#she had a stroke a few weeks ago

[insurged]

ANNOUNCEMENT: blog hiatus from may 7-10th !! i won't be on here since i'll be visiting my grandmother in CA.

[yieldtotemptation]

RITUAL ft. Yujin

yujin x male reader smut

7k words

Let’s be clear: you’re well aware of what a monumentally stupid idea this is.

For you, it’s just a job. You’ve been fired from plenty before, and there will be plenty more after.

But for her, for Yujin, it’s her career. Her life. Her everything.

And yet, here, in the cramped confines of a bathroom stall, your hand on her ass and hers diving down your jeans; you can’t let go of the nagging suspicion that maybe that’s the fucking point.

“How much time do we have?” Yujin’s lips are on your neck, tiny, hot breaths tickling your skin, nimble fingers at your waist, negotiating with your zipper.

“We had fifteen minutes, an hour ago,” you remind her. “We’re gonna miss soundcheck.”

“It’ll be fine.” Yujin’s unbothered, dismissive of anything that isn’t freeing your cock from its denim prison. “They’ll wait for me. They always do.”

There’s that hint of arrogance, that unshakeable confidence of youth, the invincibility that comes with being that absurdly hot. You can’t blame her at all for it.

What Yujin wants, she gets. You've seen it first hand.

It’s one of the many things you’ve learned about her over the past few weeks.

Well one of the few that don’t concern how good her cunt feels when she rides you, or how her eyes roll to the back of her head when you hit that spot just right, or the way her voice goes hoarse when she screams your name.

“Oh, it’s so perfect.”  Yujin’s seen your cock before, tasted it, taken it, had it in every way possible (in every place available), yet that still doesn’t stop her eyes from lighting up the second she sees it springing out from the waistband of your briefs, standing tall and throbbing painfully. “I’d say this is worth being late for.”

You’ve got a groan for her when she takes you into her hand, her grip firm and familiar. A half-hearted protest, too: “Yeah, but if we’re late, Princess Yujin gets a slap on the wrist, whereas I get fired.”

Yujin scoffs at that. “Well, I am your boss, so I think I get the last say if it comes down to it.”

Part of you wants to correct her, wants to explain that technically you’re not her employee but an independent contractor hired by the touring company. However, that part of you needs to shut the hell up, because the intricacies of employment contracts for musicians-for-hire really don’t seem pertinent at this moment.

Regardless, it all becomes trivial in the face of Yujin. So annoyingly, unfairly pretty, not even the unflattering harshness of the bathroom lights are capable of marring her in the slightest.

You’d probably give her the world if she asked.

She’d happily settle for your dick.

Her hand’s moving now, her fingers dancing around your shaft, exploring the contours of your cock from base to tip, and she's forcing you to resign, “Your logic, as always, is flawless.”

“See?” Yujin smiles up at you, that wide, confident grin that’s graced a million posters, been on every magazine cover and TV channel, and is now laser focused on you. “I’m always right, aren’t I?”

Her point's made with a squeeze around your length, stroking you in earnest, building to a rhythm that’s become so familiar over the past week—quick and precise, dangerously efficient. Like she was made for this. Made to tease your cock. As natural for her as breathing, really.

Yujin’s had plenty of practice, after all—on the morning of every concert, in the evening back at her hotel, on tour buses and in dressing rooms. On a plane once, even. It's the same torrid routine that’s now become a required pre-show ritual. A quiet spot, a secluded room, and she steals you away, bringing you to the brink and back.

And to think it all started because she asked you to help her ‘calm her nerves’.  

Or more correctly, fuck all the worries and concerns out of her pretty little head.

Still, she's never pushed it this far, never cut it this close.

You lean back against the stall door, your breath catching in your throat, the cheap plastic giving slightly under the pressure. Outside you can hear it, hear the bustling sounds of the venue coming to life—staff moving about, the distant roar of fans, the occasional clang of sound equipment. But in here, it’s overpowered by the noisiness of her palm sliding along your shaft, slick with her saliva, and it fills the small space, echoing across the cold tiles beneath your feet.

She’s undeniable—you know you’ve spoilt her. You’ve let her get her way with you far too many times, let her push this arrangement past any semblance of professionalism. Let her poison your mind with whispered sweet nothings that have you pounding her into the nearest available surface whenever she gets a twitch of stage fright.

But you’re also acutely aware of the fact that without these moments, without the promise of her tight, wet cunt wrapped around your cock, you’d be out there on that stage sleepwalking through just another concert with nothing but a drum kit and a bunch of songs you could play with your eyes closed.

“Fucking hell, Yujin, you look too good doing that,” you manage to get out, doing your best to endure her fingers gliding along your length, to last under the microscope of Yujin's dark, hungry eyes.

Another thing about Yujin: there's a special thrill she gets just from watching you, eyes glued to your face, taking in every single nuance of agony she’s wringing out.

“So fucking—” you settle on the most obvious word in your lexicon, “pretty.”

Yujin keens at the praise, her cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink, her teeth grazes the soft skin of her bottom lip. It's hardly new for her to hear this, to have people rave about how she's the hottest piece of ass this side of the equator. Yet there's something about hearing it from you that has her eating up your words every time. "Am I, now?"

You nod, voice momentarily failing you as she pumps your cock, her grip never wavering, never faltering, like she’s milking you, milking words of adulation from your lips.

You still haven't pinned down exactly what it is about you that unwinds Yujin, that makes her chase you so hard. Maybe it's because you're slightly older, a touch more mature than the usual plastic smiles that try to charm her out of her pants.

Or maybe it's because you said 'no' the first time she sniffed in your direction, and then made her scream 'yes' every time after.

Whatever it is, it has Yujin’s other hand reaching up to fiddle with the choker at her neck, flooding your mind with memories of your hand around her throat, her gagging on your length, her eyes watering while you fuck her face.

“And what about this outfit?” She asks, oh-so-innocently. “You think the fans will like it?”

“Yujin,” you say, like she doesn’t already know the very obvious answer. You’ve seen her in it all—tiny hot pants, tight little bralettes, that fucking leather catsuit. Yujin’s a fucking goddess in anything she wears, even a blind man would burn from the sheer heat radiating from her body. “You look fucking incredible, as always.”

“But?”

“No buts.”

“I heard a ‘but’,” Yujin ponders, her hand still working your cock like it’s her favourite toy. “Like: ‘but the shorts are too short, and everyone’s gonna see my cheeks when I bend over’.”

A blatant invitation to take a glance, to look down, down at those denim shorts so tight against her curves, the fabric stretched so taut that it might split open at any moment. Look down at her thick thighs, the way they flex and release as she jerks you off, every movement making the material cling tighter to her skin, moulding themselves around the outline of her perfect, round ass, those juicy cheeks that you’ve had the honour of spanking and biting and bruising.

“Or is it: ‘but your top is cut too low, your tits are gonna spill right out’?”

She’s drawing your gaze upwards, over that smooth, creamy expanse of skin, her stomach flat and toned, up the thin fabric of her flimsy excuse for a shirt, that dips just enough to tease the tops of her breasts, squeezed together and pushed up by her bra. It's so thin, wrapped so tight around her, highlighting the faint outline of her nipples poking through, already stiffened and calling for your tongue.

“Or maybe it’s: ‘the outfit looks good, looks nice and slutty, but you’d much rather rip it off me and just fucking ruin me like I deserve?'"

Yeah, that’s more like it.

You take that as permission, and reach for the hem of her top, eager to finally see those tits, to feel their warm weight in your palms, to have her stripped and laid bare like she knows you’d love to. But Yujin’s too quick, slapping your hand away with a laugh.

“But unfortunately, there’ll be none of that, drummer boy.” Yujin stops, her grip on your cock tightening for a brief, painful second. “Can’t have you ruining my outfit before I go on stage, can I?”

There’s a challenge there, a test to see if you’ll argue, maybe grab her, throw her against the wall and show her just how little of a fuck you give about anything that takes place outside of this toilet stall. But you know she’s right. You're the adult here, remember? Besides there’ll be plenty of time for that later.

You settle for her lips, leaning down, pressing the pad of your thumb against her chin. You tilt her head up towards yours, only for Yujin to pull back, leaving you kissing air. “Seriously?”

Yujin grins, clearly delighting in denying you again, in making your blood boil and cock throb. “Can’t ruin the make-up either,” she explains, making sure to bat her long, fake lashes for extra effect.

“So, I take it that means the pigtails are off limits too?” You ask, idly toying with the ludicrously slutty hairstyle that’s framing her face, bobbing slightly with every stroke she gives you.

“Now you’re learning.”

So, with a frustrated grunt, you keep your hands at your sides, resigning yourself to Yujin’s sweet torture. It’s maddening, just standing there, panting and so horny, at the mercy of Yujin’s slow strokes. “And no concern for my outfit, whatsoever.”

