#and started having a little too much fun with it

[wooyoungiewritings]

A Spoonful of Trouble - Wooyoung x Reader

Summary: Three years of living with your best friend Wooyoung, and it’s all been chill… until a run-in with your old coworker, who’s dating your ex, forces you to lie. You tell her you’re in a relationship with Wooyoung, and now you both have to fake a relationship at a couples’ dinner. Wooyoung’s plan? Make your ex jealous. What starts as a harmless game soon sparks something you didn’t see coming.

Word count: 17.4K

Genre: Best-friend/Roomie Wooyoung, fake dating, comedy (it’s wooyoung, ofc its fun), friends-to-lovers, oneshot, smut

Warnings: Jealous undertones, Wooyoung with reader (fem pronouns), dom Wooyoung, he’s a tease, fingering, oral (fem receiving), choking and hair pulling, ass slaps and pussy slaps (lmao sorry) dirtytalk, unprotected sex, lmk if I missed anything!

A/N: I was requested a Wooyoung fanfic (preferably friends to lovers) and your wish is my command. Also, I haven't read this through, so I excuse if there are any mistakes!

This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Wooyoung in any way.

You didn’t know Wooyoung before you moved in with him.

It wasn’t some childhood-friends-to-roommates situation. It was a Facebook listing, a desperate rent situation, and a quick video call where he grinned and said, “I’m clean, I cook, and I only walk around shirtless on laundry days, deal?”

Your boyfriend had just cheated on you and you were too broke to be picky.

You moved in two weeks later.

That was three years ago.

When you first moved in, things were simple. Polite nods in the hallway, careful division of chores, messages like “Can I use your oat milk?” and “Trash day’s Thursday.” You were strangers learning how to coexist. He was respectful, charming, funny in a careful kind of way.

But that changed. Slowly. Naturally.

There was the night he knocked on your door with two bowls of ramen after hearing you cry through the wall. The time he fell asleep on your shoulder during a movie, and you let him stay there. The mornings where he started making two cups of coffee without asking, and the way he never forgot which mug was your favorite.

Little things, at first. But they stacked up.

Now he knows your coffee order and your worst ex’s name. He doesn’t knock anymore when your door is open. And you don’t bother pretending to be annoyed when he drapes himself across the couch you’re already sitting on, like there’s not an entire empty seat next to you. You know his favorite hoodie and the playlist he only listens to when he’s feeling off.

You don’t even remember when it happened. When “roommate” became “friend,” and “friend” slowly became “best friend”.

He’s the first person you turn to when something happens, good or bad. You’ve become so used to him and his playful, flirtatious nature, that it’s just... normal now.

This morning, you wake up to the sound of a pan sizzling.

It’s not unusual. Wooyoung does most of the cooking in the apartment, partly because he’s better at it, mostly because he refuses to eat anything bland. You’ve learned not to interfere when he’s in his element, your only job is to show up and eat.

Still, it’s early, and he’s making a bit too much noise for someone who claims to love you “platonically.”

You shuffle out of your room, hair a mess, socks mismatched. The kitchen smells like garlic and eggs, and you see him standing at the stove, completely in his zone. Hoodie sleeves pushed up, spatula in hand, flipping something with a finesse that makes it obvious he knows he looks good doing it.

“You’re showing off,” you mutter, leaning against the doorframe.

He doesn’t look away from the pan. “You’re welcome.”

You make a beeline for your favorite mug, the one he always pretends to hate but still washes carefully every time you leave it in the sink.

“I figured you’d sleep in,” he says. “You stayed up late.”

“Yea, because someone wasn’t leaving my room.” you send him a glare.

“I like hanging out with you! and don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy the story about the geek and the popular girl from my old highschool. That story is cute as hell.” he points the spatula with you like it’s a weapon.

You smirk behind the mug. “Okay, that one was kinda good.”

He grins, plating scrambled eggs and what looks like roasted vegetables. He slides the plate toward your usual spot at the counter like he’s done it a hundred times, because he has.

“How was your date?” you ask, poking your fork into a roasted tomato.

Wooyoung groans. “Disaster.”

“That bad?”

“She asked if I was in love with her halfway through the appetizer.”

“Bold of her,” you say, chewing.

“And when I said no, she looked at me like I kicked her in the face. Then she told me I ‘give off commitment issues.’”

You grin. “You do give off commitment issues.”

He glares playfully. “Okay, rude. I’m extremely loyal.”

“To me.”

“Exactly. My loyalty quota is full. Sorry to the rest of the world.” he shoots you a wink, nothing dramatic, just one of those natural, easy gestures he does without thinking. You don’t blush. Not anymore.

You're used to it. In the beginning, back when you were still adjusting to living with someone who looks like that, who flirts with the air he breathes, who walks around shirtless and steals fries from your plate and calls you “babe” just to watch your reaction, it was different.

But now? Immunity.

Mostly.

It’s easy with him, always has been. Closeness that doesn’t need explanation. No boundaries, because you don’t need them. Not when you’ve seen each other through every version of a day.

He sits beside you at the counter instead of across, thigh brushing yours like it’s second nature.

Because it is.

***

“You know,” you say, pushing the cart down the cereal aisle, “you could just admit you have the taste buds of a hyperactive child.”

Wooyoung gasps, dramatically offended as he holds up a neon box of chocolate puffs. “This is not childish. This is elite. You wouldn’t understand the depth of this flavor profile.”

Grocery shopping with Wooyoung is basically a weekly ritual at this point. Not because you can’t go alone, but because he insists on it. Claims you’d forget half the list and come back with snacks and nothing else. Which, to be fair, is kind of true.

You’re halfway through the cereal aisle, walking behind the cart as Wooyoung wanders a few feet ahead, eyes locked on the shelf like he’s making a life-or-death decision between sugary clusters or chocolate swirls.

He’s in his element, mumbling ingredients under his breath, holding one box up to the light like he’s reading ancient scrolls. You smile to yourself, letting him do his thing as you slow down, scanning your phone for the rest of your shared grocery list.

And then, just your luck, you hear it.

“Oh my god, Y/N?”

You look up too slowly.

Hana.

You turn, putting on the most polite expression you can muster as she approaches, all bright eyes and perfect hair and the same aggressive enthusiasm she used to bring to Monday morning staff meetings.

“Hana,” you say, trying to sound surprised instead of resigned. “Wow. Hi.”

“I thought that was you! Oh my god, it’s been what, like, forever? You look so… Anyways, it’s so good to see you!” She eyes you, then glances down into your cart before you can respond. “Frozen dumplings, instant rice, oh my god I love those snacks, they’re so bad but soooo addictive, right? Wait-, this kimchi brand is the worst. You should try the one from Jihyun’s Market across town. It’s organic.”

You blink. “I... like this one.”

“Sure, sure. I mean, I just think it’s better to be picky with fermented stuff, you know? Especially when you’re eating it alone.”

You don’t answer right away. She doesn’t wait.

“Gosh, how are you? I remember how you were always the chill one at work. So responsible. So put together. Like, you were always the single one! We called you "The Independent Icon" behind your back. Not in a mean way!”

You hadn’t planned on staying single forever. But a few years ago, your boyfriend cheated on you while he was on vacation, called you from the airport like it was no big deal. After that, you decided you were done. No dating for a while, no more risks. It was easier to be alone than to be blindsided again. Eventually, people stopped asking. Then they started assuming.

Your stomach twists. You glance down the aisle. Wooyoung is still several feet away, crouched in front of a lower shelf now, examining cereal boxes like he’s an art critic. Totally out of earshot.

“Oh, I didn’t know people talked about that,” you say, trying to keep your tone neutral.

Hana waves a hand. “Only in admiration, really. I mean, you’ve never brought a guy to any of our dinners. I think Minji even thought you were secretly dating a girl for a while, totally cool if you are! No judgment! But I told her, no way. Y/N is just focused. Did I tell you I got married, by the way? I don’t think you ever met my husband. We got married last year, tiny ceremony, super last minute. Here-, he’s gonna kill me for showing this, but look how ridiculous he looks in this suit.”

She pulls out her phone, swipes once, then holds it up to you.

You freeze.

You know that face.

The sharp jawline. The dimple on his left cheek. The same stupid smile he had when he came back from that trip and told you, casually, like it was weather, that he’d slept with someone else. “It didn’t mean anything,” he said, “we were just having a rough patch, right?”

Your stomach drops.

“That’s him,” Hana says proudly. “Total goofball, but he’s the best. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d find someone like him. But don’t worry, you’ll find someone too some day!”

Hana is still talking but her words blur.

You could say nothing. You could just smile, nod, and escape with your overpriced kimchi and frozen dumplings. But you nod slowly, eyes darting to the end of the aisle again. Suddenly, you hear yourself say, voice too quick and too loud:

“Actually, I’m dating someone.”

Hana’s brows lift. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah.” You point down the aisle.

She turns.

Wooyoung, still crouched, is now reading the back of a cereal box, completely oblivious to your social spiral.

“Oh?” Hana’s eyes are practically sparkling now, thrilled by this newfound information. “Look at you! I know you had it in you!” she says, nudging your arm. “You have to bring him to dinner. We’re doing a little couples night this Friday. Just a few of us from work, old and new. Minji’s coming, and Jihyun, and my husband’s inviting one of his coworkers and their girlfriend. You two should come!”

You hesitate, already internally spiraling. “Oh, I don’t know-”

“Come on! It’ll be fun. I need someone there who doesn’t talk about babies every ten seconds. Please.”

She’s already taking your nod as confirmation before you’ve fully given it. “Perfect! I’ll text you the details, I still have your number. You better show up.”

Just as she’s about to walk away, Wooyoung returns, holding two cereal boxes and strolling up casually.

Hana’s face lights up again. “See you soon!” she says brightly to him, giving you both a final little wave before disappearing around the corner.

Wooyoung blinks after her, then looks at you, eyebrows raised. “...Why do I feel like I just missed something deeply important?”

You stare at him, trying to decide where to begin.

He holds up the cereal boxes, undeterred. “Okay. Fruity Loops or Cinnamon Sugar Swirls. One has slightly fewer chemicals. I won’t say which.”

You inhale slowly, exhale even slower. “So, remember when you left me alone for two minutes?”

“Tragically, yes.”

“Well… in those two minutes, I may have… sort of… told someone we’re dating.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Wooyoung blinks. “You what?”

You gesture weakly down the aisle. “That was Hana. Old coworker. She’s always been weirdly obsessed with the fact that I’m single. She was doing her usual thing, and I panicked, and I pointed at you, and now she thinks we’re together, and- surprise! We’re going to a couples dinner on Friday.”

Wooyoung looks at you. Then at the cereal. Then back at you.

And then he grins.

Like really grins.

“Oh my God,” he says, eyes wide with delight. “This is amazing.”

“Wooyoung.”

“We’re fake dating? We’re doing the thing? Like the romcoms?”

You press a hand to your face. “It gets worse.”

His grin somehow grows. “I’m listening.”

“She’s married to my ex.”

Wooyoung blinks. “The ex?”

You nod. “She showed me a wedding photo. It’s him. The one who cheated on me while he was on vacation. The reason I swore off dating for like, three years.”

Wooyoung’s jaw drops, then slowly morphs into something almost unhinged with glee.

“Oh my God,” he breathes. “This is so much better than I thought.”

“Why are you happy?”

“Because,” he says, absolutely glowing, “I get to sit across from the guy who cheated on my best friend and pretend to be the hot, attentive boyfriend who’s so in love with her he’d die for her. I’m going to be so annoying. I’m going to feed you food.”

“Wooyoung.”

“I’m going to wipe sauce off your mouth. I’m going to put my arm around your chair. I’m going to call you baby in front of him.”

You groan. “This is going to kill me.”

“This is going to heal you,” he says. “You know what, this counts for both of the cereals. Sweet childhood nostalgia and the one that turns milk radioactive pink.” He throws the cereals into the cart with dramatic flair. “This is the best grocery trip of my life.”

***

Friday morning

He’s already in the kitchen when you shuffle in, still half-asleep, arms wrapped around yourself. The smell of eggs and butter greets you first.

“Good morning, my beautiful fake girlfriend!” he beams.

You groan. “Please don’t start.”

“Too late,” he sings, doing a dramatic spin with the spatula. “Do you want toast with your lies or just plain guilt?”

You drop your head onto the counter with a sigh. “I’m not built for this level of energy before caffeine.”

He slides a mug your way, your mug, with your preferred coffee, made just right. “I knew you’d be a flight risk this morning.”

You mutter a thank-you and take a long sip. It helps. But not enough.

“I think I’m panicking,” you say into the mug.

He sets your breakfast in front of you and leans on the counter across from where you sit. “Hey. We’ve got this. All we have to do is show up, eat some overpriced cheese cubes, pretend we’re madly in love, make your ex suffer for being the biggest asshole known to man, and leave. Easy.”

“Madly in love,” you echo flatly.

“Yes, madly.” His smile grows. “Madly, stupidly in love. To the point where your ex is going to regret every single life choice he made after cheating on you. And enough to make Hana go, ‘oh wow, they’re so cute, maybe I am a terrible friend for shaming her for being single for the entire time I’ve known her.’”

You blink. “You really hate him, don’t you?”

“I’ve never even met him and I already hope he has the biggest receding hairline I’ve ever seen.”

You can’t help but laugh.

“And besides,” he adds, stealing a bite of your toast, “we got chemistry.”

You make a face.

“We do, though. We’re best friends. We’re comfortable. We finish each other’s-”

“Don’t.”

“-sentences.”

You hurl a piece of toast crust at him. He dodges it with a smirk.

But he’s right. You are comfortable. You already know what shirt he’s going to wear tonight and that he’s going to pretend he didn’t plan it. You know he’s going to be charming and make everyone laugh and completely forget he’s pretending.

And that’s the part that begins to make your stomach twist.

The day goes faster than you anticipated, and before you know it, you’re both getting ready for the dinner.

You’re halfway through checking your bag for the fourth time when he walks out of his room, and everything in you stills.

He’s adjusting the sleeves of his black button-down, casually rolling them up past his elbows. He tucks his phone into his back pocket, grabs a bottle of wine off the counter. He’s talking, saying something about the wine in his hands, but you don’t hear a word.

Because damn. He looks good.

His black hair is styled a little messier than usual, in that perfectly undone way that probably took way too much effort. He’s tucked his shirt into dark slacks that fit just right, and he’s wearing that silver chain he only brings out for “important” nights.

Like fake dates, apparently.

And the worst part? He doesn’t even look like he’s trying. He looks like this is just how he always looks. Like he doesn’t know that he’s the kind of guy women cross sidewalks for just to sneak a better glance.

And you should be used to that. You live with him. You see him fresh out of bed, half-asleep, shirtless and in the same ratty sweats every Sunday. But this is different.

You recover fast, mutter something closer to sounds than actual words and spin on your heel toward the bathroom.

You need a second. Maybe two.

You close the door behind you and lean against it, willing your heart to calm down. It's just Wooyoung. Your best friend. Your roommate. Your fake boyfriend for the night. Nothing to get flustered over.

You run a hand down your dress, fix your lipstick, try not to think about how the curve of his smile made your stomach flutter.

Then, without a sound, the door cracks open.

He leans casually against the doorframe, watching you through the reflection. “Hey.”

Your eyes meet in the mirror, and for a second, you forget what you’re doing, because his gaze isn’t neutral.

It drops. Lingers.

Slides down the line of your black dress, the way it hugs your hips, the bare skin of your shoulders. It’s not crude, not obvious, but you can feel it. Like a slow drag of heat over your body.

You blink. “You’re not allowed to just come in here.”

“I knocked.”

You glare.

He lifts his hands, innocent. “You just didn’t hear it. Selective hearing, maybe.”

You roll your eyes, but he doesn’t move. Just stay there, eyes trailing from your hair to your lips to the way you’re fidgeting with your rings.

“What’s up?” you ask, voice soft.

He tilts his head slightly, smile tugging at one side of his mouth. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

“Funny,” he deadpans. Then after a beat, “I was wondering how much of a boyfriend I’m allowed to be tonight.”

Your stomach tightens.

He says it lightly, but there’s something in his voice, something teasing, but slower. More deliberate.

You meet his gaze in the mirror again. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he says, stepping a little further into the room, “can I hold your hand? Whisper something in your ear if it gets boring? Pull you in when he’s watching?”

You swallow. He’s close now, not too close, but close enough that the air feels warmer.

“Or maybe,” he continues, eyes flicking to your lips just for a second, “kiss your cheek. You know. If it feels natural. Just enough to make him wonder.” There’s something electric in his voice now, light, amused, but edged with something darker. He smiles, wider this time, and it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Actually… can I make your ex jealous as fuck? Is that allowed?”

“What do you want to do?” you ask, your voice quieter than you mean it to be.

“I mean… if you give me even a little room to play…” He leans in, just slightly, not touching. “I swear I’ll ruin his whole fucking night.”

You’re still staring when he backs away, grin wide, eyes too pleased.

“No pressure," he says, putting both of his hands up, he smiles again, but this time it’s softer. “I’ll do whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

Your mouth is dry.

“Do whatever you want,” you manage. “Just… don’t be weird.”

He grins. “I make no promises”

You’re smiling, even as you turn away to grab your perfume, trying not to let him see how warm your cheeks are.

And as he walks out, he says it over his shoulder.

“You didn’t say no to the kiss.”

***

The knock sounds louder than you expect. You suddenly feel overdressed, underprepared, and painfully aware of the fact that your hand is linked with Wooyoung’s.

You didn’t mean to hold hands.

It just sort of… happened. One second you were adjusting your sleeve, the next his fingers found yours, no hesitation, like they’d done it a thousand times. And now it’s too late to pull away without it being weird.

“Y/N! Oh my god, finally! Come in!” Hana screams as she opens the door. You’re barely stepping inside when she notices the man next to you, her eyes widening. “And this is…?”

“Wooyoung,” he says smoothly, offering the wine bottle with both charm and ease. “Nice to meet you.”

Hana takes it with a delighted hum, already ushering you both inside. You barely get a foot in before her voice lifts again. “Babe, come meet my old co-worker!”

And there he is.

Standing a few steps inside the hallway, one hand curled loosely around a drink. He turns at the sound and freezes. Just for a second, quick enough to pass for nothing, but not to you. You see it. His eyes widen slightly, and something flickers across his face. Confusion. Surprise. Like he wasn’t told. Like he wasn’t ready.

But you smile, smooth and pleasant. Step forward, extend your hand like you’ve never seen him before in your life.

“Hi,” you say. “Nice to meet you.”

You smile like it’s nothing. Like you don’t know him. Like he’s just another name you’ll forget by morning. There’s the barest pause before he sets the glass down and shakes your hand. “Yeah,” he says, guarded, eyes flicking to Wooyoung. “You too.”

Before you can say anything, Wooyoung steps forward smoothly, hand outstretched, “Hi,” he says, voice warm and a little too cheerful. “I’m Wooyoung. Her boyfriend.”

There’s a pause. One breath too long. Your ex shifts, not quite hiding the way his eyes flick to your still-joined hands.

“…Right,” he says finally, taking Wooyoung’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Hana, being the overly-excited host that she is, smiles at the situation. “Everyone’s in the kitchen. Come on, we’re just doing drinks and snacks before dinner.”

You glance toward the kitchen, grateful for the distraction, but not before you feel Wooyoung’s hand press gently against your lower back, guiding you forward.

As if to say: I’ve got you.

But also…

Watch me work.

The house is warm and golden-lit, filled with soft music and the quiet sounds of people mingling. Laughter drifts from the back, layered over the clink of glasses and the sizzle of something on the stove.

The kitchen is full, couples leaning against counters, clustered near the island, perched on stools. Everyone looks up when you enter, and Hana claps her hands once. “Everyone, this is Y/N and her boyfriend, Wooyoung.”

You swear the word echoes for a second. Boyfriend.

Wooyoung just nods with a relaxed smile, greeting the group like he’s done this a hundred times. He’s introduced to a few of the guys first, and within a minute he’s already laughing at something, fully immersed in conversation.

You hang back, trying not to fidget, trying to ignore how good he looks tonight, sleeves rolled, watch glinting, hair pushed back perfectly like he didn’t even try. And then, as if on cue, Hana pipes up from across the room, tossing the words over her shoulder like they’re harmless.

“I still can’t believe Y/N’s in a relationship now,” she says brightly, like it’s a funny little update. “I didn’t believe it at first, Y/N in a relationship? We all thought she was allergic to commitment!”

There’s a few laughs, light, not cruel. The kind of laugh that happens when people think they’re in on something. The moment the words leave Hana’s mouth, your ex looks up. His expression flickers with a hint of surprise.

You open your mouth, unsure what to say. But before you can speak, Wooyoung cuts in. He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t even look particularly bothered. He just glances over at Hana with an easy, almost lazy kind of smile.

“If loving her is a commitment, then it’s the easiest type of commitment I’ve ever made.”

You blink.

Your ex doesn’t say anything. His lips press into a tight line, but his eyes narrow further, jaw clenching slightly as he watches Wooyoung.

But Wooyoung’s gaze never shifts away from you, his hand finding yours again, linking your fingers effortlessly. His smile is small, but there’s a touch of pride behind it. He’s enjoying this.

The women smile. A couple guys glance over like damn. And Hana? She laughs, charmed. “Wow, okay. You’re already winning points.”

You try to smile like your heart didn’t just skip an entire beat.

Hana insists on giving you and Wooyoung a quick tour before dinner. “It’s not huge,” she says, with a laugh that’s anything but modest. “We just really wanted something simple but tasteful. Natural light was a must. You know how it is.”

Wooyoung nods beside you like he deeply, deeply understands the weight of natural light, and you catch the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“And this-” Hana gestures grandly as she opens a set of double doors. “This is my favorite room. The light in here at golden hour? Unreal. We had the cushions custom made to match the ceiling beams. And the books are mostly for decoration, but it kind of gives the right mood, don’t you think?”

You nod along politely, half-listening, while Wooyoung leans down slightly, his voice warm and low against your ear.

“Do you think if I mention natural light three more times, we unlock a secret level of the tour?”

Your breath hitches with a soft laugh, and before you can stop yourself, you tilt your head slightly toward him, shoulder brushing his chest. His smile lingers like he’s proud of himself, but there’s something else behind it too, something quieter. The way your face lights up when you laugh, how you don’t pull away. It flickers in his chest and sits there, unexpected.

His hand lingers a little longer at the small of your back as you follow Hana to the next room.

The dinner table is lively, plates are passed around, and glasses are filled as casual conversation flows. Across the table, your ex is quiet. He hasn’t said much all night, just observed. His smile is polite, his presence steady, but you can feel his gaze on you every now and then, especially when Wooyoung leans in to refill your glass or casually touches your wrist while talking.

The group is in a comfortable rhythm, and just as you're about to take a bite of your food, one of the guests leans back in their chair with a curious smile.

“So how did you two meet each other?”

You freeze, your mind racing. And across from you, you swear you see your ex stiffen slightly, eyes narrowing just the tiniest bit.

Wooyoung notices immediately.

He smiles at you, that teasing, mischievous look in his eyes as he leans forward, taking the cue. He opens his mouth, and suddenly, his voice fills the room. Smooth, charming, and effortlessly natural.

"Oh, this one’s my favorite story," he says, his voice warm and playful, his eyes lighting up as if he's about to tell the most incredible tale.

He pauses for dramatic effect, glancing at you, making sure you’re paying attention. You give him a quick nod, still unsure of where he’s going with this.

“It was one of those nights you’re not even supposed to go out, you know? I almost canceled.” He lets out a soft laugh, glancing at you. “But then she walked in.”

Everyone leans in slightly, curious.

“She wasn’t supposed to be there either, actually. Our friend had to convince her. She was tired, had a long week,” He looks at you briefly, as if asking permission with his eyes, but his smile says he already knows you’ll let him go on.

“She came in late, a little out of breath, tucking her hair behind her ear, apologizing even though no one noticed. And I swear-” He leans back, that crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “-the second I saw her, I forgot what I was saying mid-sentence. Just totally lost it. My friend thought I was choking on my drink.”

Soft laughter bubbles around the table. Your cheeks warm.

“She sat right across from me, and I swear I didn’t hear a single thing anyone else said the whole night. I spent the night trying to make her laugh.”

It’s smooth, too smooth, but his tone is light, playful, like he’s just telling a fond memory, not spinning an elaborate lie. He continues, eyes sparkling.

“I asked for her number before we left, and she said no.”

A small gasp comes from someone at the table, and Wooyoung grins like he’s telling a bedtime story.

“She said I seemed like the kind of guy who flirts with everyone.” More laughter. Wooyoung presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Which-, okay, fair. But I wasn't flirting with her… or maybe I was, but I just wanted to keep talking to her. So I said, ‘If she doesn’t want to give it to me, fine, I’ll earn it.’ And I kept showing up whenever our friend invited people out. I'd always make sure to sit next to her. Always brought something small. Coffee, gum, dumb stuff, just to have an excuse to talk.”

He looks at you then. Really looks at you.

“And eventually… she let me walk her home.”

Someone lets out a little aww.

“I didn’t try anything,” he adds. “I just wanted to stretch out the moment as long as I could. I think we stood outside her door for half an hour just talking. I memorized the color of her front light. The chipped tile on her step. Her laugh.”

The table is completely silent.

“And the next time?” His smile curves wider. “She kissed me first. Which I will never let her forget.”

The table is enchanted.

For a moment after Wooyoung finishes, there’s a soft, stunned silence, like everyone’s holding their breath without realizing it. Then:

“Oh my God,” someone breathes.

The woman across from you nudges her partner. “You never chased me like that.”

“You didn’t run,” he deadpans.

“So you’re telling me you saw her once and just knew?” another friend adds, reaching for more wine.

“I told our mutual friend to introduce us, and he said ‘don’t bother.’” He stretches his arm along the back of your chair, fingers lightly brushing the bare skin of your shoulder. “So obviously I did the exact opposite.”

The table erupts with laughter. Real, full, warm.

“God, that sounds so like you,” Hana laughs, sending you a playful glance.

Laughter bubbles around the table, easy and entertained.

But not from everyone.

Across the table, your ex’s grip on his fork tightens, just for a moment. Not dramatic, not enough to draw attention from anyone else, but you see it. The twitch in his jaw. The way he shifts back in his chair like he needs space to breathe.

Wooyoung leans in slightly, hand still resting lightly behind your neck now, fingers brushing just enough to make it look natural. Intimate.

“And when she finally said yes,” he adds, voice lower now, more deliberate, “I knew I wasn’t gonna let her go.”

Your chest tightens.

The air feels heavier.

Meanwhile, you’re frozen in place, staring at your wine glass, heart racing as if you lived every second of that made-up story. You catch someone across the table watching you with a knowing smile, clearly convinced you're the luckiest girl alive.

And for a second, just one, you almost believe it too.

The rest of the dinner unfolds like a well-rehearsed play. Light laughter, wine refills, soft clinks of cutlery against porcelain. Conversation drifts easily between the couples, like they’ve all known each other forever, even if some only met tonight. And somehow, you and Wooyoung fall into it without trying.

After the dinner, the buzz of conversation in the living room fades as you step quietly down the hallway toward the bathroom. You need a second to breathe, just a minute alone after everything that’s happened tonight.

You close the bathroom door behind you and lean against it for a moment, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Wooyoung’s charming story about how you met still lingers in your mind, and the way everyone seemed so enchanted by him... it felt like something out of a movie. It had been easy to get swept up in it all, even though it was completely fabricated.

After a few moments, you open the bathroom door and nearly jump out of your skin.

Wooyoung is standing right there in the hallway, hands in his pockets like he’s just been casually waiting. His gaze flicks up to meet yours immediately, and a slow, knowing smile pulls at his lips.

He doesn’t say anything right away, just leans his shoulder against the doorframe, arms now crossed, like he’s settling in.

You swallow hard. “You scared me.”

“Did I?” His voice is low, soft. Like a secret passed between friends. “Sorry. You just disappeared.”

“I needed a second. Too many couples,” you say, attempting a light laugh that comes out a bit thin. “Too much… love.”

“So?” he murmurs beside you. “How am I doing?”

You glance at him, eyebrows raised.

“The fake boyfriend thing,” he adds with a sly grin. “Convincing enough for you?”

You shrug, but your smile gives you away. “I’ve seen worse performances.”

“Cold,” he mutters, holding a hand over his chest like you’ve wounded him. “Here I am, carrying the entire romance on my back.”

You laugh quietly, then shake your head, your voice dropping again. “Honestly, I think everyone at the table wants to date you now.”

“Jealous?” he says, all teeth and sparkle, but his voice is soft, teasing rather than cocky.

You roll your eyes, even as your stomach flips. “Please.”

Then he tilts his head, studying you. His tone shifts, still playful, but quieter. “You know, you’re still a little pink.”

You blink. “What?”

“Your cheeks,” he says, nodding toward them. “Blushing. Again.”

You cross your arms instinctively, heart picking up pace. “I’m not.”

“You are,” he whispers. He leans a little closer. “It’s kinda cute.”

Your breath catches.

“You’re insufferable,” you whisper, smiling despite yourself.

“And you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

The moment hangs, just a little too long. You’re standing in the dim hallway, lights soft, voices muffled behind walls, and he’s looking at you like this is his favorite part of the night.

You clear your throat, trying to reset something in the air. “We should go back.”

“Yeah,” he says, straightening slowly. “Before someone thinks we’re sneaking off to make out.”

Wooyoung straightens just a little, the moment sliding away like water off skin. He gives you one last glance, a wink for good measure, then turns and walks toward the others. That leaves you standing in the hallway, heart racing, wondering why his lazy confidence always makes it hard to tell when he’s joking and when he isn’t.

You follow behind, still feeling the blush he called out.

You offer to help Hana out in the kitchen. Wooyoung is busy winning everybody’s hearts with his charm, so you aren’t concerned about him.

You rinse off a plate, hands moving on autopilot as you stack it neatly on the drying rack. Hana leans against the counter beside you, sipping the last of her wine, her smile still painted on from dinner. “Seriously though,” she says, nudging your hip with hers, “I wasn’t expecting you to show up with someone like that.”

You huff a laugh. “Like what?”

“Like… funny. Hot. Charismatic. The way he talks about you?” She raises a brow. “Unreal.”

You smile, tight-lipped. “Yeah. He’s something.”

“I mean…” She grins. “You glow around him. It’s wild. Like, he looks at you like he’s already picking out your wedding venue.”

You laugh, quiet, awkward. “He’s just… sweet.”

Hana raises her brows. “He’s obsessed. In a good way.” She tilts her head toward the hallway. “I’m gonna go grab the wine opener. Don’t let me forget it again. Be back in a sec.”

The back door clicks shut behind her, and silence settles again. It’s nice for a moment, just you, the clink of cutlery, the steam from the sink. You keep washing dishes, grateful for the moment alone.

But it doesn’t last.

You hear movement behind you. Slow. Hesitant.

You turn your head and freeze.

It’s him.

Your ex.

He stands just past the threshold, hands in his pockets, gaze locked on you. He steps in without saying anything at first. Just lingers a little too close to the kitchen island, his eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to figure out what he’s seeing.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he says.

You dry your hands on a towel, steadying yourself. “Clearly.”

He takes a step in. Not too close, but enough to unsettle you.

His eyes flick around the room, then land back on you. “You look good.”

You sigh quietly, turning back to the sink. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m just saying.”

Another beat.

You hear him shift again, leaning slightly against the island behind you. You can feel his eyes on your back.

“That guy,” he says finally. “The one who came with you. Wooyoung.”

You don’t look at him. “What about him?”

He hesitates. Then, carefully: “Are you two… serious?”

You pause, then shrug. “That’s none of your business.”

He lets out a low breath. “So that’s a yes.”

You turn slowly, facing him now. “Why are you here, really?”

“In my own house?”

“No,” you say. “Why are you in this kitchen, right now?”

He stares at you. Silent.

“I fucked up,” he blurts, “Okay? I know I did. I’ve been thinking about it since-”

“Don’t,” you snap, but still keeping your voice down so the rest of the party won't hear. “You don’t get to come here, pretend we’re still something, and then act surprised that I moved on. You’re married.”

His mouth opens, then closes. He looks at you like you’ve just hit him.

“You moved on?” he repeats, like the words are bitter on his tongue. “With him?”

You step back. “You don’t know him.”

He scoffs. “I might not, but I can still see how insufferable he is.”

You stare at him, lips parted in disbelief. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.”

He takes another step forward, eyes sharper now. “I just don’t get it. After everything-”

“No,” you say firmly, holding your hand up. “You don’t get anything. You lost the right to have an opinion the second you slept with someone else.”

There’s a beat of silence. Your heart pounds in your ears.

And then…

“Everything okay in here?” Wooyoung’s voice is cold. Threatening almost.

You don’t need to look. You feel it, the air shifting, the way the atmosphere bends around his presence. But you still turn your head. And it steadies you instantly.

He’s leaning in the doorway. One hand tucked into the pocket of his slacks, the other hanging loose at his side. His posture is relaxed. His expression? Somewhere between nonchalance and interest.

But his eyes?

They’re fixed on your ex.

And they could kill.

Your ex straightens, caught off guard. “Uh-, yeah. We were just-”

Wooyoung steps fully into the room like he’s walking through water, unconcerned by the tension that’s thick enough to drown in. He nods once, a polite gesture with razor edges, then glances at you.

His voice lowers. Smooth, velvety. Unmistakably his.

“You okay, baby?”

The pet name slips out effortlessly. Like it belongs there. Like you belong to him. Then he closes the space between you and him, his hand brushing the small of your back with casual ownership.

Your breath stutters. “I’m fine.”

His gaze lingers on your ex, sharp enough to make the air hum.

“Then I’ll ask one more time,” he murmurs, voice dipped in steel, eyes locked on your ex. “Is there a problem?”

Your ex lets out a quiet scoff, trying to play it cool. “No problem at all.”

Wooyoung breathes in once, slow.

“Then I’ll make this simple,” he says, softly now. Dangerous soft. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.” He tilts his head, the barest shift of muscle. His smile is slight, almost gentle, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “If not…” His jaw tightens just once. “Walk away before you make me repeat myself.”

Your ex doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t look at you. Just leaves.

And Wooyoung watches every step. Tracks him with the kind of gaze that doesn’t flinch. It says everything he hasn’t:

Try it again. I dare you.

When it’s just the two of you again, Wooyoung’s fingers trace your spine once, barely there. A silent check-in.

Then, slowly, his focus shifts. Back to you.

His voice drops. Low. Controlled.

“You okay?”

You nod once, but it’s tight. Too tight. And he sees it.

His brows pinch just slightly. “Did he say something?”

“No,” you whisper, and it’s true, mostly. “He was just… being him.”

Wooyoung exhales slowly through his nose, jaw clenching. Like he’s trying not to say something that would ruin the whole night. But then he looks at you, really looks at you, and something in him softens. Just a little.

His hand slides from your back to your waist, anchoring you close. He studies your face for a moment, like he’s not fully convinced, but then he exhales and gives a small nod back.

“I didn’t want to step in too early,” he says, voice soft now. “You looked like you had it under control. You did.”

There’s something warm in your chest at that, that he trusted you to hold your own.

You meet his eyes.

He’s not angry.

He’s present.

“I know you don’t need anyone to defend you,” he says, quieter now. “But I’m here. If you ever want me to.”

That part lingers. A gentle offering.

You smile faintly. “Thanks.”

He leans just a little closer, his voice dipping like he doesn’t want to be overheard, even by the walls, and something wicked flickers at the corner of his mouth. “Guess I’ll have to make it clearer you’re taken.”

Your heart skips a beat.

His hand gives your waist the faintest squeeze, not possessive, just sure. Then he straightens up, tone lighter, a glint in his eye as he teases, “You ready to go back out there, or should we hide out in here a little longer?”

You smile. “Let’s go.”

