#peter vs reader

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

I loved your peter vs Alastor story, can we possibly get a part two? Like maybe Peter is looking for her and she hears about it through the news or something from missing persons reports. She’s changed her name and Alastor has told her there’s nothing to worry about, but keeps having dreams about Peter finding her? You can choose how it ends!

A/N: I didn’t think people would want a part two to that but since you asked you shall receive! I love writing about Yanderes going against each other it’s so much fun 🤗. I watched the first four episodes of Hazbin Hotel and guys i LOVE IT SO MUCH. I’m so glad I waited for this show, and I’m so glad other people are enjoying it as much as I am. Special thanks to @a-bookworms-teashop or also known as @forbidden-sunlight, for helping me with this short story! As per usual we all know I like cliffhangers so expect a part three soon <<33 happy reading & enjoy!

Warnings: violence, obsessive tendencies, mentions of blood, lots of manipulation, talks of mental abuse, lots of dark content ahead!!

Songs you can listen too while reading: Close to you by Rihanna. Slipping through my fingers by ABBA. Desire by Megan Myers. Love on the Brain by Rihanna. Forget her by Jeff Buckley. Meet me in the hallway by Harry Styles. The Grudge by Olivia Rodrigo.

Part 1

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!

Forget her

Living in New Orleans was nice. People were always so kind, and everyone was so welcoming. Getting a new name was easy, surprisingly. The government didn’t make it hard to run away from psycho ex boyfriends who didn’t know how to take a hint. Living with Alastor was nice. He was always a gentlemen, a gentle man, a good lover too. He made sure to never treat you the way Peter did.

In fact he was quite the opposite with you. Inviting you out to parties with him, keeping you out of the public eye as to not bring the wrong type of attention around. Everything felt like it was starting to get better. He would bring you flowers, take you to work with him even, or work from home. Alastor was nothing short of the perfect boyfriend. In fact he was perfect and more.

But lately, something seemed to have you on edge. He had been fidgety. Checking his phone constantly but always reassuring you with the polite smile. A reassuring one he tried to keep on, but you saw right through. He was hiding something and you wanted to know what.

According to Husk, Peter had since moved out of the apartment he had been living in, with no notice too. He had gone completely ghost. There was no sign of him anywhere, according to your knowledge. It was a Saturday evening when it had all happened. When your intuition had finally proved to be right.

“You said I wouldn’t be seen.” You said, the article about an appearance the two of you had made up on your phone. Alastor was walking through the kitchen, tossing various ingredients into a large pot, his jambalaya coming along nicely.

“ Dear please, there hasn’t been any sign of you for months. I doubt the bastard has even seen it, let alone have any access to technology.” He brushed you off with a chuckle, sliding the ingredients off the cutting board and into the pot. You sighed and put your phone down on the counter. Maybe you were being over paranoid. But ever since reading the article, a chill had ran up your spine that didn’t seem to be leaving any time soon. Alastor noticed you looking off to the side, lost in your own mind. He reaches out, hands brushing your sides gently. “Why don’t you take a bath, hm? Ill even set it up for you. What do you say dear?” He asks calmly, a hand on your lower back, ushering you out of the kitchen and past the open living room, making your way down the hall to the bathroom.

“ Alright fine. But we need to talk about this later.” You say, and he responds to you with a kiss on your cheek. You go to your shared bedroom, going through the large walk in closet to find a change of clothes for after your bath. The water is running in the bathroom, the smell of fragrances light on your senses. You make your way back to the bathroom to see Alastor leaning over the tub slightly, candles already lit on the sides of the tub to allow you to relax. There’s your favorite book next to a cup of wine, along with the radio playing light jazz. Everything is perfect, as it should be, and for a moment you can forget the feeling of strained eyes on you. You can forget it all as you’re embraced by a man who loves you. Who truly cares.

“ Take your time darling. I must run out for a bit to get some extra ingredients. Will you be fine without me?” He asks, taking the robe from you as you sink down into the tub, eyeing you carefully, enough to give you butterflies. You smile, one of his favorites and nod, reaching to the side to pick up your glass of wine, the red stains your lips slightly as you pull the cup away.

“I think Ill be okay, thank you love. Be quick please, I might just nap here.” You say jokingly. Alastor smiles, folding your robe up neatly in his hands before nodding to you lightly. He leans down to kiss you, a soft tender kiss, before leaving you in the bathroom alone. It’s when you hear the front door shut that you sigh, now knowing he’s gone. The water is just right, just warm enough on your skin for you to rest your eyes a bit.

A bit turns into an hour, and when you hear a loud glass shatter from the kitchen is when you wake up from your nap. You hadn’t been serious about sleeping in the tub, but mistakes happen. You quickly pull at the drain, the water slowly slipping down as you grab your towel and get yourself dressed, sliding a simple nightgown on before stepping out of the bathroom. “Alastor?” You call, but you’re met with silence. Your vision is hazy, the steam from the water seeming to create some sort of film over your sight, but you manage. Walking down the hall and into the living area, you see a vase shattered on the ground. What you don’t expect to see, is a distraught Peter standing across from you.

“Guess again Baby.” He says with a smile. He sighs and takes in your appearance, eyes completely devouring your appearance. “What are you doing here?” You ask, panic written all over your face.

“How did you find me?” You ask again. Peter tuts at you, standing straight up, revealing just how tall he really was in comparison to you. He has a folder in his hand, one he throws on the floor in between the two of you, and it just barely touches your feet as it slides across the floor. “What is this?” You ask, eyeing him closely. He grins, hands behind his back as he watches you pick up the folder.

“Your perfect boyfriend.” He responds. The pictures inside reveal themselves before you can even process whats going on. Pictures of Alastor and you about in the city. Ones of the two of you at home, the two of you at dinner. Intimate moments, things that were supposed to be private. All laid out right in front of you. A picture of Alastor and you at a friends wedding. His face was burned out of the photo, but you knew who it was. The more photos you looked through the more you found. Magazine clippings of Alastor with you in the town. Paparazzi seeing you both together at parties, dancing around each other like no one was watching but the worlds eyes were on you. Peters eyes were on you.

“He told me-“

“Told you what?” Peter snickered, stepping closer, the broken glass crunching under his feet. You kept going through photos, one right after the other. Then, one really caught your attention. Mimzy. She had been so obsessed with Alastor and how you were no good for him. Now, in front of you was a photo, the two of them with their arms around each other, almost like lovers, but not quite friends. How long ago was this? Why didnt he tell you about this?

“He doesn’t love you. Not the way I do.” Peter said, stepping closer, arms raising for a hug. “ Let’s just go home. We can put this all behind us. I can forgive you.” He said, a smile on his face. He was still the same. He thought he had done no wrong. He lowers his arms when he sees you don’t come closer, but instead reaches for your hands, pulling them to his chest. “What do you need? Money? I can give you that. If- if you want more freedom we can go out! We can do whatever you want-“ He pleaded, eyes begging for yours to look at him. “Please, just come back. He took you away from where you were safe. Now you have everyone judging you, when you don’t need that.” He said, hand cupping your chin to force you to look at him. “Are you really happy here?” He asks.

It feels like time freezes for a moment. Were you really happy? All the press, Alastor always being gone or out at parties. The social events. The liquor, the drugs. The dancers and the crowds of people together. With Alastor, it was always a party. But with Peter, things were different.

With Peter, you were quiet. Alone but without the drugs, the partying and the social interaction. With Peter you really never lifted a finger, not like you physically could. Peter always brought gifts home, even if he was upset with you. He always did laundry, had things neat and tidy, or as much as they could in the small apartment. With Peter, you were taken care of. With Peter, you lived a calm life.

Well, at least that was how he saw it.

With Peter, there was a constant fear surrounding you. Suffocating you. He never let you live, took away your freedom and your life to keep you tied down to him. He had hurt you on multiple occasions, raising a hand to the person he swore to love so dearly. He had threatened to kill your family, your friends, anyone who stood in between the two of you. Peter didn’t love you, no, he was obsessed. Did you really want that life back?

“I.. I am happy here.” You finally said, pulling yourself away from Peter. His eyes looked defeated. He looked, complex. In a matter of seconds his demeanor changed entirely, standing tall in his anger, his pride.

“Happy? Happy with a man who took you from me?!” He yelled, lunging forward and caging you between him and the wall. His eyes looked manic, like something had snapped. It was only then you noticed him reaching into his pocket, glass shard in hand. “I told you what would happen if you ever left.” He said, hand in the air as the shard came down quickly. A slice to your cheek had you sliding down the wall, tears streaming down your face as blood ran down your neck, fingers shakily holding onto yourself for some support.

“Peter please-“ you pleaded with a whisper. Even after all these months away from him he still managed to make you feel so small.

“I see what’s going on.” He said, chuckling a bit. He crouches down, eye level with you now. “He has you completely brainwashed doesn’t he. I’m sure he-“ He stops when he hears the front lock being turned. The door opens to reveal a humming Alastor, eyes shut as he hums a song to himself softly. He turns to lock the door, before turning back around, finally opening his eyes to see the sight of Peter and you on the ground.

Everyone is quiet for a moment. Peter looks panicked, Alastor looks, unreadable, and you look, frightened. Alastor drops the bag of groceries, and before you can process what’s happening there’s a knife being drawn from under his shirt sleeve. Not a large one, but a size big enough to kill a man. To kill Peter. Peter stands quickly, clutching the glass shard in his hand so tight he begins to cut himself. The two meet in the middle, Peter swinging to try to slice Alastors neck. Something about the way Peter misses, the way Alastor inhales sharply. His eyes widen but in a different way. One you’d never seen from him before. There’s a difference in the way his eyes gloss over, the shine in them just a bit brighter than before.

Nothing would ever be the same after tonight.

[mirobraz]

[multifandomworldsposts]

ABOUT ME + WHO I WRITE ABOUT + MASTERLIST 🪩🫶🏻

my name is cassy, my pronouns is she/her, i’m a fan of a bunch of humans including fictional humans :))

WHO I WRITE ABOUT

Elvis Presley (& his characters)

Austin Butler (& his characters)

Top Gun Maverick

Teen Wolf

Top Gun

The Vampire Diaries

Outerbanks

The Outsiders

Harry Styles

Shawn Mendes

DC

Marvel

80s/90s actors (ur choice)

Justin Bieber

One Direction

5 Seconds of Summer

Sam & Colby

Big Time Rush

Saved By The Bell

beverly hills, 90210

my life with the walter boys

Harry Potter (characters)

🫶🏻 MASTERLIST 🫶🏻

🎃🕷️ Kinktober 2023 ☠️👻

❄️🧤Kinkmas 2023 ☃️🛷

🧤��Kinkmas 2024 ❄️🎄

OuterBanks 🌴🐚

The Night We Met - JJ Maybank

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4

That Damn Cadillac - Rafe Cameron

POV: ur dating Pope Hayward

dating jj maybank would include…

taking care of him - JJ Maybank

dating John B would include....

Our Little Secret - JJ Maybank

POV: ur dating JJ Maybank

You're The Love Of My Life - Pope Hayward

At The Beach House - Rafe Cameron

DC & MARVEL 🗡️

Love Story - Aquaman

Austin Butler 😍

Trouble - Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3

We Met In Tampa - Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 Pt. 6 Pt. 7

POV: ur dating Austin Butler

fais moi l’amour - Pt. 1

Top Gun/Maverick 🛩️😎🤎

The Pilot I Fell In Love With - Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky

Maverick’s Assistant - Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

POV: ur dating Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

POV: ur dating Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Champagne & Sunshine - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

Shawn Mendes 🎸

Confession

because i liked a boy

Teen Wolf 🐺

POV: ur dating Isacc Lahey

POV: ur dating Stiles Stilinski

The Outsiders 🚬

POV: ur dating Ponyboy Curtis

POV: ur dating Dallas Winston

Elvis Presley 🎸🥰

My Manager's Daughter

Youtubers ▶️♥️

POV: ur dating Colby Brock

finally meeting - Colby Brock

Harry Styles 🫶🏻🩷

POV: ur dating Harry Styles

Louis Tomlinson 🖤

POV: ur dating Louis Tomlinson

Football Players 🏈⭐️

Victory Win - Joe Burrow

[american-horror-whore]

hey hey listen up it’s news from faye !! attention to all my readers of evan peters, scott pilgrim, and american psycho fics. + everyone who follows my blog & and wants to read super cool writing.

pretty please go check out @twistof-cain !! she’s new to writing here on tumblr dot com but she’s INSANELY talented and one of the people closest to me irl. definitely give her blog a good ol’ follow and wait for her writing to start coming out. Li, i love you, and i hope tumblr welcomes you with open arms 🖤

— faye

[velvrei]

logan dating tony starks daughter !!! like he wants to dislike you soooooo bad because he automatically assumes you’re some spoilt brat who’s always gotten anything and everything that she’s wanted without having to lift a finger but after being forced to spend time with you (probably because of missions) he can’t help but fall head over heels for you!!! that stark charm is definitely something to be in awe of (ur dad and him still despise each other tho)

the other stark

pairing: older!logan howlett x stark!reader

summary: logan finally meets you, tony starks daughter at an avengers gala. as much as he thinks you are a stuck up brat who has everything handed to her, he couldn’t wait to have his hands on you.

warnings: smut, age gap (legal), somewhat forbidden romance, slight degradation, praise kink, cowgirl position, face riding, oral (f receiving), kinda slow burn, kinda enemies to lovers, really filthy smut, intentional overuse of the word fuck at the end, tony is pissed when he finds out

word count: 5k

a/n: don’t look to closely on the gif cause you’ll find the part where i didn’t try

nsfw below the cut!

logan was not looking forward to attending the avenger’s ‘met gala'. mostly because he knew he would be meeting the folks he was supposed to despise the most.

tony stark invited the x-men as a way of trying to mend the rip between the two groups; it was always avengers vs. the x-men, never avengers and the x-men. tony wanted to change that. logan didn’t.

as everyone arrive, there was a little red carpet where several photographers stood, flashing pictures in the hopes of capturing good shots of each of the visitors.

the x-men limo slowly approached the curb, with spectators surrounding the vehicle as everyone exited.

logan huffed and climbed out the door, disregarding the fangirls that surrounded him, eager to get the night over with.

he walked up to the carpet alongside his team, each member getting a solo shot. when it was logan’s turn, he rested his face and let the camera take pictures of him, stood up straight.

he was wearing dress pants, a button up, with the sleeves rolled up just above his forearms, and a black vest over his button up. the shirt easily displayed his muscles, which he claimed was unintentional, but it was vastly intentional.

the paparazzi turned their cameras as another limo pulled up, and out came peter parker, and logan rolled his eyes knowing it was all the younger avengers.

logan couldn’t help but watch as peter stepped to the side, holding his hand out as he watched a woman get out. he gulped, seeing who the woman was.

it was you, tony starks daughter, or so he heard from his team. he had never actually met you. as much as he wanted to persuade himself he wasn't drawn to you, it would be a complete lie.

you were wearing a long, form fitting dress. it was a dark red, almost maroon. you wore gold heels and chunky gold bangles and necklace along with it, making sure it wasn’t just one color, which was something logan noticed.

peter stood at your side and it made logan a bit curious as to what your relationship with him was, but once he saw you two begin bickering he quickly realized it was more of a sibling relationship.

logan felt like he was going through the five stages of grief as the two of you walked over, followed by some others that exited the limo. you walked in front of peter, walking up to the red carpet.

logan was still stood in the middle, he quickly turned his attention in front of him, looking at the camera for the picture.

“logan! pose with tony’s daughter!” one of the men behind the camera shouted. peter shot you a protective look, however you just shook your head, silently telling him to calm down.

logan almost huffed as you walked up next to him, even though you had never met the man, it would be more embarrassing to turn down the offer in front of millions of people.

“logan.” you say.

logan questions the fact you know him, wondering if he should’ve done his research beforehand.

“y/n.” he responds. he knows your name, and that’s it. he knows nothing else about you, and he is almost sure he doesn’t want to know.

the more he stood next to you, the longer he saw how many times you posed for the camera, wanting to roll his eyes but holding back knowing that would definitely get caught on camera.

you gave a small smile to the camera, turning to logan as you stood next to him. the two of you stood together, nothing more.

logan saw it as awkward, while you thought nothing of it, walking off the red carpet as he followed, quickly finding his team in attempt to avoid speaking to you any longer.

…

it had been an hour and logan hadn’t seen you again sense the introduction. he knew he was bound to be brought back to you again, but he didn’t want to be the cause of it.

logan finally spotted wade, approaching him, trying to pretend that wade wasn’t his comfort person.

“well hello my second favorite furball! i’ve missed you.” wade’s words make logan roll his eyes.

“missed ya too, bub. i barely know anyone here.” logan admits, quietly. he looks around the room to see if he saw anyone else he was comfortable with, but he just saw you in the corner, casually chatting with thor.

wade gasps, beginning to speak loudly on purpose. “the wolverine doesn’t know people-” wade starts but logan covers his mouth, staring daggers into his eyes.

“shut the fuck up. now is not the time.” logan says rather quiet, seeming a bit panicky as wade furrows his eyebrows.

wade goes to say a muffled remark but catches where logan’s distress is coming from. logan slowly lets go of wade’s mouth, watching as wade’s face brightens as if a light bulb had just been placed over his head.

“is billionaire bitch still your opp?”

“stop fucking talking like that.”

wade couldn’t help but giggle. “is it because of tony? he’s trying to make amends, stud muffin. i don’t know why you’re stressed.”

logan goes to respond, but takes a second, actually processing. “i- i don’t know why i’m stressed either if im being honest.”

wade smiled, appreciating the fact that his friend was actually processing his feelings instead of pushing away. that was something wade had taught logan, which was something wade had learned from his therapist.

“logan, you can’t hate the avengers forever. we’re gonna be forced to work with them. and as much as you may hate the starks, i’ve already looked at the first mission list and you’re partnered up with stark’s daughter.”

logan practically chokes on his champagne as wade speaks his last sentence. logan didn’t know whether to be curious or incredibly annoyed.

“oh, fuck me…” logan complains, rubbing his forehead.

wade holds back a giggle, “oh, i’m sure she will.”

with a smack to wade’s arm, the two boys noticed you and your father making your way over to them. logan almost cussed out tony in his head.

tony walked up, you not far behind your father, you have wade a side hug and gave logan a hand shake, that was strangely quick. tony smiled his millionaire smile. “thank you guys for joining us tonight. so glad you could make it, and i’m so happy we can finally kill this little rivalry.”

you knew your dad was being fake, but it wasn’t your place to say anything, especially when it was against wolverine and deadpool.

logan spoke the words, “i’m happy to be here,” but his face showed different, which earned him a smack in the arm from wade.

“i bet. we have a lovely spread of finger foods and you’re more than welcome to help yourself to some more champagne. would’ve told you how expensive it was before you decided to chug it all, however that’s okay.”

logan literally bit his tongue to stop himself from retaliating. if it was really okay as tony offered, tony wouldn’t care of the price.

after a few more dreadful minutes of banter between the two, and many side eye looks between you and wade, tony walked away, leaving just you, wade and logan.

which wade quickly saw himself out. “i’m gonna go find the woman with the magic hands, been dying to meet her. you two fartknockers try not to kill each other, okay?” his voice seemed so sarcastic but wasn’t, which made you almost smile.

wade walked away and left the two of you there. logan sighed as you started talking.

“you know, you don’t have to avoid me, logan.”

logan’s eyes shot up into yours. he wasn’t avoiding you. was he? “excuse me?”

you almost huffed, watching as his body tensed up. you stood up straight, even though you were still a bit shorter than him. “logan. i am not my father.”

your words cause logan to scoff. logan knew you weren’t your father. he just saw you as an exact replica of your bloodline. he didn’t want to say that right to your face, but you noticed he was processing a response, so you ignored the awkward silence and let him get his thoughts in order.

“obviously, you’re not him. your father is a 55 year old billionaire with a mustache. however you two are more similar than you think.”

his words make you think for a minute, deciding to keep the conversation a bit flirty, as much as you convinced yourself it wasn’t a good idea.

“listen, my father and i are just like you and wade. one is the caustic, sassy fighter who never knows when to quit. and the other is the hot one who simply follows the other's example.” your remarks force his brow to furrow.

out of the long phrase you just said, logan only processed one thing. “did you just call me hot?”

you smiled, batting your eyelashes before answered. “no, i called myself hot. you just happened to assume we’re similar, proving my point.”

logan hated how self centered you were. key word, hated. logan slowly realized how attractive your confidence was, but covered it up through his grunts and complaints of how stuck up you were. you weren’t wrong at all. you were hot, and there was nothing he could do about it.

logan rolled his eyes, “of course. you evil woman.” his words were half sarcastic, but you smiled, quickly remarking to his comment.

“you can call me evil, lo, but you can’t call me ugly.” and with that you walked away, leaving him there in his thoughts for the second time that night.

logan huffed. he would be lying if he said your words didn’t get to him. but he couldn’t. he was over half your age, and your father was the one person on this earth he couldn’t stand.

…

the first mission was the hardest. you and logan didn’t agree on much, the two of you couldn’t even decide on what food the team should get after the mission.

with each mission, logan felt his hatred for you slowly slipping away. as much as he tried to keep it because of who your father was, he couldn’t help but secretly adore you. your confidence, your skills, your remarks.

when you shared missions, logan was always paired with you. wade was sometimes there, but sometimes it was just the two of you. logan was the muscles, while you were the brains.

as much as he hated that, each mission he found it easier and easier to protect you. at first, he almost didn’t want to, so that way you could possibly learn your lesson.

then, by the third mission, he was protecting you like you were his own. you noticed those changes, knowing you were slowly getting to the man.

it was the aftermath of the fifth mission. all the avengers and x-men rented out a hotel through tony’s card. it was a smaller one, but was able to fit everybody. each partner was neighbored, but thankfully for logan not in the same room if opposite genders.

so logan was lucky enough to have a room to himself, however, that meant sleeping on his bed, knowing yours was on the opposite side of the wall. the walls weren’t exactly thick, which made it harder for him to keep himself together.

he felt filthy as he listened to your phone conversation with one of your friends. he refrained his interest and was just laying in his bed, reading a book when something you said striked his interest.

he assumed your friend asked about the person you were partnered up with, because as soon as your name left his mouth he couldn’t help but listen.

“yeah, i’m with logan.” he perked up, placing a book mark into his book before placing it onto his nightstand. he felt creepy listening in on your conversation, but convinced himself he had every right because he heard his name.

he heard nothing but mumbles from your friend, before he heard you speaking again.

“yeah, i can’t even lie, everytime i walk past him i just… there’s just something about him being my dad’s least favorite person that makes me want him even more.”

logan was at a loss for words. you wanted him? no. you couldn’t. he was practically forbidden. he felt like a pervert at the fact that his pants were tightening.

the friend laughed, and logan was not tuned out from your conversation, wondering what should be done from there. he quickly reminded himself that was your private conversation that he wasn’t supposed to hear, so what he knows must remain a secret.

…

logan usually wasn’t one to get much sleep, especially during the nights during missions, and especially only hours ago he found out you had the hots for him.

it was around two in the morning. he tossed and turned, trying to figure out what he should do.

he paused, throat feeling dry. he stood, throwing on his pajama pants, not bothering to wear a shirt before he left his hotel room, walking down the single set of stairs to the mini den, where there was a small kitchen and some lounge chairs.

he unintentionally scanned the room, catching you sitting in one of the lounge chairs, book in hand and your reading glasses sat low on your nose.

he swallowed his spit, walking over the the cupboard and grabbing a small glass, filling it with clean tap water from the sink.

the noise of the water running through the sink brought you from your reading trance, you took your glasses from your face and set your book down, finally noticing logan’s presence.

you slowly stood up, and logan tried to ignore your actions. looking out the window above the sink and quickly downing his water.

before he could leave the room you stopped him. “got somewhere to be?” your words made him sigh, head falling down as he turned his body to you.

he shook his head, realizing his attempt to avoid you was unsuccessful. you gave him your signature smile, not breaking eye contact even though he was tempted to.

“just tired.” his eyes tell different. he wasn’t tired at all. just couldn’t sleep. he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to now that he was down here with you.

“why are you lying to me? why are you avoiding me?” your words slow down as you mention him avoiding you, making sure your sentence really sinks in to his mind.

you couldn’t help but eye his shirtless figure, noticing how defined his abs we’re and feeling yourself become wet because of how manly he looked.

he notices your eyes and gulps, you watch his adams apple bob, and he suddenly realizes he needs to not look like a fucking pussy, even though he feels like one.

“why do you care?” his voice is back to his usual raspy. there’s your boy. you smile, finally recognizing he was back to the grumpy man you know and forbiddingly wanted.

“am i supposed to not care because my dad doesn’t? because i’ve told you many times. i am not my father.”

logan couldn’t help but search your body up and down. his act of checking you out, which you caught, makes your smile grow. “clearly not.” logan murmurs.

you eyebrows raise, your eyes never leaving his. “is that flirty comment leaving your mouth?” your words make him almost stutter but he takes a deep breath to stop himself from being vulnerable around you.

“no. it’s only flirting if you take it that way. i’m not flirting with you. i can’t.” logan’s last words make you curious. was he not flirting because he didn’t want to, or cause he couldn’t?

“you can’t? cause of my dad? fuck who my dad is. as much as i love him he’s gotten in the way of almost everything i’ve wanted that didn’t follow his path for me. i’m not letting him ruin this for me.” his breath quickened as you continued, “sometimes a girl needs to be taken care of. no matter who it is..”

your words make his eyes widen. he didn’t even know what to say.

we’re you flirting with him? he knew based on your phone call earlier that you wanted him because of the thrill it brought. but was that the only reason? did you actually want him?

“is that right?” his voice is low, trying to hide his desperation, and his words make you realize you’ve got him. he’s slowly letting down his forbidden barrier.

which is exactly what you wanted.

you step closer to him. “exactly right.” you were so close to him, only a few inches from his face, his husky breath fanning your face, you were able to smell his minty toothpaste from when he brushed his teeth just a few hours before.

you smiled, trailing a hand down his arm, watching satisfied as he shivered beneath your touch. “feels good, doesn’t it?”

logan backed up, finally letting his head reprocess what was happening. “no. y/n. we can’t. we can’t.” he repeats, and you can’t tell if he’s convincing you, or himself.

"why not? cause of my dad? don't you want to anger him? make him mad? isn't that what you've always wanted? well his daughter is standing right here, begging you to take care of her, to show her how she deserves to be taken care of."

logan almost moans at the thought. you step closer to him again, hand running down his arm.

you watched as he shivered, but instead of stepping back this time, he leans into your touch.

he sighs, your touch calming his nerves. he looks down at you, jaw clenching. "i'm.. too old for you. you deserve someone younger."

his words almost make you scoff in disagreement, and you couldn't help but disagree more with him.

"younger? all the guys my age are either assholes or taken, logan. i need someone older, to take care of me, to show me what it's like to be treated right, and fucked good. wouldn't you rather that that be you, rather than another man your age?"

it's like you knew just what to say, because he was standing there, as his dick hardened in his pants at your words.

he wanted you so bad. he didn't know what to say. he wanted to protest, for your sake, all he knew is that he wanted you so fucking bad.

your name tumbles from his lips, trying to think of what to say next.

“don’t tell me we can’t. because we can. we can do whatever we fucking want. we’re adults, aren’t we, lo?”

he sighs as the nickname slips from your mouth, he bites his lip, looking down at you, searching your eyes for any hesitation. he found none. just pure lust. he almost moaned as you gazed into his eyes, pupils dilating slightly.

“we are.” is all he says, eyes looking from your pupils, down to your lips. he licked his, eyes sharpening as he perked up.

you smiled up at him, batting your eyelashes, practically daring him to make the first move.

you decided to tease him a bit more, knowing exactly how to irritate him.

“i could always, go find another older guy to take care of me.” your words caused him to growl, slightly, jaw clenching at the thought of you with another boy, let alone an older guy.

“hell no. you’re mine.” his words make you smile, your expression still facing away from him as you turned your head, raising your eyebrows at him.

“i’m yours?” your words slightly questioning him, “prove it.”

at that moment, logan felt all his control slipping away.

the moment he’d been waiting for had finally come, he could finally devour you the way he had dreamed about many nights before.

you started to walk away, but he grabbed your arm, pulling you back in his direction and turning you around.

his hand wrapped around the back of your neck, his other on your waist, bringing you closer and finally connecting your lips with his.

he moaned into the kiss, knowing this was the moment he’d been waiting for. his lips were hungry, he was hungry.

logan let his hands roam along your body, both going down to grab your ass, squeezing and chuckling as you squealed into his mouth, taking that as his chance to slide his tongue into your mouth, touching yours.

he couldn’t help but moan as your lips wrapped around his tongue, sucking on it.

your eyes looked at his. causing his body to tremble at how dirty you were being.

he quickly squeezed your ass again, as the two of you continued to kiss, spreading your legs and picking you up, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“who knew you were so fucking naughty.” he whispered against your lips, pecking them after speaking then setting you onto the counter.

he stood in between your legs, hands running up your thighs, noticing how short your sleep shorts really were.

he kissed you again, kissing your jaw and continuing down your neck.

he made out with the sensitive skin just below your chin, panting as your head fell back gently against the cupboard.

his hands slowly went under your t-shirt, nails running against your torso, and up to your chest, squeezing, hearing as you moaned, quickly bringing one out and covering your mouth.

“gotta stay quiet, sugar. wouldn’t want your father hearing and getting curious.”

you moan into his hand, and he just chuckles at you, enjoying how needy you’re being just for him. he’s grunting against your skin, his hand moving faster than his brain.

he tries to ignore the fact his dick is practically leaking in his pants as his hand runs up your thigh, closer and closer to your core.

his face is still in your neck, as his hand pushes your shorts and underwear aside, his other still around your mouth to silence your sounds.

he quickly slips a finger in your pussy, smiling into your neck as he feels you moan into his hand. he pressed a kiss against your neck, as he wasted no time, thumb rubbing against your clit as his finger penetrated your hole.

he stuck another finger in, loving the fact he had you trembling under him. his two fingers curved inside of you, watching as your thighs shook at his unexpected action.

you whined into his hand, almost biting down onto his fingers.

he noticed that and removed his hand for a brief second before slipping his fingers into your mouth.

his lips moved from your neck to your ear. “god, look at you, letting my fingers stuff two of your holes,” he moaned around your fingers, smiling to himself as he shoves them down your throat.

his fingers leave your mouth after making you gag, his other set of two fingers still inside your pussy.

his other hand went to your neck, holding it as he licked a long stripe up and kissed it, nibbling on your soft skin.