Yujin’s eyes wander over your choice of clothing, and laughs, rather insultingly, if you're honest. “I’m sure all the fans will be very focused on the drummer’s fashion choices,” she says, trusting you to pick up on the sarcasm.

You feign injury. “Ouch, I put a lot of thought into my clothing.”

“Sure you do. Thoughts like: how easy will it be for your little fuck buddy to tear them off?” Yujin’s thumb finds that sensitive spot just beneath the head of your cock, swiping over it with a smugness that’s both infuriating and incredibly hot.

“You’re going to get it later for that one,” you warn, your hand curling into a fist.

“Oh, I know.”

Yujin picks up the pace, her hand a blur, running up and down your shaft, fingers sliding across your slit, smearing the pre-cum that’s beaded there over your cockhead. And there’s a glint in her eye, that needy look that tells you she’s getting off on this, getting off on having you, having someone she shouldn’t be left alone with, squirm and beg and be so desperate for her.

“Look how big you are for me, daddy.”

There’s that word, that sweet, sweet ‘daddy’.

The first time she called you it was an accident, a slip of the tongue during a particularly intense moment when you had her against the window of her hotel, tits squashed against the glass, cunt dripping with your cum. But every time since, it’s been deliberate, calculated, a button she knows she can push to make you give it to her as rough as she wants; as rough as she craves.

“Look how big you are in my tiny hand.” She’s got you moaning now, melting between her fingers, bucking your hips for that extra bit of friction. “You love it when I jerk you like this, don’t you, daddy?”

‘Daddy’ again, rolling off her tongue like a fucking love letter, a song to send your head spinning and your cock pulsing in her hand.

There’s another challenge, can you last a little bit longer? Can you resist the urge to cum all over her fingers? Paint her pretty nails a fresh shade of white? Or would you rather wrap your hand around her lovely neck and force her to admit that she loves all this just as much as you do.

You swallow down the groan that’s building in your throat, your teeth grinding together to maintain some semblance of control. Yujin catches it, sees the effort it’s taking you, and she shakes her head, her lips pursed in a perfect little pout.

“Don’t hold back, daddy,” Yujin's chiding you, disappointed with your restraint. “I want to hear it. I need to hear how good it feels, how desperate you are. Need you to show me just how much you want to see me filled with your cum.”

She twists her hand down on your cock, squeezing when she reaches the base, her other hand coming down to cup your balls, tickling them with her fingers. That has a moan escaping your lips, a low, desperate sound that makes Yujin preen.

“That’s it,” she’s overjoyed, getting what she came for, basking in your pleasure, “tell me how much you want it, tell me how much you want to cum for me.”

And so you do. You tell her, your voice strained with the effort of keeping your orgasm at bay. Not yet, not until you’re deep inside her, not until you're sure that not a single drop will go wasted. “You're too fucking much, Yujin, too fucking hot,” you manage, the words a choked noise that you hope she can hear over the blood pounding in your ears. “You’re driving me fucking mad.”

Yujin’s strokes keep building, one on top of the other, and she’s pressing herself against you, the warmth of her, soft breasts pushing into your chest, her lips sucking at your neck, kissing into you hard. After all, who will notice? Who gives a fuck if the drummer shows up on stage with a few extra bruises on his skin?  

You fall into the crook of her neck, your forehead on her shoulder, as her lips make their way up your throat, across your jaw, until she’s nipping at your lobe, whispering in your ear, “You’re desperate for my cunt, aren’t you, daddy? You want to fill me up right before I go on stage?”

“Yujin,” you grit out, and you’re holding her, hands on those perfectly round cheeks, holding on for dear life, pulling her close to you so that she can feel just how right she is. The words spill out of you like a confession, “I need to fuck you now, Yujin. I need to feel your cunt, make you cum so hard you won’t be able to fucking move, let alone dance.”

And Yujin leaves one last, lingering kiss on your pulse. “So do it, daddy.”

Her words are a fucking gunshot, and you’re off to the races.

You spin her around so fast she yelps, your chest to her back, your cock trapped between her ass cheeks. Her shorts are barely an inconvenience, yank them down, denim catching on her hips, sliding down to her ankles, leaving her in just her panties.

Yujin gasps, the cool air meeting her bare skin, and she braces herself against the wall of the stall, needing something to keep her on her feet. She’s all soft curves and sweet smells, so insanely proportioned, like she's built for this, curvy and thick in all the right places.

While she’s distracted you sneak a kiss onto the creamy-white skin of her shoulder, hard enough to give her a mark to match yours, a badge of honour that brands her in the same way she’s done to you.

Her panties never stood a chance, completely drenched to the point of ruin, sticky with anticipation, snug against her lips. You pull them aside, thumb brushing against her swollen clit, making her hips jerk forward. She’s on your time now, you’ve got the green light to turn the tables and drag her through the same torment she’s put you through.

“Look at this,” you’re in her ear now, taunting, “you’re already so fucking wet for me.”

Yujin’s cheeks burn red, and she’s pushing back against you, grinding her ass into your cock. “Of course I am. I can’t help it,” she’s a little breathless, a little shaky, “I need it.”

“You’re so beautiful,” your hands like magnets on her bare ass, squeezing, marking her in places only you'll ever know. “So fucking beautiful.”

“Please,” Yujin whimpers, as you slide your finger down, between her legs, tracing her wet slit, testing her tightness, feeling her warmth, feeling how ready she is. “Please, fuck me now.”

You can’t resist her, you never can, not with so little time left and so much of her to ruin. Your cock dips, lining up with her pussy, the tip nudging at her entrance, and all it takes is one strong thrust, and you’re pushing into her, burying yourself to the hilt in a swift, brutal motion.

There’s a scream from her, a grunt from you, blending and echoing through the bathroom, bouncing off the tiles and the stall walls. Someone’s going to hear it, someone’s going to come in and see you fucking the star of the show and that’ll be it for the both of you.

But really, fuck all of that.

Fuck the concert, the venue staff, the fans, the tour managers, the PR nightmare that will follow.

Fuck everything that isn’t inside this stall, that isn’t Yujin’s tight cunt squeezing around your cock, that isn’t the way she’s shuddering in your arms, gasping your name, needing her daddy to fuck her harder, faster.

There's no easing her into it, not like you know you should. You fuck her hard, just like she’s begged. Your hips snap against her ass, the sound of skin slapping skin drowning out the noise outside, again and again, in and out, over and over.

Yujin’s never needed much to get started, always so easily soaked, so easily ready. She'd told you as much one late night (or one early morning): "I can take it, take anything, as long as it's coming from you. "

Her walls clamp down around you, she’s already pulsing, her cunt desperate to wring you dry. You’re gliding in and out of her, using her, letting her mold herself so perfectly around you, her juices coating your cock, making it slicker with every thrust.

“Yes—that’s what I fucking need.” Yujin cries out, her voice high-pitched, her head thrown back, and the flimsy plastic isn’t enough anymore, she needs you to hold her steady, to dig your fingers into her hips and nail her into the wall.

Each stroke, each thrust into her cunt, each time you fill her, stretch her—each one could be the last one, the one that has you exploding inside her. Could be the one that overwhelms you, the one that makes you forget where you are, that there’s anything that exists besides fucking this needy, little brat.

It’s the way Yujin clenches around you, tight and perfect, like she’s made just for you, like she’s never been fucked this way before, will never be again.

(Even though you have. Even though you will.)

Each time is like the first, you’re discovering her all over again, peeling back layers of this beautiful, untouchable idol, and finding something new, something beneath the sheen of purity and perfection. Something that makes you want to ruin her, bring her down to your level, to roll around the filth with the rest of you mere mortals.

And Yujin knows it.

There’s a need to make her feel it, and there’s her fucking pigtails, dangling in front of you like a carrot, flicking up and down in front of your face with every thrust. You need to grab them, to yank her back onto your cock, to force her to take it as hard as you want to give it. It’s almost too much to resist.

But even in your haze you know better. Instead, you settle for that choker on her neck, your thumb sliding under the black leather band, feeling the pulse of her blood racing beneath her skin. You grip it, tight, but not too tight. Just enough to make her gasp, to make her cunt tighten, to make her cry out—

“Gah—God—fuck—”

Strangled cries have her screaming, have her needing you to go deeper.

“Fuh—fuck—yes—right there—right—fucking—there—”

She’s chanting, almost sobbing, doing her best to take everything you’re giving her, everything she’s needs, everything she deserves. You’re tapping into that deep, dark desire within her. The one that gets off on being treated rough, the one that loves having a daddy, the one that needs to be nailed to a wall and reduced to nothing but a shaking, mewling mess of climaxes.

