspy than you intended.

“Do you think the position isn’t worth it?”

The blush travels across his cheeks and he twists his nose, trying his best to look upset.

“That’s not what I said.” 

“Cause I have a few I could try. You know… for the video.”

Rafayel’s eyes narrow and his eyes drop to your exposed midriff and bare legs. He clears his throat and drops his hands to his hips before turning to walk away. You exhale sharply - he’s being dense. Time to be more direct. 

“Like this one?”

He turns his head and watches you shift to face him. You lie back and kick your legs up. Your shoulders remain planted on the floor while your midsection is straight up, your hands planted on your back, your elbows braced against the floor to hold you up. Your legs tip over and your toes touch the floor. You keep your legs straight and spread them as wide as you are comfortable. Your shorts sink into your ass, the curve and shape now on full display. 

You hear a sharp intake of breath and a shuffling of feet. You try to lower to the ground once more, but feel his hands on the backs of your thighs. When you look up you see Rafayel lean over to look down at you.

“Did you really do this trend for the trend, or did you have other intentions?”

You smile up at him, your smug expression clear as day. He runs his hands over your ass and places his hands at either side of your nearly exposed pussy. You gasp quietly. 

“Yeah, you’re not uploading that video, but we are definitely trying these positions.”

He runs his thumbs across your center. You know he can feel how wet you are, doing those positions in front of him - positions you’ve desperately wanted to try with him - really got you going. He grinds against you, his cock digging into your ass, pulling a moan from you.

“Right fucking now.”

You didn’t even hear the front door to your apartment open, your music was turned up way too loud. And you were enjoying the mini concert you were putting on in the bathroom. 

You held the curling iron loosely and rocked your hips side to side. You could never stop yourself from dancing and singing along to this song. You were so excited when Tara told you she got tickets for Sabrina’s concert next month. You were listening to all of her albums on repeat to prepare. 

But tonight, you were going out with Sylus for a very special occasion - your one year anniversary. Well, it’s been over a year since you met him, but you both agreed not to celebrate when you actually met because it wasn’t exactly the best memory. 

Sylus gave you his black card to get pampered all day while he worked and you made the most of it. Getting your nails done, a facial, shopping and basically a full body wax. You spent extra time on your makeup since you had a few new products to try out. Your new red lipstick compliments your skin tone perfectly, its staying power would be tested later. 

The dress you picked was relatively simple, but god, did you feel sexy. The black bodice was fitted, hitting mid-thigh. The chest was very structured and pushed your girls up, giving the illusion of more cleavage than you actually had. Your favorite part though, were the sleeves. Black lace from shoulder to fingertip, the bell sleeves almost completely covering your hands. You paired the dress with new red pumps, which were still in the box on your bed.

Your hair was actually curling nicely and wasn’t falling flat immediately, so you felt on top of the world. You danced and sang at the top of your lungs. 

You had no idea, Sylus had already let himself into your apartment. A bouquet of red roses in his hand and a mechanical crow with glowing yellow eyes sitting on his shoulder. Sylus couldn’t wait to introduce you to Lilith. He had built her himself specifically for you. He knew it would only mean you’d send her to spy on him like he had Mephisto spy on you, but he could tell how much you started to love seeing his little metal companion. 

He heard the music immediately when he walked in. He closed the door quietly and dropped his suit jacket on the arm of the couch. He pointed to his jacket and Lilith flew over, settling on the fabric. He put the flowers on the coffee table and silently made his way to the door of your bathroom. A smile breaking out across his face as he realized you were singing. 

Adore me, hold me, and explore me Mark your territory Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one

His heart skipped a beat. Not only was your voice hypnotizing, but the lyrics… He had heard this song before, but couldn’t remember where. Probably on one of your drives with him, he tended to give you control of the music while he drove. It meant you were more likely to sing. He leaned against the doorframe just out of view. He could see you in the mirror, swaying your hips while you wrapped a strand of hair around the curling iron.

Adore me, hold me, and explore me I'm so fuckin' horny Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one

And that’s when Sylus’s willpower broke. He pushed the bathroom door open, still leaning against the door frame. He racked his eyes down your body, taking in your new dress.

“Sylus! Oh my god, you fucking scared me! When did you get here?”

Sylus lifted his gaze to meet yours. He smirked before reaching up to grab the door frame above him. He looked so much taller like this, staring at you with those eyes. 

“I was just enjoying the show, kitten.”

You put down the curling iron and turned it off. You fluffed your hair, letting the curls fall into loose waves. You tried not to stare at Sylus in the mirror. The top buttons of his shirt were undone and you could see his chest rising and falling faster and faster.

“I like the song. I am curious though… When you sing along, do you think of anyone?”

Your cheeks flush and you stare at him. You bite your lip as you smile. He lets go of the doorframe and pushes off to walk towards you. His hands wrap around your waist and he pulls you close. Your back flush against his chest, you could feel his erection press against your ass. 

“You know the answer to that question, Sy…” 

He smiled and leaned down to kiss the top of your head.

“Well, I’d say I’ve completed adoring and holding you, that just leaves exploring.”

“Sylus! We –”

He spins you around and grabs your waist. He leans down to kiss your neck, before dipping down to bite at the fullness of your chest. You arch your back and let your head fall back as you groan. Your hands reach out to hold onto his waist, while his wrap around to grab your ass.

“But you’re so fuckin' horny, sweetie. And I live to serve my one and only.”

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