“fuck, if your dad walked down right now and saw how much of a slut you’re being for me. would piss him off so bad, wouldn’t it, sugar.”

his words made you bit your lip, holding back your whimpers and whines as his fingers relentlessly pounded into you.

you finally let out a whimper, causing his smile to grow, his fingers leaving your pussy, leaving you slightly stretched out.

he placed a sweet, quick kiss to your lips before slipping you off the counter and into his arms, carrying you bridal style.

he walked you upstairs to his hotel room, kicking the door open then kicking it closed behind him.

“sweet girl couldn’t handle being quiet, felt too fucking good didn’t it?”

he set you down, forcing you to stand, sitting himself on the bed. he unintentionally manspread, holding himself up on his elbows. “come on sugar. strip for me.”

his words only encouraged you, smiling as you took off your shirt in a teasingly slow manner, leaving you in your lace bra and skimpy pajama shorts.

he bit his lip, eyeing you up and down. normally you’d feel intimidated, but you’d been waiting for this moment for weeks. there was no time to be intimidated by him.

you smiled as you slowly slid your shorts down your legs, revealing the matching panties, causing his head to fall back.

“a matching set? you planned this, didn’t you?”

all the dots connected in his head and he couldn’t help but moan at the thought of you planning to seduce him, and the fact you wanted him that bad to make a whole plan.

he brought his hand up, using his two fingers to signal you closer. without a word you stepped closer to him.

you straddled his body, leg wrapping around his waist, before you move his elbows and push him back onto the bed.

he moaned as you did so, looking up at you with wide eyes. “oh? is that how we’re feeling, sugar?” his words only made your confidence grow, palms resting on each of his pecks.

you tilted your head slightly, bringing one hand down to his pants, slowly palming the sensitive area you were sitting on.

“yeah, don’t act like it doesn’t turn you on, either. i feel you through your pants. your little friend here’s practically screaming for me to touch him.”

your hand palms him, slowly gaining speed as logan feels his breath hitch, heart skipping a beat. the friction of your hand manipulating his clothed dick only made him harder, head falling back onto the bed, as his back arched like a slut.

the material of his pajama pants stimulating his cock in all the right places.

at this point your cunt was sticky, logan could almost feel it through the two articles of clothing, forgetting the fact yours was extremely thin.

“feels good, doesn’t it? you were already so fucking hard, lo. does it turn you on that i’m so much younger than you? that this is forbidden?” your words only make his hips buck into your hand, mouth falling open.

you smiled grew, biting your lip as you watched his desperate. “god, it does, doesn’t it? you gonna let me ride you?”

logan moaned and nod his head, “if i’m not inside you within the next ten seconds i’m flipping you over and fucking you myself.” his words made you moan, losing your dominance, feeling the sudden need for him to demolish you.

“really, you don’t want me to sit on your face?” logan’s mouth watered at your words, quickly changing his mind.

he moaned, “wait, fuck yes. give it to me. come here and sit on my fucking face.”

you stood off him, slowly taking off your panties, then bracing yourself and climbing back on top of him, slowly making your way up to his face. you smiled, seeing logan’s desperate expression, as if he needed your pussy in order to live. he yearned for you, and it made you wetter at the sight.

you slowly hovered over his face, lowering onto his mouth, moaning as soon as his nose rubbed against your clit.

his tongue immediately went to your hole, tongue fucking you. you couldn’t help but squirm, moaning again as you felt his arms wrap around your thighs, holding you onto his face.

logan is loving the desperate way you try to bite your lip to keep yourself from being too loud, as if anyone was up at this hour.

"eating me so fucking good," you moan out, feeling as logan moans against your cunt, your words were like fuel to him, and he found himself bucking his hips at nothing because of how beautiful and desperate you sounded.

you adored how eager he was for you, causing you to scream as he moved his tongue quicker, eventually moving his entire face after noticing your liking for his nose on your clit.

he was getting so into it, being so messy, pussy clenching around his tongue, but he slowly removed his arms from your legs, lifting you off his face, then down to his abs, uninstall sitting your clit onto his hard abs, causing you both to moan.

“fuck, need you to cum on my dick, you can cum on my face later. i need you now. need you to ride me so good.”

logan moaned out as you quickly moved down, pulling down his pants and boxers, and with no warning, quickly sinking onto his dick.

logan moaned out slightly louder than you, making your smile grow.

you slowly took your hair out from the ponytail it was in, letting it fall down. logan looked up at you in awe, watching as you started to ride his cock.

“i’ve imagined this so many times, and god, nothing is better than it actually happened. you’re so fucking beautiful.”

you smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips, cupping his cheek before placing your hands to his v-line, using his hot body to brace yourself as you rode his thick cock.

as you began to bounce, logan was a moaning mess. he started fucking up into you, “come on sugar, ride it.”

his words of encouragement made your moans become louder. he smiled up at you, his hands now holding your hips, holding you in place as he fucked up into you.

“that’s it, baby. take it, take my fucking cock. so fucking tight around me.” he eyes moved from your glowing body, down to your pussy, practically sucking his dick in.

“look at you, sucking me in so good, like she was made for me. fuck.” he looked at your stomach, practically seeing a bulge move in and out of you.

“can see me in your tummy, fuck,” he points out, and you look down and moan. you smiled at him, watching his glistening body, as sweat droplets formed on his forehead.

“god that’s so hot, you’re so fucking big. told you i needed an older guy to take care of me.”

his name tumbles from your lips, he sees you in your desperate state. the two of you both feel your climaxes reaching closer, you knew you wouldn’t last much longer if he kept talking to you like that.

“good fucking girl.” his voice was so low and raspy, you couldn’t help but moan.

logan enjoyed the fact he had tony stark’s daughter currently bouncing on his cock, begging for more. it was forbidden, and the thought alone almost made him cum.

“you keep talking to me like that i’m gonna cum,” your voice is desperate and needy, and that turns him on to the max, slowly feeling himself reach the edge. he grunts, jaw clenching, feeling himself go almost animalistic, he grunts through his teeth.

“come on sugar. that’s it. cum on my fucking cock. riding me so fucking good i’m gonna cum myself. want you to moan so loud tony hears you from the floor below and knows his arch nemesis is fucking his daughter. wanna see my cum spill out of this sweet little pussy of yours.”

his words carry you over the edge, as he continues to talk you through it. “that’s it, bub, i’m so fucking close. this pretty little pussy is sucking me in so good, yeah i feel you clenching. dick so good it has you trembling, huh, sugar?” you cum on his cock, legs shaking as you stop bouncing, but logan grabs your hips and drills into you, chasing his own climax.

you feeling extremely overstimulated, you couldn’t control your whimpers and whines and how loud you were. logan finally came with you, mouth falling open as he grunted, moaned, and even almost whimpered.

your eyes scrunch shut, when you finally are able to open them you see logan under you, body glistening in sweat, his eyes closed shut and his head pushed back into the pillows, holding your hips so tight, like if he lets you go you’ll leave.

you smile as you come down from your high, logan quickly following you, his smile growing as his eyes meet yours again.

“that what you meant when you said take care of you?” his cocky words make you smack his bare chest, slowly pulling off him, your cum and his cum slowly spilling out of you, getting both of your attention.

“fuck, that’s so fucking hot,” logan mumbled under his breath.

you almost moaned again, feeling empty as you pull his cock out of your pussy, the cum dripping onto his v-line and abs, making your smile grow.

“yes, this is what i meant. fucked me so good.” you giggled, going to get up but logan flipped you over gently and pushed you down onto the bed.

“lay here, sugar. i’ll clean you up.”

logan grabs a damp, warm rag from the bathroom of his hotel room, bringing it to you and wiping up the cum, once you’re fully clean he tosses it into the hamper across the room. he goes to his bag, grabbing one of his shirts and walking over to you.

he smiles and carefully brings it over your head, finding your tired state adorable.

once you have the shirt on, you lay down in the bed, pulling the covers over you sleepily, as he puts his pajama pants back on, climbing back into bed next to you.

…

the next morning, logan isn’t in bed with you, you check the time and it’s about 10am. your mission didn’t start for another few hours, so you decided to go downstairs and get yourself some of the hotel breakfast.

you slipped on some sleep shorts and slowly walked out of your room, down the stairs and into the kitchen where breakfast was being served.

you walked over to the counter, putting waffle batter into the waffle maker and turning around, trying to find your dad within the many avengers and x-men sat around the mini tables, but when you saw almost everyone staring at you, some with their mouths slightly open, you became confused.

you turned to see your dad, tony, sat at a table with steve, thor and bruce.

tony almost gasped as you turned around and continued making your waffle, not caring how loud he was.

“why the fuck does the last name on the back of you shirt say howlett.” as soon as your dad reveals that information, you avoid turning back around to face him.

logan smiles from his seat, watching as tony slowly turns to look at him at the table near him.

tony’s eye twitches as he looks over at logan. logan unfortunately cant hide his amused expression, almost giggling at the situation, watching as wade walks into the room, also noticing the back of your shirt.

wade jumps up and down, clapping his hands together. “is that logan’s shirt! omg, they finally fucked!”

bruce and thor can’t help but giggle to each other, as steve holds in his laugh.

tony eyes shoot from wade to logan, practically shaking from how mad he was. it was something logan wanted to take a picture of and remember forever.

“you stuck your dick in my fucking daughter!?” tony’s loud, obviously unhappy voice made you slowly turn around, you and logan making eye contact trying not to break into laughter.

“am i the only one furious at this? why the fuck are you all fucking laughing!?” tony shouts, standing up, almost spilling his coffee all over the table.

…

a/n: don’t forget to comment and tell me your thoughts ;)

[ludoswrld]

marauders p links

sirius black:

sirius helps innocent!reader out, but not before a bit of teasing

morning wood

sirius fingering you in his empty dorm

rough sirius going balls deep

he likes to be kinky

sirius after finding your vibrator

teasing tied up desperate!sirius

using his tongue

sirius teasing reader

remus lupin:

before the full moon

remus really enjoys teasing innocent reader pt2 pt3

size kink

massive dick remus

taking every inch

remus’ skilled fingers working at you in the empty common room

remus fucking your throat

morning sex with reader

james potter:

dom!james bottoming

reader playing with sub!james pt2

james letting out his anger after losing the gryffindor vs slytherin quidditch match

james is a munch pt2 pt3

going teasingly slow

innocent!reader getting touched for the first time

mutual masturbation

peter pettigrew:

thick cock peter

reader showing inexperienced!peter how to please a woman

peter fingering reader

he loves cumming on your pussy

eating out touch starved reader

peter letting out all of his stress

going slow for both of your first time

[novvabee]

The Wrong Color

Summary: poly!jegulily x reader, Y/N and Lily wear the boys jerseys at the Gryffindor vs Slytherin game.

cw: suggestive

word count: 1.3k

The lovely Scottish morning light was always so peaceful when it glowed through the black lake and the Slytherin dorm room windows. The light fractured and bloomed along the green bed sheets you were tangled in. It would have been perfect, if only your boyfriend wasn’t running around the room looking for all his quidditch gear.

Regulus always gets like this before games, but especially games against your rival house, the house that your other boyfriend and girlfriend are a part of; Gryffindor. You love the other half of your relationship, but man, could they be annoying. You liked the rivalry, it made things fun, especially since it was two against two, you and Regulus, and Lily and James.

Regulus was worked up last night, meaning you two didn’t get much sleep, meaning you both woke up late and now he was rushing to get to breakfast before the match. 

“You know this is your fault right?” he explained to you. “If you hadn’t stayed the night-”

“My fault?” you interrupted sounding amused. “If I’m remembering correctly, it was you begging ‘please please, I’ll do anything-”

It was his turn to interrupt you, this time with a kiss. He broke away and smiled down at you. He looked godly in this light.

“You'll be in the stands cheering for me today right?” he asked, the smile still lingering on his lips.

“Of course not! You know I can't play favorites,” you explained “Plus why would I? I hate you.” You said, joking of course.

He raised his brows and cocked his head to the side. “Oh really? Was that hatred last night?” he asked before kissing you again, laying you back on the bed and climbing on top of you. 

You really wish you could stay like this, but you giggled and pushed him off, swatting at his arm saying “You’re already late! Go!”

He took your command and breezed out the door of his unshared dorm room, a perk of being a prefect. 

Right, now it was your turn to get dressed, only you and Lily had been scheming. You were going to show up in James’s spare Gryffindor jersey, and Lily in Regulus’s. You had always just worn your own house colors or the correlating boy's extra jerseys, but you and Lily wanted to see their reactions. 

You pulled on the red and gold, pairing it with some jeans and converse, a very casual, very James look. You looked at yourself in the mirror, it felt so unnatural, but that was the fun of it.

You met Lily outside your common room before heading to the stands to get a good seat. 

  Seeing her in the green and black jersey was odd, but she was striking, as always. The green brought out the colors in her eyes, making her red hair stand out even more. She was gorgeous.

“You look good in green.” you blushed as you told her.

She scoffed as she took you in. “You look good in red,” she said. “Come on, we should get going before all the front row seats are taken,” she wrapped her arm around your shoulder, pulling you into her side and kissing your temple. 

You two caught up with Marlene and Dorcas, both sporting their own house colors, Marlene in her own jersey, and looked at you and Lily in slight bewilderment. 

“Uh, I think you two grabbed the wrong tops when dressing this morning.” Marlene examined, raising an eyebrow at the pair of you.

You looked at Lily, then back at your friends. “Huh, guess we were rushing.” you said, smirking. Lily nudged you with her hip, but the four of you continued on walking to the pitch.

Once there, you had gone right up to your usual spot, Peter had dutifully saved you all seats. You took yours, front and center, and waited for Lily to return from the concessions stand with the butterbeer you asked for. 

You turned and made small conversations with Peter about the previous quidditch matches and yesterday's boring potions lecture. 

“Oh, uh… by the way, what’s with the uh,” Peter said pointing to your choice of jersey.

“Just wanted to be supportive, that’s all,” you said with a fake tone of innocence.

He chuckled. “Yes but, on today of all days? They might just knock each other off their brooms.” 

“Oh don’t worry, Pete,” you said, “Lily is in Regulus’s.”

All of your friends knew about your relationship, and were happy for you all. They never judged or misunderstood anything, something that your entire group of friends was known for, being accepting and understanding of all types of love. 

They did, however, love to see the games the four of you played with each other. You four were known to prank and tease and provoke each other, but it was always in good fun and always stemming from the house rivalry. Other than that, the four of you didn’t play when it came to your relationship, you were wholly devout to each other, no matter what house you may belong to. 

Lily came up the stands, promised butterbeer in hand, and sat herself right next to you. She had perfect timing, the boys were about to start playing. 

James zoomed by on his broom, Regulus hot on his tail, warming up and having some fun teasing each other before the real game starts.

“Gyffindor has this in the bag.” Lily announced to all of your friends.

“Mmm, I’m pretty sure Slytherin has the better record this year.” you replied and shot her a devious smile.

“Remind me, who won the cup last year?” she questioned, giving you the same deviousness. You replied by playfully rolling your eyes, hitting her knee with your own.

The high pitched whistle sounded, signaling the start of the game. It was an intense, brutal rush of back and forth. Both teams playing hard, fighting for the win and the glory that comes along with it. The game turned dirty and aggressive almost immediately.

The match was tied, coming down to the final moments when you watched both your boyfriends diving and spinning toward the ground before pulling up at the last minute. They were no doubt chasing after the tiny golden snitch. 

You leaped to your feet, tracking them both the whole way. James was reaching out his hand, the snitch almost within grasp when Regulus suddenly slammed into his side, knocking James away, putting himself closer to the snitch instead. James didn’t take this lightly, he zoomed back to Regulus’s side and the two shoved and shoved. You would have been more concerned, but this is exactly how each match ended, the two of them fighting for the golden ball. 

The boys rerouted their course, heading straight over the section both you and Lily were sitting in. This must have been some sort of plan devised by Regulus, because this change made James’s gaze slip, fall to both Lily wearing Slytherin green and you in Gryffendor red with big yellow block letters spelling out ‘POTTER’.

This slight break in attention, the hesitation, allowed Regulus to capture the snitch while his opponent was distracted.

You cheered and hugged Dorcas, feeling prideful for your house’s big victory, Regulus taking a lap around the pitch. Lily cheered as well, not as much as you of course, not wanting to admit defeat, but still proud of her boy. You took her by the hand and pulled her along down to the field to meet your boys.

James met you first, flying down a bit disappointed, but obviously happy for Regulus. He spotted you and immediately hugged you. This sweet gesture was a guise, pulling you close to his body only to whisper “This is your fault you know,” into your ear.

You giggled. “Believe it or not, that is not the first time I have heard that sentence today.” you said, pulling away and looking up at him. He had that smirk, that look spread across his face, one that often came after he lost. Perhaps you wouldn’t get much sleep tonight either.

[seospicybin]

EVERMORE.

CHAPTER I

Bangchan x reader x Hyunjin. (s,f,a)

EVERMORE MASTERLIST

Synopsis: When your daughter’s wedding weekend brings you, a former it-girl and Chris, a legendary rockstar back under one roof, the two of you must navigate old memories, unexpected feelings, and the chaos of family. As laughter, love, and a hint of scandal unfold, you're both reminded that some love stories don’t end—they just change shape. (22,8k words)

Author's note: I suggest reading this with an open heart and let it take you places ♡

Chris Bang Shares the Sweetest Surprise: “My Baby Girl’s Getting Married” July 14, 2024 — by Peter Han. Rock legend Chris Bang, frontman of the iconic ‘90s band Bang Theory, shocked fans this weekend—not with a surprise single, but with something far more personal: his daughter Tigerlily is engaged. The 47-year-old musician shared the news on his private Instagram, posting a rare father-daughter photo with the caption: “She used to hold my hand crossing the street, now she’s holding someone else’s. My baby girl’s getting married. God help him.” The post quickly went viral as fans poured in their congratulations (and nostalgia), remembering Tigerlily as the tiny girl who used to appear backstage during Bang Theory’s heyday. Sources close to the family say Chris has known about the engagement for months and has been "surprisingly chill" about it—though insiders claim he gave Julian, the lucky fiancé, “the talk” every overprotective dad dreams of delivering. “He’s proud,” said a longtime friend of the singer. “Even if he grumbles a lot, you can tell he’s thrilled for her.” Tigerlily, an illustrator and low-key darling of the city's creative scene, has kept the relationship mostly private. The engagement ring, however, is anything but. Fans spotted the vintage cut diamond a few weeks back—sparking early speculation that something big was coming. As for wedding details? Chris joked in an interview last month, “I’ll be there in a tux, crying into my whiskey.” We wouldn’t expect anything less.

-

The sun filters gently through the windows of the little bakery-slash-café Tigerlily picked for the cake tasting, its soft golden glow casting a peaceful warmth over the morning. You're perched beside her at a small round table near the corner, notebooks open, samples of cake laid out like precious little treasures on delicate porcelain plates.

It’s surreal, watching her like this—flipping through pages of catering options, seriously contemplating between lavender shortbread cookies and chocolate-dipped biscotti for the wedding favors. She’s focused, her brow furrowed slightly, her pen tapping her chin.

“You’re taking this very seriously,” you tease, breaking off a corner of sponge cake to taste.

She glances at you, mock-offended. “Of course I am. This is the cake. The most important cake I’ll ever have.”

You laugh softly, and she smiles, biting into a piece of vanilla almond before shaking her head. “Not this one. Too sweet.”

You nod, agreeing. “The buttercream’s nice though.”

“I’ll make a note of that,” she says, scribbling a little star next to it in her notebook.

The morning rolls on like that—cake tastings, discussions about savory vs. sweet hors d’oeuvres, the pros and cons of giving out mini olive oil bottles as favors. Eventually, the two of you take a break, coffees in hand, sitting outside the shop under the early spring sun.

Tigerlily leans back in her chair and studies you for a moment, sipping her latte. “You’re glowing.”

You raise a brow, pretending not to know what she’s talking about. “It’s the buttercream.”

She squints at you, unconvinced. “No. It’s something else. You’re… happy. Like, really happy. Did something happen?”

You offer her a vague smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just enjoying today.”

Tigerlily gives you a look that says she knows you better than that, but she doesn’t push. “Well, whatever it is, I like it. You look like someone who just remembered what it feels like to be a little selfish with your joy.”

You chuckle under your breath. “Maybe I am.”

She bumps her shoulder against yours. “Good. Keep doing that.”

You glance at her, your heart warm. “And you keep remembering that your wedding cake is supposed to make you happy.”

She laughs, and just like that, the moment folds itself gently back into the rhythm of the day—the two of you turning back to menus and ribbon swatches, sipping coffee in the sun, wrapped in the easy intimacy of mothers and daughters, quietly grateful for how love, in all its forms, continues to find its way back to you.

Back home, the sun has dipped behind the hills, casting a warm golden hue through the kitchen windows. The scent of garlic sizzling in olive oil fills the air, mingling with the sound of music playing in the background. You’re chopping tomatoes while Tigerlily stirs something in the pan, humming to the music, her movements fluid and light.

There’s something peaceful about this moment. The simple rhythm of cooking side by side, the way your conversation flows in and out of silence so easily—like waves, effortless and familiar.

“You know,” Tigerlily starts as she grates cheese over a bowl, “I love when we do this. Just the two of us in the kitchen. Feels like home.”

You smile, sliding the chopped tomatoes into a bowl. “It is home.”

She glances at you, a soft look in her eyes. “You’ve seemed… happier lately.”

You raise a brow. “You said that earlier.”

“I know,” she says, turning back to the stove, “but now I can really see it. The way you move, the way you talk—it’s like there’s a little spark in you again.”

You pause, stirring the basil into the sauce, trying not to smile. “Maybe I’m just excited about your wedding.”

Tigerlily grins, not buying it. “Maybe. Or maybe it has something to do with a certain someone...?”

You let out a soft laugh. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“Not when I think something—or someone—is making you happy.” She leans her hip against the counter, watching you carefully. “You don’t have to tell me everything. But… does he make you feel good?”

Your hands slow as you stir. You glance up at her, thoughtful. “I guess... yeah.”

Tigerlily nods, her voice gentle. “Then I think that’s enough. For now.”

You reach out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear like you used to when she was a little girl. “You’re wise beyond your years.”

“Thank you. I get it from my mom,” she says with a smirk.

There’s a knock on the door just as you’re draining the pasta, steam rising up in curls. You glance toward the front of the house, wiping your hands on a towel.

“That must be Julian,” Tigerlily says, already untying her apron. “Can you check the sauce for a second?”

“On it,” you call after her, giving the pot a little stir as you hear the front door open.

But instead of the familiar laughter or a fiancé’s greeting, there’s a pause. Then you hear Tigerlily’s voice float back, tinged with surprise, “Oh. Hi.”

You lean around the doorway just in time to see her stepping aside, revealing Hyunjin standing at the door. He’s holding a brown cardboard box. His white shirt clings faintly from the warmth outside, sleeves rolled up, and he looks as casual as ever—until his eyes find you.

“I just came by to drop this off,” he says, lifting the box a little. “Your pottery piece. It’s done. I figured I’d bring it over before I forgot.”

Your lips pull into a smile without you even realizing it. “That’s really kind of you.”

Tigerlily glances between the two of you. And then, casually, with the slyest little smile tugging at her lips, she says, “Well, Hyunjin. Since you’re here… why don’t you join us for dinner?”

Hyunjin looks at her, then at you—his eyes searching for an answer in yours. You give him a subtle nod, soft and encouraging. He smiles, just a hint shy, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be this lucky. “Yeah. I'd love to.”

Tigerlily beams, already heading back into the kitchen. “Hope you like pasta.”

You take a step toward him, meeting him halfway to take the box from his hands. Your fingers brush briefly. “Thank you. For bringing this.”

His voice dips low as he smiles, “I figured you’d want to see how beautiful it turned out.”

You raise an eyebrow, playful. “The pottery or the delivery guy?”

Hyunjin chuckles, slow and warm. “Both, I hope.”

And you’re smiling again—because how could you not?

-

The three of you settle around the dining table, plates filled with steaming pasta and roasted vegetables. The mood is light, cozy, laughter from the kitchen trailing into the soft hum of music playing from the speaker in the corner.

Tigerlily reaches for the cardboard box Hyunjin had placed on the table earlier. “Is this it?” she asks, already opening the lid.

You nod, twirling your fork. “Don’t expect too much.”

But when she pulls out the finished plate, her eyes go wide with delight. “Wait—this is actually beautiful! Mom, you made this?”

“She did,” Hyunjin says proudly, his voice warm. “First try too.”

Tigerlily turns to you, mouth parted in disbelief. “When did you even make this?”

Hyunjin answers before you can. “A few days ago. In my studio.”

There’s a glint in his eye, a teasing edge to his grin as he throws a quick wink your way. “She was… very committed. Focused. Hands-on.”

You nearly choke on your wine at the innuendo hidden in his voice, shooting him a warning look. He only smirks deeper, clearly enjoying himself.

Tigerlily squints suspiciously between the two of you. “Wait. What kind of pottery class was this exactly—?”

A knock at the door cuts her off.

“That must be Julian,” she says, hopping up from her chair and leaving the room.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Hyunjin leans in slightly, his fingers brushing yours under the table before gently, confidently, slipping into your hand. The warmth of his palm is grounding, calming.

You glance at him, heart skipping as he quietly says, “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”

You hear the front door open, Tigerlily’s bright laugh greeting Julian as they come inside. And still, under the table, Hyunjin doesn’t let go.

Julian’s eyes widen the moment he sees Hyunjin sitting at the table. “Oh! I didn’t know our best man joining dinner tonight.”

Hyunjin rises slightly from his seat, giving Julian a quick hug. “I was lured in with the smell of pasta.”

Julian chuckles and teases, “And by my girlfriend's mom, apparently?”

You shake your head and give Julian a playful glare. “Julian, please, just sit down,” you tell him.

The food is warm and comforting, and conversation flows easily. Most of it stays light—talk of flower arrangements, DJ options, the pros and cons of buffets versus plated dinners. Julian and Tigerlily finish each other’s sentences more than once, making you smile. You feel Hyunjin’s thumb brush gently along your palm under the table. It’s barely noticeable, but grounding.

Then, somewhere between the second glass of wine and the tiramisu being passed around, Tigerlily turns to you. “Hey, Mom… what was your wedding like?”

You pause, surprised by the question.

Tigerlily shrugs. “You never really talk about it. I mean… you and Dad. Did you do a big thing?”

You exchange a quick glance with Hyunjin before shaking your head. “No. No big thing.”

Julian tilts his head, curious now too. “Really?”

You smile faintly, brushing your fingers around the rim of your glass. “Chris and I got married on a whim. It was… spontaneous. We were both young and in love and reckless. He was on tour. We were somewhere in between cities—I don’t even remember where exactly—and we just decided to do it.”

Tigerlily blinks. “Just like that?”

“We found this little church. We had a very small, quiet ceremony. No guests. No dress. Just the two of us, the band members and a couple of strangers as witnesses.”

There’s a quiet that falls over the table. Not heavy, just thoughtful. You hesitate a little before glancing at Hyunjin, unsure of how he might take hearing all this. Would he think you were careless? Impulsive? Too much of the past still tangled in you?

But he’s already looking at you and he’s smiling. Soft. Warm. Reassuring. Then you feel it—his fingers wrap gently around yours beneath the table, giving your hand a tender squeeze. It tells you everything you need to hear. That he sees you. That your past doesn’t scare him. That he’s still here.

Tigerlily breaks the silence with a gentle sigh. “That’s kinda romantic though.”

Julian laughs and nods. “Very rock-n-roll.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything. He just continues to hold your hand quietly, letting his thumb trace slow, soothing lines across your skin.

The night eventually comes to an end and you send everyone on their way out of your house. Tigerlily gives you a warm hug followed by a kiss to your cheek and Julian takes his turn next.

“Dinner was perfect,” he says. “Thank you again.”

You smile, eyes flicking toward Hyunjin, who lingers just behind them. When it’s his turn, you can feel the air shift—your body naturally leaning toward him, instinct ready to close the space for a hug. But you stop yourself. Tigerlily is right there. And you’re not ready. Not just yet.

Hyunjin seems to understand, offering you a simple smile instead as he says, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you echo, softer than you meant to.

He turns to walk toward his car, and you watch him go, your chest tightening with each step he takes away.

“Hyunjin,” you call out before you can stop yourself.

He turns, brows slightly lifted in surprise. “Yes?”

“I—” You hesitate, then clear your throat. “I need you to help me with something. Inside.”

He tilts his head, confused but nods. “Sure.”

Just as he starts walking back toward you, Tigerlily and Julian pull out of the driveway. She rolls the window down, grinning and waving at you. You lift your hand, wave back. Only when their headlights disappear into the night, do you step back inside and hold the door open for him.

Hyunjin steps in after you. “What can I help you with?”

You close the door behind him and immediately turn on your heel. Without a word, you reach for him and kiss him. His body stills at first, caught off guard—but only for a second. Then he’s kissing you back, his hands catching your waist, pulling you closer.

When you finally break the kiss, breath shallow and cheeks flushed, you whisper, “It was just an excuse. I couldn’t— I'm too embarrassed to kiss you in front of Tigerlily. Or Julian.”

Hyunjin stares at you for a moment, his lips curling into a grin. “So you made me come back inside for that?”

You smile, a little embarrassed. “Yes.”

He chuckles once, low and warm in his chest—and then he’s spinning you around, your back pressing into the door with a soft thud as his body finds yours again. He cups your jaw and leans in, lips brushing yours as he murmurs, “Next time, you don’t need an excuse.”

Your back is still pressed against the door, lips tingling from the kiss Hyunjin just stole, when he leans in again, cupping your jaw and kissing you once more—slower this time, like he wants to memorize the feel of your mouth. You respond instinctively, hands slipping up his chest, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt.

Time feels suspended. The only sound is the quiet hum of the night and the soft breaths exchanged between kisses, one melting into another as if neither of you wants to let go just yet. But eventually, you gently press your hands to his chest, letting your forehead rest against his.

“It’s getting late,” you whisper, voice low and reluctant.

He pauses for a second, lips barely brushing yours, before pulling back with a soft chuckle. “So it is,” he mutters, still close, eyes half-lidded with affection. “And I should be a gentleman and go home.”