You dare to snake a hand under her top, you’re not going to mess her outfit, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get a taste of what’s underneath. Your fingers stretch under her bra, testing the elasticity of the cotton, before finally finding the swell of her breasts, cupping it, filling your hand with it.

Yujin’s moan is all the encouragement you need, a wordless permit to squeeze, to pinch her nipple, roll it between your thumb and forefinger until it’s a hard little nub.

“Oh fuck yes—touch me. You love touching me, don’t you?” She's feeling it, really feeling you, the stimulation of your palm on her breast, the sting on her nipples. “You fucking love my body.”

It’s the damn truth—these past weeks have been a crash course in Yujin, and you haven’t found an inch you didn’t immediately fall in love with. Every curve and dip and line, every soft place and every sharp edge; the weight of her in your arms, the way she fits against you, how she responds to your touch like she’s been waiting for it, for you, for fucking ever.

“Fuck, yes, just like that, daddy, just like that.”

“You’re so fucking perfect, Yujin. So tight, so wet, so fucking mine.”

You slur words into her, words that make her shiver, make her tremble against you, make her so fucking happy to hear them. It’s the words that she loves, hearing you talk like that, like she’s the only one who can make you feel this way. And maybe she is.

So you keep talking, keep whispering those loving, filthy soliloquies into her ear, keep telling her how good her cunt is, how desperate you are for her body, how much cum you have to give her. And her body has an answer for you each time, each syllable a caress that sends shivers down her spine.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, Yujin. So beautiful when you’re like this, when you’re all mine.” You can feel it boiling up inside you, that pressure building with every smack of your hips against her ass. “I’m going to cum so hard for you, princess.”

There’s the guitar, the bass, the keys, the band tuning up outside, noise filtering into the stall, faint but unmistakeable, the only thing missing is the beat of the drums, the only thing missing is you.

Yujin’s grinning, knowing she’s the one keeping you occupied, knowing it’s her cunt that you’re buried in, that’s not letting you go.

“If only they knew,” she’s giggling like a schoolgirl (she might as well be with those pigtails), “if only they know how good you’re fucking me right now. They won’t have a fucking clue, will they?”

“Such a fucking tease, Yujin.”

She looks over her shoulder at you, and sends a coy, “Who, me?”

“Yes, you, you little slut,” you answer, not bothering to mince your words. Your hand tightens around her choker, not enough to cut off her air, just enough to keep her right there, panting and needy and yours. “You know exactly what you’re doing out there. I see how you dance, how you move. Like you’re forcing them to picture you fucking, making them all want a taste of what they’ll never have.”

The truth makes her shiver against you. “They all wish they could do this to me, all wish they could fuck me and fill me like you are.”

There’s a tension building inside her too, the blend of your words and the reality of the performance she’s going to have to put on afterwards. It has her body tightening like a bow string, ready to snap at any moment.

And you’re going to be the one to release it.

You venture a hand downwards, gracing over her stomach, her belly button, until you reach the wetness of her pussy. There's her clit, ripe for teasing.

You fuck your cock in deeper still, matching the swirl of your finger with the pounding of her cunt, timing it just right to make her leak all over you.

“That feels so—fuck,” Yujin purrs, so, so blissful. “Only you—only you, daddy. No one else will get to have me—fuck—fuck me like this.”

“Whenever I want, any time I want,” you’re telling her, promising her, even though it’s more likely to be the opposite. That it’s Yujin that will seek you out on those lonely nights and those quiet mornings, or just whenever she’s bored and needs someone to fuck all the nerves and stress out of her system.

“They’d be so—gah—so jealous if they knew. I see it when they look at me—how much they want me,” she’s straining to say it, but needs you to hear it, needs you to know it. “I see it—read it in places they think I don’t look.”

She’s lost, lost in a sea of her own musings, thoughts of how everyone with a working pair of eyeballs wants to fuck her. Relishing in the knowledge that she's found the only person that can fuck her right, and that their cock is buried in her cunt, their fingers working her clit.

“They call me a slut, a whore, but that’s not true, is it, daddy? I only fuck you,” Yujin repeats, “I’m only a slut for you.”

There’s an edge to her voice, a raw, animalistic need that makes you want to prove her right. Want to erupt inside her so badly that she’s forced to carry a part of you inside her when she’s on stage.

“Yours to use,” Yujin taunts. “To fuck, to fill...”

Jesus.

“To break.”

Fucking.

“Maybe I should let you rip off my clothes, fuck up my hair—fuck—my makeup. Go out on stage with all the marks you’ve left on me, with all your cum—gah—all over me.”

Christ.

It hits you like a sledgehammer, adding another layer of taboo to this already fucked up situation. The thought of it is fucking wild, ridiculous to contemplate, you’re sure it’s all just part of the game, another button Yujin’s pressing for her own thrill… right?

“Then everyone would know—everyone would know that it’s you—that you’re the one that’s fucking my brains out when no one else is watching.”

You’re all over her and deep inside her, lips on her throat, her jaw, hands at her tits, her cunt. Devouring her, all of her, from those tightly binded pigtails all the way down to her carefully manicured toes.

And then she stops dancing around the subject and demands it.

“Ruin me. Fuck me, please, daddy. Just—kiss me, now.”

“You said—”

But Yujin’s already twisting around at her waist, angling her body so she can seize your lips, smear her lipstick across your teeth, flood your mouth with her tongue. She’s got fistfuls of your shirt, pulling you closer, as if she’s trying to claim you, claim every inch of you as property of An Yujin.

Now that you’ve got permission, you thread your fingers into her hair, gripping tight, pulling her by the pigtails like you’ve been dying to, kissing her like your life depends on it.

You’re getting rougher with her now, tugging her head back, peeling her lips away from yours, sliding your cock out of her. You ignore the whine, ignore the tears. It’s game over for her makeup, for her hair, her outfit. She’s a beautiful, chaotic mess—so shamelessly yours, so perfect in every way.

The separation barely lasts a second, you’re lifting her up, turning her and depositing her atop the toilet seat, spreading her legs wide, putting her on display.

This is the real show—Yujin looking up at you, eyes dark with need, tits out and heaving with every breath; thick, toned thighs glistening with her juices, your precum; and her pussy, all puffy and so ready to be filled again.

“Daddy—” Yujin starts, and ends, as you’re inside her again. Inside her tight, welcoming cunt, her back arching off the cold porcelain, her legs wrapping around you, ankles crossing and locking in place.

Just one hard thrust and you see it—it's in the watering of her eyes, the wobble of her lips.

She’s close, and you’re not far behind.

“Please.”

It’s barely a whisper, nearly lost somewhere between your haggard breaths and the sloppy wet sounds of your bodies colliding.

But you hear it, and it’s all you need.

It’s her pigtails in your hands again, strands wrapped around your fist, and you’re taking a front row seat in the spectacle that is Yujin falling apart.

“Please, fuck me.” There it is again, louder now. “Fuck my tiny little pussy, daddy. Make me yours.”

It’s every single sound out of her mouth, every folding and crumpling of her perfect features, every single drop of sweat sliding down her neck, every time she says fuck me, or break me, or over and over again—make me yours.

You want to savour this, burn this image into your mind, live off the memory of Yujin’s cunt pulsing around you, but there’s no time, no time to do anything but kiss her again; clumsy, hungry, wet, open-mouthed kisses.

“Please,” she’s biting into your lip, licking into your mouth, clawing at your shoulders, “say my name.”

“Yujin,” you give it to her, offer her name like a sacrifice. “Yujin, I’m so fucking close.”

The porcelain is doing its best to bear your weight, to survive the punishment you’re hammering into Yujin’s tight, perfect body, to outlast your relentless fucking. “Cum for me daddy, cum for me.”

But it’s her, it’s Yujin that crosses that threshold first, coming apart until she’s nothing but a mess of whimpers, moans, and cries of your name. Of pleases and thank yous, until she’s just a hot, tight cunt getting used for your pleasure.

“Fuck—fuck—I’m cumming—daddy, I can’t—it’s so—”

It’s all there across her face, all in the way she’s shaking, the way her cunt is gripping you, her walls fluttering around your cock like a fucking heartbeat, tightening and releasing in endless waves that crash down on her.

“So good—you’re so good—you’re so—fuck—fuck—cum—cumming—"

Her entire body seizes, tenses all at once, and you’d be worried if you hadn’t seen it countless times before, if you didn’t know to expect her to lose all control of her limbs, to not be able to do anything but stare at you, all teary eyed and feeling so, so good.

But you keep going, hips pumping, cock driving into her, keeping her steady, helping her climb to her peak, filling her tender, creaming cunt over and over again. You want to make this last, want to keep her like this, unable to think about anything but you, unable to think about anything that isn’t your cock.  

