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astraystayyh · 11 months

Text

Echoes of love

"to love someone is firstly to confess : i am prepared to be devastated by you."

Chapter i. to forget

genre : memory loss trope. angst. slow burn. unrequited love except you were in a loving relationship and everything changes overnight.

pairing : minho x reader.

summary : if given the choice would you love minho again? yes, you would've once said in a heartbeat. but now, you aren't sure of your response anymore.

cw : depiction of a car accident. mention of blood and physical wounds. depiction of a nightmare and anxiety attack. reader has she/her pronouns.

word count : 14.8k words.

song recs : the night we met/terrible love/black friday/cover me.

a.n: she's here, she's yours, i hope you'll enjoy reading one of the most challenging things I've ever wrote :') your feedback is highly appreciated <3

special thanks to @forlix for going through this journey with me, i love you thank you, seriously, you mean the world to me. and to @dorisnumber1fan for listening to my initial rants about this fic, and all the ones i ever write. i love you and appreciate you so much, more than i could explain <3

quotes series masterlist. next chapter.

Day 1.

You're floating in a dark void, save for the specks of light swirling around you. A peculiar serenity fills your being, a tranquility unlike any you’ve ever known. It’s as though your body isn’t your own; but rather an otherworldly vessel, calmly traversing the cosmos, dancing in constellations with the stars that encircle you.

A sudden electrifying warmth surges from your hand, traveling down the contours of your knuckles, melting into the lines of your palm. It pulsates within your being as if you’re holding the Earth's very core between your fingers. You stir from your ethereal orbit, longing to break apart from the celestial lights, to reunite with your body once again.

The warmth intensifies, causing your fingers to involuntarily clench. A deluge of radiance enfolds you, drawing you into a luminous hole. You squint your eyes, drinking in the light- your first breath.

Your eyes flutter open in a daze, your throat parched, rasping like sandpaper against your vocal cords. White encompasses you yet again, from the high ceilings to the pristine bed you’re lying on. It takes you a few blinks to grasp your new environment- an unfamiliar hospital room. You wearily close your eyes, hoping for the stillness to return, aching for the peace you felt within your bones mere moments ago.

But to no avail; only the tingling sensation remains.

You tilt your head, eyebrows shooting upwards as you notice a hand clasping yours. A figure lies their forehead beside your body, black disheveled locks tickling your palm.

The warmth, you understand where it comes from now.

You attempt to slip your hand out of theirs, prompting the man to awaken with a jolt, surprise dancing across his features as his gaze meets yours. Dark circles adorn his face- testimonies to days of fatigue imprinted upon every feature of his. Yet, all of it dissipates as he gazes at you, lips slightly parted, bunny teeth peeking out. His face transforms into a radiant smile, stirring a mysterious longing within your soul- it brushes against your fingertips before slipping beyond your reach.

"You're awake," he whispers in awe, and your tiredness renders you mute. You point to your throat, hoping that he'll understand what you need. "Water? Is- Is that what you want?" he asks, a touch too eager, fingers running through his hair in sheer disbelief. You nod and he rises swiftly, pouring you a glass of water and bringing it to your lips.

You sip diligently as his hand caresses the crown of your hair, the warmth now traveling to the top of your head. You feel lightheaded as if the blood in your veins has thickened, the very life in you slowed to a faint whisper. Yet, a timid relief emerges as your thirst is finally quenched.

"I'll- I'll go call the doctor," he tells you, his beaming smile unwavering. It’s too bright, everything around you is, and you feel a throbbing headache growing at your temple’s base.

It's a mere minute before the man returns, a doctor and two nurses on his trail. You float within a haze as the nurse shines a beam of light in your eyes. The response of your pupils seems to please her.

"Do you remember what happened?" the doctor inquires and you frown. You've been racking your brain for an explanation as to why you're here, but to no avail. You shake your head.

"What's your name," he proceeds, lips growing into a thin line.

"Y/n, Y/l/n," you respond, your voice sounding foreign to your ears, as though it hasn’t left the confines of your throat for ages. You miss the darkness; you want to sleep again.

"What date are we?"

Your eyebrows knit together as you try to think of an answer. "The 20th or maybe the 21st September."

"What year?"

"2022."

An eerie silence falls upon the room, a stillness resembling the one of your dreams; but it isn’t comforting, on the contrary, it fills your being with an unsettling dread, one that trickles inside you with each second spent in silence. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. You close your eyes to avoid the sorry ones of the nurse.

"We need to run you an MRI scan," the doctor finally speaks up, tone somber. "It appears you're suffering from retrograde amnesia. But we have to make sure."

It takes time for the words to permeate your consciousness, for the syllables to settle in and start to make sense. Amnesia.

What have you forgotten?

“What…” you chuckle warily, fingers reaching up to soothe your throbbing forehead. “What year is it?”

"It's the 24th of September 2023. You were in a severe car accident two days ago, a drunk truck driver rammed into your car on your way home. You have a fractured rib and extensive leg injury, but no broken bones thankfully. We'll get you to the scan shortly, okay?" he speaks easily as if announcing that you've missed the rain while asleep. As if it’s not a year’s worth of memories you’ve seemingly forgotten, erased in the span of a blink, akin to footprints on sand washed away by the waves. Nothing of importance.

"So, you don't... remember me?" a soft voice quivers, barely above a whisper, and your eyes meet those of the man who’s been at your side, temporarily forgotten in the conversation.

His question is laced with a grave fear, evident in his dilated pupils and trembling hands. A lump blooms in your throat, its thorns pricking at your voice. You aren’t sure you want to answer that question.

"I- I don't."

"Oh."

You’ve never known that a human could crumble in silence, in an imperceptible gasp, so small you almost did not hear it. A crestfallen expression materializes on his face in the span of a heartbeat, features coming together in the rawest expression of anguish you’ve ever seen. You bite your lip.

"Who- Who are you?" you implore, urgency inflecting your tone, hoping that he's no one of importance. Someone who helped you when you got into a car accident. Someone minor who you wouldn't fault your brain for forgetting.

"I was... I-I am your boyfriend. Minho," he utters his name like a broken plea, eyes slightly widening to gauge your reaction. As though those two syllables hold within them a myriad of memories, ones you simply cannot forget.

You don't remember.

The doctor was right in his diagnosis. The scan showed unusual activity within your brain, characteristic of post-traumatic amnesia. You listened numbly as he cited the precautions you should take to heal your physical wounds- to rest, not carry anything heavy, ice your lungs, and go on walks. But you did not care for the state of your body, you’ve bruised it before and it has healed in its own time. It will do it again; it is a familiar path you’ve already undergone. But what about your memory? Your mind that robbed you of a year of your life? How do you get it back?

“There is no guarantee you’d remember. There is also no treatment for amnesia. We advise that you focus on healing first. Do not strain your mind,” your doctor smiled, before leaving the room. His silver wedding band shined mockingly underneath your eye. He doesn’t know what it’s like to forget the lover awaiting you at home.

Minho dutifully sat by your side, nodding along to the doctor’s words. He signed your discharge papers and settled your bills before you could protest, and he was now pushing your wheelchair through the hospital's corridors. You didn’t know what to say to him- how do you talk to a stranger who uttered your name with love dripping between its letters?

In the hospital’s parking lot, Minho pauses, squatting before you. His eyes are puffy, red veins contrasting against the pristine whites, betraying the tears he must have shed when he excused himself to the toilet.

You suddenly want to beg for a reprieve; it is too much pain for one day, too much for one soul to bear. But it is only six p.m. and Minho's gaze holds you captive, a new emotion dancing in his brown irises- grief. He's looking at you as though you're a phantom, gone when you are still very much breathing.

“We've been together for eleven months, and we moved in together two months ago,” he licks his lips nervously. “You have a two-month medical leave, and I- I don’t want to leave you alone, while you recover. So, you can think of us as… as roommates.” The word felt heavy on his tongue, a fresh wave of tears brimming in his waterline. He swiftly blinks them away.

Your parents are in a faraway city, so is your best friend. You were the one who decided to move somewhere so far, to flee from the skeletons threatening to spill out of your closet. You don't want to burden anyone. You just want to rest.

You nod in agreement and Minho attempts to smile. It is a useless effort; one he quickly gives up. There was nothing to be joyous about.

Minho takes your hand, gently helping you to your feet. He opens the door to his car, and you settle into the passenger seat. It smells pleasant, an apple-scented diffuser dangling from the rearview mirror. Yet, as Minho closes the door, the scent suddenly suffocates you. Your lungs ignite, consuming your oxygen to douse their rising flames. You can no longer breathe inside, panic rippling in your heart violently, pushing at your ribs, begging for an escape. You open the door, collapsing to your knees as a violent coughing fit overtakes you. You blindly clutch at Minho’s arm and he tumbles to the ground with you.

The ugly sob that had been trapped within your throat finally escapes, and passersby pay you no mind. It must be usual to hear gut-wrenching cries in a hospital parking lot. But Minho seems to care, as his hands soothingly rub your back, undergoing a steadfast path from the nape of your neck down the base of your spine. He’s not panicking and his touch appears to instinctively know how to speak to your sadness, how to soothe your sorrow with unheard words.

You imagine it's not his first time comforting you, and the thought only forces another sob from the depths of your soul, as Minho pulls you up once again. He sits your shaky figure on the wheelchair, closing the car doors.

“We can walk,” he tells you gently, and despite the quietness of his voice, it manages to break through your raging storm. A singular sun ray parting the gloomy clouds.

“It’s okay, I’ll... I’ll suck it up”

"You've been through a terrible car accident, and I won't let you sit here and panic, especially when your wounds are still fresh and your mind is trying to protect you."

His tone is resolute, eyes blazing with determination as he looks at you. You can only nod in response. So, Minho pushes your wheelchair to his house. He doesn’t huff, nor complain about the autumn sun scorching his skin, the effort to push you for the entirety of the road, and then inside his building. He only smiles when his eyes meet yours in the elevator mirror.

He’s tentative as he opens the door to his apartment, hand tightly gripping the keys before turning them, as if preparing himself for a bigger heartbreak, one that lies within what was once his sanctuary- yours too, you suppose.

Minho pushes you inside, pausing near the entrance as your eyes drink in the interior. He seems to await something, perhaps for you to remember the place you’ve called home for the past months. A few seconds pass, and he clears his throat, holding your arm to guide you forward. He avoids your gaze as you both venture in.

“This is the kitchen,” he points to a small kitchenette, where a flower bouquet seems to have wilted, much like the man near you- his emotions now diluted, eyes dimmed as they glaze over the walls. You spot your favorite mug on the racks, one that resembles a fairy mushroom. The sight of it makes your heart clench in your chest. So, this is your home, after all.

You leave the kitchen and walk down a narrow hallway when you stumble on your feet. “Easy, honey,” Minho cautions, and your hold on his forearm falters. He blinks at you before gazing up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry, force of habit.”

“It’s okay,” you reply in a small voice.

Minho leads you to the living room, cream-colored sofas with a navy blanket on top, multiple fuzzy pillows scattered all around. A tulip field painting graces the accent blue wall- your favorite flower, two matching slippers rest by the couch, racks of your novels adjacent to his collection of cookbooks, you assume.

It is all the more evident to you that you’ve both lived here, lives intertwining so seamlessly into one another. The place radiates comfort and warmth, but it refuses to penetrate your being, as if you’re harboring a shield of oblivion, ricocheting off any touch of remembrance. You’re an intruder, standing in stark contrast to the inviting coziness that envelops you.

“I like that wall,” you say in an attempt to lighten the stuffy atmosphere.

“We painted it together,” Minho smiles sadly, and your remorse seems to liquify, blending in with the blood running through your veins.

From the corner of your eyes, you spot three furry masses bolting towards you, small paws clawing at your feet. You feel another dent add to your heart, so much you are sure it would blow away at the tiniest gust of wind. Just how much have you forgotten?

“We… We had cats?” you ask breathlessly, eyes widening as you take in the two orange felines, and the gray, much smaller one.

“These are mine, but you also adopted them, in a way,” he explains, crouching down to pet his cats, scratching the sensitive spot behind their ears. He is tender with them and they appear at ease in his presence. You realize you’ve felt the same since you’ve woken up.

“Hey, my babies,” he coos softly. “Mom- I mean y/n- is tired so let’s give her some space, okay?” he quickly corrects, before gently pushing the cats away from your feet.

Minho shows you the bathroom before leading you to the bedroom- it's a bit untidy, worn clothes thrown on the ground, some of your accessories tossed on top of the vanity. As if the room was also frozen in time, awaiting your return to resume its familiar course.

“You'll sleep here and I'll just take the couch,” Minho interrupts your thoughts as he gently sits you atop the bed.

"But-"

"I’ll make you dinner so you can take your medication, okay?” he ignores your objections, adjusting two pillows behind your back to help you sit up straight, just like the doctor cautioned. His necklace, adorned with your initial, brushes against your cheek. “Try to sleep meanwhile. You need to rest.”

“Minho this is too much-"

“It’s not. If you need anything just call me over, I’ll leave the door open,” he says, tucking you in beneath the blanket.

“I don’t want to burden you,” you finally admit, voice slightly raised so he’d finally listen.

“Y/n, I love you.” He speaks so suddenly, fists balled on either side of your body. “And this is what I do for the person I love. I… I don’t know how to not care for you, don’t take that away from me, please. Please,” he repeats, voice faltering under the weight of his plea.

"Okay," you concede.

You can't quite remember that first night, the morphine injected into your veins made you ebb and flow out of consciousness, only recollecting small fragments of the hours flowing by.

But you remember the dull pain settling into your bones, one you knew would accompany you for the following weeks. You remember the thoughts swirling in your mind like a tempest- your near brush with death, how she almost trapped you into her icy hold; the year of memories gone with the wind, as if they were never yours to begin with; and the stranger whose home you are in now, the very one who took care of you throughout the night.

And you can't perfectly recall it, but you swear Minho stayed by your side until the early hours of the morning, warm hand pressed to your forehead to check your temperature, cold tears falling on your arm as he laid his head next to your sleeping body.

Day 2.

You miss being asleep the second you wake up in.

Every fiber of your being aches, as though pain has latched itself into every muscle, its grip unrelenting now that the morphine's comforting veil has lifted. You drag a hand tiredly across your face, tears of frustration welling like dewdrops in your eyes. It's only 10 a.m. Far too early for one's spirit to crumble.

A bright post-it note on the bedside table catches your weary gaze. "I went to drop your medical leave at your work. I've made you breakfast it's in the kitchen. Don't forget to drink your medicine, I'll be home soon"

What home was Minho referring to, exactly? Because this one wasn’t yours, and neither was the one back in your hometown. Were you destined to be a passerby in temporary places, always lingering near the door, ready to put your shoes back on and leave at any moment?

10:03. Still too early.

You find solace in having two months off of your work. You couldn’t bear being somewhere where everybody knew you for months, while your memories of them span but mere weeks. The expectations they would have, the pressure to conform, to mirror the footsteps of your past self was an unbearable burden. What if she was better than you? Made better choices, spoke more eloquently? What if you couldn't live up to the image they had conjured? What if you couldn't face the repercussions of your past actions?

10:07. You need to shower.

You slowly ease yourself off the bed, careful not to put pressure on your injured leg, avoiding even the slightest exhalation. You pretend as if nothing’s happening as you pick up a pair of pajamas that you recognize from the closet – a familiar relic from the life you’ve always known.

It's a charade, you’re aware of it. You're but treading on fragile ice, your pain threatening to shatter the frozen façade beneath your feet, plunging you into the frigid truth at any given moment.

You walk into the shower, attempting to rinse the day's tiredness away. But moving your limbs is a strenuous task, and you can't reach over your head to wash your hair. You let out a dry chuckle as the water runs over your back, splattering across the white tiles.

Your heart swells in your chest, an uncomfortable weight pressing against your fractured ribs. Still, it beats, and you cling with all your might to this one silver lining.

Minho has made you pancakes, not the most nutritious meal but the only one you can stomach on your sick days. He's also brewed you tea, a singular sugar cube resting at the bottom of your cup, just the way you like it. Your grip on your fork tightens, knuckles paling. You wish he had put three sugar cubes, or that he made you anything but pancakes, something to reassure you that he didn’t know you so intimately. That your mind hasn’t stolen a love where every detail of you was known.

The door opens, keys clinking on a solid surface. The sound of it tugs at your heart ever so faintly, a distant bell ringing somewhere far- it quiets down before you even realize it is there.

“Good morning,” Minho greets, the corners of his mouth curving upward although his eyes remain downcast, redness tinging its outlines. You look down at your cup, unable to hold his wounded stare.

“Good morning. Thank you for the breakfast and for going to my work. I really appreciate it,” you say.

“It's nothing. Your coworkers wish you a speedy recovery.”

“Mm,” you murmur. “That's nice of them."

“Here,” he slides a phone across the table. “I bought you a new one since your phone’s screen was smashed in the car accident, but I took it to a repair shop. Maybe they’d manage to fix it.”

You go to protest when he shakes his head, silencing you. “Don’t say It’s too much.”

A surprised giggle escapes your lips at his accurate prediction, momentarily halting Minho in his tracks. You swallow the sound down as Minho clears his throat, dissipating your laughter into thin air. “I put my phone number there. Also, the ones of your family that I have. Always call me if you need anything, okay?” he pauses, locking your eyes with his. “Anything.”

“It's okay, I really don't want to bother you. You might be busy."

“I’ll still answer,” he quickly responds. “I’ll always answer you.”

There is a certain sincerity that coats Minho's words, one that softens the edges of his letters, making them easier to permeate your being, to sink into the seas of your soul.

“Minho,” you call out gently.

“Yes, hon- " He inhales deeply, eyes looking anywhere but at you. “Yes, Yn?”

“Thank you, for everything.”

“Of course.”

The ensuing hours blur into a hazy dance, in which you’re only awakened by Minho’s warm hand on your shoulder, as he brings you lunch, then dinner to your room, paired with the medicine you need to take. He doesn’t talk to you, only carrying out the tray outside when he deems you asleep- as if tiptoeing near your existence, afraid he’d slip into you again, knowing you won’t be there to catch him.

It's nearly midnight when you leave your room to use the bathroom. You pause near the door when you spot Minho petting his cats. You don’t even know their names, you haven’t dared to ask, still foolishly holding on to the hopes that this is but a horrible nightmare, one clawing at your tender skin even after you rose.

“You’re sad, aren’t you?” he coos softly, and the cats respond with plaintive mewls as if understanding his words. “Mm. I’m really sad too,” his voice is barely above a whisper, as though it’s a confession he isn’t ready to speak out loud. The pain in your ribs intensifies.

“But it’s okay, she’ll remember us. We are her family, she can’t forget us forever, right?” your breathing hitches. “Right,” he adds softly, as if to reassure himself; to inflate hope in a heart deserted by you.

Day 3.

Minho threw away the wilted flowers, leaving the vase bare at the center of the kitchen table.

You almost wish he hadn't- those lifeless blooms were the sole reflection of your faded spirit within this home. Now everything in the house seemed alive, grand windows ushering in daylight to cascade upon the living space, causing the ivory walls to glisten. Everything, except for you and Minho, two ghosts skirting along the existence of one another.

There is, was, love imprinted in this house. You could sense it though you couldn’t feel it anymore. By the two cat mugs that connect through their tails, your products intermingling with Minho's in the bathroom sink, the notes you found hung on the fridge- some with his handwriting, most with yours, reminding Minho how much you loved him.

Where did all that love go? Did it dissipate into thin air, gone as if it had never existed? Has it turned into something else, lurking beneath the surface of your skin, waiting for you to remember?

You can’t find the answers, and as Minho finishes up his breakfast, you find yourself longing to ask him about the past year. Who you were and what you’ve lived. But you know it’ll feel like salt on a wound, akin to bringing a mirror before his face, reminding him of all that's been lost.

So instead, you offer to wash the dishes. He refuses, not that you expected anything else given his attentiveness to you.

“It’s only two plates and two cups, I can do it,” you insist, but he just stares blankly at you, before motioning to your ribs, and your swollen ankle. “It’ll be quick, please. I-I want to do it.”

“Fine,” he concedes, gaze softening. “But if you feel pain you'll stop.”

“Okay,” you smile tentatively, eager for the sense of normalcy that this mundane act would bring. You haven't forgotten how to wash a cup, at least.

Five minutes pass, and you suddenly freeze, plates drying in your hands. You have no idea where the dishes go.

This was your home, yet you can't even remember which cupboard holds the plates.

Silent tears flow down your cheeks and you wipe them away angrily. You clutch the plate in your hands so tightly you’re surprised it hasn’t shattered. You selfishly wish it did- you were tired of being the sole broken entity in this house.

A small whimper escapes your lips, startling Minho who was mindlessly scrolling through his phone. He rushes to your side, brows furrowed, concern woven into his face.

“What’s wrong? Are you in pain? Should I call the doctor?” he questions; eyes raking through your figure anxiously.

You shake your head as your tears double over. You can feel your heart constricting in your chest, longing for comfort, for a missing piece that was snatched from you, the void it left behind pulsating achingly within your being.

“I-I don’t know where the dishes go, and yesterday I tried to w-wash my hair and I c-couldn’t do it,” you admit through hiccups, plate still in your hands. Minho gently takes it from your tight hold, and your pinky brushes against his palm. He flexes his hand at the touch.

“It’s okay, it’s my fault. I should've shown you,” his voice is gentle, reminding you of how one soothes a child during a tantrum. You're embarrassing yourself but you can't find it in you to care.

“I’m so sorry. I couldn’t p-put them back in their place,” you choke out, head turned down, tears ricocheting off sage tiles. You’ve always wanted a green kitchen. You’ve gotten it and you can’t remember.

“It’s okay, I’ll put them back. Shh, yn, please don’t cry.” He’s slightly panicking, hands tightly fisted near his body as if he’s afraid they’d act on their own accord, reaching out to touch you the way they’ve done the past few months. He sighs softly before taking a cautious step toward you.

“I’ll wash your hair for you,” he offers, smiling tenderly at you, knuckles brushing ever so gently against your cheeks. “Hm? You can sit in front of the sink and I’ll wash it.”

“You’d do it?”

“I’d do anything for you.”

There is a softness that emanates from every atom of Minho, flowing from his fingertips, molding everything he touches. You were sure of it as he stood beside you, pouring shampoo over your hair with you sitting on a stool, head tilted back to the sink, your favorite song playing in the background. As he dried your hair with a warm towel, and then settled behind you on the bed, gently lathering your hair with your familiar serum, brushing your strands with care, avoiding any tugs that might pain you.

Everything Minho does is not to hurt you.

You went to sleep with the ghost of his fingers lingering on your scalp, his warm breath still caressing the back of your neck. You found slumber came much easier to you that night. You account it to your hair finally being clean.

Day 4.

“Yn?” Minho calls out gently, his head peering through the bedroom door. “Should we go on a walk? Just around the block, the doctor said it’d be good.”

“Sure,” you nod, glancing at the bedside clock. 9:43 p.m. it reads.

“Dress warmly, it’s cold outside,” he advises softly before leaving.

A few minutes later, you're clad in a gray university hoodie that drapes slightly past your thighs and a pair of matching sweatpants. Minho halts in his tracks upon seeing you, his eyes racking furiously over your figure. He shakes his head, swallowing a growing lump of despair.

“Wait here,” he whispers, vanishing into his room, leaving you fidgeting in place. An orange cat sidles up to your feet and you slowly bend down to scratch its ears. “I’m sorry I don’t remember you,” you smile sadly and he purrs in response, as if forgiving you for forgetting.

You wished you could forgive yourself too, one day.

Minho comes back, a red scarf in his hands. He steps forward until only a few inches are separating your bodies. With attentive care, he wraps the scarf around your neck, securing it in place. His brows furrow as he loops the fabric through and you release a small, shaky exhale.

There is a fog dissipating before your eyes, a misty veil lifted off your irises. In the four days you've known Minho, you always willed yourself to not look at him for too long, afraid of the pain you'd discern brewing over his figure, the shadows cast across his face.