You laugh, nodding as you slide your hands down to rest at your sides. “That would be the noble thing to do.”

He doesn’t move just yet. Instead, he brushes a few strands of hair away from your face, his fingers grazing your cheek as he tucks it gently behind your ear. He holds it there for a second, like he’s framing your face with his gaze alone.

“Goodnight,” he says, softly, as if saying it too loud might break the moment.

“Goodnight,” you echo, your voice just as tender.

He leans in and kisses you again—just once this time. Soft, warm, brief. Then he steps back, slowly pulling himself away like it physically pains him to leave.

You watch him walk out, the door clicking shut behind him. And for a long moment after, you stay where you are, heart full, smile lingering.

-

The bridal shop smells faintly of fresh flowers and fabric softener, and the soft classical music in the background sets a dreamy tone. You sit on a plush ivory chair, sipping on complimentary tea, watching as Tigerlily disappears behind a curtain with a stylist and a few dresses in her arms. You're looking at the shop catalog when Tigerlily pulls back the curtain and steps out in her first gown.

You gasp, mouth hanging open and unable to say anything until a moment later. “Oh, sweetheart,” you say, standing up with a hand over your chest. “You look like a dream.”

She spins slightly, admiring herself in the mirror. “It’s nice, right? But I think we can go bigger,” she grins, already cueing the stylist to bring the next one.

The two of you only have one hour and a half to try the dresses and Tigerlily makes a good use of the time by trying everything that suits her style. She slips into the fourth dress with a glimmer in her eyes—and this time, when she steps out, she doesn't say a word.

You inhale sharply. “Oh…”

She stands tall in the mirror, draped in delicate lace and layers of flowing silk. The bodice hugs her perfectly, the train trailing behind her like a soft whisper. She turns toward you, a little breathless herself. “I think this is it,” she says quietly.

You nod, trying not to get emotional. “You look… perfect. Oh, my goodness!”

The stylist hands her a veil, and as soon as it's pinned to her hair, the both of you lock eyes—and tear up.

“Okay,” Tigerlily says, wiping at her cheeks, “that’s enough of me for now.”

You laugh. “What do you mean? You’re the bride.”

“Yeah, yeah. But we’ve got time left in our session, and we’re not leaving until you try something on.”

You blink. “Me?”

“Yes, you. We need to find your dress too. And you’re not showing up to my wedding in some boring beige thing off a department rack. You’re trying on dresses, Mom.”

Before you can protest, the stylist is already leading you to a different rack—sophisticated, elegant evening gowns in rich tones and luxurious fabrics.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” you mutter as she zips you into a soft lilac number.

Tigerlily laughs and pulls out her phone. “Hold still,” she says, already dialing.

You hear a familiar voice on the screen. “What’s going on?” Chris’s face pops up, framed by what looks like a dressing room backstage.

“We’re at the bridal shop. Look what I made Mom do,” Tigerlily grins as she turns the camera toward you.

Chris’s eyes widen dramatically. “Whoa. Okay. Okay—hold on, are we sure you’re not the one getting married?”

You roll your eyes, smoothing the fabric down your sides. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m serious. You look—” he whistles low, “—absolutely stunning.”

You feel a small blush creep up your cheeks. “Stop it.”

“She’s trying to upstage me,” Tigerlily deadpans to the phone. “I knew it.”

Chris laughs. “I mean… if anyone could, it’s her. That dress? Ten out of ten.”

You glance at yourself in the mirror and smile softly. “It’s been a while since I wore something like this.”

“You should wear things like that more often,” Chris says through the screen, his voice quieter now. “It suits you.”

And though the moment is playful, there’s a quiet sincerity in his tone—and Tigerlily catches it too. She glances between the two of you, her eyes softening, but she says nothing. “Alright,” she chirps after a beat. “We’re gonna keep playing dress-up, I’ll call you later, Dad.”

“Bye, sweetheart. Bye, stunning mystery woman,” Chris teases as he waves.

You roll your eyes again but can’t stop smiling as the call ends.

“Okay,” Tigerlily says, arms crossed as she eyes your reflection. “We’re getting that one.”

By the time the two of you pull up in front of your house, the sky is blushing with the colors of early sunset. You unbuckle your seatbelt, still smiling from the day you've had.

“Thanks for today,” you tell her, reaching over to squeeze her hand.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she grins, reaching into the back seat. “I’ve got something for you.”

You narrow your eyes as she plops a glossy pink box with a silk ribbon into your lap. “What’s this?”

“Just open it.”

You untie the ribbon and lift the lid. Nestled inside are some fun bachelorette party essentials—mini champagne bottle, a personalized satin robe with your name embroidered on it, a face mask, a little card that says Bride Squad, and a gold foil invitation.

You lift your gaze to her, amused. “Tigerlily.”

She’s already looking at you with big, hopeful eyes. “I want you to come to the bachelorette party.”

You blink. “No. Absolutely not. That’s your night to go wild with your friends. I’m not—this—look at this,” you hold up the robe, “I’m too old for this.”

“You are not too old,” she says with a huff. “And even if you were, I don’t care. You’re still my best girl. I want you there.”

“Tigerlily, sweetheart, you’re supposed to drink questionable cocktails out of straws shaped like—”

“—Don’t finish that sentence,” she says quickly, then grins. “But yes. And you’re coming.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “You should be partying with your bridesmaids, not your mother.”

“I want both,” she insists, wrapping her arms around your shoulder. “Please? It won’t be all chaos, I promise. It’ll be fun, just us girls, nothing crazy. Just come and be part of it. For me, please?”

You sigh, already losing the battle. “You’re impossible to say no to, you know that?”

She beams, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “That’s the point.”

You look down at the robe in your hands again and let out a soft laugh. “Fine. I’ll come.”

Tigerlily cheers and hugs you tight, rocking you side to side in her excitement.

As you step out of the car and wave her off, you stand at your front door for a moment, still holding the box. Your smile lingers. The robe, the invite, the day you just had—it all makes you feel like you’re slowly stepping into something new, not just for her, but for yourself, too.

-

Hyunjin’s studio is warm with late afternoon light filtering through the tall windows, casting soft golden hues over the clay-splattered floor. The two of you are standing at the workbench, sleeves rolled up, aprons on, fingers already dusted in fine powder.

"You know," Hyunjin says, handing you a neatly portioned piece of clay, "we should make something that fits together. Like puzzle mugs."

You raise an eyebrow. "Puzzle mugs?"

"Yeah," he grins. "Like, yours has a little curve and mine has a little bump and they fit together when we put them side by side."

Hyunjin is an artist yet he suggests something silly like this, you can't help but chuckle at it. “You’re such a romantic.”

“I'm not ashamed to admit it,” he says, leaning in to bump his shoulder lightly against yours.

You just smile, settling in at the wheel as he sets up beside you. As you begin shaping your mug, Hyunjin watches you like a hawk—only under the guise of being your personal instructor.

"Your fingers are too tense," he murmurs after a while, stepping behind you.

"I think I'm doing just fine," you say, even though you secretly enjoy it when he helps you.

"Let me help you," he says anyway, his hands gently slipping over yours as he guides the movement. His chest brushes your back, warm and steady, and his voice is low in your ear. "There... see? Perfect."

You’re pretty sure he just wanted an excuse to be close. “You know,” you tease, glancing over your shoulder at him, “I’m starting to think you just like hovering.”

“What gave it away?” he smirks, not even trying to deny it. Then he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your cheek, lips lingering just a second longer than necessary.

You try to return to focusing on your mug, but every time you settle back into your work, he finds another excuse to touch—helping you fix the handle, brushing clay from your cheek, nudging your hip with his playfully. And each time, he steals a kiss. A peck on the temple. A brush along your jaw. One, right at the corner of your lips that almost makes you drop your clay.

“Hyunjin,” you warn softly, fighting back a smile.

“What?” he says innocently, grinning like the devil as he presses another kiss to the back of your neck. “I’m just helping.”

“You’re distracting.”

“Exactly,” he says, and finally leans in to steal a proper kiss—gentle, warm, slow. His lips taste faintly of the coffee you shared earlier and his hands settle at your hips like they belong there. When he finally pulls away, you’re both smiling, cheeks flushed, hearts beating just a little faster.

The studio hums with a quiet kind of satisfaction—the kind that comes after creating something with your hands, something just yours. You wipe your hands on your apron and step away from the wheel, wandering toward the shelves that line the studio walls. His latest pieces are perched there—soft-glazed bowls, sculptural vases with rippling textures, experimental forms that look like they’re breathing.

You tilt your head, admiring them, fingers tracing the air just above their surface. “I see that you’ve been busy,” you murmur.

From behind you, you feel the slow, steady presence of Hyunjin as he steps close. Then his arms slip around your waist, pulling you gently back against him. His chest warm against your spine. You smile without even realizing it.

“I had inspiration,” he says into your neck, his voice low, his breath teasing your skin.

You turn your head slightly, your body already reacting to the soft press of his lips just beneath your ear. He places another kiss just under your jaw, then another lower, slower, right where your pulse flutters. Your breath hitches.

“Hyunjin…” you whisper, but it comes out less like a warning and more like a sigh.

“Mhm?” His mouth is still at your neck, smiling against your skin.

You tilt your head a little more—partly to tease, partly because you can’t help it—and he takes it as invitation. One hand stays curled around your waist, the other slides along your hip, and when he finally turns your head toward him, his lips find yours in a kiss that starts soft but deepens quickly. His mouth moves with slow purpose, like he has all the time in the world, like he wants to taste every part of you.

When you finally pull back, just enough to breathe, his forehead leans against yours and he murmurs, “I could stay like this forever.”

Your hand comes up to rest against his cheek, your thumb brushing the clay-smudged skin there. “We’d have to eat eventually.”

Hyunjin chuckles, his dimples flashing. “Only if we eat from the couple plates we made.”

You smile, caught in the bubble of this quiet, golden moment, his arms still holding you close. And somehow, even in the silence, you can feel the beat of something new beginning—carefully, naturally, without needing to rush.

Hyunjin's arms are still wrapped around you when he leans in, lips brushing your cheek in a gentle kiss that makes your heart flutter. “Let's go somewhere this weekend,” he murmurs. “Just us. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere far.”

You turn your head to look at him, and he’s already smiling—eyes filled with that kind of mischief and affection that always seems to undo you. You open your mouth to answer, but your thoughts momentarily scatter at the sight of his beautiful face so close to yours, lit with the fading light and warm contentment. You almost forget what you were trying to say.

“I can’t,” you finally manage, with a soft, apologetic laugh. “I have Tigerlily’s bachelorette party this weekend.”

Hyunjin’s smile falters into a playful frown, his brows drawing together. “So… you’re going to have fun without me?”

You nod slowly, teasing. “Exactly.”

He scoffs, mock offended. “What if you meet someone younger and prettier than me?”

You give him a long, dramatic look. “Younger, maybe. But prettier?” You shake your head. “Impossible.”

Hyunjin bursts into laughter, his dimples showing as he grins wide. “You’re so biased.”

“Only a little,” you say, brushing your thumb gently over his cheek. “And you have the bachelor's party too, right?”

He hums, then leans his forehead against yours, his voice dipping lower. “Still… I’d rather be alone with you.”

You smile, cupping his jaw. “It’s just for the weekend.”

Hyunjin groans quietly, burying his face into the crook of your neck like a sulking child. “I miss you already.”

You laugh, soft and breathy, your fingers tangling in his hair as you hold him there. “We’re literally together right now.”

“Not the same,” he mutters, his voice muffled against your skin.

You let your eyes fall closed for a moment, just savoring the closeness, the way your body molds into his so naturally. It’s been a long time since you felt this light, this wanted—this adored. And the truth is, you’re starting to miss him already too.

He rests his chin lightly on your shoulder, the curve of his smile brushing against your skin. You place your hands over his, but then slowly turn in his embrace to face him. His eyes are soft, searching. And in that moment, with his face so close, his hands so gentle on your waist, your heart swells—too full, too fast.

“Hyunjin,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, “I need to say something.”

He straightens, listening and he holds your gaze, giving you all of his attention.

“These feelings between us…” you take a breath, “they’re strong. Maybe a little too strong sometimes. They make it hard to think clearly.”

His brows knit just slightly, not in worry—just in quiet attention.

You continue, “When I was younger, I rushed into things. I followed my heart blindly because that’s what you do when you’re young, right? But now... I’ve learned. I don’t want to make the same mistakes.”

His expression softens even more, lips parting slightly as he listens.

“I want to do this right,” you say. “I want to take things slow. I need you to understand that.”

For a moment, he says nothing. Just watches you, his eyes unreadable. Then, slowly, he nods. “I understand,” he says softly.

Your chest loosens with a breath you didn’t know you were holding. And then a smile curves at the corner of his mouth—playful and warm.

“I can do slow,” he says, tilting his head as his thumb brushes lightly along your waist. “But just so you know... I’m still going to kiss you every chance I get.”

You laugh, a soft, breathy sound, because of course he’d say something like that.

“But only after I ask,” he adds with a wink, “like a gentleman.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart flutters anyway. Slow, you think. Yes. But that doesn’t mean it can’t still feel like falling.

-

The bachelorette weekend takes you to a vibrant coastal city, the kind that pulses with energy even before the sun sets. Tigerlily books a gorgeous suite for herself, her closest friends, and you—even if you keep joking that you're the designated chaperone.

But she’s not having that. “You’re not my mom tonight,” she says as she tosses a glittery, body-hugging dress onto the bed in front of you. “You’re my hot bestie. Now get changed.”

You laugh, holding up the dress. “You do realize I’m going to need a chiropractor after this.”

“You’ll need a shot, not a chiropractor,” she grins, already pulling on her heels. “Come on. Let’s have fun.”

The club is loud, crowded, and alive. Music throbs through the walls, and the lights flicker in time with your heartbeat. Tigerlily's friends are instantly swept onto the dance floor, but you take your time at the bar, ordering a drink just to ease into the chaos.

As you wait, a man—mid-thirties, maybe younger—leans on the bar beside you. “Let me guess,” he says, eyeing you with a slow smile, “you’re not from around here.”

You arch a brow. “That obvious?”

“In a good way,” he says smoothly. “You’ve got this whole... mysterious elegance thing going on.”

You chuckle, amused but not buying it. “Mysterious elegance, huh?”

Before he can continue, Tigerlily appears at your side like she’s been watching the whole thing. She slides her arm through yours and grins at the guy. “Sorry, she’s taken.”

You sputter a little. “Am I?”

“You are tonight,” she replies without missing a beat, already dragging you back toward the dance floor.

“Was that necessary?” you ask, laughing.

“Absolutely. That man looked like he was about to write you poetry.”

You shake your head, but you're smiling. “I still got it?”

Tigerlily bumps her hip against yours. “You never lost it.”

The two of you dance. And for the first time in a long while, you let go. You laugh until your cheeks hurt, sway to the beat, sip cocktails with sparkly straws, and feel a version of yourself you haven’t seen in years stretch awake. And you realize—you're not just doing this for Tigerlily anymore. You’re doing it for you.

Despite Tigerlily’s words saying that you’re not the chaperone. That tonight, you're just one of the girls. But the second the night winds down and heels start coming off, the music now just a low thump in the background of your ears, your maternal instinct takes over like second nature.

You count heads and then guide swaying bodies down the hallway of the hotel. One by one, you get them to their rooms—someone’s missing a phone, another forgot their keycard—but you manage. You always do.

Tigerlily is last. She's clutching onto your arm, half-laughing, half-mumbling something about how the room keeps spinning. She can barely walk straight, so you wrap an arm around her waist and hold her steady.

"You’re so bossy when you're sober," she slurs, giggling into your shoulder.

"I’m always bossy. Sober or not," you mutter fondly, helping her into the room.

You ease her down onto the bed and begin unlacing her heels. She flops back dramatically with a groan, like the soft sheets have defeated her.

“No sleeping until you drink this,” you say, pressing a cold glass of water to her lips.

She takes a few sips, grumbling. “You're worse than Julian.”

You smile and gently pull a blanket over her. "Duh! I'm your mother."

Once her breathing evens out and you’re sure she’s asleep, you head to the bathroom to wash off the night. The cool water feels good against your flushed cheeks, and by the time you’ve changed into a loose shirt and shorts, your feet are aching, and sleep is calling. Sighing to yourself that you're indeed too old for this.

You slip under the covers beside her. The hotel bed is wide and soft, and for a moment, you stare up at the ceiling, thinking about how tonight felt like a glimpse into another life. A little wild. A little young. A little free.

Tigerlily mumbles something in her sleep and shifts closer, curling into your side like she used to as a kid after a nightmare. You smile, gently smoothing her hair.

"My girl’s getting married," you whisper to the dark, a little in awe of it all.

You're just about to doze off when your phone vibrates on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with Hyunjin’s name. Your heart does that little skip it always does when it’s him.

You answer quietly, voice soft in the dim hotel room. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he says, and even through the phone, you can hear the smile in his voice. “Did I wake you?”

“Not yet,” you whisper, glancing at Tigerlily snoring softly beside you. “I just got into bed.”

“I miss you,” he says without hesitation.

You smile. “You just called me this afternoon.”

“Yeah, and that was already too long ago,” he murmurs. “How was the party?”

You sigh, rolling onto your back. “Loud. Wild. There was a lot of dancing, a lot of drinking. Oh—and a couple of guys tried to flirt with me at the bar.”

There’s a beat of silence, then—“What?”

You bite your lip, already amused.

Hyunjin groans dramatically. “Were they cute?”

“Hmm… not really my type.”

He scoffs. “So you have a type?”

You let out a soft laugh. “Apparently, yes.”

“Let me guess. Tall. Buzzcut hair. Has paint or clay on his hands at all times. Annoyingly charming.”

You grin into the darkness. “Sounds familiar.”

“I can’t believe you let someone else talk to you,” he mutters, pouting so hard you can practically hear it.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m possessive,” he corrects, “and jealous. And currently imagining you in a crowded club looking way too good while I’m stuck thinking about you while everyone else is having fun at Julian’s bachelor party.”

You shake your head, heart fluttering. “You have nothing to worry about. I spent the second half of the night chaperoning drunk girls to their rooms. I’m pretty sure that killed the vibe for everyone.”

He groans again. “Why are you like this? So good. So angelic.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “I’m not that good.”

“You are,” he says, quieter this time. “You’re kind. You take care of everyone. You have no idea how rare that is.”

There’s a pause. You blink up at the ceiling. “Are you drunk?” you tease, voice softening.

“No,” he says, “Maybe, but also... stupid in love.”

You hold yourself back from smiling but in the next second, you catch yourself doing it on the reflection on the mirror.

“I miss kissing you,” he says suddenly. “I miss the taste of your lips. I keep thinking about it. How long until I get to do that again?”

You go quiet, warmth blooming in your chest, spreading slow and tender. “I miss you too,” you finally say.

He hums. “Do you think about kissing me too?”

You bite your bottom lip and smile to yourself. “Goodnight, Hyunjin.”

“Oh, come on—”

“Sleep well.”

“I’m imagining it anyway,” he says, smirking through the phone.

“Bye,” you laugh, and hang up before he can say anything else.

You set your phone down, heart beating fast, and lie there in the dark for a long moment—grinning like a teenager, feeling like one too. God, you missed this feeling.

-

The energy is electric in Tigerlily’s suite tonight. The whole room glows under soft, warm lights and the scent of vanilla candles mingles with the sugary sweetness of the cakes piled high on the coffee table. Laughter bounces off the walls as music plays low from a speaker tucked in the corner.

You’re all dressed in matching silk pajamas—rosy blush pink with embroidered initials on the pocket, courtesy of Tigerlily, of course. The fabric is smooth against your skin, the kind of luxury that makes you feel girlish and a little silly, but it’s infectious.

Someone pops another bottle of champagne and the fizz makes everyone cheer. Flutes are constantly being topped up, hands full of chocolate truffles and strawberry cupcakes, and someone just declared it was time for a group selfie with whipped cream on their nose.

Tigerlily is glowing in the middle of it all, a tiara nestled into her soft waves and a sash that reads BRIDE TO BE draped over her shoulder. She looks at you from across the room with her eyes sparkling, and you smile back, shaking your head fondly as you take another sip of your drink.

“Come on, you’re not getting out of this,” one of her friends laughs, dragging you toward the bed where they’re setting up for a game of “Truth or Dare.”

“I thought I was just here to supervise,” you tease, sliding onto the edge of the mattress.

“Not tonight,” Tigerlily grins, sitting next to you and leaning her head on your shoulder. “Tonight, you’re one of the girls.”

You feel warm—not from the champagne, but from the comfort of being surrounded by joy. It’s been a while since you’ve had a night like this.

You narrow your eyes at her and say, “Truth”

A collective gasp and a series of excited giggles erupt from the circle of girls, and one of Tigerlily’s friends—a bold one named Minji—leans forward with a mischievous grin. “Okay then,” she says, eyes gleaming. “Since it’s all girls here and we’re already past tipsy, we want to know—how was the sexual chemistry between you and The Chris Bang?”

The room explodes into shrieks and laughter.

You blink, caught completely off guard. “Excuse me?” you choke out, a flush rising up your neck.

“You picked Truth!” Tigerlily sings, covering her face in secondhand embarrassment.

You laugh, flustered but not backing down. “Are we really doing this?”

“Rules are rules!” someone shouts.

You glance at Tigerlily, who is already groaning into a pillow. “I’m only answering this to scar my daughter for life,” you say dramatically, and everyone howls with laughter.

You pause for effect, taking a sip of your champagne with a smirk. “Let’s just say… every night was a new adventure and Tigerlily’s dad is a very skilled lover.”

A wave of delighted squeals and gasps ripple through the room.

“OH MY GOD!” Tigerlily yells, throwing the pillow at you while everyone collapses into laughter. “MOM, NO! I didn’t need to hear that!”

You can barely breathe from laughing so hard. “You asked for it!”

Minji claps her hands gleefully. “Best answer of the night. I have no regrets.”

You and Tigerlily are both flustered—her from horror, you from champagne and the sheer chaos of the moment—but the laughter is infectious.

The room softens as the champagne bottles empty and the sugar rush fades into warm, lazy giggles. The lights are dimmed now, casting a golden glow over the suite as everyone lounges on the fluffy rug or leans into the plush pillows scattered across the floor. One of the girls starts playing soft music in the background, and someone else—Juni, you think—sighs dreamily.

“Okay, okay,” she says, tipping her empty glass toward Tigerlily, “before I start crying for real—can we talk about how lucky we are to know this woman?”

A chorus of “yes” follows, and the room starts to glow with something softer than champagne.

They take turns—each of them sharing stories. Some are sweet, like the time Tigerlily stayed up all night helping a friend through a breakup. Some are silly, like the time she tried to impress a guy at a party and ended up slipping on her own drink. And some… are a little wilder.

“She once went skinny dipping once and almost got caught by hotel security,” Minji blurts out.

“MINJI!” Tigerlily yells, lunging for a pillow.

Everyone’s laughing again, and in the middle of it, Tigerlily covers your ears with both hands. “You didn’t hear that,” she says, eyes wide with mock horror.

“Oh, I definitely heard it,” you say, smiling as she pouts and hides her face.

More stories come, even more heartfelt ones. Her friends talk about how fiercely loyal she is, how she’s always been the glue that holds everyone together, how she lights up every room she walks into. And the whole time, you sit there beside her, watching her cheeks flush pink, her eyes glimmering from the emotions threatening to spill over.

At some point, she leans into your side and links her arm with yours. “I love them so much,” she whispers, voice soft and sleepy.

You press a kiss to her temple. “They love you just as much.”

It’s warm, the kind of warmth that settles in your bones. For a second, everything else fades—the wedding, the planning, even Hyunjin—and all that remains is this moment, your daughter surrounded by love, and you sitting right next to her, proud and full-hearted.

-

The suite is quiet once everyone have left. The laughter has faded into soft snore and the occasional rustle of satin against sheets. You and Tigerlily are curled up on the bed, wrapped in a cozy tangle of blankets and the lingering scent of champagne and cake. Her head rests against your shoulder, her breath warm and slow, still tinged with the sleepiness of wine and emotion. She murmurs something incoherent, and you chuckle softly, reaching up to remove the little sparkling tiara still resting askew on her head.

“There,” you whisper, placing it gently on the bedside table. “Queen of the night, now ready to sleep.”

She hums in response, eyes barely open, and you run your fingers gently through her hair, brushing it back from her face the way you used to when she was a child falling asleep in your lap. For a moment, the years blur — she’s no longer the grown woman about to become a bride, but your baby again. Just your little girl.

Then her voice comes again, quieter this time, like a secret unfurling in the dark. “Mom, do you know the real reason I brought you on this trip?” she asks.

You smile, looking down at her. “Why don’t you tell me, honey?”

She shifts, propping herself up on an elbow, her eyes glossy now, shimmering in the low light. “Because after you told me how you didn’t even get a real wedding with Dad, I realized… this is your first time too. First time doing all of this. First time experiencing... life.”

You open your mouth to say something, but she’s not done. “I started thinking about how much you missed. You had me when you were barely older than I am now. And while everyone else your age was out discovering the world, you were raising one.”

Her voice cracks, and she blinks fast, but the tears slip out anyway. “You missed a lot, Mom.”

You reach up and gently cup her cheek, brushing a tear away with your thumb. “Maybe. But I also gained more than I ever thought I could.”

She looks at you, really looks, her heart in her throat.

“I wouldn’t change a thing,” you continue, voice steady despite the lump forming in your chest. “If I had a chance to do it all over again, I’d still choose this life. I’d still choose you. You were never the thing I missed out on — you were the gift. The best one I’ve ever had.”

That’s when she breaks, she buries her face into your chest, arms wrapping around you tightly as her sobs come freely now. Her words are muffled, broken between sniffles and hiccups.

“Thank you,” she cries, “thank you for being my mom. For everything. For always being there.”

You hold her close, your arms strong around her trembling frame, your lips pressed gently to her hair.

“And I thank you,” you whisper, “for being mine. For choosing me back. You’ll always be my baby. Even when you’re someone’s wife. Even when you’re old and gray. You’ll always be my little cub… my Tigerlily.”

She cries harder at that, and you let her. You stroke her hair, her back, hold her like you did when she was small and scared of thunderstorms.

“I love you so much, baby,” you murmur as you kiss the top of her head.

And in the hush of that hotel room, surrounded by the remnants of a celebration, you feel it — the profound, unshakable bond between mother and daughter. One that no wedding, no passage of time, not even the miles of growing up, can ever change.

-

The taxi pulls away from the curb, and you stand in front of your house, suitcase in hand, the night air brushing cool against your skin. The neighborhood is quiet, the kind of silence that seeps into your bones after a long trip. You unlock the door and step inside, greeted by the familiar hum of home—and the stillness that now feels a little too heavy.

You set your bags down by the door, slipping your shoes off as your gaze sweeps across the dimly lit living room. It should feel comforting to be home, but the silence echoes strangely. Maybe it’s the way the weekend had been so full of life, of laughter, of your daughter’s arms wrapped around you, her voice in your ear. Maybe it’s the realization that her wedding is only a week away. One week until she starts a new chapter—without you at the center of it.

You sigh, about to head to the bedroom when your phone rings. Your heart lifts the moment you see his name on the screen. Hyunjin. You answer with a tired smile. “Hey.”

His voice comes through warm and eager, “Are you home?”

“Yeah,” you say, confused but already softening.

“That’s great,” he replies, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “Because I’m outside.”

“What?” But you’re already moving, already making your way back to the front door, heart kicking in your chest. You pull it open and there he is.

Standing on your porch in the glow of the porch light, hands in the pockets of his coat, smile stretched across his beautiful face. “Hi,” he says, gentle and breathless.

You don’t even think. You throw yourself at him and he catches you with a laugh, wrapping his arms tightly around you, the kind of embrace that grounds you instantly. Your face buries into the crook of his neck, and you breathe him in — warm and familiar, like something you've been missing without realizing.

Later, the two of you are curled up on the couch, mugs of coffee in hand, the glow from a single lamp painting the room in soft gold. You’ve traded your travel clothes for something more comfortable, and Hyunjin hasn’t left your side since you walked through the door.

“I brought you something,” he says with a spark in his eyes, reaching for the small box he placed on the coffee table earlier. You tilt your head as he opens it and pulls out two perfectly shaped mugs. The couple mugs you made together in his studio.

You take one gently, brushing your thumb over the glaze. His signature artistic touches are there—little swirling patterns on the handle, the bottom rim etched with a tiny heart. The craftsmanship is beautiful, but it’s the meaning that steals your breath.

“Hyunjin… they’re beautiful.”

He grins. “I know. You’re getting pretty good at this, you know.”

You raise a brow. “You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m serious. You’re a natural.” He plucks your mug from your hand and places it beside its twin on the kitchen counter. “And I want you to keep them here.”

“Here?”

He shrugs, slipping his arm around your shoulders as he comes back to sit beside you. “Yeah. This is where they belong. With you.”

You blink at him, lips parting. He offers you a sheepish smile, like it’s nothing. But to you, it’s everything. You lean into his warmth, head resting on his shoulder as the steam from the coffee curls in the air between you.

“How was the trip?” he asks softly, his hand running gentle strokes up and down your arm.

You exhale slowly, gaze fixed on the steam rising from your mug. “It was fun. Loud. Chaotic. A little overwhelming.” You chuckle. “Tigerlily made me dance at a club. Can you imagine?”

He smiles into your hair. “I can. And I bet you were stunning.”

You laugh, shaking your head before your voice turns quieter. “But it wasn’t just the party. There was this moment… with Tigerlily. Just us, after everyone left. And in a week… she’s getting married. She’s starting her life.”

Hyunjin listens, pulling you closer, fingers lacing with yours.

“And when I came home… it just hit me. The silence. The shift. Like something changed and I didn’t realize how final it was until I walked in that door.”

He doesn’t speak for a moment, just lets you rest against him, his breath steady and grounding. Then he whispers, “It’s okay to feel that. Change is hard. Even good change. But it doesn’t mean you’re losing anything.”

Your throat tightens at that, your eyes stinging again, but not in a bad way.

Hyunjin lifts your hand and kisses your knuckles. “You’re not empty. You’re evolving. And I’ll be here. Through every version.”

You look up at him, heart aching in the best way. “You always know what to say.”

“I just say what I feel,” he says with a soft smile. “And what I feel is... I’m really glad you’re home.”