“So fucking good for me, Yujin, so good, princess.”

“God, fuck—daddy!”

It’s the praise that pushes her over, unravels her, has her mouth frozen in the shape of your name, like the idea of you is the only thing keeping her tethered to this world. That, and her nails digging into your skin, adding to the tapestry she’s already engraved on your back.

And then the silence comes, and that’s the real killer.

Yujin’s always loud when she gets fucked, always desperate to tell you how good it feels, needy for you to know how good you are to her. But when she cums—when she loses herself on your cock—it’s like she relinquishes all ability to articulate, to make any sound other than a whine or a gasp.

You know what she wants to say—don’t stop, please, don’t stop—know what she wants to tell you—thank you, daddy, thank you, thank you, thank you—and it’s your responsibility to see her through it, to plunge your cock deep into the smooth, velvety muscles of her cunt, to have her rocking and creaming all over you, again and again and again.

And then she falls apart.

So beautifully, so perfectly.

But you’re not done yet.

Your thrusts come in thick and fast, making the whole stall shudder, making your vision swim. Yujin’s still reeling, snapped back into the land of the living by the force of your fucking.

She’s leaning forward, pressing her forehead to yours, able to form whole words again, whispering something that you can’t quite catch, something sweet and needy and demanding.

“I’m all yours, daddy.”

It’s a trigger she’s been waiting to pull—the moment she says it, you let go.

There’s no holding back anymore, you’ve been fighting it for what feels like hours, trying to keep your shit together, but it’s no use. You’re going to cum, the only question is, where.

You can’t shake the image of her covered with you, painted all over her face, her chin, her neck, her chest, her perfect, perfect tits. You want it, want to see it realised, want to parade her out on that stage looking like a fuck doll—your fuck doll.

But not now, not today.

So instead, you bury yourself inside her, so, so deep. Yujin’s nodding, teasing “deeper, deeper, please,” begging you with her whole body, watching you with those eyes, half-lidded and glazed over, licking at her lips, bracing for you to fill her.

It’s your turn to shake, your turn to let go of that knot in your gut that’s been twisting ever since she dragged you into the bathroom, pushed you into the toilet stall and told you she needed this.

You throb, tighten, the base of your spine tingles, and that’s all the warning you get before you’re cumming, rushing Yujin’s greedy cunt with your hot, sticky load.

“Daddy, daddy—daddy—yes!”

It’s an addiction now, she needs your cum like she needs oxygen, and you need to fill her as if you’ll die if you go another day without pounding her cunt.

“So good, so fucking good inside me—all yours, all yours—"

It’s a thousand blissful little moments stacked on top of each other, her clenching, you throbbing, her grinning, you grimacing, but it all comes together in this heated space that leaves you both boneless, breathless catastrophes.

Yujin’s the first to come down, slumping against you, drooling down your chest, staining your shirt with a sheen of her saliva. Her legs go slack around you, finally letting go of your waist, still shaking in the aftershocks of her orgasm. You can feel your cum leaking from the corners of her cunt, oozing down the inside of her thighs, sliding past her knee, down to her ankles.

A finger under your chin to tilt your head to her, to kiss you. One of those quiet, intimate kisses that will have you spending the night trying to decode its meaning. But, for now, there’s just the salt of her sweat and the sweetness of her lip gloss.

“Thank you, daddy,” Yujin says, so sweetly, so sincerely, and it’s like a knife twisting in your chest.

“Always.”

And slowly, carefully, you’re pulling out of her, even though she’s still clenching, still trying to keep you in. Your cock exits her with an audible slosh, and you need to brace yourself against the stall door, lean into it hard as you take in the sight of Yujin, sprawled on the toilet seat, well fucked and utterly ruined in all the best ways.

She reads your mind, “You really made a fucking mess of me.”

“I only claim fifty percent of that responsibility.”

Yujin pouts, makes sure you’re watching her, and dips her fingers into her defiled cunt. “This is all you, daddy.”

She drags out her digits, holding them up for you, your cum glistening on them like a prize. And then she’s slipping them between her lips, flicking out her tongue to catch a drop that dribbles down her wrist. She licks it all up, slow, savouring it, making sure you’re watching, making sure your eyes are glued to her as she devours the last traces of you from her hand.

That sound she makes, that little “Mmm” of satisfaction has you feeling heady, makes your cock twitch, eager to be back inside her, to fill her right back up so you can watch her do it all over again.

“Cumslut,” is the only word you have her for her, as she slides her fingers in deeper, tickling the back of her own throat like it's the most natural thing to do. Her cheeks hollow out, and after a long, dramatic suck, she pulls her fingers from her lips with a wet pop, all shiny and clean.

She corrects you. “Your cumslut.”

And then a switch is flipped, and she’s putting herself back together.

Yujin’s graceful, at odds with the confines of the cramped bathroom stall she’s just been fucked in. It amazes you every time, the way that she moves. All liquid and soft, as if she’s not really touching anything, as if she’s floating.

She licks droplets of cum off her lips, scoops the remainder up her legs, her thighs, and you’re just staring, gawking at her with something akin to awe, because she’s just so fucking beautiful, so utterly composed, so untouchable.

You help her, you try, help her tug down her shirt, pull up her panties, her shorts, help her slip back into the role of Yujin, the perfect idol, the star that can’t be tarnished by something as dirty as a quickie on top of a toilet seat.

She nods towards the stall door, and you let her past you, help hold her steady as you lead her to the bathroom mirror, give her a chance to assess the damage you've wrought on her. The smudged lipstick, the kiss bruises, the hair sticking to her neck—all evidence of you.

And yet, she smiles, looking back at you over her shoulder. Like she’s got it all under control, like you haven’t ruined her, not really. Not yet.

“Well, that’s something,” she says, her voice a little too breathless for the breeziness she’s aiming for.

But then she’s got her compact out, the tiny bag she's had hidden in her back pocket specifically for occasions like this. You stand back, giving her space to work her magic. Cheeks are patted for colour, lips glossed for plumpness, eyes relined with that dangerously smoky look that makes them pop.

“How do I look?” She turns, looking at you through the mirror, hand on her hip, posing.

“Like you’ve just been fucked in a toilet stall, honestly.”

That makes her laugh. “Good.”

She’s heading to the door, smoothing out her skirt, fixing her top, stopping along the way to give your forearm a quick squeeze.

There’s that look in her eyes again.

One you’ll be revisiting once the show’s over and the doors are closed.

“I’ll take off first,” she says, tying her pigtails back in place. “Wouldn’t want to make it too obvious.”

You catch her hand before she can get away, pulling her face close to you, wiping away a stray bit of cum still shining on her chin. “Good luck out there.”

And there’s that smile. That smile that’s going to make an audience of thousands fall in love with her. That’s going to make you fall in love with her, if you’re not careful. “Don’t need it,” she says, pressing her lips to yours, ruining her lip gloss all over again. “I got you, daddy.”

[bi-writes]

how would simon react if his mail order bride got really really sick?

mail-order bride

the phone is ringing.

he's on leave, so normally he would never even touch the thing. but there are only two ringtones he has to answer to, and this one isn't price.

he picks it up, putting it to his ear. he wipes the sweat off his brow, letting out a sigh as he steps back under the shade. the sun is out today, of course choosing to beat down on him the one day he finally decided to build you better planters for your little garden.

you've taken to it quite nicely. you love being out here, tending to the little roots and the tiny leaves that have started to sprout. he thinks you look so cute when you're out here, on your knees. you always tie a scarf around your hair and wear these sage green gloves, and he thinks you look so fucking adorable when you come back inside with dirt along your brow and a sweet little smile on your face. you always give him an update. the carrots are so stubborn, you huff, and he tries to hide his grin as you bring out your little gardening journal and scribble in it all frustrated. look, simon! the tomatoes! look! look!--and he practically keens when you grab his hand to bring him outside so he can see.

but it's gotten too small. you've outgrown the little boxes of dirt, and simon knows you're itching to do more. the planter is only half done, so he's a little peeved to be interrupted while he's just starting to get it together.

"wot is it, luv, i'm--"

"s-simon?" your voice is a soft whimper, and you're sniffling on the other line. simon stands up straighter, dropping his tools immediately as he wipes his hands on his jeans and starts to go inside.

"oi. wot happened?"

"s-simon, i-i don't feel so good, c-could you come get me?"

simon lets out a low breath, shaking his head.

"fuckin' hell, luv," he mutters, grabbing his keys and wallet by the door. "still at the library?" you had asked him to drop you off in town, wanting to visit a few of the shops along the main road. your eyes had bugged when you saw the quaint little library and pastry shop, and he agreed to come back later after your little excursion.