But now, he stands so near that you cannot help but look at him. Wispy black bangs fall on top of his forehead, framing his rich honey eyes. His long eyelashes flutter with each blink, pupils dilated like a constellation-laden night sky. The smooth bridge of his high nose, dotted with the smallest mole; a well-defined cupid's bow outlining rosy, plump lips. He’s beautiful, even in his sadness; with sunken cheekbones and darkened eye circles, the hunch of his back, and the shake in his hands as he gently frees your hair from underneath the scarf.

Was it wrong of you to find beauty in his pain?

His gaze softens when it finally meets yours, his hand still holding your scarf tightly, as if it's a lifeline tethering him to you, one with which he verifies your existence, suddenly so elusive now that it no longer entwines with his.

It must be strange, surely, to grieve the loss of someone who’s still alive, breathing in the room next to yours.

Minho smiles at you, his fingers hovering above your head, as though he wished to smooth down your hair. He retracts his hand back, burying it deep inside the pocket of his black sweatpants, physically trapping it, stopping it from reaching it out to you once again.

You’ve noticed his reticence to touch you, even when he wakes you in the morning to drink your medicine. His hand never fully rests upon your shoulder, it is only his fingertips that delicately graze your skin. It's as though he’s convinced you're but a figment of his imagination, and he fears that once he touches you, his hand will pass right through your body, shattering the illusion he foolishly held onto.

You blink and Minho’s already three steps away, grabbing his keys and opening the door.

Despite cautioning you against the cold, Minho doesn't say no when you ask for ice cream, paying for it before you can reach the counter. It's an unfamiliar brand, one that he advised you to try, and you don't regret following his choice. It’s a sweet mixture of vanilla and caramelized almonds, coated in rich milk chocolate- you can't stop the happy smile that graces your lips upon tasting it.

You glance at Minho to find an unprecedented softness coloring his expression, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. It isn't a smile directed at you, but rather an uncontrollable display of his feelings, splashing across his face like paint on a canvas.

You expect him to swallow this mark of affection down, to conceal it with a placid expression, but he doesn't. He only tilts his chin forward, gesturing to the ice cream.

"Do you like it?"

You hum in agreement, a grin stretching wider on your lips. "I do."

"You did too, back then, when I showed it to you," he says, almost casually, as if referring to a childhood memory that turned out to be more important to him than to you.

"You have good taste," you reply, scrunching your nose playfully at him. The smile slips away from his face, his voice somber when he speaks again. "I really do, don't I?"

Walking with Minho isn't as awkward as you had imagined it might be. He shows you the neighborhood- the nearby playground, the hidden flower shop tucked away in a corner and you make a mental note to visit it later. You point at closed shops inquiring about them- he answers each of your questions diligently.

Your accident is never brought up, and you both tiptoe around the topic, skirting the edge of a dark forest where the light no longer seeps through and dark vines cover the sun.

You both refuse to venture into the unknown.

"Just down the road, there is a bookstore. They have really great deals and I bought most-" Shouts erupt from somewhere nearby, loud slurred voices of two men under the influence. Your hand instinctively wraps around Minho's forearm, while his hand moves in front of your body, acting as a shield.

You freeze, letting out a shaky breath. "I- I hate yelling."

"I know," he responds simply, lowering his hand.

He knows you- it is a comforting thought, to realize that you exist beyond the confines of your own mind.

Day 5.

Minho’s staring blankly at his phone, your conversation shining dimly before his eyes. You’ve just sent him a text reassuring him that you indeed took your medicine since he wasn’t home today with you- his three days off work passing by in the blink of an eye.

In his mind, the past week felt like a mirage, a nightmare woven with intricate threads of his deepest fears- losing you, never getting to see the glimmer in your eyes again, and then looking at it and realizing it is no longer directed at him.

He exhales softly, tucking his phone into the pocket of his navy trousers. The salty breeze from the nearby lake grazes his senses, and he closes his eyes, yearning for a fleeting respite.

He purposely avoids watching the sun's descent into the water, which paints the sky in hues of yellow and orange. He no longer finds the sunset unfolding before him captivating, or any other scenery, for that matter, even those he once deemed beautiful. The world, in his eyes, has become lackluster and devoid of vibrancy, overshadowed by a profound sadness he never fathomed would reside in his heart.

He still doesn’t know how he managed to remain strong until now, tending to you, holding your gaze, and breathing near you when you don’t even remember him.

You’ve survived, he reminds himself, you were lucky enough to be able to draw these breaths. The thought of any other outcome sends uncomfortable shivers down his spine. You’re alive and you’ll be home, he clings to this truth as he starts making his way back to his apartment.

For how long will this knowledge offer him solace? How long will it push him to face a new day? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t think he wants to.

It is much deeper into the night, the sound of the TV playing softly in the background. Minho has given up on slumber since the day of your accident. He was used to the feel of your fingers playing with his hair, your goodnight kisses planted on his forehead, then his on yours.

He doesn't know how to sleep without burying his head in your neck, your chest, your stomach, wherever he saw fit that day. And he was used to your warmth- the warmth of your body as he pressed it tightly to his, the warmth of your love as you whispered goodnight to him. And the living room feels immensely cold in your absence.

He fixates his gaze on the ceiling, resolute in his effort to avoid scanning the room. Since every corner he dares to inspect serves as a poignant reminder of the life you both once shared, a life whose echoes still reverberate in the air around him. The sound of your laughter, the memory of your annoyed whines when he teased you a bit too fervently. Vivid recollections unfold before his eyes- your tender kisses exchanged under the fridge's light, warm hugs by the front door after a particularly long day, none of you willing to let go first.

He remembers your delighted giggles the first time you entered the house. It was still unfurnished, save for a floatable mattress and two empty cups of ramen beside it. But you were happy, immensely so, and your joy seemed to fill every room, painting it with shades of your love. Now the house feels empty- you're here and yet you aren't, and he is still on the sidewalk where he received that fateful call from your hospital.

The moonlight filters through the window, and Minho looks at the light without truly seeing it. It's as if darkness surrounds him entirely- a bottomless sky where the stars of your affection have fizzled out, so suddenly, leaving him alone to wander blind. He can't help but feel guilty- had he not given you a love worth remembering?

Minho sighs loudly once again, trying to coax the reluctant breaths to escape his body. He pulls himself to his feet to check on you, knowing that you had to sleep upright for the first few days so your ribs would heal properly, which is why he often found himself readjusting your body at night.

He peeks through the door, the light from the hallway casting an ethereal glow on your body. He frowns when he notices you fidgeting in your sleep, eyebrows knitted together. A soft gasp escapes your lips and Minho hurries to your side. He's witnessed your nightmares before and he knows that this one must be particularly terrifying to elicit such startled sounds from you.

“Y/n,” Minho coaxes gently, but you don’t respond. He presses his palm to your shoulder, shaking you slightly. “Y/n, wake up.” You writhe in your place, fear evident in your features, and Minho grabs both your shoulders, growing more urgent in his attempts to wake you. “Y/n, come on wake up!” he speaks louder, and you startle awake, pushing his arms away.

“I’m... Where am I?” you ask frantically, hand running through your hair. A sharp pain seems to surge through your ribs as you clutch your chest, slightly doubling over.

“Take it easy, Y/n. Deep breaths,” he wills gently and you raise your head, meeting his eyes. Recognition shines in them, but not love, not anymore. He never knew affection could alter someone’s gaze this much.

“Minho… I- I remember,” you gasp, tears trailing down your face at an alarming rate. He freezes in place, tongue thickening in his mouth, unable to move it.

“What... what do you remember?” he asks carefully, sitting on the edge of your bed.

“The accident. I remember driving and I… I was going in my lane, I- I didn’t… I wasn’t driving fast, but a truck came out of nowhere and its lights blinded me, and then… it rammed into the passenger seat side of the car and-" Your hands shake as you bring them to your face. “The blood, there was so much blood coming out of me, that’s- that’s the last thing I remember, it was in my hands and my arms and-" You’re wiping frantically at your skin as if erasing remnants of the red liquid only you can see. “I bled so much but I was… I- I don’t-"

“Can I hold your hands?” Minho cuts you off, needing the panic to dissipate from your being.

“Please,” you stutter, and he promptly grabs your hands in his warm ones, intertwining your fingers together, rubbing his thumb soothingly across your palm.

“You are safe now. You are alive and you are breathing and you are safe.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong, I drove safely, why… why was I hit?” you ask in a small, broken voice, overwhelmed by the unjust reality of the world. Minho swallows his own tears, throwing them down the pits of his pain. The one thing he wished you’d never remember was your accident, the sight of your unconscious body for those three days nearly driving him insane.

“He was drunk. And he’s in jail now. It wasn’t your fault you couldn’t have prevented it."

You remain silent, gaze lost on the wall. “Hm? It wasn’t your fault, right?" he presses, squeezing your hand lightly.

“Yeah.” You sigh, unconvinced. Minho reluctantly drops your hand to pour you a glass of water, and you diligently drink it, before curling around yourself in a ball.

“No, you can’t sit like this,” he gently reprimands and you pout.

"My heart hurts. The pressure helps."

“I know it does,” he smiles in understanding, “but we have to make sure your ribs won’t hurt more, alright?” he explains as he pulls you upright, tucking pillows beneath your arms. He grabs a hoodie from the closet and rolls it into a ball, placing it gently on your chest.

“Here, you can hug this instead.” You giggle quietly at the makeshift plushie, but your laughter suddenly morphs into fresh tears, catching him off-guard.

“I’m so tired, Minho. And I’m so frustrated and mad and sad. Is it possible to f-feel all these things at once?" You hiccup, burying your face into his hoodie, soaking it in tears.

“It is,” he hums gently, “Do you think it’d help if you talked to a therapist?” He feels you tense up beneath the comforter. “Only if you want to, on your own terms.”

“I’ll think about it,” you whisper.

“Of course,” he says. “Try to sleep again, mm?”

“I don’t think I can,” you chuckle quietly, wiping your tears away with the sleeves of your cardigan. “Do you have work tomorrow?” you ask.

“I do.”

“What do you work as?”

“Computer programming. I’m also a dance teacher on the side,” he adds quietly, feeling a bit vulnerable at revealing this bit about himself again.

“How do you manage both?” you ask in awe and he shrugs.

“My IT job leaves me a lot of free time. And I’ve always loved dance, so it doesn’t really feel like a job, you know?”

“Mm, you must work very hard at it. That’s why your body’s so toned,” you say almost absentmindedly, as Minho lets out a surprised chuckle at your words.

“You think my body is toned?”

“I mean- I didn’t ogle you I just… you know, you wear these fitted shirts it’s hard not to notice your muscles and-"

"You are sick and yet you’re staring at my body?” he tsks. “I feel used.”

“Hey,” you hit him with the hoodie he gave you. “Forget I said anything,” you pout.

“It’s okay, I work very hard for these, thank you very much,” he flexes slightly, and genuine laughter bubbles up from you both. This might be the one thing he misses the most.

You both quiet down, silence filling the room once again, but it isn’t awkward, it’s comfortable, almost as if you're the same person he's always known.

“What’s your favorite color?” you suddenly ask.

“Purple.”

“Did my favorite color change over this past year?”

“No,” he chuckles, “it’s still that obnoxious orange.”

“It’s not obnoxious, it’s peculiar.”

“it’s weird and it hurts my poor eyes,” he whines, covering his face as if wounded by the mere thought of it.

“Hey, what if it can hear us and now you just hurt its feelings?”

“Colors have feelings now?” he asks, amused.

“Everything has feelings,” you nod matter-of-factly.

“Okay then think of the feelings of this bed we are both squishing with our weights.”

“Don’t say that. Now I’m sad for it,” you pat the comforter gently, a slight pout tugging at your lips.

“I think you should sleep,” he smiles and you fake a gasp. “Is my convo boring you?”

“Yes. Now sleep, Yn,” he brings the comforter up your body, sliding away from the bed. “You’ll be okay, right?”

“Can you… can you sleep here too? I saw the inflatable mattress in the storage room. If that’s not… too much to ask for.”

"Of course not. I'll be back."

"Thank you, Minho" you smile, lower lip slightly quivering. "Thank you for not being mad at me."

Just how many cracks can one heart bear before breaking beyond repair? Minho thinks he's close to finding out.

Day 6.

The lights of your dreams have returned, but they are no longer comforting, nor warm, they glare harshly, searing your eyes as they announce your impending doom. Each second draws out in slow-motion and you find yourself counting the breaths you inhale, fearing they may be your last. One in, one out, one in, one out. The moment you dreaded unfolds- the truck collides with your car, flipping it upside down.

However, this time, flames rage within. You know that your car wasn't burned, but they feel terrifyingly tangible as they latch onto your skin. The heat becomes unbearable, you are no longer sure that this is just a mere dream. You try to scream but smokey air fills your lungs instead, robbing you of your ability to speak.

You need to wake up. You need someone to rouse you from this nightmare. Minho. You try to utter his name, but it escapes your lips in a strangled whisper. The lights won.

A cool hand clasps your own, yanking you from the fiery dream, dissolving it like sugar in a hot cup of tea. You startle awake to find Minho hovering over you, brows knitted in concern, his hand tenderly cradling yours.

“Are you okay? Another bad dream?” he inquires and you sigh in response, nodding as your head falls back onto the pillow.

He brushes your hair back, some damp strands still clinging to your sweaty forehead. "You screamed my name. Was I in your nightmare?” he ventures carefully, afraid he was one of the sources of your fear.

“No, I… I thought of you, in my dream,” you reassure, although your words seem to have the opposing effect, making Minho pause in his tracks. You’ve noticed his habit of freezing around you as if needing time to process what you just said. You wonder if you’ve ever came to learn the meaning behind each of his silences, what his blinks convey in ways his tongue fails to.

“You are heating up,” he clears his throat, pressing his hand against your forehead. “Do you wanna shower? I’ll make you tea meanwhile.”

“Okay, yeah. I’d like that,” you nod, glancing at your phone- 3.47 a.m.

Twenty minutes later, you find Minho sitting on the inflatable bed, legs crossed, two steaming mugs of tea before him. He appears drowsy, eyes shutting and reopening as if fending off slumber. It’s almost an endearing sight- the way his bangs fall before his eyes, obstructing his vision, the sleeves of his pullover dangling over his hands, hiding them from your view. He brought the mattress without you asking him to. The attention brings a smile to your face.

“Hi,” you greet softly and Minho looks up, a tender smile on his face. “Hey. Here is your tea.”

“Thank you,” you beam at him, settling on the edge of your bed, legs crisscrossed to mirror his. “I’m sorry that I woke you up.”

“It’s okay. I wasn’t really asleep, just resting my eyes.”

“Isn't that what sleep is?” you snort and he chuckles, shaking his head.

“I was still conscious, you know. I can’t really sleep these days.”

“Is the couch uncomfortable?” you ask, worried, fidgeting with your lower lip.

“It’s not the couch,” he says as his eyes lock on yours, a stare so intense it forces you to look down at your cup. ‘it’s you’, you read in his gaze. You have no answer for that.

“What's your favorite food?” you suddenly wonder.

“Pudding.”

“But that’s dessert?”

“I really like the one you used to make me.”

“I cooked for you? and you liked it?” you giggle. “I’m not really good at it, usually.”

“I taught you some basic skills,” he smirks, raising his eyebrows proudly at you.

“Too bad your effort is now wasted.”

“It’s not a waste if it was done with love,” he pauses, licking his lips. “And I remember it.”

A bittersweet fog shrouds the air- he remembers that memory, but you don’t. Perhaps you will never bridge that gap, no matter how much you want to. The room in your heart may remain forever locked, the gateway to that chamber brimming with your stolen memories. Maybe you're condemned to merely stand before the closed door, straining to hear the echoes of the love that resonates behind, forever just out of reach.

You don’t fall asleep again that night. And as Minho’s quiet snores fill the room, you rummage your mind in search of a pudding recipe, hoping to retrieve the memory he spoke of so tenderly, shaky hands holding his mug tightly. Silent tears trail down your cheeks and you try your best to stifle the sound of your cries.

You want to make pudding. You want to make him pudding so badly.

Day 7.

It’s been a week since you woke up anew. Seven days adrift in a vast sea where waves of your memories lap at the shores of your mind, unable to breach the walls guarding your recollections of the past year.

Minho took you to the hospital for your weekly check-up. He sat by your side as the doctor reassured you that your ribs were healing relatively well, but you still needed time to recover, time for your body to mend, time for your memories to return. You loathed the waiting, the wasted days slipping through your fingers. You wanted a now.

But you kept all these thoughts to yourself, thanking the doctor as he exited the room.

Minho rented a bicycle to drive you around since the thought of being in a car made your anxiety spike. He installed a little seat for you, in that bright, obnoxious orange color you love very dearly. The sight of it nearly brought tears to your eyes this morning.

Minho idly pedaled around, choosing a scenic route, one he knew by heart from the looks of it. You closed your eyes, savoring the last sun rays of the year. Autumn was fading, winter clawing its way into the seasons slowly. You weren’t sure you could handle both the cold and the grief.

Miho took time off work for your doctor's appointment, and you both spent the day around one another, side by side on the couch, a new book in your hands, and an anime playing on the TV for Minho.

You could see him casting occasional, nervous glances in your direction, as you flipped the pages of the book. You didn’t understand why at first.

But then you did.

You only brought it up at night, when it was past 2 a.m. and you knew that Minho wasn’t sleeping either, the screen of his phone illuminating his face. He left the inflatable mattress in the room, no longer waiting for a nightmare to occur. You weren’t complaining. You desperately needed company.

“Minho,” you call out gently.

“Mm?”

“How did we meet?”

You can hear Minho suck in a deep breath at your question, before placing his phone down, the only light source in the room fizzling out. It made talking easier that way, when only your voices were heard, carried around, as if emitting from two entities that weren’t you both.

“We met… near your old apartment block. I was going to the kimbap place near yours, you remember that one, right?”

You hum in response.

“And I saw you crying, crouching near an injured cat. Some car had run over her leg, and she couldn’t walk anymore. And you didn’t know what to do, so I helped you. You insisted on coming with me to the vet where I take my cats. So, we caught a cab. And you were so worried, you didn’t stop crying, so the cab driver thought I did something to you,” he chuckles faintly.

“Then, the vet put a cast on her leg and reassured us that she’d be okay. And I told him I’d take her home and bring her for check-ups. But you were so worried, you begged me to send you updates about the cat. So, you gave me your number. And we talked.”

“What happened to the cat?”

“I took her to a rescue store I trusted since I couldn’t take her in. and we still visited her from time to time. And then, she found a good family.”

“And what happened to us?” you inquire softly, hoping that if your voice was quiet enough then your question wouldn't hurt Minho as much.

“We kept in touch," he said. "And it was… easy to talk to you, I felt as if I had known you for my entire life. When you found out I had three cats, we Facetimed a lot so you’d see them, but then we just kept on calling, every day, for nearly two weeks. Being with you felt natural, you know? I didn’t overthink it. I never did."

“And then three weeks later you came over to see Soonie, Dori, and Doongie. We ended up watching three movies in a row, and you were so tired you slept on my couch.”

“That’s embarrassing,” you chuckle.

"Yes," he laughs and you reach over to swat his shoulder playfully. "But it was also cute, and endearing. Then you came over a lot, and we just cooked together. Well, I cooked and you watched.”

“Right, that sounds more like me," you instantly agree.

“We hung outside too, whenever one of us had free time. We had a lot of common hobbies and interests so we never ran out of things to talk about. We made time for each other too.”

“How did we start dating?”

“You made the first move.”

“I did?” you shoot up from your place, hissing when the abrupt movement causes a twinge of pain in your ribs.

“Take it easy,” he giggles, as he illuminates your face with his flashlight. “You did.”

“Did you put a spell on me? I swore I’d never make a first move again after I was rejected in third grade. That was my most sacred oath."

“Well… you were ranting about this book. The one you were reading today,” he adds, and your excitement fizzles out, as the pieces of the puzzle finally fall into place. “You were sad because you had no one to talk to about it. So, I bought the book and read it. I gave you my copy, complete with highlighted passages and notes. And when I did… you kissed me, without warning,” his voice is softer now, as he fiddles with the tip of his blushing ears. "You said it was the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for you.”

“It was. It is,” you whisper, heart caught in your throat. “I saw the photograph of us both lodged between the pages of the book. Did we take it that day?”

“Yes, we weren’t dating, not yet. Because I told you I wanted to take you out on a proper date. But you wanted us to take a picture holding the book… So you’d remember.”

“So I'd remember,” you repeat, voice quivering. What good was it for in the end?

“I looked so happy in the photograph,” you whisper, tears welling up your eyes. “I looked so happy with you,” your voice breaks as you utter that last part. "Did I love you, Minho?"

"You did," he nods softly, blinking away his own tears.

“And did you love me?”

“I did. I still do, very much.”

“Thank you, for loving me. It sounds like I’ve lived a happy year with you.”

Minho's pain is akin to a polite guest; it lingers by the corner, speaking in whispers, hardly ever raising its voice. You'd never really notice it, unless you strain your ears, as you're doing now. Only then would you discern the tremors of his quiet sobs- broken, stifled, determined not to make themselves known, only escaping his lips when he thinks you've fallen asleep.

Day 8.

Whenever an overwhelming emotion ran freely along the corridors of your soul, you'd often find yourself curled in a fetal position, knees drawn to your chest, like a fragile leaf.

Your teacher once explained that it reminds us of safer times in the wombs of our mothers, when the cruelty of life hasn’t yet reached us.

It is the way you’re resting now, upon the cold, hardwood floor, dozens of books surrounding you. You decided to go through each book in Minho’s library, the need to satiate your curiosity overtaking you. You didn’t know what you were looking for, exactly. Other photographs, surely, in the hopes that one of them would spark up your memory, ignite the flame of remembrance.

What you didn’t expect was to find Minho talking to you through books. Within the pages, amid the words, scribbled in small, dainty handwriting, threads of his thoughts all relating to you. Quotes he thought you’d appreciate, highlighted segments that reminded him of you. And dedications, so many dedicated lines you felt like you could drown in them. It felt as if Minho was on a quest to find love within every line, only to inscribe your name beside it.

Putting down the last book, you were left with a huge void, akin to a black hole eating away at your heart. So, you laid on the floor, one arm underneath your head, knees held tightly to your chest- as if trying to create borders for your sadness, to stop it from spilling out of your body, drowning the house in even more sorrow. Those four walls have had enough, more than they could contain. And so did you.

You suddenly longed for the very beginning of your life, when time was but a tranquil stream, when you were unaware of the hurtful years it would carve into your existence. Back to when your spine was still curled around itself; for it was never meant to be straightened. Your spine was never strong enough to bear your pain.

You wanted to talk to someone, but you didn’t know who you could turn to. You didn’t know how to articulate these emotions into words, tangible enough for someone to understand them. And you couldn’t talk to Minho about it, not when he was hurting on his own.

Because he smiled down at his cats, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. His laughter echoed around the room when he talked to his friends on the phone. And sometimes, he even hummed under his breath while making you breakfast. But this happiness never reached his eyes, behind his pupils the sadness seared itself into his veins, casting a gloomy shadow that followed him everywhere he went. It was a palpable ache, one that filled the very atmosphere with the metallic taste of grief. Making it almost impossible for you to breathe in. Even more so when you remember it was all your fault.

These are the thoughts that haunted you all day, as they have been doing for the past week. Minho must have noticed that you were feeling gloomier than usual, a silent storm raging by his side, since he put up a romcom for you. “It made you laugh a lot when you watched it months ago.”

“How do you remember all of these things about me?” you ponder, scratching the fragile skin near your nails, easily torn, just like you.

“Does it make you uncomfortable? Should I stop?” he asks quietly, deflecting your question.

“No,” you say the truth. “It'd be weird if you were an actual stranger, but… you knew me. And I knew you. and I still feel safe around you.”

He nods silently, but something in his gaze compels you to keep talking.