You press a kiss to his cheek, lingering there for a moment longer than you need to. “Me too.”

The soft lull of the evening hums in the background—rain patters lightly outside the window, and the room is quiet except for the gentle clink of mugs being set aside. You’re still nestled in Hyunjin’s arms when he tilts your chin up, searching your eyes. His thumb brushes across your cheek as he leans in to kiss you.

It starts slow—familiar and warm, like finding something you didn’t know you missed. But the way he presses into you speaks of how much he’s been holding back. You feel it in the way his hand cups the side of your face, in the way his lips part against yours, deeper, more certain.

“I missed you,” he whispers in between kisses. “So much.”

Your breath catches as his mouth moves again, softer now, teasing. “I kept thinking about kissing you like this…” His lips brush against yours again. “Touching you again…” Another kiss, slower this time, more drawn out. “And now I can’t stop.”

It’s dizzying—the way he says it, the way he shows it with every breath, every brush of his hands on your waist, your back, your hips. You clutch the front of his sweater, kissing him back just as fiercely, tasting the longing that matches your own. But as it grows, so does the awareness in your chest—the deep pull of trust, of something safe and real building between you.

You slow the kiss, your hands rising to cup his face, and you look at him—really look at him. His lips are swollen, eyes dark with affection and something more primal, but his expression softens when he sees the look in yours. “Hyunjin,” you breathe out. “Do you… want to stay over tonight?”

A silence settles for a moment, but only because he's searching your face for meaning. Then, the corners of his lips curl up into a gentle, knowing smile. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I’d really like that.”

He kisses you once more—slow, tender, unhurried now. Like he understands what this means. Like he’s willing to hold it all gently.vAnd in the safety of that moment, with his arms around you and the warmth of his smile pressed against your lips, you realize—Maybe it’s time. Not to rush. But to let yourself be loved.

-

The rain has settled into a soft rhythm outside your window, a hushed lullaby that fills the silence between you and Hyunjin as you lie tangled together in the quiet of your bedroom. The lights are dim, casting everything in amber warmth, and his body is curved around yours like he’s meant to be there—one arm draped across your waist, his fingers tracing absent-minded shapes along your hip. His voice is low and soft when he speaks. “It’s raining.”

You smile, your cheek pressed gently against his chest. “It was raining the night Tigerlily was born,” you murmur, nostalgia coating your words. “The heaviest rain I’ve ever heard. I remember thinking it was the sky weeping with joy.”

Hyunjin hums, brushing your hair back behind your ear as he listens. “Tell me everything,” he says quietly. “Tell me what it was like. Tell me about you. About the parts of you I haven’t met yet.”

You tilt your head slightly, meeting his gaze. He’s looking at you like he wants to memorize it all. So you tell him. About your favorite book as a teenager. About the first concert you ever went to. About how you decided to not go to university and went to auditions instead. About the coffee shop you used to write books in. About the day you found out you were pregnant and how you cried, terrified and overwhelmed but already in love. About how motherhood changed you. About how you still feel like that twenty-something girl sometimes—just trying to figure it out. He listens to every word, never interrupting, never pulling away. His fingers draw lazy circles on your arm, and you can feel the quiet weight of his attention.

You smile softly after a while, your voice dipping into playful territory. “So... do all of that make you rethink this? About me?”

He turns his face into your hair, chuckling. “It makes me love you more.”

And just like that, the moment stills. You shift to look at him, propping yourself up on your elbow as you search his face. “You said it,” you whisper, a bit stunned.

“I did,” he says, not missing a beat. His voice is calm but sure, eyes steady on yours. “I know we’re taking it slow. And I’ll go as slow as you need me to. But that won’t stop how I feel about you. I can’t help it.”

He reaches out, cradling your cheek in his hand. “I love you.”

The words land in your chest like a heartbeat. Warm and undeniable. And then he leans in, kissing you like he means it—with depth, with tenderness, with the weight of every quiet, growing feeling he’s been carrying since the moment he met you. His thumb strokes your cheek as your lips move together, and the sound of the rain outside continues like a hymn for something sacred blooming between you. In this moment, you believe him. You believe in this. You believe in love—again.

The rain is still falling outside, a soft, steady backdrop to the way his body settles closer, his hands moving over the curves of your waist, the dip of your hip. He kisses you again, deeper this time, and his hand slips beneath the hem of your nightdress, starting to inch it upward when you stop him with a quiet touch to his wrist.

“Wait,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hyunjin pauses instantly, eyes flicking up to meet yours, concern etching into his brows. “What is it?”

You swallow, your hand still wrapped gently around his wrist. “I’m not what you think I am,” you murmur, heart beating too fast. “I’m not young anymore, Hyunjin. My body’s not perfect. I have lines, softness, marks from time. I just—” You hesitate, searching for words. “I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

For a second, there’s only the sound of rain and your breath between you. Then he smiles. That beautiful, slow, devastating smile that always seems to unravel something inside you. He leans in, brushing a soft kiss to your lips, then your cheek, then your jaw.

“You think I don’t see you?” he says gently, voice low, threaded with something that feels close to awe. “I see all of you. I’ve seen you laugh, cry, carry the weight of the world with grace. I’ve seen you fall apart and still be strong. And you’re beautiful. So beautiful to me.”

Your chest tightens, something deep and old melting at his words.

Hyunjin lifts your chin so you’re looking at him, really looking. His gaze is steady, sincere. “Let me see you,” he says softly. “All of you.”

And with trembling breath, you nod. Your fingers let go of his wrist, and Hyunjin helps you out of your nightdress with patient care, not like he’s undressing you, but like he’s unveiling something precious. When you're bare beneath him, you brace yourself—but he only looks at you like you’re the most breathtaking thing he’s ever laid eyes on. His hands move gently over your skin, warm and grounding, and then he leans down to kiss you again—slow, deep, filled with everything words can’t hold.

In his touch, in his gaze, you feel it: desire, yes, but also reverence. Love. A quiet promise that he sees you—not just your body, but your story. Your soul. All of you. And to him, you are beautiful.

Hyunjin takes his time with you—like he’s memorizing every inch of your skin, every shiver and sigh. His lips meet yours in a deep, lingering kiss that makes your heart ache in the most exquisite way, and when he pulls back, he trails kisses along your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. Every touch feels like a vow.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, the warmth of his breath dancing over your skin. “I’ve dreamed about this. About you.”

His mouth moves lower, over the slope of your chest, down to the valley between your breasts, his hands cradling you gently as if you might break. He pauses just long enough to look at you again, like he wants to be sure you're still with him, still saying yes—and when you nod, he smiles and continues, kissing down your ribs, your stomach, slow and reverent.

He murmurs sweet things between kisses. “You don’t even know how you look to me,” he says, his voice hushed, like a secret he’s only brave enough to share now. “You’re out of this world. You’re art.”

When he reaches your hips, his fingers ghost over your sides, grounding and careful, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there. Then further—over your thighs, your inner thighs, where his kisses turn softer, slower, like he’s worshiping the very idea of you. And then, like a final act of devotion, he kneels and lifts your foot gently, pressing a kiss to your ankle, then to the inside of your calf, like there’s no part of you undeserving of love. You feel your breath catch in your throat. Not from arousal—though that coils steadily too—but from the overwhelming way he sees you. All of you. And still chooses to love every part.

As he makes his way back up to you, his eyes meet yours again, tender and warm. “I want to know everything about you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Every scar, every story, every soft place you’re afraid to show.”

And when he kisses you again, it feels like surrender—but the safe kind. The kind where you let yourself be seen and loved, completely.

Hyunjin flashes you a smile before he disappears between your thighs like he’s slipping into a world made only of you. His hands settle on your hips with a kind of tenderness that makes your chest ache, grounding you as his mouth begins its slow, deliberate worship on your pulsating cunt. Every flick of his tongue on your clit is thoughtful, every kiss between the folds is reverent. He’s not just trying to please you—he’s trying to learn you, to know you and you’re unraveling beneath him. But still, you’re quiet. Holding your breath. Biting your lip to keep any sounds at bay, your fingers curling into the sheets instead of his hair.

Hyunjin notices so he lifts his head, lips slick and eyes dark with adoration and something deeper—hunger, yes, but also love. “Why are you being quiet?” he asks softly, teasingly. “You think I don’t want to hear you?”

Your breath stutters as you look at him and he leans up just slightly, presses a kiss to your inner thigh. “Let them out,” he murmurs. “All those beautiful noises you’re holding back—I want to hear them. All of them.”

Your pulse thrums in your ears then he lowers himself again with a smile that’s both wicked and gentle. And when he starts again, landing his plush lips on your drenching core, slower this time, more insistent, you don’t hold back. And Hyunjin—he hums his satisfaction against your skin like it’s his favorite sound in the world.

It doesn't take long for Hyunjin’s skilled mouth to take you where you need to. You fall apart beneath him—trembling, gasping, your fingers tangled in the sheets as waves of pleasure roll through you. He doesn’t stop running his tongue between your wet folds until you’re completely undone, your body twitching with the aftershocks, your breath ragged and uneven.

Only then does he pull away, slowly, languidly, as if savoring the last taste of you. There’s a smug little smirk tugging at his lips as he rises, and the look in his eyes—it’s all heat and devotion, mischief laced with reverence.

You’re still catching your breath when he leans over you again, his mouth brushing yours. The kiss is unhurried, deep, and when your tongue meets his, you taste yourself on him—warm, intimate, dizzying. He groans softly against your lips. “Thank you,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked. “For coming so beautifully like that for me.” His eyes flicker over your face, lips brushing yours again. “You taste so good, I already want another.”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, your body still buzzing from the high, your fingers curling into his hair as you pull him in for another kiss, and you’ve never felt so wanted, so seen completely his.

After a while, Hyunjin sits back on his knees, eyes locked with yours, his breathing still uneven. Without a word, he reaches for the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head in one smooth motion. His skin glows under the soft light, golden and lean, the shadows carving definition along his chest, his arms, the delicate lines of muscle and bone that move with each breath. He watches you watch him, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face as he unbuttons his pants, not rushed, letting every movement stretch, deliberate and teasing. Piece by piece, he undresses for you—until there's nothing left between you. Then he leans down, his hands bracing on either side of your body as he hovers over you once more, heat radiating from him as his bare skin meets yours. The sensation is overwhelming—startling in its intensity. Chest to chest. Stomach to stomach. Legs tangled and breaths mixing in the space between your mouths.

Your body arches instinctively, responding to the feel of him, the way he fits so perfectly above you. One of his hands strokes along your side, memorizing the lines of you with reverence. His voice is a whisper, brushing your ear as he lowers himself fully against you.

“There’s nothing in the world that feels better than this,” he murmurs, kissing your temple.

With that, he lets the moment settle around you like silk, like warmth, like something you never want to end. Then, your hands lift on their own, hesitant at first. Your fingertips trace the line of his collarbone, down the slope of his chest, across the gentle dip between his ribs. You feel the way his heart races beneath your touch, the way his muscles flex subtly as your fingers explore him. He watches you in silence, his gaze soft, his lashes lowering when your palm rests just over his heart. There’s a faint tremble in your voice when you whisper, “You’re so beautiful.”

His breath hitches. The smallest, most vulnerable sound. A shy smile curves his lips as he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering closed. “You really think so?”

You nod, letting your hand move lower—over the dip of his waist, the subtle trail of muscle that disappears beneath the sheets. “All of you. Every inch of you,” you murmur, and he exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath waiting to hear you say that.

Hyunjin kisses you again, and this time there's nothing tentative about it. It's deep, warm, and possessive—the kind of kiss that curls your toes and makes your body arch instinctively toward his. His hands roam, slow but confident and you gasp softly against his lips when his palm slides down your side, cupping the curve of your hip.

The kiss grows hotter with each passing second, his body pressing you further into the mattress. His breath is ragged when he finally pulls back, just enough to rest his forehead against yours. “Do you have any condoms?” he asks, voice low and husky with anticipation.

You’re still catching your breath, nodding slowly when he suddenly adds with a crooked smirk, “Not that I’m planning to give Tigerlily a younger sibling… not yet, at least.”

You let out a breathless laugh, the sudden flash of humor easing the last of your nerves. “Drawer in the bathroom,” you reply, voice soft but steady.

Hyunjin grins at you, a glint of fondness—and something deeper—shining in his eyes as he brushes your hair back from your face. “Be right back,” he says, and then he leans down, giving you one last kiss—sweet and slow, as if he doesn’t want to leave your lips even for a second—before slipping off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom.

Not long after, the bathroom light flicks off, and soft footsteps pad against the floor. You lift your head slightly as he returns, a quiet smile playing on his lips and a tenderness in his eyes that makes your chest ache in the best way. He walks over with the same graceful ease he always carries, but there's something else now—something deeper in the way he looks at you like he's seeing all of you, and wanting every piece. He sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. You hear the soft crinkle of the foil packet, that small sound somehow thunderous in the silence of the room. It makes your skin prickle with anticipation. You can’t see everything he’s doing, but you don’t need to. The intimacy of it, the knowing of what’s about to come, makes your breath catch.

When he finally turns to you again, Hyunjin shifts closer, slow and deliberate, his body warm as it presses into yours. He doesn’t rush. Instead, he leans in gently, one hand finding your cheek, fingers featherlight as they cradle your face. His thumb brushes your skin, and you feel the slight tremble in his breath as his forehead touches yours.

“Hey,” he murmurs softly, like you’re a secret he wants to keep safe.

You look into his eyes, and for a moment, there’s nothing else. Just you and him. Then, he leans in, kissing you with that same softness, his body melts into yours, skin to skin, the kiss deepening as his hand glides from your cheek to your waist, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him. Every inch of you fits against him like you were meant to be held this way.

And in that quiet, sacred moment, nothing else matters but the way he kisses you—as if he's telling you without words just how much he wants you, and how deeply he already cares.

Your fingers curl gently against the slope of his back as he settles between your legs, his body warm and familiar now, like something you’ve known all along.

Hyunjin nudges his nose against your cheek and murmurs, “I’m going to take it slow this time. Really slow.” There's a teasing glint in his voice, soft and sultry, and it pulls a quiet laugh from your throat.

“You say that,” you whisper back, voice already tinged with need, “but you never do.”

He grins, brushing a kiss along your jawline. “I mean it tonight.” And you can tell he does, not just in the way he speaks, but in the way he moves. He aligns his cock to your entrance and then he pushes his throbbing length into you slowly, carefully like he wants you to feel everything.

And you feel it, you feel all of it. Every inch of his hard length entering you, filling you, every breath, every shared heartbeat. The two of you let out a raw, satisfied groan at the feeling of being inside each other, at last.

The moment Hyunjin starts to move, it’s almost too much—the fullness, the stretch, the heat of his cock inside you. Your body reacts before your thoughts can catch up, instinctively tightening around him, your breath catching in your throat.

He lets out a guttural groan, dropping his forehead against yours. “You can’t do that,” he breathes, voice thick and frayed. “If you keep clenching like that, I’ll—” He swallows hard, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “I’ll embarrass myself.”

You try to bite back a smile, only half-successful. “Sorry,” you murmur, not sounding sorry at all.

His eyes open again, and there’s laughter there, but also something deeper—adoration, restraint, the ache of wanting to last. “This is our first time, let me make a good impression,” he playfully says, and then he kisses you again, slower this time—true to his word—as he begins to move with deliberate tenderness, making sure every second counts.

A moment later, Hyunjin moves within you in slow, deep rhythms—measured, reverent, like he’s savoring every second. His breath hitches now and then as he buries his face in your neck, whispering praise between kisses and sighs. “You feel so good,” he murmurs, voice rough with awe. “So warm, so perfect…”

Each word wraps around you, deeper than his touch. “I’m so lucky… to feel you like this. To have you like this.”

Then he leans back just enough to make you meet his gaze, his hand cradling the side of your face. And in that moment, you feel completely seen. Not just your body, but your soul. The walls you’ve built over the years, the scars, the quiet fears you’ve kept tucked away—he sees them all. And he stays.

A wave of emotion crashes over you so suddenly, so powerfully, it steals the breath from your lungs. Your lips part beneath his kiss, but your body trembles beneath the weight of feeling, and you can’t bring yourself to kiss him back.

Hyunjin notices and he pulls back immediately, concern etched across his features. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice soft and urgent. “Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, eyes closing just as the first tears slip down your cheeks.

He stills completely, pulling out of you without hesitation, wrapping his arms around you as if he could shield you from whatever it is that’s hurting you. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, kissing the corners of your eyes, your cheeks, your jaw. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t,” you choke out, your voice cracking around the lump in your throat. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Hyunjin pulls back just enough to look at you, brushing your hair out of your face, concern still dark in his eyes. “Then what is it?”

Your gaze locks with his, and for the first time, you let the fear rise to the surface. “I’m scared,” you admit, barely above a whisper. “Of this. Of you. Of what I’m feeling. It’s so much.”

He doesn’t say anything right away. He just wipes the tears from your cheeks with the backs of his knuckles, his thumb tracing along your cheekbone gently, grounding you.

You swallow thickly, your voice hoarse. “I don’t want to get hurt.”

At that, a bittersweet smile curves at the corner of his lips, his brows furrowing just slightly. He cups your face in both hands, presses his forehead to yours, and kisses you again—slow and full, the kind of kiss that says everything he can’t yet put into words.

When he finally pulls back, he whispers against your lips, “I'm not going hurt you. I promise.”

In his eyes, you believe him. You pull him close again, wrapping your arms around him, your fingers wrapping around the nape of his neck.

Hyunjin hesitates only a moment—watching your eyes, searching for the unspoken permission—and when he sees it, he slowly slips himself into you again and starts to move, his body rocking against yours in quiet devotion.

It’s different now. The fear is still there, but it no longer weighs you down—it lifts, transforms into something new, something freeing. With every slow thrust, every kiss that brushes your skin, you feel your heart split open, not in pain but in release, like something you’ve held too tightly for too long is finally being set free.

You let him in. You feel him. All of him. The weight of his body, the cadence of his breath, the way his heart stutters against your chest. And in the stillness between movements, in the soft moans and whispered names, in the curve of his mouth against your neck—you feel the truth of the connection between you. It’s real. You hold onto him tighter, not to cling, but to anchor yourself in this moment.

“I’m here,” he murmurs between kisses, like a vow. “I’ve got you.”

With one final, aching stroke, the pleasure builds, wraps around both of you until you fall into it together—his name breathless on your lips, your name a prayer on his. You come undone in his arms, and he follows, holding you like you’re something sacred. In the quiet after, as your bodies settle and your hearts slow, there’s no fear. His skin is warm, his arm wrapped protectively around you as you lay curled into his side, your leg tangled with his beneath the sheets. Your eyes flutter shut as you let yourself melt into him, cheek pressed to his chest where you can hear his heartbeat. It’s grounding, comforting like a lullaby made just for you.

“You okay?” he asks softly, voice raspy from the night but threaded with affection.

You nod against his chest. “More than okay.”

You sigh contentedly, letting yourself soak in the warmth of his body and the calm that settles between you. Nothing about this moment is rushed. Nothing about it feels unsure. It’s just you and him—bodies entwined, hearts open, quiet and full.

-

It's like the rain didn't happen last night as the sun is shining so brightly the next morning. You’re at the stove in your robe, humming to yourself as you flip a pancake, already plating the crispy bacon beside it when you hear footsteps shuffle in—slow, heavy, and unmistakably sleepy.

You glance over your shoulder just in time to see Hyunjin appear in the doorway, shirtless with the sheet from your bed still clinging to one shoulder like he didn’t bother shrugging it off. He’s rubbing his eyes and yawning, but that sleepy smile—so sweet and lazy—stretches across his face when he sees you. He walks straight to you and wraps his arms around your waist from behind, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“You weren’t in bed,” he mumbles, voice gravelly from sleep. “I woke up and you were gone. That’s not fair.”

You laugh softly, continuing to stir the eggs in the pan. “Someone has to make breakfast.”

“Wrong answer,” Hyunjin grumbles, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “I wanted morning cuddles.”

Before you can respond, he’s already turning you around gently and lifting you by the waist with ease. You let out a small squeal as he sets you on the edge of the kitchen island, your legs dangling off the side. He places his hands on the counter on either side of you, caging you in with that warm, sleepy grin on his face. You return the smile, wrapping your arms loosely around his shoulders.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a slow, soft kiss to your lips.

You kiss him back just as softly. “Good morning.”

His smile widens, and then he’s peppering your lips with quick, playful kisses—one after the other, barely giving you time to breathe between each one. You giggle, trying to squirm away, but his arms tighten around your waist and he buries his face in your chest with a content sigh. You rest your hand on the nape of his neck, holding him close, the warmth between your bodies matching the gentle golden light spilling through the kitchen window.

Hyunjin stays nestled against your chest for a long, comfortable moment before he lifts his head and looks up at you, eyes still sleepy but filled with something softer—something warmer. “So…” he starts, voice a little hopeful. “Can we finally take that trip together now?”

You let out a laugh, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Are you forgetting something?”

He blinks. “No?”

You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow. “The wedding is this weekend.”

Hyunjin pauses, then groans dramatically as he drops his head back against your chest. “Nooo, right. That.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, giggling.

He pulls back just enough to look up at you with a pout. “Okay but… hear me out. What if you just told her to push the wedding to next weekend instead?”

Your laughter echoes through the kitchen as you lightly smack his shoulder. “You want me to reschedule my daughter’s wedding so we can go on a trip?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs playfully. “Priorities.”

You shake your head, still laughing. “Anyway, as the mother of the bride, I’m only going to get busier this week with the final prep.”

Hyunjin groans even louder this time, letting his head fall against your shoulder like the world is ending. “Ugh. Being the best man sounded more fun in theory.”

You grin, wrapping your arms tighter around him. “You better take that duty seriously. Tigerlily will haunt your dreams if you mess it up.”

“She already does,” he mutters with a dramatic sigh.

You laugh again, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “You’ll survive. And once the wedding’s over…”

He perks up, eyes sparkling. “Trip?”

“Well, I was going to say...” you pause to pick up your mug of coffee, “coffee?”

Hyunjin gasps in delight as he sees the couple mugs you made filled with hot, steaming coffee. “Coffee first then the trip,” he murmurs with a grin as he picks up his mug.

Before taking a sip, he kisses you right then and there—soft and triumphant, like he’s already picturing you both somewhere far away, together.

-

You open the front door just as the cab pulls away from the curb, revealing Chris standing there with his suitcase in one hand and his daughter Riley beside him, hoodie pulled over her head, nose buried in her phone.

Chris offers you a tired smile, stopping right on the doorway to give you a quick hug. “Hey.”

You smile warmly, stepping aside to let them in. “Hey. How was your flight?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, brushing his hair back as he steps inside. “Fine. Long.”

You give him a knowing look—his eyes are a bit bloodshot and there’s a weariness in the way his shoulders slump—but you don’t push it. Instead, your eyes drift toward Riley, who’s still in her own world, thumbs tapping at her screen, headphones on.

“Riley,” Chris says with a light nudge to her shoulder. “Say hi.”

She looks up for the first time, pulling her headphones down just slightly. “Hi,” she mutters before stepping in and giving you a quick, one-armed hug.

You wrap your arms gently around her, unfazed. “Hi, Riley. Good to see you again!”

She nods and offers a polite smile before slipping past you, already pulling her headphones back on and wandering further inside, eyes back on her phone.

You glance at Chris with a knowing smirk, and he sighs. “Teenagers.”

“She’s grown up so much,” you say softly, watching her disappear into the living room.

Chris chuckles, dragging his suitcase the rest of the way in. “Yeah. She’s got that whole ‘too cool for life’ thing down to an art.”

You close the door behind them and gesture toward the hallway. “Come on in. I’ll show you both your rooms. You can rest a bit before dinner.”

Chris nods, rolling his shoulders. “Sounds good. Thanks for letting us stay.”

You glance at him with a playful look. “You’re still family, Chris. You don’t have to thank me.”

His eyes soften at that, and for a moment, there’s a quiet understanding that passes between you—years of history wrapped in a single look. “Still,” he says, “thank you.”

Later that afternoon, the house feels warm and quiet, filled with the subtle scent of fresh cookies and the soft clinking of mugs. You and Chris sit across from each other at the kitchen island, a plate of chocolate chip cookies between you and steaming cups of coffee in your hands.

“So,” Chris says, leaning back slightly in the stool, “you’re still making those cookies I like.”

You smile over your cup. “You think I made them just for you?”

“I choose to believe that,” he says with a grin before taking a bite.

You laugh softly, stirring your coffee. “How’s life back in the city?”

“Busy,” he answers, nodding. “The label wants to reissue an old Bang Theory album, so I’ve been working on it. Lots of meetings, a few studio sessions, lots of… nostalgia.”

You hum, intrigued. “That sounds kind of nice. Do you miss it?”

Chris considers the question for a moment, then shrugs. “Some parts of it, yeah. Others… not so much. Touring at this age isn’t as fun as it used to be.”

You chuckle. “Your back can’t handle the stage dives anymore?”

He snorts into his coffee. “Exactly. What about you? Still working on that book?”

You nod, your smile softening. “Yeah. Actually, I’ve been… into pottery lately.”

Chris pauses mid-sip, eyebrows lifting slightly before he nods. “New hobby, huh?” he chuckles, then takes another cookie. “Good for you.”

You both settle into a brief, comfortable silence before he glances up again. “So… rehearsal dinner. What should I expect?”

You perk up at that. “Oh! It’s at that restaurant by the garden terrace downtown. Casual but elegant. Lots of wine. Julian’s parents are hosting it.”

Chris nods, then takes a breath. “And… his family? What are they like?”

You give him a curious look. “Why? Are you nervous?”

“A little,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, I’m just… her dad. You know? Want to make a good impression.”

You lean forward, grinning. “Wait—you? Chris Bang, lead singer of Bang Theory, is nervous about meeting some suburban in-laws?”

He groans. “Don’t make fun of me.”

You laugh, then soften. “I’m not. I just think it’s sweet.”

He raises an eyebrow, mouth curling into a teasing smirk. “You calling me sweet now? That’s dangerously close to flirting.”

You roll your eyes and take a sip of coffee. “It’s called reassurance.”

Still smiling, Chris leans his elbows on the counter and looks at you. “So, what do you suggest? Show up in leather and play it cool?”

You grin. “I think just be yourself. You’re already charming and likable. You don’t even have to try.”

Chris watches you for a beat, and his smile turns just a little bit softer. “Thanks.”

You shrug, playful. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Oh, it’s already there,” he says, popping the last cookie into his mouth.

He takes a slow sip of his coffee, then lets out a deep sigh, tipping his head back slightly as if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders. “There’s just one problem, though.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

He gestures vaguely to the room upstairs where Riley is resting in Tigerlily’s old room. “Riley. She’s impossible. I swear, she’s glued to that phone like it’s a limb. I can’t get her to talk, help out, or even look up most of the time.”

You chuckle, resting your chin in your hand. “Classic teenager.”

He groans dramatically. “Yeah, well, classic teenager is driving me insane. I’ve tried being cool dad, strict dad, let’s-talk-about-it dad… nothing works. I need backup. I need you.”

You give him a slow, amused look over the rim of your mug. “You need me?”

He nods, with the exasperated sincerity of a man who’s been bested by a teenager. “I’m begging. Please. I don’t think she even knows we’re here. She could be texting someone in another dimension for all I know.”

Laughing softly, you set your mug down and lean back in your chair. “Chris, relax. I’ve got this.”

He narrows his eyes suspiciously. “You sound way too confident.”

You give him a sly smile. “Because I am confident. I know how to handle a teenager.”

He leans forward, elbows on the counter. “Okay, now I’m curious. What’s the game plan?”

You wink. “You’ll see. But let’s just say… I've got it.”

Chris lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. “God, I forgot how terrifyingly effective you can be.”

You grin at him. “Don’t worry. Just leave it to me.”

-

You walk quietly down the hallway and knock gently on Tigerlily’s old bedroom door, the one Riley is staying in now. After a brief pause, you push the door open to find her sitting cross-legged on the bed, phone in hand, headphones hanging loosely around her neck, her thumbs busy tapping away.

“Hey, Riley,” you say softly, offering a warm smile. “Just wanted to check in. Do you need anything? Snacks? Water?”

Riley barely glances up, her tone monotone. “I’m good. Thanks.”

You step inside anyway, gently closing the door behind you before crossing the room and sitting on the edge of the bed. “Okay,” you say, watching her fingers move rapidly across the screen. “Well, I just wanted to thank you for coming.”

At that, she shrugs, eyes still on her phone. “Well, my Dad made me come so...”

You chuckle, not offended at all. “That sounds about right.”

She lets out a small laugh—barely audible, but you catch it. You smile softly and add, “Well, thank you anyway. I’m really glad you’re here.”

Riley hums noncommittally, still not making eye contact, but you don’t push. You let a few seconds pass before casually continuing, “You know… I follow your Instagram.”

That gets her attention. She blinks and glances up at you, just briefly. “You do?”

“I do. You’ve got great style. I love your outfit posts—your mirror selfies are seriously top-tier.”

Riley raises an eyebrow, the corner of her lips twitching slightly. “Really?”

“Mm-hm. I like clothes too. Always have.” You lean in conspiratorially. “Wanna see my wardrobe?”

That’s when her eyes truly light up. She lowers her phone just a little, the blue glow no longer dominating her expression. “Wait, really? Like… now?”

You nod, grinning. “Of course. Come on. I’ll even let you try them on.”

Riley finally sets her phone aside, her posture shifting from uninterested to intrigued in seconds. “Okay… yeah. That sounds kind of cool.”

You stand and hold your hand out toward her. “Come with me then.”

You lead Riley into your wardrobe, flipping on the warm overhead lights as the space glows to life with rows of carefully organized clothing, shoes lined up like museum pieces, and soft fabrics hanging in every hue imaginable.

Riley’s eyes go wide. “Whoa…” she breathes, stepping in like she’s just walked into Narnia. “This is insane.”

You smile as you watch her scan the racks, fingertips grazing along silk, velvet, denim, and tulle. “Insane in the best way, I hope?” you tease, enjoying her wonder.

Every few seconds, she gasps or lets out a quiet “Oh my god,” especially when she stumbles upon something particularly glamorous or vintage. Then she freezes in front of a sleek black number with subtle rhinestone detailing and a high slit—one you’d worn to a fashion event years ago. “Wait. Is this the dress you wore to the Paris thing? I saw a photo on Pinterest. You looked iconic.”