"y-yeah, i-i..." you cough a little. "i-i got...i got sick. in the bathroom, i-i--"

"'s olright," he quiets you. "'m comin'. gimme a few minutes."

simon finds you in the family restroom of the little library, seated on the floor and hugging the toilet. he curses under his breath when he finds you, tears blurring your vision as you cry. you didn't sound so bad on the phone, but maybe you were just holding it together until you got yourself some help.

"ohhhh, swee'eart," he sighs, pushing the hood of his jacket off as he kneels down to your level. he wipes the sweat off your forehead with a gloved hand, cupping you under your jaw. "you olright?"

"no," you sob, gasping a little between tears. "i feel terrible, s-simon, i--"

"olright," he coos. "'m 'ere now. let's get ya 'ome. get ya into bed, tha' sound good?"

you nod. you look sickly, eyes dull, a cold sweat breaking out all over you. he suspects it might be the flu, considering the body aches you seem to have and the headache you tell him about as he helps you into the car. he gives you some water, stroking your face gently, and when you tell him how cold you are, he shucks his jacket off and drapes it over you before taking you back home.

you're in and out of consciousness over the next few hours. simon had helped you into your pajamas before tucking you into bed. he watched you with a glare to make sure you took the medicine he gave you, and he made you drink at least four glasses of water before he let you drift off to sleep.

when you wake up later in the evening, the cat is purring on her little bed hanging on the windowsill. simon had installed it a few weeks ago, a little perch bed so she could look outside and watch the little bunnies that came by in the morning. it's dark out now, and when you look around, simon has turned your little diffuser on, and it smells like lemons.

"s-simon?" you croak. your throat hurts. you hear a shuffle in the kitchen, and then simon is coming into the room. he doesn't turn the main light on, merely coming close and flicking the low lamp on beside you.

"'ow are ya feelin'?" he asks softly. your eyes are watery again, and he sighs, putting the back of his hand to your forehead and grimacing. "not as warm, at least. what do ya need, hmm?"

"my throat," you whisper. "i-it hurts--"

"i'll bring ya a cuppa, baby," simon murmurs. you sniffle, leaning into his hand. "do ya want somethin' ta eat? anythin'? got some bread...some soup if y'r up for it."

your lip wobbles, and he shakes his head, kissing your forehead gently.

"i'll bring ya some bread. if ya can keep it down, we'll try the soup, yeah?"

you just nod and shrug, and he picks up the box of tissues on the dresser and takes one out. he comes back to you, holding your cheek gently with one hand and wiping your tears with the other. he dabs at the sweat gently before he lets you relax again.

"i'll be right back."

you close your eyes when he leaves. you vaguely hear him in the kitchen, the sound of cookware and the whine of the kettle on the stove. simon comes back into the bedroom a little while later, holding a small plate and a steaming mug of tea. he sets down the tea, telling you it's something lemon with honey, and he shows you the thin slice of bread he's toasted with a little butter.

he sits with you while you eat small bites, and he helps you drink the warm tea that immediately soothes your insides. you start to cry again, but not from feeling so terrible.

"wot's wrong?" simon huffs, and you just look up at him, clinging to his shirt, pulling him onto the bed.

"t-thank you," you whisper, and simon just shakes his head.

"wot for?"

"f-for taking care of me. f-for c-coming to get me...for..."

simon meets your eyes, holding them, and he narrows his eyes.

"don't thank me," he says firmly. "wot fuckin' kind o' man would i be if i didn't take care of my wife, eh? sorry fuckin' wanker, is wot i'd be."

"b-but--"

"and when y'r better," he interrupts you, standing as he takes your plate, "got everythin' set up for ya outside. can move the lettuce, like ya wanted."

you sink into the cushions, happy tears in your eyes, and simon leaves, busying himself with the dishes as he tries to fight off the warm, aching feeling in his chest.

fuck, it feels so good to take care of you. to see you smile. to see your wobbly lip and those tear-filled eyes and know that he can make it all better--it feels so fucking good.

when he comes to bed later that night, you're still asleep, but you move towards him, seeking his warmth. it's instinctual now, easy.

there's a place at his side that's made only for you. it's shaped just how you are, it cannot be mistaken to be for anyone else.

when he whispers that he loves you into the dark, you don't hear him. but you scoot just that much closer.

[zreamy]

i'll love you forever

pairing: park sunghoon x fem!reader

summary: you were sunghoon's first everything; first friend, first love, and first heartbreak. after years of quietly crushing on you, he was finally ready to confess. so ready to confess, that he told his parents the two of you were already dating! it was an easy enough lie to keep up and he kept it up for months, what could possibly go wrong? he thought. little did he know, you would have a falling out and stop talking for months.. and then, you'd both get invited to spend a week at home with his parents, who still believe you're his girlfriend.

genre: smut, fluff, angst, college au, childhood best friends to lovers, fake dating

warnings: minors dni, fake dating is pretty mild (sorry), she kinda doesn’t rate him at the start, these two kind of exist in a vacuum a little bit idk i had a self-enforced word count to stick to and broke it.. (im within the 10% allowance !), sunghoon in a vest, sunghoon arms, sunghoon

word count: 21,858

playlist: click here.. (for my non-spotify babes, the main song is light by wave to earth (which for some reason i put last.. whatever))

author's note: for silly @asahicore. happy birthday pooks i hope it's amazing and that u enjoy reading this when u have the time !!! LOL (lots of love) also im never writing without telling you things again this was so absurd.

to everyone else.. ok happy reading also emma did not beta read this so im sure it's missing its charm .. anyway it's for emma not you 😭 anyway i hope u enjoy regardless and lmk ur thoughts! omg this is the first fic im nervous about posting.......... please enjoy or else.

In the three years since Park Sunghoon moved away for university, he’d been doing a pretty good job of going home to see his parents. They’d welcome their baby back to the nest with open arms and wide grins. With a rehearsed level of indifference, his younger sister, Yeji, would say, “Oh, I didn’t know you were coming home this weekend.” when she saw him at the dinner table. Sunghoon pretended to only be marginally hurt by this. 

In the last three months, he hasn’t so much as sent a text to his parents. 

Or to you. 

Ignoring texts from his mother is devastating. Between classes, he watches as, “Hi, sweetie, I love you 😍,” turns into, “Missing you, honey, know you must be busy but spare some time for your old mummy, no?” which turns into, “Getting really worried now, are you doing okay? Has something happened with YN? Talk to me, I love you, my baby boy!” 

Ignoring texts from you is easy because texts from you never come. 

Sitting at the end of his bed, Sunghoon rereads a text his mother sent a few minutes ago: Please talk to me, son. Really worried and YN isn’t answering calls either. What’s going on with you two?

When he leaves his room, he finds Jake lying on the couch, and with his keys in hand, Sunghoon says, “I’m going home.” 

And the drive is great! At least, he tells his mum it is. In truth, the drive home without you was nearly impossible. Your ever-expanding home time playlist buzzed through the speakers in his car, but without you there to screech along to the songs, it wasn’t the same. He felt your absence the most when he stopped to get petrol and you weren’t there behind him struggling to carry enough snacks to feed a small family without offering to pay. 

The look of worry on his mum’s face stirs a pit in his stomach. “Why are you so quiet these days? God, you look so tired,” she says, frowning. “Is it school? Or something with YN? It’s not like her not to text back.” Her brows crease as she whispers the word unless. She pulls him into a hug, her chin resting perfectly on his shoulder, and her comforting hand strokes the hair on the back of his head. “Breakups are never easy, honey. I’m so sorry, I know how much you love her.” 

Breakups are never easy. The sentence hangs heavy over his head. 

Whether she knows it or not, she’s handed him a get-out-of-jail-free card, the opportunity to set things straight, to end this mess once and for all. No further questions, and most importantly, no more lies. 

For the first time since he left your flat three months ago, Sunghoon lets himself cry. He’d imagined this moment countless times, his first cry since you ended things. In his mind, it was always intense. Today, as it happens, only a few salty tears leak from his eyes, spilling onto the cuff of his sleeve, darkening the blue cotton in tiny indigo splotches. 

“We didn’t break up,” he says in a small voice—for some reason. “I’m just having a hard time.” Neither statement is technically untrue, but the words taste rotten in his mouth.

The tightening grip of his mum’s arms around his body is what brings on the harsh, shoulder-racking sobs he’d been anticipating. For a while, they stand like this, Sunghoon weeping into his mum’s cardigan until she sends him upstairs to lie down, promising a cup of tea that never comes. 

His childhood bedroom is chilly, so he changes into clothes he left behind and climbs into bed, pulling his duvet up to his chin. He turns his head to look at the walls and the room around him, everything is exactly where he left it in the summer. It should be comforting, but it’s weird to be home without you. 