“I mean, I never felt uncomfortable around you these days, which surprised me too. I just… I suppose that even if my mind doesn’t remember, my heart does, in a way?”

“My heart will always remember you,” he whispers, gaze adrift in a faraway memory.

A gear shifts in your mind, a sudden light flooding your vision. You find yourself within a grand canopy bed, its pure white curtains swaying to the rhythm of a whimsical breeze, their delicate fabric brushing lightly against your cheek. It’s slightly cold from the wide-open windows, but then it’s warm, as a gentle hand finds its place on your thigh, kindling an ember deep within, setting your very soul ablaze.

The curtains sway with the wind, obscuring your view, but you can still discern the sound of your laughter, echoing like distant chimes. And a tenderness, so delicate it seemed almost otherworldly, trailing along your skin, as warmth caresses your cheek and gently traverses the curve of your collarbones, peppering it with the softest kisses. You can't quite behold it, but it is unmistakably there, an ineffable presence that threatens to burst your heart at the seams—a memory of your love for Minho.

It is a blurry sight, like peering into a worn-out photograph, its details softened by the sands of time. But you clutch to it- to your fading laughter and hushed conversation, and then your voice ringing clearly in your mind, the promise you made to Minho.

'My heart will always remember you'.

You startle back in a jolt; the light and warmth have extinguished. They are now dull, withered down, sitting next to you with their head hung low.

It takes you an inhumane effort to swallow down the lump in your throat.

Day 16.

This week has been particularly cold. Not temperature-wise, October has always harbored these same frigid temperatures and you've gotten used to them, to the relentless winds brushing against your skin. Only this time they pierced right through your soul instead.

You knew what had changed. You had felt the sadness, the frustration, the guilt- all blending into one sorrowful symphony, pulling at your heartstrings the way one does to a harp. Yet, amid these familiar emotions, a new feeling loomed large this past week- anxiety.

It arrived in sudden, icy bursts, cold beads of perspiration cascading down your spine, feet suddenly freezing no matter how fuzzy your socks were- the physical telltales, then came the emotional ones. The shadows of dread, for we fear the unseen more than that which we can touch. The growing panic gnawing at your heart, hinting that something profoundly disastrous lurked on the horizon.

Anxiety held you suspended in the air, bound by invisible ropes that compelled you to watch from above as the days drifted past you. You were a ghost haunting an empty shell, hollow and resonant with anxiety's clang, akin to an empty can's descent to the ground.

Your appetite had fled, leaving you alone to grapple with the chore of feeding yourself, mechanically ingesting food only to pacify Minho’s concerned gaze. The TV’s volume blared, since you desperately needed the voices of other people to invade your mind, to render your thoughts merciless, forcing them to put their sword-like tongues down.

And the exhaustion, not accounted to your broken ribs, for Minho had meticulously overseen their recovery. It was an emotional fatigue, a weariness that clung to your every breath, trapping them within your ribcage, far beyond their time, until they tethered on the brink of exploding in your lungs- a supernova of darkness devouring your essence. Only then did the breaths release their hold on you.

So, you patiently awaited the inevitable unraveling, because you knew this wasn’t an ordinary anxiety. Your soul whispered to you in a language your mind could no longer translate, throbbing with a message you couldn’t quite recollect, striving urgently to jog your memory of a monumental truth.

But you didn’t remember– you should have.

You should've known it was Minho’s birthday.

It is near midnight when you venture out of your room, the inflatable bed by your side unusually vacant. A dim glow draws you to the kitchen, and as you stand by its entrance, an intensified cold grips you. It chills the blood in your veins, transforming it into splintered shards that prick uncomfortably beneath your skin.

Minho is sitting by the table, a small, muted cake before him, a shoebox by his side. A solitary candle flickers in front of his face, casting elongating shadows on his chiseled features. The flame is about to fizzle out- you feel like your heart will closely follow suit.

"Minho..." you call out gently, careful not to startle him from the trance ensnaring him. He doesn't react to the sound of your voice.

"Minho, I…"

"Today was my birthday."

His tone is cold, like the darkening clouds before a stormy night. His words feel like lightning bolts piercing your core.

"It would be stupid to blow this candle out, wouldn't it? Because you and I both know my wish won't come true. Maybe it never will. And it's killing me, yn." His voice quivers as it utters your name, a slight shake taking over his lips. His cheeks are tear stained- glimmering reflections under the golden flame. You've never seen him this sad. You don't know how to comfort him in his sadness.

A rush of nausea overwhelms your being, a yearning to expel every emotion, methodically, until your heart transforms into a tranquil organ, solely pulsing life's crimson essence through your frame. Nothing more, nothing less.

"This shoe box is yours. You kept it under the bed, filled it with everything that reminded you of me. You told me..." he pauses, taking in a deep breath. "You told me that you wanted to remember everything about us, every single detail. But I... I don't care if you don't remember every date we went to. I just-" his forehead rests on his palm, as he squeezes his eyes shut. "I just want you to remember that you love me."

Hot tears are rolling across his cheeks, splattering across the table like a broken mosaic. He doesn't try to hide them or wipe them away. He's had enough.

"Minho, I’m-"

"I mean- that's not too much to ask for, right?" he finally lifts his head, locking his eyes with yours. A black abyss, a dark void. You are the one who sucked out all the light.

"You- you said you loved me. And I- I felt it, y/n, when you looked at me, when you touched me. I felt it, it wasn't- it wasn't just words, I-" he pauses, running a hand through his hair, tugging at his black locks furiously. "You loved me," his voice breaks. "Why- why can't you remember that you loved me?"

Your tongue bursts to flame in your mouth, its grey ashes choking you from within. What could you even say? How do you stop the bleeding of a heart when you carry knives for fingers?

Minho abruptly stands up, his chair scraping loudly across the floor. "We talked about marriage, a-about kids, you said- you said you'd choose me to be the father of your children, you said you wanted a big house w-with me and you-” he points at you, chest heaving, eyes rimmed red. “You said you wanted us to sit at the patio when we're eighty and you wanted us to hold hands still," he chuckles bitterly, his arms falling limp by his side incredulously. "And now you don't even remember me."

He grabs the box, rummaging through its contents furiously. "You see this?" he waves dried flowers before your eyes, their petals falling to the floor from the force of his agitation. "These are the flowers I got you for our first date. You dried them and put them here because you- you said you wanted to preserve it, to remember."

"And this, the cinema tickets from our first movie date. You were so tired you just slept on my shoulder all the time and then I- I carried you home and you kissed me." He's growing more frantic, rifling through the shoe box in a frenzy. You remain rooted by the kitchen's entrance, a sense of powerlessness holding you captive, an unbreakable vice around your being.

"This is the napkin from our favorite cat café, and look," he grabs your hand, clammy palm pressed to yours, pulling you toward the table." This is the receipt of the first time we went grocery shopping together and-" he waves it in the air, before slamming it onto the table. "And, you e-even kept this stupid rock I gave you right before I told you I love you for the first time, because you said it was the happiest day of your life, my god Yn how can you not remember?"

A broken, sob-laden chuckle escapes his lips, a sound so heart wrenchingly human, so painfully poignant that for an instant, it fills you with a bitter aversion to your own humanity- it was never meant to inflict this much pain upon someone else.

Your thoughts shatter as Minho tenderly cups your face, urging you to confront his turbulent gaze. He seeks something within your eyes, and you desperately hope he'd find it, whatever it may be, anything to stop the tremor in his hands as they anchor you in place.

"Why did you- why did you keep all of this if not to remember me.” He asks, unblinking, lip quivering. “Please, please, remember me, just- just try, okay?"

"I’m so sorry-"

"No. No. Don't- don't apologize like it's final like you could never love me again," his hands glide to your shoulders, shaking you slightly in place. "Don't you understand? I-I don't want an apology I want you to remember me."

"Minho..."

"Just look through this, it's our happiest memories y/n, okay?" he let goes of you, circling the table before shoving the box into your hands. He smiles- attempts to, it is an unnatural presence amidst his tears, so out of place it sends shivers down your spine. "Look at it, yn, please," he pleads as your hold on the box falters. "I can’t remember us alone. I’m crushing under the weight of everything we lived it’s exhausting me!"

His voice ascends pitch, the end of his words hanging into the air, searing themselves into the particles you breathe. His voice leaves a painful echo on his trail. You’re exhausting him.

You put the box down, taking three cautious step forwards.

And then you hug Minho.

He can't even hold you back, body trembling with the sobs rippling through him as soon as your chest presses to his. He sinks to the floor and you follow suit, arms enfolding his concaved shoulders tightly, his face buried in the crook of your neck. "Im sorry, I'm so sorry Minho. I- I wish I could remember."

You want the kitchen to collapse upon itself. There is too much grief in such a small room- it stains the walls like blood droplets, absorbs his cries like a saturated sponge.

You don’t think you could ever sit at this table again.

He finally clasps your back, drawing you even nearer to him. "Can- can you pretend, just today, please? For my birthday. Pretend you still love me."

"Of course. It's okay, I’m here, honey. I'm here."

"I love you. I love you so much," he whispers, lips pressed against your neck. "And it hurts to love you, so much." He brings your hand to his heart. "It hurts so much right here."

He doesn't let go of your hand, softly caressing your knuckles. His breath hitches as his thumb hovers over your ring finger. "I... I was going to propose, you know? I even bought the ring, stored it away for when the time is right. Do you think you would have remembered if you woke up wearing it?"

He knows your answer would've been yes. You know that too, in the matching cat mugs and the book annotations and the way Minho gently held your face, even in the depths of his despair. Everywhere you look, your answer echoes back- yes, the home chants in unison, that's what you would've said. Yes, yes, yes.

Day 17.

In the cracks of concrete sidewalks, tenacious flowers manage to sprout. Just how in the depths of Minho’s pain, small joys bloomed, nestled in the vacant spaces between you and him.

You'd greet him each time he opened the door, your voice resonating through the apartment like the sweetest sonnet. And he would always pause by the doorknob, basking in the sound of your voice that hadn’t changed in the slightest. Your tone still held that same dulcet timber, a golden honey that once dripped freely upon his soul.

But today, Minho swung open the door and an eerie hush greeted him instead. He ventured in, calling after you, only to be met with utter silence. He anxiously checked the rooms, opening the doors hastily one by one. But you weren't there. You weren't home.

Minho felt the familiar tendrils of worry coiling around his heart, constricting it with each passing moment. He quickly grabbed his phone, dialing your number, only to fall into your voicemail, the robotic voice chilling him to the core.

In the past two weeks, you had made sure to text Minho each time you went outside- a precaution you took due to your fractured ribs which came with frequent fits of dizziness. It was a safety measure for one person, at least, to know where you are.

But you didn't text him today. And he had no idea where you might’ve gone to.

Minho tried to suck in a deep breath, willing the fear to relinquish its icy grip on his body so he could think properly. Maybe you had simply forgotten, he reasoned. Yet, he knew that you never back out on your promises. They were sacred for you since they were once senselessly broken.

For the second time in a mere three weeks, Minho’s deepest fears unfurl like a nightmare before him, ensnaring him in a tapestry woven with the bloody threads of everything that went wrong yesterday.

He carried his shame akin to heavy bricks on his shoulders, causing them to hunch forward- a coward, leaving the house before you even rose, and on his trail, your breakfast and a hastily written note. He couldn’t fathom eating at that kitchen table with you, not when his sobs still echoed around those sage walls, as did your quiet voice as you tried to soothe his cries, holding him between your tender arms.

Minho was scared. He was terrified you’d never come back home after everything that had happened, the words he said and the way he pleaded, nearly at your feet, consumed by a sadness grander than anything he’s ever known.

So, he storms out of the apartment in a hurry, scouring the nearby playground. But you aren’t there. The grocery store is next, the library, the flower shop, the cat café tucked in a corner that you may have stumbled on.

You were still nowhere to be found.

A dreadful sense of foreboding overcame him, akin to how he felt when his phone rang two weeks prior- the unfamiliar number of the hospital shining before his eyes. What if something happened to you, a fit of dizziness but no one was around to help? Life doesn’t grant you a second chance. No one has ever brushed against death’s shoulder twice and lived to tell the tale. What if he receives another call?

He couldn’t survive another call.

Minho stands in the midst of the road, clutching his head with a tight grip, desperately searching his memory for the places that once brought you solace during the months he spent knowing you. However, he quickly remembers that you no longer know of those places.

So where could you have gone?

An epiphany dawns upon Minho- the bridge you had pointed out to him from a distance on one of your walks, the first place you claimed as your own in the city. It towered above the ocean, suspended several meters in the air. He couldn't accompany you there that day, bound by a paralyzing fear of heights.

He prays with all his might that he's right.

He dashes towards the bridge akin to a madman, the desperate rhythm of his pounding feet mirroring the urgency in his heart. It looms tantalizingly close, a mere 15 minutes away, and Minho, in a state of disarray, knows he's not fit to drive right now. He was never fond of running, he didn't enjoy the searing ache in his lungs, robbing him of his ability to breathe. But he welcomes the pain today- it means that he's running fast enough to reach you. He hopes, he prays.

Minho spots you from a distance, a mere silhouette standing at the bridge's edge, your figure unmistakable with the red scarf tightly wound around your neck. Relief nearly brings him to his knees - you're alive.

Minho doesn't think as he sprints to you, eyes solely focused on you and not the void beneath his feet.

"Yn!" he calls out from afar, and you startle, snapping your head back to look at him. He wonders what he must look at you, disheveled hair, the wind knocking down his jean jacket. But he doesn't care.

Minho stands before you without pause, instantly pulling you into the shelter of his chest, his hand cradling the back of your head. He buries his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling the familiar smell of your shampoo, a constant through the months of knowing you. He clings to it, to the familiarity of your scent and the way your heartbeat seems to pour from your body to his, speaking in a language only your souls can comprehend. His arms clutch at you tightly, rugged breaths escaping his body, dew tears gathering in his eyes and dropping down your shoulders.

Your arms hang limp by your side, confusion etched across your face at the urgency, the frenzy in which he pulled you to his chest, an emotion you hadn’t known in him in these past weeks.

You tentatively raise your hands, patting his back slowly. "Minho, what’s wrong?" you whisper, and he shakes his head.

"You weren't home. I- I thought something happened to you."

"No, I just went on a walk and lost track of time," you reassure him and he pulls away, warm hands cradling your cheeks.

"You're okay, right? Tell me you're okay," he pleads and you smile, nodding your head. “I'm okay, don’t worry.”

Minho drops your face, embarrassment flooding his being at his outburst. It morphs to panic as he realizes the expanse beneath—nothing but the vast ocean, the wind slamming into his body, making him lose his footing.

"Are... you okay?" you ask cautiously. "Minho, you're shaking," you point out, a frown tugging at your lips. "Are you cold?"

He stays silent, unable to place a word beyond the stutter of his lips.

"Here," you hurriedly unwrap your red scarf, enclosing it around his neck. "You're shivering, Minho," you grab his hands, rubbing his fingers, blowing warmth into them, an attempt to kindle fire into him.

"I'm not- not cold. I- I’m scared of heights," he admits through a stutter, eyes tightly closed.

"Then why are you here?" You ask, surprised.

"Because you are."

His confession comes out quietly, softened by the blow of his fear. His eyes remain closed, missing the tears gathering in your eyes, the ones you swiftly try to blink away.

"Let's go, just keep your eyes closed. Hold my hand," you entwine your fingers with his, squeezing it lightly to signal you're there, as you walk across the bridge.

You don't let go until you finally regain solid ground.

"You're safe. you can open your eyes," you say quietly.

"You're okay, right?" he inquires again, stepping closer.

"Why are you asking me this when you're the one shaking?" you chuckle, almost exasperated, nothing funny in the sound.

"I was worried about you, and I thought you left… after yesterday."

"Why would you- My god Minho why would you even come running across this bridge? Why would you do something like that when you're afraid?"

"Because I love you," his voice is resolute, soft as a whisper, as he states a simple truth. It only makes yours reach new heights.

"But why- why do you love me? Why would you still love me after everything I put you through?"

"You didn't put me through anything," he shakes his head, and you take a step back, facing away from him. He can see your body heaving up and down, the weight of unspoken words making your heartbeat race. And then you snap.

"You broke down yesterday," you pivot back, pointing at his chest. "You broke down in my arms because of me. Why would you still love me after all this Minho I don't- I don't understand."

"I shouldn't have done that, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, I know I probably made you uncomfortable and I shouldn't have asked something like that out of you-"

"No, no, Minho, you don't understand, you shouldn't apologize, I should. I’m the one who hurt you-"

"You didn't hurt me. It's something out of your control, you didn't choose this."

“Stop- just stop being so nice and understanding for a minute. I don’t deserve it!" you shout exasperated, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. "You can't look me in the eyes half of the time you can't even fucking breathe in your own home. It's now a- a cemetery for our memories and it'll soon become yours too because I suck the life out of you, can't you see that?"

"I'm not asking you to remember me,” he holds his hands up, in surrender, “I was wrong yesterday, you don't have to remember us."

"There is no us!” you yell, hands thrown in the air, “Not anymore, Minho, maybe never."

You suck in a deep breath, shutting your eyes, willing your voice to ebb and flow into calmness.

"I thought about it. It'll hurt less if you don't see me, time will pass and you'll get used to it, I'm not worth this."

"You are,” he interjects. “You don't get to pick for me, Yn."

"Stop- stop talking like this is normal, stop being so complacent with your pain, Minho you shouldn't love someone who hurts you!"

"Then make me stop loving you. Spare me. Tear open my heart and bleed it dry at your feet or else it won't stop beating for you. Don't you understand? If you are near or if you are far, I will still love you. The only difference is that I'd worry more about you. I'd worry if you're eating, I'd worry if you're taking your medicine, I'd worry if you're drinking out of your favorite cup or if you have a spare shampoo in your drawer because you hate running out of it. I'd worry out of my fucking mind, Yn don't leave."

It had been an encompassing sadness that made his true feelings surge yesterday, breaching the myriad of cracks in his heart. But today, it was fear that cast a revealing light upon his feelings, hidden in the recesses of his being. They surged forth in a transparency you were still not used to, the way the ocean throws on its shores the debris of sunken ships, allowing the grieving families of sailors to finally discover the terrible truth.

Still, his honesty, his soul bare at your mercy isn’t enough to make you stay.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I just... I can't- I'm sorry."

You take three steps back, before turning your back to him and walking away. A numbness, like icy talons, seizes his limbs, his gaze fixated on your diminishing figure—carrying away everything he's ever loved. Paralysis envelopes his very essence, a haunting realization that the distance between you is more than a mere physical space. You're vanishing beyond the horizon of his reach, slipping through his desperate grasp. The fear of never seeing you again fractures the stillness, snapping Minho out of his trance.

"To love someone is firstly to confess, I'm prepared to be devastated by you." He shouts, making you pause in your tracks. "Isn't that your favorite quote, Yn? You told me this is what love is about. To place your heart in the palm of the person you love. And your hands are soft, Yn. I don't mind if I'm bruised by them."

"I lied then!” You yell back, tears cascading down your cheeks akin to a waterfall, “Belcourt lied and I lied when I told you this and when I promised that I'd always remember you in that canopy bed-"

"What did you just say?” Minho quickly walks to you, chest heaving. “What canopy bed?"

“It doesn't matter now,” you speak in a small voice, avoiding his eyes, seeking refuge in the ground beneath. Yet, Minho, gentle and determined, cups your face, guiding your gaze to meet his.

“It matters to me, Yn, please. What do you mean?"

“We were in that white canopy bed, when I told you that my heart would always remember you.”

“We were,” he whispers, eyes glazed over as the memory washes over him too. “Did you remember?”

“Not clearly, it was really hazy in my mind. But I remember that the windows were open, I was supposed to feel cold but… your hands on me, and they were warm. And I…” you suck in a deep breath and Minho smiles encouragingly, running his thumb in a tender caress across your cheek.

“I remember feeling that I loved you,” you finally confess. “Even though I couldn’t see you. That's why I said that I'd always remember you. Because you filled every chamber in my heart, so much that it'd still hold your name even if you left it…that's how I felt.” You pause, as Minho forcibly swallows the lump down his throat.

“But it didn't unlock any new memories and I-”

“It's okay, it’s okay. You still remembered,” he smiles and the gesture brings you to his lips, rosy, plump. Were they still as warm? Still as soft?

“I did…” you trail off. “You also kissed me, in my memory. Your lips were everywhere and… they were soft.” You add quietly, eyes fixated on his mouth, the smile that once adorned it slipping away.

A tentative warmth courses through your being, a subtle blaze that ignites your cheeks in a shade of crimson. In this moment, a need unfurls within you, a yearning that eclipses the delicate boundaries of restraint. The memory of his lips on your skin becomes a beacon, standing tall amidst the tumultuous winds of uncertainty. You want to taste the warmth again. You want to kiss Minho.

“I kissed you.” His hands, once gentle on your cheeks, now slip down with purpose, cradling your jaw in a gesture that speaks of both reassurance and longing.

“You did.”

“And my lips were soft,” he repeats, his red scarf brushing against your throat.

"They were," you respond, breathless. His mouth stands electrifyingly close, a mere hairbreadth away, as you contemplate the simple act of tilting your head, closing the tantalizing gap. All that stands between you and the echoes of the love that was is the lift of your head, a movement that could breathe life into the dormant embers of your heart.

"Yn," Minho speaks softly, his words a gentle brush against the canvas of your shared vulnerability. His minty breath tickles your nose, as you hum, a wordless acknowledgment that hangs in the air. Your eyes remain closed, your heart beating loudly in your ears, drowning out the sound of the waves nearby.

“Use me. Use me to remember.”

1K notes · View notes

sansaorgana · 2 months

Text

SER GWAYNE HIGHTOWER NSFW ALPHABET

PAIRING — Ser Gwayne Hightower x fem!Reader

AUTHOR’S NOTE — When I tell you that the brainrot is real, then I tell you that the brainrot is real! By the way, this is the first time I have ever written any "alphabet" for any character! 🙊🙈🙉 The Reader here is Gwayne's wife because that was the most comfortable for me to write. I'm lucky I don't have any uni classes or a job at the moment, so I can simply girlrot and produce content. 💀 Like a normal, sane person would do... Right?!

WORD COUNT — 2,520

🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

A = AFTERCARE (what they’re like after sex)

If you had sex in your chambers and he’s not in a hurry to go somewhere, then Gwayne keeps you close, rubs your back and kisses your forehead. He might just stare at the fireplace in silence or listen to you talk about something. Or he might join you in court gossip because I strongly believe Gwayne would love to engage in such activities with his Lady Wife. But if you had sex in a hurry or outside your chambers, then he still would want to show some affection to you, even if it’s just a kiss on the forehead.

B = BODY PART (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Gwayne loves the eyes. His and yours. He thinks so much is stored in them and he keeps his gaze intensely on you to know without words what you’re feeling and what you’re thinking. Exchanging side-eyes together is one of your love languages whenever you’re in public, so in private the eyes also matter the most. He loves to get lost in yours and smirk at how they get hazy when he’s fucking you. But to answer THE question – asked if he prefers your ass or your tits, Gwayne would look at you as if you were insane before answering: “both”.

C = CUM (anything to do with cum, basically)

Considering the fact you are married and he is the eldest of Otto’s sons and his heir, he needs his own heirs as well. He needs boys to carry on The Hightower surname and girls to create powerful alliances through marriage. Therefore, he usually cums deep inside of you and stays still for a while, making sure the seed takes. However, I don’t think he would push his Lady Wife to have one child after another, so in those periods of times when you are not trying for another little Lord or Lady Hightower, he enjoys cumming on your soft thighs or belly. He likes to see his cum on you that marks you as his and his only.

D = DIRTY SECRET (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

I totally think he sometimes wonders how it would be like to sleep with another man. Maybe he even has such experience from his past when he was younger, before meeting you. Either way, I don’t think he’d share it with his Lady Wife eagerly considering the social norms and all that.