Wooyoung laces his fingers with yours as you step out of the kitchen. He doesn’t say much. Just keeps his hand on you, sometimes at your back, sometimes curled around your fingers, like he doesn’t trust the room not to try and touch you.

The energy around him simmers low. Controlled. Patient.

But it’s there.

You feel it in the way his gaze lingers a little too long when you make eye contact The way his thumb brushes your skin when you pass your ex. Like a fuse waiting for flame.

The evening moves on. Laughter. Drinks. Music humming low in the background. But that energy never leaves him.

Then, after another drink, his palm slides against your waist as he leans in, murmuring just low enough for only you to hear. “Come outside with me for a sec?”

You glance up, surprised by the quiet invitation, but nod. “Yeah. Okay."

He takes your hand and leads you through the back door, into the cool hush of the backyard. String lights sway gently above. A few scattered chairs dot the patio, mostly empty.

He pulls you just far enough into the yard that you’re framed under the golden light, a sight impossible to miss. Then he stops just enough to pull you in close, his hands resting firmly on your waist. His breath brushes your neck as he leans in, voice low and a little teasing.

“Do you trust me?”

You meet his gaze, smiling without hesitation, but a little confused. “Of course.”

But before you can say anything more, he leans in, no warning, no hesitation, and his mouth finds your neck.

Slow. Deliberate. Unapologetically possessive.

His grip on your waist tightens, firm and grounding, like he's anchoring himself to you, or maybe keeping you exactly where he wants you.

Your fingers twitch, aching to clutch at his shirt, his shoulders, anything. But he doesn’t stop. His mouth keeps moving, tongue flicking, lips parting as he sucks softly at the spot just above your collarbone, lazy, indulgent, filthy in how intimate it feels.

You gasp, hips tilting forward instinctively, heat already pooling low and heavy in your belly. He doesn’t miss it, he hums against your throat like he felt it happen.

Wooyoung pulls back just enough to murmur, voice thick and close to your ear, “You weren’t expecting that, huh?”

His tone is teasing, pleased, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Then he leans back in, grazing your neck again, his nose brushing over the same spot he just kissed.

“Fake boyfriend of the year, right?” he adds, a low smirk in his voice.

It pulls a laugh from you, too real, too soft, and he chuckles under his breath like he lives for the sound.

And then he looks up.

Over your shoulder.

Still smiling.

You don’t turn. You don’t even realize why his gaze has sharpened. But Wooyoung knows. He’s known from the moment he stepped outside.

“Oh, hey,” he says, just loud enough, like the thought only now occurred to him. “Didn’t see you there.”

You blink, startled, then turn.

And there he is.

Your ex is sitting in the far corner of the backyard, posture stiff, one hand loosely holding a glass of something amber that he’s no longer drinking. He’s been watching, long enough, clearly. His eyes flick from your face to where Wooyoung’s hand rests against your hip like it was made to be there. His mouth is drawn in a line so tight it might split.

He’d been watching.

Wooyoung's arm wraps a little tighter around your waist. Not possessive. Not aggressive. Just… secure. Like he has every right to hold you like this. Like he dares anyone to question it.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Wooyoung says, cool and lazy.

Your ex stares, jaw tight.

Wooyoung doesn’t wait. His posture is casual, but there’s a glint in his eye that betrays him, too amused, too at-ease.

“Nice night, isn’t it?” he adds, like it’s nothing. “Stars out. Music inside. My girl tastes like sangria. Hard to complain.”

You stiffen slightly, but Wooyoung doesn’t flinch. He’s still smiling faintly, watching you with that unbothered, pretty-boy charm that somehow makes everything worse.

Your ex lifts his drink and mutters, “Some of us came out here to be alone.”

Wooyoung cocks his head. “Oh, totally fair. Should’ve said something.”

There’s a beat of silence, sharp enough to cut through. But he doesn’t move. He stays planted right there beside you, hand still snug on your waist like it belongs there.

Then he blinks, as if struck by a thought.

“Oh-, wait,” he says, voice still sweet. “You want us back inside?” He huffs a quiet laugh, almost apologetic. “Damn. That’s on me.”

Your ex sets his glass down with a soft clink on the stone railing. “You always this annoying?”

Wooyoung grins. “Only when I’m in a good mood.”

“Y/N! Wooyoung!”

Hana bursts out, loud and glowing, wine glass in one hand, joy practically spilling out of her. Her eyes land on you both and she lights up like the fourth of July.

“Oh my God, there you are!” she grins. “I was about to come get you, everyone keeps asking where the hot couple went!”

You see your ex stiffen. Wooyoung’s smile stretches.

“Hot couple,” he echoes, biting back a laugh.

Hana gasps dramatically. “Don’t act shy now! You two are disgusting. I love it.”

“I'm not mad about it. She’s got great taste,” Wooyoung teases with a little shrug, for a second glancing over at your ex. “Eventually.”

Your ex’s jaw tightens. He looks like he might speak.

But Wooyoung leans in one last time, whispering low into your ear, voice soft enough to make your skin spark:

"Success, baby"

He smirks before sliding his hand into yours, pulling you gently toward the house where Hana is waiting, oblivious to the tension left behind.

The night has mellowed. The lights are dim, the wine is flowing, and laughter has started to echo easier around the table. Someone’s passed around dessert, tiramisu in glass jars, and Wooyoung’s excused himself to the bathroom with that lazy, effortless vibe only he can pull off without trying. You’d felt his hand brush your shoulder as he left, and it still lingers there somehow, phantom-warm.

Hana’s had just enough wine to get bold. She sits across from you, grinning over the rim of her glass.

“Okay,” she says, loudly enough to cut across the overlapping chatter. “New question for the couples.”

The table quiets, interest piqued.

Her eyes land on you like a spotlight. “What’s your favorite physical thing about your partner?”

A few groans. Someone throws a napkin in her direction.

“Don’t roll your eyes,” she warns, laughing. “And no safe answers either. I don’t want to hear about how they ‘have a nice smile’ or ‘beautiful eyes’, everyone says that. I want the thing. The detail. The part of them that does it for you when you’re not even trying to look. The one that makes your brain short-circuit a little.”

You laugh, swallowing a little too quickly. The wine burns, and suddenly the air feels too warm.

“I’ll go last,” Hana says, clearly loving this. “Y/N, go.”

You freeze. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Her smile is practically villainous. “He’s not even here. You can be honest.”

Everyone chuckles. The pressure thickens.

You hesitate, lips parting, unsure. Your eyes flick toward the hallway where Wooyoung disappeared. As if he might walk in just in time to save you.

But he doesn’t.

You clear your throat and say, maybe a little too honestly, “His hands.”

“Ooh,” someone says. “That’s a good one.”

You glance down at the table, fingers curling around your wine glass. “They’re just… nice,” you say, not looking up. “He moves them a lot when he talks. And they’re always doing something. Tapping, pulling at a sleeve, playing with his rings or-, whatever. Just always… moving.”

Your voice quiets as the room listens. You feel exposed, like you said something too intimate.

You don’t realize the room has fallen silent. Until it hits you that no one’s said anything back.

And then...

“I should leave more often if this is what I get to come back to.”

And Wooyoung is standing just behind you, leaning lazily against the doorway, arms crossed, one brow raised in interest.

Your breath halts.

There’s laughter again around the table, but your throat goes dry. Hana’s grinning at the perfect timing. “There he is,” she says, wiggling her brows. “Right on cue. We’re playing favorites.”

Wooyoung raises a brow. “Favorites?”

“Favorite physical thing about each other,” she explains, eyes sparkling. “And no cop-outs like smile or eyes. We’re talking the thing. The detail that ruins you. Your turn”

He chuckles under his breath, clearly amused. He doesn’t hesitate.

“Her neck.”

A beat of silence. His voice is smooth but deliberate, like the words were waiting in his mouth.

You feel your body go still.

Then he moves, slowly, stepping closer behind your chair, his hand brushing your shoulder as he comes to a stop. You’re suddenly very aware of how exposed your skin is where your top dips to your collarbone, of how warm the air feels even though he hasn’t touched you.

“She’s got this curve,” he says, quieter now, like he’s letting everyone else fade out. “Right here," His fingers trace the slope where your neck meets your shoulder, so lightly it barely counts as a touch. “Right where her hair rests.”

Then his tone shifts, warmer, quieter. Real.

“In the mornings,” he says, like he’s letting the rest of the room fall away, “when she’s still half-asleep and pulls her hair up without thinking. Stretching, yawning, no makeup, nothing, this part’s just exposed. The light hits it, and I swear to God-” He cuts himself off with a low exhale, shaking his head with a crooked smile. “It makes it really hard to be on time for anything.”

The silence that follows is a different kind of hush. Not teasing. Not performative.

It’s weighted. Personal.

Like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t making any of that up. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until he pulls back, barely.

“Plus,” he adds, a lazy grin playing on his lips, “it’s really unfair that you smell the way you do.”

“Okay, damn,” someone says from across the table, but you can’t even register who.

Wooyoung finally moves, slipping back into the seat beside you. But he doesn’t lean back, doesn’t settle into comfort like before. He sits just a little closer than he needs to. His thigh brushes yours. Warm. Steady. You don’t move.

The game rolls on, Hana gesturing to the couple across from you with a flourish, their answer met with giggles and teasing. But the background fades, soft, foggy, because you feel it. The weight of Wooyoung’s stare.

When you finally turn your head, you find him already watching you.

And everything in his face is different.

Gone is the cocky smile, the playful glint in his eye. He’s quiet now. Studying you, like he’s not sure where the line is anymore. Like maybe he doesn’t want to know.

And then, another gaze.

You catch it from the corner of your eye: your ex, sitting stiff at the far end of the table, his expression unreadable. He’s watching Wooyoung like a hawk, jaw tight, mouth set in a firm line.

Wooyoung senses it. You can feel the shift in him, the small breath he takes. The flicker of heat in his chest, like he might respond, say something, smirk just to provoke.

But he doesn’t.

Because it’s not about him anymore.

After a few more rounds of the game, you step into the hallway and let your back hit the wall with a quiet sigh. The noise from the living room still hums faintly behind you, laughter, the clink of glasses, someone shuffling a deck of cards. It’s warm in there, but your skin feels too tight. You just need a minute.

You close your eyes.

Footsteps approach, soft, familiar.

Wooyoung slips into the hallway like he’s done it a hundred times, like he always knows when you need the space. He falls in beside you, close but not crowding, his shoulder hovering just shy of yours as he leans against the wall.

“You always vanish when it gets too loud,” he says, his voice low.

You keep your eyes forward, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I don’t vanish. I relocate.”

He hums. “Right. Into hallways. Or kitchen corners. Or that one time it was behind the couch.”

“That was one time.”

“It was still dramatic,” he teases, nudging your arm lightly. Your breath catches, just a little. It’s playful. It’s Wooyoung. But something about the way he talks makes your stomach flip.

“You look really pretty tonight.”

The words land like a spark, and your breath catches before you can help it. You blink up at him, startled.

“I-, what?”

He grins, slow and lopsided. “Just saying. I don’t think I told you earlier.”

You feel your face flush, warmth blooming across your cheeks, down your neck. You look away instantly, trying to mask it with a half-laugh.

“I’m honest,” he counters, still looking at you. You can feel it, the weight of his gaze, the way it lingers. “I mean, you always look good, but tonight…” His voice dips, softer now. “It’s kind of unfair.”

You glance away, suddenly hyperaware of how close he’s standing. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?” he asks, leaning just slightly toward you. “Is it that hard to believe? Do I need to be faking a relationship for you to believe it?”

You don’t answer. You’re not sure you can. Your heart’s already too loud in your ears.

He nudges your arm gently. “You know, for someone who lives with me, you’re really bad at accepting compliments.”

You try to play it off. “Maybe you just give too many.”

“Mm,” he muses. “Or maybe you’re just really easy to compliment.”

You let out a breathy sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, tucking your chin down in embarrassment. “Can you not?”

You finally glance at him, and he’s already watching you with that infuriatingly unreadable look, somewhere between playful and serious. Like he’s holding back.

He doesn’t say anything else for a second. He just looks at you.

And somehow, that says more than the rest.

You try not to smile. You fail.

Wooyoung pushes himself off the wall with a lazy stretch, then turns his body to face you, effectively placing his back toward the living room.

“Come back in when you’re ready,” he says softly, his voice carrying that usual teasing warmth. “You don’t have to rush. But I’ll be on my seat, being distractingly attractive… in case that helps.”

You almost laugh, but then your eyes drift past him.

Your stomach dips.

Your ex is standing just inside the living room, half-shadowed but unmistakably watching. His expression is unreadable, his eyes sharp and fixed directly on you.

“Wait,” you breathe, reaching out without thinking.

You grab Wooyoung’s shirt and pull him a little closer. He stumbles forward a step, surprised but not resisting. His brows furrow slightly in confusion as he looks down at you.

“Do you trust me?” you ask now, your voice quieter now. There’s a tremor in it, not fear, but urgency. Purpose.

Wooyoung’s expression shifts, softening. “Yes,” he says, instantly. “Of course.”

That’s all you need.

Your hands move quickly, one sliding up to the back of his neck, the other gripping the front of his shirt. You rise onto your toes and kiss him. Firm and deliberate. Lips meeting his in a way that leaves no room for questions. His mouth parts slightly in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans in.

When you break the kiss just slightly, you don’t step back. You stay close, close enough that your lips graze his as you whisper, “He’s watchi-,”

You don’t get to finish. Wooyoung’s lips are on yours again before you even register, like they need to be. Like he doesn’t care about why you kissed him, or for who, but because he can’t stop now that you’ve let it happen.

This time it’s deeper. Hungrier.

You can’t help but deepen the kiss when he slides his tongue slightly into your mouth, and one of his hands slips down to your lower back, guiding you closer. The other lifts to your jaw, gentle but sure. l

You feel your back press lightly into the wall behind you as he moves with you, not rough, but insistent. The kind of kiss that drowns everything else out, conversation, footsteps, your ex’s presence across the room.

His lips part yours, his breath hot and heavy against your cheek between kisses. His grip tightens at your waist, grounding you. You respond instinctively, hands curling into his shirt, lips moving with his, matching every shift and tilt of his head.

It’s a performance. That’s how it started.

But it doesn’t feel like one anymore.

It feels like heat, like want, like a spark that caught fire the second you gave it permission. And he’s kissing you like he’s not planning to stop anytime soon.

And for just a second, you let yourself melt into it. Into him.

But then… it passes.

The air changes again.

You blink and glance over to the living room. Your ex is gone. Vanished back into the room. Wooyoung slows, then stops. His hands remain on you, his breath still a little uneven.

You pull back first, just enough to look at him.

His eyes are already on you. There’s something different there now, an emotion you haven’t seen from him before. Not just playfulness, not just comfort. Something heavier. Hungrier.

You force a small, awkward smile and drop your hands from his neck, stepping back just slightly. “Okay,” you say, clearing your throat. “I think that worked.”

Wooyoung doesn’t say anything for a second. He just studies you like he’s seeing you clearly for the first time. Then he nods, slow and unreadable, and finally, he smiles. But it’s not quite the same. Something about it is quieter. Almost reverent.

At the end of the night, shoes shuffle at the door. Coats rustle. The air is heavy with the kind of tired that follows too much wine and too much pretending.

“Get home safe, okay?” Hana says warmly, stepping toward you both as you’re about to leave. Her smile is soft, a little teasing. “You two are seriously adorable. Like… sickening. I love it.”

You laugh, a bit breathlessly, already halfway into your coat. But before you can say anything, Wooyoung’s arm snakes naturally around your waist, casual, confident. You feel his fingers press into your side, warm through the fabric.

“Thanks, Hana,” he says, flashing her a grin. “She keeps me in line.”

You roll your eyes and glance up at him, but the smile tugging at your lips is real, too real. “Barely,” you murmur, playing along.

His eyes flick to yours for a second. Just long enough to make your stomach twist.

Hana grins and gives you both a quick hug before stepping back into the house. “Bye, lovebirds.”

The door closes behind you.

The air outside bites cold against your skin.

And just like that, his arm drops from your waist. The performance ends.

Neither of you says a word as you walk to the curb. You don’t know if it’s the silence or the absence of his touch that makes the air feel heavier now, but it’s different.

The cab pulls up with a soft screech. He opens the door for you like always, waits for you to slide in, then follows without a word. The car is warm, too warm, and too quiet.

You're both staring straight ahead.

The streetlights flicker past, painting gold across his face. In the confined space, the silence between you buzzes, thick with something unspoken, something ignited hours ago that neither of you has dared to acknowledge.

The apartment door clicks shut behind you with a softness that feels far too loud in the quiet.

Coats are hung. Shoes are kicked off. The scent of his usual candle lingers in the air, citrus and something darker underneath. Normally comforting. Now it just makes your heart beat faster.

Wooyoung heads to the kitchen without a word. His shoulders are relaxed, but there’s something taut underneath it all. You hesitate in the hallway, watching him open the cabinet, sleeves pushed to his elbows, veins still prominent down his forearms from earlier, and you hate how you notice.

You drift into the kitchen slowly, lingering by the edge of the counter.

“So,” you offer, light and a little too bright, “that was fun, right? Peak acting performance. Someone give us Oscars.”

No answer. He fills the glass with water from the tap, moves with that same quiet ease, but doesn’t glance at you once.

You try again, a bit more playful. “Think we fooled them? I mean, your story about how we met really sold it. Ten out of ten commitment.”

He finally looks at you, just looks. And it’s a look that completely steals the breath from your chest. Calm, dark, unreadable. His eyes are locked on yours like he's waiting for you to crack first. And suddenly you're hyperaware of everything. How hot your cheeks feel, how your voice might've sounded too eager, how the silence seems to wrap around your body like a second skin.

You clear yours softly. “Anyway. Um. I’m gonna-, I think I’m just gonna head to bed.”

Still nothing from him.

You nod quickly. “Night.”

You turn, heart hammering now, and you’ve only made it a step or two down the hall when his voice floats to you, quiet, even.

“If you ever need a fake boyfriend again…”

You stop. Your fingers twitch at your side.

“…you know where to find me.”

You turn back toward him slowly. He’s still in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter, glass in hand, eyes unreadable, but fixed on you like he’s daring you to say something. To ask him what he means. To call him out.

You don’t.

You meet his gaze, and it’s only for a second, but something heavy passes between you, something weighty and unspoken that neither of you wants to name.

Then you nod.

Not a joking nod. Not one meant to brush things off. Just… quiet acknowledgement. You walk off with your heartbeat pounding in your ears, like your body knows something your mind hasn’t caught up with. You don’t look back, but you feel his eyes on you the whole way down the hall.

The door clicks softly shut behind you.

And for a long time, you just stand there in the silence of your room, pulse racing, breath held, trying to figure out what exactly that was.

You don’t even remember walking to your vanity. You’ve just been standing here, fingers curled loosely along the edge, eyes locked on your reflection like it might give you answers. But all it gives you is the echo of him. His words. His gaze. His lips on yours. The way your body reacted like it knew something you didn’t.

There’s a knock.

A soft one.

You straighten up fast, like you’re guilty of something. “Come in.”

The door creaks open behind you.

You meet his gaze through the mirror as he strolls in, easy and casual, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to be here, in your space, late at night.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Just leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you.

You manage a breath. “Not tired?”

His shoulders lift in the faintest shrug. “Not really.”

Then silence again.

But it’s not awkward, it’s thick. Charged.

“I was thinking about something,” he finally says, his voice smooth, a little playful.

You glance at him in the mirror, trying not to let your pulse jump. “Yeah? About what?”

Wooyoung pushes off the frame, making his way toward you at an unhurried pace. “You’re better at this whole fake relationship thing than you give yourself credit for.”

You attempt a shrug. “Just playing along.”

A soft laugh leaves him. “Mm. Sure.”

He walks further into the room. Not quickly. Not even directly toward you. He slows as he passes by your bed, eyes roaming lazily over the space like he’s trying to memorize it. But you know that’s not what this is.

He’s letting the silence stretch.

He’s letting you squirm.

You glance at him through the mirror, just as he finally makes his way behind you.

You don’t move.

You can’t.

He stops right behind you, not touching, but close. You keep your eyes locked on the mirror, but it’s no use. He’s everywhere now. In your space. In your breath.

“And the things you said tonight,” he says, voice soft but pointed. “Those were part of the act too?”

You try to keep your tone even. “What things?”

He tilts his head. “The part where you said you like my hands. That you stare at them when I’m not looking.”

You freeze just slightly.

"I-, uhm... I dont-..." You glance down instinctively, suddenly very aware of your own hands fidgeting.

“Funny,” he says softly, “You think I haven’t noticed? When I’m cooking. When I’m fixing something around the apartment. You always get quiet.”

His hand lifts, fingertips brushing your hair gently off your shoulder. You shiver as he lowers his voice again.

“I meant what I said, by the way,” he says. “I do love your neck.”

You don’t answer, but he doesn’t need you to.

“In the mornings,” he murmurs. “When you’re in the kitchen, still half asleep, standing by the window. Your head tilts just a little. That soft little spot here,” he gestures near your collarbone, but still doesn’t touch. “barely covered.”

You’re not breathing properly now.

“And I try,” he continues, “I really try to keep it together, but you standing there like that…? That does something to me.”

You let out a slow, shaky breath, shoulders dropping ever so slightly.

His fingers trail lightly along the back of your neck, not quite touching skin yet, but enough to make you lean into it. He steps in fully now, his hands finding your waist, and you instinctively lean back into him.

And then, finally, his mouth brushes your neck. Gentle. Slow. A teasing press that turns into something deeper. You feel the smile against your skin as he kisses again, and again, lower this time, until your knees threaten to give.

You gasp, just a little, and he smiles against your throat.

“You know,” he starts, voice casual, “if this wasn’t fake…”

Your breath hitches.

“…I would’ve done a lot of things differently tonight.”

You swallow hard. “Like what?”

He trails one finger along your side, feather-light, just enough to make you squirm.

“If this wasn’t fake…” he begins, like it’s casual, like he’s not setting you on fire, “I wouldn’t have let you leave my side once tonight. I would’ve had my hand on you the whole dinner, your thigh, your back, the curve of your hip, just to remind you who you belong to.”

Your stomach tightens.

He brushes his fingers lightly along your sides, not quite ticklish, just maddeningly slow.

“I’d bring you home,” he continues, lips nearly brushing the shell of your ear, “take your hand, lead you to your room like I’ve been waiting to all night. And I wouldn’t rush it. No pretending, no performance. Just you. Me. And the dress I’ve been dying to take off you.”

He trails his knuckles lightly down your side, slow and reverent.

“I’d unzip it real slow…”

You hear the faintest shift of fabric.

“Let it slip off your shoulders while I kissed right here…” he presses a single, feather-light kiss to the side of your neck, “and here…” another just below your ear, “until you were shivering.”

Your eyes flutter closed, and he watches your reflection like he’s memorizing the moment.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispers just below your ear.

You’re at a loss for words but you’re hungry for more. You shake your head as you swallow, but realise how dry your mouth is. His hands slide up your sides, warm, sure, with a smile on his face.

“If it hadn't been fake, I’d press you against this vanity,” he goes on, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Make you watch as I touched every inch of your skin.”

You can’t look away from the mirror, from the image of his hands exploring you, slow and confident, like he’s known this body forever.

“I’d hold your hips right here.” His hands grip you firmly, positioning your body with ease. “And I’d make sure the only thing you remembered from tonight was how I made you feel.”

"Yeah?" you manage to say, too invested in everything he's saying.

“If this wasn’t fake…” he murmurs, his hands still on you, tracing the curve of your body as if he owns it. “I’d make you see stars. I’d fuck you right here, make you forget you were ever pretending.”

You let out a light gasp, feeling your heart in your throat.

He presses against you, his hand finding its way to your neck, just enough to make you tilt your head back, exposing more of that sensitive skin. He breathes softly against it.

“You’d be mine. I’d make sure you knew it, every fucking inch of you.”

You’re a breath away from crumbling, your chest rising and falling in rapid succession as you realize how much you want him, how easily you’re giving into the fantasy.

His lips are still close to your ear, breath warm, voice impossibly soft.

“But then again…” he murmurs, the barest smile in his tone, “this is all fake… isn’t it?”

You stiffen.

He lets out a low chuckle, his nose skimming the line of your jaw as he continues, casually cruel in the way only he can be. “None of this would actually happen. I mean, why would it?”

"Why not?" you barely let out a whisper.

His fingers drag slowly down your sides, feather-light, torturously teasing. He’s pretending to think, pretending to be thoughtful, but he knows exactly what he’s doing. “You and me, coming home after a night like that, all dressed up, all tense and wired… and me just…” His hand glides over your hips. “Peeling you out of this dress and fucking you over your vanity?”

He hums, tilting his head. “Seems a little far-fetched, don’t you think?”

You inhale sharply, your body practically trembling from restraint.

He leans in again, lips just at your neck now. “You haven’t said much,” he whispers, his hand brushing lower, just enough to make you flinch. “Should I stop?” His fingers press gently into your thighs now, possessive even in their softness. “Because we’re faking it, right?” He lets out a slow, amused breath. “And I’d hate to make things confusing.”

You swallow hard, your mouth dry, your skin flushed everywhere.

“Unless you want me to keep going,” he murmurs, eyes locking with yours in the reflection, darker now, heavy with intent. “But you’d have to say it, sweetheart.”

His fingers trail between your legs, light as a threat.

You grip the edge of the vanity with white knuckles, heart pounding in your throat. “Wooyoung…”

His hand slides up, over your stomach, between your breasts, up to your throat, never squeezing, just there. Possessive. Protective. His lips trail along your shoulder, just above the strap of your dress, while the other hand finally finds the zipper.

“I’d take you like this,” he says lowly, kissing the back of your neck. “Make you look at yourself while I ruin you, slow… deep… mine.”

Your knees nearly give out.

He presses forward just a little more, breath ragged now against your skin. “But maybe we should stop.”

You whimper, actually whimper, and shake your head.

“No, please,” you whisper, your voice breaking apart like the last wall crumbling. "Don't stop."

His hands freeze for just a moment, then he smirks, low and satisfied.

“There she is.”

His smirk deepens, wicked, triumphant. He doesn’t say a word.

Then, with deliberate force, he turns you.

Your back meets the cool edge of the vanity. Before you can fully catch your breath, his veiny hand is already on your throat, firm but careful, guiding your head back just enough to look up at him.

You gasp from the way it makes your knees go weak, the way it makes your heart stutter in your chest.

His gaze drops to your lips. Then slowly, almost torturously, he leans in, breath brushing your mouth, letting you feel the heat of it before he claims you.

The kiss is devastating. Nothing sweet. Nothing soft.

His mouth crashes into yours like he’s starved for it, tongue, teeth, everything. He takes and takes, groaning low in his throat the moment you moan against him. That tiny, helpless sound makes his fingers tighten slightly on your neck, his other hand sliding possessively down your side to your hip.

“God, you sound so pretty when you do that,” he breathes between kisses, voice wrecked.

You melt under him, into him, letting him press you back against the vanity like he wants to fuse you to it. He breaks the kiss with a growl, breath hot against your lips, then suddenly, he spins you again.

You can’t speak. You can’t think. All you can do is feel his hands on your hips, feel the way his body aligns with yours so perfectly it’s almost cruel.

“Still pretending?” he asks, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Or can I finally touch you like I’ve wanted to all fucking night?”

You nod before he even finishes the sentence. "Yes-, yes please," you whimper, hips tilting back into his, head tipping to give him more of your neck.

He chuckles under his breath.

“Thought so.”

You don’t have a chance to respond before his hands are on you again, more urgent this time. His fingers find the zipper of your dress, and he pulls it down, letting you feel every inch of his focus on you.

The dress slides off your body, pooling at your feet, and he’s quick to step back just enough to take you in. His eyes rake over you like he’s starving. You stand there, vulnerable, under his gaze, and you can’t help the way your body reacts to him. The heat between your legs intensifies, the ache in your chest growing stronger.

“Fuck,” he breathes, eyes raking over you from behind. “You’re a goddamn dream.”

You gasp as he presses you into the vanity, your body trapped between the cool wood and the heat of him. His hands slide down to your thighs, pulling them apart slowly, giving him access, making sure you feel every moment of it. His voice drops to a velvet growl. “I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good, baby. Right here.” His lips press behind your ear again, “Tell me you want it,” he demands.

And you can’t hold back anymore. The tension in your body snaps, and you nod, your breath quickening. “I want it.”

He smirks, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Good girl.”

His hand presses firmly between your thighs, rubbing you through the soaked fabric with just enough pressure to make your legs weaken beneath you.

He chuckles against your skin when he feels you tremble. “Already this wet for me, baby?”

You nod helplessly, and his free hand slides up your back, tangling in your hair, pulling your head to the side to expose more of your neck.

His teeth graze your pulse point, and you moan again, louder this time. "Look in the mirror as I touch you."

Your breath stutters, lashes fluttering as your gaze locks on the reflection. “Fuck, Wooyoung…” you whisper, already unsteady, your thighs trembling under his stare alone.

Then, with no warning, he hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties and drags them down your thighs, letting them fall. Cool air brushes against your wetness, and your whole body jolts in response.

“Jesus-” you exhale, shivering.

His fingers slide through your slick folds, slow and deliberate, just enough pressure to make you twitch. You moan, sharp and helpless, eyes fluttering closed for a second until he tuts softly beside your ear.

“Eyes open, sweetheart. I said look.”

You obey, forcing your eyes to the mirror again, and the sight of you, glowing, needy, lips parted, legs trembling, draws a sound from deep in your throat.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, kissing just below your ear. “Let me take care of you.”

Then, he pushes in, just one finger at first, thick and deliberate. He doesn’t rush. He presses in knuckle by knuckle, watching your face in the mirror as your lips part and your back arches. The way your body welcomes him makes his cock twitch under the fabrics.

“There we go,” he whispers, dark and pleased. “So fucking tight.”

He gives you a moment to adjust, curling that single finger just right, then pulls back, almost all the way, before pushing in again, deeper this time. You whimper, soft and broken.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw. “You let me in so easily.”

When he slides in a second finger, your knees nearly give out, but he catches you, pressing his chest to your back and flattening his palm over your belly.

You cry out, raw and desperate, body jerking in his arms.

“Right there,” you gasp. “Fuck, right there-, don’t stop, please don’t stop-”

His lips trace your jaw, voice molten.

“Good girl,” he whispers, moving his fingers just the way you need. “Let me hear you.”

And you do.

Loud, unfiltered, desperate for more.

Your hands grip the edge of the vanity. He watches in the mirror as your face twists in pleasure, breath shuddering every time he pumps into you. He doesn’t relent. His fingers are steady, coaxing, relentless, fucking you precisely, like he’s memorizing every reaction.

“Tell me how it feels,” he demands softly.

“So good,” you breathe. “It’s-, god, Wooyoung-”

“That’s right,” he cuts in, curling his fingers deeper. “Say my name like that.”

He shifts just slightly, just enough to hit the spot that sends stars bursting behind your eyes, and keeps that rhythm. Over and over.

“Come on,” he whispers against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “I can feel it. You’re right there, aren’t you?”

You nod, desperately, eyes fluttering shut.

But he doesn’t let you. His free hand curls around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, guiding you back to the mirror.

“No. Look,” he growls, his voice low and possessive. “I want you to see how good I make you feel. How pretty you look falling apart just for me.”

You force your eyes open, lips parted, eye makeup already smudged, breath shaking, and what you see unravels you: his body pressed to yours, his hand moving between your legs like he owns you, his gaze fixed entirely on your reflection.

The sight of it, the feeling of him everywhere, inside and around you, tips you over the edge.

You cry out, helpless and raw, as your body clenches hard around his fingers. He doesn’t slow. He works you through it, murmuring praise against your ear.

“That’s it,” he groans. “That’s my good girl. So fucking beautiful when you come for me.”

Your hips jerk, grinding into his palm as your orgasm pulses through you, long and overwhelming. When the waves finally ease, your body limp and trembling, he slowly withdraws his fingers, slick and shining.

You shiver, eyes fluttering shut as he presses his hips against you, the thick hardness of him pressing against your thighs.

He suddenly guides you forward, one hand on your back, he presses you down firmly, bending you over.

“Stay just like that,” he commands, stepping back slightly to admire the view, your ass pushed out, your eyes wide in the mirror, lips already parted. “Fuck. Look at you.”

Then you feel it, his hands on your thighs, spreading them, dragging his fingers slowly along your skin. His shirt hangs open, wrinkled and useless now, clinging to one shoulder, exposing his toned chest, flushed and rising with every harsh breath. His palm presses to the center of your back, bending you over the vanity with a firm, unyielding push.

“Stay like that,” he murmurs, voice low and dark. “I want you spread out. Pretty. Obedient.”

You obey without thinking, chest against the cool surface. Then, with excruciating slowness, he undoes his belt. The sound alone makes your breath hitch. He keeps his eyes locked on yours in the mirror as he pushes his pants down just enough and frees himself, fingers wrapping around his cock like he’s been aching for this.

And when you see him… you go still.

He’s thick, long, flushed and heavy in his hand, already glistening at the tip.

Your gasp escapes before you can stop it.

“Oh?” he smirks, stroking himself lazily, intentionally, letting your eyes drink in every inch. “Surprised?”

You hear the sound of him spitting in his hand, stroking himself once, twice, and then that thick, hard length is sliding between your folds, teasing your entrance.

His hand slides into your hair, not rough, but controlling, guiding your eyes back to the mirror.

“Eyes on the mirror,” he commands, hand fisting your hair just enough to lift your gaze. “You’re gonna watch what it looks like when your best friend finally fucks you.”

Then, with one slow, devastating thrust, he sinks into you.

Deep.

Possessive.

Claiming.

He groans behind you, head falling forward, one hand gripping your hip tight enough to bruise.

“God-, fuck, you’re big,” you gasp, hands scrambling to grip the edge of the vanity.

He pulls out halfway, then slams back in, hard enough to make the vanity rattle.

You gasp, fingers scrambling for the edge, and he laughs behind you, breathless.

“More,” you cry, pushing back into him, shaking. “Don’t stop-, fuck, please don’t stop.”

“You want more?” he hisses, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling your head up so you’re forced to look at yourself in the mirror. “Look at this mess. Look what I’m doing to you.”

He slams into you harder. Filthy. Relentless. His palm lands on your ass, then rubs over the sting like he owns every inch of your body.

Then he snaps, hips continually slamming into you with a rhythm that steals the breath from your lungs. Over and over again. The sound of skin against skin echoes, obscene and raw, as he pounds into you like he’s lost all restraint. He leans over you suddenly, chest pressing to your back. His breath fans hot across your skin as his lips find your shoulder.

He kisses it once. Then again, slower.

“You gonna come like this?” he demands, voice thick and breathless. “Bent over, ass red, stuffed full of me?”

“Yes-,”

But he doesn’t let you come.

Not yet.

Just when your body tenses, right on the edge, he pulls out halfway and stills.

You let out a sob, raw and desperate, collapsing onto your elbows against the vanity.

“No…” you whimper, voice trembling. “Why’d you stop?”

“Because I said so,” he growls behind you, breathing hard. “And if you’re mine now… you come when I let you.”

A sharp slap lands on your ass, the heat blooming instantly, making you cry out and he grins at the way your thighs twitch, how your body tries to grind back into him without thinking.

“Oh, you like that,” he mutters, dragging his palm over the curve of your ass, then gripping both cheeks hard, spreading you open as he groans. “Look at this view. Fucking perfect. So pretty and messy for me.”

His hand grabs your wrist, dragging you upright, spinning you to face him. His mouth crashes into yours in a messy, heated kiss, all teeth and tongue and breathless need. You barely have time to cling to him before he’s walking you backward toward the bed.

“You think I was gonna finish you over a vanity?” he growls against your lips. “Not a fucking chance.”

You fall back onto the mattress with a gasp, legs spread slightly, chest heaving, body already trembling from the way he’s used you, and he just stands there for a second, looking down at you like he’s never seen anything more perfect.