There are photos of you and him everywhere, growing up and around each other through different stages of life. The two of you together during the summer your family moved in next door, you wore glasses back then and were the first friend he’d made in his life. Sunbathing and sharing earphones at the beach, listening to music together on your iPod classic. Sunghoon in thick glasses with a stiff smile and your arm around him on the first day of high school. Wide grins at the start of this summer, the last time things were okay between you. 

Overwhelmed, he stares up at the ceiling, only realising he’s crying when a hot tear slips from his eyes to tickle his ear. Because Sunghoon likes to upset himself, he screws his eyes shut and thinks about the night before you stopped talking. 

Though he didn’t know it at the time, you’d left Yeonjun’s place to sit with him in a tiny restaurant on campus, the one you’d only visit to toast to each other’s heartbreaks. It had become a ritual — ever since your first year boyfriend dumped you after two weeks — to cry as much as you wanted and drink as much soju as your bodies could handle before stumbling back to your apartments. 

Having spent years suffering from an unrequited crush on his best friend, Sunghoon was always the one to comfort you. But that night was different; you were there to comfort him. It was easy enough to play the part of ‘boy whose crush likes someone else’ because he spent your entire friendship in that role. He’d had no problem accepting his fate, but his composure started to slip when you met Yeonjun. It was the first time you’d dated someone who Sunghoon had reason to be jealous of. In every way, Yeonjun was better than him—taller, funnier, hotter. Sunghoon knew he didn’t stand a chance. He took it personally, you liking Yeonjun instead of him, and let his jealousy consume him from the inside out. 

This jealousy led him to start telling you about Minjeong—lying to you about Minjeong, and his feelings for her. She was a girl from a college out of town that he saw on his Instagram Explore page. He followed her by accident, and by some stroke of luck, she followed back. Sunghoon didn’t really have feelings for her — he didn’t even know her — but she was a girl that you didn’t know, so you wouldn’t be able to meddle. 

It only took a few weeks for Sunghoon to become so upset about your relationship that he couldn’t hide his emotions anymore. So, in a fit of tears, he told you over the phone that things ended badly with Minjeong, and he was in urgent need of a soju ceremony. 

But the night was missing its usual comforts.

It was strange to be the one crying, to see you looking put together and ordering the food. To see you pouring the drinks and raising your glass to propose a toast to ‘Hoonie’s first heartbreak’. You were driving that night, so you only had a tiny sip of soju and let him drink as much as he needed, the way he always did for you, at the same table, in the same restaurant for years. 

Hours later, in your car, you entertained his drunken rambles, though he remembers how your lips were set into a frown that he wanted to kiss away while you gripped the steering wheel like you thought it would run from you. Sunghoon was more drunk than he’d been in a while, drunk enough to let you sling his arm over your shoulders and keep him upright until you reached his flat. 

The voices coming from Yeji’s room disrupt the memory. He’s thankful.

“Your brother’s going through something, so be nice to him this weekend.” His mother’s voice is her version of hushed—a loud whisper. 

Yeji’s response is harder to make out, but he doesn’t miss the way their mum says, “I mean it, missy.” 

A dramatic sigh rumbles through Yeji as she barges into his room without knocking. Sunghoon sits up, feeling an ache in his back and crossing his legs. 

“Mum told me to lay off you today, which is fine, but before I do, I need to tell you something.” 

Yeji pushes the door shut behind her, and the open window makes it slam, both of them flinching from the sudden noise. She pulls her hair out of a silk scrunchie and throws herself on the floor. A pang of irritation forms in his chest, knowing that he could immediately find the empty hanger in his wardrobe where the shirt she’s wearing used to live. 

“I hate you and your perfect golden boy image, Hoon. Would it kill you to fail a class for once? I don’t know how I’m supposed to carry on your legacy.” She’s looking up at him, her chin in her hands and irritation written in the crease between her thick brows. 

It’s impossible to know if it’s because of Yeji’s complete lack of boundaries or the fact that her ‘perfect, golden boy’ big brother is on track to fail three out of three classes and get cut from the hockey team, but Sunghoon immediately bursts into tears. 

“Oh, uh.. I’m sorry?” Yeji offers. “I was kidding if that helps.” 

“I’m alright, it’s okay.” The tears don’t stop stinging his eyes. “Why do you want me to change everything about myself?” 

With a frown, Yeji pours out her frustration and mild resentment. She doesn’t understand how Sunghoon effortlessly conquers every aspect of life while she struggles. Neither do their parents, who had been baffled by her plummeting grades since she moved to boarding school, especially when Sunghoon’s academic performance has only soared since he left for university. The weight of this perceived injustice pulls Sunghoon’s shoulders down with guilt as she talks about the expectations he has inadvertently set for her. 

“But other than that, I’m good.” She shrugs, sitting with her legs out, and leaning back on her palms. “How’s YN?” she asks. It’s clear from the brightness in her voice that she thinks she’s helping. 

Sunghoon cries again. 

Back on campus, he’s trying to scrape together what’s left of his academic career with the help of two of the smartest guys he knows, and their friend Jay. Though the word ‘friend’ feels a little strong at the moment given the way Jay’s goading him. 

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, sitting back in his seat. “There’s nothing you can do that I can’t,” he says, meaning every word. 

Jay scoffs, shrugging and raising his brow in a way that, over the years, Sunghoon knows to interpret as his ‘about to say something ridiculous’ look. “Pretty sure I could call YN right now, and she’d answer.” 

There’s a pit in Sunghoon’s stomach as Heeseung turns his head in the other direction like he’s been slapped, trembling with stifled laughter. At least Jake doesn’t hide his amusement, throwing his head back in a fit of giggles that draw nasty looks from the other students in the library. Sunghoon doesn’t waste his energy trying to argue because Jay’s right.

Now composed, Heeseung turns back to the table, flipping through some of Sunghoon’s course materials to find whatever his class was doing in class that week. The English Literature class he’s taking — The Modernist Movement: Joyce, Woolf, and Hemingway — is the same class he had to send a million emails over the summer to get enrolled in, but it’s the same one Heeseung aced two years ago. Lucky for him none of the boys seem to be in the mood to make fun of him for trying so hard to have a class in common with you, and then practically failing out of it before the term had started properly.

“This class is, like, beyond easy, dude.” Heeseung pauses to sniffle and twist the stud in his ear. “Everyone in my class aced it. How are you doing so badly already?” 

“I only took it because YN thought it’d be fun if we had a class together, but.. I kind of haven’t been going since we stopped talking.” Sunghoon shrugs, pretending to be unaffected. 

As if the mere mention of your name has some sort of summoning power, like saying Biggie Smalls in the mirror three times, you appear in his eye line, rounding the corner with a furious stride. Your demeanour crumbles when Jay waves at you, and you grin, waving back, but as soon as you look Sunghoon in the eye again, the rage comes back, and you smack a hand on the table when you reach it, leaning over to him. 

“Sunghoon, a word?” you ask.

He thinks you’re asking, but it’s hard to tell with the way you set your jaw afterwards, and the way the warmth of your signature vanilla scent hits him hard. Dazed, Sunghoon lifts a hand, pointing at himself. “Me?” 

“Does anyone else at the table answer to Sunghoon?” 

“Okay,” he says, somewhat pathetically, nudging Jay for laughing at him. 

As slowly as possible, Sunghoon pushes his chair from the table and stands up, following you to the corner of the references section where only anthropology students in scratchy thrift store knits, and Jay, come to check out encyclopaedias by volume. You look good, save for the rage written all over your face—which, honestly, Sunghoon thinks he likes.

Sunghoon isn’t sure what to expect, so he says, “Hey.” He’s being cautious, waiting a moment to gauge your reaction. “What’s gooooood?” His cheeks burn as soon as he closes his mouth around the vowel, but you laugh. You laugh, and it’s beautiful and happy, and you’re laughing because of him—or at him, but he’s glad either way. 

Annoyance quickly clears all traces of amusement on your face. “Were you ever going to tell me we’re spending next week at Mum and Dad’s?” you ask. 

Sunghoon gasps dramatically, clicking his fingers. “I knew there was something I’ve been meaning to do.” 

His attempt at lightening the mood falls flat, and you only nudge his shoulder gently, sighing. “Can you be serious? For once in your life, even for a second, can you please think about how the things you say affect me?” You’re frowning, crossing your arms over your chest and looking at your feet. “It’s not fair, Sunghoon. For you to keep saying things—making plans involving me and then acting like I’m the bad guy when I turn you down.” 

“I don’t think you’re the bad guy at all,” Sunghoon admits. “If anyone is in the wrong, it’s me, I guess.”

You scoff, looking at him like you hate him. “You guess? Are you serious?” You look furious, but you sound hurt and Sunghoon hates it. Hates himself. “I can’t have this conversation with you right now. Tell mum I’m sick, and it’s contagious.” You roll your eyes and walk away, leaving Sunghoon alone with his thoughts and judgemental stares from students in crochet scarves so long they graze the floor. 