E = EXPERIENCE (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I would say Gwayne’s pretty experienced. Perhaps not as much as those Lords and Knights who spend every night in the brothels but he had his adventures there when he was younger like men back then usually did. He probably also had some affairs with maids or young ladies at the court but without any serious intentions since he knew that one day he would have to marry a woman his father chooses for him.

F = FAVOURITE POSITION (this goes without saying)

Missionary because he wants to see your eyes for the reasons described above. But he also loves to fuck you from behind in the early mornings when you’re his little spoon and he bites on your shoulder and peppers your jaw with kisses as he thrusts into you. I don’t think he feels the need to be in control all the time, so he enjoys it when you ride him and use his cock for your own pleasure. During the quickies, he likes it when you’re trapped between his body and the wall with your skirts pulled up and he gets to fuck you standing up – showing off his strength.

G = GOOFY (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Gwayne can be serious when he’s very focused on fucking you properly but most of the time he loves to laugh here and there. He even makes teasing comments that make your eyes roll and chuckle. I wouldn’t call him goofy but he just treats sex like fun.

H = HAIR (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He’s not very hairy overall and his body hair is light and thin (have you seen his eyelashes?). He is a very clean man as well.

I = INTIMACY (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Gwayne can be very romantic to his Lady Wife. He holds your hand to intertwine your fingers together and squeeze them while making love to you or eating you out. He kisses you all over your face and whispers sweet things and praises while you take his cock and he definitely likes to surprise you with a romantic bath once in a while, so you remember that he still cherishes and loves you after all the years of marriage.

J = JACK OFF (masturbation headcanon)

Gwayne doesn’t do it often because now, when he’s married, he simply doesn’t need to. When he’s away from you it’s usually because of the important duties that keep him too occupied to think about sex anyway. But when he occasionally jerks off, he thinks of you and remembers all the fun times you shared together.

K = KINK (one or more of their kinks)

Dirty talk and I mean it. That man’s mouth just never shuts. I also think he is obsessed with eating pussy. He worships it and it doesn’t matter how – he wants you to sit on his face but he also loves to get on his knees and bury his face between your legs underneath all the folds of your dresses. He’s eating you out like there’s no tomorrow. Another thing that spurs him on is choking – he loves to squeeze your throat slightly but he also loves it when you do that to him when you’re in control. It increases the pleasure and releases the tension he often feels due to all the responsibilities placed upon his shoulders. Since he is focused on producing heirs with you, he also has a slight breeding kink.

L = LOCATION (favourite places to do the do)

His favourite place is your chambers because you can get as loud as you want there and fuck in any position you want to but he loves a risky quickie here and there all around the castle as well. Gwayne is also a fan of having sex in the bath, he loves it when you ride him there and the water splashes out onto the floor and your tits bounce right in front of his face. After the tournament he might take you right there, in his tent after his squire has helped him to get rid of his armour. He also has a thing for fucking you in places that are reserved for the servants – in the stables, in the kitchens… If someone sees you… Then, so what? They are only servants anyway and he’s not ashamed of the fact he’s fucking his Lady Wife properly. Let them talk.

M = MOTIVATION (what turns them on, gets them going)

When you tease him – with slight bickering or a revealing gown. That makes him all riled up and all he can think of is to put you in your place and claim you. But also when he watches you being adorable with your children, he instantly wants to make another one with you – when you sit with a babe on your lap, telling them stories or showing them new things. When you’re spending time with your daughters in the nursery, playing with dolls together. Or when he sees you encouraging your sons during the sword training because you are such a devoted mother that you try to show up during those practices once in a while as well, even though it is usually not something that Lady Mothers care about. Another thing that makes him desperate for you is when you show loyalty to him and his house. When, during the events, you straighten your back, raise your chin high and defend him during an argument with other Lords or you make a remark about The Hightowers being such a powerful family… He just wants to carry you to your chambers and show you how much he appreciates a loyal wife like you.

N = NO (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Gwayne would never force you into anything. You are his Lady Wife and he wants you to feel comfortable and safe around him. One of his duties is to take care of you and he treats that oath seriously. He might get whiny when you say no to something (he’s spoiled, after all) but never pushy.

O = ORAL (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Like I have described earlier – he is obsessed with eating pussy and he’s doing it like a starved dog. But it doesn’t mean he doesn’t like to receive. He likes it very much and when you are eager to do it on your own, then it’s even better and it makes him smug. It especially drives him wild when you swallow his cum or choke and gag on his cock.

P = PACE (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends on the context and occasion. Gwayne can be fast and rough – pulling your hair and spanking your ass while he’s thrusting into you and claiming you. But he can also be slow and sensual – holding your hands and covering your face with tiny little kisses while rocking you on his cock. He’s a versatile man.

Q = QUICKIE (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Like I have said before, he likes to take you in the halls, kitchens, stables, tents… But it’s not like he’s always like that – it’s only sometimes when he’s very desperate for you or simply just for fun and for some additional risk that makes it more exciting and keeps your sex life more interesting despite all the years of marriage.

R = RISK (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Gwayne likes to risk getting caught by the servants because it makes him smug and cocky. And when it comes to trying new things, he likes to experiment a little with you. Like, when some of his friends tell him about their exciting adventures in the brothels and a new, fun position, Gwayne will want to try it out with you later – but only if you agree to that. Same to you – if you asked him about trying out something new that you have read about in some dirty book or heard from one of your friends, he will most likely agree. But it can’t be anything too dangerous because he wants sex to be fun for the both of you.

S = STAMINA (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

No more than two rounds I’d say, but he can make them last a long time and he certainly enjoys making you cum multiple times during them as he watches you with a smug grin on his face, getting drunk on all your facial expressions and the sounds that you make for him while you reach your peaks.

T = TOYS (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I’m not sure if they have any sex toys in Westeros but, to be honest, I think he would be willing to try out those not very extreme ones. After all, sex is supposed to be fun for you, so if something can make it even better, then why not? Gwayne also doesn’t seem to be a man who gets jealous over such things because he’s very confident about himself and his skills.

U = UNFAIR (how much they like to tease)

It’s Ser Gwayne Hightower, of course he likes to tease. And it’s bringing him twisted pleasure to do so. Sometimes, when he has time and a mood for that, he might tease you for a few days with a smirk and little touches here and there, dirty words whispered into your ear… Until you’re a whiny, begging mess. That is good for his ego and he gets to tease you about being needy for him.

V = VOLUME (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Well, his mouth never shuts as he either talks dirty to you or makes some comments to make you chuckle. When it comes to moaning – he does that but not very loud. He is a much bigger fan of the sounds that you make and when he imagines others hearing how good he’s pleasuring his Lady Wife, he would rather them to hear you than him.

W = WILD CARD (a random headcanon for the character)

Whenever you’re having a babe and your breasts swell with milk, Gwayne keeps staring at them all the time and he always makes excuses to touch them or suck on them. He says it’s to help you release the pressure but he actually enjoys it more than he’d like to admit it. He loves to see your nipples leaking out with milk and he loves the sweet taste of it. There’s just something about you being a mother to his children that really turns him on.

X = X–RAY (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

His cock is slightly bigger than average – nothing spectacular but also nothing he’d feel ashamed of or insecure about. He’s long and thick enough to make you cum a multiple times and you always need a moment to adjust to his size and it makes him feel pretty proud.

Y = YEARNING (how high is their sex drive?)

It depends on how busy he is. When he has many responsibilities, then he might settle down for once or twice a week in the evening or early morning, just to release some tension. But when he’s got more free time, he would want to have sex with you every day – only if you are in the mood as well, of course. He’s trying not to neglect your needs even when he’s busy, though.

Z = ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

If it’s sex in the evening, he would fall asleep after a while of caressing your back or talking. He wouldn’t doze off immediately because he loves to feel your head on his chest as he plays with your hair in silence or to gossip with you. He often discusses important matters with you after sex as well – asking you for advice when it comes to ruling over Oldtown and things like that. And only after this little ritual, he allows himself to fall asleep with you in his arms. But if you had sex during the day – especially a quickie – then he’s not falling asleep. I don’t think he takes naps during the day, although sometimes he would want to just cuddle up with you and rest. However, his duties are too many.

MASTERLIST

#lilysfiction #gwayne hightower x reader

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erwinsvow · 7 months

Text

They call you the clueless pogue. The pretty one.

You don’t care much either way—that comes from years of being Kiara’s best friend, she’s taught you well on how to ignore what other people think and say about you. Maybe you would care more, you think one day, watching JJ and Pope drive each other crazy while trying to fix something that’s inexplicably gone wrong with the Twinkie. John B is swinging in the hammock, eyes closed, empty beer in his hand that is soon replaced with a fresh one by Kie. She drops the old can into a bin that has the recycling symbol drawn on with a sharpie, her own creation. She walks towards you with a can of fruity seltzer since it’s well known with your new friends that you refuse to drink beer—and it all feels very domestic.

You might care about what other people say if you didn’t love your friends so much.

You are a little clueless though—at least the boys think so. They wouldn’t dare to say anything when your protective best friend was around, but when it’s just you and one of them, or all of them, it comes out a little more.

You wear the kind of clothes that they wouldn’t let a sister of theirs be caught dead in. They never used to care about stuff like that, not until you started hanging around more often. It was the result of absent parents that were only on the island a few months out of the year. The rest of the time you had free reign, and an unlimited credit card that often funded their adventures—gas for the Twinkie, beer for the night, a new outfit to wear to the party.

JJ gets into a fist-fight with a guy who keeps offering you a drink from the keg, not listening no matter how many times you refuse and grabbing the short hem of your yellow dress to yank you back. JJ doesn’t mean to knock him out—it’s just like instinct, he explains later that night to John B and Pope while you’re sound asleep on the pull-out with Kiara—the way he feels protective over you.

“Are you okay?” Kie asks, and you smooth out your dress from where that guy had grabbed it.

“Only because JJ saved me,” you say, looking at him with big doe eyes and fluttering eyelashes. He swallows uncomfortably.

“No biggie, princess, I mean you know me, I’m a big damsel-in-stress kinda guy-” Kiara rolls her eyes and brings you inside, and he’s left standing there with pink-tinged ears.

He doesn’t tell them about how you were looking around for someone, anyone to help, how scared you look when he touched you, how your face visibly eased when you locked eyes with JJ, how you held a bag of frozen peas to his black eye and kissed his cheek before going back to find everyone earlier. He decides to keep that for himself.

You don’t keep an eye out for your surroundings when you tag along on their adventures either. That’s pretty much John B’s responsibility now, walking towards the back with you. You often start looking around, head in the clouds, staring at the trees and sky and walking right into a pile of mud or a puddle.

“Wow, the air is so clean out here,” you comment while taking a deep breath. It’s said quiet enough that only he can hear you.

“Yeah, pretty girl, that’s because of all the trees.” You laugh and shove his arm, because duh, but you can’t respond because the others are yelling for you two to catch up.

He doesn’t let you lead—you’ve cried over too many ruined shoes for him to risk it anymore—instead he holds onto your hand firmly, gripping tight when he needs you to slow down and pulling gently when it’s okay to proceed. It’s his job to make sure all the bugs are out of the way, that you’re not walking into a spiderweb or running after a butterfly or pretty bird. The others tease you two and laugh, but you still thank him with a tight hug, the thin material of your sports bra not really hiding much, murmuring something about no signs of mud on your new sneakers.

“Yeah, anytime,” he breathes after you’ve already walked away. You turn back to smile at him, adjusting your ridden-up tennis skirt you’d sported today. “Wouldn’t wanna dirty those shoes.”

You make Pope feel like the smartest guy in the world sometimes, without even trying. It’s not like you’re stupid, because he knows you’re not, but when you bite your cheek and tap his shoulder to ask him another question about whatever you were working on, your words start going to his head.

“So if I wanna save this and put them all together, I just use this program? And I just use the mouse?” you say thoughtfully, repeating his instructions back to him.

“Yes, sweetheart,” and he tries his best to make sure he sounds patient—he’s learned from experience you don’t react well if you even suspect he’s getting frustrated.

Pope watches you play with the thin straps of your shirt before the string idly falls off your shoulder, exposing a swath of soft, sweet-smelling skin to him. Staring at your bare shoulder, he thinks he could never get frustrated at you even if he tried his hardest. When you finish making your little vision-board on photoshop, you turn to show him proudly, and he is proud, with how well you followed his instructions and weren’t too shy to keep asking for his help. Later that night at the Chateau, you lean against his shoulder with his arm swung around you on the couch and explain what each of the images mean until you fall asleep.

They’re all playing a game of chicken—wondering which one will be the first to cross that line and suggest something more than just friendship to you. Through empty cases of beer and boys-only fishing trips they’ve briefly discussed to each other that they’re interested, but of respect—to each other, not really to you—they haven’t made the first move just yet. No matter how difficult you make it.

At the beach you help the boys wax their surfboards, taking turns with each one, floating around a little tipsy already from your fruity drink. They’re all talking, but you don’t really pay attention, eyes staring at something in the distance.

JJ covers his mouth, imitating a walkie noise.

“Hello, uh, earth to princess, over.”

You turn back to him and his board, dropping the chunk of wax and leaning in. He blanks for a second—your pretty face getting closer, an eyeful of your tits in the tiny bikini you’re wearing today making his head spin. And you’re infront of everyone, which is definitely not how he’d thought he would win this little competition.

“Do you see that pretty girl over there? Three o’clock?”

“I see a pretty girl right in front of me,” he says, and you laugh, pushing his shoulder. He doesn’t realize that you think he’s just joking.

“Jayj, seriously. See her?” He nods, but still doesn’t turn to look. “She’s been staring at you for, like, ten minutes. You should go over there!”

You’re smiling big, like the idea of another girl talking to him sounds fun. He pulls back from you, confused.

“I need another beer.” He stalks off, walking to the boys while you turn to Kiara.

“What did I do wrong? I’m trying to get him laid-” Kiara rolls her eyes. You turn and see the boys in deep conversation, occasionally glancing back at you and Kie.

“She just told me to go flirt with some girl, like, right in front of her. I mean is this some kind of test?” He takes a long chug of the beer, sounding about as stressed as Pope and John B have ever seen. “Do I fail if I hook up with some rando? Or do I fail if I don’t hook up? It’s Schindler’s cat, man-”

“That’s not-” Pope starts, before being cut off.

“Sorry, sorry. Schrodinger’s kids.”

“No, JJ-”

“What the hell does she mean? So she wants us to hook up with other people?” John B cuts in, looking back at you, but something else on the beach seems to have caught your attention.

“Woah, I’m not doing that, but you two are more than welcome-”

“Yeah, nice try, Pope. We get with some girl so you can tell her you stayed loyal and win her over? I don’t think so, genius-”

“Well, you’re the one she’s trying to set up so I think I’m pretty safe right now-”

“It’s not a reality show Pope, you can’t eliminate me.”

“Guys,” John B speaks up.

“If this was a show, I’d clearly be the fan favorite and the winner-”

“Uh, says who? I would so win, let’s do a poll right now and survey this beach-”

“Guys.” Louder this time, they listen to John. He doesn’t say anything, just stares into the distance and soon they join him, to see what he’s looking at.

“Y’gotta be fucking kidding me,” JJ says, watching you run into Rafe’s arms, swinging around before giving him a kiss. Rafe pulls away and looks straight at the three of them, while giving them a wave.

#i am a proud supporter of reader x all three pogue boys <3 #obx #john b routledge #jj maybank #pope heyward #rafe cameron

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covetyou · 1 year

Text

the best of the world in the palm of our hands

part 1 ⋆ part 2 ⋆ part 3 ⋆ part 4 ⋆ part 5

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) chapter warnings: dub con (reader is paying a debt), pussy spanking, unprotected PIV, fingering, oral (f receiving), cumplay, anal play (blink and you'll miss it), derogatory names (slut), drug reference, unspecified age gap, joel miller is a massive slut word count: 4.9k chapter summary: You find a way to pay your fathers debts

A/N: pussy spanking! lets go! you know the old saying, open mind open legs.

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song: damage gets done by Hozier

Your dad had been rationing his pain meds for months, barely taking one every two days now that the world had gone to shit and they were so much harder to come by - and so much more expensive as a result. Lean times were made leaner still by missed shifts and slow work, which meant for even fewer pills to ration out.

Eventually, you would listen, night after night, as he groaned and writhed in pain, meds long gone. Nights like that meant another missed shift, fewer ration cards, and the ever looming threat of debtors coming to collect on what was theirs.

That was the situation that had brought you here, to his door. Desperation, and a debt needing to be paid.

Your knock on the door sounds sharp in the silence of the hallway. You're in a "nicer" part of the QZ - the apartment block cleaner and less crammed full of bodies than others. Here there are fewer people to care, fewer people to see. Fewer people to hear you scream.

The door in front of you suddenly flies open and you wretch you head around, straightening your back. You'd told yourself you'd play it cool, but already you were failing.

Joel Miller, self appointed pharmacist, medication supplier, drug dealer, stands before you. He's tall and broad, taking up almost the entire doorway as he rests one hand on top of the frame. He ticks one hip to the side and tucks his fingers through his belt loops.

You'd seen him from a distance, people pointing with whispers of "that's him", but never up close. Flecks of gray dance around the scruff on his jaw, his dark brown eyes wrinkling as he assesses you. The firm expanse of him so much more intimidating from this distance, you square yourself before you speak.

"I -" you begin, but he immediately cuts you off.

"I don't do business in the hallway," he drawls. "This is business, right?" he quirks a dark eyebrow at you.

You nod, all words snatched from your brain. You'd never heard him before - his southern drawl sounding cocky as he sizes you up, standing meek and mild in the corridor.

"S'always business. Come in then, sweetheart," he says, barely moving his body from blocking the doorway for you to squeeze past him. You push yourself against the door frame as much as possible so you don't drag your body along his.

The living room of his apartment is bigger than the entire place you share with your father. As far as you can tell, Joel lives here alone.

The door slams shut behind you, and heavy footsteps walk past you. Joel picks up a bottle and a single glass, pouring himself two fingers of whisky before setting the bottle back down and taking a sip. You knew you would be vulnerable, coming here alone, but you hadn't taken into account feeling trapped.

"So, what y'here for?"

"M-my dad, he's -"

"I know who your dad is, sweetheart. Seen you together. He owes me. Ain't heard from him in a few weeks. I asked what you're here for, not about your dad."

"Yeah," you nod, trying to feign confidence, "Yeah well, that's why I'm here. He needs more medicine."

"What I gave him weren't medicine, it ain't fixin' shit. I gave him pain relief. That's it."

"Well, he needs more. He's out, and he's hurting, and he can't work - " you ramble, but he cuts you off again.

"Now, sweetheart," he raises a finger to stop you. "I don't see why I should be giving you, or him, anythin'. I owe you nothin', and from where I'm standing, you're the one who owes me. Two weeks worth, right?"

Your eyes go wide. You were hoping he'd make it easier than this - go easy on you because you were a girl and you were here alone. You were hoping to play on his heartstrings, but you were starting to realise that maybe he didn't have one.

His glass thunks down on the table.

He circles you like a predator circles its prey, looking you up and down, assessing for weakness. You stare straight ahead, unwavering as possible.

He stops in front of you, tall and foreboding, before tilting your chin up with a single finger.

"You got the cards for that?"

You shake your head no.

He clicks his tongue, smiles, and says, "That's a damn shame". You have a feeling he doesn't think that at all.

"Dad's been hurting too much, he can't work, we haven't been able to get the cards, I've been trying I - "

"Looks like you'll have to do then," he shrugs, crossing his arms across his broad chest as he leans back against his dining table. "Show me what you can pay me with."

You'd never done this before - well, that was a bit of a lie. You'd done something like this, once, before, with someone else, someone different, someone who probably couldn't hurt you in the ways the massive figure of Joel Miller could hurt you.

You take two small steps toward him, and move to lower to your knees - you'd heard men like him accepted this mode of "payment" all the time - but he grabs your arm in one giant hand before you can make your descent.

You balk at him, "Wha - "

"I don't want a half-hearted blow job, sweetheart," he licks his lips and his thick fingers tug at the hem of your too big t-shirt. "Why don't you take this off. Show me what you can pay me with."

The implication was clear - he didn't want anything you could give him, but you had plenty he could take. Your breath hitches, but you don't let yourself hesitate for long.

Swallowing thickly, you yank your t-shirt over your head and dump it on the floor beside you in one swift action. You're painfully aware that your bra is the least flattering thing you could possibly be wearing - it's soft and old and entirely shapeless, but you weren't expecting to be stripping off for him. You shouldn't even care what he thinks of you but it'd been so long since anyone had seen your bare skin that even this twisted exchange felt like you should've made more of an effort.

You stare directly ahead, not daring to meet his eyes as heat flares in your cheeks. He stalks back to the table and picks up his whisky. You watch him raise it to his lips before he notices you looking. You haven't moved.

He's on you in an instant, grabbing your face, squeezing your cheeks with force as he directs your eyes to his. The heat still burns through your face, but you feel it start to snake traitorously down your spine.

"I said, show me or do you want me to fuckin' rip the rest off you."

Nodding, you scramble to remove the rest of your clothing. It's not sexy, why fucking would it be, and you fumble with the buttons on your pants longer than you'd like, but eventually you're stood entirely nude for him in his apartment.

A puff of air huffs out if his nose and his face twitches as he appraises you like some kind of show cattle. You don't know if he likes what he sees, but that traitorous drip of warmth down your spine hopes that he does. You can trick yourself into thinking it's because he might go easier on you if he likes you, but the longer you stand there under his gaze the more you don't want him to go easy on you.

"You are a pretty thing," he says, rubbing the scruff of his beard. "I think you got just the thing I need to let your dad off the hook, don't you? Might even throw something else in to sweeten the deal if you're extra good." He strokes your hair, and you try to hold back a shudder of arousal. Maybe he'll think it's fear, and maybe it is. Maybe it's both.

"How's that sound?" he prompts as he laces his fingers through your hair and tugs.

You look at his face, his eyes are dark, darker than before, the way he's looking at you makes that traitorous drip into a flood. "Okay."

He wordlessly grunts as he tugs your hair some more and pushes you toward a door on the otherside of the room, making you walk ahead of him.

Even with his hand in your hair, guiding you, your feet move of their own accord. You want to object, refuse, but you can't. You want this. You want a man like Joel - big, protective, in control - to pay you any attention. Whatever the cost.

One final nudge of your head and you stumble into the room as he releases you.

His bedroom is sparse, as expected. Interior decor went to shit with the end of the world, and Joel didn't seem like the kind of man who would've cared about that before anyway.

You stand at the foot of his bed looking down at your toes as they bunch and un-bunch in the carpet. You hear him come in and close the door. If you weren't trapped before you definitely are now. You don't look up at him, you can't, so your eyes remain fixed at your feet when his step into view.

"You ready to get on the bed for me, sweetheart?" His hand strokes gently across the swell of your breast as he talks to you. It's the first time he's really touched you and the flood down your spine has now gathered into a slick pool between your legs.

You do as you're asked sitting on the edge of his bed, feeling even smaller now as he towers over you. You could have been 8 feet tall and still felt small and vulnerable in this moment, Joel Miller cascading above you fully clothed.

A large hand rests on your shoulder, a gentle pressure pushing you to fall back to the mattress below.

"You lay back now. Relax."

You try not to scoff but you can't help it.

"Ain't goin' to hurt you. What good would that do me. I like my customers alive."

You take a deep breath and try to steady yourself with your back flush to the mattress, looking at him as he still hulks above you. You can do this. He'll just... take what he wants. And you'll let him. Then you'll be on your way.

He's still standing above you as he directs you. "Good girl. Now open your legs for me. Lemme see."

You take another deep breathe, hold, and exhale, opening your legs for him just a fraction.

"I'm a patient man, sweetheart, but when I tell you to do something, you fuckin' do it," he growls as he kicks your legs open further. You spread them even wider, wanting to keep on his good side. You're completely exposed and bare for him now. Everything is on display and he still towers over you, looking down at your naked form on his bed.