Then his eyes narrow.

“Spread your legs wider.”

You do, instantly.

His shirt is half off, a desperate tug of fabric, and as he pulls his pants fully down, he’s not wasting any time to let you get a full look at him. His cock stands heavy, dripping with need, leaking as he strokes himself with a low growl.

You open your mouth, but the words die as he moves closer, kneeling on the edge of the bed. His hand wraps around your ankle and drags you toward him, his grip firm, claiming. He leans over you, one hand planted beside your head, the other dragging slowly along your inner thigh.

“Tell me,” he demands, brushing his nose along your jaw. “Did it turn you on? Knowing he saw you with me? Knowing he saw how badly I wanted to rip that dress off you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, breath hitching.

Then he’s kissing you again, slower this time but just as possessive. His hand wraps behind your neck, holding you in place as he takes what he wants, savoring your reactions, feeding off every moan that escapes you.

“Look at this,” he mutters, gaze locked between your legs. “So swollen. So wet. All for me.”

His hand drags slowly down your stomach, the heat of his palm branding every inch of skin it touches. It’s not hurried, no, it’s maddeningly slow, his fingers grazing along the dip below your navel, making your muscles jump with anticipation.

Then his fingers reach your folds, gliding through your slickness, deliberately lazy. You twitch under his touch, hips tilting up instinctively.

And then-

He slaps your pussy. Open palm. Quick.

The sound cracks through the room, sharp and obscene. The sting hits you a second later, blooming heat across your center, and your whole body jolts, legs trembling.

“Fuck-!” you cry out, back arching off the bed. “Wooyoung-,”

He smirks down at you, all dark satisfaction. “Oh yeah,” he says, eyes heavy with lust. “You liked that.”

Before you can catch your breath, he does it again. A second slap, just as sharp. The impact makes your thighs jerk apart, a cry tearing from your throat.

He moans, actually moans at the sight of you coming undone. “God, you’re so fucking hot when you take it like that.”

Your body is pulsing, burning, begging.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, breath hot as he leans closer, dragging two fingers through your folds again. “Dripping. You get this wet from just my hand?”

He rubs your clit in tight, quick circles, pressure unforgiving but just right, sending sparks up your spine. The contrast of pain and pleasure makes your head spin.

Your hands grip the sheets hard enough to cramp. “Fuck, Wooyoung-, don’t stop-”

He chuckles low and hungry. “Didn’t plan on it.”

With one smooth motion, he shifts, settling between your thighs. His cock, thick, flushed, already leaking, presses against your entrance, the tip catching on your slick folds. He rubs himself through your arousal, slow and teasing, just enough to make your hips chase him.

You try to lift your hips, to take him in, but he pins you back down, eyes wild.

“No. I get to fuck you when I say so,” he growls, mouth crashing down onto yours, kissing you hard, deep, messy, like he’s starving. Like your mouth is the only thing that’s ever tasted good.

When he finally thrusts in, it’s a single, brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt and knocking the air right out of your lungs.

“Fuck,-” you gasp, eyes rolling back.

He doesn’t give you a second to adjust before pulling back and slamming into you again, the force of it leaving you breathless.

He doesn’t stop. He grabs your wrists, pins them above your head, body caging you in like a predator. His mouth finds yours, kissing you like he’s drowning, messy and hot and desperate. Teeth, tongue, breathless moans between every clashing movement.

“Don’t you dare look away,” he growls against your lips. “Look at me while I fuck you.”

So you do.

His pupils are blown, his hair a mess, sweat on his brow, mouth parted. But it’s his eyes, the way he’s looking at you like you’re all he’s ever wanted, and that makes your heart slam against your ribs.

You’re gasping, crying out, and he swallows every sound, his kiss never softening, only growing more frenzied as his hips pound into you.

“You feel that?” he pants into your mouth. “That’s mine. This pussy’s mine.”

He lets go of your wrists just long enough to grab your thigh, throw your leg over his shoulder, driving deeper, angle harsher. His grip is punishing, like he needs to hold you down to keep from losing his mind.

“Shit-,” you sob, clinging to him now. “You’re so deep-, I can’t-,”

“You can,” he growls. “Oh, fuck, baby-, that’s it,” he smirks, sweat dripping down from his neck. “You feel so good-, so fucking tight, so wet, I could stay buried in this pussy forever.”

He drops his head to your neck, biting and sucking bruises into your skin, marking you as his hands move constantly, palming your breast, gripping your hip, dragging across your thigh, he can’t stop touching you.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Let me make you feel so fucking good.”

You clench around him and he nearly loses it, thrusts getting sloppier, harder, messier. He grabs your jaw, forces your eyes to his.

“Please-, Wooyoung, I’m close-”

“Yeah? Let me hear you. Come for me. Come on my cock, baby, let me feel you.”

And it hits you, fast and deep, your whole body tensing as pleasure crashes through you like a wave you couldn’t stop even if you tried.

Wooyoung watches it take you, and it wrecks him.

“God, baby,” he growls, suddenly losing all rhythm, all control. “You feel so-, fuck, I’m not gonna last-,”

You reach up, grabbing his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you just like he did to you. “Don’t stop. Give it to me.”

That does it.

With a strangled moan of your name, he buries himself in you with a final, desperate thrust. His whole body tenses as he gives in, letting himself fall apart.

You can’t help but look at his face as that wave of pleasure overtakes him. His mouth is parted, lips trembling with the sounds he can’t hold back, brows drawn together in a tight knot like he’s fighting to stay grounded. The muscles in his jaw twitch, veins standing out along his neck and arms, his whole body straining as he spills everything into you.

When he finally exhales, it’s a ragged, shaky breath, and his body slowly relaxes, chest rising and falling heavily as he tries to come back down. He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t say a word. He just lowers his weight over you gently, careful not to crush you, his face pressing into the crook of your neck.

You can still feel the warmth of him inside you, the lingering tension of release pulsing between your bodies.

Then he lifts his head, just barely, and looks down at you, really looks. His gaze roams over your flushed cheeks, kiss-bitten lips, the way you’re still dazed and boneless beneath him.

And then he grins. Slow, smug, wicked.

“God,” he says, voice low and pleased.

You blink up at him, heart stuttering. “What?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just lets his eyes drag over you like he’s memorizing everything. The mess he’s made of you. The way you still haven’t caught your breath.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says simply, but it lands heavy in your chest. “Like… stupid beautiful.”

Heat rushes to your face. You instinctively turn your head, trying to hide the way your lips curl, the way you can’t even look at him right now.

But that just makes him laugh, low and breathless.

“Oh no,” he murmurs, fingers catching your chin, turning your face back to his. “don’t get all shy on me now. Not after the things I just did to you.”

“Wooyoung-“ you try to protest, flustered, but it’s useless.

He shifts suddenly, his hand pinning your wrist to the bed as he leans in, eyes blazing. “Nope,” he growls playfully.

When his mouth crashes into yours, it’s not sweet or teasing, it’s intense. Deep and all-consuming, like he’s starving for you. His tongue claims yours, every movement deliberate, dominant.

When he finally pulls back, barely an inch, his lips are swollen and his voice is wrecked.

“I’m never gonna get enough of you,” he murmurs against your lips. “Never.”

***

You wake up slowly, the soft light of the morning creeping into the room, bathing everything in a warm glow. His arm is still draped over you, his breath steady and calm. You shift gently, trying not to wake him, but you can’t help but linger for a moment, watching his peaceful expression. He looks so content, so relaxed, last night still feels like a dream.

Carefully, you lift his arm from your waist and slip out of bed. As you stand, you glance back at him. His face is soft, his black hair a little messy, and the sight of him, even in his sleep, makes your heart flutter. You try to suppress the smile that tugs at your lips, but you can’t help it.

Quietly, you make your way to the kitchen. The cool air of the morning greets you as you open the cabinet and pull out his cereal box.

You’re perched on the kitchen counter, bare legs dangling, quietly munching on a bowl of Wooyoung’s ridiculous neon-colored cereal. The box sits beside you, obnoxiously bright. You’d teased him for years about how awful it looked, and secretly craved it every time.

You hear the soft shuffle of feet before you see him.

Wooyoung emerges from the hallway, shirtless, his hair a messy halo of waves, eyes still heavy with sleep. He looks like a dream and somehow worse for your heart in the morning light. A familiar ache stirs in your chest. This is your best friend. Your roommate. The same guy who left his laundry in the hallway and screamed at horror games.

The same guy who had his hands all over you last night and made you come like no one else.

“Morning, roomie,” he mutters, voice low and rough, smirking when his eyes catch yours. They linger. “Is that my cereal?”

You nod, trying not to choke on it now that your mouth’s gone dry. “It was calling to me.”

He walks right up to you, stepping between your legs like he’s done it a thousand times. Only now, there’s nothing innocent about the way he crowds your space.

You glance down, gripping the bowl a little tighter. Your voice comes out quieter than you meant. “You, uh… want some?”

He doesn’t answer.

Just takes the spoon from your hand, still warm from your touch, and scoops up a bite like it’s nothing. His other hand settles on your thigh, casual but firm. You forget how to breathe.

He hums like it’s gourmet. “God, I love this shit.”

You try to roll your eyes, but it’s weak. He’s too close. Too warm. Too real.

And then, without warning, he leans in close, mouth brushing your ear.

“Good morning, beautiful,”

Before you can say anything else, before your heart can fully flip in your chest, he kisses you.

It’s soft at first, like he’s testing the waters, but then it deepens, and the world around you fades. There’s no rush, no frantic need, just the slow, steady push and pull of lips, the quiet hum of connection between you two, something that’s always been there but is only now being acknowledged.

His lips linger just long enough to make your stomach twist in the best way before he pulls back, barely.

You stare at him, still a little dazed. He smirks.

“What?” he says, all fake innocence. “You gonna yell at me for stealing your cereal or for kissing you?”

You eye him, lips twitching. “Still weighing my options.”

He shrugs, hands still warm where they’re resting on your thighs. “Take your time. I’ve got all morning.”

“You’re literally the most impatient person I know,” you mutter.

“Mm,” he hums, brushing his thumb just under the hem of your shorts, right where it makes your breath catch. “Not when it comes to you. I like watching you squirm too much.”

You exhale a laugh, trying not to give him the satisfaction. He just grins wider, enjoying seeing you like this.

It’s completely unfair, the way he looks so relaxed. Like this, you and him and whatever happened last night, isn’t a big deal. Like waking up tangled together, touching each other like that, was just the natural next step.

And maybe… maybe it was.

“You know,” he adds after a beat, glancing at your bowl again, “I thought about that last night.”

“What, the cereal?” you ask, trying to level your voice.

He nods, all faux-innocent. “Had this whole internal debate. Go finish the box or save you some.”

You squint at him. “You didn’t even eat any.”

“Exactly.” He grins. “Fell asleep. Dreamt about it. Woke up, and there you were. Stealing the first bowl like some greedy little gremlin.”

You scoff. “Wow. Rude.”

“And hungry,” he adds, stealing your spoon without looking. He takes another bite, still watching you, chewing like he’s thinking about sin. “Might be craving something a little messier, though.”

You scoff, but your thighs tense around his hips, pulling him in closer. He feels it. Of course he does.

You think that’s the end of it, but then he tilts his head a little, voice dropping. “Also, you were real cute sneaking around out here like I couldn’t hear you. Hair all messy. Wearing nothing but your-”

“Stop,” you cut in, already feeling the heat crawl up your neck.

He just laughs, clearly enjoying this way too much. “I’m just saying. Round two almost happened right then and there.”

You shoot him a look. “I was literally getting cereal.”

He leans in, lips brushing your cheek again before he murmurs, “Yeah, and you still looked hot.”

You go quiet, too aware of his mouth near yours and the fact that he’s still standing between your knees like he belongs there.

You open your mouth, no idea what you’re even going to say, but he’s already leaning in.

And then he kisses you again, easy, unhurried, like it’s just what he does now. Like kissing you is second nature.

And god, maybe it is.

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[wheneverfeasible]

from this

Steve stared at the pamphlet in his hand, handed to him by one of those zealots that have been posting up on street corners and in parking lots ever since the “earthquakes” totaled Hawkins. He rolled his eyes and was just starting to crumple it up in his hand as he walked to his car before something stopped him.

He paused, brow furrowing slightly as he frowned down at the paper.

1. Is too "nice" to be true.

Steve was so used to being called an idiot by everyone, to being condescended to, that he had started taking it as just a simple matter of course. At least, until Eddie entered their little friend group.

Now, Eddie seemed to make it his life life’s mission to compliment Steve at least once a day, always with a smile to let Steve know it was meant genuinely, and even stood up to their friends’ playful bullying when it went to far.

He never made Steve feel stupid. Never made Steve feel like he was alone. He was just…really, really nice. More than Steve had ever thought was possible, at least when directed at someone like him.

It had taken a couple months of it for Steve to realize that Eddie meant it too, that Eddie wasn’t making fun of him in a way that Steve didn’t understand. Not only that, he went out of his way to do things for Steve, like offering to be the ones to drive the kids around when Steve had had a long day, or when his migraines were acting up.

He was just…really really nice. It was one of the things Steve noticed first about him. Huh.

2. Wants to spend time with you alone.

Eddie was always down for a big group hang with the kids, seeming to like keeping them under eye as much as Steve did. He also always enjoyed the nights that it was just the older kids, or even just Steve and Robin, but…

Those days, those nights, when it was just Steve and him…Eddie’s smiles always seemed so much bigger, so much more open. There were times when he specifically requested just Steve to hang out, always asking when he knew the others were busy, or simply asking Steve to keep hanging out after the others left.

His smile always shone brighter when Steve said yes.

3. Proposes that you be roommates and sleep in the same bed.

Steve hated his house. Hated how empty it was. Hated when it wasn’t. Hated how it was full of memories he didn’t want to think about anymore.

His parents were in discussion to sell it off, wanting to escape the curse that was Hawkins. They hadn’t included Steve in the talks of moving elsewhere. Which was fine. He was a grown man now. Had been responsible for himself long before he was an adult, even if he messed up sometimes.

And the thing was, him and Eddie had already talked about leaving town too. Now that the Upside Down was sealed away forever, and Vecna dead, there really wasn’t anything tying them down to Hawkins anymore either.

Sure, there were the kids, but they were growing up too, moving on, starting their own second chance at life too.

Eddie had offered Steve to crash at his and Wayne’s new trailer, saying that if they moved out of Hawkins, they could be roommates, so they might as well start now. Said that they might have to start somewhere cheap too, somewhere with only one room if any room at all, so it wouldn’t be strange to share a bed now.

It just made sense, Eddie said. It would save them money, and there would be someone nearby in case the nightmares became too much.

It made sense to Steve too, he had to admit.

4. Writes you love notes as to a sweetheart.

Sometimes, Eddie left little notes behind when they hung out. Jotted down thoughts sometimes, but most often than not it seemed to be song lyrics. Steve assumed he just left them by accident, had tried to return them to Eddie next time he saw them, but Eddie always smiled and said that he already had them memorized.

It was strange though. They weren’t the typical sort of fantastical nonsense or rebellion that was usually in Corroded Coffin songs. If Steve didn’t know any better, he’d almost say they were…love songs.

Steve really wished Eddie would play them for him whenever he finished writing them. They made his chest ache in a way that almost felt good.

5. Directs the conversation to intimate matters.

Eddie wasn’t a prude, that was for sure. He’d talked about his own limited experiences, mentioned how the first two girls he’d slept with he’d only done it first to lose his virginity, and second because why not. The third one he’d thought he’d loved, but later confessed that he thought he was more in love with the idea of being loved than actually loving her as a person.

He then poked and prodded about Steve’s history, wanting to know the juicy details, though he always seemed off afterwards. Not annoyed, necessarily, but…almost like he regretted knowing despite being the one asking in the first place.

He joked around a lot too, making sexual innuendos about a lot of things. Strangely, he only ever seemed to do this with Steve, however. He seemed strangely fascinated watching Steve eat bananas too.

Steve never really knew why he always felt like eating bananas around Eddie. Maybe it was because Eddie always seemed to shut up whatever he was ranting about when he did.

Maybe Steve sometimes wondered what other fruits might have the same effect on Eddie.

6. Wants to touch the private parts of your body.

Eddie never touched Steve in a way that made him uncomfortable. He never touched Steve in a way that raised alarm bells. Never touched anywhere private.

Though, sure, his touch lingered elsewhere sometimes.

Once, Steve recalled the heat of Eddie’s hand on his hip, the pinky of his fingertip just barely brushing at the edge of Steve’s swim trunks, when he’d passed by him at the public pool.

It wasn’t anything unusual. Steve, having history as a lifeguard as well as having been co-captain on the swim team, had aided Eddie a lot during his physical therapy days when it was his aquatic therapy days. They had to learn to be comfortable with their bare skin touching sometimes.

Granted, they could have worn swim shirts, but they both agreed that it was best that Eddie had as much freedom to move as possible, and Steve wanted the same to be as helpful as possible. He was used to Eddie’s hands on his chest, his hips, his back, his arms, even his thighs occasionally. Just as his were on Eddie’s.

Sure, there had been the one time that Eddie had accidentally groped him at the start, back when they’d first started out and Eddie had been flailing as his regrowing muscles spasmed, but Eddie had looked so mortified that Steve knew it wasn’t on purpose.

(He also remembered how terrified Eddie had looked, how he’d cringed away like he expected Steve to hit him, and still to this day thinking about it made bile rise up in his throat.

(He sometimes wished Eddie would do it again so that Steve could prove he was fine with it.

(Eddie sometimes looked like he wanted to too.)

Eddie…oh. Huh.

Steve blinked down at the crinkled paper in his hand. The points slowly slotted together in his mind.

Eddie, always so considerate of him.

Eddie, always so happy to see him.

Eddie, always willing to open up his space to him.

Eddie, writing love songs when with him.

Eddie, wanting to know everything about him.

Eddie, wanting to touch him.

Oh.

Oh.

THESE ARE SOME OF THE TRADEMARKS OF HOMOSEXUALITY.

The last eight words on the pamphlet glared up at him. Eddie was…

He should have seen it earlier. Should have recognized things for what they were, especially after knowing Robin for as long as he did. Should have realized sooner.

But…it wasn’t just that. Wasn’t just Eddie and…this.

It was Steve.

Steve, always so happy when Eddie did things for him, always so eager to return the gesture.

Steve, who loved those quiet nights when it was just the two of them perhaps more than when they hung out as a group.

Steve, who thought it would be fun to be Eddie’s roommate, not having considered they would need two bedrooms until Eddie mentioned it was cost effective to only have one.

Steve, who wasn’t good with words but cherished all the scraps of paper that Eddie left behind with his, feeling the urge to write something back as if the words had been meant for him and him alone.

Steve, who hated the thought of Eddie being with someone who didn’t truly love him, but wanting to know everything, who laughed at Eddie’s jokes and ate bananas around him for a reason he wouldn’t admit to himself before.

Steve, whose skin burned at Eddie’s touch in a way that only made him crave more, made him want to return the gesture, made him want to be the only one who touched Eddie like that again.

Oh.

Right.

Okay.

Steve thickly swallowed, staring at those last words again, and though he thought a part of him should have felt unease, all he felt was…relief.

Steve looked up, finally crumpling the paper and tossing it over his shoulder as he finally moved to put the groceries he was holding in the back of his car. They were for the dinner he was preparing to make for Eddie tonight. It wasn’t for a special occasion or anything, just something he offered because he wanted to, because it felt right.

Now he knew why.

Grinning, Steve slid into the driver seat and made his way towards the refurbished Forest Hills, figuring that he might not be the best with words, but he thought he could tell Eddie through his actions what he’d just learned. What he’d just realized.

And who knows, maybe he could even add his own trademark at the end of the night.

Lucky number 7.