He sighs, slumping against the wall. How does he keep getting it wrong with you? 

Back at the table, Sunghoon manages to act like he’s not falling apart and makes some serious headway on his missing assignments with Heeseung’s help before they call it a day as the sun starts to set. 

When he gets home, he lies down on his bedroom floor, spending hours poring over the conversation you had. Over the minute changes in your facial expression, the tone of your voice, and the endless list of things he should have done, rather than watch you walk away. 

The moment feels familiar, both identical to and worlds apart from what happened after you left three months ago. When he managed to scrape the last shreds of his dignity from the kitchen table, he dragged his feet to his room and lay down like he is now, face to the rug. That day, he left his door open and lay so still that Jake thought he was dead. Sunghoon remembers wishing he had been. 

For once in your life, even for a second, can you please think about how the things you say affect me? The words run on a loop in his mind, over and over, until he can’t remember the order of the sentence or where you put emphasis. They’re cutting all the same. 

Sunghoon sighs into the itchy fibres of his black rug before rolling onto his back. In the diminishing purple light of the setting sun. he looks at the walls of his room. At the Fleetwood Mac poster, he stole from Jay when they moved out of their first year dorm, that curls away from the wall towards the ceiling—a diagonal strip of shiny tape being the only indication of the otherwise invisible tear through the face of Stevie Nicks. 

He’s glad when his phone rings, cutting through the quiet, though the sight of your name and the anatomical heart emoji next to it only dampens his spirit. Reluctantly, Sunghoon answers the phone, holding it to his ear. 

“I just got off the phone with Dad..” You trail off. Tangible silence follows, so thick it weighs on his chest. “I’ll go home with you.” 

“You will?” 

“Yes. Goodbye.” 

Sunghoon reaches your flat at five in the evening. You don’t smile when you open the door for him, nor do you invite him in. Instead, you dump your bag at your feet and he cringes, looking from the floor to you. You’re aggressively beautiful and cosy-looking as you pull a jacket over the sweater you wore that night. Sunghoon’s heart aches in his chest and he wonders if you even realise. Suddenly, the memory of the last thing you said the morning after hits him like a truck: Then let’s not be friends at all. 

A familiar weight lands on his shoulder—your hand. Concern lines your eyes as you ask if he’s okay. 

With a lump in his throat, Sunghoon nods. 

In the discomfort of his car, the two of you sit in silence while he starts the drive home. 

“How’s Yeonjun,” he asks, eyes flicking towards you but regretting it immediately when he sees how you clench your jaw. 

“No,” you say simply, shaking your head. “You don’t get to ask me about him.” 

These are the only words you exchange until Sunghoon stops for petrol. He has enough fuel for the rest of the journey, but he feels like dying and thinks the fresh air might quell his thoughts of running his car off the road. Like always, the two of you get out and head into the kiosk, where he follows you wordlessly through the aisles, watching you debate on snack choices before settling on the same things you always get. Sunghoon pays for your snacks and you roll your eyes but don’t protest, mumbling thanks as you take them into your arms, leading the way back outside.

He knows he needs to tell you before you reach the house, but he’s not entirely sure how to say it—so he just does. “My, uh.. my parents think we’re dating.”

You stop so suddenly in front of him that he almost bumps into you. Stepping around you, Sunghoon keeps walking. 

Over the top of his car, he watches your face cycle through all five stages of grief until anger comes back around in the loop as you scoff. “Why do they think that?” Your face is devoid of expression now, the blankness over your features dragging a sharp chill over his spine. 

He stares blankly at you, processing. “Because I told them we’re dating,” he mumbles. 

“Why did you.. do that?” You tilt your head, eyes pressing shut in a long blink. “What are you even talking about? Why did you.. What?” 

A thin layer of sweat coats his palms despite the cold. Why did he do that? “We can stage a breakup during the trip or say we broke up right now,” Sunghoon offers. “Just one night, YN, please.” 

The wind whistles by, ruffling your hair and jacket that you hug tightly to your chest. Behind you, Sunghoon takes note of the group of girls standing by the pumps, all five of them jerking their heads abruptly when they notice him watching, suddenly finding interest in the scattered litter and flickering halogen bulbs in the steel canopy over their heads. 

You’re staring when he looks back at you, nostrils twitching with a sniffle before you sigh. “Or we could say that you’re a liar and end things there,” you say. “Or better yet, you go down there on your own and tell them the truth.”

Sunghoon’s gaze drops, his thoughts racing in his mind. He knows you’re right. At some point, his parents will have to find out, and it’d be better for them to find out now. Sunghoon sighs, nodding. “Alright,” he concedes. “I’ll take you back.”

An angry laugh comes out of you as you shake your head. “No need, I’ll walk.” 

The station you’re at is neatly nestled in the middle of nowhere, on a road so narrow he’s not even sure it has a pavement. You’re halfway through the three-hour drive, so there’s no telling how long the walk would be, never mind the fact that the sun is already setting and it’s deep enough into October for the wind to sting. 

“From here?” he asks, incredulous. 

“Yes, open the boot so I can get my bag.” 

Sunghoon can only bring himself to say your name, a desperate whisper. 

“Open the boot.”

He repeats your name as if it’ll make a difference, he’s pleading with you, begging—though he doesn’t know for what. 

You go to the back of his car where Sunghoon joins you, a pit in his stomach when you step away. With misty eyes, you look up at him and his heart breaks. “Please.”

Sunghoon knows you well enough to know that you’re not actually going to attempt the walk home but also knows that you won’t back down if he keeps challenging you. He nods, opening the boot for you and getting into the driver’s seat—your move. 

You stand there, unmoving, and long enough passes that he thinks you’ll actually leave. The boot closes softly and you join him in the passenger seat. You sigh, buckling your seatbelt. “Let’s just get this over with.” 

For the rest of the journey, you sit in silence as Sunghoon briefs you on the relationship, fighting a smile as he thinks about being your boyfriend—even if only for a night. You scoff when he ‘reminds’ you that you’ve been together for four months now and the only reason you haven’t been able to come home recently is that your schedules don’t match up very well anymore—which couldn’t be further from the truth as, before term started, you went out to celebrate the fact that your class schedules couldn’t be more suited for seeing each other. 

Finally, at Sunghoon’s childhood home, the two of you smile and laugh for his parents before going to bed. Your relationship has only made his mother more averse to the idea of you sharing a room under her roof than she had been when you were younger. He’s relieved about this, and in the solitude of his bedroom, he lies on the duvet of his twin bed, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about the last few hours. 

With his parents, you’d sat up in the living room watching TV. They sat on the couch together, his mum nestled in his dad’s side, while you two sat on the couch opposite, mirroring their position. If your complete stiffness was anything to go by, you were less than comfortable with his arm around you and Sunghoon felt terrible for begging you to go along with this. It was after midnight when you all went upstairs and you let him kiss your forehead before all but slamming the door to the guest room in his face. His heart twirled and his mum beamed at him before saying goodnight again. 

Now, at 3 a.m. he can’t sleep. Flinching at the knock on his door, he furrows his brows and goes to open it. It’s you. Standing there with your hair scraped away from your face in one of his t-shirts. Your eyes are red, brimmed with tears as you step into his room and sit on his bed. 

He closes the door softly, heart aching at the sight of you so upset, and when he sits next to you, his heart tears apart because you move over, putting a distance between you. It falls out of his chest onto the floor when he realises you’re not wearing your necklace. 

Sunghoon suspected you might have stopped wearing it, it only made sense that if you didn’t want him, you wouldn’t want the necklace he bought for you either, but at least earlier, your sweatshirt sat so high he couldn’t see if you had it on or not. 

It was a gift for your sixteenth birthday, after your first heartbreak. He was so upset and angry that you let some loser hurt you that way, upset and angry that someone could be loved by you and fuck it up. Sunghoon was inspired by Jay, who’d gotten a pretty necklace for his girlfriend, and talked about her cute reaction for weeks, how happy she was to have a piece of him with her all the time. It was a locket, with a picture of Jay in one side and a picture of her in the other so the pictures would kiss when she wore it. 

While at the jewellers with Jake, Sunghoon thought something like that might be a bit much for the two of you and eventually picked out an equally pretty piece with his first initial on it. He wrote a corny note to put in the box, something about how ‘boys come and go but Sunghoon is forever’ and gave it to you with trembling hands a few nights later—it was the first time he ever made you cry. Immediately, he thought he’d done something wrong and was ready to snatch the box and run back to the jewellers (even though he trashed the receipt). You hugged him and told him you loved him. Sunghoon’s been riding that high ever since. 