"Fuckin' beautiful," you think you hear him mutter as he moves to a crouch between your spread thighs. You hold your breath, tensing and try not to clamp your legs shut at his inspection.

"I'm just lookin', sweetheart," Fingers rub calming circles over the softness of your thighs and your legs twitch.

"Keep your fuckin' legs spread," he says with a sharp slap to your thigh. Gasping at the shock, you push your legs to spread as wide as they can. You feel obscene, so open for him and his hand strokes the spot he'd just struck, soothing it.

You were beginning to see how this would go - do exactly as he said and he'd be gentle. Disobey, or be slow on the uptake (patient man my ass) and you'd soon feel the sting of punishment. The thought of that makes you clench around nothing, and you curse under your breath as it's surely now drawn attention to just how wet you are.

You stare up at his yellowed ceiling and hear a chuckle from between your legs - he definitely fucking knows. You don't dare to look down, you just want him to get on with it, until suddenly fingers come dangerously close to your sex and pull you apart, spreading your bare cunt even more for him.

"Well, you're a pretty little thing," he says to your pussy.

The fingers, his thumbs you realise, massage up and down the sides of you, avoiding any direct touch to your folds, but massaging the flesh in such a delicious way that you can't help but feel it right where you need it most.

Joel hums as he moves to his knees, getting closer to your spread cunt, still rubbing his thumbs up and down the sides of you, gradually moving closer and closer to the center of your sex until he's dragging the tips of both thumbs through your wetness and up to the sides of your clit.

You take another deep breath and try to muffle your whimpers with pursed lips, trying to hold back a moan.

"She's likin' that," you hear the amusement in his voice, "I wonder if she'll like this." He moves one of his slicked thumbs directly above your clit and begins to gently stroke. Your hips jerk, unsure if it's toward or away from the pressure of his thumb.

"Oh, she does," and he applies more pressure, circling torturously around your nub as his other hand continues to explore your folds in gentle strokes, parting your opening with two fingers occasionally to see the wetness gathering there, to see how ready for him you are.

"You ever touch yourself like this?" he's talking to you again now, not your cunt.

"N-no," you stutter, as his thumb keeps its languid pace on your clit.

"You don't touch yourself? Y'look well old enough to have done this before."

"No, I-I do, just... not. Not like this."

Joel hesitates for just a moment, fingers stilling, before continuing on. "You like it though." It's not a question. "Tell me how you touch yourself." That wasn't either.

"I don't - I. Fuck," you hiss. You try to relax your grip on the sheets, but his rough thumb on your clit is distractingly good. "I - rub," you pant out.

"With fingers?"

"No," you squeeze your eyes shut. You can't say you expected much from this visit, but telling a stranger how you get yourself off in the dark of the night definitely was not on your list.

"Againstapillow," you mumble, a soft moan being pulled from shortly after as he increases the frequency of his circles on your clit.

"So you're a sweet girl whose sweet pussy only knows soft things?" he hums in thought. "Anything ever been in here?" his index finger circles around your opening, slick now dribbling out of you and being spread around by his thick finger. You must glisten.

You gulp down a sigh. "I'm not a virgin, if that's what you're getting at."

"That's good," he chuckles. "Can't imagine you'd want your first to be like this. Of course a pretty little slut like you has had somethin' in here before." His finger circles more around your hole, barley dipping inside as his well practiced thumb swipes firmly over your swollen clit.

Two thick fingers suddenly plunge into your dripping cunt with ease, stretching you. You pull back with the shock, trying to shuffle up the bed and away at the sudden intrusion, pulling his fingers from you. His hands grip your thighs, anchoring you down and pulling you back toward him.

"Did I say you could fuckin' move?" You shake your head. You didn't even mean to move. It felt good, it shouldn't feel fucking good, you were just surprised.

slap

You hear it before you feel it - a wide hand colliding bluntly with your exposed cunt, sending a sharp stinging, buzzing sensation straight back up your spine. You think your brain shuts off entirely for a second before you gasp for air.

"I know you wanna be good for me. You wanna do right by your sick old dad, right? Help him out of a tough spot?"

His entire palm engulfs your mound with ease, covering you completely as he massages his fingers side to side, easing the sting and jerking your clit in a way that has you rolling your hips and biting back a moan.

"Try getting away again and I'll give your worse than that," you push your pelvis toward him at his words. You really try not to be obvious in your disappointment, you want to be good, but you want it. You want worse. And you know he knows. "But be a good girl and I'll give you exactly what you want. That's why you're here, ain't it?"

Before you can answer he delivers several quick light smacks to your bare pussy. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough send the vibrations through you and straight to your struck clit. He removes his hand to look at your quickly reddening pussy before returning to smack you some more. You gasp, trying desperately to keep still and not moan at the building sensation he's pulling from you - you shouldn't be enjoying any of it at all, let alone this, but fuck you are. There's nothing violent about the way his hand is striking your naked cunt, the light slaps against you turning you on, zinging through you like a tuning fork being tapped on a hard edge.

You hear another laugh from between your legs.

"You've only been givin' it to her soft, sweetheart, when she's just crying out to have it rough."

He spanks your pussy again, this time you can't help the moan that escapes you, your back arching into his quick slap slap slap against your cunt. The speed of his palm slows, but the force increases, drawing obscene noises from you with each blow.

"Uh," the breath huffs out of you with each firm smack to your swollen cunt.

His hand pulls off of you and he spreads you wide again before a warm wet sensation draws up from your fluttering hole to your tender clit in a broad stroke. He's soothing your pussy with soft licks when he latches onto your clit and suckles gently before pulling back to look up at you.

"I like 'em pink like this," he mumbles around your clit, "You're bein' so good takin' it for me."

He's holding your thighs obscenely wide as his tongue lathes your clit, wrenching you open as you wiggle beneath him. You are so close, on the absolute precipice and moments from tipping over the edge, when he pulls from you completely, spreading your cunt open with an his thumbs for inspection once more. The man fucking loves looking at you.

"Look at her twitchin'. I think she likes being spread wide for me, look how wet she is." He dives in for another broad lick, slurping as he goes.

"It's just dripping outa you," he breathes. You feel the warm trickle of wetness drip its well worn path from your pussy and down between the cleft of your cheeks. His finger trails it, and you take in a sharp pull of air when the pad of his finger strokes your tight asshole, spreading your slick across it and causing your legs to twitch closed a fraction once again.

slap. You feel the sting and its aftershocks buzz through you before you hear it. "Keep 'em," slap, "fuckin'," slap, "open!" He soothes your pussy with his full hand again and you moan into him, fisting the sheets at your sides.

"Won't go there today. But don't think I'll be feelin' so generous next time." Next time. He rubs and squeezes your pussy, and you rock your hips into his palm, desperate for more anything.

"You likin' this?" he murmurs, his words almost sounds tender -

- Until another slap rings against your bare sodden skin.

"Answer me."

"Y-Yes!" you gasp out with the next spank to your oversensitive cunt. "Yes, please - I - fuck - please I need to -" slap slap slap slap

Your mind goes blank as a series of slaps are delivered straight to your pussy. A groan is pulled deep from your chest and you spread your legs more for him, pushing into his palm as it rains its gentle smacks down onto you.

"You're goin' to come, ain't you?" he growls out, his smacks getting quicker.

You nod frantically, so fucking close, you shouldn't be so close from this but you are. You're just about to beg for something more, anything more, when the smacks against your pussy get even quicker, and quicker, until he's rubbing frantically at your clit, so swollen from his attention that you practically scream at the sensitivity.

Your orgasm tears through you, drawing a deep guttural sound right from your belly. Your back arches, your dripping hole so neglected as it grips around nothing.

"Fuck," he grinds out from below you, stuffing two fingers quickly into your pussy to feel you grip around them as you rock through your orgasm. You can't see him do it, white blaring across your vision, but you hear the hiss of his breath as he pulls his cock out from his pants.

You whine when he pulls his fingers from your cunt, stroking himself with the slickness of you. He stands and presses himself between your legs, hot and heavy.

"You want it here?" he says, grinding the heft of his cock against your spent cunt. "'Cause you're making a mess, drippin' all over my sheets without me to plug you up." You're in a daze as you nod, still floating from the intensity of your orgasm as you stare dumbstruck at his rock hard length for the first time. It's so big.

It's too big.

"W-wait, it's too bi- "

"Fuckin' look. Watch as I fuck this into you sweetheart," he growls as he feeds the tip of his cock into you anyway, the solid width of him stretching more than you have ever been before, but your wetness letting him slide right in. He fucks the tip in and out, and you watch him do it.

In previous years you'd had nothing more than clumsy fumbles with men, some drunken, but most just uncaring one night stands with promises of more. There was never more. One way or another you were being used, but this time, and for the first time, you could call it what it was. There was no illusion of care here as Joel took what he wanted and made you watch.

And you liked that. You liked being used by him. You liked letting him do anything he wanted to you.

"I want you to watch her swallow me darlin'. Keep your eyes right there," he pushes his hips forward, the pressure of him filling you immense, and he groans as your cunt gives way to him and swallows him whole. "There she goes. Such a good little pussy for me."

"Keep lookin'," he groans again as he retreats from you only to fuck his full length back inside of you in one swift movement, "You look or I send you out of here jus' like this. See how the locals treat a naked slut in broad daylight."

Your cunt pulses with the threat, and Joel notices. He cocks his brows at you, still relentlessly fucking into you. "Oh, she likes that. You like bein' a slut, huh?"

Fuck yes, you want to scream, but instead you nod meekly, still watching him fuck you, obsessed with the sight of his cock disappearing into you over and over again.

"Good fuckin' girl."

Never once does he lean down to steal a kiss, or swipe his tongue across your bare nipple. You're naked for him but he does nothing with it except pound into your flesh, using your cunt to get himself off. His eyes flit between where he's disappearing into you and your eyes, watching with a sneer as they roll back into your head with each knock to your cervix.

"Fuu-uuck." He's hammering into you now, hips smoothly pounding your pelvis, when he grabs one of your arms and flips you onto your side, pushing your knee up so high it's practically by your ear. He slams back into the hilt again, rocking you back as you moan out wantonly around his cock.

From this angle his cock drags across you in ways you've never felt. You'd seen trees being felled as a kid, a wedge being hammered into a cut far too small to fit. You felt like you were being split, just like those trees.

"Ah - uh, I, Joel, please, I -" tears are in your eyes from how good it feels, the dull throb of the impact into your cervix melting your insides.

Joel brings one of his legs up beside you on the bed, the other planted firmly on the floor, giving himself leverage to fuck so deep and hard into you that the air is knocked out of you for a moment. When you can finally take another breath, you're screaming for him, your pussy creaming around him from the endless pounding.

The sloppy wet sounds of your cunt accepting his battering over and over are eventually taken overby moans being ripped from your throat. His belt rattles about his waist with each smack of his hips into yours, you can feel the metal of his buckle, bitingly cold against your skin.

"That's it - fuck - you just fuckin' take - it. You take this cock." You can feel his balls draw up and his cock twitch inside you as he gets close to bursting. He fucks you relentlessly anyway, desperately holding back as long as he can, until he can hold no more.

He drags his cock sharply from your used cunt, throwing you back onto your back on his mattress. His large hand grips his cock and he jerks it over you.

"Oh fuck yeah, fuck yeah," he's practically chanting as he jerks himself, letting out a deep stuttery groan when he finally comes, spurting hot cum all over your soft thighs, belly, chest.

He doesn't aim, he doesn't care where he gets it, the action more akin to a dog pissing on a tree to mark its territory than anything else.

The only noise in the room when Joel's shoulders finally relax are your twin heavy breaths, punctuated by light whines that you just can't help. You're so overstimulated that when his hand comes down to your thigh, you don't realize that he's smearing his cum into you until he's rubbing it into your belly, spreading it across the peaks of your tits, up your neck and across your cheek.

He gives you a light tap on the face. "Look at me," he says, swiping a come coated finger across your lips. You're entirely fucked out, all you can do is look dumbly at him, totally cockdrunk.

"What do you say?"

"I... wha-..." you know what he means when he raises his eyebrows threateningly once again. "Th-thank you."

"That's right."

Suddenly he's yanking you up into a seated position and the blood rushes to your head. Another tug, the world spins, and you're on your feet, but you can barely trust your legs. He drags you from the room and before you know it your own clothes are in your arms, the remains of his come dribbling down your body.

"Get dressed," he stands with his arms crossed, looking at you, expectant.

You stare for a moment, totally lost in his dark eyes, before moving to get your clothes back on. You are still covered in his come, your pussy still buzzing from his spanking. At some point, he tucked his cock back into his pants. You didn't even notice, and you try to push down the disappointment of not getting to see it one last time.

Pulling your clothes back on with skin sticky from sweat and come isn't easy, but you eventually manage. When you stuff your feet into your shoes, he grabs you by the arm and drags you toward the door, unlatching it and pushing you toward the exit.

"I'll consider your debt paid," he murmurs into your hair from behind, pushing you out of his apartment a second later.

"Oh and, catch," he throws something to you but you miss, barely even turning in time at his words. It rattles as it hits the ground. Pills.

"Told you I'd give you something if you were good." Confirmation that you were good for him is all you need to feel another gush of wetness between your thighs. You feel like you could come again from his words and the rough feeling of your panties against your abused cunt.

"What do you say?" he asks again.

"Thank you."

He smirks before closing the door in your face.

You lick your lips as you walk away down the empty corridor tasting Joel Miller for the first time, pills in hand and debt paid.

He never even kissed you.

next part

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elllisaaa · 1 year

Text

how ateez would confess to you

-> words count : 3.7k words

-> genre : ateez members crushing on you

-> warnings : just a lot of sweetness

-> sorry if I made any spelling or grammar mistakes, english is not my first language

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated !

-> masterlist | ateez masterlist

KIM HONGJOONG - JEALOUS

he’s the type to be bold. but like REALLY bold.

like he’s not embarrassed at all to check you out when you ask him if your outfit looks good and say “it looks more than good, don’t worry.” with that damn smirk screaming in my pillow.

he’s also very protective - always has his hand on the small of your back when you’re walking in a crowded place, and always gives you his jacket or sweater if you’re cold or feeling uncomfortable.

he has an eye on you wherever you two are going to be sure that you’re safe.

asks you to send him a message so he is sure that you’re home whenever you go out of work, or hang out late without him, or when he can’t walk you home.

that being said, it’s also a fact that this man is possessive.

have you seen him whenever an atiny mentions liking another group, or going to other concerts than theirs ?

he would be the same with you.

but since you’re not yet a couple, he tries to hide it as well as he can.

but jealousy would be his breaking point.

seeing you laugh and joke with some trainee of the agency he didn’t even know the name of really made his blood boil.

his death stare was burning holes in the back of the head of the poor boy you were talking with.

he would approach both of you, and as if the trainee wasn’t already intimidated by hongjoong presence, he was looking at him like he killed someone lmao.

the trainee was almost shaking when hongjoong dragged you away from him under a ridiculous excuse.

“- Joong ! Where are we going ?”

He didn’t answer, jaw clenched and his grip on your wrist almost painful as he brought you to his studio. Hongjoong closed the door behind the two of you, just to have the time to think about the way he was going to explain himself. He always succeeded in controlling himself and mostly his jealousy, but today, he didn’t exactly know why, it was too hard seeing you with someone else, laughing like you should be with only him.

“- Hongjoong ? What’s gotten into you ?”

He took a deep breath. Maybe it was finally the moment to say the truth. It would take a weight out of his shoulder, and he could have an answer to all his questions. Hongjoong turned towards you, a smirk on his lips.

“- You want me to be honest ?”

You simply nobbed, looking at him expectantly, and even if he acted confident, his heart was beating fast.

“- I didn’t like seeing you laugh with another guy. Well, I didn’t like it every other time it happened. But I think today was just too much to bear for me. Because I love you. I want you to be mine, only mine. I want to be the one who makes you laugh like that, and I want you to be the one who makes me laugh. What do you say ?”

The blush creeping on your cheeks as you listened to his words, and watched his grin widened was really noticeable. But your smile was even more telling to him.

“- I say yes.”

“from now on and forever, I won’t let you go. you’re mine.”

PARK SEONGHWA - SAFE

he is literally the sweetest person ever.

the type to text you throughout the day to ask if you have eaten and if your answer is no, expect him to be at your door in 5 minutes, drank or took a break.

so, so caring and always there whenever you need him.

mention that you had a bad day or are a little down ? expect a movie night, your favorite snacks and a lot of cuddles from hwa.

speaking of that, he sometimes always acts as if he was your boyfriend.

not that it’s bothering you, on the contrary, but he still claims to everyone that you two are just best friends.

and that’s confusing because he’s out there holding your hands, putting his arm on your shoulder, cuddling with you.

to be honest, seonghwa has been trying to make things ambiguous between the two of you lately, in hopes that you would take the hint that he likes you.

like that one time he pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear and you thought that he was about to kiss you.

so tonight, while he was laying on top of you on your couch, focused on the show playing on the TV, you decided it was time to clarify this situation.

“- Hwa ?”

The man turned his head towards you at the mention of his surname, big doe eyes watching you and waiting for what you wanted to say. You hoped that he couldn’t hear how fast your heart was beating.

“- Can I ask you a question ?

- Yeah, of course.”

Seonghwa’s smile almost made your hands shake, and you came back to playing with his hair to try and hide it.

“- What are we ?”

It was as if the whole world had stopped spinning for Seonghwa. Was it finally happening ? Was this your way of asking him to be more than friends ? He silently prayed for it, closing his eyes for a second to gather his thoughts, and also to escape your piercing gaze that was making him even more nervous than he already was.

“- I’m willing to be whatever you want us to be angel.

- And what do you think of… You being mine, and me being yours ?”

Seonghwa giggled quietly, burying his face in the crook of your neck to hide the red tint on his cheeks. His arms, that circled your waist, tightened their grip, not planning on letting you go anytime soon.

“that’ll be perfect. that’s what i wanted us to be all along.”

JEONG YUNHO - SLEEPY

100% golden retriever energy, you can’t say otherwise i’ll fight.

i don’t know, he just gives this puppy boyfriend vibes, all fluffy and clingy and sweet, he’s just so cute honestly.

the type to always want to hang out, because his love language his quality time.

will make it a ritual to eat with you at least 2 times a week, weekend hangouts where you either simply go shopping or sometimes he plans activities, and movie nights too.

so smiley around you his cheeks hurts when he goes home after spending the day with you.

he gets especially giggly every time you do something a little silly, like when you trip while trying to show him something.

always makes sure you’re alright afterwards though.

to put it in a nutshell, he’s just very cute.

but he finds you even more cute, particularly when you’re all sleepy.

because then you snuggle up to him, seeking his warmth, and you often fall asleep on him, unaware of how much you make his heart flutter.

during your usual movie night, you felt tired and rested on his shoulder.

As Yunho heard your breathing become more regular, he assumed that you were asleep. He was always so glad that you felt safe enough around him to be this vulnerable. And mostly, he got to admire your beautiful face without risking you to catch him. He didn’t know why but tonight, he felt on the verge of telling you. And after all, you were asleep, you couldn’t hear him. He already said it to you a few times like that, what could go wrong ?

“- You’re breathtaking Y/N, really… I love you.”

As Yunho was ready to cover you with a blanket to keep you even more warm, your voice stopped him in his tracks.

“- Can you say it again ? I’m not sure I understood.”

His panicked eyes turned to your fully awake ones, looking at him with a mischievous glint. The poor boy gulped loudly, not knowing if he was going to be in trouble or if you were just messing with him, as you always did.

“- I-I love you, I really do. I just… It was easier telling you when you couldn’t reject me.”

A shy chuckle escaped him as he averted your gaze, missing the smile eating your whole face at his confession.

“- Look at me, big baby.”

And when he eventually did, you finally answered his silent interrogation.

“- I love you too, so much.”

Yunho engulfed you in the biggest hug, already taking advantage of your new relationship.

“I can’t wait to spend every day and every night by your side.”

KANG YEOSANG - PERFECT

he’s not very talkative, in the sense that he��s not always making remarks about what you tell him.

but don’t worry, he got it all written in his head.

it could be the most useless detail about a story that happened to you years ago, and he still will remember it.

because you’re too precious to him to forget anything about you he’s so boyfriend material.

the type to take notice of what you like to eat.

say that you love a certain type of food one time, and you’ll get it every now and then.

he remembers your coffee order from day one.

also a really good listener and give the best advice.

that being said, he’s the type to notice if you looked at something with envy in a shop, or said that you wanted this or that.

and bets that he’ll confess with a little gift that he bought for you.

maybe that’ll be a waste of money if you say no, but he doesn’t care, you’re worth it.

so he’ll buy this necklace you’ve been talking about for weeks, and come to you one day, almost out of the blue to offer it to you.

“- You shouldn’t have, really. That’s too much.

- It’s never too much when it comes to you.”

You were blushing like crazy, as much as from his words and how his fingers brushed against your skin as Yeosang attached the necklace for you. His eyes reflected nothing but love and adoration when he looked at you.

“- You’re beautiful, it suits you perfectly.

- Thank you so much Sangie ! But what is this for ? It’s not my birthday or anything special…”

Yeosang lowered his head for several seconds before mustering the courage to let the words finally spill from his mouth. They were coming out so naturally that it seemed like you were truly made for one another.

“- I wanted to give you this just because you loved it, but also to remind you how much I love you. And I don’t mean it in a friendly way. I like you. And I hope, if you return my feelings, that this necklace is gonna remind you of that everyday.”

Your smile was enough of an answer for him, but you took a step forward, putting your hand on Yeosang’s cheek and making his heart beat faster.

“- I’ll wear it everyday from now on. I must find something for you to wear and remember how much I love you too.”

“let’s get matching ones then, that’ll make us soulmates.”

CHOI SAN - FORCED

now this boy is the most obvious when it comes to crushes.

like all the members could tell that he was down bad for you since the first day.

but you didn’t seem to notice.

however, it was indeed very clear since he looked at you as if you put all the stars in the sky.

really, i don’t understand how you didn’t notice.

beside the fact that he’s literally a simp for you, he’s also been your best friend for several years now, and he knows you like the back of his hand except your undying love for him.

he had always been by your side : when you were sad or happy, when you had your first crush and even when you got drunk for the first time.

the members having obviously noticed how san was struggling to tell you how he felt, they tried to help him multiple times.

to be honest, this was not really efficient but at least they tried.

the latest attempt was at this little party they planned at the dorms, and of course you were invited.

at one point, everyone gathered to play truth or dare, and of course, it was a trick to get you two to confess to each other not very slick, yeah.

“- So San, truth or dare ?

- Truth, I have nothing to hide.”

His confident smile made you chuckle, knowing all his embarrassing secrets and also knowing how much he, in fact, had to hide.

“- Well, then tell us who your crush is.”

The smirk on Yunho’s face made a deep contrast with the defeated one on San face. You felt your own smile flatter as you tried not to look at your best friend. You knew this day would come. Of course San wouldn’t stay with you until your old days. Of course he would find a better partner. You were only his best friend, not his lover.

“- I… Uh-

- I thought you had nothing to hide, Sannie.”

The group laughed collectively at Wooyoung's remark, except you and San. You were almost ready to stand up and leave when your best friend turned to you.

“- Y/N… I really love you.”

Your eyes widened as San ran away immediately. Around you, the members were all whistling and making weird noises. But you didn’t hear them. You only heard San’s words again and again. Quickly after, you followed him to the kitchen. He had to know how much you loved him too. When you found him, he had his head pressed on the fridge, eyes closed and probably overthinking everything he had ever said and done.

“- San…”

He turned to you quickly, worry filling up his gaze.

“- Listen Y/N, I’m really sorry ! I shouldn't have said that in front of everyone, I should’ve kept it for a moment just between us, or never tell you at all in fact. I apologize for making you feel uncomfortable and I’m-

- San, stop.”

You took a step toward him, your smile eating your face.

“- We’ve known each other for years, you’ll never make me uncomfortable. Stop thinking too much, okay ? ‘Cause I love you too, since I don’t even remember when because you’re the most important person in my life.”