And then maybe lucky number 8, 9, 10, 11, 12…

The possibilities, and their future, were endless.

~~~~~~~~

Oop. I saw that post and was inspired. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Hostage Hotties (open):

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@tinyplanet95 @hairspraywhore

[nagy-bari]

'writing our of love for a concept someone started and running with it and begin a creative journey on your own' and 'running with the familiar aspects of a character that possesses bits and pieces of your favorite tropes and leaning into them a bit more cause that's your comfort zone' and 'redressing your blorbo in new fandom clothes' and 'once a story is out there the original idea is but a suggestion' and 'emphatizing with a character so much you put them in your situations so you can figure things out' and 'loving the vibes you want to see them experience even if it's nowhere near "canonnically logical' and 'just wanna see them fuck nasty' and 'whatever possessed the fanfic writer for this set of horrors says way too much about both of us (the reader) but at least the blorbo is heading somewhere that almost feels like reassurence' and ' okay but what if-' these are all perfectly fine reasons that will lead to heavy mischaracterisation, complete switch of tone and set up and attitude and worldview the original setting gave to the characters you play with. and that's fine.

if the writer does not asked for reviews don't bother them.

But at times it makes you wonder. as in. did they even let the original story set in or is it another barbie house to play in?

rent lowering gun shots under the break

cause yeah have fun and enjoy and more power to you but did you actually let the original story settle in, did you get that message first and it made you answer in a way you wish was there? cause sometimes misscharacterisation feels like such a personal cozy place of someone that you can't help but wonder - did you get the story? i'm sour about misscharacterisation because of chatgtps and ai characterbots and the more and more ai-fanfics i stumble across on Ao3. i'm salty about grabbing a blorbo and turning it inside out so much it's actually a completely seperate character because of mass media churning out the same oversaturated tropes again and again and i love reading fanfic of neiche and specific little fuckers who are a particular flavor of messed up -but when you put them in the same coffee shop for the xxxth time and they start to slurr and don't give a fuck about their core questions i'm gonna turn bitter. not gonna bother the writer about it cause it's okay, it's my taste and they like it milder but here's my 'hater' take mischaracterisation is a problem when you take a character and sandpaper it to your taste so you can fit them in your blorbo house and take personal offense if someone points out the missing parts. hate me for it all you want but i'm worried about literacy and critical thinking when i'm salty about mischaracterization. call me whatever you want but sometimes the best version is what the 'original' writer dreamed for them. most times it's the most interesting take on them.

unless they specifically asked, you don’t get to tell a fanfic writer you think they mischaracterized the character by the way. because the second someone writes a fanfic about a character, that character becomes the writer’s own version of the character. canon is only a suggestion, but whether or not an author will follow it / how much of canon an author will take is entirely up to them. you don’t get to stick your nose in their world and tell them “hey this is not to my liking therefore I think you’re doing it wrong” when you can simply leave quietly and move on to something else you may enjoy

[mywritersmind]

BAD FOR BOTH - KA12

summary : Kimi is sweet and considerate and media trained… you however, are on a path to corrupt the boy with yacht trespassing and late night make outs.

listen up : russell!reader. this was SO much fun to write i love it so much. a quick make out scene! mutual pining!! banter!

words : 3273

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I’ve heard it a million times. Seen the headlines, too.

‘LITTLE RUSELL : the rebel opposite of her pretty boy brother’.

To be honest, I'd probably be more angry if it said I was just like him.

George walks back into the garage, his hair pushed back and a defeated look on his face. Everyone says Monaco qualifying is the real race; for Mercedes, theirs just ended.

George getting rescued from the tunnel. Kimi in the wall. P14 and P15. My boys.

“That was shitty.” I say to my brother, pulling my headphones off as he lets out a breath.

He runs his hands through his hair, “Tell me how you really feel.” We have the same last name and eyes. That’s where our similarities end.

George is nine years older and nine inches taller. He’s posh and polite, a glaring difference from my overall attitude which comes off a bit… rougher.

Kimi walks up to us, patting George’s back in an act of understanding. His usual bright eyes are distant, his cheeks still red.

He doesn’t even look at me, not surprising too much because I know how he gets after something like this. Still a bit hurtful though.

“Just stay focused…” I hear George say to Kimi, “Keep your head down. It’s just like any other race- things happen.” Safety cars happen, Is what he wants to say but he’s too media trained to even bring up a crash.

Kimi mumbles a, “Thanks mate.” Before disappearing around the corner and while I watch him go, I get an idea.

“No. No- I see that look.” George snaps his fingers in front of my face, “Don’t do it, Y/n.”

“You don’t even know what I'm thinking.” I roll my eyes at my brother, dramatic as always.

“If it involves Kimi, get it out of your head.” I start walking away before he even finishes. “Y/n!”

I wave my hand in the air without turning around, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Georgie!”

I find Kimi talking to his race engineer, his eyes catching on mine just as their conversation ends and the older man leaves. “Don’t pity me.” He says softly, busying himself with the straw of his water bottle.

“When have I ever pitied you?” I scoff, wondering if he knows me as well as he claims.

“Imola.” His head tilts a bit, my mind rushing back to the night of his home race. The image of me sitting on his bed, his grandmother's cake between us while my fingers drift over his hand.

“Come to the marina tonight.” I say, switching the conversation back to why I came to talk to him, “Clear your mind.”

The way his nose scrunches, how he steps forward, I swear I could prove all the rumors right then and there. “If you’re there, my mind won’t be clear.”

I play into his words, “Then come and think about something except for racing for once.”

“What, like you?” He’s quick. Too quick. I feel the student has become the master, especially with the way his tongue darts over his lips and his eyes stray from mine in a calculated glance to my lips.

I’m bad for him. I know it. He knows it.

Neither of us really care.

I swallow, “When did you become such a big talker, Antonelli?”

“About the time when I realized I need to actually stand up to you.” Someone walks by us, mumbling an apology and making Kimi step back. “I have to focus tonight.”

“You don’t want to hang out with me?” I slip my hands behind my back, pouting a bit and leaning against the wall.

He scrunches up his face again, “I can’t.”

“Didn’t know Merc ran your social life.” He shakes his head and I'm a bit proud of myself that he’s smiling and not frowning anymore. “I’ll be there if you change your mind.”

⋆༺

He does- change his mind, I mean.

I watched the sun dip behind the water a while ago, the pink and blue sky morphing into darkness. I was fully prepared to have a night to myself, no text, no call. But there he is, walking up to me in jeans and a hoodie while looking so effortlessly attractive.

We walk along the harbor, maybe a little bit too close together. He has his hood on, his curls peeking out of the front. “Would you ever move here?” He asks out of the blue.

“If someone else paid for it.” I shrug, making Kimi smile in the heartbreaking way he does, “Would you?”

“Yeah. Ollie and I are planning to get a place.” I can’t help but grin at this, turning towards Kimi while we walk.

“Oh so that’s why you asked. You want me close?”

He bites back a smile and I swear to god- even in the dark, he blushes. He doesn’t answer my question, but the look he gives me tells me all I need to know.

“If I move here, would you buy me a yacht?”

His jaw drops, “Why me!?”

I laugh, “You’re the one who wants me here! Might as well make it as Monaco coded as possible”

He rolls his eyes, “Monaco coded while you’re in Monaco is crazy. Ask your brother for the boat.”

I shake my head, turning to the boats that line the water, “Let’s just steal one of these.” We probably know half the people who own them.

“Just find Max’s…” Kimi grins, eyeing each extravagant boat, “I’m already convinced that I should get one, honestly.”

“Holy fuck.” I mumble, standing in front of the nicest boat I've ever seen. The back is all I can see and even that is beautiful. It’s lit up only by the street lights but something in me needs to see more.

Kimi almost runs into me, clearly not expecting me to be frozen in place because of a boat. “Woah…” He looks up at it with big eyes, making me double take from the yacht for a second.

I drag my eyes back to the boat, “Now this- I could get used to.”

He walks to the side, checking it out more. He's gone full teenage boy, looking like fucking peter parker and nerding out.

“What’s it named?” I ask, walking over towards him with my arms crossed, starting to get cold.

He actually giggles, putting his hand over my eyes quickly, “Guess.”

“Um… Unleash the lion?” I hear him let out a laugh, his hand warm over my eyes, “Twelve? Andrea? Beautiful girl named Y/n?”

He moves his hand and my jaw actually drops at the name, “Silver apex?” I grab Kimi’s arm, “Andrea. This is a sign.”

“For what!?” He laughs.

“We’re going on it.” I grip his arm harder but he doesn’t move.

“No we are not!” I grin, holding onto him with both my hands now, “No fucking way, Russell!”

“Come on! No one’s even out here- Kimi. We’re in Monaco!”

“Yeah, for my job!” He lets me pull him closer, but stops when I step on the back. “I’m not trespassing with you.”

I sigh dramatically, letting go of him and walking father onto the boat, “I’m not gonna go inside or anything- just the front!”

“These things probably have cameras!”

“Live a little, drea!” He groans at the nickname, “It’s too dark to see anything.”

He mumbles, “Night vision.” But I keep walking without looking back.

“Come on, K… I'm doing it with or without you! Maybe I'll do it topless.” I mumble the last part but I'm pretty sure he hears because I hear footsteps behind me.

The smile on my face grows, even when we both know I'm keeping my top on.

The front is even bigger, multiple spaces to sit, a net to lay out on, but I lead him to the very front, sitting with my legs crossed.

He sits next to me with a grumble. “You’re horrible for me.”

I hum, leaning back on my arms, “Yet you keep coming back.” His leg is touching mine and when he turns to smirk at me, I stop breathing for a second.

“If we get arrested, I'm taking off without you.”

I shove his arm with a scoff, “Better bail me out, rich boy.”

“Not if I'm saving for a yacht.” I laugh again, “I think it’d be worth it, maybe in a couple of years.”

“To get me to sneak onto a boat legally?”

He nods, the wind blowing both of our hair, his getting in his eyes a bit. I bring my hands to his face, my fingers running through his hair as he watches me. Whoever said that brown eyes are boring clearly has not met Kimi Antonelli.

I tug a particularly stubborn piece, the curl bouncing back into place as he just lets me. I pull my legs to my chest, dropping my hands away from Kimi to hold myself.

It’s like he can hear my thoughts because without me saying or honestly doing anything, he tugs his hoodie off and pulls it over my head. “Kimi!” I laugh as the neck gets stuck on my hair. “You’re going to get cold.” I say after I happily put my arms through and the warmth from the fabric and his body heat make me smile.

“Don’t act like you don’t want it.” He shakes his head, “I’ll be fine.”

“You’re way too nice to me.” I tug at his hair again, his eyes soft as I play with his curls.

“For all the shit you give me, definitely.” He jokes, his head leaning towards me in the teasing way it often does. Sitting closer, His hand going to the broken hem of my jean shorts, his fingers absently tugging at the frayed edges. “You know… your brother talked to me about you.”

I’m immediately scared, “What did he say?”

“Just that I should stay away.” He shrugs like it’s nothing, “Said that my rookie year should be spent… single.”

I am going to kill George Russell. “Why would he even-”

“I told him we’re just friends!” He hurries to explain while I have to physically fight a frown, “But I get what he meant.”

“You think I'm a distraction?”

“I think we’re on someone else’s boat right now and I don’t give a shit because you’re fucking beautiful.” His words cut into me like a knife.

I know a lot of things about Kimi Antonelli. Him thinking I'm beautiful was not one I was aware of.

“You’re a good distraction…” He reasons, “A dangerous one, sure, but oddly enough… I think you help me.”

“George said the same thing to me- except it was more about getting in trouble in general.”

“Why do you?” He asks.

I shrug, “It’s not always on purpose! Honestly, shit just happens to me.”

His hand stops on my thigh, eyeing me with a smirk, “Because of your own actions.”

I bite my lip, nodding. He knows me too well. “Consequences suck.”

“What about right now? You think we’ll have consequences?”

“For the boat? No. Me taking you on the boat… yes. I swear Toto has eyes everywhere.”

“He won’t find out about this.” I can’t tell if he’s trying to convince me or himself, “People always know when I've been with you, though. It’s like when you just know someone had sex.”

I laugh out loud, “We’re not having sex.”

I make him blush. “I didn’t say that! I’m just saying- everyone at Merc always pulls the ‘hang out with Y/n yesterday?’ or ‘Y/n is over there if you’re looking for her’.” He rolls his eyes as I laugh.

“And they’re wrong to think that?”

He shakes his head, his laugh fading and his eyes back on mine, “I’m always looking for you.”

“I look for you too.” I say quietly, shifting the mood as if it’s my job, “When you’re in the garage, or in the wall…”

He groans, dropping his forehead to my shoulder for a second, “Don’t remind me!”

“You couldn’t even look at me when you came in.” I have to mention.

He sighs like it actually pains him, “It’s embarrassing. It was my fault.”

“Why would I ever care about that?” I ask.

“It’s Monaco.” Kimi reminds me as if I don’t know where we currently are.

“Yeah and every other driver is probably up right now, thinking about that.” I nudge his arm, “To beat them, you have to be different from them.”

He narrows his eyes, “Very professional of you.”

It’s too perfect of an opportunity to not flirt with him, “Be different and think about me instead.”

“There she is.” The way he says it makes my stomach flip, “Not really hard to convince me otherwise- even with the race tomorrow, you’re all I can think about.”

“Is that why you came out here tonight?”

He shrugs, quiet for a minute, like he can’t find the words. “Everytime im stressed, I just want to be with you. You’re so effortless, in everything you do.”

“I’m really not.”

His brow quirks, “How?”

“I’m putting a lot of effort into flirting with you.” I say, “Although, you do kind of make it easy.”

His head falls to his hand, a slight groan escaping from his lips as his curls move side to side, “Christ…”

“What!?” I laugh.

“I’m really trying to respect George’s wishes right now.” He looks back up at me, his hand dropping back to my leg as his heated gaze bores into me.

“You’ve already got the trespassing thing down… maybe it’s time you adopt my lifestyle in other ways.” He’s leaning in.

“Like?” His eyes flick to my lips just as the air is stolen from me.

“Like I never listen to George. Especially when it comes to something I really want.”

“Smart… cause I really want you.”

I can’t breathe. Can’t move. I can only stare at him and watch the space between us shrink. I can feel his breath against mine, his hand hot against my skin.

His lips are hovering over mine, teasing me… controlling me. “I really want you too.” I say it just before his lips crash into mine.

It feels like every moment, every lingering touch or whispered promise, has led to this moment. He’s quick at first, like he can’t wait to feel me against him… but it turns slow the second his hand drags up my side and holds my waist, like he’s savoring me.

I lean back on the boat, taking Kimi with me. I slide my hand into his hair, pulling him closer as he leans over me, his tongue slipping into my mouth.

His hand grips my waist tighter, the reminder of his hoodie on me making me kiss him harder. His lips are soft, my lipgloss transferring onto him between breathless kisses and airy smiles.

He's perfect, I think. At least, he’s perfect for me.

“Hey!” A voice makes us both jump, a bright red light flashing down onto us as a man walks closer to us, remarkably fast for how unstable he looks.

As Kimi and I hurry to our feet, the light washes over us before shutting off with a click. When the light goes out, the man’s face comes into view.

We are so utterly fucked.

⋆༺

I’ve been lectured plenty of times. Never in my life did I expect to be yelled at by my big brother and his fucking team manager, with his teammate by my side.

“You got caught having sex on Sir Jackie Stewart’s yacht!” George yells, apparently confident no one is around Toto’s office.

“We were not having sex! It was a kiss!” I’m not afraid to fight back but Kimi, poor Kimi… looks like he’s about to pass out.

George groans, waving his hands around like a maniac while Toto pinches the bridge of his nose, “Jackie said he was on top of you-”

Kimi shakes his head, “Yeah, I'm out.” but when he starts to stand, his chair scraping the floor in an uncomfortable screech, Toto points at him.

“Sit down.” The man, awfully quiet for being the one who called us all in here, finally speaks, “Listen- I don’t want to hear the details. What I care about is the fact that you both could have gotten arrested!”

Kimi leans into his hand, eyeing me as a rush of remorse washes over me. I feel horrible because, as much as I hate to admit it…

“You’re right.” Toto looks surprised when I speak up, “It was reckless and stupid and not worth it.” I look at Kimi when I say the last part, hoping he knows I’m lying. “And it was my fault- Kimi didn’t want to go.”

“I have free will, you know.” Kimi mumbles as I scoff.

“I’m trying to help you here-”

He doesn’t look at me, staring at Toto with his hands gripping the arms of his chair, “I knew what could happen and didn’t care.”

“I don’t really give a shit about what you think you knew.” Toto looks between both of us, George pacing behind him. “You’re lucky. Both of you- that Sir Jackie let you off without anything but a warning.”

We leave his office with George’s hand clamping down on both of our shoulders. “George!” Toto yells from his chair, “Stay back for a second.”

My brother freezes and I wonder how he likes it, being the one who will sit across Toto and likely get yelled at.

When the door shuts, Kimi doesn’t stop walking. It’s horrible, agonizing silence, that leads us to a dead end in the maze that is the Mercedes hospitality.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Kimi.” I’m quick to say, “I knew it was a bad idea and you didn’t want to go but- shit. I don’t know when to stop sometimes.”

“Y/n, it’s fine.” His words make my eyes dart to his. He’s… smiling? “Free will, remember?”

“We could have been arrested.”

Kimi rolls his eyes playfully, “Sir Jackie laughed when he realized it was me, then even harder when you said your last name, I wasn’t that worried.” His hand goes to mine, his thumb smoothing over my skin.

“We got yelled at.”

“And I'm sure it won’t be the last time we do.” He shrugs, “I think it was worth it.”

My eyes widen, “I do too! Fuck, of course I do- you’re a great kisser.” I blush the longer I talk, only inflating Kimi’s ego and making him laugh.

“The only thing is… George has a big mouth.” I groan, knowing what he’s going to say, “So don’t be surprised if the guys say anything.”

“Me!?” I let out a laugh, “They’re gonna roast you alive.” His nose scrunches, like he’s already anticipating the jokes.

Kimi squeezes my hand, pulling me into a hug. I’m still in the hoodie that smells like salt air and his cologne, his arms around me so tight that I hope he never lets go.

He does, unfortunately, about the same time that footsteps come pounding down the hallway.

It’s Ollie and Lando, they’re both out of breath and grinning like maniacs. “You two-” Ollie gasps, his hands on his knees, “Almost got arrested while making out!?”

Lando laughs harder now, not making it any easier for him to breathe, “This is the best news… I've ever heard!”

I groan, looking at the boys, “Fucking George! How did he get out of Toto’s office so fast?”

Lando laughs in our faces, “George? Sir Jackie Stewart told us!”

[fireinmoonshot]

once in a blue moon | robert reynolds x reader

THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR MARVEL'S THUNDERBOLTS*.

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x Reader Summary: When you come down with a cold, Bob doesn't hesitate to look after you – even if he has no idea what he's doing. Warnings: Reader is sick, mentions of a cold and a fever, mentions of painkillers and Bob's previous drug use. Word Count: 2.1k A/N: Thank you to the lovely anon who sent in this request. I love this idea so much and I had so much fun planning it out and writing it. I haven't written for Bob in about a week so I have missed writing for him so much. I'm definitely going to try and write for him more often and I'll be working on more of the requests I have already in my inbox! 💗

“I think,” Alexei starts, eyeing you from across the room as you sniff for the hundredth time in a minute, “that being an Avenger should make you immune to colds.”

Yelena, sitting beside you – though far enough away that she considers herself safe from you infecting her, frowns at her father. “It’s not like us being given the title of New Avengers suddenly makes us some new breed of human.”

“I never said that, but now that you mention it–”

“Yeah, we heard what you said,” Walker huffs, cutting Alexei off before he begins on some kind of tangent that none of you want to listen to.

Bob appears in the doorway of the room, arms crossed over his chest. He furrows his eyebrows as he looks around at everyone, completely lost in the conversation. “Who has a cold?”

He watches as everyone in the room – Alexei, Yelena, Ava and John – point at you. Bucky has been spending time at his own apartment, citing the fact that he’s sick of how loud it always is at the Watch Tower. Bob can understand that. He spends half his time locked away in his own room for a bit of peace and quiet. 

“Okay, I do not have a cold,” you sigh, shaking your head. “It’s just a stuffy nose. I get like this every winter. Doesn’t everyone? I’m fine, so will you all stop treating me like I’m sick?”

You push yourself up from the couch, deciding to excuse yourself from the room and go and find a box of tissues. Your sniffing is starting to annoy you, just like it’s clearly annoying everyone else in the room too.

Bob frowns as he watches you stand up, go to take a step and then stumble. He recognises it for what it is instantly – you’re dizzy. You’d stood up a little too quickly, eager to get away from everyone nagging you, and whatever sickness was plaguing you decided to fight back, making your head spin.

He’s across the room in the blink of an eye, reaching for you just as you start to fall. You were heading right for the glass coffee table and he’s never been more glad to have use of super-speed – in moderation, of course. His powers still aren’t entirely under his control.

You grip onto his arm for a little bit of extra stability as you realise you’re not falling – thanks to Bob. You’re sure that the surprise is evident on your face as you look up at him, the room still slightly spinning around you. 

“That was impressive, Bobby,” Walker says, looking at Bob with his eyebrows raised.

“Thanks Walker,” Bob mutters, tightening his grip on your waist. “I think you need some rest,” he continues, speaking softly to you. “Let me help you to your room?”

It’s a question rather than a statement – Bob wouldn’t want to do anything against your will, even if you are clearly sick and dizzy. He knows you can be stubborn at times but it doesn’t stop the worry from seeping inside of him. He’s never seen you like this before. You’re always strong, never weak. He knows that you’re not feeling like yourself when you nod back at him, accepting his help.

He wastes no time in starting to walk with you towards your bedroom, taking it slowly so you don’t get dizzy again. You can feel the eyes of everyone else on you both as you leave. You can already hear the interrogation you’ll get from Yelena and Ava once you’re better, as if you have anything to tell them.

Bob is always sweet with you, but you’re polar opposites. You’re much more stubborn than him, you can be much louder than him, you probably get on his nerves more often than not. But for some reason, you rather like the idea of him taking care of you.

Once you reach your bedroom, he pushes the door open. He takes two steps inside, an arm still around your waist, before he frowns. “What the hell?” He murmurs. “Why is it so cold in here? Do you not have the heating on?”

“I couldn’t figure out how to turn it on,” you admit, squeezing your eyes shut and tightening your grip on the back of Bob’s shirt as a fresh wave of dizziness falls over you. “There are so many buttons in this place and none of them are labelled.

Bob sighs and looks down at you. You’re so insanely smart and yet you couldn’t figure out how to turn the heating on? And you’d never asked for help – even in the dead of winter when the Watch Tower was freezing? 

“You could’ve asked me,” he hums, voice so quiet that you almost can’t hear him. “I’ll show you once you’re better. But next time, just ask. Please.”

You smile a little at that. It’s one of the things that you like the most about Bob – his caring nature, despite everything he’s been through in life. It’s the kind of thing that draws you and everyone else towards him.

“I’d like that.”

He gives you a small smile and a nod before continuing. “Okay, change of plan, then,” he decides. “It’ll take too long for your room to warm up. You’re can stay in mine.”

Bob doesn’t give you a chance to try and convince him otherwise. He turns around instantly, bringing you with him as you leave your bedroom. His room isn’t too far away from yours, just a few doors up the hallway. You’re glad to still be holding onto him as you walk towards it. Your head is still spinning, vision a little blurry, and the fact that you couldn’t feel how cold your bedroom apparently was tells you that you think you might be coming down with a fever.

“It’s just in here,” Bob mutters as he pushes open the door to his own bedroom. He smiles as he feels how warm the room is, glad he’d left his heating on when he’d left it this morning. He kicks the door shut behind him and walks with you over to the bed, sitting you down on it and pulling the covers back. If he’d known this was going to happen, he would’ve at least washed the sheets for you. He hopes you won’t mind.

He carefully helps you lay down, adjusting the pillow behind your head, and does his best to try and tuck you in. He’s never been particularly good when it comes to things like this. As a child, he’d never learnt those things from his parents. He tries his best to comfort people when they need it, but he never considers himself very good at it.

It’s once you’re laying in his bed, tucked in, that he realises he doesn’t know what to do next. “Uh… I don’t really know what to do to help you now,” he admits sheepishly. He’d gotten you here and tucked you in, but other than that he was drawing a blank.

“It’s okay,” you insist. “I’m good at taking care of myself.” You reach up a hand and place it onto your forehead, trying to see if your suspicion of having a fever is correct. You’re not surprised when you remove your hand and find it a little wet from sweat. “I think I’m coming down with a fever though… I guess I really am sick.”

Bob’s eyes widen. A fever? He has no idea how to treat a fever. He reaches for his bedside table, opens the drawer and pulls out his phone. He has one but he doesn’t like to use it very often. He finds that being on it, especially on social media and reading about the incident he’d created a while back, doesn’t often help when it comes to dealing with the side of him that had created the Void. He sits down on the edge of his bed and unlocks it.

“What are you doing?” You ask, watching him as he types something.

“I’m doing a Google,” he explains.

How to help someone that has a cold, his Google search says.

You watch him as he alternates between scrolling and typing, assuming he’s making some kind of list on his phone of how to help you. You’re smiling without even realising it, thinking about how sweet he is to be doing all of this for you without you even having to ask him to. He’s doing it all just because he wants to.

“What did you come up with, Doctor Reynolds?” You ask after a few minutes.

He looks up from his phone, a small smile on his lips at the nickname. “Google says that warm liquids, like soup or warm water with lemon, are good for you. It also says that putting a wet cloth on your forehead could help the fever. There were a few websites that mentioned painkillers, too… might have to enlist the help of the others for those. I don’t think that they’ll let me near them… for good reason, I guess.” His track record when it comes to drugs is not very good. 

“Did you make a list? How many websites did you check?” 

Bob looks down at his phone again. “Uh, all twelve on the first page.” He turns his phone around to show you the list he’s written on the notes app. It’s full to the brim of things that he’s found to try and help you get over your cold.

The simple fact that he’d gone to such an effort to find a way to take care of you when he didn’t know how makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside – and you’re certain it’s not because of the fever that you feel this way. 

“You know that you don’t have to, right, Bob?” You mutter. “I can look after myself.”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean that you should have to,” he shrugs. 

You reach a hand out of the blankets and rest it on his knee – the only part of him that you can reach without stretching your arm too far. “Aren’t you meant to be training with John and Ava today, though?”

Bob nods, but he’s unbothered. He’s not going to leave you when you’re sick just to go and do some training. Training is something he can do whenever, but helping you when you don’t feel well only happens once in a blue moon. He’s not going to waste time by leaving you to fend for yourself, especially when you have a fever. Deep down, he knows that this is the right thing for him to be doing today. If he left you to go and train, he knows that he’d just spend the entire time being guilty and irritable.

He reaches out a hand and places it on your forehead, wincing a little as he feels how warm you are. “Training can wait,” he says, removing his hand. “I’m going to go and ask Yelena if she can order some soup for you online and I’ll get you a wet cloth for your forehead. I’ll try and see if I can manage to get them to get me some painkillers for you, too.” 

“You won’t be gone too long, will you?” You say, unable to stop the words before they come from your mouth. Apparently it’s not only your body that’s being weak and betraying you today, but your mind as well. 

Bob can’t help the small smile that comes to his face. “Not long,” he promises. “You should try and get some sleep while I’m gone. All of the websites on Google said that sleep and rest are the most important things above anything else.”

You’re glad that Bob hasn’t lingered too much on your slip up. You’re even more glad that no one else was around to hear it – it was definitely the kind of thing that would end up with you being teased by every other member of the team if they’d overheard it.

“I’ll try and sleep,” you tell him, meaning every word. 

“Good,” Bob hums, placing his hand on top of yours, still resting on his knee, and giving it a squeeze. He may not be the best doctor, or any kind of doctor at all, but until you’re better, looking after you comes before anything else. After all, being able to sit by your side like this and have you willingly let him take care of you isn’t something he’s going to take for granted. He’s sure that soon enough, you will be back to your usual stubborn, loud self. But even then, he doesn’t plan to stray too far from your side.

[tddyhyck]

our secret, right? [ s. jn ]

pairings ⇢ stepdad!johnny x fem!reader / side unnamed mom and johnny

warnings ⇢ 18+, stepcest, grooming, vaginal fingering, pet names (dad/daddy/baby/little one/kiddo/others), piss (swallowing, covering, wetting), gaslighting, oral m/f, public peeing, bra fitting??, naive reader, cum swallowing, feet stuff, reader has a bad mom, creep johnny, implied kidnapping, use of cunny and dad cock

word count ⇢ 17.7k

a/n ⇢ HIIIII

pt 2 ⇢ practice makes perfect

masterlist | ao3 | kofi

it didn’t take long for johnny to fully integrate himself into your family. you’d never seen your mom so happy and in love, she’d slowly started to trust you more even. you didn’t know that johnny had spent a while watching you seeing you out for church every sunday with your mom and on saturday for your errands.

most of your time was spent at home, your mom sheltering you from an early age. after your father died she became obsessed with keeping you inside, from homeschooling to limiting your time outside to once a week. when you turned 16 she upped it to twice a week and even let you spend a few hours home alone.

johnny noticed you at the park on a warm saturday, you and your mother were picnicking. he’d immediately been enthralled by your innocent face reeling him in like a fish to a worm. johnny was immediately drawn to you, his mind racing with filthy things he’d want to do to you.

he’d debated while he watched you from a park bench. would it be morally better to weasel his way into your life. probably better than just snatching you up and driving off with you. his mind wandered to a good way to sneak into your family life, did you need a handyman, maybe a father figure, or possibly a tutor.

that’s why he couldn’t help following you and your mother home. writing down her license plate and address to find more information about you two. he spent the next week researching and learning your habits or lack thereof. you stayed home everyday but saturday and sunday and your mother only left for exactly two hours each weekday.

it didn’t take long for him to find out her profession. that was how they met. johnny charming your mother until he married her a few short months later. you were so happy to have a father figure, especially one you liked so much. you warmed up to johnny easily he was kind and sweet and a lot more fun compared to your mother.

with him working from the home office your mother trusted him to watch you so she could spend more time out working with clients. you really didn’t need anyone to watch you do your university classes from your parental locked computer, but johnny didn’t mind. of course he didn't, he used that opportunity to spend more and more time with you.

johnny felt giddy the moment he pretended to enjoy kissing his wife goodbye hearing your exaggerated ewwws from the kitchen table. he’d shut the door, turn around and tease you. saying you were too grown up to care about adults kissing. you didn’t tell him you felt a little jealous wishing he’d kiss you the way he does your mom.

you’d even been practicing after their wedding and seeing them kiss. you stayed up past your bedtime lips mashing against your pillow as if it was your new dad. softly trying to mimic the way he had cupped your mother’s face before tilting her head and pressing his lips to hers. it made you frustrated.

it didn’t take long for you to feel comfortable with the new man of the house. quickly adapting to his routine so you could spend more time with him. you dreamed of finding a man just like your dad, soft but strong and very handsome. you’d never met a single boy who came close to your new dad’s qualities but you could dream.

soon enough johnny was no longer johnny he was dad or sometimes even daddy when you were really sleepy, and johnny didn’t mind. he cooed at you the first time you asked if you could call him dad. he sat you in his lap pouring praises at you for it. saying how much he loved you and this was another step towards your good father daughter relationship.

of course johnny didn’t mind it was all a part of his plan.

one morning during the beginning of the summer heat you came to the kitchen later than normal. your summer bedtime and alarm later by one whole hour. you rubbed the sleep from your eyes as you walked to the fridge bending down to grab your favorite juice. mumbling a good morning to your dad.

when you turned you woke up immediately, seeing your dad’s bare back as he leaned over the stove cooking eggs. large muscles on full display making you gasp.

“what’s wrong, little one?” he turned, showing his chest making sweat form at the base of your neck.

“uh, your, where’s your shirt? mom doesn’t like us to be naked,” you stammer, pointing to his naked chest.

“oh sorry darling, i spilled some oil on it.” he points to his shirt draped over his chair at the table. “it’s okay for us though dads and daughters can show skin. your mom’s just more strict with herself.”

“oh, are you sure?” you feel almost dizzy having never seen a boy without a shirt on you didn’t even know what to think.

“of course, baby. dads and daughters can be naked together, but don’t tell your mom you know she’d think we were yucky,” he grins like it’s your little secret.

“really!” you loved having things that were special just you and your dad. “then can i take my shirt off too?”

“well i think it’s only fair since you have to put up with your old dad’s chest,” he chuckles, turning the stove off before patting his stomach brushing over a small trail of hair. he acted like he was some beast but he was so handsome.

“you won’t laugh?”

“why would i laugh, you’re so beautiful,” he coos walking over to you hugging you close. his bare skin is warm and envelopes you, you can even smell the nice cologne he wears.

“you think so, dad?” you look up at him.

“i know so i’m lookin right at ya,” he teased, tapping your nose with his finger. “do you want dad’s help?”

“please,” you mutter looking away as his hands go to the hem of your shirt slowly pulling it up as you raise your arms for him.

“atta girl, you’re so brave for me,” he praises, watching your skin slowly appear. “such a pretty girl.” you stand in silence for a moment as your hair falls from the collar of the shirt looking to him for more confirmation.

“now why were you worried,” he grins, holding your shirt in his hand as he pets your head fixing your hair.

“it’s just, they aren’t too small,” you mumble, reaching to squeeze your small boobs.

“they’re just right for you, kiddo,” he assures, eyes staring at your hands squishing the soft mounds nipples hard from the air.

“i know some people- well mom she has way bigger ones. mine are so small,” you pout.

“everyone has different things, yours will grow soon, but if they don’t you still look so perfect to me. my precious little girl. isn’t it so nice we get to share this time and be together,” he says, making your tummy heat up at the praise. you nod in response it is so nice to have a dad who’s so open your mom would scold you for even asking.

“now how about some breakfast, kiddo?”

you sit across from each other at the table, his shirt still draped over his chair, yours folded neatly on the island. you told him about how you slept and talked about your dreams. his were always so silly but yours were so normal.

“now, when your mom gets home we will have to put our shirts back on but for now we can just stay like this, okay?” you nod looking to the clock counting the hours until your mom would arrive. right at 4pm on the dot everyday.

“but it’s our secret right? you won’t tell mom i was naked?”

“oh no baby, it’s our secret,” he holds out his hand pinky lifted to you. this was something knew he’d taught you. when it was a secret just you had he called it a pinky promise. your twist your little finger around his and stamp your thumbs together sealing it between you.

the thing that you loved the most about your new dad was how he didn’t tease you if you didn’t know something. when you were a kid the others your age in sunday school would tease you if you didn’t know something or if you asked a question. johnny never made you feel dumb or silly, he just gave you a really smart grown up answer and you appreciated it. he treated you like a grown up girl compared to your mom who acted like you were still a stupid little baby.

the whole first summer you spent taking your shirts off at breakfast like it was a big secret. giggling at each other when you’d see each other bare. leaving your shirts at the table so you could grab them. johnny even set an alarm so you wouldn’t forget.

that summer you spent a lot of time with johnny mainly on the couch or in his office. he was showing you all these movies you had only ever heard about. it was another one of your secrets getting to watch movies your mom didn’t want you to see.

in johnny’s office you’d ask him lots of questions about his work and he’d let you sit on his lap while he sent emails. that was probably your favorite. his warm skin touching yours as you’d lay back against him. sometimes even his nipples would touch your back.

“this is our special father daughter time,” he whispered, rubbing his hands over your legs making your heart swell.

“i love spending time with you, dad,” you grinned, turning your head to see his face.

“you’re such a sweet girl, you know most girls your age are sick of their dads. they’d rather be out partying, but you are so sweet to hang out with me.” he pinched your cheek.

“what? no way! i’d much rather be with you than anyone else. i love you so much,” you grinned, lifting your arms to hug him, squeezing him tight. he loved when you did this, your small perky nipples pushing into his chest completely oblivious to the effect you had on him.

“aww i love you soooo much,” he cooed, relishing the soft skin against his.

between your time with him in the office or on the couch you read. your mother had a set number of words for you each summer and you didn’t mind really, enjoying the fictional worlds you could find yourself in. you used to like it more, before johnny came around. now you just wanted to spend time with him in the real world.

after you finished a few chapters you’d go to the kitchen and get something to drink. after a few weeks of summer you noticed something, the door to the bathroom was slightly opened. you couldn’t help curious eyes peeking in seeing your dad peeing. you’d never seen a boy pee or even their thing. your mom had told you boys have different parts and they use the bathroom differently but you never knew what she meant.

but now it was standing in your face. well your dad was. standing facing the toilet holding his parts as he shot yellow liquid from himself. his head tilted back relaxed as he emptied so much into the bowl.

you watched intently staring at his hand gripping his big thing. you wondered how he hid it in his pants. as his stream slowed he grunted using his hand to stroke himself slowly before he shook the last of the dribbles off of the tip.

as soon as he started putting himself back in his pants you’d scurry off. hoping not to get caught watching him during his private time. you knew johnny probably wouldn’t care he was so kind and open but you still felt like you weren’t supposed to watch him. you held your pinky to yourself making a personal promise to not bother him again.

it didn’t take long for you to see him in the bathroom again. the time he was taking a shower though. and you really didn’t mean to but the water was running and you knew your mother would hate if someone had left it on.

when you walked to the open door you stopped in your tracks. seeing johnny’s bare back and even his boy butt as he rubbed shampoo in his hair. the fresh smell swirling out of the room along with the steam and you couldn’t stop yourself. standing right in the doorway watching his every move through the glass.

you don’t know how long you’d stayed there, but it was long enough to see him rinse the suds from his hair. then he turned lathering his body with soap. you couldn’t help the wandering eyes seeing his boy parts again. he was so pretty and strong and the smell coming from the steamy room was so him. you stayed until he reached for the faucet before scurrying off to your room.

at some point you didn’t care about his private time he was leaving the door open anyways. peeking from behind the door watching him spurt pee into the bowl hard and fast and sometimes it made you have to go. not realizing you’d been holding your pee and now his warm yellow stream tempted you.

you probably watched him at least once a day. it made you curious about your own pee. holding yourself open so you could watch it spray out of you. you weren’t really sure how or where it came out of you, couldn’t really see it.

you had spent some late nights in front of your mirror the moon illuminating your girl parts so you could investigate. constantly looking over your shoulder anytime you heard a sound scared your mom would punish you for looking at yourself. you folded the skin back peeking at your privates looking and poking at the bits. it was really sticky down there so you used tissues to wipe before poking more.

you knew sort of what was going on but you never saw a hole where pee could come out of. so you’d crawl on the bathroom counter squeezing yourself close to the mirror spreading yourself to look. there was a slit there maybe that’s where your pee came from.