You laugh, a little flattered she noticed. “That’s the one.”

“Can I… can I try it?”

You raise a brow. “Of course you can.”

In minutes, you’re helping her zip it up, smoothing the fabric against her frame as she steps in front of the mirror. It's uncanny how it fits her like a glove. She turns to the side, then full-on beams at her reflection. “I look like I’m about to get photographed on a red carpet.”

“You kinda do,” you say, snapping a few pictures of her with her phone as she poses, giggling in between.

Then your eyes catch on a lace-detailed dress with soft pastel floral prints hanging nearby. You pull it out, holding it up. “This one… I got it after doing a shoot for Italian magazine. They let me keep it. You’d look beautiful in this.”

Riley’s eyes widen with excitement. “Wait, can I try that one too?”

“Absolutely!”

She changes into it quickly, emerging like a flower blooming, delicate and glowing as she twirls in front of the mirror. She watches herself with awe, running her hands along the fabric.

“That,” you say, stepping behind her with a soft smile, “is the perfect dress to wear for the rehearsal dinner tonight.”

She stops spinning and looks at you through the mirror, eyes wide. “Wait, really? I can wear this?”

You nod. “Yes, you can. You’d make that dress proud.”

Without warning, Riley turns and throws her arms around you, hugging you tightly. “Thank you,” she mumbles into your shoulder. “Seriously. Thank you.”

You hold her close, smiling as your heart swells. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Still wearing the dress, Riley continues combing through your wardrobe like it’s a treasure trove. Her fingers glide over hangers until she pauses in front of a garment bag tucked into the corner. It’s slightly dusted but clearly protected with care. “What’s this one?” she asks, curiosity peaking as she gently tugs at the zipper.

You turn just as she peels it open halfway, revealing the edge of intricate lace and delicate beadwork—ivory, timeless, unmistakable. It's a dress you wore when you got married to Chris, it's not even a designer piece, you bought it at a vintage shop in the city Chris’s band was touring in. The sight of the dress evokes the memories and it's so vivid as if you just pulled open a pandora's box. Your breath catches for a moment, your smile faltering just slightly. “Ah…” you walk over casually, your voice soft, “That one’s… it’s torn at the seam.”

Riley looks up at you with wide eyes, clearly still interested but sensing something in your tone. “Oh, okay,” she says, releasing the zipper and stepping back with respect. “Still looks really pretty though.”

You give her a gentle smile and nod. “It used to be.”

She shrugs and moves on to the shoes, gasping at a pair of jeweled heels. “These are insane!”

You wait until her attention is fully stolen by the footwear before stepping back to the corner. Quietly, you zip the bag all the way up, your fingers brushing over the fabric through the plastic. Then, with a soft breath, you tuck it further back into the closet, behind a row of coats. Hidden, again. Where it belongs.

You turn back to Riley with a smile as she holds up two pairs of shoes in each hand, debating which one to wear with the floral dress. “Help me choose?” she grins.

“Sure,” you say, walking toward her again, brushing the past off your shoulders like dust.

-

The sound of Chris’s voice echoes through the house. “Hey! Can I get some help here or am I tying this thing myself and risking public humiliation?”

You head toward his room, already dressed and putting on your earrings. As you enter, Chris turns around and does a once-over with an appreciative grin.

“Well, damn,” he says, eyes twinkling. “You clean up dangerously well.”

You wave him off with a roll of your eyes, “Focus. I’m here to save you from that crooked tie.”

You step in front of him, fingers deftly fixing the knot and as you do, you notice some silver hair on the side of his head. As you straighten the fabric, he tilts his head slightly. “How’s Riley?”

“Handled,” you reply with a pleased smile. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. She’s dressed, she’s excited, and she actually spoke more than three words.”

Chris looks genuinely impressed. “Miracle worker.”

Before you can respond, the soft clack of shoes against the stairs makes both of you turn. Riley steps down carefully, dressed in the floral lace dress you lent her, her makeup subtle and pretty, her hair styled loosely. She’s trying to play it cool, but her eyes are scanning for your reaction.

You gasp dramatically. “Chris. Look!”

Chris immediately joins you in the praise parade. “Oh my god. Is that my Riley bear?!”

Riley rolls her eyes, cheeks a little pink. “It’s just a dress, dad.”

You and Chris start clapping like over-enthusiastic parents. “JUST a dress? You’re glowing!”

Chris ruffles her hair, earning a swat, and you step in. “Okay, okay, hold still—give me your phone, Riley. We’re documenting this transformation.”

She reluctantly hands it over, trying not to smile. You snap a few photos of her, letting her pose. Then Chris steps in beside her, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “Come on, let’s show them where she got her style,” he jokes.

You take several adorable shots of the two of them, and when you lower the phone, Riley looks at you. “Now one with you.”

You blink, surprised. “Me too?”

Chris is already stepping behind the camera. “Come on. In you go.”

You move in beside Riley, wrapping an arm around her as she does the same. Chris captures a few shots, then Riley grins and pulls out her own phone. “Okay, selfie time.”

The three of you squeeze together—Riley sandwiched between her two very proud, very amused parents. The moment she taps the button, all three of you are laughing. Caught in the blur of joy and history and something that, just maybe, feels a little bit like family again.

“This is fun but we should go or else we'd be late for the rehearsal dinner,” you remind them as you grab your purse from the sofa.

The drive to the restaurant is lit with the golden hue of the setting sun, and the soft hum of the road beneath the tires fills the pauses between chatter. You sit in the passenger seat, Riley lounging in the back, headphones tucked away for once as the three of you settle into a rare moment of shared ease.

Chris glances over at you, tapping the steering wheel absently. “So, tell me again about Julian’s family. I need some common ground. I can’t exactly open with ‘Hi, I used to headline stadiums and wreck hotel rooms.’”

You smile. “Julian’s dad was a big-time broker. Wall Street type. Retired now, enjoying the fruits of his labor. They’re older than us by a good stretch.”

Chris exhales, visibly relieved. “Older is good. Older might think I’m mature by default.”

You chuckle. “They go on boat trips every other weekend. Sailing types.”

Chris nods, keeping his eyes on the road. “Boats. I can do boats. Talk about waves, sea breeze, sunscreen—yeah, I’ve got material.”

Then, with a hesitant glance at you, he asks, “Do they know about me?”

Before you can answer, Riley leans forward between the seats, totally deadpan. “You’re not that famous, dad.”

You burst out laughing. “She’s got a point.”

Chris’s mouth drops open in mock offense. “Excuse me?”

Riley shrugs, clearly enjoying herself. “I mean, unless they were obsessed with rock bands in the 90s… probably not.”

Chris pouts and glares at her through the rearview mirror. “You too, Riley?”

You reach over and pat his thigh consolingly. “She’s right. Julian’s parents don’t know about the world tour, the platinum albums, or... the groupies.”

Riley pipes up again, her voice playful, “You know, back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth.”

Chris groans dramatically. “Unbelievable. The women in this car are ganging up on me.”

You and Riley catch each other’s eyes and exchange a conspiratorial smile, both suppressing your laughter. “Better get used to it,” you tease, nudging his arm. “It’s a girls’ world now.”

-

The soft buzz of laughter and clinking silverware filters out from the warmly lit restaurant as you, Chris, and Riley step through the doors. It’s cozy and elegant, decked with white linens, twinkling fairy lights, and thoughtfully arranged floral centerpieces—Tigerlily’s touch, no doubt. The moment she spots the three of you, her face lights up, and she hurries over, Julian in tow.

“Mom!” she beams, throwing her arms around you, then turning to Chris. “Dad! You made it!” She gives him a long hug before pulling back to smile at Riley. “And Riley, you look amazing.”

Julian adds his own greetings, hugging you and Chris warmly. It’s all easy, affectionate, natural. But before Riley can slip away into the corner with her phone again, you gently nudge her forward and catch sight of Maude nearby, cheerful and stylish, and chatting to her girlfriend Alexa.

“Riley, this is Maude,” you say quickly, catching her before she can disappear. “She’s Julian’s sister and knows everyone here. Maude, could I ask you to keep her company?”

Maude grins. “Of course! Come with me, I’ll introduce you to the good mocktail table.”

Riley hesitates, but with a glance back at you—and maybe some hope at escaping parental banter—she follows Maude with a small, grateful nod. You watch her go, a little relieved, and then turn your attention back to the next task: Julian’s parents.

You and Chris approach them together. Julian’s father, dapper in a navy blazer, shakes your hand warmly. His mother, elegant and composed, greets you with a smile and a gracious air. You’re used to this, the polished rhythm of pleasantries, the light conversation about the venue, the weather, the flowers—but beside you, Chris is just slightly stiff, the way he always gets when he’s not sure of the social cues. He’s doing fine, polite and charming, but you can feel it—that slight lag in his rhythm, the way he hesitates before reaching for the wine glass, unsure whether to join in the toast or wait.

So you start guiding, gently, without calling attention to it. When a toast is offered, you clink glasses first so he knows it’s time. When Julian’s mother mentions their yacht trip, you slide in a prompt. “Chris is a fan of the sea too, aren’t you?”

He picks it up with a grateful smile, easing into the conversation. When there’s a lull, you fill it, helping him navigate the small talk minefield. You even whisper reminders now and then—a soft nudge about names or who’s married to whom.

Through it all, Chris stays close, often glancing at you with that familiar mix of gratitude and amusement. He leans over at one point and murmurs near your ear, “I’m way out of my depth here, you know.”

You smile without looking at him. “That’s why I’m here.”

Once Chris has finally found his rhythm with Julian’s parents, tou quietly slip away from the table. You spot him a few feet away, deep in conversation with Julian now—his brow slightly furrowed, his arms crossed, and that unmistakable dad energy radiating off him as he most likely doles out the classic father-of-the-bride threats in the nicest way possible. You chuckle quietly to yourself, amused by the sight. Poor Julian, you think.

At the bar, you thank the bartender as he hands you your drink. You bring the glass to your lips, letting the bubbles fizzle pleasantly on your tongue when a warm voice calls out your name, familiar and unmistakably fond.

“Wow,” Hyunjin breathes as he approaches, eyes shining with awe. “You look…” He pauses, head tilting slightly as his gaze travels from your hair down to your heels. “Beautiful doesn't even begin to cover it.”

You feel the warmth rush to your cheeks as he takes your hand gently in his, not caring if anyone’s watching, and with a playful smile, gives you a slow twirl. The hem of your dress flares softly around your legs as he drinks in the sight of you from every angle, murmuring a quiet, reverent, “Beautiful,” with each pass.

You let out a flustered laugh, brushing a hand over your flushed cheek. “You look gorgeous yourself,” you say, letting your eyes drift over his striped suit, perfectly tailored to his tall, lean figure.

He leans in, gaze flickering to your lips—but you catch him, palm gently meeting the center of his chest to halt him. “Not here,” you murmur lowly, glancing discreetly toward the direction of Julian’s parents. “And definitely not in front of Julian’s parents.”

Hyunjin frowns with a pout, clearly not satisfied with that response. “Then let’s sneak out. Just for a few minutes. I want to kiss you.”

You laugh under your breath, swatting at his chest playfully. “Behave,” you whisper, trying to reel him in. “You’ll cause a scene.”

Just then, a voice cuts in—deeper, familiar. “Who’s this?”

You both turn to find Chris standing a few feet away, his expression neutral but eyes sharp with curiosity. Your breath catches for a moment before you clear your throat and take a step closer to the two men.

“This is… Hyunjin,” you say, gently slipping your hand into Hyunjin’s. “He's the best man and... My boyfriend.”

It’s the first time you’ve said it out loud in front of Chris—and for the briefest moment, something shifts in his face. Just a flicker of something unreadable. Surprise, maybe. Something quieter, deeper. But just as fast, it’s gone.

Chris steps forward, extending a hand toward Hyunjin. “Nice to meet you.”

Hyunjin, ever polite, takes his hand with a firm shake. “It’s really nice to meet you, sir.”

Chris’ brows twitch upward at the sir, and the corner of his mouth quirks slightly. “No need for that. Just Chris is fine.”

Their handshake lingers just a second longer than it needs to, and even though no words are spoken in that pause, you feel it—the silent exchange of acknowledgment, respect… and perhaps a little wariness.

You hold your breath, watching the moment closely, your hand still lightly resting on Hyunjin’s arm. Then Chris releases his grip and offers a small smile. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says simply, looking at you.

And then, from across the room, Tigerlily calls for his dad. “Dad, come here,” she waves her hand in the air, gesturing him to come.

Chris flashes both of you a polite smile. “Sorry. Duty calls.”

As Chris walks off, Hyunjin watches him go, the corners of his mouth twitching up with amusement. As soon as Chris is out of earshot, Hyunjin turns back to you with a sly glint in his eyes, that playful smirk already forming.

“So,” he says, leaning in just enough to make your heart skip, “boyfriend, huh?”

You feel your cheeks heat immediately, your gaze flickering anywhere but his face. “Don’t start,” you mutter, attempting to brush him off—but that only encourages him.

“Oh no, I’m definitely starting,” he grins, eyes lighting up. “You said it so naturally, too. Just—‘this is my boyfriend.’ Like it was the most normal thing in the world.”

“Because it is,” you argue softly, trying not to smile.

He leans in again, voice low and teasing, “Yeah, but to your ex-husband?”

You swat at his arm, flustered and amused. “Shut up.”

He laughs, catching your hand in his. “I’m not judging. Honestly, I’m honored. Just… didn’t expect to be introduced that way tonight.”

You finally glance up at him, your expression softening. “I guess I didn’t either. But it felt right.”

Hyunjin smiles at that, his teasing nature giving way to something more genuine. He squeezes your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. “Well,” he says, eyes sparkling, “for the record, I like being your boyfriend.”

You can’t help the shy grin that spreads across your face, and before you can say anything back, Hyunjin brings your hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles. “And I’m definitely not letting your ex-husband be the only man who’s crazy about you tonight.”

Everyone gradually finds their seats as the waitstaff begins to move through the room, setting plates and pouring water and wine. A soft hum of chatter surrounds the long table, silverware clinking, glasses being lifted in early toasts. The atmosphere is warm, glowing with low golden lights and quiet laughter. Then Julian stands, gently clinking his spoon against his glass to get everyone’s attention.

He clears his throat and glances down at Tigerlily, who looks up at him with a soft, expectant smile. “I’ll try to keep this short before I embarrass myself,” he begins, the room quieting. “But there’s no way I could go into this weekend without saying something about how thankful I am.”

He looks around the room—at his parents, at yours, at all the people seated at the table—and his voice wavers just slightly as he continues, “Tigerlily and I are really lucky. Not just to have found each other, but to be surrounded by people who love us, who raised us, and who’ve taught us what real love looks like.”

You catch Tigerlily’s face as he speaks—her lips pressed together, her eyes shimmering. She's trying not to cry, already reaching for the edge of her napkin. You smile gently, heart full and aching at once. When you glance to the side, your gaze falls on Chris. He’s uncharacteristically quiet, his expression unreadable, jaw slightly tense, eyes fixed on his daughter. You know that look. It mirrors something in your own chest—pride, joy, and that sharp, bittersweet ache that comes with letting go.

Without a word, you slide your hand beneath the table and find his. He immediately laces his fingers with yours, holding on so tightly like he’s anchoring himself to something real, something steady. He finally turns to look at you, his lips tugging into a small, tender smile. You return it with a soft one of your own, no words exchanged—just the silent, lifelong understanding of what it means to love someone so deeply and now watch them begin a life of their own.

Then, as if pulled by the same thread, you both look at Tigerlily. She’s laughing through her tears now, her hand on Julian’s arm, her eyes sparkling with happiness. She looks radiant. In love. Right where she belongs. And in that moment, hand in hand, you and Chris both realize—this is exactly how it's supposed to be.

-

A moment after everyone got home, the house has settled into a gentle hush. You peek into Riley’s room one last time, knocking softly before opening the door just a crack. She’s already tucked into bed, still scrolling on her phone, but she looks up at you.

“Need anything before bed?” you ask, keeping your voice low.

She shakes her head. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

You offer her a small smile. “Alright. Goodnight, Riley.”

She surprises you with a quiet, “Goodnight,” and just as you’re about to close the door, she adds, “Thanks for today.”

Your heart warms at her honesty. “Anytime.”

You close the door gently and make your way downstairs to check in on Chris. You knock on his door, and his voice comes through, muffled but clear. “Yeah, come in.”

You open the door, only to be greeted by the sight of him in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants, barefoot, hair a little messy from travel. You let out an exasperated sigh and avert your eyes.

“Seriously? You could’ve told me you weren’t dressed.”

Chris glances up from his suitcase, entirely unfazed. “What? It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

You shoot him a glare. “That was years ago, Chris. Put on a damn shirt.”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “You knock, I answer. It’s not my fault you walked in without mental preparation.”

You roll your eyes. “Go to the bathroom.”

He gives you a slow, curious look. “Why?”

You hold up the dye kit in your hands. “Bathroom. Now.”

Chris groans as he drags himself off the bed. “Seriously? What’s wrong with silver?”

“Tigerlily will scold you if she sees those roots showing,” you say as you guide him toward the bathroom. “And it’s not a crime to look your best at your daughter’s wedding.”

He mutters under his breath but follows you anyway. Minutes later, he’s seated on a stool by the sink, a towel draped around his shoulders as you brush the dark dye through his hair with careful hands. “This feels like punishment,” he mumbles.

You nudge his forehead. “Stop moving.”

He grumbles but stays still. The silence settles in comfortably between you, only broken by the soft sound of the brush through his hair and the tap dripping behind the sink. After a while, the dye sets, and you gently guide his head back over the sink to wash it out. Water flows over his scalp as your fingers move through his hair, rinsing with care. His voice comes low, soft under the rush of water.

“I still can’t believe our little girl is getting married tomorrow,” he says, his gaze distant as it rests on the ceiling. “I feel like I blinked and she grew up.”

You pause for a moment, then resume gently rinsing. “She’s still our little girl, Chris.”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “But I missed so much. And now I feel like I’m scrambling to catch up.”

You turn off the water and begin patting his hair dry with a fresh towel, eyes on your hands as he keeps speaking.

“I didn’t always get things right,” he admits. “There are a lot of things I’d do differently now.”

You look down at him—his head still leaned against the edge of the sink, eyes searching yours with something unspoken swimming just beneath the surface. Regret. Grief. Maybe love. You feel your chest pull tight, so you look away before it reaches too far inside you. “What matters is you’re here now,” you say softly, tucking the towel around his shoulders. “That’s what she’ll remember.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks up at you with a kind of quiet intensity that makes your breath catch. You clear your throat and gently step back.

“Dry your hair. Don’t stay up too late.”

He’s still watching you, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

You stop in the doorway and glance back at him, one hand on the frame. “Goodnight, Chris.”

“Goodnight,” he replies, voice low but warm, towel in hand, heart in his eyes.

You slip out of the room, closing the door gently behind you, the silence folding around you like the echoes of something once familiar.

-

The late afternoon sun dips low in the sky, casting a golden glow across the garden as soft chatter floats through the air. The scent of fresh roses and blooming lavender perfumes the breeze, and strings of fairy lights hang from the trees, gently swaying. Everything feels like a dream, a romantic still frame of the perfect moment. You sit on your seat on the bride’s side, nestled between rows of white chairs, surrounded by family and friends dressed in soft pastels and summer suits. The aisle is a winding path lined with petals, leading toward a floral arch that frames the altar, and beyond it, the endless sky.

Julian stands at the front, fidgeting with his cufflinks and taking anxious glances down the aisle. He looks more nervous than you’ve ever seen him, his mouth pressing into a tight line as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

Beside him is Hyunjin, the best man, looking entirely too composed in his sleek black tuxedo. The sunlight catching on his cheekbones like it’s trying to show off for him. He catches your gaze and grins, eyes sparkling.

“You look beautiful,” he mouths, followed by a playful wink.

You feel your cheeks warm as you shake your head at him with a smile, mouthing “Behave.”

Then the music shifts. The gentle notes of the string quartet swell as the bride chorus begins to play. Everyone rises from their chairs. You stand too, breath caught in your throat, eyes fixed on the archway at the start of the aisle.

And then she appears. Tigerlily. Your baby girl. She walks out slowly holding a bouquet of Tiger Lilies, her arm tucked into Chris’, the train of her dress sweeping across the grass. The sunlight catches on the delicate beading of her gown, making her shimmer like something out of a fairytale. Her face is radiant, cheeks flushed, eyes glistening with emotion. You almost lose it. You feel tears prick your eyes, the kind that tug at your soul and make your heart swell with pride and nostalgia all at once.

Chris walks beside her, steady but quiet. His smile is soft, but you know him too well—you see the storm behind his eyes. You know it’s taking everything in him not to crumble. He looks like he’s walking her toward the end of something, not the beginning. Like letting her go is breaking him in the most quiet, graceful way.

They reach the front. Chris lifts her veil and kisses her forehead, saying something that makes her smile through her tears. Then, with a deep breath, he takes her hand and places it in Julian’s. You watch that exchange, your heart clenched and full.

Chris walks over to you and takes the seat beside you. He doesn’t say anything at first, just exhales like he’s been holding his breath the entire walk. “She looked like you,” he whispers, voice low and full of everything he’s feeling.

You smile through your tears. “No. She looked like her own.”

And together, you both turn your eyes toward the altar, watching as your daughter—glowing, loved, fearless—stands at the beginning of her forever.

The ceremony unfolds like a dream under the soft golden hour light, with the gentle rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of birds punctuating the vows. Julian’s voice wavers slightly as he speaks his promises, and Tigerlily’s hand trembles in his—but she’s glowing, absolutely glowing. And when it’s her turn to speak, her words are steady and full of warmth, brimming with all the love she’s always carried in her heart.

You catch Hyunjin stealing a glance at you from across the aisle, and your heart stumbles a little. He doesn't smile this time—not fully. His gaze is calm and steady, almost reverent. Like he's seeing not just you, but the idea of forever with you. Like this moment, this ceremony, is a mirror of something he imagines for the two of you someday.

You glance down, the thought so sudden and visceral that it lodges itself deep in your chest. When you look up again, he’s still watching you. Still quietly imagining that future. But then your attention shifts—to your right, where Chris is sitting still, his hands folded tightly in his lap. His jaw is clenched, eyes glassy, blinking fast to fight the tears. You nudge him lightly with your elbow and lean in.

“You’re crying,” you whisper, teasing gently.

“I’m not,” he mutters, voice thick.

You smile at him, your heart aching in the softest way. You reach out your hand, palm up, inviting. He hesitates for a second. Then takes it. And just like that—your hand in his, Tigerlily’s laughter ringing through the garden as she slides a ring onto Julian’s finger, and Hyunjin's eyes still quietly resting on you across the aisle—it feels like everything has aligned. The past, the present, and the future, all suspended in this one, perfect moment.

Chris squeezes your hand once, tightly, and doesn’t let go until the officiant finally announces: “You may now kiss the bride.”

The guests erupt into applause and joyful cheers, but you stay there, sitting side by side with Chris, hands linked. And somewhere in the space between it all, you find peace. And hope. And the fragile, blooming warmth of something just beginning.

-

The sky has shifted into deep lavender, strings of fairy lights twinkling above the garden as the celebration comes alive with soft music, clinking glasses, and laughter echoing between tables. Tigerlily and Julian share their first dance beneath the glowing canopy, their movements slow and tender, like time has slowed just for them. You watch them with your hand over your heart, your emotions still tangled between pride and awe and that bittersweet ache of letting go.

As their dance ends and the applause fades, you feel a familiar hand reach for yours. Chris gives you a little smirk, bowing with exaggerated flair. “May I have this dance?”

You roll your eyes but slip your hand into his anyway. “You may.”

He leads you onto the dance floor as another slow song begins, his hand settling naturally at your waist, your other hand clasped in his. The rhythm is familiar. Easy.

“She really went and married him,” Chris says after a beat, watching Tigerlily and Julian mingling through the crowd.

“She really did,” you say, smiling.

He sighs dramatically. “Still can’t believe that kid had the nerve to steal my little girl from me.”

You laugh, full and bright. “Chris, she’s not ten anymore.”

“She’s still my baby.”

“She still is. Just… someone else’s baby now too,” you tease, giving his shoulder a little squeeze.

He shakes his head like he can’t stand it, and you soften your smile. “You should move on already.”

“Oh yeah?” he challenges.

You tilt your chin and gesture across the dance floor to where Riley is laughing with Maude, her whole face lit up. “You’ve still got one more daughter to walk down the aisle.”

Chris groans, loud and dramatic. “I’m locking her in the house. She’s never dating. Not on my watch.”

You swat his chest lightly. “Be serious!”

“I am serious.”

You pull back just enough to look him in the eyes and say, “Go ask her to dance.”

He raises a brow. “Right now?”

You give him a gentle push in Riley’s direction. “Yes. Go on, before someone else steals her first dance from you too.”

Chris grumbles, but he grins as he lets you go and heads toward Riley. You watch as she lights up, surprised and a little embarrassed, but delighted all the same as Chris bows again and takes her hand like he did yours. You're smiling as you watch Chris spin Riley into a laugh, the two of them dancing under the soft garden lights like time had rewound just for them. But then—

Strong, familiar arms slide around your waist from behind, and before you can turn, Hyunjin’s voice hums by your ear, low and mischievous. “Excuse me,” he murmurs, “but I believe it’s my turn.”

You barely have time to catch your breath before he spins you into the middle of the dance floor with a dramatic twirl. You laugh, the sound spilling from your chest like it’s made of air and starlight. “Hyunjin—!”

“Shhh,” he grins, pulling you in until your body fits perfectly against his. His hand holds yours firmly, his other palm resting warmly on your lower back. “Let me have this.”

You feel his breath brush your cheek as he leans in, nose nearly touching yours. “I want to kiss you.”

You dart your eyes around, heart hammering. “Not here. Not in front of everyone.”

His lips brush against your temple instead, soft and electric. “When can I kiss you then?” he murmurs into your skin, voice playful but laced with heat.

You fight your smile and reply with a teasing lilt, “Well... Not now.”

Hyunjin chuckles, and with a wink, he twirls you again, the hem of your dress fluttering like petals in bloom. When you spin back into his arms, he pulls you even closer—so close that your chest presses flush to his, your breath caught somewhere between your ribs and his heartbeat. “I’m done waiting,” he whispers against your ear, his voice deep and full of longing. “Come with me.”

Before you can answer, his fingers lace through yours tightly, and he tugs you gently away from the celebration. Past the tables, past the strings of lights, past the slow dancing and laughter. Into the quiet, into the night, into something only the two of you can name.

-

The laughter and clinking of glasses fade into a distant hum as Hyunjin leads you between the tall, leafy hedges lining the garden's edge. The lights from the celebration barely reach this far, just a soft golden spill through the leaves as if the night itself is conspiring to give the two of you this moment.

And then he’s on you. His lips crash into yours like he’s been holding back all evening. Hands cradling your face, he kisses you again and again—urgent, breathless, hungry. Only when your hand comes up to rest against his chest, a gentle push for air, does he finally pull away, panting softly as his lips trail down to your neck. He kisses along your pulse, over the delicate skin just under your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Hyunjin,” you murmur, breath catching.

He finally stops, brushing a few strands of hair from your face as he cups your jaw with both hands. His eyes are crinkled with a soft smile, tender and dizzyingly full of emotion. “The next wedding,” he says quietly, “is going to be ours.”

You freeze for a beat, heart leaping and stumbling all at once. “Hyunjin…”

“You must think that I’m like most guys who dates for fun, huh?” he asks gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I don’t do that. I’m dating you because I want to be with you. I want… this. You. Forever.” His voice isn’t rushed. It’s not pleading. It’s just steady, like it’s the most obvious truth he’s ever said.

You feel a mix of things rise up in you—warmth, affection, fear, disbelief. The way he says it, so certain, so casually serious—it makes your chest tighten. “We agreed to take it slow,” you remind him softly, not out of rejection, but to anchor the moment.

“I know,” he whispers, his thumb now gliding over your lower lip. He leans in and kisses you—just a featherlight touch. “And I will. I’ll wait as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

Another kiss follows, this one deeper, slower, like a vow made without words. When he pulls back, he grins with a twinkle in his eye and murmurs, “But… maybe don’t take too long. I’m dying to see you in a wedding dress.”

You roll your eyes with a breathless laugh, shoving lightly at his chest. “Hyunjin…”

He smiles, presses one last kiss to your forehead, and whispers, “I mean it.”

Hidden within the tall shrubbery, Hyunjin crashes his lips on yours again, slower this time—his lips moving with a kind of reverence that makes your chest ache. You sink into him, your hands curling into the lapels of his suit as his arms wrap tightly around your waist, anchoring you to him like he can’t bear to let go. His kiss deepens, coaxing soft sighs from you, and you feel his fingers sliding into your hair, cradling the back of your head as if the world outside this hidden place doesn’t exist.

And then you hear the crowd erupts into cheers, and from the distance, a familiar sound blares through the night air—the unmistakable opening chords of a Bang Theory classic.

You freeze against Hyunjin’s mouth. He stills too, forehead pressing lightly to yours. “Is that…” he breathes, blinking in disbelief.

“Yup. That’s Chris and his band.” You laugh under your breath and grab Hyunjin’s hand. “Come on.”

He doesn’t hesitate, just lets out a chuckle and runs with you. The two of you tumble out from the hedges like teenagers sneaking out of detention, laughter bubbling between you as you dash back toward the celebration. Lights twinkle overhead, the night air is pulsing with music and nostalgia, and your heart pounds—not just from the running but from the moment you just shared, and the one you’re about to run into.

As you round the corner and reenter the garden’s glow, the music is in full swing, and there he is—Chris on stage, guitar slung over his shoulder, grinning like the rockstar he once was and always will be.

Hyunjin leans in close as you both slow down and catch your breath, his hand still wrapped around yours. “I can’t believe your ex-husband is literally the entertainment,” he says, wide-eyed.

You nudge his side, laughing. “Welcome to my life.”

-

The garden is alive with music, lights twinkling like stars overhead, and the unmistakable sound of The Bang Theory floods the air—loud, raw, and full of heart. People are on their feet, clapping and dancing, and you’re still catching your breath when you spot her—Tigerlily, radiant even under the stage lights, her veil slightly askew as she laughs with Julian by her side.

You weave through the crowd and reach for her hand. “Come on!”