No answer came except his lips on yours, and his hand on your waist, pulling you against his body.

“i’ve always known that one day we’ll be together, and that one day i’ll marry you. but let’s keep that for later.”

SONG MINGI - DRUNK

the boy is a stuttering and nervous mess around you.

blushing everytime you smile at him, but denying it if you ever mention it before blushing even more, he’s so cute.

besides the fact he’s so impressed by your charisma and presence, he’s very funny around you.

the type to make the dumbest jokes and put himself in ridiculous situations if that makes you laugh.

because your smile and laugh are the most beautiful things he had ever seen and heard.

it’s so funny to see a big guy like him being so amazed by just one person, you find that really endearing.

but that also means that he’s not brave at all.

like, if he ever tried to just muster up the courage to tell you that he has the biggest crush on you, he would chicken out as soon as he saw you.

and I think that to be able to confess, he would have to take a little liquid courage yes, that means getting drunk.

one night, the boys were celebrating the release of their new comeback with some drinks and mingi asked you to come with them.

and of course, he’ll end up drinking too much, hoping that he would either stop thinking about you or finally telling you how he felt.

“- Y/N !”

Mingi’s scream made you jolt in place and turn around quickly, smiling when you saw him trying to walk straight in your direction, with his rosy cheeks and glossy eyes. He was cute, really cute. But you didn’t expect him to literally throw himself in your arms. You caught him as best as you could, shivering as his breath tickled your neck.

“- Are you alright Mingi ?”

He nodded his head, trying to steady himself and standing straight on his feet again. You looked up at him, preparing yourself to decode his slurred words.

“- Yeah… Yes, I’m alright but I wanted to say something to you… I really, really like you… I mean, like you, not like a friend, I want you to be my lover… Because I love you.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips, and Mingi’s heart skipped a beat. His brain was all mushy just from seeing your gaze focused on him and only him, and alcohol wasn’t helping at all in controlling the blush on his cheeks.

“- I like you too Mingi, and I would like to be your lover too. But we’ll talk about this when you’re sober, okay ?”

________________________________________

“- I really said that ?”

You chuckled lightly, caressing his cheeks softly, diving in his mesmerizing, hypnotizing eyes.

“- Yeah, you did. But to be honest, it was very cute. You’re very cute anyway. So, would you like to be my lover Mingi ?”

The boy in question pecked your lips, smiling too.

“that’s not even a question princess. i’ll be by your side as long as you’ll let me stay.”

JUNG WOOYOUNG - IMPULSIVE

i see him as someone very spontaneous.

if he passes by a restaurant he likes, no matter what hour it is or what he has to do, he’ll stop and eat.

if he likes someone, he’s gonna tell them.

that’s what you love about him, and that’s also probably how you met.

he was certainly doing something stupid, as always, and ran into you, making you fall on the floor.

and boom ! you were best friends forever.

he didn’t stop doing ridiculous things, on the contrary since he noticed that you’re in the same mood as him and that it’s making you laugh, he’ll be doing it even more.

but the thing is that wooyoung wants way more than being friends since the first day.

but now that he’s got you in his life, he’s a little (very) afraid of losing you.

so he’s gonna try and hide his feelings as best as he can.

but when he passed by this flower shop, and saw your favourite ones standing outside, he couldn’t help thinking of you.

and that’s how he ended up at your door, with the flowers, trying to calm himself down.

“- Woo ? What are you doing here ?

- I.. Uh… These are for you !”

He handed you the flowers, feeling a blush creeping on his cheeks as you took them hesitatingly. Wooyoung never felt so nervous in his life. Even before his first concert, even before his first fanmeeting. Even with all the stressful events he had experienced being an idol, he never got so anxious.

“- Thank you, I guess ? What are these for ? It’s not my birthday, nor anything special I think.”

You chuckled at your own words, leaving Wooyoung asking himself why he did that.

“- Don’t get me wrong ! I like them, they’re beautiful and I’m surprised you even remembered what my favourite flowers were ! But why ? I don’t understand…”

He thought about letting out all the words he kept for himself for weeks, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. So instead, he leaned in to kiss you. It was not even a peck : he kissed you passionately, like it was the last thing he got to do before dying. You let the flowers fall to the floor, dropping them without any regrets when you tug at Wooyoung’s hair, deepening your kiss. And his smile when you backed out for air told you everything you needed to know.

“i’ll buy you flowers everyday if it means i get to kiss you like this.”

CHOI JONGHO - TEXT

first thing first, this man’s smile could kill you and me, he’s so cute that’s got to be illegal.

the type to value your friendship so much, to the point he prefers to just be your friend than ever risking your relationship if he’s not 100% certain that your feelings are mutual.

his crush developed slowly, falling for you little by little and growing fond of you much more as time passed.

the members noticed how much he liked you when they saw that jongho lets you sleep on his shoulder whenever you are tired.

or when he willingly hugs you every time you need it.

he doesn’t like physical contact but with you, it’s natural and he sincerely appreciates it.

so careful when it comes to his feelings, because he doesn’t want to lose you or upset you.

that’s why i think he would confess through very, very long messages he’ll send late at night.

probably threw his phone away as soon as he did it, not wanting to see your response.

but that’s also why he did it : to let you choose if you wanted to respond or just ignore what he just told you.

so when you called the next day, he panicked.

“- Hi Jongho !

- H-Hi Y/N.”

At least, your tone seemed as cheerful as usually, and not upset or disappointed.

“- I must admit I was really surprised when I saw your texts when I woke up this morning. I was not expecting that at all.

- And… Is it in a bad or a good way ?”

Jongho didn’t want to pressure you, but he needed to know how you felt, needed to know if he should smile or bury himself six feet under.

“- In a good way, don’t worry.”

You clearly heard his sigh of relief, which made you both chuckle at the other end of the phone. And both of you had the biggest smile on your faces.

“- I’ll need at least two hours to even come close to a good answer and I don’t have the time right now. So just listen to that : I like you too, so much you can’t imagine. But if you’re willing to listen to my boring ramble for hours…”

“i love listening to you, I’ll never get tired of it..”

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my works.

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lazycats-stuff · 6 months

Text

Batfamily x male reader

Batfamily x male!reader - this is part 1 everyone.

Summary: some talking is done.

Warnings: angst, fluff, (Y/N) is trying and so is the fam, cursing, trying to forgive, a punch was thrown, cutting people out

The fight echoed through the manor. Even days after it, the tension was still palpable. (Y/N) truly wanted nothing more with his so called brothers and father. If they tried to talk to him, they would be ignored or (Y/N) would just snap at them.

Almost biting their head off.

Safe to say, things were going to complete and utter shit.

Bruce didn't even know how to start talking to (Y/N). Was he emotionally reserved? Yes. But will he try everything in his power to make it right?

Yes. Everything he can do, he will do.

Bruce has decided to call a meeting. He made (Y/N) leave his room and (Y/N) has never looked worse. He couldn't sleep for days on end, only getting about 4 hours per night. He wasn't in the mood to eat either. He was only alive because Alfred had to make sure he was still alive.

Everyone noted that he looked like he didn't want to live anymore. More so, he looked dead. (Y/N) just sat down, an angry look on his face, arms crossed and body language closed off. He sat down as far as away as he could from them, clearly not happy to be here in the slightest.

He tucked himself in the chair, ignoring everyone and everything.

" (Y/N)... " Bruce started quietly, clearly not wanting to have a blow out and an explosion. " We have to talk through this problem. " Bruce continued just as softly and (Y/N) scoffed.

" We know we have been... Neglecting you, to say the least. But... We want to fix our mistakes. We want to be better. " Bruce said and (Y/N) chose to roll his eyes instead of listening. No matter what they could say could ever fix this.

" Well... 10 years too late. " (Y/N) said sarcastically, tapping his fingers against his tucked up knee, clearly anxious to leave this room behind. He really was anxious too leave.

" And we realize that. " Tim started softly, looking at (Y/N) with a sad look on his face. (Y/N) wouldn't allow them to see them sweat.

" Bullshit. " (Y/N) said quickly. They don't realize shit. " You are only doing this because Jon came over and pointed it out and now you are worried that the word doesn't spread. " (Y/N) spat out, leaning on his tucked up knee, glaring that the floor.

" That is not true. " Damian said and (Y/N) looked up, glaring at Damian, scoffing at the words, then laughing bitterly.

" Oh please. You never told Jon about me! I'm assuming all of your friends don't know I exist, right? " (Y/N) said as he rubbed his eyes from the exhaustion.

The silence was the only answer that (Y/N) needed.

" Yup and there it is. No one knows I fucking exist! " (Y/N) said loudly, blood pressure raising. He took a deep breath to calm down. " Just as I thought. No one knows I exist. No one even cared about my school achievements either... Let me ask you something Bruce. " (Y/N) asked, turning his attention to Bruce.

" Do you have a college fund for me? Just like you do for other four? " (Y/N) asked, itching for an answer. When Bruce looked away in shame and (Y/N) scoffed yet again.

" Also, don't you fucking dare setting it up. I have got a scholarship anyway. " (Y/N) answered the unasked questions. Bruce was proud of (Y/N). How could he have done this to (Y/N), forget to put a college fund...

" I'm sorry (Y/N). I didn't mean to forget you. " Bruce said, keeping his distance, but wanting nothing more than just hug him and kiss the anger away.

But alas, that's not how it works. (Y/N) has to forgive him first.

" Can you tell us more about the scholarship? " Jason chimed in, wanting to speak about something that (Y/N) could be happy about.

" It's for MIT. " (Y/N) said quietly and everyone was in shock. They didn't know that (Y/N) was into science and mathematics and what not.

Another mistake of theirs.

" That's amazing (Y/N). " Tim praised, smiling at (Y/N). Getting into MIT is hard as hell.

(Y/N) rolled his eyes, but deep down inside, he craved that praise more than life. But some praise won't erase everything that happened.

" You would really have to move then... " Dick said sadly and (Y/N) glanced at all of them. They all seem sad that he would have to move all the way to Massachusetts, but it would be necessary. (Y/N) needed to get out of here. One way or another.

" I think what we all mean to say is that we are sorry. There is no excuse, not a single thing that could justify what we did and what we have caused to you. " Damian said and (Y/N) was shocked to hear the word sorry just tumble out of his mouth like that, so effortlessly. So easily. But he composed himself quickly.

" How do I put his nicely? " (Y/N) said, looking sarcastic. " I don't give a damn about any of you. I don't give a damn about apologies at all. I don't care about any of you. The moment I move out, all of you are going to be dead to me. Period. " (Y/N) said as he quickly stood up, going to his room.

He isn't going to fucking listen anymore.

" No, (Y/N) wait! " Everyone called after him and tried to stop him. Jason managed to grab his arm, but (Y/N) threw a punch and knocked Jason down on his ass, making the others rear back. It was a truly what the fuck moment for all of them.

(Y/N) was never violent.

(Y/N) slammed the doors of his room shut and everyone was silent. Jason was breathing heavily through his mouth as (Y/N) broke his nose.

" He has a hell of a punch. " Jason muttered as he stood up.

" We have a shit ton of gravelling to do. " Tim muttered and everyone nodded in agreement. Saying that they are dead to him, well, will be dead to him, that was sort of a nail in a coffin. Coffin about their relationship...

That was probably on the brink of death, if not dead already.

" Come on, he needs some time alone. " Bruce said and ushered everyone out of the hall, mostly Jason to take a look at his nose, to treat it and heal it.

That same night, (Y/N) quietly managed to get his things into a car, while others were on patrol and blocked them in the process. Then he started driving to MIT, because he didn't have the nerve to put his things onto a plane and go. And besides, he didn't have enough things anyway.

(Y/N) could finally start his new life.

#dc comics #dc x male reader #x male reader #batfamily #bruce wayne x male reader #batman x male reader #jason todd x male reader #red hood x male reader #dick grayson x male reader #nightwing x male reader #tim drake x male reader #red robin x male reader #damian wayne x male reader #robin x male reader

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rabbit-or-rib · 4 months

Note

full nsfw alphabet for toby??

posting this from the glue trap i'm stuck in

🪓 Toby Rogers NSFW alphabet!

A = Aftercare, what they’re like after sex

checks in with you a WHOLE BUNCH- he wants to make sure you know he loves you and cares about you no matter how hard y'all were going not even 5 minutes ago

B = Body part, their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s

on him, i think it's a tie between his arms and his hair if that counts lolz. he likes how strong his arms are and likes to try n show off in front of you- he likes both how his hair looks, and he thinks his happy trail suits him

in you, i'd say your chest- in both a romantic and sexual sense :) he loves laying on you, listening and feeling your heartbeat, the closeness, all of it. he also loves leaving hickies all across it, little mindless bites and kisses decorating you from him getting lost on the feeling of you.

C = Cum, anything to do with cum, basically

he's a sucker for cumming inside, he just can't get over how you squeeze him and how fucked out you look

D = Dirty secret, pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs

he jerked off to the thought of you WAAYYYY before y'all were dating- he was too embarrassed to tell you when you first started dating and he's too scared now. probably.

E = Experience, how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?

love him to the ends of the earth, he has nothing. nada. zilch. you're his first everything, be patient with him cus he's gonna be nervous !! that does NOT mean he has shame though. he is not at all embarrassed to tell you when he wants you.

F = Favorite position, this goes without saying

anything with you on top- as i said he's a boobs/chest kinda guy, he wants to watch

G = Goofy, are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.

he's more serious, but it's mostly because he's concentrated. he wants to do his best to make you feel good and he wants to focus!!

H = Hair, how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.

i think he trims, but he doesn't wanna shave unless you ask him to (mostly because he has a tendency to accidentally nick himself with the razor)

he gets some facial hair on his chin, but it's nothing super serious. he'll jokingly ask you to help him with it sometimes, if you say yes you'll be rewarded with a very flustered boyfriend that keeps letting out shaky breaths every time you put your hand on his chest to keep him still

I = Intimacy, how are they during the moment? The romantic aspect

it really depends on his mood, but most of the time he's romantic about everything; telling you how much he loves you, all the noises you make, how fucking good you feel. if he's in a mood though, expect most of the words flowing out of his mouth to be about how bad he needs you, and reminding you that you're all for him.

J = Jack off, masturbation headcanon

it's. a lot. and it's mostly because he thought too hard about you- whether it was a small thing you did earlier that day that he thought was hot or his mind drifted to certain memories of you

K = Kink, one or more of their kinks

Toby praise kink truthers in this house !!!!!!!! lean over into his ear while you're riding him and tell him how pretty he looks when he's close, tell him you feel so full when he fucks you; he's putty in your hands

L = Location, favorite places to do they do

anywhere private- not big on getting caught by other people (catching you on the other hand is something else)

M = Motivation, what turns them on, gets them going

dead serious anything. you stretching in front of him, bending over to grab something, you smiling into a kiss- you get him hot and bothered by doing nothing and everything. (he does also really like it when you take any kinda control over him- even if it's just telling him in any kinda stern tone to go do something)

N = No, something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs

nothing that would seriously hurt you, and nothing to do with a daddy kink, sorry shawtys

O = Oral, preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.

he definitely prefers giving. loves how your thighs squeeze around his head, the feeling of you tugging at his hair, getting fistfuls of your ass as he pulls himself further into you.

he's such a mess receiving though, he's so sensitive and you look so pretty when you look up at him while he's halfway down your throat. he likes it when you take control when you're giving him head

P = Pace, are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.

tends to get lost in the feeling of you and ends up fucking you at a rough and fast pace, no matter how slow he started off. of course you can tell him to slow down if you really need him to, but his rough grip on your thighs and the whimpers and pants in your ear tell you just how bad he needs you.

Q = Quickie, their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.

they're not his favorite, but there have definitely been a few times where he just could not keep his hands off of you when the two of you were out and he pulled you aside. prefers to be able to take him time with you and draw things out a bit, but he'd never say no to you

R = Risk, are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.

he'll experiment with you !! it just has to be thoroughly talked about first

S = Stamina, how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?

UNTIL HIS BODY GIVES OUT BABES- he does not care how tired his body gets, if you're down to keep going, he is too.

T = Toys, do they own toys or use them on a partner or themselves?

doesn't own any himself, and might be a lil shy using them on you, but he's a crying mess when you use them on him. he gets so overwhelmed so fast- make sure you tell him how good he's being <3

U = Unfair, how much they like to tease

he had no idea how to tease you for the first little bit- but as soon as he figured out how he could draw out little whines and begs for him to keep going, he could not get enough. can't do it for too long, though, he gets impatient

V = Volume, how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.

he is LOUD, panting, whimpering, whining- the whole nine yards. you feel fucking heavenly to him and he just can't help it :(( poor boy's sensitive

W = Wild card, a random headcanon for the character

he likes to have music in the back when y'all are going at it- he doesn't need it and it wouldn't be super loud, but it is nice to have background noise. some she wants revenge or somethin

X = X-ray, let’s see what’s going on under those clothes

~6.5, skinnier with such a sensitive tip

Y = Yearning, how high is their sex drive?

VERY this boy is down for anything 24/7 if you mention it. will wrap his arms around you from behind and whine into your neck if he's feeling needy.

Z = Zzz, how quickly do they fall asleep afterward?

if he was more rough or dominant with you, he doesn't wanna fall asleep until you do. if you were the one to take more charge, he'll certainly try to stay up !! but he's usually pretty spent and ends up asleep on your chest, gently holding your hand

#rabbit writings #ticci toby x reader #toby rogers x reader #ticci toby smut #toby rogers smut

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nathaslosthershit · 1 year

Text

Baby Fever and Annoying Brothers||Quinn Hughes x Reader

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Reader

Request: Could I get Quinn Hughes with baby fever and his brothers there to make fun of it?

Summary: Quinn gets baby fever real bad and his brothers bug him to propose

A/n: Listen I wasn’t a Quinn girly before but that has recently changed so thank you for these requests

Word Count: 700+

“Quinn, dude, come on let's go.” Luke complained. The brothers had been trying to start a basketball game for the past 45 minutes. Jack and Luke were ready, but Quinn kept pushing it off with a simple ‘5 more minutes then i'll be ready’.

What, you may ask, was keeping Quinn from playing a game with his family? The sight of his girlfriend interacting with the baby of a family friend of theirs. It was quite possibly the most addicting and adorable sight he has ever seen.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of it, no matter how hard he tried. The whole scene was beautiful. Outside, on the lawn chairs in the backyard, laid his girlfriend of 4 years gently swaying a now sleeping infant in her arms as she quietly spoke to the baby’s mother as well as his own mom.

“Quinn this is getting-” Jack was cut off when he saw it. His older brother sitting there, oblivious to the heart eyes he was making. It was hilarious to him. His big brother practically brought to his knees at the sight of his longtime girlfriend holding a baby.

As he stood next to Luke, Quinn finally was pulled out of his trance. Embarrassed at his brother's gawking, he finally went to play basketball.

But of course the two youngest Hughes couldn’t just not bring it up. It was their brotherly duty to chirp Quinn into his place.

“So when are you gonna actually purpose?” Jack asked. At this, Luke elbowed him in the side, hard.

“Come on dude let him live” Luke reprimanded.

“Thank you, Luke.” Quinn responded.

“No but seriously, he is right. You spend almost an hour staring at your girlfriend for holding a fucking baby. I know you’ve got a bad case of baby fever after that. When are you gonna actually get started on that shit? Unless you don’t plan on going the whole marital route before kids. I don't’ really know how some people would thi-”

“Can you both please just shut the fuck up about it.”

“Come on, Quinn, we are just chirping you. Although we saw the way you were looking at her. You sure that hasn’t changed anything…” Jack teased.

He was right of course. While he was staring, he was also envisioning a life with her. A life with his beautiful wife, in a beautiful home, with kids to fill it. Maybe they’d have one, or maybe a whole hockey team. Who’s to say? The last thing he wanted though, was to be discussing it with his brothers when they would just tease him.

“No, nothing has changed. Although things may happen sooner-” “What the fuck does that mean?” Luke asked.

“I just- I don’t need kids right this second.” Quinn stated.

“But?”

“But I do have a ring. I’ve kept it in my hockey bag for the last few months. I just- I just don’t know when I’m gonna propose.”

“Quinn why the fuck didn’t you tell us?” Jack practically yelled.

“Does mom know? She will flip the fuck out if you got it and didn’t tell her?” Luke asked.

“Yes, she knows. She has been bugging me about it every single day. Trying to give me ideas and such but I just need to find the right time and place.”

“Isn’t now the right time and place though? You are with family, in a pretty fucking beautiful place. I mean what's stopping you from taking her on the boat tomorrow and doing it.” Jack joked. But he was right. You had once stated, while intoxicated, that you would have killed Quinn if he proposed in public, as if that was something he would ever do. The secluded boat would be the perfect place.

Quinn smiled to himself as he came to this revelation. He would propose, soon, and get started on the life he had envisioned. He didn’t answer either of them or tell them about his plans, but one look at his face and his brothers knew. They both shared a look as their absolutely smitten older brother went to grab the ball.

#nhl imagine #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x reader

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r0-boat · 4 months

Text

Whb Demon Kings as fathers from best to worst.

Sfw yet dark because children are involved

This is just for fun a little fantasy don't have babies with any of these chuckle fucks.

Cw: toxic familial (kings love their kids, but they ain't perfect :/ the kid are no better)

I firmly believe that Satan is a good father. The only reason why he's so low is because his anger. His child is a firecracker and he fully supports that rage anger "That's my little baby... Off to destroy the angels..."

Lucifer

When he does not know how to take care of a child he will sit down and read. He will make sure your child and you are healthy and safe.

Holding his child in his arms, His eyes soften this tiny little being you had made and he helped bring into this world.

Lucifer can be overprotective over his child at any age they are still his little young one And that will never change, He helps parent happily holding his child and his arms and feeding them. He is the demon of pride and he wants his child to be the best. He wants his child ready for one day they will rule Paradise Lost. When they're old enough he will tell them everything.

Lucifer is a strict father yet caring. He strict because he loves The both of you these rules are in place for a reason.

Satan

He is the guy to SCREAM his child name in assemblies, and aggressively root for them in team sports. "FUCK YEA! THATS MY FUCKING KID!!"

Trying to punish would be a nightmare. Your kid is the child of Wraith They and his father getting fights half of Gehenna will be destroyed. At least Satan is there to stop tantrums.

He is the angry soccer mom yelling at team to get in the car so he can take them to a game to beat the shit out of Tartaros team and mammon's kid. He has snacks juice everything

Mammon

Listen Mammon's got money so he with get his kid anything they will ever desire. The reason why he's third is because that child will be spoiled rotten. Tartaros little royal...

Anything that kid wants Mammon will get. Good luck trying to unravel that when Mammon is constantly telling them about how important they are how they own everything.

That's his child so of course everything he owns is theirs now... But the child is the prince of greed so they are gonna want things on there own. There with be desputes on gold and materials. However on like Satan and his child these two actually talk through their disputes instead of wrestling they have a very mature almost interrogation like discussion of what comes they own and they will own.

If you think the spoiling for you is going to stop when the child is born you're wrong. In fact now that you have a wealthy child and husband they're both going to work together to spoil beloved Mom/spouse.

Beelzebub

This man does not handle responsibility well. He loves his kid but He will be skipping out on at most 50% on parental responsibilities. He does start stepping up a little bit. He actually does go to work...

Beel adores his kid, Beel spends a lot of time with them. He bought a baby sling to carry them around when he goes to work. He wants to show his child all the beautiful spots in hell. When any devil asks him about his kid he with tell you all about them.

Sadly he is forgetful especially with dates. Please remind him about important miles downs or important things that his child has going on. He will feel very remorseful if he forgets.

He can be a good father, just watch that man.

Leviathan

No one is surprised. This man is the literal embodiment of envy. Don't get me wrong he does love his child. It is his kid, and he is trying. He wants to be a father He wants to be a father he never got, as a kid he didn't even know what a parent was So of course he'd want to give his child a life he wish he got. He holds his child, He helps you feed them, And he brings them everywhere. He lets you rest. However that jealousy does flare up which leads him to do childish things.