during one of your movie mornings a scene made you curious. a boy in the movie leaned against a wall and started making a puddle. your eyes widened surprised by such a private moment on tv. shy you looked over to johnny who watched the screen.

“daddy,” you asked, leaning over the cushions to him.

“what’s up, baby,” he reached for the remote pausing the movie.

“can i ask you a question?”

“well that was a question, do you need one more?” he grinned and you laughed now familiar with his “dad jokes.”

“silly,” you giggled. “you don’t have to answer but- when boys peepee where does it come out?”

“hmm well boy parts are different from girl parts you know, but boys have a hole and it comes out from there.”

“do girls have a hole too?” he nods at you, grinning and pulling you close to him.

“yes girls actually have two holes down there but one is for peepee.”

“why two?”

“well one is for babies to come out of way, way later for you,” he says, brushing your hair behind your ear. it’s quiet for a minute before he breaks the silence. “i know you’ve been peeking at dad while he pees.”

“i- i’m sorry i,” you babble apologies embarrassment filling your tummy and tears pricking your eyes.

“shhh, baby you are okay. dad’s not mad, you're just curious. i just wish you’d ask me so i could show you,” he says, soothing you by rubbing his hand over your arm.

“you aren’t gonna punish me?” you whimper sucking in the tears.

“of course not. you know i’m a cool dad.” he grins at you.

“i just never. i never saw boy parts before, i didn’t know it was so big.” you sniffle.

“do you wanna see dad’s parts? i don’t mind showing my curious girl.”

“can i? just you promise not to tell mom, she’d be so mad at me,” you look away shyly.

“this is our thing remember,” he lifts your chin to meet your eyes. “just a dad and daughter lesson special for us.”

“thanks for not being mad, i promise i won’t peek,” you assure him.

“it’s okay, kiddo. i’ll let you watch if you’re curious.”

“really, can i now?” you get a little giddy bouncing closer to him.

“mmm i think i could go now.” he nods, lifting himself off the couch and helping you up. it’s quiet as you walk down the hall just feet pattering on the floor as he leads the way. the tile is cold and he flips the light switch pulling you to him.

“do you wanna sit here?” he pulls you to the edge of the tub letting you sit, the cold material makes you jump, your boobs bouncing as you look up at him.

“how about you look at my dad parts first, so you won’t have to wonder,” he grins down at you using his thumbs to push his sweats down.

“oh wow, how do you-“ you pause, not forming any words as his big part is right in front of you. you reach a hand but stop yourself embarrassed. he lifts his shirt showing you a patch of dark trimmed hair over a long stick hanging down.

“you can touch it, my baby’s gotta learn,” he grins, ruffling your hair. you reach a timid hand toward him staring at the large shaft. your small hand shakes as you touch him, fingers barely wrapping around him.

“good girl, you’re so brave asking dad questions,” he coos, you stare at the slit where his pee comes from, eyes racking from the plush tip down the larger part lifting it in your hand to see the small seam on the underside.

“it’s really pretty, dad,” you grin, it really is something. your eyes trail farther seeing the two large sacks hanging loosely under him. you’d heard about that before when a boy got kicked in the balls and it hurt.

“thank you, darling,” he lifts a finger pointing to the slit. “this is where boys peepee.” you move your free hand rubbing your small finger over it, face close enough he can feel your breath. “mmm, right there. just between us dad usually calls his parts his cock, but you can call it whatever you want.”

“dad you have such a big cock. so heavy,” you murmur, eyes roving over him. the filthy word coming from your mouth makes blood rush to his heavy member.

“some boys are smaller or bigger. everyone is different just like you and your mom have different girl parts.” you nod at him but it’s hard to imagine any other cock but your dads.

“will you show me,” you bite your lip as you look up at him, feeling his shaft pump in your hand.

“yeah let dad relax a bit,” you let go as he turns facing the toilet. you lean your head over watching as he sighs and a thick stream pours out of the slit. he reaches for your hand letting you hold him as he keeps streaming.

“do you keep it all in there,” you ask, holding his balls in your hand making him grunt.

“no baby, that's where dad keeps his special stuff,” he coos, slowing his stream. you mimic his movements shaking his cock letting the drips fall into the water.

“do i have special stuff?” you let go of him softly letting his parts rest.

“yes you do, just in different places,” he grins.

“dad i kinda,” you squirm still looking at him.

“do you need to peepee too?” you nod at him.

“just when you went it made me need to,” you twist your legs together bouncing a knee.

“i can go, baby,” but you grab his arm before he can move.

“no, i wanna show you how i pee.”

“aren’t you sweet, dad can help you with your parts too,” he grins, helping you up as you squirm with need.

“unhh,” you moan gripping over your privates as you try to hold it.

“aww did you wait too long, baby, ‘s okay,” he coos.

“just, i can,” you pout, squeezing yourself before you slowly peel your panties down shifting awkwardly.

“doing so good, you’re so strong,” the praise melted into your skin like hot wax. you slide your butt onto the cold seat lifting your skirt and peeking at your cunt.

“let dad see,” he squatted in front of you leaning in and spreading your legs as you squeezed every muscle to keep your pee in.

“such pretty girl parts,” he smiled up at you.

“really? mom says they’re icky that’s why we have to wax them,” you nod, looking at your parts a chubby hairless mound with a long slit down the middle.

“mom is so silly.” he huffed a laugh, pushing your legs wider. “such a soft, pretty girl. can you show dad?”

“it gets really sticky lately, but i promise i clean it a lot,” you babble.

“that’s your special stuff just like dad has. sticky is normal, it’s okay you can keep it a little sticky. it’s healthy,” he stares as you pull your sticky lips apart. getting the perfect view of your swollen bud and the tightest little hole. he loves how aroused you are just from watching him piss holding his cock in your hand has you all wet for him.

“oh so it’s not icky?” he shakes his head leaning closer to you inspecting your most private parts.

“when you’re this pretty you know what we call girl parts?” he paused as you shook your head looking to him for reassurance. “i like to call it a cunny, and you have the most beautiful cunny dad has ever seen.”

“really,” you feel so giddy with excitement. it makes a small dribble of piss spill from you.

“does that make you excited,” he grinned at you holding your thighs open as the small trickle spilled. “when dad compliments your pretty cunny?”

“unhuh, i just like that dad likes me,” you mumble.

“you’re so cute, of course dad likes you. dad loves you and your cunny,” he grins, his large hand soothing over your knee.

“i love you dad. thanks for teaching me.”

“that’s what dads are for. now you see that little nub,” he asks pointing to the swollen raised bud on your cunny. you nod looking between your legs pulling the mound back to expose the swollen bud.

“that’s your clitty and right under there is a tiny hole for special girl pee,” you nod but you can’t see much below the swollen bump. “when you don’t have to go so bad dad can show you in the mirror all your parts.”

“yeah, i’d like that,” you grin, squirming again.

“go ahead and go you’ve been doing so good for your dad,” he coos, massaging his hand over your thigh. you relax into his touch whimpering as you let your pee go. hot splashing into the water already filled with your dad’s pee. you felt sort of warm and heavy at the thought of your pee mixing with his like it was special.

“let it all out, such a good girl for your dad,” you look down at him staring into his eyes as you empty all you were holding, craving more of his touch but you’re always too shy to ask.

that was the first time you showed your dad your cunny.

now almost every morning your dad would pull you into the bathroom letting you hold his dad cock. you’d hold him helping aim his yellow stream into the bowl before it was your turn. you hurry and tug your shorts down spreading your legs for your dad showing him your cunny over and over.

he even helped you see the tiny hole where your pee came out. held a mirror in front of you so you could see it. he was really the best. you still peeked at him when he was in the shower you couldn’t help it. you wondered if he watched you too while you left the door open.

most of the time he peed first but mornings like this where you really had to go he’d let you sit first.

“oh, baby, i don’t know if i can wait, can dad go with you?” he stood in front of you and you looked up at him nodding.

“how are you gonna do that?” you giggled.

“spread your legs for dad,” you did as he said, pushing your thighs back as his cock was in your face. he held it letting the hot stream aim right in front of your cunny.

you loved hearing the moan he let out when he really had to go. watching his pee hole right from the front was even better, his pee hitting the stream you were letting out. you reached up to hold his cock helping him aim as he shut his eyes releasing all he’d been saving up.

your stream was slowing but his seemed to keep going, spilling out and even hitting your thighs. you kind of liked it, warm drops of your dad’s pee on your legs. it made you feel so warm and close to him.

“such a good girl,” he pets your hair as you stare at his yellow pee starting to slow down.

“you have so much pee, dad,” you giggled, accidentally moving your hand making his pee hit your cunny.

“unhhh.” you whined, the sensation felt so good. so you aimed what was left letting it hit your cunny right in the center making you whine.

“mmm, thanks for helping?” you nodded as he dribbled the last of his pee between your thighs. he didn’t mention the way you had used his pee to feel tingly on your cunny.

you started doing that more often. your dad standing in front of you letting you aim his pee onto your cunny. he definitely saw you doing it, saw you spreading yourself and pointing his stream right on you. saw you rutting your hips and biting your lips.

you really felt so special having a dad like him. no one had ever paid so much attention to you and your needs but your dad sure did. he even helped you pick out your clothes for church on sunday. helping you go through your closet and finding the perfect pretty dress.

“you know, little bit, i think it might be time we get you a big girl bra,” he turned facing you as you sat on your floor rummaging through your dresser.

“really? i always wanted one, but mom says i have to keep them flat so they don’t distract,” you pout, shutting the drawer.

“well you’re a growing girl. your pretty tits are swelling now, we need to get you something to hold them.” he assures, squatting beside you nodding to your bare chest.

“but mom won’t let me,” you stare at your chest nipples puffy.

“it can be our thing. dad can take you and we can get you fit for one maybe even get you some pretty matching panties,” he grins, rubbing his large hand over your calf.

“oh really! dad you’re the best,” you squeal bouncing and hugging him close. you pull him off balance making him fall on top of you his hard chest pushing into yours.

“silly girl,” he grins, holding his hand on your cheek. you stay like that for a moment just staring at his pretty eyes and the shadow of stubble over his lips.

“dad can you kiss me? like you do mom?” you don’t even think before you ask, you’d stop doing that with him a while ago.

“aww you want a kiss? i know you get jealous when dad kisses mom in the morning,” he teases, lowering himself over you.

“i just wanna be dad’s favorite,” you pout puffing your lips up.

“you are dad’s favorite, just don’t tell mom,” he grins.

“our secret?” you hold your pinky up and he takes it.

“our secret,” he confirms linking his pinky with yours.

“i’m ready,” you push your lips out and shut your eyes. he can’t get enough of how precious you are. holding your pinky as he leans in and pecks your lips before pulling away.

“daddddd,” you groan, kicking your feet under him. “you use your tongue with mom.”

“even jealous of that? when we have some time dad will use his tongue, but your mom’s almost home we need to get ready,” his answer makes you pout craving his tongue.

“i wish she never came home. i like being with you.”

“i know, baby,” he coos, brushing your hair.

“can we pee before she comes home? i have a lot and your big dad cock is pushing on my tummy,” you squirm under him.

“mmm i think we have time.” he grins, standing up and helping you to the bathroom. he can’t help the blood pumping into his member, hearing you say things like that so casually.

before your mom got home dad promised to take you shopping tomorrow for a big grown up girl bra. you couldn’t sleep, you were so excited to go out. mom would be so mad if dad hadn’t asked her nicely.

but johnny didn’t ask mom.

that morning you felt so excited, giddy, and grinning and not sleeping in despite staying up late into the night thinking of your outing. you practically bounced into the kitchen grinning when you saw your dad.

“need me to help you get ready?” he smiled when he saw you still in your pjs.

“i’m so excited i couldn’t even sleep,” you bounced on your feet almost jumping over to him like a bunny.

“you’re so cute! been thinking about what you wanna get? maybe a color you want?” he smooths your messy hair.

“mmm i can’t decide i think pink would be so pretty but red is nice and mom always had those pretty black ones with lace.” you ramble on about all of your bra ideas.

“we can get whatever you want,” he confirms, tapping your nose.

“you’re the best dad ever.”

you felt so sneaky getting into johnny’s car riding in the passenger seat like a grown up. your mom always made you ride in the backseat saying it was safer, but now you were up front beside your dad and going out on a day you wouldn’t normally wouldn’t. you wondered what was so different on wednesday’s compared to saturday and sunday.

the weather was so sunny as you stared out the window looking at all the people walking or biking, even seeing some dogs. everything was so beautiful outside you didn’t understand why your mom didn’t like you going out.

you drove down roads you didn’t recognize taking in all the new scenery. you came to huge building bigger than any you had scene before and the parking lot was just as massive.

“wow,” you looked at the rows of cars in awe.

“now there’s gonna be a lot of people, okay? this is a mall and lots of people come to shop and hang out,” he tells you. you nod, taking in the expansive space.

“are there more stores? is it just one big store?” you questioned unbuckling your seatbelt and jumping out.

“lots of different stores, they have clothing shops, food, toys, all different stuff,” he smiles, he holds a hand out and you take it. “you don’t mind holding your dad’s hand, i don't want you getting lost.”

“i loveeee holding your hand,” you squeeze his large palm skipping down the parking lot towards the building.

the place is massive, with elevators and even moving stairs going up and down with loads of people. you feel like you’re in a movie and you’re the main character. there’s shops beside shops and rows of stores as you walk in. your dad leads the way keeping your hand in his.

“it’s so huge,” you mumble, taking everything in letting your head turn back and forth as you gawk.

“is it too much?” he stops beside you, making you look at him and you shake your head.

“i love it. i wanna live here,” you grin, tugging his hand to get him walking again. he just smiles, squeezing your hand and leading you again. you pass so many people and you smile at everyone, grinning when you see a chubby-faced baby or a dog in a vest. before long you get turned and dragged into a store almost tripping over your feet since you aren’t paying attention.

“hi welcome in,” a store worker says. you smile and wave looking around the room at all the neutral walls covered in racks with bright colored bras and panties. “do you need any help today?”

“we do actually, she’s wanting to get a fitting, but is it okay if we look around first?” johnny leads the conversation as you rake your eyes over the merchandise taking in all the patterns.

“of course, i will get my things together, you can come find me when you’re ready.” she smiles, directing her hand to the large showroom that you’re already immersed in.

“it’s amazing,” you coo, pulling johnny’s arm to the first rack you see.

“now don’t pick too much, let's start with three you like,” he instructs and you nod your head using your free hand to comb through the displays.

“wow, they even have sparkly ones,” you grin, holding up a sparkly padded bra.

“how cute,” he nods, helping you sort through. you meander through the different displays so many racks of so many different things. there’s small bras and different shapes, even strapless. there were bras attached to dresses and even one piece with panties. you and so many questions like how did you pee in that, or how does the bra stay with no straps, and did you wear the bra dresses as a dress.

“ok i like these two the most,” you grin, holding up two bras, one soft pink with floral swirling lace and the other a teal with lace and a bow.

“those are such good choices. what about the third one?”

“will you pick one i want one you like,” you bite your lip.

“aren’t you sweet, hmmm,” he says, glancing over the racks before pulling you to the one he’s set on. “this one would look beautiful.”

“wow, it’s so pretty,” you stare at the soft white bra, it was mesh with small lace details and you think you’re in love. “you think?” you ask him, holding up the small hanger to your chest.

“mmm, yep that’s the one,” he wants to moan in the middle of the store, his pretty girl posing in front of him, his cock starting to fill up.

“find anything you like?” the worker walks up again and you nod holding the three choices in your hands. “perfect, if you will follow me we can start the fitting.”

she leads the way and johnny lets you follow but stays close behind you with a comforting hand on your waist. she walks to the back to the store, opening a large curtain with other curtains along the walls, most of them opened.

“okay we will be in here,” she motions to the room and you enter. “have you ever had a fitting done?” you shake your head suddenly shy.

“can he stay with me?” you ask biting your lip and throwing a thumb over your shoulder to johnny.

“of course! since it’s your first fitting it’s good to have someone you trust,” she smiles politely motioning for you and johnny to go in. “if you want to get changed there is a robe right here and just let me know when you’re ready.

“thank you,” johnny smiles and you nod. she walks backwards, shutting the curtain behind her. you turn to johnny quickly pushing your head into his chest face heating up.

“shh, don’t be nervous, little one. you know how we take our clothes off,” he pauses and you lift your head nodding to him. “just like that okay, and she’s very nice. gonna use her measuring tape so it will fit perfect,” he soothes your anxiety by rubbing small circles with his big hands over your back.

“will you help me?” you grip his shirt pulling him somehow closer smelling his cologne to calm yours.

“mhmm, can you lift your arms?” you pull away lifting your hands over your head as his hand glide under the hem softly touching your skin before lifting the fabric and pulling it over your head. he had told you not to wear your training bra since you could get one here so you were bare. nipple hard in the cool store air poking out embarrassingly. your chest had started growing some more over summer slightly bulging out of your tiny bra.

“good girl,” he coos, tossing the fabric on the chair in the corner before turning back to you. “let dad get your shoes.” he kneels in front of you untying your white sneakers, letting you hold onto his large shoulder as you step out.

“you sneaky girl,” he grins up at you peeking under your skirt seeing your bare cunny. you grin back pushing your hands over your front trying to hide.

“just thought you said no bra so maybe none of these too?” you wiggle your hips in front of him. his large hands cover your thighs as he spreads your legs using his fingers he opens your cunny to him.

“hnnn,” you jerk as the cool air from the room hits your privates not aware that it’s your dad blowing a stream of air onto you.

“getting so excited aren’t you?” he teases, hands roaming higher before finding the zipper of your skirt easily. he slides it slowly and lets the fabric fall to the floor and pool at your feet.

“step back,” he instructs and you do, moving over so he can lift the skirt and toss it with your shirt. then he stands back in front of you grabbing your arms and turning you to the mirror.

“see how pretty you are, dad’s little beauty,” he whispers in your ear, making you shiver, his hands massaging your tummy. he turns to grab the robe hanging on the wall and helps you into it, tying it neatly over you.

“ready?” you nod your head the nerves in your tummy have calmed significantly. he leans his head out of the curtain summoning the lady back to the room.

“are you ready?” you nod to her facing her as she walks to you johnny takes a seat on the chair folding your clothes neatly beside him.

“okay, first let’s just loosen your tie just a bit and slip your arms out so you are still covered down there,” she helps you loosen the knot and slide your arms out of the silky sleeve exposing your small chest.

“now i’m going to use this to help measure you in five different places,” she smiles at you through the mirror.

“okay,” you agree, letting her lift your arms as she loops the yellow ribbon around you once, twice, and three times before writing in a small notebook.

“now we do the shoulders,” you nod, peeking over at your dad through the mirror and he’s already smiling back watching as her hand slides the tape over your skin. she pauses and right more in her notebook. “let’s get that back on.” she comments, helping you put your arms back into the robe.

“that’s it?”

“yep, easy peasy,” she grins. “i’ll go grab these in your size and be right back.” she smiles as she leaves, grabbing the three bras on the hook by the door.

“not so bad?” johnny says and you turn to him, cheesing at him as if you’ve just won first place.

“i thought she was gonna use like a big machine or something,” you say, standing in front of your dad.

“you were so brave,” he says looking up at you. “such a good girl.”

“thanks for helping me not be nervous,” you reach for his face touching his stubbly cheek with your small hand soothing him the way he does you.

“you know i love helping you, but you did it all yourself my brave little girl,” he coos, leaning into your hand. you hear a knock on the wall and pull away before the worker enters.

“so i have these in your size,” she hangs the bras on the hook. “i also grabbed these in your size but different styles so you can see what you like.” she smiles sweetly and you look at the new bras she brought in dark plums and emeralds. “i got the matching panties for you. if you need any help let me know.”

“want help?” he grins up at you as she leaves and you nod, pulling his hand to stand him up. he reaches to pull the tie of your robe, helping you out of it and laying it over the chair he had been sitting in.

“so pretty,” he mumbles, eyes grazing your body, making you shy.

“daddd,” you giggled pushing at his hard chest. he grabbed your hand and then the other pulling them away from your body so he could look you over.

“which do you wanna try first?” he asked, pulling you to the hooks on the way filled with bras. you pointed at the pretty pink one you had picked out.

“good choice.” he smirks, letting go of your hands and taking the bra from the hanger. he turns you around, moving you in front of the mirror while he looms behind you. he’s so much bigger than you, taller and wider as he lingers behind you.

he unclasps the bra and reaches around you holding the cups over your small breasts as you slide your arms through the straps. you can feel him breathing on your neck as his hands pull the clasps together and snap them closed. he uses a finger to lift the straps straightening them over your shoulders before his hands lower sliding over the skin of your tummy just about your cunny.

“mmm i like this one,” he coos, letting his chin rest on your shoulder.

“the color is so pretty,” you smile softly, watching him in the mirror more than yourself.

“does everything feel okay? no poking or too tight?” he smoothed his hands in small circles over your hips.

“nuhuh, feels okay,” you mumble distractedly.

“let dad feel okay?” you nod as he slips his hands higher softly passing your rib cage and cupping your small breasts over the fabric.

“unh,” you whimper as his large hands engulf you massaging your skin.

“feel good?” you nod stupidly, biting your lip and leaning into his touch. “fits you so good, kiddo. cute little tits sitting all perfect.” he compliments using his fingers to dance over the fabric covering your now hard nipples making you buck at the touch. he grins, lowering his hands back to your hips.

“more touch me more, dad,” you murmur, holding a hand over your own breast.

“mmm, feels really good huh?” you nod as he lifts his left hand again keeping his other hand on your hip as he touches you. you try to copy his movements but your small hand is nothing compared to his. “pretty girl, so glad you’re my daughter.” you whimper again trying to hide your face in his as he gropes you.

“makes me so,” you huff, his other hand now cupping yours helping you move over your breast.

“tell dad how it makes you feel.”

“tingly,” you puff, breathing harder as he grins at you watching you squirm in the mirror, hips jerking at every touch.

“where, baby?”

“my,” you pause letting his fingers push and circle your nipples poking through the fabric. “cunny.”

“mmm yeah? makes dad’s cock feel tingly too,” he says rubbing his hardening bulge against your small butt.

“unhhh, really?” you blink up at him, lips wet from spit that’s started spilling out.

“mhmm, i know it feels good baby, but we gotta try on these bras okay?” you pout at him wanting to stomp your feet like a brat. “how about dad makes a little deal with you?”

“what kind?” you ask, his grip loosening but still massaging you.

“if you be really, really good and try on all these pretty bras, dad will get you a few, then we can go to any stores you want,” he pauses and you nod as he continues. “then when we get home dad can touch you some more?”

“please,” you whine, pleading eyes looking up at him.

“mmm, now be a good girl okay,” you nod. he pulls his hands away much to your dismay but you think of the delicious reward that will await.

he takes his time helping you try on all the bras and letting you pick your favorites. you end up leaving with five bras and matching panties. you can’t help the grin that fills your face as you hold his hand the large bag in the other filled with goodies for you.

he lets you pick out some shops to explore and spoils you rotten. getting you new outfits that are mainly for his enjoyment, skimpy pajamas, tiny skirts, and a new church dress. he let you browse some stores and get new hair clips and some new stuffed animals for your bed.

you picked out a bear saying it looked just like your dad saying you’d hold it close every night. it makes his cock twitch, seeing his pretty girl sleeping with her legs wrapped around a big bear like her dad.

he even takes you to get a slushie full of sugar and something he called a pretzel but was way too big and soft to be a pretzel. but the cinnamon sugar and icing made it the best thing you’d ever had. your mom didn’t let you have sugar, caffeine, or dyes so this was like a sneaky birthday party.

you held his big hand as you skipped down the parking lot back to his car, giggling as you watched him try to skip beside you holding all the bags in one hand. you stand beside him as he loads all the items in the trunk when it hits you the sudden urge to pee making you squeeze your legs together.

“you okay?” he looks at you with concern on his face as he slams the trunk.

“pee, gotta,” you whine, cupping yourself as you jump.

“aww baby, did you get so excited you forgot?” he coos, holding your face as you pout to him nodding.

“sorry, dad,” you blubber, bouncing your legs making your skirt flash your butt to whoever was walking by.

“it’s okay, shhh,” he soothes, pulling you to him for a hug. he smirks over your head the idea of what he can get you to do. “hmm let’s see.”

“i dunno if i can hold it,” you whimper, squeezing a hand over your cunny.

“c’mere,” he pulls you between his car and the one beside it looking around to see who was walking by. “squat for me.”

“can’t ’s gonna,” you want to listen but the push on your bladder will make you spill.

“it’s okay baby, dad will keep watch, you can’t help it.” he holds your hand rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. “go ahead, little one.”

you listen to him moaning as you bend your knees, the push on your bladder growing. you try to keep it in but a small gush comes out soaking your hand through your skirt as it hisses out onto the pavement.

“it’s okay,” he coos standing over you watching you slowly lower yourself lifting your damp skirt with your hand. you squeeze his palm before the stream pushes out of you hot piss arching from your cunny soaking your lips as it sprays out.

“good girl, spread your cunny so you don’t get wet,” he grins, he feels sick in the head. his cock hardening as people pass looking at you spreading your virgin cunt spraying piss over your own shoes and your dads.

you moan letting your head fall back as your stream continues, hot yellow liquid puddling all over the pavement and even if you wanted to stop you can’t it feels too good. you don’t notice the people walking by grinning at your accident.

“you had to go huh?” he pets over your head watching the piss start to trickle down the pavement flowing like a river. you nod stupidly overtaken by the pleasure of your full bladder emptying under you. your pretty white shoes yellow as you douse them with the flow. as you slow you open your eyes looking up at your dad who’s already staring back a small sweet smile on his face.

“oh no,” you whine, spurting out the last of the pee with a jerk of your hips. the mess is huge, a large pool under you and on your shoes dripped down the pavement and under the next car.

“you’re okay, baby,” he coos, helping you up. your dripping cunny is slippery under your fingers

“i’m dirty, dad,” you pout, showing him the drips hanging on to your mound and slit.

“i’ll help you,” he says, opening the door behind you, sitting you on the edge of the seat. he squats down in front of you spreading your thighs as you lift your soaked skirt showing him the golden droplets.

“dad’s gonna use his tongue to clean you up, okay, kiddo?” he says, leaning his face closer to you.

“ ‘s too dirty,” you whine, but he comes closer, opening his mouth and sliding his tongue over your cunny.

“oh, dad,” you gasp, melting back into the hot leather seat. his tongue dips into you sliding over the folds over your cunny collecting every drop and then some. he spreads your lips pushing his tongue into your sticky slit gliding it up and down swirling it over your pee hole and your clitty.

you moan out too naive to know what you’re feeling. johnny savors it the first mouth to ever touch your cunt and it’s your sweet dad’s. hips bucking chasing the foreign feeling you don’t fully understand just know it feels so good.

“dad, dad,” you mumble, jerking your hips into his face. he’s grinning between your thighs trying to close around him, slipping his tongue deeper not letting you escape. your taste is addictive bitter piss mixing with your sweet, sweet virgin juices making him dizzy.

he couldn’t stop diving into you like a cold pool on a hot day. his tongue slurping at your fluttering hole before finding your clitty and sucking it between his lips. your breathing growing ragged and uneven as you fall closer to some peak.

“so, oh my, dad,” you aren’t coming up with the right words leaning back against the center console as he slurps you up. your slick practically pouring from your hole drowning his tongue as he drinks you. the pleasure building in your tummy makes you whine and squirm craving pleasure but it’s almost overwhelming.

“gonna pee, dad, can’t,” you mewl, far too innocent to know this is an orgasm. squeezing your eyes as you jerk under him, gripping at the seat. his hot tongue flicking over your clitty as your legs shake muscles spasming as you squirt the last of your pee into his mouth.

he grins drinking you up the thought of your first orgasm in a parking lot on your dad’s tongue such an icky girl he has. his mind races and fills his cock with the ways he wants to ruin you. too naive to know you’ve just cum on your dad’s tongue in front of passersby.

he doesn’t stop lapping up the gushes of cum and piss from your cunny slurping it up like you were earlier with your slushy. your legs are vibrating around his head as he cleans the last of your juices before pulling away.

he watches you catching your breath, licking his lips tasting all of you. your cunny is slimy and swollen, still dripping from your slit, clit twitching as you come down. there’s another puddle under his car now from the juices you couldn’t help but drip, it’s a shame he didn’t get to savor them.

“you okay?” he whispers, rubbing his hand over your knee. you nod stupidly, your hair ruffling against the seat.

“so, oh wow, dad,” you mumble, lifting your lazy head looking down at him. “i felt so weird and so good.”

“mmm, you did good for dad, now you’re all clean,” he grins at you cum and piss glistening on his chin.

“sorry for making a mess,” you mumble looking away as you try to sit up. your whole body feels like jelly.

“no baby, dad likes when you make messes. you know i like cleaning up, and what better than to clean up my girl,” he grins, standing up and ruffling your hair helping you sit in the car before buckling your seatbelt. you fall asleep before he even starts the car overwhelmed and satisfied with your day cunny still dripping on the leather seat. as he drives off he looks back at the puddle you made wishing he got a picture so he could start that father daughter scrapbook.

you couldn’t help but crave the same feeling your dad had given you when he cleaned you up. every time you peed you wondered why it didn’t feel the same when you cleaned yourself up. you wanted his tongue to slurp over your cunny and get all the pee out of you.

you were sitting at the kitchen table just finished breakfast and squirming with the need to pee. you were being patient waiting for your dad to finish putting the dishes in the dishwasher. you were bouncing in your chair pushing your heel into your cunny to keep your pee in. the running water coming from behind you made it worse, thoughts of emptying yourself making you push your cunny harder.

“gotta go?” you turn your head seeing dad watching your squirming and you nod.

“think i had too much juice,” you pout, pushing yourself against your heel.

“how about we get all that pee out?” he turns the water off and dries his hands walking over to you.

“it’s so hard, dad, pushing on my cunny,” you wiggle, as he steps in front of you.

“you think you can make it?” he puts a hand on the back of your chair.

“dunno, i can try,” you whimper.

“c’mere,” he coos, wrapping an arm around your waist lifting your arms to wrap around him. he lifts you with one hand using the other to cup your cunny, helping keep the pee in. “so full your little tummy is swelling.”

“unhuh,” you mumble peeking at the bulge in your belly rubbing a hand over your taut skin. “kinda like how it feels dad. makes my cunny tingle when it’s all full.”

“mmm, yeah? dad likes it too makes his cock tingle,” he coos, rubbing his hand over your cunny keeping pressure on you as he walks down the hall towards the bathroom.

“really, so it’s not weird?” you ask, looking at his face, his fluffy hair bouncing with each step.

“nope, it’s good to feel good, and cunny tingles are really good,” he grins at you but walks past the bathroom.

“dad,” you ask, turning to see the door pass you by.

“going to mom and dad’s room. gonna be hard for you to get your panties off so i can help you in the tub,” he says casually and you nod your head, tummy sloshing. his warm hand feels so good on your cunny, rubbing softly and keeping the pressure as your bladder begs for release.

“so cunny tingles are normal and good?”

“so good baby, you know when dad helped clean you up?” you nod squeezing your legs at the memory. “made your cunny feel good right?”

“so good, would you clean me up again?” you ask shyly, leaning your head into his neck.

“of course baby,” he smiles, pushing open his bedroom door. the pictures on the wall of him and your mom getting married. she looked so pretty and your dad so handsome. he walked to the bathroom keeping his hand on your cunny as he let you down the gravity causing all the pee to push more making your bounce.

“let’s sit here,” he says, helping you to the tub and lifting you into it easily.

“can we pee in the bathtub? mom always said that was icky,” you say nervously.

“for dad and daughter time we can,” he grins, stepping into the large tub with you. his warm hand rubs against your cunny shorts damn but you don’t notice. “can you stand here.”

you follow his lead standing near the side of the tub. he squats in front of you using one hand to slide your shorts and panties down before sliding the other side. your cunny stays covered as he pulls the sides as low as they will go. then he slips his bare hand over your bare cunny holding you letting his finger push between your slick slit.

he grins to himself curling his finger slightly to feel your hole. letting your shorts fall to the tub before picking them up and tossing them out.

“are you gonna pee too?” you ask, staring down at his every move.

“of course, wouldn’t let you do it all alone,” he coos, standing up again his finger sliding through your virgin folds. “sit here baby.” he helps you sit down on the edge of the tub as one of his hands slides down his sweats letting his cock bob out fuller and heavier than you’ve seen.

“dad your cock is all bouncy,” you giggle, squeezing your legs around his hand.

“that’s cause dad’s cock getting tingly too,” he grins to you using one foot he kicks the sweats out of the tub. he stands bare in front of you, his heavy dad cock swaying as he moves the tip darker than you’ve seen it.

“dad you gotta go bad, you’re leaking,” you comment, noticing a dribble of what you guess is pee already sneaking out.

“happens when dad feels really tingly, like when your cunny gets sticky,” he grins, sliding his finger through the slick.

“wanna go,” you mumble the need overwhelming you suddenly.

“mmm, let it out baby,” he says, pulling sticky fingers from you staring as you spread your legs. it takes no time for a hot arch to spurt out of you making you moan in pleasure. tingling cunny mixing with the relief of peeing feels so good.

“good girl, get all that pee out for dad,” he coos, sticking his finger into his mouth tasting your juices. he’s been thinking about your taste for a week. dreaming about his teen daughter’s virgin cunt in his mouth, jerking off with thoughts of you and your little accident.

you use your fingers to spread your cunny pushing your pee out as you lift your knees showing off your stream. your head leaned back as you let go giving your dad a chance to lean in letting your stream hit his mouth. he moans at the taste as he pulls away hot yellow dripping down his chin as he savors you, keeping the liquid on his tongue.

“so good for dad, must have been so full,” he mewls, rubbing a hand over your inner thigh as he swallows. he leans closer letting your stream hit his chest and trickle down his filling cock. god he wants to jerk off right now get his cock covered in your piss and use it as lube. if only you knew how twisted your dad was.

“so full,” you pant, opening your eyes to meet your dads. his sweet soft face watching your cunny push out your pee as it splatters into the tub a large yellow puddle forming and flowing to the drain.

“so pretty baby, you pee so pretty for me,” he grins at you rubbing a thumb closer and closer to your center. your stream slows hissing quieting as you dribble the last bits letting it slide down your cunny and drip below you.

“felt so good,” you whimper.

“i know baby, dad’s gonna make you feel even better when he cleans you up,” he leans in, letting his knees hit the puddle you made but he doesn’t even care.

“thanks, dad,” you mumble, excitement bubbling in your tummy as his face comes closer, his breath hitting your dripping cunny. he uses his large hands to hold your thighs as he laps up your drips. you whine his hot tongue sliding over your cunny making you feel hot all over.

“mmmm, dad,” you call out, fingers gripping your knees as he grins into your cunt. his tongue fast and sloppy as he collects every golden drop savoring it on his tongue, your taste so addictive. slick and piss mixing in his mouth as he swirls over your hole licking up your pee hole to your clitty.

you can’t help but start panting, tongue falling from your mouth stupidly as he devours you. sloppy mouth slurping at you as he sucks your clitty into his mouth. you squeal, kicking your feet against his back at the pleasure, your eyes filling with overwhelmed tears.

part of you wants him to stop or slow down because it’s so much but another part of you wants more. that part wins. bucking hips into his face awkwardly craving more. he loves how stupid you get trying to grind against him begging for more as he sucks you in using his tongue perfectly.

“dad, more, more is coming out,” you whimper, slobbering on your chin as your legs start to shake. your tummy tightens until it lets go spraying into his mouth as you cum. legs shaking around him whining and moaning unable to control yourself. he drinks you up again letting his tongue linger on your gushing cunny flicking as he collects every drop.

he can’t help himself, he’s obsessed with the way you sound, your overwhelmed reaction to what you don’t know is an orgasm. he slows his flicks, lazily sliding his tongue up and down through your folds. your taste is addictive. he pulls away as you calm down lips and chin sticky watching your hips jerk in his hold.

“did so good for dad,” he praises, rubbing his hands over your skin.

“dad you clean me really good, get all the pee out,” you babble, looking at him with dazed eyes. “does it taste funny?”

“no baby, you taste so good. i think dads are made to like the taste of their daughters,” he tells you casually and you nod. “wanna taste?”

“i tasted my pee before, it’s kinda sour,” you admit, he’s sort of taken aback but the thought of your shy fingers collecting your piss to taste makes his cock bounce higher.

“gimme your fingers,” he says, holding his hand out and you give him what he wants. he uses your small fingers to rub over your slit collecting the last of your cum on your fingers.

“sensitive,” you whimper, eyes trained on where your fingers touch your cunny. he grins as he pulls your sticky fingers away, turning your hand and pushing it to your face. you open your mouth almost on command letting your fingers slide on your tongue. you don’t taste the same bitterness, it’s sweet and sticky like syrup.

“see, you taste so good,” he grins, and you nod, collecting all of the taste on your tongue.

“can i clean your cock when you pee?” he feels his heart race the thought of you using your tongue something he’s been dreaming of.

“wanna try?” you nod quickly letting your feet down, toes touching your puddle. his cock is even harder now bouncing bigger between his legs.

“yeah, i bet it tastes good too,” you smile.

“mmm, yeah daughters usually like how their dads taste too,” he grins standing up in front of you, his knees dripping from your pee as you lean forward.

“so big dad must feel really tingly?” you say, reaching to hold his standing cock.

“so tingly, especially when my pretty girl feels good,” he pets your sweet face as you look up at him, his cock still growing, your fingers not wrapping around him fully.

“dad why when i clean my cunny it doesn’t feel as good?” you ask.

“that’s cause dad’s doing it. feels so good when dad’s help their girls. it’s called cumming, dad made you cum,” he tells you and you nod stupidly.

“come where?”

“silly, when your cunny feels really good and you feel like you’re gonna pee it’s called cum.” he confirms, god you were so innocent.

“can i make dad cum?” you were really gonna kill him. his cock twitches at your words, more precum leaking from his tip.

“do you want to?” you nod eagerly, hand sliding over his shaft.

“such a sweet girl. let dad get his pee out first,” he pushes your hair back and you nod leaning closer to his cock.

“let it out dad, it feels so good,” you say, he groans above you pushing a small spurt of his out of his slit. it shoots up, your eyes wide following the high stream making you smile. “wow.”

“when dad gets hard and tingly it’s hard to aim,” he chuckles. you use your hand to angle his cock not pushing too far but it stands slit pointed to your tits.

“it’s ok dad, i got my pee on you,” you smile sweetly, coaxing him to let go again. he can’t help himself, thrusting his hips into your hand pushing his piss straight out letting it hit your chest. it splatters and you giggle hot liquid hitting you and dribbling down your tummy.

“do more, dad,” you beg, and he obliges, thrusting his hips into your hand forcing his pee onto you. your wide curious eyes watching the yellow liquid hit you. he bites his lip trying to keep himself from fully fucking your little hand.

“mmm, doing so good helping dad, you look so pretty with my pee on you,” he coos, you feel shy turning your eyes from his to focus on his spurting cock. “fuckkk.” he groans, thrusting into your hand.