She looks at you, confused for a beat, but then you’re both swept into the music, jumping and dancing like you used to in the side of the stage when she was still small enough to ride your hip. Chris stands center stage, belting out the lyrics with the same fire he had back in the day, but his eyes? They’re all on Tigerlily.

It hits you like a wave. You remember those afternoons when Tigerlily was still tiny, running around barefoot on studio floors while the guys messed with chords and amps—Chris tuning his guitar while she banged on the nearest drum like she belonged there. She did belong there. That loud music, that messy chaos—it was the soundtrack of her childhood. And now here she is, in a wedding dress, jumping and dancing to her father’s band like she used to before she even knew what weddings were.

You and Tigerlily scream the chorus together, laughter spilling out of both of you, your hands joined as you spin her around. Chris catches the moment from the stage—his grin faltering just enough for a shimmer of emotion to shine through before he launches into the next verse like the proudest dad in the world as Tigerlily dances to the soundtrack of her childhood on the very night she’s stepping into her future.

The music is pulsing through the garden like electricity, laughter and cheers erupting louder with each beat, and Chris is thriving in it—completely overtaken by the high of the moment. He’s grinning ear to ear, sweat glistening on his forehead as he shreds through the final chords, nodding his head in rhythm, his whole body moving like he’s twenty-five again and headlining a stadium.

“This one’s for you, my little cub, my Tigerlily!” he shouts into the mic, pointing directly at her with a wild gleam in his eyes.

The crowd erupts. Tigerlily throws her arms up, shouting back, “I love you, Dad!”

And that’s when Chris—caught in the euphoria, lost to the beat and the cheers—does the unthinkable. He backs up two steps, pumps his arms like a stage diver prepping for flight, and with the agility of a man who should not be this agile anymore, he launches himself forward into a full somersault on stage. Gasps ripple through the crowd. Time slows. He flips. He rotates. He almost nails it—

But then, his boot catches something—maybe a coiled cable, maybe the corner of a pedal—and the landing doesn’t come. Not properly.

There’s a loud, crack of his foot slipping. A snap of something else. His arms flail mid-air.

And then—

THUD.

Chris faceplants off the stage with a dramatic, unforgiving crash. The mic hits the ground with a screech. His leg still tangled in the cable. A drink spills nearby. The music cuts out mid-note. The garden is dead silent. Everyone freezes. Mouths open. Eyes wide. And Chris… doesn’t move.

-

The sky starts turning that lazy shade of early evening gold when you pull up to the driveway. The tires crunch softly against the gravel and when the engine cuts off, silence settles for a beat before your phone starts ringing. You grab it from the passenger seat without even checking—some habits are muscle memory by now.

“Hi, Mom,” Tigerlily chirps, her voice crackling slightly through the speaker. “Just landed. It’s sunny. I can smell coconuts.”

You smile as you push open the car door and sling your bag over your shoulder. “You two made it?”

“Mhm. Luggage in tow, no delays, miracle. What about you? What are you up to?”

“Just got back from driving Riley to the airport,” you say, juggling the keys as you step onto your porch. The lock clicks under your hand. “She couldn't stop thanking me for the dress.”

“That’s good,” Tigerlily says. “How’s Dad?”

You step inside the house, voice softening as your eyes land on him right where you left him—stretched across the sofa, casted leg propped stiffly on a pillow, laptop on his lap, the crutches standing by next to the sofa. He’s scowling at the screen, probably editing something with the same intensity he once reserved for writing songs about heartbreak.

“He’s fine,” you say as you shut the door behind you. “Still alive. Still... working.”

Tigerlily hums. “I’m not that worried. He’s with you.”

You pause for half a second, just long enough to let that sink in before you shake your head and move toward the kitchen. “Don’t start. Just enjoy your honeymoon.”

“Okay, okay. Love you and send my love to dad. Bye!”

“Love you, cub,” you murmur before the call drops.

You fill a glass of water at the sink, and behind you, you hear the faint shuffle of headphones coming off. “Hey,” Chris calls, voice hoarse like he hasn’t spoken all day. “How was Riley?”

“She’s good. Boarded safe,” you say, turning with the glass in hand. “Oh, and Tigerlily sends her love.”

You lean against the counter. He looks at you from the couch, hair a little messy, turning curly from the humidity. The house is quiet in a way it hasn’t been for days. You take a sip of water, your eyes meeting his across the space.

“So, Chris,” you say, tilting your head. “What do you wanna do now that it’s just the two of us?”

-

✨ Evermore: Chapter II is available on my Patreon ✨

Please support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

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[destinationtoast]

Hello! I keep hearing that fandom culture has changed, and there are less comments now than there were years ago. Have you noticed this in your analysis? Is the percentage of comments being left today lower than before?

Hey! Thanks for the question -- it prompted me to start collecting data about comments (after procrastinating on it for a while, because I had to write new code to gather comment data). I've also seen other discussions from folks also thinking about how to do this kind of analysis (like in the fandom data projects community) -- hopefully we'll end up with multiple people attacking this from different angles and getting a variety of data about comments!

I'll give a sneak preview that partially addresses your question and contains some good news. If we look at the fraction of AO3 works that get at least one comment (focusing just on one-shots for now), I think things have gotten better over the past decade on AO3*:

In other words, it tentatively looks like more works were getting at least one comment in 2024 than in 2014 (for a variety of time periods). One caveat, though -- if a bunch of works with no comments got deleted in the interim, there will be survivor bias here. I'll try to look into that possibility later. Another caveat: this is based on only like ~100 randomly selected works from each year -- this may all change with more data!

Another interesting tidbit: I still see some of the 2014 works getting comments. In fact, ~30% of works have gotten new comments over 5 years after they were posted, and it looks like ~10% of one-shots posted back in Mar 2014 got a new comment in 10 years later, in 2024.

I'm still doing other analyses; there may be other factors that better match with the discourse around how comment culture has changed. It could be that comment activity peters out faster now than it did back then, for instance. Or the total number of comments left on the popular works is less now than it was back then (though my current methods may not be able to capture that). Edit thanks to quick eagle-eyed readers: it's likely that some of what people are thinking about is ratio of comments to hits -- that is hard to compare in 2014 to 2024, because we don't know which hits came from which years. But I am working on some analyses along those lines. :)

If you have other hypotheses about what's changed in commenting culture, feel free to share! I'll look into what I can.

Some methodology notes:

*I've been tackling this by comparing AO3 one-shots posted in early 2014 to one-shots posted in 2024, and comparing activity in the days/weeks/months immediately after the works were posted. (To start with, I'm only scraping the first page of comments for each work -- meaning the first 20 comment threads -- so there are lots of comments I'm potentially missing for the really popular works. But for many works, this captures all the comments, and I think it may be sufficient for a lot of the analyses I am interested in.)

I'm choosing to focus on 2014 vs. 2024 because 2024 is close to now (but it's been long enough for comments to have settled down a bit), and 2014 was well after AO3 was established (thus it was already a pretty lively time on AO3). I don't want to collect data about every single year because it's too time intensive/too hard on AO3's servers. But if people think that I should be looking at different years, I'm interested in feedback.

Because it's only been ~10 months since March 2024, I am limiting a lot of my analyses to only look at commenting activity the first ~10 months after works were posted in both cases.

[silverzoomies]

Turkish Delight

peter maximoff x reader smut

chapter 2: holding out for a hero

link to chapter 1: here

warnings: shameless smut, porn with (slight) plot, mutual masturbation, best friends, dirty talk, kissing, risky sex, teasing, play fighting

word count: 5568

a/n: took me months to get this one done, but it's finally here !! hope it was worth the wait. i'm so freakin' nervous about it, i think i'll explode. thanks for bein' so patient !!💗again, if any russian dialogue needs correcting, lemme know please !! thank you !!

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Peter didn’t want his best pal thinking he’s a total horndog or anything. Contrary to popular belief, he was capable of restraint. Sometimes. But this raging hard-on couldn’t wait. 

And he promised he’d keep you warm, didn’t he? Like you said over the phone…it was cold out today. For all Peter knew, you were freezing your nips off. Alone in bed without a buddy. What kinda selfless superhero would he be - if he didn’t come to your aid when you obviously needed him most?

On the other end of the phone line, emptiness droned for seconds too long. You didn’t get a moment to marvel in the afterglow of orgasmic delight. Instead, anxiety boiled fiercely in the pit of your belly. Between your quivering legs, your own heat left you aching for something more. You sat up quickly in bed. Under the familiar weight of Peter’s jacket, your body burned like hellfire.

Carding your fingers through your bedhead, catching soft hairs under your nails; you spoke into the receiver.

“Peter?” Your voice wavered. More seconds passed in buzzing silence. You waited a moment longer. But only empty static answered your pleas, “Listen, dude, I’m really sorry if I made things awkwa-”

Dammit all. Peter meant to show up a lot sooner.

But he needed to dress himself first, of course. Since he couldn’t exactly go for a quick run across the sea in his boxers. Peter then found the Sokovian pop-up shop that sold your favorite Turkish delights - unfortunately - moved somewhere else. Bummer. Just his luck. Searching for the shop added an extra half-second to Peter’s spontaneous trip.

Which wouldn’t be all that bad. If not for the embarrassing fact that he tripped on his way back.

Into the ocean.

Yeah. By some impossible feat - a record breaking level of stupidity, Peter wiped out. He fell below water and made friends with a colossal tuna fish in the process. Somehow, he spared the Turkish delights any damage. And bidding his newfound, fishy pal farewell, Peter rushed home. Reeking of the ocean, he showered and threw on some fresh clothes.

After a century and a half, he arrived at your window. Realistically, the trip took only twenty seconds tops. And sure - maybe speeding around the globe in only twenty ticks might seem fast to…well…literally anyone else. But to Peter? Quicksilver himself?

C'mon…that's slow on a slow day.

A strong whoosh of wind swept your window, followed by a loud rattle. As if a ginormous bird flew head first into the glass. You parted your lips to scream. But if this were a race - your shriek vs Quicksilver speed - Peter had you beat by a thousand microseconds.

Time moved at a crawl all around him. Slipping in through the window, he stopped at the foot of your bed with a small box tucked under his arm. Whistling along to the tune in his earphones, he tilted his head to the side. Peter's lethargic gaze took a venturous journey across the length of your body. Up and down. Shamelessly. Several times over.

Okay, maybe about thirty four times. But who's counting?

Whoa, baby. Talk about a sight to behold. Curvaceous. So smooth. Nestled in your birthday suit post orgasm. Never before seen by the likes of a certain, silver comrade.

Peter's whistling veered off into stunned silence.

You. Buck naked. In his jacket. After a naughty jam session over the phone. He might need to go a few rounds in the madhouse.

Your pretty legs were stretched out, as you laid all cozy-like in bed. His heavy jacket draped your frame. Swallowing you in its heat, the silver garment kept your tits hidden from view. Even now, those beauties remained a mystery. The suspense made his crotch feel hot. Dragging his eyes down your tummy, Peter stopped at the dip between your legs.

Au naturel.

Sometime during his ocean getaway; he lost the boner that led him to you in the first place. But now, naturally, his dick twitched to hardness. Peter's coffee bean eyes widened. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Jeez…c'mon, guy! Just cool your jets. Take it easy.

He drew in a slow breath. Peter climbed over top of you as time finally caught up with him. With a knee resting between your legs, he loomed from above and clamped a hand over your mouth. Your scream ate his dust in a race against time, muffled under his palm.

His sudden appearance brought along a cool breeze. Chilly air welcomed its bite into your room. With only his jacket to keep you warm, you shivered. Aha! Just as he thought. You were freezing your nips off. Good thing Peter had the foresight to come by and help you out. Lest you freeze to death.

And wouldn't that put a damper on this unexpectedly great day? Your safety was of uber importance. Most definitely the primo reason for his visit. Even if the stiff tent in his jeans told a different story.

Peter's familiar eyes glistened, pupils blown with lustful anticipation. Silver strands of his hair fell over his brows. He kept his hand sealed over your mouth. Bringing his other hand up, he made a frantic shushing gesture. You furrowed your brows, yelping a muffled - Peebur??

“Hey! Hey! Hey! Shhhhh! It's cool, babe! It's…look, it's just me.” He whispered.

Pulling his hand from your mouth, Peter sat upright over your legs. His denim-clad knee nudged the drapery of your sex. Its heat was impossible to miss. But he forced himself to focus on your cute face instead.

“S'up. Uh, how's it goin’? Wow. Phew. Some wicked hot phone call that was, amiright?” Peter sheepishly chuckled.

“You little-” You playfully swatted him, smacking Peter on the arm.

Feelin’ feisty today, are we? The shock of his BNE must've unlocked some hidden strength inside you. After a few weak blows, one of your hits landed with accidental force. Peter winced, rubbing his arm as he hissed through his teeth.

“Ow!? Jeez! Touchy touchy!” He complained, holding his whisper, “Расслабься (relax)! Take it easy, babe!”

“Sorry! I'm sorry! But you scared the shit out of me! I almost peed myself!”

You leered your pretty eyes up at him. He cheesed a grin, leaning over you on all fours. Peter teased your pussy with his knee, barely inching forward. Your lingering arousal stained the denim there. A husky laugh bubbled low in his throat.

“Ohhhhh…is that why you're so wet?”

You squealed and smacked him on the arm again. Okay. He deserved that one, for sure. Peter almost felt bad for making you shit bricks. Still, he couldn't help but laugh. The scrunchy look of frustration on your face made him snort. He covered his mouth to conceal it, but his dimples ultimately gave him away.

“Don't laugh at me! I thought some creep broke in or something!” You huffed.

“I'm sorry! I just can't take you seriously when you're lookin’ pissed off like that. It's…it's cute, okay?"

“You're such a jackass.”

Peter hummed, lips pursed and contemplative.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

He shrugged, pulling a pink box from behind his back. A silver string decorated the box, tied in a sloppy bow. Grinning, Peter let his eyes fall half lidded. He slowly blinked. Even with his libido cranked up to eleven, he appeared unfazed as ever. Characteristically aloof.

“But this jackass brought you Turkish delights…so…”

For a fraction of a second, an electrifying flash sparkled in your gaze.

You rolled your eyes promptly after, “You’re sweet. But my family’s home.” You warned. Peter frowned, tipping his head back with an indignant groan, “Peter, I’m serious! We really can’t-”

He tore open the box, pushing a powdery candy past your lips. The sweet treat melted over your tongue and coated your taste buds in its fragrance. A joyous smile reclaimed your lips. Totally worth Peter’s accidental, oceanic wipe out. He chuckled again, popping a candy into his mouth before tossing the box away somewhere.

“Fiiiinnnnnne. I guess you found my only weakness. That’s heavenly.” Your voice stayed hushed as you spoke. Peter’s eyes flicked down to your lips, drawn to the pinch of powdered sugar left there, “But I’m not kidding, dude. If anyone catches you like this-”

Burdened with speedster impatience, Peter cut you off again. This time, not with a heavenly treat - but with an unexpected kiss. It happened on impulse, so careless and without a lick of hesitation. You squeaked into his lips, your eyes widening and quickly fluttering shut. Peter’s lips curved against yours in a victory smirk, the moment he realized you gave in.

The natural chemistry between you both flickered, igniting like a hot spark. That is, if the spark were an awkward display of experimental nuzzling. Magnetized to your soft lips, he almost fought the urge to part. His nose brushed your skin as he went for your neck. Peter covered your flesh in mouthy smooches. And when he got a little too greedy, he nibbled instead.

“Mmmmm…d’ywanna…y’know…” Peter rolled his hips into yours, nudging you with his bulge. Raising his head from your neck with a sloppy sound, his silver brows darted up and down - up and down. Playfully allusive. The tips of his fingers drew light lines down your belly, “‘Cuz I was really into the way you were talkin’ back there. All that freaky stuff you said about my fingers. And my speed. And my, uh…”

What a supreme understatement. Apparently, you were capable of spouting some outrageously juicy stuff. Even Peter didn't have the nutsack to repeat those words out loud.

“Peter…”

“Please? C'mon, I can be sooo quick about it, babe. You know me! Speed's the name of the game.”

Whatever happened to that frisky courage you had before? You weren't getting cold feet on him already, were you?

Your tiny hands rested on his broad shoulders, fingers curling into his grey flannel. Shifting your gaze bashfully, you chewed your lip. In reality, you didn't expect Peter to show up like this unprompted. Especially not with your family at home. There was a strong chance they'd catch you two in the act any moment. And the prospect of that freaked you out way more than banging your bestie.

Best case scenario; he would've been patient enough to wait for you. You'd drive to his place and meet him in his (mom's) basement. Where he'd quickly fuck your brains out to the tune of whatever song he left playing. You'd play some Mario Kart afterwards. And thanks to his ravenous libido, he'd drill you dumb again. And later, maybe even a third time.

Of course, the fact that you expected Peter Maximoff to be patient at all was entirely your fault. Right after you got him horny on the promise of pussy? Nah. Hindsight's twenty/twenty when your best friend's a hot-blooded speedster.

Since you took too long to give him an answer, Peter’s attention fixed elsewhere. He let his eyes dance all across your body again. Scanning every inch of smooth, visible skin and following silver creases in the jacket you wore. Until something lying by your side caught his eye. A small, bundled up wad of baby pink cloth.

Oh, helllllooooooooo. What’s this?

You were struck with a beat of realization, but had no time to react. Peter plucked your panties into his grasp. And judging by the mortified look on your face, followed by a petrified peep - yeah, he totally scored. Big time. What a steal! Your damp panties dangled from his fingers, and Peter’s brows rose under his bangs.

“Dude, wait! I can explain-”

“Ah. Black lace, huh?” He smirked.

Ты маленькая грязная лгунья (You dirty little liar)! Your panties looked nothing like you described over the phone. Baby pink. Lined with girly frills. Peppered in a pattern of cutesy, rubber duckies. Kind of adorable, in truth. But majorly humiliating for you. Peter’s grin turned even more impish, highlighting his dimples yet again. He snickered, waving the evidence of your naughty deception in front of you. Teasingly, he nudged his knee closer into your sex, making your breath hitch.

“L-Listen, in my defense, I didn’t think you’d find rubber duckies all that sexy.” You clarified, like a total lame-O.

Without thinking, he brought your panties to his nose. Peter’s hooded eyes fluttered and rolled back. He hummed something like a low growl. All devilish and, as per usual, carrying zero shame.

The apples of your cheeks burned exceptionally hotter, “Seriously?” You mumbled through a barely audible exhale of breath.

Nope. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t taking any of this seriously.

“And to think, I was totally honest with you about my Star Wars socks.” Peter clicked his tongue, shaking his head, “Were you pullin’ my leg when you said they were hot? You deceiver. You’re really breakin’ my heart, y’know?”

Adorable, the way you crossed your arms and puffed your cheeks. You blinked, and your panties vanished out of thin air. Almost like a magic trick. And if you thought Peter tossed them away, you were naive for assuming so. But, hey…would you mind at all? If you knew he stuffed them into his back pocket for safe keeping?

No? Cool. Finders keepers.

“Noooo! I wasn’t lying. They were totally hot. Actually…I couldn’t stop thinking about how sexy you’d look in them.” You teased, obviously full of shit. Peter rolled his eyes. But as you giggled and tilted your head down; you flitted your lashes and gave him a babydoll look. With the addition of a tempting lip bite, no less, “Wanna take those pants off and show me? You said you’d be quick, right?”

There it was. Your freaky confidence made a brief, cameo appearance. Peter's blood took a downward jump at light speed. His dick pulsed eagerly in his boxers. Flirty passes coming from you seemed to rewire his brain chemistry in a big way. He knitted his lips to the side, scratching the back of his neck.

“Can’t.”

“Awww…why not, huh? Are you embarrassed? You know you don't have to be. Not around me.” You cooed, and the sweet, caring nature of your voice made him blush.

“Nah. I know. It’s not that. It's just…they kinda got soaked?”

“They got…what? How does that even happen?”

Cradling his face in your palm, you urged him to meet your eyes. To tell you the ridiculous story he hadn't planned on telling you until, well…after you both boned. The sweet scent of your pussy on your fingers kept him distracted. An instinctive shudder raced through his body. Peter pressed a kiss to your palm once, twice, thrice. Just for good measure. 

His cheeks pinkened further, “Eh, I might've wiped out on the way here. Took a quick swim in the Atlantic. I met a super sized tuna fish and everything. Called him Quint. You've seen Jaws, right?”

What the hell was he on about now?? Peter caught himself before he got any further off track.

“Uh, anyways, whatevs. No biggie. At least it wasn't a jumbo sized shark ‘er anything. Pffbbttt.” 

“So, you're telling me…you were so eager to get laid; you tripped on water? You big doofus.”

You snickered so hard, you snorted. Cute. Peter sighed. Grinning crookedly, he brought his hand to yours over his cheek. He guided your hand lower and took you on a short journey. The destination? Boner city. You felt his thick bulge in your tiny palm. Trailing a few teasing nibbles up your neck, Peter's heated chuckles turned your skin to gooseflesh.

“Har. Har. Har. Laugh it up, why don't you? Lil miss rubber duckies.”

Peter rolled his hips down into your hand, once more alluding to his pent-up frustration. You’d taken so long to give him the green light; Peter could’ve raced overseas again, nearly drowned, and returned - ten times over. Again, you parted your lips to (probably) protest. And again, Peter cut you off with another feverish kiss. His sizable hands pulled your legs further apart. You mewled softly against his lips, as his knee kept teasing your cunt.

“Доверься мне (Trust me). D’you trust me?” He mumbled.

You answered with even sloppier tongue action, catching him off guard. Peter never thought he’d kiss your velvet lips like this. Relishing every second. Your nails scraped the back of his neck, triggering something primal inside him. With your other hand, you felt his dick twitch in his jeans. He trembled, whining into your mouth and pushing himself closer. His kisses delved deeper, his tongue catching the flavor of that Turkish delight.

“Ты такой сладкий (You’re so sweet)...”

“Ohmygod.” You whined. Whispers of breathy moans laced through your kisses like threads, “I’m sorry, but that’s so hot. Keep talking like that? Please?”

As you giggled, looking a little shy; Peter laughed. While your kisses were more of a soft and delicate variety; his were firm, but quick. Anticipating the next several, before they even happened.

“Is it? You really think so? Mmm…dunno if I believe you. Обманщик (Deceiver). You lyin’ again? ‘Cuz if you are...I have ways of findin' out…”

His big hands wandered, moving in a rush. As much as he wanted to spend the next eternity blowing your mind with righteous foreplay; Peter needed to speed things along. He kissed your neck, teeth nipping your skin - because for some reason, with you, he was just so...bitey. Further down, he parted the jacket you wore, revealing your tits in full. Perfect and supple. Outrageously bitchin’. Even prettier than whatever he imagined over the phone.

“Наконец (Finally)...” He mumbled, mostly to himself.

Peter squeezed the fullness of your breasts in his hands, thumbs rolling your nipples. His swollen lips enveloped one of your tits like a hungry man starved. Carelessly swirling his tongue, he sucked your stiff nub hard. A boob-induced haze clouded his prior sense of urgency. You ran a hand through his hair and tugged him back with a gentle jerk. Peter’s voice broke in a low whine. His tongue chased your poor, sore nipple again.

“Подожди (Wait)! Waiiit…’m not done…” He buried his face lazily between your breasts and took a moment to inhale. Before motorboating your rockin’ titties. Peter groaned like he’d never get enough. As he pulled back, he giggled like a dork, “Hohhh…I seriously think I might be in love with these things.”

Exchanging hot breaths and hushed chuckles, you both explored each other's bodies with your hands. Peter’s sneakers scraped the sheets of your bed, knocking your blankets to the floor. While you took initiative with his zipper, his fingers trailed under your navel. The tips of his digits teased your pretty slit. At last. Peter felt for himself, how much of a soaked mess you were over his two-tongued dirty talk.

“Fuuuck, you weren't messin’ with me, were you, принцесса (princess)?”

Parting your slick lips, he sank two digits into your quivering heat. Your plush pussy welcomed his fingers with sweltering tears of gratitude. Wet as fuuuuuuck. His fat thumb teased your clit. Expertly fondling your helpless, little bud. You froze just as you pulled his jeans apart. A dangerous squeal threatened to echo through your room. But you swallowed it, squeezing your eyes shut. 

“Черт возьми (Damn it)...sucks I gotta rush this…” Peter huffed, plunging his digits deeper, “Really wanna take my time for once…”

You blindly felt for his bulge with clumsy hands. After giving his hard-on a loving squeeze, you tugged the front of his boxers down. As soon as his leaky cock bobbed in the open, you grabbed and held on tight. A quick glance downward, and you admired the shape and size of him. Girthy in your palm. Smooth, veiny, and pulsing as you tugged him. 

And while you may have told a few little, white lies over the phone. Peter most definitely didn't. His thick cock turned an almost lilac hue at the head, the more you teased him. Peter shivered, bunching his shoulders and arching his back. You stroked him for a beat more. Until he guided you elsewhere, lining his dick where you both urgently wanted him to be. Barely nudging his tip into your weepy slit, he flitted his hooded gaze up to meet yours.

“You good? ‘M not gonna hold back, if you-”

The carefree banter between the two of you never ceased. Despite any nervousness, you gave him a coy smile. Lips pouty and eyes lookin' lusty. You ghosted his lips with a teasing whisper.

"Peter, babe, Please. You are soooooo slow. Just go for it, yeah? You need me to beg?"

His eyes widened, and he cheesed another goofy grin, "Actually, yeah, that'd be awesome."

Giggling sweetly, you swallowed your nerves, finding that courage buried deep within.

"Come on, Quickie. Fuck me, please?"

Peter felt his dick spasm, leaking from the tip, spilling over your pearly clit.

“Shhhhh. Relaaax. I got this, babe. I got it. Just…”

His eyes dropped to your cunt, watching as he sheathed his needy cock in your fluttery slit. Peter's mouth fell open, brows curling inward. He bottomed out with a generous swing of his hips, and your snug, sticky heat made way for his visit. But not without the tiniest hint of resistance.

Breathlessly, he mumbled, “...just…oh…oh, you're tighter than I…thought…fuck. That's...”

Steamy gasps filtered your room, replacing erotic moans that didn’t dare slip. Sharing endless kisses, the two of you bumped noses and whirled your tongues. Making the most fun you could out of so little time. And as teasing playfulness intensified, consuming you both in awesome exhilaration; neither one of you could resist getting handsy. Touching all over. Squeezing. Feeling everything that was way out of bounds just a few hours prior. Peter rocked in and out of you fast enough to make your bed knock against the wall.

“Not too fast! Not too-” You mewled, your hands rubbing his shoulders, nails clawing down his chest over his shirt, "Fuck, the bed. Don't-"

“Shhh. Shhhh. Okay, baby. I gotcha. I-” Peter snickered, his troublemaker giggles quickly obscured by winded moans, “Ебать (Fuck)…” He whined, slowing the motion of his thrusts. Soaking in the fuzzy sensation of your spongy, wet heat cuddling his cock, “Ощущается так хорошо (Feels so good).”

Burying his reddened face in your titties, he squeezed one of those beauties in his hand. Watching in a trance, as they bounced in time with every push and drag of his cock. A lil too enthralled, Peter got ahead of even himself. He recklessly rolled you over. Hoping to see your tits go jiggle jiggle jiggle from another perspective. Until…

Peter brought you down to the floor with him by accident. Oof, he was all kinds of clumsy today, huh? Landing flat on his back with a thunderous thud, he sat up on his elbows. He gaped up at you with a dazed look, ogling the way your tits bunched and squished over his chest. Nipples so perky and brushing his shirt fabric. Oh, yeah. He was hella smitten with those puppies.

“Shit!” You cursed under your breath.

Peter blinked himself out of his second booby haze of the evening. On quivering knees, you tried to find your balance. After you both took a rough tumble to the floor, his cock unsheathed itself from your cozy heat. Throbbing and slick, Peter’s dick bounced. Eager to fuck you senseless again.

“Простите (sorry)! Sorry! You okay, babe?” Peter whispered, settling his warm palms over your ass.

An ass which he hadn’t taken the time to really feel yet. And no surprise, your plump cheeks were just as bodacious as the rest of you. He palmed and squeezed them, getting his fill while he still had the chance.

“I’m okay! Are you?” You chewed your lip again, tilting your head to the side. Giving Peter that same kittenish, doe-like look, ‘M gonna get in sooooo much trouble because of you, Pietro.”

Well…when you said it like that; slurred and giggly, drunk on the filthy thrill of everything so him. Peter chose to ignore whatever risks seemed to weigh on the back of your mind. Rolling the two of you over once more, he held his dick by the shaft and slipped inside your cunt. That familiar, comfy warmth welcomed him in again. He whispered your name, embellished with his natural accent.

And just as Peter set course to give you a good drilling; at your door, the knob jiggled. Pulling you out of euphoric stasis instantaneously. The two of you stilled, eyes wide, glancing between each other and to the door. Back and forth. Back and forth. Upon finding your door locked, mystery whoever on the other side knocked instead.

“Hey, are you alright? What was that noise I heard? Did you fall?” Mystery voice called from the void.

And what a golden - or silver, rather - opportunity they presented. Peter blinked, leering intensely down at your stunned face. His eyes gleamed mischievous lust. Within the embrace of your luscious walls, his cock twitched with interest. The length pulsed upward into pillowy heat.

A subtle nod to a fun, little scheme he quickly cooked up.

But he needed something to drown out the soon-to-be sound of speedy hanky panky. With a careful movement, Peter brought a hand to the Walkman clipped loosely on his jeans. Having memorized the buttons, he knew how to work it by muscle memory.

Loosening the earphone jack, his thick fingers clicked - a button here, a button there. And voilà. Bonnie Tyler's Holding Out for a Hero began to play. Ah, yeah. The good ol' Footloose soundtrack. He'd now dub it the soundtrack to your first, shared romp together. Which was kinda fitting. Before he showed up, you were technically holdin' out for a hero. Your eyes flicked to the source of the music, then back up to him. You gave him a ‘what the fuck are you doing’ kinda look.

Peter bit his lip, the corners of his grin curling into a diabolical smirk. As your brows knitted in suspicion; he rolled his hips sloooooowly back. You shook your head silently. Retracting his cock halfway, he took less than a millisecond to launch his hardness into your cervix. The motion knocked the wind from your chest. Covering your mouth, head thrown back; you scratched your nails into the carpet.