And he is protective of his kid. of course he is. That is his kid. His kid with you a proof of his love. Proof that you are his. Every time he looks at them he sees a mix of you and him and his heart fills with love. A moment of softness with Levi when he thinks about how his child will a fine Prince one day.

And as the child of envy they are going to be a literal copy of him. When they get older there will be a lot of father vs child moments especially with getting your attention. Your child loves their father, And they do want to make him proud. They love being The Prince of envy, They want to be just like him.

I think parent child duo is even more dangerous. Teaming up to fight a common threat is more often than you think. Envy is just a weird way they bond I guess. You will never get peace in that household.

#wihib x reader #whb sfw #whb #what in hell is bad #what in “hell” is bad?#whb lucifer #whb leviathan #whb mammon #whb satan #whb beelzebub #whb headcanons

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faeryarchives · 8 months

Text

in sickness and in health

knowing that being the only student aside from grim in such dormitory, it's hard to take care and clean the place while you are sick and grim is panicking in the corner crying and asking them if you were dying or something so it's time for your lover to do something! note: this has been in my drafts since last year so if there is a prompt similar to mine it is pure coincidence + this is pretty long

recent fics: when your hopeless streamer gets a girlfriend (ace x reader) & don't lose me, not yet & its you, it always has been you

-‘๑’- tried to cook and clean for you but ends up in a disaster: everything was going well bc they got a list on what to do because they came prepared and ready to help! but it all became blurry but somehow them getting in the kitchen to cook made you rise from the grave (aka from bed) not risking fire hazard today 👋 picking up a broom? they know how to use one to clean of course but it ends up piling the dust near you causing you to cough some more because they keep colliding with grim who is trying to help 😔 they deserve an award for trying their best 👩🏻‍⚖️ while they weren't allowed in the kitchen, they try telling you of stories that happened while you were absent in attempt to help you get better until you fall asleep listening + leaving a kiss on your forehead before going back to their dorm to ask help or tips on what to cook for you to get better 🤍

— riddle roseheart, deuce spade, KALIM AL ASIM, rook hunt, lilia vanrouge

-‘๑’- scolds you for overworking yourself while taking care of everything: they are going to appear at your doorsteps in complete personal protective equipment with alcohol spray and a basket full of cooked food inside ... well maybe most of them would + expect some nagging from them like you shouldn't neglect yourself just to take care of others because that's not how it works love 🤬 ! even though they appear strict they are still soft when it comes to you asking them for something like giving them a hug (they would probably not do it though) or asking for seconds 🧚‍♀️ + reluctantly sings you a lullabye and after you fall asleep they would finally let down their tough persona + sit next to your bed holding your hand in theirs and caress your head, you are a tough cookie right? so go beat the sickness out of your system because they already miss your company

— jade leech, jamil viper, VIL SCHOENHEIT

-‘๑’- having a crisis: its either they never get sick or doesn't know how to take care of someone who is sick 😷 don't even joke about you dying because of your fever because it will just cause more panic please be easy on them 😭 but they will try to ask their close friends on what to do and they will do it very carefully (bonus if you were the one helping them) and they are actually good at it justtt very confused if they are doing it correctly + type to note down any changes in your fever whether it got better or worse 📝 they will shower you with things that would make you feel better - feeling cold? you can find yourselves being wrapped like a sushi with two thick blankets. feeling lonely? he knows he cannot be that near to you so he will shower you with plushies from who knows where! they won't leave until you are up and healthy again even if it means staying at ramshackle and even tending to grim

— sebek zigvolt, azul ashengrotto, IDIA SHROUD, malleus draconia

-‘๑’- gets sick with you: they know you are sick but they couldn't resist you asking for cuddles 🧍🏻‍♀️at first they would be like "no are you crazy, i don't want to get sick" but after the second one, they find themselves right next to you being the lucky plush toy for the day 🫂 will occasionally try to feed you and make you take your medicine and even alarming every 4 hours to drink but will ultimately result to the two of you falling asleep until grim wakes you up around night time realizing now TWO OF YOU are now sick 🤒 took the couple goals to the next level so expect them to be clingy because nothing is stopping them from cuddling you when he is also sick 🧍🏻‍♀️ it ends up with either trey, ruggie or jade nursing the two of you back to health 😭

— ace trappola, cater diamond, leona kingscholar, floyd leech

-‘๑’- does it perfectly: they had done it before and they will do it again 👯‍♀️ they are pretty used to taking care of someone because sometimes their family members would get sick and they are also the one taking care of them + read parenting 101 atp 🫂 being familiar in the field, they could even task grim in the way he would understand like taking note of your temp and check if it is time for your meds while your lover would go and cook meals suitable for your situation and i think they wouldn't really be so hard on you because being sick is normal and you are just human after all 🤍 instead they would focus on making you feel bettter and believe me you ARE SPOILED ROTTEN 🥺 they would probably tease you with things you can't eat but will give you just a tiny bit and will promise to give you everything when you are feeling better 😍 they are the type that will ask your classmates what they have done during your absence and collect your notes for you so just focus on healing 🫶

— epel felmier, silver, trey clover, ruggie bucchi, jack howl

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hysteria-things · 6 months

Text

based off of this

NSFW ALPHABET

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: some of these are inspired by the nate nation anons AND one will be a little teaser for bereal😌

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

gives you the princess treatment! he will specifically tell you to not get up from the bed. thirsty? he’ll grab you a water. hungry? he’ll grab you a snack.

afterwards, you are rewarded with the most amazing cuddles. he’ll lay on top of you and nuzzle into you softly.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's)

he LOVES when you scratch up and leave hickeys on his torso region, including his back. nate has no issue showing off your marks, even if it’s out in public.

if you’re the sturniolo’s little sister in this scenario, for their sanity and his safety, he’ll cover everything if you guys hang out with them.

in all honesty, he just adores your face. he’ll squish your cheeks every chance he gets, or cup your face every time you guys kiss. the way it contorts in pleasure when he’s fucking you sends him over the edge.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

on rare occasions will cum inside you, but that’s the last resort. oh my god, the way he will always paint your body with his cum.

when you suck his dick, he’ll spurt his cum all over your face. other times, he’ll pull out and either smear it on your ass, chest, or stomach.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

when you’re not around and he’s super horny, he’ll hump his pillow to get off because he doesn’t like touching himself if you’re not there. it’s pathetic how many pairs of the poor boy’s underwear got ruined.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

has maybe one or two bodies before you, but he doesn’t like to count them since they were hookups.

but he 100% knows what he’s doing. he will never disappoint with the way he fucks his girl.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

COWGIRL OR DOGGY. for cowgirl, he wants to see your facial expressions and your tits bouncing right in front of him.

when it comes to doggy, he ain’t stopping. let’s just say, you won’t be able to walk for days…

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

nate’s an extremely goofy person outside the bedroom, but when he’s going to town, he’s as serious as ever. you have a thing for the way he can change how he acts in such a short amount of time.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

he got some hair, but tries to maintain it as much as he can. will NOT deal with the itching of it being bald. (he learned his lesson from the last time)

you, on the other hand, are cleanshaven. in the beginning of the relationship, he said he didn’t mind if you had hair or not. however, this was your decision and he’s perfectly fine with it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

will hold you like his life depends on it. face in the crook of your neck while he praises you for how good you take him and how well you’re doing.

like the first time you guys had sex (in his treehouse🥰), you were a virgin. was the gentlest with you and asked if you were okay every three minutes.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

the only time it’s acceptable to jack off is if he’s on the phone with you. you will either 1. talk him through it or 2. discuss how your day went.

however, he will purposely edge and overstimulate himself to the point where his eyes start to water and his hand gets cramped. his dick will be swollen and red, leaking pre-cum as he pumps his fist rapidly up and down.

“p-please. please keep talking, baby.”

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

a sucker for dacryphilia and hair pulling. something about hearing you sob from pleasure makes him feral. like holy shit he’ll keep going until you beg him to stop and use your safe word.

pounding you from behind, he’ll grip your hair tight, and if you don’t listen to whatever demand he throws at you, he’ll pull it. hard.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

either his/your bed or oddly the floor. i don’t know, it seems like the floor can help him go deeper by how hard and stable it is.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

he’s so sensitive that seeing you stand there has him bricked up to the fullest!

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn-offs)

he DESPISES when you call yourself ugly. if you talk bad about yourself, he’ll fuck the daylights out of you until you say that you’re pretty.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

giving you the best head of your life is his number one priority. nate will eat you out nose deep until you cry, like always, and has no intent of stopping. you’ll cum so many times that you won’t be able to think straight and stars will take over your eyesight.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

fast and rough. the only time he went slow and sensual is when he took your virginity. bro is the definition of pound town.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

if you guys are out shopping or at a party and he’s bored, he’ll drag you to the bathroom and fuck you fast against the door.

he needs at least something for entertainment.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

barely, but if you come up to him to ask to try something new, he’ll respect your wishes.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

he can be exhausted and will STILL keep going. surprisingly, he’ll do four. nate just loves you and loves dicking you down so much that he doesn’t want it to end.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

to be honest, you guys aren’t a fan of that stuff. he would never admit this, but the thought of you using some toy instead of him will make him feel a little insecure.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

likes to have his hands full and will grab your ass no matter what you’re doing. you get all flustered and it makes him tease you even more.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

name a sound, and he’s doing it.

whimpering, moaning, groaning, grunting… literally everything. he’ll purposely do it in your ear because he knows that makes your legs shake.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

once, he was railing into you hard when his bereal notification went off. because he turns into a cocky son of a gun when in private, he grabbed his phone off the night stand, lifted your head up from the pillows, and put the camera in your face to take a picture of how fucked out you looked.

the reactions under his post were priceless.

X = X-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

body wise, short king nate is BUFF and has abs. the magic in his pants is huge.

in his words, he calls it “the nate-a-tron 5000.”

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

wants to fuck you every second on every surface all day.

doesn’t help when you’re bending over and he comes up behind you and grabs your hips, thrusting his clothed boner into your thighs.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

two words: out cold.

one time you for real thought he was dead.

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

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mostlymihawk · 2 months

Text

Intimidation

Mihawk, Shanks, and Koby x GN reader

Prompt: How they react when they find out you're being threatened/held hostage.

CW: Threats, blood, abuse mentions

Mihawk:

You try to hide it from him at first.

Someone had come into Mihawk's castle, slit your throat, and told you to pass on the message that "my next cut won't be so shallow" if Mihawk didn't stop hunting him.

You're determined not to be Mihawk's weakness, so you force yourself to get it together.

You pull yourself off the floor, change the bloody carpet, stop the bleeding, and tell Mihawk you've suddenly developed a fascination with scarves.

It works for about an hour, if that.

Maybe it was your fidgeting, the way you jumped at shadows, your darting eyes, shaking hands...you had so many tells.

Finally he takes you by the hand, leads you to bedroom, sits you on the bed...and pins you down with his eyes as he gently tugs the scarf away and reveals the wound.

You break down immediately and tell him everything, including why you wanted to hide it.

He is utterly silent as the words flow out of you like a burst dam, until you have nothing left and you're sobbing brokenly in his arms from the pain.

Mihawk needs a minute to digest everything you've told him.

"...You are not my weakness, you are my greatest strength. You are the lifeblood that pulses in my veins, the fabric of my very soul, the deity before whose altar I kneel in reverence every hour of every day."

Being a warlord of the sea, he is often seen as a dog at the marines' beck and call, but the reverse is also true.

His delicate fingers bandage your would with near-surgical precision, and then Mihawk calls in a favour.

A few scant days later, the freshly-replaced carpet is bloodied anew with the blood of the correct victim.

Mihawk loathes blood on the carpets, but it does make a nice tapestry to serve as a warning to any others fool enough to attempt to harm his betrothed.

Shanks:

Mid-brawl, you're grabbed by the opposing captain.

It's all very cliché, but he won't let you go no matter how hard you struggle.

"Alright, stop. I surrender. My life for theirs."

The enemy captain is grinning ear to ear as you're roughly shoved aside and caught by Shanks' first mate, Benn Beckmann.

He shushes you and hides your face in his chest to muffle your pleas as Shanks steps right up to the barrel of the gun that had just been levelled at your temple.

The captain asks if Shanks has any final words.

"...I lied."

The half second's delay as they struggle for control of the gun is enough for Yasopp to end it.

You're inconsolable for the rest of the day, but Shanks is too glad you're alive to be terribly upset about the insults hurled his way or the bruises he'll have on his chest later.

Koby

He knows something is wrong right away.

He's the nervous wreck in this relationship, so when you've lost all your spark he asks what's wrong, and gets suspicious when you're scared to tell him.

Drags you straight to Garp's desk, no matter how much you beg him not to or how much you insist they'd kill him if you got the marines involved.

"Listen...I've been where you are. For two years I was held hostage on a pirate ship. If you let yourself be scared into silence...it'll never get better. We have to fight this, it's the only way."

That said, he has absolutely no idea how to fight an entire pirate crew.

Thus, Garp.

Garp reminds you both that, as Koby's significant other, a threat against you a threat against the marines, the world government, and, by extension, a threat against humanity.

The pirates extorting you are all swiftly captured, imprisoned, or brought to justice.

What did they really expect to do against the might of the marines, after all?

"You see? They wanted you not to get the marines involved because they knew they'd never stand a chance if you did."

#mihawk x reader #koby x reader #shanks x reader #opla imagine

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alotofrandomfangirling · 1 year

Text

Roronoa Zoro NSFW Alphabet (Netflix live action)

Warnings: smut 🫠 and cursing (18+ / minors dni)

A/n: i can't stop writing for this man please help okay so i had a bunch of smut headcanons for live action Zoro so i thought it would be better to fit them in a NSFW Alphabet ajdlajakaj it's the first time i write any kind of smut so please forgive me for any mistakes 😅 (i also didn't check the grammar because i was too embarassed to copy and paste it on google translate lmao sorry about that too ajskajskaj) female reader is adult and everything is consensual 🙏🏻 i hope you like it!!

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Zoro is very gentle after sex, he likes to hold you close and kiss your forehead as you both fall asleep together.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He is a boob guy. He loves your boobs, staring at, squeezing and sucking on them. He also likes kissing the valley between them.

And for himself he likes his chest and arms. He is super proud of how much you love to roam your hands on his chest and arms to feel his strong muscles.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He licks every drop of your cum when he makes you climax with his tongue on your pussy (we know he has strong teeth, so i'm guessing his tongue works well too 👀). And it's freaking hot when he wipes his mouth after that and goes kiss you with the same hunger he showed before.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He loves when you nibble on his ear.

You've recently gotten obsessed with the three earrings on his left ear and you want to suck on them all the time. He acts annoyed when you do it, but deep down he loves it, it makes him feel all tingly inside.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Zoro wasn't very experienced when you met, but, after all this time together, you've done it so many times that now he already knows by heart the exact spots he has to hit to take you to complete bliss.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He loves when you're on top of him. Watching your beautiful face from below, your boobs moving up and down, grabbing your ass... it's like poetry for him.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Well, Zoro doesn't smile much in his normal activities, so the same applies to while having sex ajskajakaj he's usually more serious cause he takes being with you and pleasing you very seriously.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Well, he's nearly a pirate so don't expect much ajdkajskaj but if you ask him he'll take care of it, cause he will honestly do anything for you.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

It may be surprising, but he is so romantic. The thing is your relationship is very based on love and trust, so sex for you is really an intimate moment for you to share your deepest feelings with each other. He makes sure to show you how much he loves you by taking care of you and pleasing you the best way he can.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He jerks off thinking about fucking you from behind with you wearing a mini skirt Nami had lent you one day. Zoro was never the same after he saw you in that lmaooo the sight stuck to his mind so he often remembers it 👀

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Okay so hear me out: Zoro with a praise kink. Boy's had a rough past, so he appreciates every little act of kindness you do for him. He loves when you praise him and whisper sweet things in his ear, for how good he is or how nice he is doing. You can literally feel how much he enjoys that.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Your shared room at the Going Merry. The rush of having to be silent so that the other straw hats won't hear you turns him on even more.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Your voice. He loves listening to you moaning and telling him how good he makes you feel, it's like music to his ears.

(In fact, anytime you're feeling mischievous and want to mess with his mind, you just use that sweet voice that you know will drive him crazy)

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Degradation. Or hurting. Not at all. You were the best thing that ever happened to Zoro and he made sure to let you know that, so he wasn't going to call you names or any of that. Sex was also a very intimate and special moment between you two so he enjoyed you both exchanging only nice stuff.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He loves a good blowjob. Hell, he loves how good your mouth feels on his dick.

You love to see how he melts under your touch while you're sucking him off. He looks so pleased and makes such pretty noises moaning your name you want to keep going just to keep listening to that.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It depends. Zoro usually takes his time in pleasing both of you. But when he's a bit frustrated or angry and wants to release himself, he gets a bit rough, but never hurting you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He prefers the real thing, but whenever one of you is feeling needy, sure, he'll do quickies.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Zoro is a simple man: he gets to fuck you, he is happy. So usually risking and trying new things only happens when the idea comes from you (and you sure have good ideas very often *wink wink*).

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Several rounds. Your man's stamina is on point ajdkajskaj

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Zoro doesn't really like toys. He says just the both of you are enough to "feel really good". i mean are there even sex toys in the op universe i'll be in debt in this one ajskajakja

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He likes to go straight to the point so he doesn't tease much, except when he wants you to beg for it so he can hear that sweet sex voice of yours that he loves so much.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's not very loud, but he grunts a lot (and it's delicious for you to hear). He also frequently lets slip curse words in your ear when he's fucking you because he can't take all the pleasure.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

That time you were at Kaya's and he showed up wearing that suit? You could barely concentrate on dinner for how aroused you were seeing him in those clothes. He looked so. freaking. hot.

The second dinner was over and everyone went to sleep you pushed him to your bedroom and had him take his pants off so you could ride him like there was no tomorrow (suit still on of course cause you liked it ajdkajskaj).

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Let's just say those jokes about his fourth sword are actually true.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Zoro is horny for you all the time lol of course he understands there's a right time for everything but whenever he has the chance he wants to be with you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

It doesn't take much for him to fall asleep. He'll do the job, feel good and then fall asleep for how tired he feels (but not before kissing your forehead and praising you for all that you did together 😉).

Template

#roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro smut #one piece x reader #one piece smut #opla!zoro x reader

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freedomfireflies · 1 year

Text

Theirs*

Summary: The fourth part to Mine*

Your mafia boss boyfriend, Harry, has returned home after being away.

The first thing on his agenda?

Your punishment.

Word Count: 6.3k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content, so please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞*

“Don’t look at me like that.”

Swallowing a huff, you straighten up from where you’re knelt on the bed. Your innocent doe-like eyes silently pleading with Harry to simply give in.

However, he merely crosses his arms and leans his tall body against the doorframe to the bedroom. “I know you’re getting ready to say something bratty, and I’m gonna tell you right now…don’t.”

You frown. “Har—”

“No.” His tone is cool but firm. His expression is unreadable. And despite the way you’ve attempted to present yourself to him, he remains unfazed.

He doesn’t allow himself to drink in your submissive stance. Or the revealing lingerie you’ve worn just to tease him. Or even the way you've kept your head bowed since the moment he walked in, just to tip the scales in your favor.

In fact, when he first came home and found you here, he’d simply cleared his throat and announced he was back.

And that he was ready for that talk.

You try again. “Har, I just—”

“What did I just say?” he reminds you, brow cocking upward. Your third warning. “I want you silent. You are not to speak until I allow you to do so. Is that understood?”

You push your lips into a wounded pout and nod once.

Pleased with your reaction, he rewards you with the softest of smiles. “S’a good girl. It’s my turn to talk right now. And your turn to listen. And I want you to listen very closely. Okay?”

Another nod.

He straightens up and takes a beat. He allows you to wonder. Allows you to anticipate what he might say.

Anticipate how much trouble you’re in.

“Do you understand why I ask you to do certain things?” he begins. “Do you understand…why I expect your obedience?”

You blink up at him, forcing a captivated expression so he knows you’re listening.

“Because there are only a few things in the world I cannot control,” he continues. “But you…I will always control you."

Your cheeks warm.

“I control your body,” he murmurs, pushing off the wall to step closer. “I control your pleasure…and I control your safety. I will always…control your safety.”

He reaches the edge of the mattress and takes your chin between his fingers. With a firm squeeze, he looks down, and your heart races inside your chest at his touch.

You haven’t felt it in days.

And it sets your entire body alight.

“I will always protect you, sweet girl,” he says, and despite the dominant edge, his vulnerability manages to slip through. “I will always take care of you. You…are my number one priority. Whether I’m here or there. And I need you to know that.”

His thumb brushes down your bottom lip, and he plays with it as he gazes at you. In a way so loving, and so devoted…you feel yourself clench.

“I expect your obedience because it’s the only way I can know I’m keeping you safe,” he whispers. “That I’m keeping you cared for. That you’re okay even if I’m not here. So when you go against my direct instructions…it scares me. And do you want to scare me, mama?”

Your head shakes quickly as a whimper gets caught in your throat.

“No. I didn’t think so,” he just about coos, smiling softly. “So you understand why I have to punish you now?”

Your lashes flutter like butterfly wings and you nod, practically reeling as your thighs squeeze a bit tighter together.

“Good,” he hums proudly, hand dropping from your face. You just about pout. “And you’ll take it, won’t you? Take it like the good girl I know you are. Until you learn…not to do it again.”

You nod again, fingers curling into your palm as you resist the urge to reach for him. You understand why he’s doing this. And you appreciate it more than that. This is one of your favorite scenes with him and you’re practically shaking with anticipation.

But…you also wish you could hug him. At least greet him properly and welcome him back before jumping into everything else. Kiss him tenderly and tell him how much you missed him. How happy you are that he’s safe.

That he’s come home.

You imagine this is why he’s refusing to let you do just that. He has to know how much you want it and is instead using this cold, distant demeanor to aid in your punishment.

It’s rather smart.

Pleased with your response, he smirks. “I know you will. Gonna be so good for both of us, aren’t you?”

Both.

Your eyes widen while the flip in your stomach turns into a full-blown circus as you look up at him.

However, he merely glances over his shoulder toward the hallway. “Grab her.”

You don’t have the chance to fully process his instruction before Asher is slipping out of the shadows and making his way into the room.

You thought he’d left after Harry got home but you suppose it makes sense why he didn’t.

And you aren’t about to complain.

You watch him stride toward the bed, and he shoots you that gentle and playful grin of his as he begins to crawl behind you on the mattress.

Your breathing becomes rather sporadic as he loops his hands under your arms and guides you onto his lap. Then, he turns you around until your face is buried in the duvet and your ass is in the air.

And he keeps you there, strewn across his legs, and vulnerable to Harry’s hungry eyes as the room falls silent.

You hear the sound of a belt. The familiar but chilling clanging of metal and brushing of fabric as it’s pulled from Harry’s body.

And you know what happens next.

“You ready, sweetheart?” you hear Asher whisper, soft lips grazing the shell of your ear as he dips down.

You shiver, whining slightly as you nod.

You don’t see him, but you hear Harry slowly walk around the edge of the bed. He’s trying to tease you. Make you squirm. And it works because you’ve never felt so needy and pathetic in your life.

Rough fingers find your skin. Dancing up the backs of your legs and toward the cheap, skimpy thong around your hips.

You’d hoped him seeing you in such suggestive clothing would lighten his mood.

Apparently…you were wrong.

But it seems to still be working in your favor as Harry’s large palm smooths over your ass in an almost tender fashion. It’s warm, and slow, and tantalizing. The simplest of touches and yet…with him? It’s everything.

You relax at the feel, mewling thankfully at the relief you find in his touch.

This makes him chuckle under his breath. “Miss me that much, mama?”

You nod quickly, eyes squeezing shut as he moves for the material disappearing between your cheeks.

“Wrapped yourself up all nice and pretty for me, hm?” he continues before he finds the ribbon of your corset and begins tugging it playfully. “Are you my welcome home present, sugar?”