“dadddd, language,” you grin.

“can’t help it feels so good,” he moans, his hand rubs down his chest and stomach, his fingers splitting holding the base of his cock.

“is it okay to say bad words when your cock feels good?”

“yeah, but just between us two. when your cunny feels good you can say it,” he hisses, his still thrusting slowly but his pee has mostly stopped gushing he’s too hard to go.

“are you all done?” you coo and he nods at you. “can i make you cum now, dad.”

“yeah baby, just use your tongue to clean dad up,” he says, you nod nervously eyes wide as you bring your face closer. you take an experimental lick over the slit collecting the drops of pee and something sticky. it tastes bitter but in a good way so you flick your tongue again.

“mmm, just like that baby, doing so good,” he moaned, watching your small mouth open using your tongue to swirl around his tip. he knows he’s gonna cum too fast, his fantasy coming to life right in front of him. his precious daughter tasting him using her mouth to make him cum.

you swirl your tongue like you would on a popsicle and that seems to make your dad really feel good. he groans above you watching as you do your best to clean him up. there’s more sticky stuff in your mouth and you like it so much and you can’t stop breathing in the musky smell from his cock.

“try using your mouth to suck the tip,” he directs, and you listen, opening your mouth and forcing his big cock inside, wrapping your small lips around the tip, sucking him like a straw. “unhuh, just like that, cleaning dad so good.”

you move your head back and forth taking as much of his tip into your mouth as you can, softly stroking the base of his cock. you’re so eager to hear more praise from his mouth so you speed up thinking that will work and it does. he calls out for you moaning your name and it makes your cunny tingle again but not with the need to pee.

“oh, baby, dad’s gonna cum,” he moans, stomach tightening as his release builds. “pull back, baby.”

it’s the first time you don’t listen to him craving more of his taste and working hard already. you want to make him cum making him feel like he makes you feel. so you keep your lips latching onto his tip as he tries to pull away. the pleasure fills him as he thrusts into your mouth making you choke hot liquid filling your mouth.

you pull back coughing and choking, spitting white onto his cock as more spills out. you watch in awe as white pee shoots from his slit hitting your mouth and chest. the taste is salty on your tongue as you catch your breath.

“didn’t listen to dad,” he groans, slowing his thrusts as the liquid slowly dribbles down his tip.

“just wanted to make you feel good,” you feel embarrassed and bad. your tummy filling with guilt for not listening to him.

“aww baby, is okay, just didn’t want to scare you,” he coos, petting over your head. you look back up at him, eyes watery and mouth dripping spit and cum and it makes a perfect image in his filthy head. innocent daughter, with her dad’s cum on her lips and chin such a filthy sight.

“sorry, dad,” you whimper.

“no baby, you did so good look at how much you made dad cum,” he grins. you see all the white puddling on the floor mixing with the pee and it makes you happy. his cock softening in your hand but you keep it wrapped in your fingers. “felt so good for dad. got all my cum out,” he says.

“is that the white pee?” you ask innocently, sliding your fingers on your lips and licking them.

“mhmm, that’s dad’s cum. boy cum is white and thick that’s the special stuff dad keeps here,” he tells you cupping his heavy balls.

“oh wow, tastes salty,” you smile, teeth sticky as white drips in your mouth.

“yeah? you did so good baby, dad came so much been so long since he felt so good,” he soothes your hair with some sticky white in the strands.

“really? i guess since you didn’t have a daughter until me it was hard to get it all out.”

“mhmm best when daughters do it for their dad’s,” he grins. sick mind swimming with lewder fantasies with you. “now let’s get cleaned up.”

johnny was falling deeper and deeper into his twisted desires, his mind swirling most of the day with what he wanted to do with you and to you. he thought you would be harder to crack harder to weasel his way to your trust, but you were much easier.

he’d wake up early cock hard as your mother slept beside him. his dreams full of your tiny virgin cunt he so desperately craved. thoughts of his fat cock shoving into you making you scream. when he first saw you he wanted to take you keep you locked in his house so he could fuck you whenever. this was working even better though.

it was harder though to get your mom to wear down enough to agree to a date. despite her desperation for a young cock and companionship she kept you under lock and key. he didn’t get to meet you officially until after he had proposed. sitting across from you at the table grinning and making you giggle at his silly jokes.

your mother liked how he paid attention to you but still “respected” her discipline. and you were worth it the long waiting game of getting her to crack and get into your family. he even had to wait to fuck her old cunt. their wedding night spent at home since you couldn’t be left alone.

she held a pillow over her face as johnny fucked her, saggy tits flopping, johnny imagined it was you. young and sweet and fertile. fucking his cum into his sweet new daughter filling her up while he took her innocence, but he was stuck with your mom for now. thankfully her libido was low so he didn’t have to struggle through too much sex.

he’d wake up and sneak to the bathroom for an early shower jerking his cock picturing your tiny cunt, now he didn’t have to imagine it he knew what it looked like. he spent his morning thinking about what he could get you to do while your mom was away. you weren’t too hard to convince.

innocent little girl, too sheltered to know normal dads didn’t lick their daughters cunny or help their girl pee. you didn’t know any better you were just happy to have the male attention.

he thought he’d still be grooming you to gain your trust but he was already three steps ahead of his plan. he thought he’d be waiting to make you cum until at least christmas, but he even got you to use your little mouth too. now he was onto his next step using his fingers.

he knew this would be harder but he had a few things in mind and whenever he thought too long about it his cock would fill too fast. luckily he had a sweet girl who was now obsessed with helping her dad like a good daughter would.

“dad, can i ask something?” you say, you’re sitting on your bed while your dad sits on the floor helping put together a new shelf for some new books.

“of course,” he puts his tools aside looking up at you.

“when you lick my cunny, why does it feel so good,” you ask, you’d been wondering for a while but felt too shy.

“that’s cause there’s lots of sensitive nerves all on and in your cunny,” he says, he sits up on his knees crawling over to your bed.

“inside?”

“yeah, you know dad told you you have two holes, a pee hole and one for babies?”

“yeah,” you trail, trying to imagine the inside of your cunny.

“the hole babies come out of has lots of nerves. it feels really good there too,” he puts his hands on your bed rubbing the sheets.

“do you put stuff in it to feel good?”

“mhmm you can, sometimes you use fingers or toys that are for that, and when you want to have a baby you use your dad’s cock,” he confirms, his cock growing now pressing against the mattress.

“that fits in there?” you can’t imagine your dad’s big cock fitting in anything.

“yeah but you have to get all stretched out for that.”

“so when people want babies they use their dad’s cocks?”

“yeah, when you want to have a baby in a long, long time you will need to use dad’s cock inside your cunny so he can put a baby in you,”

“oh wow really? so you’ll help me when i get married and want a baby?” he nods, rubbing his hand over your knee. the idea of you getting married to someone makes him sick. he will have to get rid of your mother so he can keep you and put babies in you.

“of course, that’s what dads are for, put as many babies in your little cunny that you want,” he coos.

“does it hurt a lot when you get cock in your cunny?”

“you have to stretch a lot, but that part feels good too baby. using fingers and rubbing all the nerves inside of you, you’d like it,” he confirms.

“can you stretch me some now? does it feel like when i cum?”

“i can if you want me to,” he smiles softly but his head is reeling. “feels like when you cum especially when dads use their mouth and fingers together.”

“oh i want you to please, will you dad. want your fingers in my cunny,” you beg, scooting closer to him.

“silly girl, you still want to, dad already made your cunny feel good earlier. can you handle it?”

“yes yes i can, please,” you whine, spreading your legs showing your slick cunny to him. he’d convinced you to keep your legs bare along with your top. saying this way when you held your pee too long it wouldn’t be so messy, but really it was so he could stare between your legs.

“okay, baby, tell dad if it feels uncomfortable or hurts,” he says, holding up his pinky for you to take. you nod your head, twisting his finger and pushing your thumb to his. he climbs onto your bed and you scoot back making room for him.

“so pretty, i love how curious you are baby,” he coos, making you smile, face heating up easily.

“just never had anyone i could ask you know,” you pout and he nods his head. he comes closer, his cock bouncing as he crawls to you.

“lay back for dad,” he rubs a hand over your arm as you lean back letting your head hit your pillows looking up at him. he reaches around you grabbing the stuffed bear he got you that you had named daddy after him. “in case it’s too much you can hold me.”

“thanks, dad,” you reach for the bear letting it curl into your arm like you do every night.

“now let dad see,” he uses his large hands to spread your legs. you’ve become familiar with this position spread open for your dad to peek and inspect your cunny.

“mmm, such a pretty cunny.” he grins using his right hand he slides his fingers through the folds making you jump on the mattress.

“been so sticky lately, dad,” you mumble, your cunny had been extra slick lately making your panties stain when you slept. you’d had dreams so often of making your dad cum and you’d wake up sticky.

“i know baby, just part of growing up. can’t believe my big girl is already getting her cunny stretched,” he coos, he pushes your legs farther back stretching your thigh as you try to spread wider for him. johnny had noticed the sticky strings between your lips when you peed for him and he was obsessed claiming he had to clean you to get all the sticky up.

when he tucked you in he would do a nightly cunny inspection taking your sticky panties off seeing the thick layer on the center of them. he’d spread your legs after your mom was in bed using his fingers to open your lips and make sure you were all clean before bed. using his tongue to swipe through your folds before putting your sticky panties back on. he’d pat your cunny, making sure you felt the dampness before kissing your cheek and letting you sleep.

“mmm your little hole is so tiny, baby, such a tight cunny,” he comments. you can’t tell if it’s good or bad but he’s smiling so you think it must be good. his fingers are sliding over you getting coated in your wetness. “gotta make sure you’re all sticky so it feels really good.”

“feels good now, dad,” you whine trying to buck your hips against his fingers but his hand is keeping you pushed into the bed. his muscles flex everytime you move and he looks so handsome and strong.

“you know baby once dad stretches your cunny he will have to every night during inspections okay,” he looks at you and you nod excitement bubbling in you. you love the way your dad sneaks into your room and spreads your cunny to check you before bed. the thought of it being longer makes you giddy.

“i like my cunny inspections dad,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around your teddy.

“yeah, me too baby, dad’s gonna push in now okay? hold my hand,” you nod, lacing your fingers into his. you feel pressure, a soft prodding in a place you didn’t know existed. there isn’t much resistance for johnny, his finger easing into your begging hole.

“oh, dad,” you whine, closing your eyes as his finger pushes into you. hot sticky wetness surrounding his digit as he pushes all the way in.

“feel okay?” he stares at your young cunny palm flush against you as you take his single finger.

“yeah, feels so weird but i like it,” you moan, when he curls his finger in you, grinning at your dramatic reaction.

“yeah, feels good doesn’t it? so many sensitive spots in your cunny,” he coos, he eases his finger in and out of you with ease. he loves the warmth of your tight hole wrapping around him and he can’t help but let his mind wander to what his cock is gonna feel when he shoves it into you one day.

“oh, dad, that,” you moan, arching off the bed as he hits your sweet spot. he can’t help but grin, your reaction so cute and innocent as you grip your dad bear.

“yeah, right here is extra sensitive,” he leans in, watching his finger disappear into you. dribbles of slick spilling down onto your perfect sheets as he pushes in and out. your hand squeezes his every time he hits your sweet spot.

“doing so good, baby, taking dad’s big fingers so well,” he pushes your thigh farther back, mashing your hand against your own skin as he gets lower. he leans in, using his tongue to slide over your swollen clit.

“dadddd,” you whine, squirming in his hands but he just grins into your center. his wrist speeding up slightly as he tastes your messy cunny. the pleasure is overwhelming, sending you deeper into a space between real life and heaven.

“oh feels so good. really good.” you moan out gripping his hand tighter. he suckles your clit slowly as he pumps into you he can feel your fluttering walls as you get closer, but he needs to add more he needs to stretch you open.

“gonna add a finger,” he mumbles into your cunt making you vibrate. your legs shake tummy tightening as you nod your head. he feels giddy your reactions egging him on as he slides his middle finger to your entrance.

“good girl,” he pushes the tip of his finger into you slowly. looking to you for approval, but you’re lost in the feeling of being stretched open for the first time. head back mouth open gasping at the feeling and he thinks like that’s confirmation enough.

“taking dad’s fingers so well,” he praises curling his fingers letting the tips brush into you making your call out to him.

“good, dad, feels so,” you whine, gripping your bear and his hand tighter. he leans in again, flicking over your clit slowly letting you savor his fingers. he pushes them in and out slick, pouring down your hole to your sheets.

your walls flutter with each flick of his tongue and wrist, clenching around his fingers as he fills you up over and over. tiny cunt trying to suck him deeper and deeper, and he knows you’re close you don’t take too long especially with his mouth. the frantic bucking of your little hips and heavy panting tipping him off.

“is coming, dad, coming out,” you whine, spit spilling over your lips as you reach your peak, each one better and better. he flicks his tongue faster, letting his fingers feel each squeeze of your cunt as you cum around them.

“good girl, that’s it,” he coos, curling his fingers over and over in you.

“get all that girl cum out.” he fucks his fingers into you pumping all your stickiness along with his digits. you whine and your eyes start to fill with tears obsessed with the feeling as it washes over you.

“dad, dad,” you call, tugging his hand. he slows knowing he’s being too rough, sending you into overstimulation but he knows your sensitive little cunny isn’t ready for that. he slows before pulling his fingers out strings of slick attached them to your cunny.

“look how pretty baby, got so much of that girl cum out of you,” he grins, holding his fingers up. you whimper watching him suck them into his mouth swirling and tasting your orgasm.

“did so fucking good for dad,” he says, making you hot his use of a bad word twisting your tummy.

“felt so good dad, i like it so much,” you whimper, he lets go of your thigh resting it on the bed. his fingers stay in yours as you peek down and see his heavy cock hard between his legs and your mouth waters.

“you had so much cum even after this morning,” he coos, he climbs up the bed laying beside you letting his sticky fingers pet your teddy.

“dad is your cock tingly?” you stare into his eyes innocently.

“so tingly baby, seeing you all pretty,” he grins, his cock is heavy laying on your hip.

“can i get your boy cum out?” your lewd words make him dizzy.

“you don’t have to, i know you’re tired, little one,” he says softly.

“wanna, i can just use my fingers like dad,” you beg you really wanna touch your dad you love making him feel good.

“if you’re sure,” he rubs a big hand over your face. you nod letting go of his hand to slide it over your tummy to the head of his cock.

“wanna do it for you, dad,” you mewled, slowly tugging his cock in your hands. he was so thick.

“mmm, baby, you’re so sweet,” he coos, beginning to thrust his hips into your fist.

“lemme,” you pull away and he watches your small hand reach between your legs, scooping your slick from your cunt with a sigh. the casualness of your act makes him twitch. the sight of your sticky fingers causes you to giggle when you see them.

“you need to be sticky too,” you giggle, watching your fingers glisten as you move, spreading them and seeing the sticky strings. “here, dad.” you wrap your hand around him using your sticky cum to rub your dad’s cock. he can’t help but groan pushing his head into your neck.

“my smart girl,” he purrs, his breath tickles you making you squirm. you keep your hand sliding up and down his thick shaft trying to wrap around him fully.

“so big, dad,” you comment, watching your hand slide over him.

“yeah, gonna have to stretch your cunny so much before i put any babies in you,” he grins. you bite your lip focusing on his cock letting your thumb slide over the pretty, dark tip.

“gonna be so full,” you babble, entranced by the slick bubbling out of his tip.

“so full, but you’re my good girl, you’ll take dad’s cock so good,” he moaned, bucking his hips into your hand. he reaches around you using his arms to cage you in so he could angle his cock into your fist.

“yeah, baby, just like that, doing so fucking good for dad,” he groans, staring at your small hand as he fucks into your fingers. you hold your teddy in your other hand like it isn’t making johnny crazy. his pretty soft baby was all deluded with pleasuring her dad.

“wanna taste,” you whimper, looking up at him with pleading eyes, his hair falling in his face. he grins down at you and if you were so enthralled with him he’d look like a predator claiming his prey.

“i can arrange that,” he says softly lifting off his one hand he brushes his hair from his face. he leans back pushing himself against the headboard, his cock slapping his stomach before he spreads his legs for you.

“wanna lay on my tummy,” you say crawling over to him, bear still in your hand. you settle between his legs leaning your arm over his leg.

“you’re so tiny, baby,” he says and you wiggle your butt in protest. “mmm, cute.” he pets your face and you lean into his touch soft and safe. reaching up you take his cock in your hand.

“wanna taste your dad cum, please,” you whine, leaning in you let your mouth wrap around his tip. you had been practicing for a bit now taking more and more of his cock each time craving the praise and the taste.

“mmm, you suck dad’s cock so good,” he hisses, holding your cheeks as they fill and empty with his cock. you bob your head taking more and more but making sure to breathe like dad had taught you.

“yeah, taking so much now, getting so brave,” he comments. you love how he talks to you, filling your head with gushy things and your tummy with heat. he always knows how to make the words touch you deep inside.

“fuckkk,” he bites his lip watching your eyes start to drip as you swallow around him taking in all you can your cheeks hollow as you suck. “look at your pretty face.”

you feel your cunny tingle more it never seems to go away for long lately. anytime you see your dad it makes you shiver and crave him. he was just so perfect and he told you lots of daughters got cunny tingles because of their dad.

his pretty moans filling your room as you soak his cock in spit, letting it dribble out of your mouth and down the rest of his shaft using your hands to slip it up and down. he tasted so good filling your mouth like a summer popsicle.

“so close baby, gonna cum for my girl,” he groans, gripping your pillow to keep from fucking into your mouth. you feel an urgent need, bobbing your head faster, swirling your tongue more to make him cum.

“open baby,” he grunts and you pull off strings of spit as you stroke his cock. you open wide letting your tongue lay against the tip as he shoots boy cum in your mouth. you let it fill your mouth your favorite taste on your tongue.

“mmm, so good baby, made dad feel so good,” he moans, watching the pretty white pool on your tongue. he taps your chin and you swallow. he’d trained you so well. you gulp him down greedily savoring the taste before sticking your bare tongue out his thumb hitting your chin.

“atta girl, got all dad’s boy cum,” he praises, making your tummy turn.

“tastes so good, dad, i like it so much,” you admit leaning your head on his big thigh.

“cause you’re my girl,” he coos his hand sliding over your cheek wiping tears from under your eyes. you nod you are his girl.

you feel silly when you wake up in the night with a bad dream startling you awake. someone taking your dad away and never letting him come back. you felt so sad and scared but you were grown up you couldn’t go crying to your mom she would tease you.

you patter down the hall teddy bear in hand pushing your parents bedroom door opened. your mom snoring her face mask over her eyes beside your dad who is sitting up reading glasses on looking at a book. his head tilts to you, concern on his face as he puts his book aside opening his arms to you.

you shuffle over leaning into his touch, his warmth wrapping around you reminding you it was just a dream.

“you okay?” he whispers into your neck. you shake your head. he pulls back eyes searching your face seeing your tears.

“what’s wrong, baby,” he shuffles up his legs sliding off the side of the bed to wrap you closer.

“bad dream,” you sniffle trying to keep quiet.

“aww darling,” you soothes his hands over your making you calm down.

“can you come lay with me,” you ask, not sure of his answer. your mom would say you were too old for that and call you silly.

“of course,” he says, standing up as he puts his glasses on the bedside table, clicking the lamp off before turning to you.

“let’s get you to bed,” he says calmly, his hand on your back leading you down the hall back to your room. he helps you get tucked in making sure you have all the things you need before he slides under the sheets, hot body pressing to you.

“wanna talk about it?” he asks, petting softly at your messy hair.

“just,” you pause, trying not to blubber. “mean people took you away from me and i was all alone.”

“oh baby no,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around you pulling you to him. “no one will ever take dad from you.”

“felt so real,” you whimper, trying to keep your eyes from filling with tears.

“i know baby, i know.” he coddles, keeping you close to his bare chest reassuring you. “it’s okay, dad’s always gonna be with you.”

“i love you so much dad,” you say and he leans down kissing your head. “will you kiss me on my mouth to make me feel better?”

“would that help my girl?” he brushes hair from your face as you nod, hoping he will kiss you like he does your mom with tongue and all.

“please,” you plead, still whispering. he smiles at you, his hand cupping your cheek like he does to your mom pulling you to him. his soft lips push against yours, melting you with relief. you put your hand on his shoulder trying to keep him close, but he pulls away.

“dad,” you pout big lips begging for more.

“was that not enough,” he teases you as the moon shines on his cheek bones making him sparkle.

“no, want your tongue. please, want to try it,” you beg trying to squeeze close to him.

“you know you must be a grown up now this is how grownups kiss,” he coos at you.

“i am a grownup silly, i want to kiss dad like grownups,” you try to get him closer but you just settle for a small hand on his cheek like he does to you.

“mmm, okay, dad will kiss you like a grownup but you can’t ew like you do when i kiss your mom,” he grins and you nod eagerly closing your eyes and puffing your lips.

he leans in again. he lips are so soft and warm he tilts your face somehow closer to you, opening his mouth to slide his tongue over your lips. you follow your instincts parting your lips letting his tongue in your mouth. he tastes like cinnamon and you think about the tea he drinks every night. the taste fills your body from tongue to your toes. he’s all over you.

he pulls you closer sliding his leg between yours as his tongue glides against your. it felt like you understood everything, why grownups kiss like this, it all made sense. it felt so special and you felt so close to your dad. you swirl your tongue with his like it was a game his lips pushing against yours. he pulls away but you nibble his lip to bring him back and he groans bringing his mouth back to yours.

you flick your tongue into his mouth craving more cinnamon letting him suck your tongue like he does your clitty. he pulls away catching his breath as he looks at you, chest moving fast.

“not so icky huh?” he grins, you pull him to you, sticking your tongue out to swipe over his mouth and he obliges, opening his lips letting you explore. gripping his shoulder you buck into him rubbing your cunny over his knee as you flip your tongue in his wet mouth.

he sucks your tongue, pulling it into his mouth, sticky sounds filling your room as your rut against him. he uses his hand to slide down your body settling on the curve over your waist, helping you move back and forth against him. you whimper into his mouth, head overloaded with his taste and tongue and the tingles filling your body.

“slow down baby,” he pulls away watching you jerking fast against him.

“feel so good,” you whine, rubbing yourself against him.

“i know but mom’s down the hall, don’t wanna wake her.”

“can you touch me i’ll be so quiet,” you plead, big eyes looking up at him and he can’t say no.

“c’mere,” he says, turning you on your back letting his arm wrap around you. he uses his knee to part your legs before putting his hand over your panty covered cunny.

“gotta be quiet so dad’s gonna keep his hand over your mouth okay?” you nod reaching for his wrist to hold as his palm covers your swollen lips.

“good girl, so sticky from kissing dad,” he coos, his hand hiding the entire bottom half of your face. he slides his fingers over your cunny rubbing your through your panties. soft circles as he feels your swollen clit through the thigh fabric.

“clitty’s all hard baby,” he whispers, using a finger he flicks it over the bud making you arch your back. his hands grip you tightly, keeping you in place as he continues. his fingers circle your swollen nub, your tummy tight and fuzzy.

“being so good for dad,” he presses his lips to your forehead, a thin layer of sweat on your skin. your tummy bubbles with pleasure, his words hitting you right where his fingers touch. your legs start to shake trying to close around his hand.

“keep them open,” he directs and you force them open, letting his leg lock you in place. “good girl.” every word he says hangs in the air heavy and hot and pouring over you drawing you closer. he knows, knows your close reads your body like his favorite book.

“cum for dad, you can do it baby,” he mumbles into your skin, eyes focused on his fingers swirling over your panties. you whimper spit soaking his palm as you jerk in his hold hips rutting into his hand the final heat pouring down your body as you cum toes curling and legs twitching.

“that’s my girl, get all that cum out for dad,” he coos, slowing his fingers but keeping steady pressure as your head lolls in his hold. your panties are soaked and damp against you his digits rub the fabric.

you whine the touch almost too much and he stops keeping his hand resting on your still twitching cunny. he releases your mouth letting you catch your breath and spit coats his hand.

“so quiet for me, such a good girl,” he kisses your forehead and then your cheek. you turn your head letting his lips hit yours again, pushing your spit covered mouth to his chasing his taste again. you pull away licking his cinnamon flavor from your lips.

“thanks for making me feel better, daddy,” you push your head into his neck curling into him.

“getting sleepy, baby?” you nod into his chest spent and satisfied and feeling safe.

“love you, daddy,” you babble, closing your eyes. he can’t help but stare at you, so soft and gentle in his arms like he didn’t just make you cum with your mom down the hall. so sweet and naive.

“love you, little baby,” he soothes his hand over you, tucking you into him. he pulls your covers up and gets you settled, letting you rest in his arms.

he stays up thinking about how far he’s come in his plan. not even the end of summer and he’s so far ahead of schedule. he might even get to take your virginity before christmas if you kept this up.

the summer was coming to an end and johnny had been trying to convince your mom to go on a family vacation. she was very against it, claiming you wouldn’t do well out of the house or out of town. you pouted and whined to johnny saying you would do really well and be very good.

he knew you would and the thought of you in a swimsuit made him throb. thinking of touching your cunny under the water while your mom grumbled about being away from home. sliding the tight material aside so he could push his fingers into your little hole.

“i just think it would be nice, she’s trapped in here all day everyday and it would be good to get away. relax on the beach,” he tells your mom you listen to them from your room. your door is open and so is there’s, as you pretend to sleep.

“she doesn’t need to go out, she's safer at home, and what is so relaxing about sand in every crevice,” your mom groans. she was such a fun sucker.

“but think how nice it will be, sleeping in, the pool, maybe even massages,” you can hear your dad’s voice slowing, trying to convince her. you can’t see him walking to your mom holding her hips squeezing her butt.

“you’re too charming for your own good,” she teases. your mom is right about that. your dad was so charming and sweet.

“i just think it would be so much fun. i’ll watch her so you can go do whatever you want,” he grins at his wife convincing her that he’s in love with her as he rubs the bulge he’s got for her daughter against her.

“that sounds tempting, but i don’t think it would be good for her. i don’t want her thinking she can just leave whenever she pleases.”

“i know, you’re so protective and that’s so sexy, but we can keep her inside the whole time. i’ll watch her while mommy gets some sun and rest,” he coaxes her. he knows he can break her, it's not too hard. she’s desperate and easy and she secretly likes her hot young husband shirtless.

“fine, but only 3 days,” she grumbles, you grin with excitement filling your belly. you wonder what sand feels like on your feet.

“yesss,” he cheers, “mmm you’re such a good wife, i’ll book it for us.” he rubs his hands over her hips before spanking her playfully.

“yeah i don’t want to bother with that.”

“i’ll take care of everything. does she have a swimsuit or beach clothes?”

“i want her fully covered out there. no one needs to see her skimpy body,” you pout again. you wanted a pretty bikini like you saw on tv, maybe you could convince your dad.

“i’ll see if we can find a suit for her,” he pauses and you hear lips smacking. you feel anger wash over your heating your belly with jealousy. you should be kissing him instead. “what about mommy.”

“i have a few,” she says, laughing. “shut the door.”

“she’s asleep, just come here,” he drags her to the bed despite her protests.

“just be quiet,” she mumbles, pushing a pillow over her face like she always does. johnny does the work not bothering to stretch her just pushing his half hard cock into her slit after dousing himself in lube. you could hear the squelching, your dad’s familiar grunting and you felt jealous.

he was probably touching her cunny and she was touching his dad cock like you did. so unfair. you want his fingers and his mouth on your cunny the thought made you tingle.

“ffff,” he groaned, you giggled thinking of him saying fuck with you but not her. he tried his best to enjoy it but she just wasn’t his teen daughter. he didn’t care about getting her off in a sweet way so he just mashes his fingers against your clit hoping she’d cum fast so he could jerk off after. he didn’t want to waist any cum on your mom.

her old cunt bored him. he craved your young tight cunny small and slick from just a word. he imagined you below him spread out, hips stretching to accommodate his large thighs. watching your cunny suck him in a bulge growing in your tummy from his size.

he felt your mom tighten her orgasm approaching so he sped his fingers, letting her cum flatly on his cock. no pretty soft sounds, no arching into his touch, no soft skin, no cunny flutters. he pulled out when she pushed his hand away he jerked his cock groaning pretending to fill the condom while she kept her face covered.

he groaned fakely before acting like he had to catch his breath as he tugged the condom off. he’d save his boy cum for his girl in the morning. he tied the empty condom before going to the bathroom, tossing it in the trash letting his wife roll over lazily. she could clean herself up he frankly didn’t care. he knew she’d be snoring when he went back in there.

he hated her. despised her even. evil woman keeping his princess locked in a suburban castle. he wanted to steal you away. keep you safe with your dad away from her grubby hold.

©️tddyhyck

[thetetra]

Hey friend So all of this is your brain's inability to properly regulate dopamine. Food being a reliable source of dopamine is a VERY common ADHD thing. The body quickly learns that when other tasks are frustrating, (you can't reliably get a reward from tasks) that food is very reliable and a good way to get a fix of dopamine is... treats and snacks whatever is fastest. I find that having an ease of access reward I can substitute also helps, like a Gameboy game or an audiobook I can pick up and get at for 5 minutes then get back to the task makes it so snacking isn't the ONLY option.

Mind you I'm still fat but it is nice to diversify for when I am full or I have no snacks in the house. Better discipline (read above) might help with this but frankly it ain't worth it.

Being in a hurry is trying to quickly get to the reward part of a task. The inability to properly gove out dopamine means that you likely need a full success or you don't even feel like you have done anything right at all. Perfectionism. This likely means that your ADHD is from your brain giving out dopamine properly but it gobbles it ALL up IMMEDIATELY. So only a great success! Even really registers. So you either rush into it 90 times or you get WAY too careful and try for perfection under a white knuckle control attempt.

Bad coordination/clumsy/accident prone/ya bump into things. This is dopamine disregulation to a T. You don't properly get rewarded for doing it right, even a little bit right only when you can intellectually tell "yup that's right" almost nothing comes naturally and beginner's luck is a myth. You work 10x as hard to get half as much practical practice and every day is a Sisyphian nightmare where you are distracted for even a moment and the stone tolls ALL THE WAY back down hill before you can even look back and enjoy it crushing things... Ask me how I know?!

Yeah btw your average person 's life isn't like this and you actually are sorta alone in it. I have good news though... I take a "dopamine reuptake inhibitor" There are several out there but I take Amoxitine. It took a solid month to start working but OMG when it did. I have been medicated for most of my life, standard stims, like Adderall and Ritalin mostly, sorta worked but the patterns in my life were still there... and the rock to push was also there. Then... one day I picked up the rock and put it in my pocket and learned a new skill and had fun? I went out and really enjoyed my day. My life didn't feel like sand slipping through my fingers and like I actually had resources to just live my life.

I would suggest this for you based upon ~55 words I read... in the tags of a Tumblr post? But yeah I'm pretty confident that I nailed it and that will help you.

Good luck out there.

"I should be posting this on Patreon."

[thejukeboxzero]

Finals are still kicking my ass, but that's neither here nor there, Pt.5 mon amis-

_____

It’s been a few days since Dean got laid out by a guy who buys his kid light up sneakers and he’s built a fun list of lies to tell customers when they inevitably ask about the bruise that’s blossomed across his cheekbone. 

So far his favorite choices have been ‘an angry drunk guy tried to start a fight after closing’, ‘Sammy”s massive ego bumped into me’, and- much to Ellen's appallment and Jo’s amusement- ‘it was a sex thing’.

Because, really, when you’re a bartender you really can’t have people knowing that some scruffy professor in a rumpled trench coat took you out, then people will start thinking they can take you on when you cut ‘em off or toss them to the curb.

“I don’t blame him for hitting you right across the kisser,” Ellen grumbles after Dean tells his newest tall tale to the deliveryman just passing through, “I wanna’ do the same right about now.”

“I thought you loved me.” He asks with feigned sadness.

Ellen had gotten the truth out of Dean within the first five minutes of his shift, which was no surprise for either of them, she knows when he’s lying and how to get God's honest truth outta’ him. It’s infuriating.

“I love that you know when to stop pushin’ your luck.”

“Touche.” He goes back to wiping down the counters, biting back any more snarky remarks in the process.

It’s early in the day now (well, early for him), a little after 3pm, which means there’s barely anyone in the building, just the day drinkers who insist they can stop at any time, Ellen and Dean getting the bar ready for another evening of college students trying to pass off fake IDs made of printer paper, and Jo milling around the dining area, stocking napkins and condiments and whatever else she does (Dean doesn't know, and he doesn't want to, you couldn’t pay him to be a waiter, he’s happy behind the bar).

The front door opens with a brassy jingle and Dean snaps his head upwards only to be sorely disappointed at the sight of the Ash stumbling in, probably running off zero sleep and a liver-killing amount of energy drinks.

“Why’s Dean lookin’ at me like I just kicked his puppy?” Ash asks no one in particular, plopping down in the stool nearest to him as Dean picks his cleaning back up, “And what happened to your face?”

Dean turns around with a cocky grin, ready to make up the most obscene excuse he can possibly dream up, but Jo beats him to it.

“Some crusty old professor kicked his ass ‘cos he abducted his kid.” 

“He’s not crusty or old!” Dean throws his rag down on the worn wooden bar top with a wet ‘thwack’, “And I didn’t ‘abduct’ shit!”

“Top notch priorities there,” Jo chastises, sitting between Ash and Dean with a pile of unrolled silverware, “Defend his looks then your innocence.”

“It’s not like that, Jo.”

Jo leans towards Ash and whispers dramatically, “Dean has a man-crush on the…” She takes a breath, feigning a swooning motion, “strong blue-eyed academic.”

“I do not!” He feels heat creeping into his cheeks, “And- I- I never called him that.”

“No,” Jo agrees with a smug grin, “You just said he had ‘one of the hardest punches you have ever felt’ and that ‘his eyes just drilled into your soul’, which is way worse, in my opinion.”

“That sounds like a man-crush.” Ash confirms, accepting the glass of water Ellen silently slides him.

“I do not have a man-crush!” Dean turns his back to the peanut gallery, busying his hands by getting a new towel from the bleach bucket they keep under the counter, “Besides, wouldn’t it just be a normal crush? I mean, what’s the friggin’ difference if it’s a dude or a chick, right?” They’ve all gone quiet so he deems it safe to face them again, “It doesn't matter, because I do not have a-”

“Hello, Dean.”

“A man-crush…” He hopes his jaw isn’t too far on the floor, because Novak is standing right there, across the bar,  staring at Dean and his fucked up little group of merry men awkwardly, “Professor Novak!”

“Please don’t- only my students call me that.” He mumbles uncomfortably, pinning his gaze to the ‘no drinking under 21’ sign above Dean's head, “My name’s Castiel.”

“Castiel…” Dean mutters under his breath, trying to get a feel for the weird, clunky name, “Okay then. Well, Castiel, you wanna’ park it or you just gonna’ stand there?”

“I already parked outside,” Castiel answers but, thankfully, he strides over to the stool right across from Dean, “But I suppose I can sit.”

“Awesome, man, make yourself comfy.” Dean looks off to the side and see’s Jo and Ash both staring at Castiel.

Ash seems somewhat uninterested, like he’s just trying to match Dean's description of Castiel to the one in front of him, but Jo’s eyes are bugging out of her head as she looks from the professor to Dean, finally mouthing ‘he took you out?’.

Dean waves a dismissive hand in her direction, “What can I get you, Castiel?”

“I’m not sure, I don’t really drink.” He admits and Dean kicks himself.

Not everyone is eager to go for drinks, Winchester, should’ve just asked to meet him over coffee or something.

Dean tries to think of what they have that won’t be too harsh on the guy's palette, “Tell ya’ what, you like apple cider?”

“I believe so…” Castiel nods after a moment of thought, “My brother makes it every year in the fall and I quite enjoy it..”

“Well, this ain’t homemade and it’s got some alcohol so don’t go chugging it,” He bends down to retrieve a can from the mini fridge built into the wall, “But there’s this brewery a few counties over that makes some real good stuff, recently did this- ah what’s it called?” Dean squints at the can, “Honey-blackberry cider, you might like it.”

“Thank you,” Cas watches with intensity as Dean cracks the drink open and pours half of it into the nicest glass within arms reach. He accepts it when offered, taking a hesitant sip before a faint smile finds its way onto his face, “This is quite pleasant.”

Damn… He has a really nice smile.

No, focus on the task on hand.

“Glad you like it,” He can feel the distinct burn of three pairs of eyes staring at him and Cas, “And- uh- I’m glad you came by.”

Castiel finally makes eye contact with Dean, eyes still as piercing as their first meeting, though not nearly as homicidal (Hell yeah, progress), “You are?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because I physically assaulted you.” Man this guy is blunt.

“I kinda deserved it,” Dean leans his forearms on the bar, leveling himself with Castiel, “Besides, who doesn't love a good battle scar, they make you sexy.”

Jo takes that as the perfect time to interject, “No they don’t!”

Dean ignores her, “Seriously though man… I’m lucky you didn’t do more, if I’d been in your position and thought I’d lost Sammy…” He chuckles and shakes his head, “Probably would be in police custody for manslaughter.”

“Yes well,” Castiel cocks his head and Dean really wants to know if Jack learned that from Cas or vice versa, “Jack is insistent that you caused no harm, if you had…”

He lets his threat hang in the air.

“Yeah, I get it,” Dean mumbles, hanging his head in shame, “How is Jack? Is he okay? I didn’t traumatize him, did I?”

“I don’t think so, no,” Castiel takes another sip of his drink, “It appears I was more distressed than him, though I don’t think he understands the gravity of what could have happened.”

Dean feels a weight being lifted off his chest, one he didn’t know he was even carrying, but he’d just been so fucking worried he’d scarred that kid for life.

“How are-” Dean cuts himself off quickly, still painfully aware of the audience they have, Dean just knows he’s going to be the subject of endless teasing after this, “How are you doing?”

“Me?” Castiel squints at Dean like he misheard.

“Yeah, it’s just, I guess losing your kid might be stressful-” ‘You guess??? Fucking smooth, Winchester’, “And uh… Sorry about that, you know.”

Castiel stares at Dean with a pinched expression for a couple beats, “If that was supposed to be an apology for causing me emotional damage, it was terrible.”

Ellen lets out a bark of laughter from where she is definitely just focused on counting the till and nothing else.

“Not my finest…” He mumbles out, pushing away from the bar like the few extra inches of space will keep Castiel from seeing how red his face has no doubt gotten.

They slip into an uneasy silence, Castiel sipping at his cider while Dean hovers near, not too close, not too far.

“I am sorry.” He tries again, once Cas has emptied his glass and chosen to stare through Dean with those shocking eyes.

“I know.” Castiel states it like a fact, slowly standing up, “And I thank you for wanting to make sure my son is okay, it seems you are not as careless as I first assumed.”

“Jeez man, thanks.” Dean can’t help the gooey grin that creeps onto his face at the compliment (or, at least, he guesses it’s a compliment).

Cas nods in response and only then does Dean realize what’s happening, that his cup is empty and now he’s walking right back towards the door; It makes something in his chest twist painfully.

“Wait just- uh- fuck-” He nearly trips over himself trying to get out from behind the bar, ripping an old receipt off the cash register as he scrambles for Cas, who stops and regards Dean with a tilted gaze, “We didn’t get off on the right foot-"

“Understatement.” 