He arched a brow. One of his hands darted to your wrist, tugging in an attempt to unseal your mouth. Even with his dick buried deep in your insides, weakening your defenses; you fought back. You jerked away, which only encouraged him more. Peter bit his tongue to hold back a snicker. A few feisty slaps on your end, and you both fell into a play fighting frenzy. Your overstimulated cunt rippled around his dick, as he pinned your wrists to the floor.

Mystery voice called your name again. Their tone reflected growing concern for you. But you couldn't make out what they said over Bonnie Tyler amped up to high volume. Peter’s gaze stayed hard locked on yours. Picking up speed, pounding into you raw and rolling his cock so deep; he knitted his brows and nodded towards the door. As if to say - go on, say something already.

“I-I’m fine! I just…yeah, I, uh…I fell out of bed!” You yelled over the music. Your voice hitched, squeaking at the tailend. A scorching surge of ecstasy burst through your core. Continuously building, as Quicksilver focused entirely on rearranging your insides. It seemed impossible, but you managed to choke out,  “I’m oh-...okay now!”

“You fell? Are you sure you’re alright?” Ебена мать (Holy shit). Mystery voice refused to step down. They raised their tone to a high enough octave, you finally heard. The doorknob jiggled again, “I thought you said you were going somewhere tonight?”

“I-I am! I was!” You swallowed your whimpers, steadily losing your composure.

Growing hazier with every bold, speedy thrust; you raised your legs and locked them in a vice grip around him. Now, Peter had free reign to pound your tight channel at whatever speed struck his fancy. He knew after this - no man you slept with would ever dream of matching his god-given talent.

Hot white pulses of mind-altering pleasure rattled through your bones. Blocking out the sensation of rug burn itching your lower back. Your wrists tingled like pins and needles under Peter’s hold. At the corners of your glossy eyes, excessive pleasure made your tears drip in clots. Peter leaned in, muttering soft praises in your ear, broken only by his own whimpers.

“Хорош��я девочка. Это моя хорошая девочка (Good girl. That’s my good girl). Это слишком быстро? Слишком быстро для тебя? Хочешь, чтобы я замедлился (Is this too fast? Too fast for you? Do you want me to slow down)?”

You responded with a tightly wound, whispery little “Fuuuuuuuck!”

And mystery voice. Bless their innocent soul. They still hadn't left you to your business. It took all the willpower left simmering inside you, to finally muster the brain cell to respond.

“I have to-” A high-pitched hiccup in your breath cut you off. Another, more kittenish squeal threatened to tumble from your lips unprompted, “Hold on! I have to get dressed! I’ll be out in a sec!”

By now, you couldn’t fathom where your pleasure was even coming from. Peter made quite the first impression in the bedroom, drilling your poor pussy to numbness. A powerful wave of blissful vibrations erupted from…somewhere. It ripped through your insides like the speediest of shockwaves. Freeing your tired wrists, Peter lifted your hips. His desperate, horny instincts then took over.

The last wave of your orgasm compressed your walls, locking his dick in a slippery death grip. As you shuddered around him, making a beautiful, sticky mess of his spent hardness; he pulled out.

Caught up in the heat of the moment, his dumb sex brain told him: Dude, cum on those titties. Which he did. Acting fast, he grabbed the thick base of his cock and stroked 'til he burst.

"Oh, fuck. Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh sh-" He moaned.

With a look of lazy, fucked out awe on your face; you watched your bestie's ruddy dick pulsate. Generously decorating your soft tits in heated, white jets - along with the jacket you wore.

His jacket. And not just any old jacket. But one of his favorite jackets.

“Ебать! Ебать (Fuck! Fuck)!” He panted, swiping fresh cum - Eugh...yuck - from the jacket. His face scrunched in a grimace, “Awwww, man! Goddammit. Figures.”

Sometime later (only three minutes), you laid lazily on your back next to your bestest pal in the whole world; staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars decorating your ceiling. Outside, the evening already drove the sun into darkness. With only a sliver of orange light left in the distance, beyond your open window.

Peter already did the work, taking care of himself and speedily cleaning you up. An overall, blissful numbness pooled in your veins. You sleepily blinked, watching the stars on the ceiling quickly morph into...Peter's face? The confused expression overtaking your features seemed to put things into perspective for him. Like...shit...he really did a number on you, huh?

"You're still comin' over tonight, right?" He asked, prodding your cheek with his pointer finger, "Riiiight? I got a Gameboy waitin' for us and everything, dude."

Your lips slowly parted. But before you could mutter a single, breathless word; Peter delicately patted your cheek. In a blink, he stood to his feet and straightened himself out. Bringing his goggles down over his eyes, shimmying them into place; he threw you a casual salute.

"Awesome possum. Meetcha there."

He vanished out the window, leaving you to lie there on the floor. Naked as the day you were born, albeit bundled up in his jacket. Another thirty seconds passed in post sex-with-a-speedster bliss. 

And then, a shrill ringing dragged you back down to reality. You winced, narrowing your eyes and steadily pushing yourself to your knees. Loose, noodly limbs fumbled for the handset to your phone. It took you a few tries, scrambling to get a hold of it. Clearing your throat, you pressed the phone to your ear.

"Hello?"

"You ready yet?" Peter asked.

He lazed on the sofa in his (mom's) basement, his Garfield phone resting in his lap like a kitten having a catnap. The vibrant, orange cord curled around his finger as he absentmindedly toyed with it. Dawning a cheeky, dimple grin, Peter popped a candy into his mouth. He bounced a leg in rapid beats.

"You're kidding, right?" You chuckled, mussing your hair, completely overspent.

"Uh, no? Hurry up, will you? Don't forget my jacket. I gotta toss it in the wash. And, oh!" Peter chewed just a touch louder, smacking his lips, "Took your Turkish delights, by the by. So, if you want 'em...eh? Ehhh?" He wiggled his brows.

As you listened to Peter ramble about...whatever the hell; you searched for your panties. Checking the bed, then the floor. They were nowhere to be found. As if they seemingly disappeared, never to be seen again. You sighed, cradling the base of your phone in an arm, the handset nestled between your cheek and shoulder. 

"Hey, Peter?"

"Yeah? What's up, cutie? You headin' out?"

"Dude, where the hell are my panties?"

No answer. Nothing but an off-hook tone, droned on and on.

[marauroon]

I have a Lupin request where reader has back dimples and Remus hands rest there out of habit

Or maybe like three separate occasions, it happened something like that

Or just a really fluffy one-a shot that maybe it leads into something 🤨 but maybe kind it tv-14

𝐇𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬. (𝐫.𝐥𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐧)

remus seems to have an unconscious habit of resting his hand at your lower back. it fits perfectly.

remus lupin x gn!reader | 1.1k | fluff | masterlist.

You never really thought much about your back dimples. They were just there—small, barely noticeable, not something people commented on.

Not something you ever expected to feel self-conscious about or, on the other hand, take pride in.

But then there was Remus.

And suddenly, they were all you could think about.

—

The Gryffindor common room is too loud, filled with the frenzied energy of students cramming for N.E.W.T.s. The library, while quieter, isn’t much better—every available table is occupied by students murmuring spells under their breath, scribbling furiously on parchment, or flipping through textbooks with the kind of desperation that only comes from impending exams.

You manage to find a space at the farthest end of the library, tucked away in a dusty corner where the lamps are dimmer, and the smell of old parchment and ink is stronger.

It’s peaceful here, quieter than the rest of the castle.

You’re halfway through a particularly dull passage in ‘Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts’ when a familiar voice murmurs near your ear.

“Mind if I sit?”

You glance up to see Remus standing there, looking exhausted but offering you a small, tired smile. His tie is loosened slightly, the sleeves of his jumper pushed up to his elbows, revealing ink-stained fingers.

You nod, shifting your things to make space.

For a while, it’s just the two of you, working in silence. Occasionally, Remus scratches something onto his parchment, his quill moving in quick, deliberate strokes. You try to focus, but it’s difficult.

His presence is calming, but distracting in a way you don’t quite understand.

At some point, you shift in your chair, stretching slightly to ease the stiffness in your spine. It’s then that you feel it—the lightest touch at the small of your back.

You freeze. It’s barely there, just the faintest brush of fingertips against fabric. A fleeting moment.

Before you can turn around, the warmth disappears.

“Sorry,” Remus murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes don’t leave his book, and his expression is carefully neutral.

You blink, shaking your head slightly. “It’s fine,”

And it is. Probably just an accident, a brief lapse in awareness. His hands must have drifted when he adjusted his position, or maybe he was reaching for something.

That’s what you tell yourself, at least.

But for the rest of the study session, you can’t stop thinking about it.

—

It’s freezing.

You hadn’t planned on being here, honestly—Quidditch has never been your thing. But James had insisted—“It’s Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, you *have* to come!”—and Lily had promised hot chocolate afterward, so you found yourself bundled up in too many layers, squeezed into the stands alongside your friends.

The match is intense if the way Peter’s shouting is anything to go by, flinching every time a bludger comes too close.

Remus is beside you, watching the game with quiet interest. He isn’t loud like Peter or grinning like Dorcas, but his gaze follows the players carefully, taking in every movement.

You shift slightly, adjusting your scarf around your neck. The cold wind bites at your skin, and you shiver involuntarily.

And then it happens.

One arm slips around your waist—steady, grounding. The other hand finds its place at the small of your back, thumb sliding into that tiny duvet beside your spine.

It’s warm. Even through the layers of your coat and jumper, his touch lingers, seeping into your skin.

You glance at him, but he doesn’t seem to realize what he’s done. His focus is still on the game, his expression unchanged. His thumb moves absently, brushing against the fabric of your jumper in slow, thoughtless circles.

For a moment, you let yourself believe it’s intentional.

But then he seems to catch himself. His hand slips away just as naturally as it had found its place, returning to his lap as if it had never been there at all.

And yet, the warmth stays with you.

—

The fire in the Gryffindor common room crackles low in the hearth, casting a golden glow over the worn furniture and scattered books.

Most students have gone to bed, leaving only a few stragglers, their heads bent over last-minute assignments.

You’re one of them.

Your Charms essay sits half-finished in front of you, but your quill is still, your mind too sluggish to focus. You rub at your tired eyes, exhaling slowly.

You don’t even hear Remus approach until he’s beside you.

“You’re still up?” His voice is soft, amused.

You hum in response, too tired to form proper words.

A quiet chuckle, and then—there it is again.

His hand.

Warm. Steady. Placed so naturally at the small of your back that it feels like it belongs there.

And this time, he doesn’t move away.

Instead, his thumb brushes over the spot in slow, absentminded circles. It’s soothing, grounding. He’s done this before—so many times now that it shouldn’t make your stomach flip the way it does. But it does.

And for the first time, you lean into it.

It’s subtle. Barely noticeable. But you feel the way his fingers press just a bit more firmly in response, the way his breath catches for half a second before he schools his expression.

The fire crackles, and the room is quiet except for the occasional rustle of parchment from across the room.

You turn your head slightly, looking at him through the dim light. “You do that a lot, you know,”

His brows furrow slightly. “Do what?”

You shift just enough to make him aware of where his hand is resting. His lips part slightly, realisation flickering across his face.

“Oh,” he says. And then, more quietly, “I guess I do,”

You could make a joke. You could tease him, brush it off, pretend it’s nothing. But you don’t want to.

Instead, you let yourself lean into him, just a little, and say, “I don’t mind,”

Remus swallows, his fingers flexing against your back. His voice, when he speaks, is softer than before.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I don’t think I want to stop,”

You smile. “I was hoping you’d say that,”

And just like that, something shifts. Something small, but important. Something that feels a lot like the beginning of something new.

[wisteriaiswriting]

Wait a funny idea but, femboy reader who ends in Heaven and Adam hitting on him, and reader is like 🧍my brother in christ i am a MAN what are you on vs Adam absolutely flabbergasted going 🫵🤨 what are YOU on. I guess more like crack being taken seriously?

Yours truly,

🖍

ℕ𝕠𝕥 𝕎𝕙𝕠 𝕐𝕠𝕦 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕜 𝕀 𝔸𝕞

Words: 144

It wasn’t uncommon for Adam to hit on any new soul that arrives in heaven, but it was the fact he mainly flirted with the women. So when you arrived St. Peter threw him a weird look, one he didn’t catch.

“Hey Cutie~” He was leaning against a nearby wall with such a smug smile, likely thinking he’ll be able to sleep with you. But even if you've been here for less than a day, word travels quickly.

He was a womanizer, and you weren’t a woman. When his first attempts didn’t work he tried just a little harder, which didn’t make a difference.

“You realize I’m a guy, right?”

“Wha– huh!?” His eyes widened, probably scanning over you. “But you dress like that?”

Hands pointing all over your outfit before looking back towards a masked angel.

“Eh, you’re still hot so I’ll fuck.”

[honestsycrets]

enfócate | tutor!miguel o'hara x reader

❛ pairing | tutor!miguel x student!reader, fake boyfriend!peter x reader

❛ type | explicit

❛ summary | jess is clear: miguel o'hara is a terrible boyfriend. he'll inevitably hurt you-- but peter has other ideas. or, you blow miguel in a library.

❛ tags | spanish tutor!miguel, bratty reader, a kiss with Peter, Miguel's jealousy, bjs, fake boyfriend!peter, slight obsessive qualities, fuck buddies, undefined relationships, fuck boy Miguel.

❛ reqs fulfilled | see here.

❛ sy's notes | the pov on this piece bothers me, it jumps between reader and Miguel. however, i did write two separate pieces for this request (a combined 25 pages vs my usual 11/12). so, i decided to meld them together to create this piece. anywho, if it bothers you, i understand! ❤️ I yoinked a lot of the Spanish from my Spanish learners textbook, hopefully, it's acceptable.

He knew he wanted you from the first day he saw you in the tea cafe. 

Jess and he rarely visited the tea shop. It was settled on the edge of campus. Close to the social sciences and arts, but far from the work he did in the Genetics department. As a Ph.D. student, however, not all the work was done in the lab. Jess liked to see the different types of people that came to this tea cafe, where the chair cushions were fluffy emerald pillows and plants hovered overhead.

“Miguel? What's---” 

You stood apart from the other students with their sloppy, half-cropped, or frumpy appearances, there was a particular care you took to dressing. It was the embroidered bow in your hair that drew his attention. When you left to fetch a refill of chai, he noticed the soft, frilled socks in tiny ankle boots. He just knew you would taste sweet, leering as he watched you at the drink bar. Jess glanced in your direction, the way you adorably bowed your head after the tea artist gave you your drink, and just knew. Jess looked over her shoulder. 

“Not her.”

Jess’s voice was a drawn-out sigh of your name, punctuated by her fist beating the table. Miguel perked at the mention of your name. Oh, so she knew you. She was probably sick of his shit. Good, he was also sick of being used as a vibe check for the lesbians she wanted to pick up.

“Don’t you have enough side pieces?” 

Miguel didn’t respond. 

“She probably has a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Look who she's with.” 

That finally got a response. 

“You don’t know that,” he kept his eyes straight ahead. You caught him staring, wiggling your little fingers in a hello as you sat at a table. "I want her."

You sat with an incredibly frumpy, annoying photography student who once took his picture for the lab website. Could he be… his attention wavered when you pulled out a book: Español para el siglo. His lips quivered into a wildly sardonic grin. Oh no, no no. It was too easy. 

“You’ll ruin her. She’s too innocent.” 

He leaned in. 

“Are you going to help me or not?” 

“Buenas tardes,” 

Two chairs and a thin desk. The small study room was more of a glorified broom closet for its students. You were lucky that there was a large window that looked out over the student union, flowers blooming up its brick siding. Bits of lush dark green ivy poked into the window’s view from the library’s tall wall. As the sun set on campus, rich orange and pink settled over the sunset on that warm Friday afternoon. At least the sight was pretty for how overwhelmingly small the space was.

It wasn’t the space that bothered you. It was your tutor.

He was big-- big big. Not just a little big, but really big. The kind of big that was on bodybuilding competitions. It made his long, blue-grey muscle shirt and grey sweats look tiny, sucked to his well-pumped muscle. The room felt a lot smaller as you looked at him, his long brown hair whipped back over his neck. His eyebrows raised on his dark forehead, arms turning one over another, a bundle of muscle.

“Ah... you're him? The man from the tea shop.” 

He pulled free his sunglasses and set them down. His warm chocolate eyes glanced from the edge of your now too-short skirt to the glint of a dagger necklace that beat between your breasts. He’s staring. Why is he staring-- you finger the dagger between your thumb and index fingers, soothing yourself with the manipulation.

“Miguel.” He warmed, pulling the seat out beside him. His voice was buttery and smooth, almost like rich caramel. The lilt in his voice lightened, inviting you to take a seat by him. You should. You thought. Sit down. “Siéntate." 

You stared.

"I said sit down.” 

That was a bad idea. You paused, slipping the bag down from under your shoulder and onto the beige tile by the door. Miguel watched every slight movement. That’s fine. It’s natural to do that. You tugged the bottom of your skirt and took a seat beside him. Miguel pushed the chair back in, pushing your chest to the edge of the desk space. Oh-- oh boy, he was strong. Of course, he was, he was built like a-- 

“Bueno. Now you're settled. How can I help you?” 

Do that again.

“Me? Oh! I... Jess said you could help me need to pass a test,” you murmured. The four semesters of Spanish seemed relatively easy compared to being stuffed next to this Adonis in this tiny study room. Your legs settled over your skirt, hands working over one another to will down the pulse of your wily excitement. What was wrong with you? “To pass my language requirement.” 

You should have been able to do that alone but-- let’s say you weren’t the most applied to the language in your childhood. A tutor was a great alternative to embarrassment and thousands of dollars in classes. If only he didn’t look like… this. His large hand left the pasty back of your chair.

“Hm,” he paused. “¿Puedes hablar español?” 

“Sí,” you murmured. “My mami was-- well, I should have listened to her.” 

Hm. 

You want to know what Hm means. Your leg tremored on its own accord. He swept a leather bag by his side up and pulled out a thick folder, running across several tabs. Lab notes, diet plans, pruebas. 

“It happens,” he notes, sliding a page free. “Let’s see how much you know, princesa.” 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to know more, to hear the hum of Spanish bouncing off his lips. It was a world apart from your mother’s shrill screams on Saturday mornings to clean an already clean house. It held its own beauty and mystery when he spoke it. You took the page from him, setting it down on the bland tablespace by your phone, lighting up with a notification.

Jess When you meet Miguel, don’t do it.

"¿Princesa?" you asked.

"You dress like one. Don’t worry if you fail,” you plucked out a pink mechanical pencil, complete with little animated characters tightened around the wrapping. You perked at his words, choking a small smile. “I expect you to.” 

Why was he like this? You took another unfortunate look at him, his large forearm plastered over the desk, making the book he had to look like peanuts in comparison. God, he was hot-- you felt comparatively hideous, drooling over a man that was out of your league. Maybe he could be your piece of eye candy this year. Your phone buzzed along the table again. Miguel’s eyes shot to it, a frown pulling at his lips. 

Jess Don’t fuck him. He can’t keep his dick to himself.

He reaches over, flipping your phone down with an overworked smile sundering his expression. It’s almost fake. 

“Are you…” you turned your eyes to the questions on the page. “A student?” 

“Grad student,” Miguel answered. So, older than you then. “I graduated with a BA in Spanish and a BS in Genetics.” 

“Oh! A dual degree?” The man couldn’t be normal. He had to do both. “Did it… take a while?”

“No, it was accelerated.” 

He was unreal. There was no way this man was ordinary. It was physically impossible for the man to be that hot and successful. You scribbled across the page, nipping the back of your pencil at particularly hard questions.

“So you just do this for… a living?” you asked him. 

“I teach and train clients, yes.”

“Train?” 

“Gym,” Miguel set his cheek on his fist.

“I do cardio with Jess. No strength training for me.” Jess-- who suggested Miguel to you. You had some shit to bitch at her about the next time you saw her. Namely, why she didn’t warn you about Miguel. He was a boon for chaos in your life.

“I’d waste your time. I’m all marshmallow,” you pat your soft belly. “All pan dulce and burros.” 

He chuckled. 

“You have a beautiful body.” 

And that was that. You set the pencil down on a page half full of answers, glancing toward his full lips. They were quirked into an arrogant smirk. He knew the effect he had on women. He glanced to the page, then to you, his lips growing into a smile laden with arrogance. 

“Your hips--” he glanced down, “My girls couldn’t pay to get them.” 

He noticed. You supposed that the miniskirt wasn’t the best choice for meeting a new man.

“Do you talk to everyone like this?”

“No. Only the ones that look at me like you did." 

Oh. 

 If it were a game of whom ate whom up first, you had to be honest-- it may have been you. You couldn’t shoot anything back at that, angling your head down at the page guiltily. A sigh fell from his chest. His large hand came to the back of your head, cupping the thick bow on the back of your head. His fingers ran across the silk, teasing it between his fingers.

“Calm down, you’re not the first one to do it. You won't be the last,” he turned your head to look at him, large fingers combing through the strands of your hair. He chased the panic in your wide eyes, doe eyes blown wide. Your heartbeat soared into your chest, choking you there, looking for an outlet from your shame. 

“Breathe for me,” he leaned in, his warm breath tingling your ear. His cologne was clean, like the lapse of the waves on the shore back home where the tropical heat was a second skin. You listened, taking a weary, deep breath in, then out again. Again. 

“Go on.” His knuckles rapped on the sheet. Miguel’s hand fell away. You found yourself longing for it again. 

“He’s gorgeous.” 

“I told you not to fuck him," your superior, Jess said, her feet bouncing off the stairstepper effortlessly.

“I didn't-- I just, he called me beautiful.” 

“He would call anyone beautiful if it meant fucking them. Don’t fall for it.” 

You knew Jess wouldn’t say it unless she were serious. She always knew what you needed help with, where to locate a good solution, and had the right words to calm you down.

“How?” you said, louder than you intended. You were suddenly thankful for the pounding music that beat down on your ears in your school’s gym and the rush of people that came and went. “Jess, you’re a lesbian. You don’t understand-- he’s thick. Like, he’s luchador status big. Big, big.” 

“I’ve dated some thick women.” 

“And he likes me,” you said pointedly, rushing to the topmost step, remembering his words. The way he calmed you down from your embarrassment, seeming without concern for his own body. It was… sweet. “Men usually don’t like me, Jess. I’m too… soft.” 

“Okay, girl, whatever,” you were pretty sure she rolled her eyes. “Unless you’re going to be another one of his fuck toys, just ignore him.”  

“How?”

Her stare trained on the floors lapsed. Thirty and she was still going. “If you don’t want him, just fire him. What’s going to do? Come find you?” 

You stopped for the entirety of five… or ten seconds. Enough to consider her words. Enough to quite literally get plop off the stair stepper and onto the cold floor. Jess exhaled a stale breath, reaching over to jam the STOP button on your machine. Ow.

“Good job.” 

Miguel likes to tutor you. Not because you’re good at Spanish, no, for a girl that grew up with a Spanish mother, your skills are quite poor. But he likes the opportunity to have you in a room all by yourself, late at night. Wednesdays are great days for that. 

Your soft buttercup yellow dress is short today, exposing your thick thighs that take up so much of the chair. He pretends that he’s listening as you go over a list of irregular verbs, your lip pouting in response to the irregular verbs. Some were simple in their familiarity like poder with endings such as pudiste; but the plurals and other irregular verbs, you pouted at. It was cute. 

“Miggy, it’s not funny, ” Oh, nicknames now. Miguel throws a glance at your glossy lips, undoubtedly sticky but oh so soft looking. 

“I never said it was.” 

“You’re smirking.” 

“Then don’t whine,” he said. “It’s cute.” 

“Oh--” As to be expected, you shifted your hands between your legs, drawing your skirt in between your legs. He faltered and took a glance, coasting his eye over its edges and memorizing the way it fell over your skin. You’ll ruin her, he remembers Jess saying. She wasn’t wrong, he sensed the bit of it now, how close you sat-- 

“Take a break, princesa. Vocabulary-- ascendencia.” 

Rather than take a break, you turned and caught the corner of his lips in what was a terrible, cherry-red kiss that would stain his skin. But the connection of your lips, puckered in a pouting kiss on his skin, caught him off guard. 

“Descent,” you took his red pen out of his loose grip, scribbling descent by the word. Fuck. Miguel took a sip of now cold coffee. A smile kept pulling at his cheeks, looking out of the window and catching the slight reflection of your lipstick smeared across his lip and cheek, he bobs his head into a nod.

“Correcto.” 

You’re with Peter the first time you see Miguel with another woman. 

It’s at lunch. Tuesdays and Thursdays are regularly spent running to the College of Arts, waiting for Peter to get out, and a picnic. Today, you forgot to bring lunch, running off to the union hand wrapped around his elbow as he talked to you about a bright new camera lens filter.

“These new pictures are going to come out perfect! Thanks for lending me the money,” he beamed. You loved the way he talked about his art-- stopping to show you his newest pictures of the camera that hung around his neck. Peter was always good with a camera, catching you in all the prettiest angles in your trade of photos for… sponsoring a lens or whatever. Or, at least, bringing down the cost. “Look at this one. Look how pretty you look in that dress, kinda like a pin-up! We should do some’a those next.” 

Feet thumping over the pavement, you failed to sense Miguel's presence until you smelled his peppery cologne carried on the air. There, on a bench, he sat next to a girl. She was pretty, with long dark hair and soft skin. Her hand was on his thigh and his arm around her shoulder, eating the last bit of a flaky empanada-- your eyes burned, the closeness of her head on his shoulder, clearly done and finished, waiting for whatever next plan he had. You don’t want to know what that could be.

“Huh? Oh. hi Miguel!” Peter waved to your dismay. You held onto him a little tighter, wringing circles around his sleeve. Miguel spares you two a glance, his eyebrows pushing together. But he waves, lazy and short. You stifle the hot prick of tears at the corner of your eyes and yank Peter away. “Wha-- I’m coming, I’m coming!"

Days later, Peter has a plan.

“I’ve got it-- the solution to your tea guy problem! You should have told me sooner that it was Miguel.” 

Peter was very excited. Why, you weren’t sure. He liked to feel helpful. That’s why he was a photographer. Photography lets others feel beautiful and seen. He picked at your lunch, his head flopped on your thigh as he worked through his camera. 

“I’ll be your boyfriend!”

“You want to be my boyfriend?” you offered him a grape. He opened his mouth with an adorable ‘ah’ of his his lips. You slipped the grape between his lips. He chewed appreciatively. “I don’t know, Peter. Isn’t it lying?” 

“C’mon, I know Miguel. He’s macho. The kind of guy you have to make jealous. And I can do it! I’m boyfriend material. Aren’t I?”

“Sí. But I don’t think I can make him jealous.” 

It was a sunshiney day, sprawled out at lunch on a cool picnic blanket, tracing the clouds when you heard his voice. Soft, smooth, inviting. Your head spun around, this time with a lean blonde-haired girl-- her legs were long, tummy nice and flat, blue eyes shining like little sapphires set in her pale face. She swooned on his arm. The perfect sorority princess. What if he called her princesa, too?

“--close lab with me--” 

“I can do it myself.” 

Miguel’s eyes caught yours, raising his hand lazily to greet you as he walked down the sidewalk, undoubtedly back to his genetics lab on the other side of campus. Over where brilliant boys and girls and theys were, rushing through accelerated scientific programs while you figured out how to fix broken artifacts. He lived in another impossible world. A realm far away from Peter and you: photography and the maintenance of culture and art.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Peter's eyes were glossy with concern. “It’s okay. We don’t have to-- did I say something wrong?” 

You shook your head. Peter sat up, his eyes bounced up-- from Miguel over his shoulder to your sudden sad eyes. Peter set his hand on your cheek, the fibers of his soft pink cardigan tickling your jaw. Your eyes tore from Miguel, whose pace became sluggish as if steps along took immense effort. Peter’s nose bumped against yours, clumsy and oh so Peterish-- his hand on the middle of your back, his warm but cracked lips swallowing the gasp that tumbled from your lips. He tasted of sweet fruit, the sloppy lunch you shared, and a silly comfort. 

He watching? Peter murmured against your lips. 

You nearly forgot to return the kiss, captured in the way Miguel stared-- something in his warm brown eyes was almost wounded. Peter shoved you onto the picnic blanket, a soft sorry murmured under his breath as his thin frame fell between your legs. Miguel stomped away, his bumbling blonde rushing to keep up. 

“Oh yeah,” Peter rolled over onto his back, crossing his legs one over another. You watched Miguel stomp past the tall hedges, out of your line of sight. “He’s gonna be mad at you.” 

“Peter!” 

Miguel was still in a bad mood hours later. 

“¡Qué surpresa!” he murmured, offering you your paper blotted with red circles. “You did remarkably shit on this test. Do you focus on anything? Or just Peter?” 

“Perdona me.” Your focus was shot with his consistent presence in your life. Not that he could appreciate that. 

“How long are you going to keep wasting my time?” 

“Are you talking about the Spanish or--”

Miguel set the red pen down, a sharp slam snapping the pen under his force. The fragile plastic snapped into shards of plastic. He flicked it away, paper and pen both, his large hand flexing in and out of a closed fist. You traced the tracks of his veins along his forearm.

“Are you mad that I kissed you?” 

“Stop.”

“Or are you angry that Peter did?” 

 “Don’t touch me.” 

Though he said that, you didn’t listen. You slid out of the chair and in between his spread legs, your hands trailing his handsome jawline. He jerked back when your lips caught his, the legs of his chair hitting the wall. Though he said no, his mouth opened to your kiss, and his palms flushed against your soft cheeks. You pinned him between your body and the wall-- and though you were sure he’d quickly whirl you off if he really wanted to, he didn’t. His tongue pushed into your mouth, owning yours. His hands skimmed your back, trailing lower and lower down your deep red dress until he connected with your ass. 

“You need to stop.” Miguel broke from his kiss. Though he said that, he brought you onto his lap. You felt little in his large arms, his hands guiding your hips over his crotch. “Before I do something you’ll regret.”

You listened to the sounds of the library’s floor. The scrunch of take out into the trash, the sing of a door opening and closing. It was dinner time. Most everyone had gone to get their snacks— and here you were, looking down at Miguel with rapt eyes. 

“Peter is just a friend.” 

“A friend who happens to jam his tongue down your throat,” he turned the word over on his tongue and found offense in it. “Now why do I doubt that?” 

“He only wanted to help.”

“By kissing you?” 