You whimper.

“You are,” he decides in a gentle purr. “And you do look so pretty. Doesn’t she?”

“Very,” Asher says, and you feel him slide his hand across your back so he can hook it onto your hip and keep you cemented to his thighs.

You’re almost thankful you can’t see them. Their voices alone are about to ruin you and you know their faces absolutely would.

“Tell me, sweet girl…” Harry calls before his finger wraps around the thong and he guides it away from your body, “…did you think this would work? Think I’d forget about your punishment just because you got all dolled up?”

Yes. “Mm-mm,” you mumble quietly, head shaking as you try to obey his rule about staying silent.

“No?” His grip on the fabric gets tighter as he continues to pull. “Then you wore this for yourself? Or for Asher?”

You resist the temptation grind against Asher’s leg as you exhale shakily.

“Speak,” Harry commands, and you glance to the side.

“Wore it for you,” you admit sheepishly to the two men awaiting your reply. “Wasn’t trying to be sneaky…just missed you and wanted to do something to show you that.”

He considers this for a very brief moment. “Are you being honest with me?”

Your lashes flutter and the silence in the room is deafening. “…no.”

You can practically hear them smirk to themselves as Harry hisses, “Didn’t fucking think so.”

With that, he snaps the panties off, forcing you to gasp as you squirm from the sudden force.

God, you wish you could see him. Wish more than anything that you could watch the muscles in his throat constrict from the anger you’re sure he’s trying hard to tame.

He’s always beautiful, but perhaps he's the most beautiful when he’s outraged. And every feature on his face is twisted into a malicious sneer as he inflicts his displeasure on anyone unlucky enough to witness it.

Maybe this is why you enjoy your punishments so much. Because his pain is always worth it.

The leather of his belt slides down your cheeks before traveling along your leg. He’s warning you. Giving you a moment to prepare. Something that almost seems thoughtful, but you know is only intended to worsen your apprehension.

And it works beautifully.

“What are you gonna do?” he asks as he continues gliding the material across your backside.

“I’m…I’m gonna count,” you recite in a small voice. “And…apologize.”

“That’s right,” he agrees. “And who…are you going to apologize to?”

Your mouth opens, ready to reply before you think his question all the way through.

“Both of you,” you finally answer, and he hums.

“Good.” He pulls the belt away from you. “I think eleven strikes should suffice. Three…for each day you disobeyed me. Three…for each day you disobeyed him. Four…for the fact that you thought you could get away with it by wearing this…”

He falls silent, and your thighs clench.

“And an extra…” he murmurs, “…because Asher deserves to see how pretty you look when you cry.”

Your eyes just about roll back and before you have the chance to feel thrilled…the belt cracks through the air and lands on your ass.

The sharp contact makes you jolt as you choke on a whine and lurch forward.

And the subtle sting is quick to trickle beneath your skin as he leans back, and you can't help sighing contently.

God, you've missed this.

“One,” you whisper, eyes locking onto the wall across from you. “I’m sorry.”

Another strike.

“Two.” Your fingers curl around the duvet as you steel yourself. “I’m sorry.”

Another strike.

With each additional whip of his belt against your skin, you’re forced into the light of pain and pleasure.

He gives you about fifteen seconds between each one. He wants you to feel it. Wants you to pray for it to be over.

And you do want it to be over. Only because that means he’ll finally be through with your punishment, and he’ll actually touch you. Hold you, kiss you, be with you in the way he hasn’t since he left.

You continue counting down, and as you do, the pain begins to linger. Not just from the spanking, but from the way your clit viciously grazes Asher’s leg whenever you jerk forward. And you try not to squirm, you really do, but the emptiness you feel between your thighs overwhelms you.

You’re sure Harry can tell. You’re sure Asher can tell. And he attempts to help you by squeezing your hip as you whimper from the forceful contact and apologize for the fifth time.

And then…everything changes.

Harry’s aim lowers and the firm leather meets the place where your thigh and butt connect. It lands there, right across the dip with a loud smack, and your ears start to ring.

You gasp louder than you have before. It’s hard, and it hurts, and the tears instantly pool in your eyes.

Your voice shakes as you say, “Six…I’m…I’m sorry.”

Harry pauses, and you assume he’s assessing your reaction before he does it again. Right in the same spot.

You yelp as your lip quivers, and the water begins to run freely down your cheeks.

God, it hurts. He always makes sure to make it hurt, and you have to appreciate him for it. After all, he promised punishment.

This is it.

“Seven,” you just about sob, your knuckles going white from how hard you’ve begun to grip the blanket. “I’m…I’m…”

You can’t get the word out. Can’t seem to force the syllables from your tongue as Harry tsks disapprovingly.

“Come on, sugar,” he tuts. “You were doing so good. Don’t make Daddy angry now.”

Your head shakes quickly as your eyes squeeze shut. “I’m…I’m sorry.”

He makes another noise, this time of appreciation before you hear the belt cut through the air.

Again lands the strike to the same abused spot, and you cry out as you seize up, writhing over Asher’s lap.

You feel Asher’s hand leave your hip before it’s suddenly ghosting across your face. His fingers quickly slip under your chin, and you sniffle as he guides your head toward him.

You can see the hesitation in his expression as he studies you, his thumb brushing across your soaked cheek as he looks back to Harry.

“Boss…” he calls quietly, almost as if in warning.

But Harry simply clicks his tongue. “No, she’s fine. She can take it. She’ll take it. Know she will. Gonna be our good girl.”

You attempt to nod, despite Asher’s hold, and when you hear Harry get ready to go again, your features twist into an apprehensive wince.

Asher frowns.

The belt slaps across your skin as you whimper and brace yourself against Asher’s body, almost as if trying to escape.

In turn, he tightens his hold as you cry a bit harder and nuzzle your face into his arm in an attempt to catch your breath.

“Count, mama,” Harry reminds you, and you swallow a pitiful whine as you begin blubbering the number.

“Har,” Asher tries again, interrupting your apology.

“She’s all right. And she’s gonna count. Just like I asked,” Harry replies, and you hear him run the leather through his hand.

Your bottom burns from the harsh whips, and despite how hard you’re trying to obey, your body seems to have other plans.

You’re overstimulated. Emotionally, physically, mentally. The pain from the spanking, the pain from the grinding against your cunt, the pain from knowing Harry’s keeping himself from you.

And you know he loves this. Know he loves to watch you weep for him. Because of him. After all, these are the only tears of yours he permits.

If you cry for any other reason outside of his attempts to pleasure you…all hell breaks loose.

So you allow yourself to cry. You allow yourself to get even further worked up as the tears pour, exactly the way he loves.

You sniffle once more as you stutter out the apology and curl yourself as close to Asher as you can, completely settling into the submissive roll.

To this, Harry hums before you hear him ready the next crack of his belt.

Your muscles instantly recoil when you hear the way it slices through the air, face scrunching up as you prepare for the contact.

Then, suddenly…something changes in Asher’s touch.

“Harry,” he snaps loudly, in a tone you’re sure you’ve never heard him use before.

The strike never comes.

The room falls silent.

Your soft sobs begin to subside.

You hear something hit the floor, and you wonder for only a moment what it was before a pair of hands are gripping onto your waist and gently turning you around.

You’re pulled from Asher’s lap as Harry scoops you into his arms, one palm coming up to cup your cheek to guide your attention to him.

“Okay, all right,” he murmurs softly. Soothingly. “It’s okay. Do you need to use your safe word?”

You take a minute to find your voice, frowning some as your bottom continues to radiate heat and soreness from the way you’ve been sat on it.

But Harry doesn’t rush you. He keeps you secure against his body, eyes soft and words comforting.

After a moment, you swipe your fingers through the stains on your face and shake your head. “No. No, I don't need to use it.”

“Are you sure?” Harry’s voice is stern but full of compassion. “Mama, you know I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know,” you whisper, offering a small smile. “You didn’t. I mean…not in a bad way.”

His eyebrows pull together, almost in disbelief. “Are you being honest with me?”

“Yes,” you say truthfully. “I promise. I don’t need to use it. I’m okay. You know I always take it for you.”

It’s his turn to smile, and he does so with a quiet chuckle. “I know, sweet girl. But what did I say? You always come first. And I won’t tolerate you allowing me to hurt you past what we’ve agreed on. I would never forgive myself.”

“I know,” you echo, leaning closer to brush your nose against his. He sighs gratefully as his lashes flutter. “I promise. I don’t need to use it. I’m okay. You’d never hurt me. I promise.”

For a moment, he simply internalizes this vow. Allows you to snuggle into his chest as he wraps himself around you and helps you calm down.

The two of you have only ever struggled with something like this once before.

You had slipped into your subspace after a particularly overstimulating session. Harry was intent on working out some of his frustration with you and you had been more than happy to oblige.

But soon, he lost himself in the punishment. In the way your body bent to his will. And you were too far gone to stop him. Unable to use your safe word despite the fact that you might have needed to. You just wanted to make him happy. So you allowed him to continue and didn't give it a second thought.

Once the activities had ended and you pulled yourself from the submissive state, you told him. Told him what you had almost told him before you floated away.

And it fucking ruined him.

He was guilt-stricken. He’d sunk to his knees and begged for your forgiveness. The first time he'd ever gotten onto his knees for you outside of sex. He kissed your hands, and hips, and stomach as he whispered his remorse into your skin. As he pleaded with you to allow him to make it better.

And you held no ill-thoughts or feelings. It certainly wasn't his fault. He had absolutely no way of knowing and you know he'd never do it on purpose.

But things changed after that. Agreements and understandings were made. Harry knows your limits and rules just as you know his. He keeps a close eye on you. Always. Looking for any signs that you're depleting yourself for his pleasure.

Thankfully, today this is not the case.

Today…this is everything you want.

When you’ve finally managed to relax your muscles, you lean back, and Harry smirks before running his thumb under your eye.

“My precious girl,” he whispers, and your skin warms. “Told you you’re beautiful when you cry.”

You glance down at your lap as you grin before your attention drifts to the left, where Asher still waits.

His expression is hard and filled with concern. It’s a look you’ve seen before, but only ever in the context of their work.

Today, this is a direct result of what happened only moments ago, and your heart aches when you see how worried he looks.

“You’re okay?” he repeats, and the sound of his voice is rather coarse as he looks between you.

“I’m okay,” you repeat as Harry’s hand drops back down to your hip. “Promise. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

His lips purse. He seems to be struggling to vocalize his unease and you shift in Harry’s lap so you can fully face the man beside you.

“I’ve never seen you get that angry with her before,” he tells his boss, and Harry nods. “Never seen her cry like that before. Felt…felt wrong to see her in that kind of pain and not do something.”

You feel a rush of adoration for your protector as Harry hums his understanding and squeezes your waist.

“I know,” Harry agrees. “I should have warned you earlier. But I’m glad your first instinct is to protect her. Even from me.”

Asher’s eyes fall to his hands.

You frown. “It’s okay,” you murmur again, crawling a bit closer. “This is just…what we do. It’s what we agreed on. We have a safe word and a system in place so I can always communicate with him.”

And while you’d hoped this would help, it seems as though it does absolutely nothing to comfort him as you settle onto your knees in front of his legs.

He keeps his focus down, almost as if punishing himself, so you slip your fingers beneath his jaw to guide his face to yours. Exactly like he had done to you earlier.

When you finally see him, you feel gutted by the weary pull of his expression.

“Ash,” you murmur, and he chews on the inside of his lip. “I’m okay. I like it when he makes me cry. Like it when he hurts me.”

You imagine he’ll be a little put off by such an admission, and for a moment, he simply blinks at you.

And then…his gaze darkens, and his teeth scrape together. Almost as if restraining himself from thinking about it.

You smirk to yourself. His reaction is quite telling, and you swallow a chuckle as you turn to glance over your shoulder at Harry.

He seems to be thinking the same thing you are, and he grins smugly before nodding his chin at you.

With this permission, you scoot a bit closer to Asher and tighten your hold on his cheeks.

“I’m okay,” you whisper again, and he releases a deep breath. “More than okay.”

He relaxes in your hold, and you use this as encouragement to move in. Your lips ghost down his neck. Hovering over a prominent vein before they finally make contact, and you feel him stiffen.

You press your mouth to his skin, and you can feel the pounding of his pulse as you linger there. As you let him realize what you’re doing.

Your kisses travel down. Soft and slow and rather innocent.

“I’m okay,” you repeat quietly between each one. “So okay.”

You’re simultaneously calming him down and working him up. You can feel the way he begins to unwind, subtly leaning into you as you let one hand travel to his chest.

It’s strong. Broad. Firm. Even through his dark t-shirt, you can feel the quick breaths he’s taking. The way he’s beginning to succumb to your intentions.

You smile.

He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t rush you. He lets you explore whatever you’d like as you scratch down his pecs and lick just below his jaw.

It makes him shiver and you feel rather proud of the way you can ease his upset through such a simple touch.

Then, Harry clears his throat, and calls you back, forcing you to break away from the right-hand man.

Asher’s expression is hazy when you finally see it. Lashes fluttering as he swallows a sigh, and you offer a soft grin before turning back to your boyfriend.

“You like taking care of him, don’t you, mama?” Harry murmurs, hand coming out to smooth up your thigh.

You nod bashfully.

“Mm. I know,” he coos, hooking his fingers under your knees to help guide you back onto your ass. “But we’re not done with your punishment, are we?”

Your head shakes.

“No,” he agrees, glancing behind you toward Asher. “And I don’t think we’ve quite forgiven you yet.”

Asher clears his throat and slips his fingers around your upper arms to tug you down until your back meets the mattress.

Your head is laid between his thighs as Harry crawls down your legs, slowly pulling them apart so he can settle there.

And you know exactly what happens next. Know exactly what Harry expects of you, and there’s a catch in your throat as you glance up toward Asher.

In turn, he looks down at you with his familiar, teasing smile before brushing his knuckles across your cheek. “Say your prayers, sweetheart.”

The muscles in your stomach quiver beneath your corset at the salacious tone of voice just as Harry is lifting your hips and bringing you to his mouth.

You stumble over a moan and your eyes roll back as your nails scratch down the blanket beneath you. He’s wasting no time, instantly nipping and licking at your cunt as if he’s been deprived of it for weeks.

And for the two of you, three days feels about the same.

It’s all a blur from here. You can’t focus on anything else but him.

Them.

The way your boyfriend groans into your pussy as he licks you clean while his right-hand man keeps you glued to the bed.

And every time you squirm, Harry leans back to smack his hand against your clit, forcing you to cry out as you writhe away.

But Asher is there to make sure you don’t get very far, instantly bringing his hand to your jaw as he tuts, “Uh-uh.”

You’re already so worked up that it only takes a couple more minutes of sucking and teasing for you to reach your first orgasm.

And it’s everything. Overpowering and complete, despite the fact that what you really want…Harry hasn’t given you yet.

You hope he does. Hope he fucks you into oblivion but something tells you…that’s not in the cards tonight.

Once you manage to blink the stars from your eyes, Harry glances up at you, and you flush when you see the mess on his chin.

“Say it,” he hisses, curling his hands around your hips in warning.

You swallow and work to find your voice. “One…I’m sorry.”

“Good,” he growls before bringing two fingers closer. “Again.”

He slips in without warning, pumping himself through just to shove you back up the precipice of pleasure.

And it works. It so fucking works. You arch off the bed and struggle in his hold as you whisper his name.

He curls when he knows you can’t take it anymore. Strokes and thrusts and sucks on your clit until your muscles begin to ache. Until the tears have returned and the pain has slipped in beside the euphoric bliss.

The coil shatters moments later and Harry slaps his hand down your cunt when you come without warning him first.

“Two,” you blubber, throwing your arms over your face to hide. “I’m sorry.”

“Again,” he orders, even though he gives you no choice in the matter before diving back in.

And it hurts.

It hurts exactly the way you both love. You’re raw and sore and so overly sensitive but you revel in it as you cry once more. As you gasp for air and drag your nails down Asher’s thighs to ground yourself.

You hear him chuckle before he takes hold of your wrists and tugs them above your head.

Now, you really have no choice but to take it.

Harry adds a third finger, and the stretch makes you buck up. He responds to this disobedience by pinching your clit until you just about scream from the agonizing sensation.

But it pushes you into your third and you barely stammer out the number and apology before he’s slipping in a fourth finger and flattening his tongue against you.

And the sounds he makes. The sounds you make for him. The sounds of everything.

But then he spits, and you decide then that you’re never going to disobey him again.

You try to keep your eyes open but it’s so hard. So hard to do anything else but think of the feeling in your belly. Between your thighs. In your head.

It’s only when Asher reaches out to brush his thumb down your lip that you peer up.

“There she is,” he murmurs, and you whimper at the salty taste of his finger. “So sweet when you apologize.”

You’d likely respond if you could but you’re coming for the fourth time before you quite get the chance.

Now, it’s harder to catch your breath. Chest heaving and body trembling as Harry’s incessant teasing begins to slow.

“Four,” you finally sough through gentle sobs and hiccups. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry…I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

Harry eases himself out, quickly lifting to his knees so he can crawl up the length of your body and bring his face to yours.

He dips down and kisses you. Slow and gentle. A stark contrast to his previous forcefulness and you instantly melt beneath his mouth.

God, the way he tastes. His tongue is coated with your arousal and he shares this delicacy without a second thought. He pushes each drop into your mouth before his fingers find your throat, and curl around the delicate base.

His pointed squeeze tells you to swallow, so you do. And you’d swallow everything he ever gave you if that’s what he wanted.

But soon, he stops. He knows you’ve slipped away from him and after he takes his lips from you, he snakes an arm under your back and pulls you up.

His movements are tender. He doesn’t want to startle you or hurt you. He just wants to hold you as you swim through the haze of your submissive headspace.

But keeping his kisses from you feels like the cruelest thing he’s done all day. He must still be upset. You must not have done a good enough job. He must have wanted you to keep going but you didn’t and now he’s sad and hurt.

“M’sorry,” you mumble again, nuzzling your face into his neck the moment you’re sat upright. You can’t look at him. Don’t want to see the disappointment. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m sorry—”

“Shh,” he interrupts in a quiet but authoritative hush. “No more of that. You’re okay. Did so fucking good, mama. I’m so proud of you.”

You whimper as you curl into his chest, already half-asleep from the overexertion.

But he keeps speaking to you, lips pressing into your hair as he hums his approval. “Took your punishment so well for us,” he says. “Knew you could.”

His fingers rub against your hip before he moves to the corset. He pops the buttons free and undoes the ribbon until he can pull it from your body.

Now you can breathe a bit better, and the cool air feels good against the sticky sweat coating your stomach.

This is the first time you’ve been truly naked in front of both men, but you don’t have the mental awareness to care right now.

Instead, you cling yourself to Harry’s body as he chuckles and runs his palm up and down your bare spine.

When the throbbing in your cunt has begun to subside, you hesitantly peek out from where you’ve hidden yourself in Harry’s collarbone to look between them.

Your eyes are wide and hopeful, lips already trembling as you ask, “…forgive me?”

Asher and Harry exchange a certain look you can’t read before Harry mumbles, “I forgive you, sweet girl.”

You smile brightly with this before looking to the second man.

He’s fighting a chuckle. “I forgive you, too, sweetheart.”

And you’re so thrilled. So happy to have made them happy that you hum contently and squeeze Harry’s hand in yours.

But this tender moment doesn’t last as long as you’d like before Harry is shifting you from his lap and back into Asher’s.

And after passing you off to his right-hand man, he disappears from the bed altogether, leaving you to watch him go with a curious look.

To help ease your confusion, Asher wraps his arms around your middle and pulls you into his chest.

“He’s gonna come back,” he tells you, tucking his chin just over your shoulder. “Gonna hold you till he is, okay?”

You nod quickly and nestle into his embrace.

And Harry does in fact return about a minute later, a washcloth in his hand.

There isn’t really much to clean up, but the warm compress always helps soothe those lingering twinges of pain.

So, he moves onto his stomach as Asher reaches down to pry your thighs apart and make room.

With an abundance of caution and adoration, Harry brings the towel to your swollen pussy, softly stroking the sensitive region.

He goes over your thighs, your stomach, your clit. He doesn’t rub or pull, and anytime you grimace, he stops.

But the warm water helps relax you even further until you eventually sigh as you unwind between Asher’s arms.

And Asher smiles against your temple.

When Harry’s through, he makes a trade. He hands the cloth to Asher while Asher hands you to him.

And once you’re back in Harry’s possession, Asher returns to the bathroom to discard of the towel and grab some lotion.

He then brings it to Harry as Harry gingerly guides you onto your stomach so he can begin.

The next few minutes are quiet but filled with love.

The soothing lotion is massaged over your backside as the sting from the spanking slowly dissipates.

You’re happy he’s not dragging you into the shower like he normally does. Not that you don’t enjoy the soft, lazy kisses under the water as he runs a loofa down your body.

But right now…all you really want is to get under the covers and fall asleep on his chest.

You want to welcome him home.

And a part of you is upset by the way you haven’t been able to show him how much you really missed him. Get a taste for yourself. Take him down your throat as he groans and gives you everything.

But you suppose this is part of your punishment. There will be other times for that.

Today…you had some repenting to do.

Once Harry is through, he flips you back around and kisses you. He tells you everything words never could. He paints his infatuation with you across your tongue and you couldn’t be happier.

After laying down beside you and pulling you into his chest, his fingers stroke delicately through your hair. Effectively lulling you into a blissful reverie.

“Want to talk to you about something, mama,” he mumbles quietly as you roll your head back to look at him. “Would that be okay?”

You nod.

“Both of you…actually,” he corrects before glancing toward Asher, who’s leaned against the wall watching. “Figured now might be a good time.”

Asher’s brow raises.

“You know…” Harry begins, returning his attention to you, “…that all we want to do is protect you and keep you safe…yeah?”

You nod again.

“And you know…we’d do anything for you,” he continues, pressing his palm to your cheek as he cups it lovingly. “Do anything to make you happy. Make you feel good. Yeah?”

Your answer is to turn your face and press your lips into his hand as he smiles.

“Good,” he whispers, stealing another curious glance at Asher. “Then I want to know…if you’ll let us do that. If you’ll let us make you feel good. In a way we maybe haven’t before.”

It takes a moment for you to realize what he means, but once the insinuation finds you, your breath hitches.

“Don’t have to answer right away,” he tells you calmly. “I know I’m asking a lot, sugar. And you know I don’t like to share you.”

A quiet moment passes as he leans down to place a kiss to your forehead.

“But I’ll share you with him,” he whispers. “Because I know he’d take care of you, too. And you’d take care of him, wouldn’t you?”

You nod quickly, heart hammering inside your chest.

“I know,” he smiles. “But you can say no, honey. You can always say no. I just think…you deserve to have all your little holes filled. Deserve to feel so fucking good. In every way you can. And I think that…is worth sharing you for.”

Your nails begin to scratch down his shirt as the image appears like a mural inside of your mind. Already, you can feel yourself clench from the very idea of being filled by them. From the idea of both their hands, and lips, and voices. The idea of getting to touch them, and be with them, and take them.

“And I know how much he wants to,” Harry adds, tossing a rather sadistic smirk across the room at his friend. “He’s told me before that he’d do anything you asked him to. Do fucking anything to feel you.”

Your eyes widen.

“S’that still true?” Harry asks his partner, and you can hear the taunt within the question.

Asher clears his throat quietly and straightens up, seemingly a little hesitant. “…yes.”

Harry chuckles before returning his attention to you. “So, I want you to think about it, okay? No right or wrong answer, sweet girl. Whatever you’re comfortable with, we’ll—”

“Okay.”

He pauses. “Okay?”

You tug your lip between your teeth and nod fervently. “Okay. Yes, I…I want to. I’ll…whatever you want. Do it. I’ll do it.”

He breaks out into a large grin. “Oh, that’s our fucking girl,” he just about growls before surging forward to kiss you.

And you bask under his praise. Under the possessive title you wear proudly.

You love to be his.

And you will always be theirs.