Dean would be offended by the short response, but there's a hint of amusement in the man's tone that makes it soft, almost like he’s trying to be sarcastic.

“I know, I know,” He fishes a pen out of his back pocket and scribbles out his number, shoving the crumpled paper into Cas’ hand before he can chicken out, “But if you ever want another drink or somethin’ just let me know and I’ll tell you when my next shift is.” Then, he hastily adds, “It’s the least I can do.”

Castiel looks down at the old receipt, the corners of his lips quirking upwards.

The scrap is carefully tucked away in the pocket of Cas’ well-worn trench coat, “Thank you, Dean.”

“Of course, Cas,” He claps his hand against the professors- very firm- bicep and gives him his signature Winchester-grin, “Don’t be a stranger.”

_____

<<First│<-Prev│Next

[wordsofwhimsy]

did somebody ask which version of mark is puttin it down best?

guess i'll give my analysis 😮‍💨

main!mark is all about pleasing you, sooo he's definitely giving the other boys a run for their money. his oral & finger game? UNMATCHED. he's not dumb and aggressive about it like the majority of the others. he keeps it slow, intentional, so dedicated, living in your pleasure. the more praise you give him the better. his sex game tho takes awhile to come up to par - he's so scared of hurting you for soo long that he just takes it too easy, or doesn't take the lead at all. once he learns the fine art of blowing your back out without killing you tho? 😏

mohawk!mark is soo aggressively fun, but he's really only in it for his own pleasure. he kinda just assumes (rightly so) that you're gonna feel good either way but he never bothers to actually check in with you, see how you're doing lol it's probably also a MUST for you to suck his dick every time, forcing your head down and then mocking you when you gag or gasp for air. he doesn't care to return the favor too often but if you whine too much he will. it's not really that great tho - he's rushing and careless, just trying to move on to the main event

viltrumite!mark takes some teaching. he's of the mindset that sex is just for procreation, and if this is a scenario where he's taken you back to viltrum he's not going to really feel the need to view it any other way. but if he's staying on earth with you? well, sex sells baby and the influence is all around. he starts noticing things in movies and in songs, stuff on the internet--hell even billboards and magazines. don't be fooled his dickin is good even when it's boring missionary but once he starts coming around to trying all the other fun things? oh lawd have mercy

omni!mark is an interesting mix of dominance without aggression, no dirty talk. all business, really but this man IS in the business of pleasure - for you at least. he struggles to let you take the lead though which is kinda boring sometimes, and anything kinky? like spanking or choking? absolutely not. you're not some scallywag hoodlum (LMFAO) and he's definitely not going to treat you like one. buuut if you start talking dirty and cussing? he might be flustered, and maybe even a little more turned on than usual (he'd never admit it)

sinister!mark is all about HIM HIM HIM. but the caveat of this is he needs to know he's GOOD at what he's doing - which means you need to feel good too. he's so unbelievably aggressive and doesn't do missionary. you are not coming away without bruises and marks every single time. i think he likes to make you dance for him too beforehand. that's his idea of foreplay - something that reminds you both who's in charge and who it's all for. you better hope he's not in the mood to go down on you cause that bitch bites 😭

no goggles/lensless!mark is probably my fav 🤭 is literally 100% about whatever it is you're into. i guess except missionary whoops. like he's fine throwing it in there occasionally but not a chance he's opening or ending in that position. in fact switching positions is HIS personal favorite thing. honestly his oral is so-so. he's just too damn talkative and can't focus on the task at hand. he also doesn't take it well either - the man's LOUD. and honeestly busts pretty quick but that's okay! he bounces back quicker. viltrumite stamina is crazy and his libido just adds to it

shiesty!mark has probably fucked more people than all of them combined so, yeah, he's got the practice and experience. he KNOWS his dick is phenomenal and tbh if he's not really into you he's letting you do most of the work. he thinks he's doing YOU favor by letting you ride it. but if you were hard to get? ohhh he's got something to prove now, and trust he will. this man reaches spots none of the others even knows exist, uses his strength in a way that is just chefs kiss - pinning you without hurting you, playing with your nipples and the other sensitive parts with expert care. and probably my fav thing about him is that he's the only one (except maybe main!mark) who ever thinks to put on musiccc

moustache!mark is 😛 father dearest. TOTALLY showing you what it feels like to be owneddd - unquestionably, but not in the way sinister does. he does it with affection. you know, like a 'pet' and all that jazz. he's got this way of making you feel simultaneously small and like the most important person in the world. and when he goes down on youuu? THE TICKLE?? biiitch stop. he also is the one who appreciates the thickies the most ughh like he NEEDS all that ass in his hands, in his lap, on his dick. the love handles? the tummy? give him alllat - trust ☝️ he can handle it

prisoner!mark is an interesting one. if we're talking straight out the pen? he's an ANIMAL. i'm talking y'all are going at it aaall night long, him painfully impatient through every little break you insist he gives you. he's also physically the strongest of them all, and, yeah, it shows. all that body pressed into you? those arms? 🥴 idk how anatomically that would even work but for some reason i feel like he'd have a thicker cock too. he'd be so deep and guttural with his groans, all in your ear with it. no holding back. after some time though i think he'd be focused on you and learning what you like - buuut at the end of the day, he still is the most deprived and wants it ALWAYS

[crowliphale]

I think coalecroux should be an endless tail-chase of "who fell first"

Gideon fell first, of course. It's hard not to find yourself attracted to someone so intelligent and lithe, snarky and smooth in all the right places. Gideon's crush formed first.

But Kremy really fell first. Kremy started aching for all those little quiet moments, started living for the times when he could kick his feet up and have someone else light his cigarettes for him. That muscled body is just a bonus, a fun little addition to a calming bonfire with a heart of gold and a mind of steel.

In this way, Gideon fell last. It took him longer than he'll ever admit to really sit and think about his feelings. It took him weeks, months, years to define the thumping in his chest, the electricity in his veins and the honey in his brain.

But, oh no, Kremy's too stubborn for that. Kremy fell last, because it took him far too long to really see Gideon. He's spent so long focusing on the details, the man eating his food, the man keeping him safe, the man building his scams beyond anything they were before, that he failed to connect them. As much as Gideon's been following him around for ages, Kremy's been just as equally whipped, following the genasi with his eyes and heart and soul.

It's hard to say. Maybe when one fell, they dragged the other down with them. Just like they always do.

[nerdwithaknife]

I've been making pasta in white wine sauce loads for the Flat.

put on salted Water to boil for Pasta shape of your choice

if you want additional protein or veggie in this sauce, sautee / pan fry on mid to high and put to the side to add back in later.

Butter - put in large enough pan to hold all of the pasta as well, melt and brown to your hearts content, just melting is enough but if you get a good golden browned butter going that will fuck severely

Flour - a small amount like maybe a teaspoon for two table spoons of butter, stir into the browned butter it will do a big bubbly bubble about it dont fret just keep stirring

Vegeta - or any other powdered broth, buillion cube maybe this is all the spices you need unless you wanna do something fun like thyme or herbs or black pepper

White wine - just like a yeet some in amount of it let it boil up it will start to thicken slightly that is exactly what we want

Parmesan - or any other pasta hard cheese, optional. grate some in or throw the grated stuff in as much as you want at this point. its nice, but its also nice without it.

when your pasta is done boiling strain and yeet into pan with sauce, a little bit of pasta water also. if you have any veggies or proteins to add do that now too. big violent stir it all together to coat the pasta with the sauce.

Kaboom. White wine sauce.

garnish with idk. more of the herbs you put it. or more parmesan. or some crunchy salt. no one can stop you.

you can also fry / sautee up proteins and veggies on the side and jsut put on top and stuff. no one can stop you.

this is a staple in my household for reason of butter flour vegeta white wine and pasta are always in the house unless we're out. (we have one of thos franzia style white wine things in the fridge for cooking or emergency white wine reasons)

if you can't or don't want to do wine, just any stock + some lemon juice will also work

this will straight up work as like a date night dinner if you plate it nicely and add like... shrimp or a nice chicken or steak or just some grilled green asparagus or w/e

Do any of u have decent recipes that are like 5 ingredients (not including spices) and take 45 mins or less to prepare i gotta stop eating sandwiches for dinner

[justmymindandstuff]

lets start with trust - (Cregan Stark x TargaryenReader)

part 3 to jump scare part 1/ part 2/ moodboard/masterlist (but you can read it as a stand alone)

summary: You and Cregan marry to seal the pact between Targaryen and Stark. Cregan gets a headstrong, wild princess as his wife. When it's time to retire to your marital chambers, you reveal your insecure side before melting in his arms.

words: 5.706

relationships: Cregan Stark x Reader // Cregan Stark x Arra Norrey (mentioned/briefly)

warnings: arranged marriage, mention of incest, insecurity,kissing, smut/ 18+, MDNI, wedding night, loss of virginity, virginReader, oral sex, softCregan, Cregan has a crush (this time he knows it), Cregan has a few dirty thoughts.

a/n: I had soo much fun writing this, I just love my two pookies soo much. Reader is Rhaenyras daughter and described with dark hair// no use of Y/N// English is not my first language// not proofread// A03 Have fun and be kind 🧡 requests are open// main masterlist// hotd masterlist

The door lock clicks softly as it closes. Cregan lets his hand rest on the handle for a moment, taking a deep breath.

Your wedding had been a quiet affair. You spoke the words in Winterfells Goodswood in front of only a few Lords and your twin, Jacaerys. Cregan placed the cloak around your shoulders and took you under his protection. Cregan was worried that the small feast would be disappointing for a princess. You assured him that you didn't need much fuss and that a small ceremony was perfect.

Now, however it's time to retire with his new wife. Cregan straightens his shoulders slightly and turns to you. His chambers are bathed in soft candlelight, the fire crackles gently spreading a pleasant warmth.

You stand at the window and look out into the night. Cregan is sure you can only see your reflection in the glass. He pushes himself away from the door and takes a few steps through the chambers. As he does so he takes off his cloak and hangs it over the back of his armchair. The Lord of Winterfell can't take his eyes off you. You're still wearing your cloak, the large direwolf on your back making it clear to Cregan once again that you're a Stark now, his wife.

He doesn't know what you're thinking, can't judge how you feel. He doesn't know you well enough for that. By the gods, this is the first moment you're truly alone. His mouth goes dry and Cregan has to swallow. A strange mixture of joy, nervousness and excitement spreads through him. The young Lord can't stand the restlessness inside him and tries to break the silence with a joke.

"Should I be worried that you are going to jump out of this window?" he asks.

Relief floods through him when he hears your gentle laugh and you turn to him.

"No, don't worry," you say quickly. "Jace isn't here to be annoyed by that."

"You scared him to death. And me too, for that matter."

"You were worried about me?" you grin at him, your tone playful but a hint of something else sparkling in your eyes. Cregan isn't quite sure what you want to hear from him right now, so he speaks his mind freely.

"Of course I was worried. Your mother would surely have shown no mercy and bring fire and blood over the North if her daughter had died under my protection."

You blink briefly, considering his words before you shake your head slightly. "Don't worry, my Lord Stark, you only had to tell my mother that I jumped. She would have believed you immediately."

"Cregan," he corrects you quickly. "We're married now."

"Cregan," you say his name in a gentle voice, his heart leaping. You smile, seemingly pleased with the sound of his name on your tongue.

"So you often jump off somewhere and let your dragon catch you?" Cregan asks. He goes to the table and pours two goblets of wine. He needs something to keep his hands busy, and the wine might calm his nerves a bit.

You take the cup before answering. "Every now and then. But mostly, I like to annoy my little brother." Cregan pauses for a second at your words. He always thought Jacaerys is the older twin. He is after all the Prince of Dragonstone, the heir. He also knows that this isn't a topic for tonight.

"You're risking your life to annoy your brother." Cregan shakes his head slightly and takes a sip of wine. He still doesn't really know what kind of woman he has as his wife, but he's determined to find out.

"I knew Veraxes would come to catch me. She just needed more motivation."

"You have great faith in your dragon."

"Unwavering faith." your voice is suddenly serious, but your eyes sparkle with so much love for your dragon that Cregan doesn't know what to say. This time it's you who breaks the growing silence. "And with that, you know everything there is to know about me," you say with a slight shrug and take a sip of wine. Cregan pretends not to notice the slight trembling in your hand.

He laughs briefly. "I know absolutely nothing about you, my princess."

You snort slightly. "I'm not a little princess."

"Would you prefer a little minx?" he jokes.

You slap him gently on the upper arm, but laugh. "Then I would prefer Princess."

"As my wife commands."

If Cregan had stood just half a step further away he wouldn't have noticed the slight shivering in your body. "I like how that sounds," you say quietly, suddenly focused on your wine again. A blush spreads across your neck as you step back a little. Cregan suppresses the urge to pull you closer by your hips.

"My wife it is." he smiles, and a warm feeling spreads inside him. Still, he notices that you're embarrassed. "So which things do I supposedly know about you?"

You smile gratefully before answering. "First, I love my dragon more than anything. Second, I might be a little impulsive."

Cregan can't suppress a laugh. "The kiss was impulsive, jumping off the wall was insane." He bites his lip, he shouldn't have said that. He's worried he  offended you. However you start to laugh, your eyes sparkling as you look back at him.

"Then I fit perfectly into a long line of my insane ancestors. You probably know the saying about the Targaryens."

Cregan nods. "I didn't mean to say that I think you're crazy," he tries to backtrack.

"I now." you study him closely, square your shoulders before continuing. "I'm sorry about the kiss."

"Why are you sorry?" Cregan asks. Replaying this moment over and over in his head had become  his favourite way of passing time.

You look back at the window. "I caught you off guard, I didn't mean to."

This time Cregan manages to suppress his laughter. "Your jump caught me off guard. When you came shooting out of the sky to kill a bear, I was caught off guard. Your kiss was a pleasant surprise." he watches through the glass of the window as your lips curl into a smile again.

You turn back to him fully and take a deep breath. "We're married, and I want to be completely honest," you begin. Cregan is curious to hear what you'll say next, even though he can already guess. "That wasn't my first kiss."

"Jacaerys?" Cregan guesses. He knows the Targaryen family traditions and their reputation. People whisper things about the royal family that Cregan would never repeat in front of a Lady like you.

Still, he's a little relieved when you grimace in disgust. "Ugh, no. I know and respect our family traditions. And I also know what people say about Targaryens and my siblings. Still, I'm glad I didn't have to marry my brother, but got a handsome husband instead," you say. It takes Cregan a moment to wrap his head around the fact that you find him handsome. "It was one of my guards. I was fourteen and obsessed with silly stories and knights rescuing princesses out of towers.” you laugh at your own past self as you take off your cloak and lay it over a chair. Gently, your fingers trace the embroidered wolf. You're certainly not a woman who needs to be rescued from a tower. "Ser Massey was barely a man, just knighted. By Daemon himself. He even made him my personal guard. I had a very huge crush on him." you bite your lip. Immediately, Cregan's gaze is drawn to your lips, and he has to restrain himself from leaning in to kiss you. "I'm rambling. I'm so sorry."

Cregan's heart beats faster. "No. Please don't apologize. Now I know a third thing about you." He smiles. You open up to him and he could listen to you for hours. The gentle sound of your voice lull him in.

"You're not angry?" you ask, looking at him sceptically from the side. Cregan has to suppress a sigh. You don't fully trust him yet.

He doesn't care what came before. The only thing that matters is the future.

"No, my wife. Of course not. I was already married myself. I loved Arra. But that doesn't mean I won't open my heart to you." Cregan remains cautious. He's afraid of scaring you away, even though he knows his heart is only a few steps away from being yours. “Your past did not matter to me.”

You fascinate him in a way he's never experienced before, and that wild sparkle that sometimes appears in your eyes makes his heart skip a beat. And if he's honest, it also scares him a little bit.

Cregan has to pull himself together to bring his thoughts back to the moment. He watches you ponder before you straighten your shoulders and meet his gaze.

"It was never more than a few kisses between me and Arwin. So what I'm saying is, I'm still a maiden."

Cregan has to suppress the wave of lust that rises within him when you remind him of this. Now isn't the time.

"I thought so," he says honestly. The queen wouldn't let her only daughter grow up unprotected. Cregan only realizes he's said the wrong thing when you drain your cup of wine in long gulps.

The young Lord doesn't know what to say now. He's a widower, yet this situation is new to him.

Cregan knows secret kisses, secret meetings, he knows desire and a passion and longing for another that none can resist. Arra had been his long before their wedding night.

This is new. You're a princess, his wife, a maiden. Cregan has to pull himself together to stop himself to pull you closer and entwine your lips in a passionate kiss. He's wanted you since the moment Jacaerys proposed this marriage. Probably even earlier.  But of course, he can't tell you that. One step at a time. He wants to take away your insecurity as best he can.

In a gentle voice, he calls your name and you look back at him. "If you're not ready to share a bed tonight, that's perfectly fine. I will never ask for anything you're not willing to give."

Your gaze pierces him, but then something flashes across your face, and a heartbeat later, your gaze softens. Cregan realizes that you have made a decision.

"I'm ready," you say, taking a step forward and setting your empty cup on the table. Cregan is relieved to see that you don't back down again. His hand twitches. He'd like to take your hand, but he refrains from doing so as a precaution. A gentle blush rises again up your cleavage and neck. Cregan forces his gaze not to linger on the curves of your breasts. You meet his gaze before continuing. "I knew I was traveling north to get married, so I had a few extra days to think about what marriage meant. And when we were introduced and you agreed to the marriage, I… " your eyes flicker downward for only a split second before meeting his gaze again. "I've been thinking about what our wedding night will be like, what it will feel like. I've read about it, so in theory I know what's about to happen, and I know where to touch myself so it feels good."

Cregan has to swallow and concentrate on keeping his thoughts from wandering inappropriately. He fails. Would you let him watch you pleasure yourself? It takes all of Cregan's strength to stop his thoughts. One step at a time.

Your neck and cheeks have now turned a deep red. "But I don't know what it really feels like. I don't know what I have to do. I can't imagine it. It makes me nervous."

Your absolute honesty surprises Cregan, but he's glad for it. Cregan takes a deep breath before putting his cup down as well. He reaches out his hand to you.

You hesitate for a heartbeat before taking it and he gently pulls you against his chest. He places his other hand on your hip. Now that you're so close, he has to look down at you a little. His eyes linger a little too long on your breasts. Your pleasant scent envelops Cregan, but he can't let himself get carried away. Not yet.

"Do you trust me?"

You nod. "Yes."

Cregan is relieved by this, strokes your hand with his thumb before bringing it to his lips and blowing a kiss on your knuckles. You watch him with wide eyes, the purple tones in your eyes sparkling in the candlelight.

"I can show you what it feels like." his voice sounds a little rough. You shudder slightly, nervousness but also joyful anticipation radiating from you as you take a step closer. He breathes your breath now, inhaling your intoxicating scent deeply. "And you're sure you want it?" he asks one last time.

"Yes, I'm sure," you answer firmly. "I want to be your wife, I want to be yours in every way."

Cregan can no longer hold back after your words. His lips crash onto yours. You gasp in shock, but the next moment you wrap your arms around his neck and lean in. Cregan places his hand on your cheek, gently caress the soft skin while simultaneously pulling you closer to him by your hip. You melt beneath his touch, his tongue gliding into your mouth, gently stroking yours. Breathless, you separate. Your purple eyes sparkle, your lips are slightly swollen. Cregan thinks you've never looked more beautiful.

His skin tingles as you slowly slide your hand down his chest and stand upright again, your hand resting on his chest.

"That felt good," you say. Cregan's lips curl into a smile.

"Aye." he agrees. His heart stumbles in his chest as hot desire races through his veins. You look at him, and for a moment Cregan forgets everything around him. If you knew how hard he has to pull himself together not to take you immediately and make you his, you would probably run away screaming. Instead, you turn around in his arms turning your back to him.

"Will you help me with my dress?" you ask, smoothing your black curls out of the way.

Cregan begins untying your dress. His breath hits the skin of your neck and when he notices your slight shiver he can't help but place a gentle kiss on your neck. You immediately lean into his touch.

"How does that feel?" he whispers in your ear.

"Good." Your voice trembles. Cregan opens your dress further, pulling it down slightly and placing kisses on every exposed bit of skin. You slip out of the sleeves and finally Cregan can pull the dress down completely. He gives in to the urge to put his arm around you and gently press you against him while he kisses your neck. Your warm body presses against him, and you lean your head slightly to the side to give him more space. His hands stroke your side, he feels the warmth of your skin through the thin undergarment. A pleasant shiver runs through his body.

A soft moan escapes your lips. The sound spreads through Cregan's entire body, causing all his blood to rush to his middle. He's already addicted to the sound of your moans.

You gasp in shock when you feel his hardness against you. But when Cregan gently runs his tongue over your neck, you lean back against him. He manages to pull himself away and turns you around. He bends slightly on his knees, lets his arm slide into the back of your knees, and lifts you up in one swift movement.

"Cregan," you call, laughing as you wrap your arms around his neck to hold on tight. Cregan turns you around and carries you the few steps to the bed. When he's set you back on your feet, he lets his gaze wander over you.

His wife stands before him in a nightgown of fine, almost transparent silk, and Cregan is glad he forbid the bedding ceremony. This sight, you are only for him. Cregan wonders for a moment where this strong possessiveness comes from, but your gentle voice completely captures his attention.

"Do I please you husband?" you ask, the way the corner of your mouth twitches tells Cregan that you know you're beautiful.

Nevertheless, he takes the opportunity to compliment you. "You're breathtaking," he says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You smile gently at him before taking a deep breath. For a moment, uncertainty flits through your eyes, then you slip the straps of your nightgown over your shoulders. The fabric slides to the floor. You try not to let it show, but your hands tremble slightly betraying your nervousness.

Cregan lets his gaze wander hungrily over your perfect body. He's certain of one thing: If you allow him, he'll spend the next few weeks worshipping every inch of you.

"A bit unfair. I'm standing here naked, and you husband are still fully clothed." a smile plays on your lips. Cregan doesn't need to be told twice. He immediately begins to slip out of his clothes. You watch him. Warmth rises within him as he notices your gaze wandering over his bare torso, and you're probably unconsciously chewing your lower lip. Fuck Cregan wishes he could read your thoughts. He continues to undress, carelessly throws the clothes on the floor.

Your gaze is still on his body, as if you want to memorize every little scar, every inch of his skin. When your gaze reaches his midsection, your eyes widen and you swallow slightly. Cregan enjoys the ego boost. Your gaze flicks back up to his eyes.

"You can change your mind at any time. One word is enough. Anytime."

"I'm not changing my mind." despite the blush on your neck and cheeks, your voice is firm. You take a step toward him, place a hand on his chest, right on his thundering heart. "Is that okay?" you ask.

"Yes. Always. Touch me whenever you wish." he encourages you. Your hand gently caress his chest. You raise your other hand, stroking his arm with your knuckles. Your eyes follow the movement. Cregan's skin tingles under your touch. You stop at his shoulder, this time stroking his arm down. Your fingertips are warm. When you stroke his pulse at his wrist, a hot shiver runs through his entire body. Cregan intertwines your fingers.

Your gaze flickers from your hands to his eyes. A grin creeps onto your lips. "Anytime? Even if we argue?"

Immediately, his thoughts race and he imagines your eyes flashing with angry sparks, only topull Cregan into a passionate kiss in the next moment, that ends with him taking you on his desk while your nails leave bloody scratches on his chest.

At this thought his cock twitches and his heart begins to beat so fast in his chest that he's sure you can feel it.

He forces his attention back to the moment. Back to you. He has to pull himself together. You're still looking at him, now curious about his answer.

"Yes, even when we argue. Especially when we argue." he winks at you. Then he reminds himself that you're still a maiden. He's sure he'll get to know your temperament soon enough. Now isn't the time for that.

You nod. Cregan is glad you can't read his thoughts. "Okay, I'll remember that." you stretch slightly and gently place your lips on his.

Cregan resists for a heartbeat, then he places one hand on your cheek, grabs your hip with his other hand, and pulls you against him. His tongue slides into your mouth, claiming your mouth as his. You gasp softly as he deepens the kiss, your hands glide over his chest you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing yourself closer to him. Cregan takes a step forward, pushing you slightly toward the bed. Without breaking the kiss you let yourself fall, pulling him with you.

The young Lord supports his weight with one upper arm so he doesn't crush you as he carefully places his body between your legs. He's painfully aware that if he pushed his hips just a little higher, his hard cock would brush against your core.

Your body radiates a pleasant warmth. Carefully, Cregan pulls his lips away from yours. He looks at you, your eyes sparkling in the candlelight.

"I want you to tell me what feels good." his voice heavy with his northern accent. You shiver in his arms. Cregan can't suppress a small grin, he'll remember that.

Your gaze flickers from his eyes to his lips and back to his eyes. Your eyes begin to sparkle in a way that simultaneously sends waves of hot desire through his body and makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as if there were danger.

You don't even try to hide your grin. "Yes, my Lord." you almost purr as you gently press your body against his, his cock twitching, and it takes all his strength to hold back from pressing against your soft middle. Cregan is sure you know exactly what you're doing. He curses under his breath, and you begin to giggle before capturing his lips in a gentle kiss. "I told you, I have read about it." you stroke down his neck to his shoulders. Your touch is gentle, slightly uncertain. It grounds Cregan. He lets his lips gently wander over the skin on your neck, and you lean your head to the side. When he begins to place gentle kisses, you inhale sharply. You place your hand on his neck and begin to scratch his curls.

Cregan can't resist and sucks lightly on the soft skin of your neck. You gasp, probably unconsciously pressing your hips against him. The slight friction sends desire down his spine. As Cregan turns away from your neck, his mark decorates your skin. The sight makes his cock twitch slightly. You recoil, of course you feel his hardness pressing against your thigh. You pull him into a kiss again. This times its you who deepened the kiss, let him feel your desire for him.

Cregan begins to gently caress your body. He remembers every spot that makes you gasp, remembers where you're ticklish. He runs his hand over the soft skin of your neck, his knuckles caressing the curves of your breast, and you tremble beneath him. His lips travel down your body. He takes his time. He caresses you gently, kisses your soft skin, runs his tongue over your nipples, and moves lower. He takes his time. His hands and lips explore your body while he carefully observes your reaction. Your breathing quickens, you wiggle slightly beneath him, leaning into his touch. Cregan pushes your legs carefully apart  to make himself comfortable between them. His fingers caress the skin of your thigh.

"What are you doing?" you ask, slightly startled, as his lips move further towards your core.

"I thought you had read about this," he teases you slightly, kissing your hipbone. He notice the goosebumps over your skin.

"I did. But I thought that was only done with whores and mistresses," you say.

The corners of Cregan's mouth twitch slightly, but he continues to concentrate on kissing down your body. His hands stroke lower and lower down your thighs. Cregan isn't sure if you notice that you're leaning towards him, open yourself for him a little more.

"Why would I deny my wife this pleasure and give it to a whore?"

Suddenly, you flinch and look at him. Cregan stops in his tracks, straightens up slightly. You close your legs. Immediately Cregan slides back a bit. Even though everything inside him is screaming to push your legs apart and bury his tongue in your wet center. You set the pace here.

"Are you going to take whores into your bed?" you ask, and Cregan almost laughs at the thought. Your serious look stops him. Only a wildling would take a whore when he has a woman like you in his bed.

"No. Never," he says seriously.

Your gaze pierces him for a moment. He can see you thinking. "Good," you say after a moment, letting your head fall back against the pillows. "If I ever find out you did, I'll burn you with Veraxes." with those words, you open your legs for him again, a little wider this time. The threat should scare him but instead the sight of your pussy right in front of him sends hot desire racing down his spine.

Cregan can't stop a warm laugh from rising in his chest. " I have no doubt that you will," he says and then begins trailing kisses down your knee as he settles back between your legs again. "Relax," he says, noticing how his northern accent is thicker but that's no surprise given the sight before him. You spread your legs a little wider for him, your folds glistening with your wetness. Cregan has to restrain himself from pouncing on you and eating you out as if you were his last meal.

He slowly lowers his lips to your core. He carefully lets his tongue glide through your wetness. You flinch slightly, but Cregan gently pushes you down. He begins to place gentle kisses. Your intoxicating taste fills him. He has to moans softly. His tongue slowly runs through your folds, noticing how you relax beneath him. As he gently strokes your opening, you moan.

Your moan resonates through his entire body. Your moan is his new favourite sound, and if you allow it he'll do anything to hear it every day. He repeats the movement, then runs his tongue up. You squirm slightly in his arms. Your breathing quickens.

He lets his tongue flicker against your clit. You flinch. "That didn't feel good," you say.

"Okay," he says, moving back between your folds. He lets his tongue gently stroke your entrance again. You gasp again. He repeats the movement, feeling your body relax. You push yourself against him. After the third time is tongue circles you entrance you moan again as your fingers dig into the sheets.

Hot desire races down Cregan's back. Gods you make it very hard for him to hold back, still he needs to know what you like and what not. He will not let his wife left unsatisfied. Never. So he takes his time, lets his tongue exploring your core. Licking up every drop of your delicious wetness. Cregan watches every reaction you give him as he figures out what you like.

When he wraps his lips around your clit and gently sucks, you whimper again, arching toward him as your fingers bury themselves in his hair. This time his tongue flicker only soft over your clit, you didn´t flinch, instead you gasp.

Cregan groans. Fuck, he feels like he could eat you out the whole night. Nevertheless he removes his lips reluctantly from your core and sits up slightly. You let out a protesting gasp and look down at him.

"Patience, wife," he says, winking at you before his hand moves down your thigh, lets his knuckles glide over your bare skin. His cock is almost painful hard. Still he takes his time and caress your legs until he gets to your middle. Gently his fingers run over your entrance, gathering your wetness. You lean back against the pillows. Cregan listens to your breathing as he lets his finger sink inside you.

"How does that feel?" he asks, not moving his finger but slowly letting his lips sink back to your clit.

"Good," you reply, slowly pushing your hips forward so that a finger slides deeper inside you. Your hand grips the sheets. Cregan lets go of your clit as he pushes his finger further inside you, carefully moving inside you. After a moment, he adds a second one. He waits until you relax before he gently moves his fingers and begins sucking on your clit again.

You moan, your fingernails scratching his scalp. A shudder runs through his entire body. He moves his fingers inside you, curling them slightly and you moan again. He sucks on your clit as his fingers work inside you.

"Cregan… I…" your sentence ends in a moan. You flutter around his fingers as pleasure washes through you. Cregan slows his fingers, carrying you through your orgasm before slowly pulling them out. He sits up slightly, examining you closely. The skin on your neck and cheeks is slightly flushed, your purple eyes sparkle as you slowly catch your breath.

"We can stop." he begins but you don´t let him speak.

"No," you pull him up to you. Your lips meet in a passionate kiss. Cregan lets his cock stroke through your folds, gathering your wetness around his cock. You gasp softly, your hips thrusting toward him. Cregan places a hand on your hipbone to pushe you back into the soft fur. If you continue like this, he'll lose control. Cregan looks deep into your eyes as he slowly sinks into you. Your warm, wet walls surrounds his tip. Cregan needs all his self-control not to thrust into you. He keeps his gaze fixed on your face, watching your every move. You grimace slightly in pain. Cregan stops.

"I'm fine," you say, pushing your hips up to take him inside you. Cregan's grip on your hips tightens slightly again. His cock throbs. He needs a deep breath to stop the feeling that he's going to spend inside you in the next second. Fuck. You are incredible, feeling incredible. You make his blood run hot and clouds his brain with lust.

You gasp for air, but don't strain, so Cregan pushes a little further. He carefully slides into you again until he's completely seated. He closes his eyes, breathes in your scent, and tries not to lose himself into you.

"Are you good, wife?" he whispers, his rough voice in your ear makes  you shiver again. You blink away the tears in your eyes and nod. But that's not enough for him. "Words. Always words."

"Yes, I'm fine. Please move."

He pushes back slightly, then forward again. His rhythm slow, careful not to hurt you. You relax more with each thrust. Your hands begin to stroke his shoulders again, your lips find his neck. Goosebumps spread with your tender kisses. Cregan places a hand on your cheek, pushing your head back slightly so he can place his lips on yours. His tongue slides into your mouth, gently caressing. Your hand rests on his neck, leaning into his touch. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him closer. Cregan moans against your lips. Hot desire races down his spine.

"Fuck," he curses, letting go of your lips.

"Are you good, husband?" you ask, capturing his lips in a quick kiss. The gesture is so tender that Cregan has to smile. His heart floods with warmth.

"Yes. I'm very good, wife." he begins trailing kisses up your neck, lightly biting your earlobe. "You´re feeling like heaven." he can feel you pulsing around his cock. Cregan's body reacts automatically, and he sinks into you in one swift thrust. You moan again, moving your hips toward his. A yalyrian curse escapes your lips, the sound of your native tongue is like music to Cregan. He quickens his thrusts, and you push your legs a little further, allowing him to penetrate deeper. This time you both moan. Your lips meet in a passionate kiss, your tongues dancing around each other, your fingernails scratching the skin on his shoulder. Cregan strokes up your hip, his finger gliding over the edge of your breast. Sweat forms on his forehead. Thrust after thrust, he sinks into you. Intoxicated by your warm tightness, your gaps, your kisses. Cregan can no longer notice anything but you.

You begin to flutter around his cock again. He sinks deeper into you. Pleasure burns down his lower back, and he has to take a deep breath to keep himself from coming.

"Cregan," you moan his name into his ear as you come around him, and Cregan loses the fight with himself. A groan escapes his lips as he comes inside you. You gently stroke his neck, holding him tight while he thrusts into you a few more times until he spend himself complete. He kiss you forehead, your cheeks, your lips as you both slowly catch your breath.

He carefully pulls out of you, cum and blood seeping into the sheets beneath you but that's a problem for tomorrow morning.

Cergan lies himself next to you, pulls you into his arms and presses a kiss to your forehead. You snuggle into his arms, wrap your legs around his, and rest your head on his chest. Cregan is sure you can hear his rapid heartbeat. He gently strokes your arm. Calm spreads through the young lord.

"That felt good," you say into the comfortable silence, looking up at him.

“Incredible,” he agrees pulls you closer to him. He can´t get enough of the warm feeling of your skin against his. Suddenly, a shadow passes over your face. Cregan's heart sinks into his stomach.

"A penny for your thoughts?" he asks after a moment.

"Do you want me to leave for my own chambers?" you ask, he hears in your tone that you don't want to leave. This makes his heart skip a beat before it starts racing again.

Cregan's grip on you tightens slightly. The very thought seems absurd to him, as if he were going to let you go now. He knows it's not customary in your position to share a bed outside of marital duties, but he still wishes that you sleep beside him at night.

"You may try to leave this bed and these chambers. However you won't get far."

You laugh, genuine and warm. And Cregan has to correct his thoughts. Your laughter is his favourite sound, and he'll do anything to hear it every day.

[endofthelinegang]

void where prohibited

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  bob reynolds x fem!reader, the void x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ dating Bob Reynolds was never supposed to be this complicated — or this good. Between inside jokes, forehead kisses, and late-night takeout picnics in your apartment, life with the quiet, awkward man is weirdly perfect. That is, until a cosmic horror wearing his face appears in your living room, monologues about your “foolish warmth,” and threatens to consume you. Turns out, dating a man who moonlights as The Void comes with some very weird side effects.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ i have too much fun on this app. 

You weren’t entirely sure you were supposed to fall for him. He was weird, you were also a little strange, but was very backward. In that endearingly awkward,“sometimes I stare at the moon for an hour without blinking while I listen to you talk” type of weird.  A little too tall for your furniture, a little too quiet when something was heavy on his mind, which — spoiler alert — was all the time.

But then there’d be nights like this. When he showed up at your door with a bag of takeout in one hand and a stack of your favorite candy in the other, grinning like he’d just committed a small crime.

“You said you had a bad day,” he shrugged, like that explained the outrageous number of peanut butter cups.

And it did.

That’s the kind of boyfriend he was.

Not flowers or poetry, well sometimes, but normally it was forehead kisses, Netflix documentaries, stupid shit sent back and forth more than texts, and a log of phone calls that lasted anywhere from two minutes of him telling you he was coming over to hours where he just wanted to talk. Most of what the two of you did was just between the two of you, especially your jokes, like how you called him “Moon Man” when he spaced out too hard, or how he teased you about your inability to pronounce “gyro” no matter how many times he corrected you. It was good. Weird, but good.

And neither of you talked much about what he did when he wasn’t here. There was no reason to pry; he was always safe and always came back in one clean and uninjured piece. That was all that mattered to you. 

You liked it that way, you liked tonight. 

It started perfectly. You and Bob. Chinese takeout. Netflix is playing something aggressively bad but ironically good after mutually choosing just to let Netflix pick. He was half-asleep against your shoulder, his hair sticking up in a hundred directions like he’d wrestled with a pillow and lost. He was just as cuddly as he always was. 

Then the headache hit him. He mumbled something about pressure and the room spinning. You promised him that going to bed was an excellent idea and that you would clean up. He kissed your temple and trudged to the bedroom like a man with rocks in his head. You figured: nap. Maybe ibuprofen. No big deal.

You stayed behind, cleaning up the living room picnic, humming along to a Hozier song that was finally getting to the bridge and swiping dumpling containers into a bag, grabbing rogue fortune cookies off the floor.  And then… the air changed. Not colder. Heavier. Like the walls sucked in as the light itself pulled away. It felt like how people describe feeling a presence, a ghost. To be suddenly nervous and feel sick, and not be able to think or focus on what was going on or what you were doing. And then the voice.

“You… are not one of them.” You froze and stopped singing. Slowly turned. And there, standing in the middle of your goddamn living room, was The Void. Not Bob. Bob-shaped, sure. Same height. Same broad shoulders. But everything else was gone. No color, no texture — a moving silhouette, blacker than black with those unholy glowing eyes staring straight into you.

You screamed. Loud, primal, half-choked. And grabbed a half-empty bottle of wine off the table. You threw it. It passed through him like mist. Like he wasn’t there at all.

“WHAT THE HELL,” you gasped jumping up onto the couch, grabbing a couch pillow and hurling it at the thing. It passed straight through him like mist. 

“You do not belong here,” The Void said, tilting his head like some cosmic crow considering roadkill.

“YOU DON’T BELONG HERE, SHADOW MAN. I LIVE HERE. YOU DON’T.” You ran around on the couch and tripped over the armrest before landing back on the floor. He didn’t move his lower body, just his head, as he observed your behavior. 