Your fingers trailed his jaw, dipping back down for another kiss if only to say you could. That Miguel couldn’t tell you what to do. A sound of frustration ripped up his throat. You felt him, his dick twitching to life behind those sweatpants. He felt big. You bit your lower lip— a movement that didn’t escape his attentive eyes. 

“By making you as jealous,” You slid off his lap and onto the dirty floor. But as you lifted a hand, cupping his dick through the heavy fabric, he couldn’t bear to stop you. 

His lips pulled in a wicked grin, your soft palm stroking along his length. He hooked his thumbs into his sweats, yanking them down over his knees and onto the floor. His cock kissed his belly, straining with droplets of moisture at the tip. Miguel set his hand on your shoulder and forced you to heel on the floor. His temperament evened out. “You were jealous.” 

“Yes--” you murmured. “Are.. those girls, are they special?” 

“Special? No, none of them are.” 

“I want to be.” 

“That so?” Your soft hands trailed along the dark hair on his calves, up his thighs, settling your nose where his muscular hand tightened around the root. He wrenched his swarthy hand along his length, drawing along his veiny cock shamelessly. "Let's see how much you do, princesa."

“Please.”

“Aquí se habla español.” Miguel teased. Your fingers dipped down, small tickles of your fingertips as his heavy balls. He watched you massage them with half-lidded eyes, his lips pursing in a pleased hum. 

“Por favor.” 

“Abre,” you did, sliding your soft mouth open, a well of saliva on your tongue. Miguel slid himself into your warm mouth, a ruptured groan fizzing in his chest. You didn’t want to be too loud— someone might look into the small window on the door, and see you on your knees between Miguel’s thick legs, sucking his cock down when you should be going over that test you just failed. 

You caught the salty beads at Miguel’s top on your tongue, sliding sloppily around his thick head, and lapping at his slit for more. Your soft hands stroked along his length, clumsy and shy. He hummed in approval, a sound you were more than thankful to elicit. Miguel took a fist full of your hair and drove himself into your mouth, your tongue stroking the underside of his length. 

“Pero mira esto,” Miguel wrenched his head in your hair, grabbing handfuls of it in his palm. “You can focus on something. Sucking my dick.”

Even if you wanted to look up, Miguel drove your head down onto his dick, the dark, trimmed tuft of his pubic hair tickling your nose. He drew his hips back. You nearly pulled off him, if not for his hand assuring that you wouldn’t move off of it. Drool coursed down from your lips, soaking your chin and neck, connecting to his cock as if it were a spiderweb. Your cheeks flushed with blood— you must have looked a mess. 

“Coño," Miguel tutted with his tongue, grasping his phone. Your lips pursed around his tip, eyes flickering up to catch the lens of his phone camera on your ruined face. A picture or a video, you weren’t entirely sure. Only that it sent thumps of pleasure down your core to know he wanted to record it, keep it close. You suckled along his sensitive head, working his moans free. He set his phone aside. 

Miguel stood and dragged your head along with him to pin you between the ledge of the desk space and his wonderful hips. His hands slipped behind your head, keeping you still and steady, driving himself deep into your mouth. Past your tongue, down your throat, it felt like he hit parts of you that you could only dream of. You struggled with his size, choking the urge to swallow him when he forced you to hold him there. As if your throat was just a hole for his pleasure. Your sad attempt to suckle him down was tempered by the rocking of his hips, his needy face fucking. Your eyes screwed shut, bits of color dancing behind your eyes, the easiest way to deal with this was to focus— on the way he tasted, the scent of his fresh body wash, the light judder of his hips as he came close. 

"Hah-- ay, qué rico," his nails scraped the back of your neck, sloppy and undefined thrusts filling your throat. He spurts thick ropes of his cum down your throat and mouth, withdrawing to jerk the last bursts of his cum over your lips. Miguel’s breath fell from his lips in heavy gulps, meeting yours down on your aching knees. Strings of coughed-up cum connected your sodden lips to his cock, globs of his seed slipping between your breasts. You ached. 

“Tate quieta.” 

You don’t know where you’d go, your palms catching yourself on the floor. He snapped another photo, humming appreciatively. Miguel reached into his gym bag, pulling a sweaty shirt free. Your fingers dipped into his warm cum that spattered across your warm chest, drawing it to your lips. He tasted salty, tangy, and just right.

"You look so-- so beautiful, princesa, just perfect," Miguel bent down, wiping the rest of his mess from your chest and face, gently stroking away all evidence of your face fucking before cleaning his cock and tucking himself away into his sweatpants. He chucked the t-shirt back into his bag, glazing his eyes over your hazy, exhausted eyes. He crouched down. 

“Rule one, I never share my women,” he settled his knuckle under your chin, urging you to look him in the eyes. Something told him you wouldn't be as easy as the others, but for some reason, he shrugged the thought aside. “As long as I'm fucking you, you date no one but me. If I find out you are, we're done. Am I clear?”

He was a walking red flag. But for once, in your good girl life, you wanted that. You wanted to fuck in the library-- against the genetics building late at night-- to kiss him during a sunny picnic. More than you wanted a lot of things. His eyes went soft with your answer. 

“Claro que sí, Miggy.”

He loves it when he gets what he wants.

[twilightkitkat]

Masterlist

This is a master list that contains links to all of my more substantial pieces of writing. All of my original writing (including those not listed here) will be tagged with #kitkat so that it can be filtered. All of my responses to questions are tagged with #asks. Feel free to send in asks or requests for stories you'd like me to write or ideas you have, and I'll try my best to respond and write something you'd enjoy. I'm challenging myself to post something substantial every day to break from my habit of being a fandom lurker and shift into a more active role.

---

Tags:

💛= fluff

🖤= angst

❤️= romantic

💚= platonic

---

Marvel

Poolverine

Stories/Fics

What if Logan from Another Universe Meets Wade?

Part 1 ❤️🖤

Part 2 ❤️🖤

Part 3 ❤️🖤

Part 4 ❤️🖤

What if Wade only opened up around Logan (and Logan fucked it up)?

Part 1 ❤️🖤

What if Logan wanted nothing to do with this world's X-men because he's happy with Wade?

Part 1 ❤️💛🖤

Mini-fics/Headcanons

Kitty Kat Logan ❤️💛

Vanessa's Reaction to Logan ❤️🖤

Wade and Logan as a Comedy Duo ❤️💛

Logan's Thermoregulation ❤️💛🖤

Wade's Plot Awareness ❤️🖤

Peter and Poolverine Sickfic ❤️🖤

Poolverine Necklace ❤️💛

Poolverine Relationship with Food ❤️💛🖤

OG X-men Reaction to Poolverine ❤️💛🖤

If Wade Became Spiderman (Literally)❤️💛🖤

Children from X-mansion Reaction to Logan ❤️💚🖤

Poolverine Swapping Identities for Halloween ❤️💛

Logan's Feral Eating Habits ❤️💛

Poolverine Time Travel Au ❤️💛

Logan Jealousy ❤️💛🖤

Poolverine Holding Hands ❤️💛

Logan's reaction to Origins!Wade ❤️🖤

Character/Relationship Studies

This Logan and This Wade ❤️💚

"Deadpool And Wolverine" The Title ❤️💚

Logan and Wade's Emotional Openness ❤️🖤

Poolverine Love Interest Trope Subversion ❤️

Deadpool's Regenerative Abilities ❤️💚🖤

Worst Wolverine Exhaustion ❤️💚🖤

Logan and Wade Attachment Styles ❤️💚🖤

Logan and Wade's "Good Person" Complex ❤️💚🖤

Poolverine Asymptote Parallels ❤️💚

Why Logan is the "Worst Wolverine" ❤️💚🖤

X Reader vs Poolverine ❤️

[msmk11]

Congratulations: You Like James Potter

James Potter x fem!reader

Word count: 4k

CW: Idiots in love, kissing, unbearable fluff

Summary: Clothes are a game changer when it comes to feelings. Who would've thought?

A/n: Happy Wednesday everyone! I hope you are having a lovely week. Currently I am in the midst of finals week, so I am stressing! That's why I pulled this out of my drive instead of writing something new. I hope you enjoy my loves :)

The cold stone of the dorm seeps through your socks as you pace back and forth across the width of the room. Although you love Hogwarts, winters are never kind inside a large castle with no insulation.

Usually when this happens, you go roast in front of the fire or take a long, hot shower. However, seeing that you have plans to go to the Gryffindor vs. Slytherin game in ten minutes with Lily, Dorcas, Remus, and Peter, those options are out of the question. You go and stand in front of your chest again, looking at the various sweaters and sweatshirts packed for the colder weather. Despite having so many options, none look warm enough, or let’s be honest, cute enough, to wear to the game today. As you stare at your trunk with a sigh, you hear the door to your room open behind you. 

“Are you almost ready to go?” You hear Lily ask.

You turn to her with a glum look on your face, “Not yet. I don’t know what to wear!”

She comes to stand beside you, “Babe, wear one of the many sweatshirts you have sitting in your trunk.”

“But none of them feel right!” You whine. 

“Then take something from one of our trunks,” she suggests.

“I already looked.” You say, collapsing onto my bed. 

“Well you better figure it out in the next five minutes. If not, we’re leaving without you.”

“I know, I know. I promise I’ll make a decision.”

You hear her leave the room as the door thuds behind her. 

As you lay on your soft bed, engulfed by your comforter, you wish you could just wear it outside to the pitch. Dreaming about such a reality where that could actually happen, you realize that although you can’t carry your comforter around, you can think of something that is likely just as comfortable. One of Remus’ sweaters. You throw your shoes on and barrel down the stairs into the common area. You see your friends waiting for you.

“Are you finally ready?” Lily asks again.

“No, but go on without me. I finally figured out what I want to wear but I’ll meet you guys there,” you reply.

“Okay, we’ll save you a seat,” She says.

Once they’re out of the room, you take two steps at a time up to Remus’ room that he shares with Sirius, James, and Peter. You walk to the far right corner where his stuff is and open the trunk. The angels seem to sing from above as you feast your eyes upon the millions of big, wooly sweaters sitting before you. You see a nice brown one, something that will go perfectly with your blue jeans, and pull it on. You are instantly engulfed by the warmness and sigh with relief. You go and stand in front of the full length mirror against the wall. As you check your appearance and smooth out your hair, you see a flash of red out of the corner of your eye. The flash of red turns out to be none other than one of James Potter’s many quidditch jumpers. Slightly curious, you take the sweater off and put on the sweatshirt. You are pleasantly surprised to find that it is somehow even more comfortable than Moony’s sweater. Plus, it’s perfect to wear to the quidditch game. You go to stand in front of the mirror again and are taken aback slightly by how nicely the red pops against your skin. Satisfied with your appearance, and also feeling incredibly cozy, you rush down to the quidditch pitch, a few minutes before the game starts. You find Lily, Dorcas, Remus, and Peter in the crowd. 

“Hey,” you huff, as you sit down next to Remus.

“Hey, see you finally found something to wear,” he replies. 

“Only took her a million years,” Peter teases.

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck off,” you retort, swatting him on the back of the head.

“Hey, I thought you didn’t want to wear any of our stuff?” Lily asks.

“I’m not?” you answer, confused.

“But isn’t that Marlene’s sweatshirt?” 

“No, that’s what I’m wearing” Dorcas says, unzipping her black winter coat to reveal her girlfriend’s hoodie. 

“Then whose is that?” Lily questions. 

Before you can answer, the crowd starts cheering as both teams walk out onto the pitch. Madam Hooch’s voice bellows outward as she asks the captains to shake hands. From the Gryffindor team, James steps forward, and from Slytherin, Lucius Malfoy. The two shake hands then return to their respective teams. They kick off from the ground as the quaffle is thrown into the air and the game begins. Although you’ve seen plenty of quidditch games in your time at Hogwarts, you never cease to be amazed at the agility with which James and Marlene are able to move on their brooms and toss the quaffle between them. Likewise, you are always impressed by Sirius’ strength as a beater and his ability to aim the bludgers at other players perfectly. Within minutes, Gryffindor is winning thirty to ten. The lion’s side of the stadium is screaming as James speeds down the field, heading towards the goal posts yet again. With a quick throw, he tosses the ball through the far left hoop, scoring the team another ten points. We all cheer loudly. He looks to our section and winks, blowing a kiss to his fans. From behind you hear a few sighs and giggles. You turn to see three girls in your year, two from Ravenclaw and one from Hufflepuff, swooning over James’ flirtations. You slightly roll your eyes and huff fondly at James’ fan club. 

Your staring must not have been too discreet because a few moments later, you hear loud whispers from behind.

“And why is she wearing his sweatshirt?”

“They’re not dating are they?”

“They better not, James is mine.”

“Anyways, he could do so much better than her.”

“Yeah, she’s so ugly.”

Confused as to how they know you’re wearing James’ hoodie, you pull on the sleeve, shifting it so you can look at the back. In big, gold letters you see the word “Potter” printed across. 

You simply sigh before getting up and moving down next to Lily on the other end. 

Just as soon as you get settled, Lily turns and says to me, “Wait, turn around. Why are you wearing Potter’s sweatshirt?”

“Merlin, does everyone have a problem with it?” you ask loudly.

Dorcas, Peter, and Remus all look your way in slight surprise. 

“No, sorry. I was just wondering.” Lily answers softly.

Dorcas grabs my hand, “hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah m’fine. It’s just that those three girls,” you point to them, “are bitching about the fact that I’m wearing James’ jersey. Apparently, he’s their man, so how dare I.”

“Just ignore them,” Peter tells me. “They’re just jealous that-”

He suddenly stops, a slightly horrified look on his face.

“Jealous about what?” you implore.

“That they’re not as cool as you!” Remus interjects. 

Curious as to what Peter was going to say, but too tired to bother to ask more you simply scoff, “Right, thanks guys.”

“You know what, the cold be damned, since they’re giving you shit for wearing Potter’s hoodie, I’m gonna show mine off too.” Dorcas announces. She unzips her black jacket and sets it beside her. The bright red hoodie she has on is identical to the one I’m wearing except it says “McKinnon” in big gold letters across the back.

“Me too” Remus proudly declares, pulling off his sweater to reveal another bright red hoodie, with the word “Black” on it. 

“But since you are both dating Sirius and Marlene, won’t it make it seem more likely that I’m dating James?” you ask.

“Is that so bad?” Lily says to me.

You’re about to declare that yes, that is in fact bad, when it dawns on you, “N-no…  I guess not.”

You turn back to the game, slightly in a daze, unaware of the pointed looks shared amongst your friends.

*****

About an hour later, the game is uncomfortably close with the score being Gryffindor: one hundred and Slytherin: ninety. As you watch Marlene dart towards the hoops you hear shouts that the seekers have caught sight of the snitch. It’s a close race as flashes of green and red blur by. We cheer loudly, urging on our team. Within a minute the snitch is caught by Gryffindor. We erupt loudly, celebrating our victory. You watch as the teams land on the ground. More specifically, you watch as James jumps off his broom and runs towards his teammates. You watch the way his black hair shines against the bright sun, how his cheeks are rosy from the cold but also from the rush of winning, how even through his sweater, you can see the definition of his muscles as he lifts the seeker into the air. You begin to realize that maybe the reason you didn’t find it so bad that people thought you were James’ girlfriend was because… 

Merlin. You have feelings for James.

The world seems to go quiet for a moment, and there’s a sort of ringing in your ears, at the realization. 

“Hey! Are you coming?” Lily asks. 

You look up from your spot to see that Remus, Dorcas and Peter have disappeared down into the crowd surrounding the team and that Lily is near the edge of the bleachers, waiting to go join them. 

You shake your head, “Yeah, sorry.”

You get up and follow behind her, feeling a little queasy at the thought of seeing James up close. 

The crowd is wild as people scream congratulations at the team and hug their friends. In the middle you see James, Sirius and Marlene beaming as they eat up the attention. Marlene has her arm around Dorcas’ waist, unafraid to show off the girl she loves. Though Sirius is a loud person, he is a quiet lover and merely grips Remus’ hand beneath his sweatshirt while he talks to others. 

Lily grabs your hand and drags you towards the rest of your friends, “come on, you really are slow today.”

“W-wait Lily, no I,” but before you can resist, you’ve approached the rest of the group. Too afraid to face James first you turn and engulf Sirius in a hug, “nice work today Black! I just love to see Slytherin eat shit.”

Sirius gives you a huge grin, “what can I say, it’s one of my favorite pastimes.”

You then turn to Marlene and squeal, “Marls! You killed it out there. You and James were just so fast, I don’t know how you do it!”

“Natural talent” she brags. 

You laugh and begin to turn away when you bump right into someone’s chest. They grab your shoulders, “woah there, careful.”

You look up to see James towering above you.

“Hey, Potter” you say, your voice softening. 

“Hey, darling. Enjoy the game?” He asks, a small smile on his face.

His smile, it makes your heart melt. And the term of endearment, one he has always used, suddenly makes you flustered. You can feel the heat rushing to your cheeks. You look down at the turf to avoid his noticing and dig your shoe into the ground, “yeah, it was great! You guys did great!”

To your relief, the crowd starts to disperse and the team starts to walk towards the locker rooms. 

“Well, uh, see you in a bit. At the party sometime I suppose.” You tell him, before walking off towards the castle. 

“Yeah, see ya.” He says quietly.

You only make it a few steps before you hear him call your name. Your heart beats a little faster as you turn back towards him, “Is that my sweatshirt?” 

You cringe inwardly as you walk back towards him, “Oh, yeah, sorry. I should’ve asked. I was just cold and nothing in my closet looked appealing. I’ll go put it right back when I get back to the tower.”

“No, don’t. It looks good on you.” He answers. 

You feel butterflies in your stomach, “oh, okay. Thanks. And really, nice job today.”

You turn back around and run to catch up to your friends.

*****

When we get back to the castle you immediately go up to your room and collapse onto your bed. All of these new emotions leave you feeling confused, nervous, and exhausted. You decide that maybe you shouldn’t go to the party and should instead just sleep away your racing thoughts…. Suddenly, you feel two plops down next to you onto your bed. 

“What are you guys doing?” You mumble. 

“We’ll explain when Marlene gets back.” Dorcas responds. 

Not even a few minutes later, the door opens and Marlene comes in, throwing herself on the bed.

“Right, I’m here,” she says, out of breath.

“Did you run here?” Lily asks.

“Of course! We have very important business to attend to.” 

“We told you to be discreet!” Dorcas scolds.

“I just told James it was a fashion emergency!” Marlene protests. 

You lift your head up to look at your three roommates, “what are you lot talking about?” 

They share a look amongst each other and suddenly sit up very seriously. 

Lily pulls you up into a sitting position as well. 

“Shall I start?” Marlene questions. 

The two nod their heads, “Right. Well, congratulations, you have feelings for James Potter!”

Your heart drops, “What? No I don’t. What are you talking about?”

“Ah yes, denial,” Dorcas says smartly.

“We were expecting this,” Lily adds.

“I’m sorry, you were expecting this?” 

“Yes. It’s been very clear to all of us that you have feelings for James. We just didn’t know how long it would take you to realize. It seems today is the day.”

“B-but, how? I’ve never once thought about James as anything besides my friend until now.”

“She admits it!” Marlene cheers.

Dorcas glares at her slightly, “It’s okay, love. Sometimes we can’t see what’s right in front of us. That’s what happened to me with Marlene, remember?”

You think back to how the two used to interact before they were dating. They were always close and very touchy. You often caught Marlene looking longingly after Dorcas and remember Dorcas always being jealous of Marlene’s other girlfriends. 

“But you two were so obvious!” You proclaim.

“So are you and James,” Lily tells me kindly.

“Does that mean he knows?” You nearly shriek. 

Marlene takes your hand lovingly, “No, of course not. James is a lot of things, but observant is not one of them.”

You let out a sigh of relief. But then a wave of panic brushes over you, “What am I supposed to do? I can’t even act normal around him now that I know. I just feel all sweaty and nervous!”

“Just be yourself. He already likes you for you.” Dorcas says warmly. 

“How can you be so sure?”

“Honey, when have you ever known James Potter to be subtle about anything? He’s always trying to do everything to get your attention. You just aren’t always paying attention.” 

You huff and fall back onto your bed, “Merlin, I hate feelings. I wish things could just go back to the way things were.”

Lily grabs your arm and pulls you back up, “well, seeing as things can’t, let’s make the most of it.”

You give her a questioning look.

“The reason Marlene rushed back up here so fast is because we knew you would need all three of us helping you once you realized your feelings.”

“Yeah, no offense, you’re a bit hopeless when it comes to dating.” Marlene says bluntly. 

You smack her arm, “that’s not helpful.”

“Everything will be fine” Dorcas tells you, “now let’s get you dressed for the party. You have a certain Mr. Potter to impress.”

*****

An hour later, the four of you are dressed and ready to go. Your friends have put quite the ensemble together, dressing you in a red, cropped sweater with a pair of dark blue mom jeans that supposedly “make your ass look amazing” (according to Marlene) and gold jewelry. After you told them that James said you looked good in his sweatshirt, they decided that your outfit needed to remind him of it (hence the gold and red). Lily is wearing an adorable green sweater dress with brown boots and her hair is pulled back with a clip. Marlene has on black leather pants and a long sleeve, pink, sheer shirt with only her nipples covered. Dorcas is wearing a blue crop top with an open back, black jeans, and combat boots. 

“Guys, we look hot.” Lily announces. 

“Hell yeah we do,” Marlene agrees.

“I’m sure Mary will love it,” Dorcas teases. 

Lily blushes a bright scarlett, “you really think?”

“Absolutely. You look killer, babe.” You tell her. 

“You too, Mrs. Potter,” she says, winking. 

You roll your eyes at her before taking a deep breath and staring in the mirror one last time, “right, let’s get this over with.”

“Oh yes, let’s get through this terrible party.” Marlene jokes. 

We walk down into the common room where music is blaring and people are spread about talking, laughing, and dancing. As we weave through the crowd of people, Dorcas and Marlene are pulled into a conversation with a Ravenclaw friend from potions class. Lily soon leaves you too, after checking that you are okay, to go and flirt with Mary. 

Trying to calm your nerves, you grab a bottle of firewhiskey and plop yourself down onto one of the red couches pushed out of the way. 

“Did your fashion emergency get solved?”

You jump a mile at the voice coming from behind. You turn to see James leaning over the couch, smirking.

“The what?” You stutter out.

“Marlene said there was a fashion emergency? Was it solved?”

“Oh! Right. Uh, yeah. Lily had simply no idea what to wear to the party. And that’s very important, you see, because she’s trying to impress Mary.”

He leans closer to me, “I think it's working.”

The smell of his cologne wafts to your nose. You can barely breathe as you turn to look to where he’s pointing. 

Despite your anxiousness, you can’t help but smile proudly as you see Lily kissing Mary.

You cough awkwardly, “clothes can be a game changer.” 

He looks at you intensely, “yeah they can.”

You think about his sweatshirt from earlier. How he liked it, how it made you feel all safe and cozy, how it made you realize your feelings for him. 

“You know, speaking of clothes. I need to give you your sweatshirt back, now that I’m done wearing it.”

“I told you you could hang on to it,” he insists. 

“But you’ll want to have it for your future partner.” You say quietly.

“What?” He asks you.

You clear your throat, “oh uh, earlier, when I was wearing your sweatshirt, some girls thought I was your girlfriend, because I guess that’s a thing a boyfriend would do- let them wear his clothes. So, of course, you need to have it so you can give it to your actual partner… when you get one. You know, they seemed pretty interested in you, I’m sure I can point them out if you’re interested. They’re pretty too, so…”

You look up at James to see a pained look on his face. 

“Hey, are you okay?”

His voice sounds strained as he says, “yeah. I’ll just go take that sweatshirt off your hands then.”

A lump forms in your throat as you nod. 

It seems pretty clear to you that James doesn’t like you.

We walk through the crowd and up to your doom. The door shuts behind us and James stays near the doorway as you go to grab his hoodie from the edge of your bed where you put it, neatly folded. You turn to give it to him but his hands remain at his sides. 

“James, your hoodie?”

“Was it really that unbearable for you, for people to think that you’re my girlfriend, that you refuse to hang onto it?”

“James, what?”

“Look, I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t be saying this, but I just can’t help it. I want people to think you’re my girlfriend. Because, I like you. I do. And I’m sorry, I know this ruins things, and I know you don’t feel the same, but I can’t keep hiding it any longer.”

You drop the sweatshirt and walk towards James quickly. 

“You mean it?”

He nods.

Slowly, you reach your hand out and cup his cheek. You stroke your thumb across his jawline, studying every feature of his face from his hazel eyes, to the slight smile lines around his mouth, and the soft pink of his lips. 

“James, I feel the exact same way about you. It took me a bit longer to realize than you, but I do. I really care about you.”

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that” he tells me.

Suddenly, he turns you around and pushes you up against the stone wall, “can I kiss you?”

You nod before he catches your lips between his. He tastes like chapstick and mint gum and it’s simply perfect. 

You tangle your hands in his already tangled black hair as he grips his hands on your waist. 

Eventually, we pull away. 

“Maybe we should go back down to the party. People might be wondering where their star player is.” You tease.  

“I’ll only agree if you put that hoodie back on. I want to show you off.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, “fine, but turn around.”

He turns around while you change out of your sweater back into his sweatshirt. 

“Okay, you’re good to look now.”

He turns around with a huge grin on his face, “my don’t you just look ravishing, darling. I declare you shall never wear anything but my clothes ever again.”

You walk forward and pull him into a hug, “fine by me. I’ve never been more comfortable in my entire life.”

He goes to pull you in for another kiss but you stop him, “later,” you whisper in his ear, winking. 

You giddily turn around and quickly escape the room. He chases after you.

Before we enter the common room, you grab his hand tightly. He squeezes it back. As we walk towards our friends, you feel some people staring at the two of you. When we approach Remus, Sirius, Peter, Lily, Dorcas, and Marlene they are beaming like idiots. 

“Soooooo…. You two, huh?” Sirius smirks suggestively. 

James shoves him slightly, yet still has a goofy grin on his face, “piss off.”

“I’m just glad we don’t have to watch them pine over each other anymore” Peter says, relieved. 

“No, but now we have to watch them be all lovey dovey,” complains Lily. 

“As if we didn’t just see you getting it on with Mary,” you retort. 

“Touché.” 

“Wait, so are you two… official?” Dorcas enquires.

We look at each other. “I guess we didn’t officially establish that.” You answer. 

“Hold on,” James says to you, letting go of your hand. 

He jumps up onto the table, “excuse me, may I have everyone’s attention.”

The room quiets as they all turn to look at him. 

“Oh no,” you sigh. 

“I have a question to ask a very special someone and I want you all here to witness it!” He turns to you with a huge smile on his face, “darling, sweetheart, apple of my eye, will you go out with me?” 

You feel the eyes of dozens of people on you. You even feel the glare of many girls you know would kill to be you right now. Yet even then, nothing can bother you. Because when looking at James, you see nothing else. 

“Yes! I’ll go out with you James!” You respond, giggling. He jumps off the table and pulls you in for a kiss. The room cheers loudly. 

Safe to say we were the talk of the school for a week. 

[parttimetomfooler]

Lets talk about narrative framing in Harry Potter and how it lends itself to what I live to call the Regulus vs James vs Snape debate, aka the "why does the fandom praise Regulus and James but hate Snape, it's because they're hot isn't it?" issue.

I'm trying to come at this with a neutral perspective (despite being what many would frame as a Regulus defender).

So narrative framing, what is it? It's exactly what is sounds like; how the narrative is telling you to view something. A great example of this is house elves. They are narratively framed as a net positive, however, when you take them out of the narrative and inspect them without all of the unnecessary context, they're pretty bad. The narrative also does this with characters (obviously), like Cho Chang being framed as annoying for crying over her boyfriend who was brutally murdered. When we look at this, we are looking at it through the lens of Harry, but when we look at without Harry's motives in mind, that shit is weird.

So, how does this apply here? Well, I think the reason that Snape is so hated is cut into two parts; the first being narrative framing and the second being screen time. He is in every book. And in every book, he's being an asshole. He's bullying someone who is half or even a third of his age, or he's being speciesist, or he's being a general nuisance. A lot of his coworkers don't even like him. Of course, our lens isn't unbiased as we see all this through Harry's view, but Harry, narratively, is one of the good guys, making him someone we as the reader are supposed to trust. Also, we do know that whether or not they were influenced by Harry's POV, he did some foul shit: we know that he used to be (and maybe still is, for most of the series) a DE, we know that he tells his students Lupin is a werewolf, and we also know he hates James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin (obviously), Harry Potter himself, and, I may be assuming here but, Peter Pettigrew. All but one of these characters are framed positively in the narrative, meaning Snape isn't just narratively hated; he is up against some of the most beloved characters. There is not a lot going for him until the plot twist, which doesn't help necessarily. To a lot of fans it just made him seem obsessive and bitter, and didn't justify his actions, likely because of all the narrative framing against him. Honestly, at that point it stops being narrative framing and starts being the narrative.

Compare this to James and Regulus who we see very little of. The little we see of James is usually through Snapes memory, which I guess can kind of be considered an unbiased source, but with all the narrative against him it's hard to expect readers to trust that someone the bad guy thinks is bad is really that bad. Not to mention like right after Harry asks for affirmation that his dad wasn't terrible, and Sirius basically just goes "he changed, trust me bro!" (Harry does indeed trust him, bro). And we don't even see Regulus, we only see him through others, namely Sirius and Kreacher, who both answer questions about him scarcely. When we do hear about him it is either, "he was so soft, too soft to disobey our parents" implying something in him was good, he just wasn't strong enough to resist the bad, or through his defiance of Voldemort which, despite setting Harry back is positive for his character and how he's seen. It's important to note most people are way too scary to defy Voldemort, so this is seen as a radical act, which I think is also what JK. Molding was hoping for when writing the Snape redemption scene (because that was not an arc).

However, Snape's falls flat because we actually have to see the negative that he did, we see how it effects Neville, and Hermione, and Remus and even Harry. We don't see the bad of Regulus, we only see him through the tender wounds of his living relative and only friend, which are undoubtedly biased lenses. I think the lack of accountability shown for Regulus is because of object permanence. We only see the negative effect of his loss, not of his bad decisions. We see Sirius scrubbing a house clean of everyone but him. We see grief. And people don't grieve for bad people, right?

TLDR: Fandom favors Reg over Snape because we see how Snape's actions effect people, and the fandom favors James over Snape because the only evidence we have of him being a bad guy is coming from someone untrustowrothy.