“This space is… vulnerable. Fragile. Why… does he keep you?” He was rubbing his hands along the furniture that was nearest him. 

You grabbed a candle, a nice cinnamon vanilla in a glass container next to the small table that sat right in front of the couch,  “BECAUSE I’M CHARMING AND I KNOW HOW TO MAKE MOZZARELLA STICKS IN THE AIR FRYER.” You were yelling at him like you had never yelled at anyone before. As a child, you were warned about strangers and possible break-ins, but by humans, not this. 

The Void glided a step closer to where you were scrambling up off the floor, chucking the candle at him, again went right threw him into the wall behind him, making a hole and shattering the glass.  

“You… are soft. Loud. Reckless. And yet…”  You were crawling backward at this point, not being able to keep your balance, and now, if you ran past him successfully, there was a glass hazard. He seemed to almost be sucking the light from the room the closer he was getting. 

“AND YET NOTHING, BITCH. BACK. IT. UP.” You swung your arms at him until you hit a wall that kept the living room and the kitchen separate. You were breathing so hard you felt like you had gone on a real run, and somehow you were not shaking, but you were feeling hot. Not a good type of hot, more like you are going to throw up. No point if you puked on him, it would go through onto your floor and you would have to clean it. 

He ignored you, “He feels… safer with you.”

You stared, no longer capable of blinking or doing any real bodily function, before puffing out words quickly. “DID YOU JUST… wait, what… did you just call me Bob’s emotional support person?”

Another step, you look to your left and your right. Nothing to defend yourself with, not even a shoe. Bob had so politely taken his off at the door, and yours were slung everywhere else. 

“You carry light. Hope. A foolish warmth.” The Void’s voice lowered, like static stretching inside your skull. “It is… unsettling.”

“Good, I hope YOU get a migraine.” You started using your hands to feel the back of the wall to get yourself standing again. Your legs felt like water slipping and sliding everywhere, and the paint on the wall felt bumpy against your fingertips.

The Void leaned in, his hand grazing your wrist and taking your hand off the wall. He was suddenly solid but cold likeconcrete covered in a thick ice, what you would only imagine being buried at the bottom of the ocean felt like. His skin didn’t even feel like skin, it felt almost like a statue. 

“Oh god gross,” you yelped, closing your eyes and hitting the wall with your other hand. You gagged a bit thinking about how somehow his hands were solid matter but not the middle of him. 

“You are… interesting.” His fingers coasted up into your palm, feeling all of the ridges before he moved onto your fingers; they felt so pleasant against his. 

You gawked. “Who says that to a stranger? I don’t know if this is considered a home invasion, but it sure seems like one.” He let go of your hand but took another step forward. He smelled of nothing, and his lack of body heat did not even come off of him. He was nothing. 

“He loves you.” You froze and now fully faced him, it was hard to tell if he or it was lying, but then again, why would he? 

“…Okay. Now you’re just making shit up.” You tried calling his bluff as he looked down at you with his arms now behind his back, his head was tipped again. 

“It is not my place to lie.” You took steps to the left and got away from your proximity, or at least you thought, but he followed you. 

“That’s convenient, because it’s MY place to freak the hell out, so—” you pointed dramatically at the hallway. “GET. OUT.” You ran into the kitchen, barely avoiding the wall, and he ran right behind you, just much more gracefully. He watched as you started moving things around as if to mimic busy work.  

“I would consume you if I could.” He was standing right next to you now, both of you in front of the sink that was empty of all dishes thanks to the takeout. 

“WHAT THE HELL?” You pulled the hose from the sink and sprayed in his direction just to see it land right past him onto the bar. This is what giving up must feel like. You fixed it back like you had not just done that embarrassing thing.  The Void sighed. A soft, cosmic kind of sigh,

“You fear me.”

“Oh? What gives you that impression?” You leaned your back against the sink blinking quickly at him hoping that pretending to not be so scared would get you anywhere but here. 

He regarded you in silence, those terrible eyes narrowing slightly, “That… is wise.”

Then, without a sound, the suffocating black peeled away not before blinding you, and the pressure lifted like a switch being thrown. You opened your eyes taking in a huge deep breath, and standing there, rubbing his face, hair a mess, looking painfully human and confused, was Bob.

“Babe?” he croaked, bleary-eyed. “Why is this wet?” He had stumbled back and put his hand on the bar where there had been water sprayed there by you. 

You blinked and then blinked again. Then you resorted to rubbing your eyes, and when Bob didn’t react other than just looking at you like you were worrying him you stepped forward. You touched his face and his hair and just whispered, 

“Warm.”

Bob nodded, “Yeah that uh big comforter you got from the department store that opened a few weeks ago is warm. I mean. It keeps you warm.” He smiled and furrowed his eyebrows as you continued to run your hands pretty much everywhere with exposed skin. 

“Did I ever come to bed?” You genuinely were no longer sure what had happened or what was real and what wasn’t. A nightmare maybe? One that was real but not real. You were now having what can only be described as shakes. 

Bob held onto your arms and let you keep your hands on him, “What did you say? I didn’t understand that.” You had spoken so quietly and so shaken that it didn’t even sound like words. 

“My pupils are the same.” Stroke you thought, maybe it was your brain's fault. He shook his head yes as he leaned downreally looking just to be sure. 

“Okay… so, pancakes in the morning?” You coughed out quickly choosing to not share your delusions with Bob and just slip into bed with him and spend the night together. Just finish the good night you had been having and pretend none of this happened. 

“Yeah sure, we can tag team breakfast if you want.” You just smiled and nodded before walking and switching sides with him so he wouldn’t see the huge mess the living room was in all the while you had three thoughts: 

I am going to have to fake a break-in or clean tomorrow morning and schedule a psychiatric appointment…

[fairestwriting]

Ruggie, Jade, and Sebek with a Reader that's reeeeeeeeally interested in how beastmen, mer folk, and faes work! Constantly asking them questions, following them around, working up the courage to ask whether they could touch their more non-human parts...

𐙚 Ruggie Bucchi

He’s a little bit flustered, honestly. Ruggie has never really gotten treated like he’s so… unique? He can’t quite word it at first. It’s just that hyena beastmen are so common back home, and then he went to NRC, where beastmen in general aren’t rare either. He’s answered a curious human friend’s question here and there, yeah, but they’re usually not… that excited over any small answer.

Soon enough, he starts to have fun with it, not taking it too seriously. ”What, are you surprised I don’t eat raw meat for lunch?” He’ll ask you when he catches you watching him during lunchtime, smirking. Ruggie thinks your fascination is funny. He wonders what kind of place you might come from, he’s really never seen someone be so surprised over a hyena beastman like him. He’ll need to ask you about it sometime.

Freezes up a little if you ask to touch his ears or tail. On a second thought, he should’ve seen that coming, considering how fascinated he seems to be to you… but it still surprises him anyway. Do you even know how that could sound, depending on the context? He just assumes you don’t.

Ruggie will let you touch his ears, though. He just doesn’t see a reason to make it a big deal, you might be an oddball, sure, but you don’t seem like you have any bad intentions. “…You’re lucky I’m so nice, y’know. Some guys wouldn’t take that too well.” He tells you through a slightly awkward chuckle. His ears get twitchy under your touch, and he subconsciously leans into it, just a little bit. You’re definitely an interesting person yourself, that’s for sure…

𐙚 Jade Leech

Feels a sort of endeared amusement similar to Ruggie’s, but without the surprise element. He’s heard his fair share of questions, despite his difference in species presenting less overtly than your typical beastman… Partially just because Floyd used to bite people last year, though. But if you didn’t hear about that already, there’s no need for him to tell you.

When you ask him questions, he’ll answer very clearly, coming off quite friendly. Your directness is a change of pace that he welcomes. Plus he can’t help but find it funny that this look of awe never quite leaves your eyes, even when he thinks his answer might not be that interesting.

…But if you come up to him and mention some kind of rumor or myth you heard about merfolk, he *is* going to play into it. Especially if it’s the scary sort. ”Well, merfolk are very diverse. I couldn’t tell you for sure if we grow to this size because it made it easier to hunt humans in the past…” He tells you, barely concealing the chuckle that it gets from him when you go all wide-eyed again.

Jade isn’t surprised you’re curious about the texture of his fins or tail. He shrugs at your request to touch them, smiling widely. ”Perhaps. We’d have to find a way to get you underwater, though…” Is his official answer, which is actually entirely joke-free. He’s not going to take it as if you’re implying anything, there’s no way you’d know it even had implications— If you did do your own research, though, that’s another story…

𐙚 Sebek Zigvolt

Oh, everyone knows how much Sebek loves to talk about being half fae… Well, everyone but you, it seems. It’s like a dream come true to him. And a nightmare to his peers that are a little more sensitive to sound.

At first, though, he definitely doesn’t seem like he’s going to be that much of an open book. He’s giving you a stern looking frown as you point at his ears and mutter your first question. ”What sort of question is that? Even the most clueless humans know fae tend to have differently shaped ears.” He near scoffs.

But that doesn’t really put a dent in your curiosity, even though you apologize if you were rude. The exact second that you tell him you have not, in fact, ever seen a fae in your life and were just curious about the topic, that initial icyness fully melts away. Oh, so you’re not that sort of ignorant human, you’re different— Sebek thinks, and then it’s like he’s sharing some of the wonder you feel.

He quickly proclaims that he’ll teach you all about the rich history of fae, all the incredible abilities they can have— What’s that? You want to touch his ears? You want to know just how different his body temperature is? Sebek’s got you, of course he does. Touch usually kind of flusters him, but he’s already decided to be your teacher about all things fae. And if you want to learn even more than he’s teaching, to him that just means he’s doing a great job.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[goldfades]

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 ☆ BUECKERS⁵ (ev's 6k celly!)

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!

CELLY MASTERLIST

ᝰ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 4.6k

ᝰ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | dating paige means learning to share her — with fans, cameras, the league. you’re used to being in the background: her pregame text, her airport pickup, the face she looks for in the crowd. but when she finally has a bad game — one that leaves her jaw tight and chest guarded, you’re the one she lets fall apart.

ᝰ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | angst!! hurt to comfort, paige being a little mean, kinda stay at home vibe for reader but not really?? HAPPY ENDING!!

ᝰ 𝒆𝒗'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 | yaya!! day 3 of celly, i hope yall are enjoying so far. here's the angsty, hurt to comfort paige fic yall were promised. also i feel like i needed to add that im not trying to hate on the wings at all, this fic is more about the emotional side of things than any real commentary on the team.

also obviously i have no idea what paige is actually feeling or going through (obviously LOL), this is all just fictional and for fun. just wanted to explore a softer, more personal side of what that transition might feel like for someone carrying that much pressure. no harm intended, just feelings & vibes & sapphic yearning <3

You meet her in a grocery store just off of campus, which feels fake even as it’s happening.

She’s in a hoodie too big for her, hood up, cart half-full of protein bars and Smartwater, reading the back of a box like it's a scouting report. You’re standing in front of the oat milk. That’s it. That’s the origin story.

She asks if the oat milk is good. You say it depends on what she’s doing with it. She raises an eyebrow and says, drinking it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world . You tell her it’s fine but the vanilla one is better. And when she reaches for it, your fingers graze. You don’t look away first.

It starts there — two people in the milk aisle, pretending they don’t know who the other is or maybe pretending it doesn’t matter.

It matters.

Now it’s almost two years later. You know which pair of socks she has to wear on game days, how she retapes her fingers during halftime even if the wrap is fine, the way she likes her smoothies: blended twice, don’t ask why and that when she’s tired she gets clingy but insists she’s not.

You also know how to stay out of the frame.

You're the person who picks up her dry cleaning, triple checks her call sheet, drives her to the airport at 5AM with a thermos of coffee you’ll never get thanked for. Not because she’s ungrateful, but because she doesn’t realize she needs to. She’s Paige Bueckers. She gives pieces of herself away all day — photos, autographs, interviews, sideline hugs for kids she’s never met and by the time she gets to you, there’s not always much left.

But she always finds your hand. That counts for something.

You get used to watching her light up arenas from the shadows. You like it, actually. The background is quiet. Safe. You can watch her without worrying about being watched back.

You know she’s yours even if everyone else thinks she belongs to the world. And lately, the world’s been getting greedy.

The apartment still smells like new paint.

Not strong, not offensive, just that faint, chalky scent that clings to the corners of the rooms, reminding you that the place isn’t quite lived-in yet. Boxes line the hallway in uneven stacks, some open, some sealed, all of them with your handwriting scrawled across the sides. Kitchen stuff. Shoes, maybe?? PAIGE DON’T TOUCH.

She did, obviously.

You find the proof in the form of an empty protein bar wrapper tucked into the top of a box marked winter clothes and you roll your eyes as you toss it in the trash.

It’s quiet in the apartment, which is rare lately. For the past few months, everything’s been loud. Not just the literal noise, although there’s been plenty of that: roaring student sections, confetti cannons, draft night applause that rang in your chest like a second heartbeat but the kind of loud that lives under your skin. Constant motion. Constant attention. Eyes on her, hands on her, reporters leaning too close with too many questions, and her answering all of it with that same polished smile that means I’m good, I’m fine, keep moving.

You know what it costs.

Winning the natty should’ve felt like a finish line but it only cracked open another beginning. Draft week came less than a week later. There was barely time to breathe, let alone plan a move to a new city, a new team, a new life. You booked the flights. You signed the lease. You made sure the sheets were washed before she got here.

You haven’t unpacked fully. Neither of you has had time.

Right now, she’s at shootaround — early preseason workouts, a light day, though deemed light by Paige Bueckers standards still means running through plays like it’s the Final Four. You’re not there. She asked if you wanted to come and you said no. She didn’t push. She never does.

You like seeing her on the court but today you needed the silence. Needed to breathe in a room that didn’t buzz with her future. Needed to sit in the kitchen she hasn’t cooked in yet and just be.

You wash two mugs, even though you only used one. You start putting away silverware and get distracted organizing the drawer — forks facing one way, spoons the other, knives stacked like soldiers. You don’t know how long you’re standing there when you hear the door unlock.

“Babe?”

Her voice is hoarse. You glance up, startled by the way your heart still flinches at the sound.

“In the kitchen,” you call back.

She appears a second later, already halfway out of her sneakers, gym bag sliding off her shoulder. Her hair’s tied up in a bun, messy, a few strands stuck to her forehead. She looks tired, which means she probably went too hard, again.

She smiles when she sees you. It’s not a big smile, barely there, really but it’s the one she only gives you. The one that softens all the edges.

“Hey,” she says.

You lift an eyebrow. “Don’t ‘hey’ me. You went for an hour and a half.”

“Sixty-five minutes,” she corrects, coming over to press a kiss to your cheek. Her hand finds your waist without thinking. “I’m being good.”

“You’re being reckless.”

“I’m being prepared.” She grins like she knows you’re already over it and you are. Mostly.

You turn into her, letting her rest her forehead against yours. Her skin is damp. You don’t mind. For a second, neither of you says anything.

“I missed you,” she murmurs.

You hum. “You saw me this morning.”

“Still.”

This is how it’s always been. Paige flies too close to the sun, and you make sure there’s a place for her to land. You’ve never tried to stop her. You just make sure the lights are on when she comes home.

She pulls away slowly, eyes scanning your face like she’s trying to memorize it, even though she’s already got it memorized a hundred times over.

“I know I haven’t been around much lately,” she says, quieter.

You could say I know, or It’s okay, or You don’t have to explain.

But you don’t.

Instead, you say, “Sit down. I’ll make you something.”

She blinks, then smiles again — wider this time. “You love bossing me around.”

You shrug, moving toward the fridge. “Someone’s gotta keep you alive.”

She sits. Watches you. You can feel her eyes on your back while you crack eggs into a pan and mumble about how she better not leave her sweaty socks on the kitchen chair again. She laughs.

For a second, the rest of it fades. The expectations, the cameras, the pressure. The whole world outside this apartment.

She’s here. And she’s yours.

The season starts badly.

Not technically — their opener is a loss, narrow but clean. The kind of win that looks okay in a box score even if you know, just by watching, that something’s off. Like the rhythm is a beat behind. Like Paige’s shot is just a little too flat. Like the whole team is waiting for someone else to wake them up.

After that, it’s four straight losses. One at home, three on the road. All of them ugly.

The headlines stay polite at first. Young team still finding chemistry. Bueckers adjusting to WNBA pace. But the subtext is everywhere. In the photos they run — Paige midair, Paige scowling, Paige with her hands on her knees. In the clips they replay: missed threes, turnovers, turnovers, turnovers. Even in the way the commentators say her name, like it used to mean something magical and now they’re not sure what it means anymore.

You try not to read the comments. You still do.

At home, she says she’s fine.

Fine when she’s up at 1:30 in the morning watching film with the volume so low you can barely hear it. Fine when she forgets to eat until noon. Fine when she gets back from practice with red-rimmed eyes and blames it on the wind even though it hasn’t been breezy in days.

You don’t press. Not directly.

You just hover. The way you always do. Fold her laundry. Wrap her knee even when she says it doesn’t hurt. Order in from her favorite Thai place and pretend you were craving it too. Make sure the lamp by her side of the bed is always turned on when she walks in.

You wait for her to let you in.

She doesn’t.

The apartment feels different now.

You don’t realize it until you’re halfway through cleaning out the fridge one day and it hits you: this is what distance feels like. Not loud. Not obvious. Just space. Gaps where the closeness used to live. Little things.

She doesn’t hum when she showers anymore. She texts you from the gym less. She doesn’t ask you to braid her hair before games. She doesn’t lose her phone and call out for you in a half-panic only to find it under a throw pillow. She just… moves quieter.

Sometimes she looks at you like she wants to say something. Like it’s sitting on her tongue, one syllable away from shattering the whole dam. But then she blinks and it’s gone, and she says something like “Did we run out of toothpaste?”

And you nod, and say “Yeah, I’ll grab some tomorrow” and pretend you weren’t holding your breath.

They lose again. Badly.

You watch from the tunnel, same place you always stand. You’ve watched her from this spot more times than you can count but this feels different. Wrong.

The buzzer sounds. 78–61. Another loss. Fifth in a row. You stand in the tunnel like always, heart clenched in that familiar way that used to mean nerves but now mostly means dread.

You watch her shake hands, high-five a couple fans who lean over the railing. The towel around her neck looks like a surrender flag. Her face is set, eyes sharp and far away. You recognize that look - it’s the one she wears when she’s trying not to feel anything. When the disappointment is too deep and too sharp to acknowledge in public.

She doesn’t look up at you.

Doesn’t wave. Doesn’t nod. Doesn’t say your name like she usually does, even in passing maybe half a smile, quick reach for your hand if you’re close enough.

She walks straight past.

You wait for her anyway. You text her: I’m in the tunnel, I’ll be at the car.

No response.

She gets home almost an hour later. Drops her bag by the door and kicks her shoes off with more force than necessary. You’re curled up on the couch, pretending to watch a rerun of something, volume too low to actually follow.

You glance over. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she says, tossing her keys onto the kitchen counter like she’s trying to miss on purpose. “God, what a night. I mean at least I only turned it over, what, six times? That’s practically an improvement.”

You pause. “Seven.”

“Oof.” She winces, exaggerated. “Even better.”

You don’t laugh.

She notices. She walks into the kitchen, opens the fridge, stands there like it's a portal to another dimension.

“You hungry?” she asks. “I could burn some toast or reheat something and pretend I made it from scratch.”

“Paige.”

She doesn’t look over. “Or we could do popcorn and call it dinner. Real athlete shit.”

“Paige.”

That lands. She shuts the fridge, too loud and finally turns to face you.

“What?” she says. Light, teasing. Like she already knows what you’re about to say and wants to joke her way out of it. “Don’t tell me you’re mad at me for that disaster.”

You sit up. “I’m not mad at you for losing. I’m upset that you won’t talk to me.”

She blinks. “I am talking to you.”

“No, you’re deflecting. You’ve been doing it for days. You came home last night and made a joke about retiring to become a barista.”

“Hey, that’s a solid fallback plan.”

“Paige.”

She lifts her hands. “Okay. What do you want me to say? That I suck right now? That I’m letting everybody down? That I feel like I made a huge mistake coming here? Would that make you feel better?”

The words cut sharper than they should. Not because she means to hurt you -- Paige never means to hurt you but because you recognize the panic underneath them. The way her voice spikes, too high, too fast. The way she’s trying to outrun the truth before it catches up.

You step into the kitchen, across from her now. Arms folded. Quiet.

“I want you to be honest with me,” you say, low and even. “Not perfect. Not funny. Not brave. Just… honest.”

She leans back against the counter like it might hold her up better than you can. Her arms cross over her chest.

“I can’t do that right now,” she says.

You nod but it’s not agreement. More like acknowledgment.

“Okay.” You back away slowly. “Then I’m gonna go for a drive.”

She frowns. “What? Why?”

“Because if I stay, I’m going to say something I can’t take back.”

She doesn’t try to stop you. That hurts more than it should.

The silence stretches.

A day passes. Then another. The fight doesn’t explode: it simmers. You still talk, technically. You ask if she wants anything when you go to the store. She tells you she refilled your prescription when she picked up her own. You switch the laundry she started. She rewinds the show you missed.

But you don’t touch. You don’t look too long. And she doesn’t say your name like it’s a question anymore.

It feels like standing on a frozen lake, the ice too thin and the water too black and freezing underneath. And you're the only one hearing the cracks.

You find yourself spiraling in stupid ways.

You start overthinking texts that don’t need to be overthought. You stare at her Instagram comments longer than you should. You don’t mean to but you do. All the hearts, all the compliments, all the people who don’t know her but think they do. Who think they love her.

And maybe they do, in that empty, worshipful, social-media way.

But they don’t fold her socks. They don’t know how her voice sounds when she’s half-asleep. They don’t press a cold washcloth to her forehead when she’s sick. They don’t know she triple-knots her laces and tucks the ends in because she’s paranoid about tripping. They don’t know she cries at commercials but hides it by blaming dust.

You do.

And it’s not jealousy, not really. It’s more like… fear. Like maybe all this silence is the beginning of her forgetting that she needs you.

And the worst part? You get it.

You know what she’s feeling even if she won’t say it. You know she’s disappointed, overwhelmed. You know she thinks showing you that will make her seem weak. You know it’s not about you.

But it still feels like it is.

You lie awake beside her that night, staring at the ceiling. You can hear her breathing, slow and even. Either asleep or pretending to be. You don't reach for her. Not this time.

And she doesn't reach for you.

The arena feels different tonight. Not louder. Not quieter. Just heavier. Like even the air is bracing for something it can’t name.

You’re in the tunnel again, where you always are. That same spot, hands tucked into your jacket sleeves, the lanyard around your neck sticking to your skin with the sweat you won’t admit to. You watch the players file in, coaches in tow, heads bowed slightly in that ritual of unspoken hope.

Paige doesn’t look at you when she runs out for warmups. Hasn’t, not since the fight.

Her face is unreadable under the lights, jaw set and mouth tight in that way that means she’s focused, or maybe pretending to be. You’ve seen that look a hundred times before. In college stadiums, back at UConn. But never like this. Never this brittle.

You watch her miss three shots in a row during shootaround. Not by much but by enough. No one else seems to notice or maybe they’ve gotten used to it. You haven’t.

When the game starts, you try to focus on it like you usually do. Not in a fan way but in a quiet way. You keep your eyes on her. Always on her. Not the scoreboard. Not the other players. Just Paige.

She’s off. Again. And this time it’s not the usual, not just missed shots or a slow start or teammates who don’t read her cuts. It’s everything. Her rhythm is gone. Her body’s tight. Her passes are rushed. Her confidence, usually such a steady undercurrent in the way she moves is nowhere to be found.

She fouls early. A dumb reach-in that she wouldn’t normally commit. Then another, chasing a fast break she had no hope of catching. By halftime, she’s on the bench, staring at the floor with a towel over her head and a stat line you know she won’t be able to look at later.

2 points. 1 assist. 4 turnovers.

The team is down by 15.

You don’t know what to do with your hands. You keep rubbing your thumb over your ring finger, a nervous habit you picked up somewhere along the way and never broke. You watch her jog into the tunnel at the half, shoulders tense, mouth pressed into a thin line.

She doesn’t look up.

The second half is worse.

The game slips away before the fourth quarter even starts. Paige goes scoreless the entire third then gets pulled halfway through the fourth when it becomes clear the coaches are calling it. She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t flinch. Just walks to the bench, plops down, elbows on her knees, eyes ahead like she’s watching something only she can see.

By the time the buzzer sounds, the final score doesn’t matter.

They lose by 22.

You wait for her in the same spot you always do. Tunnel. Left side. Just past the security guard who now knows your name.

The team walks by slowly. A few nods, a couple brief waves from familiar faces. But Paige isn’t with them.

She comes last.

No towel. No eye contact. Just her, walking like every step hurts.

She sees you — she has to, you’re right in her line of sight but she walks past without a word.

You follow.

The car ride is silent.

She doesn’t play music. Doesn’t reach for your hand at the red light like she usually does. Just keeps her eyes on the road, knuckles white around the steering wheel. She’s still in her jersey, sweats pulled over her shorts, hair damp from the shower and curled behind her ears.

You want to say something. Anything. But you’ve learned not to touch the wound while it’s still bleeding.

She unlocks the apartment, tosses her keys on the counter and moves straight to the kitchen. Opens the fridge. Closes it. Opens it again. Then just stands there with her hand on the handle, breathing like she’s trying to remember how.

You step inside, gently, quietly like someone trying not to startle a cornered animal.

“Paige,” you say.

She doesn’t move.

“Hey.” You reach out, touch her back lightly, right between the shoulder blades.

She flinches. Not from pain. From everything else.

“I can’t,” she whispers.

You don’t ask what she means.

Instead, you guide her hand off the fridge door and turn her to face you.

Her face crumples.

Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just… slowly. Like a wall finally giving way after weeks of rain. Her mouth twitches. Her eyes glass over. Her breath catches in her throat.

“I’m trying so hard,” she says, barely audible. “I’m doing everything I can and it’s still not enough.”

You move closer, carefully, and she doesn’t pull away this time.

“I know,” you whisper. “I know you are.”

She shakes her head, eyes rimmed red. “I’m not who they thought I’d be.”

You feel that like a knife. Because you know what she means. Not just the media. Not just the fans. She means everyone. The people who waited for her. The ones who wanted her to be a savior.

“They all thought I’d come in and just… fix it. Like I was some kind of answer.”

You reach up, thumb brushing under her eye. “You were never supposed to fix it all, P.”

She exhales and it sounds like a sob even though there are no tears yet.

“You don’t get it,” she says. “I used to love this. I used to be good at this. And now all I do is mess up and get benched and watch them lose and try not to cry in front of the cameras. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I don’t even feel like me anymore.”

That last part cracks something in you. Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? She’s not afraid of losing. She’s afraid of losing herself.

You don’t say anything right away. You just take her face in your hands and hold her like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth.

“I miss you,” you say.

She blinks. “I’m right here.”

“No, you’re not. You’ve been somewhere else for weeks and I didn’t know how to reach you.” Your voice shakes a little. “But I’m here. I’ve been here the whole time. You can fall apart with me. You have to fall apart with me. That’s the deal.”

And finally, finally, she breaks.

The tears come fast and silent, her body folding into yours like she’s collapsing under her own weight. You hold her through it, arms around her waist, her forehead pressed into your shoulder. You feel every tremble. Every shudder. Every breath she takes like she’s trying to relearn how.

“I don’t want to be strong right now,” she mumbles against your collarbone. “I’m so tired of being strong.”

“You don’t have to be,” you whisper. “Not with me.”

So she lets go. And for the first time in weeks, so do you.

Later, when the storm inside her has quieted, when her eyes are puffy and red and her breathing has slowed to something human again, you lead her to the couch like you’ve done a hundred times before. Like it’s ritual.

She lets you.

Still silent. Still raw. But softer now, like the sharp edges have dulled. Her hand lingers in yours longer than it has in weeks. She curls into you without asking, tucks her knees up under her and presses her cheek to your chest like she did during last year at UConn, after that Final Four game where she swore she’d never play that badly again.

You’d found her in her dorm that night, still in her travel sweats, hoodie pulled up like armor. She hadn’t said anything, just climbed into your lap, quiet and bruised and seventeen kinds of exhausted.

You held her then like you’re holding her now. Careful, steady, for as long as she needed.

You grab the fuzzy blanket from the arm of the couch, the one she pretends she hates because it’s “obnoxiously pink” but always ends up buried under after tough nights. You drape it over the two of you, then kiss her hair once, gently, where it parts at her crown.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs after a long stretch of silence.

You shake your head. “Don’t be.”

“I’ve been such a dick.”

You smile faintly into her hair. “Maybe. But you’re my dick.”

That gets the tiniest huff of a laugh out of her, muffled against your collarbone. It’s the first real sound of her in days.

You reach for the remote and scroll mindlessly until you land on the dumb baking show you always used to put on after her bad games. She pretends to hate it: “They’re just cakes, babe, why are they all crying?” but you know it makes her feel safe. Like the world is a little slower and a little sweeter.

You set the volume low, just enough to fill the room with chatter and clinking bowls and the gentle pressure of lives that have nothing to do with yours.

“I forgot how good this show is,” she mumbles after a few minutes.

You don’t answer. Just let your fingers drift through her hair, light and rhythmic. Her breathing evens out, one hand fisting lightly in your hoodie.

This is the version of her you’ve missed. Not perfect. Not polished. Just herself. Soft, sleepy, safe.

“You remember that night in Hartford,” you say eventually, voice quiet, “when you missed that game-winner and locked yourself in the locker room for an hour?”

She groans. “Don’t remind me.”

“You wouldn’t come out. I had to sneak in with that nasty gas station hot chocolate.”

She shifts a little, her smile pressing into your skin. “You bribed me.”

“Worked, didn’t it?”

She hums. “Barely. I only opened the door ‘cause I thought you were gonna start sobbing outside it.”

You feign offense. “I was being dramatic for effect.”

“Mm-hmm.”

You let the silence settle again. It’s warm this time. Companionable.

“I used to think you only loved me when I was winning,” she says quietly, like it’s something she’s only just realized she believed.

You tilt your head down. “Do you still think that?”

She shrugs against you. “I don’t know. I think I forgot how to be loved when I wasn’t.”

You exhale slowly and tip her chin up with two fingers, just enough to see her face. Her eyes are tired, but clear.

“Paige,” you say, soft but sure, “you are loved when you lose. When you miss. When you fall apart. When you’re stubborn and snappy and full of doubt. There is no version of you I wouldn’t love.”

Her throat works around the lump there, eyes glistening again, but the tears don’t fall this time. She just nods.

Then she pulls you in and kisses you.

Not desperate. Not needy. Just real. Quiet and slow and full of apology and promise.

When she pulls back, she leans her forehead to yours.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “For not walking away.”

You shake your head. “I’ll always be here. Even when you’re not ready. Even when you push. I’ll wait. That’s the job.”

She smiles again, and this time it reaches her eyes. It’s not big. Not flashy. But it’s real.

“You’re too good to me,” she says.

“Mm. Probably,” you tease, brushing your thumb across her cheek. “But I like the work.”

She laughs, and it bubbles out of her like it’s the first time she’s remembered how. The tension breaks. The ache loosens.

The couch holds you both.

Outside, Dallas hums on — noisier than it should be, traffic always loud and lights always spilling in through the windows. But the room you’re in is soft. Dim. Full of the kind of peace that only comes after a storm.

She nestles back into your chest, tugs the blanket up to her chin.

And you think; this is enough.

Not the win streak. Not the headlines. Not the perfect stat lines.

Just this.

Her body folded into yours. Her heart safe in your hands. Her breath warm on your neck. The worst of it behind you.

Finally, finally — home.

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[psformybss]

i have a request for actress!reader and drew doing hot ones versus for maybe, a promotion of their movie/show

i think the banter between them would be hilarious and just making fun of each other for not being able to handle spicy wings, etc. 😭😭😭

thank you so much 🫶🏻

Burning Questions

drew starkey x actress!reader

a/n: i feel like i could have made this more chaotic, i lowkey struggled coming up with banter for this and idk why like it’s usually so easy for me to come up with it.

You’re already side-eyeing the tray of wings like they owed you money. The sauce is an aggressive shade of red—borderline criminal, honestly—and you swear it’s steaming.

“I just want to state for the record,” you say, gesturing vaguely at the tray like it’s cursed, “that I was bribed into doing this.”

Drew, far too smug for someone minutes away from culinary agony, just shrugs. “You love me.”

You scowl. “You said we were going to a cute little interview. You didn’t mention death by Buffalo.”

He grins. “What’s a little mutual suffering? Builds character.”

“Character? I have enough trauma, thanks. I don’t need hot sauce-induced hallucinations on camera.”

Drew stretches his arms out like he’s prepping for a boxing match. “C’mon. You’ve survived worse.”

“I survived you forgetting my birthday last year. That doesn’t mean I want to relive the trauma with capsaicin.”

He places his hand over his heart, mock-wounded. “I didn’t forget. I was just… building suspense.”

You deadpan. “You sent me Venmoed me hundred dollars with a chili pepper emoji and said, ‘Get yourself something spicy.’”

“Which is… weirdly relevant now, huh?”

You glance at the wings, then back at him. “If I throw up, I’m aiming for your shoes.”

“Fair.”

A production assistant claps the slate and nods. “Rolling.”

Drew sits up straighter, suddenly chipper. “Hi, I’m Drew Starkey.”

You wave lazily. “And I’m a hostage.”

Laughter erupts behind the camera. Drew smirks.

“She’s just mad because I’m gonna outlast her.”

“You’re going to cry on wing two and start calling your mom.”

He points at you. “You say that now.”

You arch a brow. “I say that with confidence.”

You both have five wings. He’s already eyeing his like he’s trying to calculate the scoville units with his brain.

He reaches for the first card and offers it to you like a gentleman.

You snatch it. “Oh, how kind. Chivalry isn’t dead—just bleeding out.”

You clear your throat, affecting a game show host tone. “First question: What was your real first impression of me?”

Drew doesn’t even hesitate. “Dangerous. Unreasonably attractive. Looked like you’d break my heart and then frame me for it.”

You blink. “That’s… shockingly accurate.”

“You gave me the dirtiest look at the Season 1 table read.”

“I had a migraine and you were ten minutes late.”

“I was getting a coffee!”

“And I was plotting your demise.”

He shrugs. “It was love at first threat.”

You sigh dramatically. “God, we’re insufferable.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m delightful.”

You roll your eyes. “Next.”

He picks a card. “What’s something I do that drives you absolutely insane?”

“Oh, do we have time for this?”

He winces. “Oh no.”

You lean in. “You hum when you brush your teeth. Aggressively. Like, there’s toothpaste foam flying everywhere and you’re just vibing to Coldplay like we’re not living in a horror movie.”

He clutches his chest. “That’s a sacred routine.”

“It’s a nightmare. One time you hit a high note and scared the neighbor’s dog.”

He’s laughing too hard to argue.

You pick the next card, eyes gleaming. “Ooh, game time. Rock-paper-scissors. Loser eats a wing.”

Drew rolls his neck. “I was born for this.”

“You were born to suffer.”

You raise your fists.

“Rock, paper, scissors—shoot!”

You throw paper. He throws rock. You smirk. “Ah. The taste of victory.”

Second round: draw.

Final round: you throw scissors, he throws paper.

You clap. “Welp. Bon appétit, babe.”

He stares at the wing like it insulted his mother.

“Is it too late to renegotiate the rules?”

“Eat the wing, lover boy.”

He sighs, lifts it with ceremony, and takes a bite.

Immediately, he blinks. “Nope. Nooope. That’s not food. That’s violence.”

You burst out laughing.

“My tongue is fighting for its life,” he wheezes.

“You’re doing great, sweetie,” you say through a grin.

He swigs milk like it’s holy water.

Next card. “What’s my go-to hangover food?”

You don’t hesitate. “McGriddle. Two hashbrowns. Black coffee. Judgment.”

He nods, impressed. “Wow.”

“I have to watch you eat it like a raccoon every time you go too hard on karaoke night.”

You grab the next card. “Impersonation challenge. Whoever laughs eats a wing.”

Drew immediately pretends to toss his hair and raises his pitch. “‘I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed… and also mad.’”

You press your lips together.

“‘Let’s get a matcha and talk about our feelings until I convince myself I don’t have any.’”

You glare.

Then drop your voice. “‘Hey, I’m Drew. I pretend I’m emotionally stable, but I cried watching a CeraVe commercial.’”

He loses it.

“It was wholesome!” he chokes, already reaching for another wing.

You smirk as he takes a bite—and immediately chugs milk again.

“Oh my God,” he groans. “Why does it linger?”

You read the next card. “What’s something you’ve never admitted about us publicly?”

He leans back, still wiping his face. “That I knew I liked you before we even finished filming Season 1.”

You pause.

He shrugs. “You called me a ‘bland Hemsworth’ in front of the entire cast and I was like, ‘Yep. That’s her.’”

You shake your head. “You’re so emotionally weird.”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

He fans his mouth. “Okay, next. Favorite moment on the Outer Banks set?”

You light up. “The boat day. When JD pushed Rudy in and everyone panicked.”

“Oh my god—yes. I forgot about that. You slipped and screamed like you got shot.”

“You’d scream too if you fell flat on your ass in front of thirty crew members.”

He nods. “Fair enough.”

He pulls another card. “Favorite line your character’s ever said?”

You grin. “‘You touch my brother again and I’ll bury you with your boat keys.’”

“Iconic.”

“Yours?”

He grins. “I like the unhinged ones. ‘You’re not built for this.’ So dramatic.”

You snort. “It’s the delivery. You always sound like Rafe just got rejected from a school play.”

He shrugs. “Maybe he did.”

Next question. “What’s my comfort movie?”

“Kill Bill. Volume 1.”

“I’m honestly worried about how well you know me.”

“You shouldn’t be. I have a whole list.”

He pulls out a card. “Trivia round. Miss one, eat a wing.”

You crack your knuckles. “Bring it.”

“What was my first job?”

“Movie theater.”

“Okay… what actor made me want to pursue film?”

“Jake Gyllenhaal. You say it constantly.”

“Alright. What’s my mom’s favorite cake?”

You tilt your head. “Carrot. From that one bakery in Asheville. You forgot her birthday and made me call in the order.”

He stares. “That’s unsettling.”

You grin. “You’re predictable.”

He sighs, reaches for another wing. “I’m sweating. Is this what marriage feels like?”

You shrug. “Wouldn’t know.”

He takes the bite. Freezes. “I can taste colors. I’m in another dimension.”

You just pop a marshmallow from the plate into your mouth, unbothered.

Next card. “When did we actually start dating?”

You both answer at the same time. “Middle of Season 2.”

You add, “And we gaslit everyone into thinking we were just really close friends.”

“Mad respect to Rudy for calling it out and then letting it go like a true king.”

“He literally said, ‘I don’t care, just stop making eye contact like that during lunch.’”

You glance at his tray. Four wings down. One left.

Your tray? Untouched.

He stares at you. “How?”

You sip water slowly. “It’s called strategy, baby.”

He groans. “You’re the devil.”

You smile sweetly. “And you love me.”

He looks at the camera. “Pray for me.”

You pick the final card. “Double or nothing?”

He eyes the wing. Then you.

“Absolutely not.”

You laugh, reach for the marshmallows again, and toss one at him.

He catches it in his mouth. “Still hot.”

“From the wing or from me?”

He gives you a look. “Don’t make me regret this relationship.”

You both dissolve into laughter as he wipes his face again, flushed, wrecked, but grinning.

“I’m never trusting you again,” he mumbles.

You pat his hand. “That’s fair. But like… you kinda crushed it.”