Until tonight at least. 

“Are you okay?” he whispers. 

“I’ll do it, Hoon.” Your eyes lift from the floor to meet his gaze. “For as long as you need me to, I’ll pretend.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, Sunghoon feels lighter, an unbearable weight slipping from his shoulders. You haven’t called him ‘Hoon’ in ages, and he can’t tell if you’ve said it out of vulnerability, or even noticed that you’ve said it at all, but it warms his heart nonetheless. However, he’s not fully at ease, still curious about your sudden change of heart and why you’re crying. 

“What happened?”

You pull him into a hug, and his eyes bulge out of his head. “It doesn’t matter,” you say, the words muffled by the skin at the base of his neck. 

For as long as he’s known you, you’ve smelled like vanilla, a sweet warmth that grounds him. Yet it’s only after these months apart that he’s able to put a name to the sensation: home. The realisation of how much he’s missed this feeling, missed you, floods him with a rush of emotion so overwhelming he can’t find the words to press the issue. A moment passes before he remembers to hug you back, his arms finally wrapping around you, pulling you close, and you sink into his hold. Months ago, he would have kissed the top of your head and mumbled reassurance into your hair, but tonight, Sunghoon settles for stroking the back of your head and hopes it’s enough. 

“You can talk to me, you know? You can always talk to me.”

A heavy silence follows, sharp as a dagger—scraping his skin, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge and lodging itself between his shoulder blades. Sunghoon’s breath hitches in his throat when you cling onto him even tighter, shifting so close you’ve had to settle in his lap. His heart races in his chest, pounding a rhythm so loud it fills the room. 

Finally, you speak, assuring him that you know and that you’re okay. At this, Sunghoon holds you as tight as he can, and neither of you speaks for the rest of the night. You fall asleep like this, in his arms, so deeply that you don’t even stir when he lies down. 

Rubbing your back, he watches the clock on his nightstand, the piercing green LED digits cycling through two whole hours right before his stinging eyes until you wake up. Sunghoon presses his eyes shut, pretending to be asleep when you kiss his cheek and leave his room. 

For the entire morning, you stay in your room, and although Sunghoon is concerned, he decides not to bother you. In the afternoon, he sits at the dining table with his mum, listening as she talks about work. When she asks him, he gets up to make a cup of tea for her. It’s at that moment when you finally come downstairs, looking so effortlessly pretty. Your hair is still damp from the shower, and you’re bundled up in one of his old sweatshirts. There’s a bright grin on your face that leaves his heart thudding. 

“Baby!” you squeal when you see him, charging towards him and wrapping your arms around him from behind. “Good morning.” Your words are muffled against the back of his t-shirt, and the four-letter word, and the sugar coating it, make his cheeks burn. 

“It’s great to see you too, YN,” his mum says with a smile. “My night was amazing; I slept very well and had no dreams.” 

You let go of Sunghoon and walk over to the table, kissing his mum on the cheek and wishing her a good morning as well. “Sorry, mum, how are you?” 

His mother doesn’t seem to have the heart to correct you either, allowing your 3 p.m. ‘good morning’ to go unnoticed. 

Sunghoon carefully fills both mugs to the brim and, with extra caution, carries them to the table. He places a steaming cup of peppermint tea in front of his mum and a milky coffee in front of you. A warm smile spreads across your face as you mouth a ‘thank you’, and his knees turn to jelly. 

The next day, after eating an early dinner with his parents at the table, the four of you go out on a walk along the bike path you used to take for school. His parents have gone ahead, not intentionally, but because Sunghoon can’t stop you from dragging your feet. 

As with most things in the town where you grew up, nothing about the trail has changed. The leaves are yellowing in standard form for the season, and crunching under his feet with each step he takes. The only foreign experience is the silence that you’re determined to uphold. Everything Sunghoon says to you is met with either a hum, a nod, or no acknowledgement at all. At this point, he feels like he could drop dead at your side and the most you’d do is step over his body like a fallen branch. 

After letting you go ahead, the weathered slats of the wooden footbridge sag in the middle under his tread. It’s been like this for as long as he can remember and he wonders how nothing has been done about it. The stream rushes under it, loud and unruly, the smell of wet grass both comforting and suffocating as you look over the railing. It’s like something from a postcard, the low-hanging branches sweeping back and forth under the breeze, the grass lush and green around the path, murky water thrashing against the mud and rocks underneath with you in the middle of the frame, peering over the edge.

You keep walking when Sunghoon approaches, leaving him alone on the creaky bridge with nothing but the ache in his chest. He looks up, staring at the grey clouds in the sky through the gaps in the leaves, and sighs. 

Eventually, he catches up with you, grabbing your hand and locking his fingers with yours when his parents slow down. You stiffen, looking up at him with cut eyes and a creased brow. “What are you doing?”

Sunghoon matches your clipped tone. “Holding my girlfriend’s hand.” 

“No one’s looking, boyfriend.”

“You think my parents aren’t going to wonder why we’re lagging behind?” 

A scoff—your fingers remain defiantly stiff. “Do you think your parents are going to care whether or not we’re holding hands?” 

“My mum might after the show you put on yesterday afternoon, baby.” Bitterness covers the word like a blanket, a stark departure from how you said it. 

A long sigh rumbles its way out of you before you fix your lips into a strained grin. “Sorry, sweetheart, this is my first time pretending to be in love.” 

As your words hang in the air, Sunghoon’s emotions brew like a storm within him. Frustration gnaws at his patience. All hopes for a smooth week are dashed, though determination simmers in his chest with a strong resolve to make this work, to fix your relationship. It doesn’t stop the sharp pang of hurt piercing his stomach—he knows you don’t feel the same way, he knows you’re faking, but the word ‘pretending’ hits him like a truck anyway. 

“We held hands all the time when we were friends,” he points out.

Your smile drops immediately, hurt flashing behind your eyes. “Yeah, and now we’re not.” 

If there was a competition for who could hurt Sunghoon’s feelings the most, you’d be a shoo-in for first place. With distinction. 

“Exactly!” he says, feeling the sting of his own words. “Because now we’re dating.”

At the sight of his mum turning around, you switch up in an instant. Lock your fingers with his, wrapping an arm around his bicep, leaning into him, giggling. It’s forced but his parents are far enough away that all that matters is the curve of your lips.

“You two okay back there?” she asks. 

“Perfect! I feel like a kid again!” you call back, beaming up at Sunghoon in a way that makes his stomach flutter even though it doesn’t meet your eyes. 

The two of you don’t talk at all when you get home, with you hugging his parents goodnight and running up the stairs. 

“She’s not feeling too well,” he explains, nodding when his dad tells him to make you some tea. 

His parents spend the whole day at work, and you spend the whole day following him around like a shadow until the evening when they return. He doesn’t pretend not to like it.

Sunghoon helps you make dinner, turning leftover rice into fried rice with the help of some eggs and vegetables. It’s nice moving around the kitchen with you, watching you scramble eggs in his t-shirt and bump his hip with a playful frown when he eats some of the peppers you’re chopping. 

His parents watch from the table, cooing over the two of you and he does his best to fight the blush forming on his cheeks and neck. Embarrassed, he hugs you from behind, hiding his face in your neck—the scent of your coconut conditioner mixing with your vanilla perfume doesn’t do anything to stop the flush. 

Over a bottle of wine, the four of you eat together at the table, swapping stories about your days. Sunghoon tries to hide his surprise as you lie about the time you spent at the play park by your primary school, competing for height on the swings and spinning on the roundabout until you couldn’t stand up. You grin at him, and it meets your eyes as you hold his hand under the table, and kiss his cheek.

After eating, his parents head upstairs, leaving to clean up together. You hum a song he’s never heard as you load the dishwasher, carefully placing the plates and cutlery in the rack, shaking your head when he hands you the glasses you’d used. 

“Leave ours,” you say. “If you want.” 

Sunghoon nods, putting them back on the table, where you sit in the seat across from the one he was sitting in. He sits too, staying quiet rather than saying the wrong thing. You don’t speak either. It’s reminiscent of the past—the hours you’d spend in the same room, only speaking to share a funny post you’d come across or to ask if you were hungry. 

His eyes track your movements—reaching for the half-empty bottle on the table to pour yourself another glass, filling it to the brim. Before putting it down, you offer him some, filling his glass too when he nods. The three glasses of wine he’s already had must be the reason he wants to reach across the table and hold your hand, run his thumb over the soft skin on the back of it. 

Sunghoon doesn’t know why you’ve been so nice to him all day or why it makes his chest hurt. 

“You know you don’t have to be nice to me when we’re alone, right?” The words come out before he can stop them.

Over the top of your glass, your brows knit together. A sound of confusion, a low hum, comes from your throat as you try to finish your sip. “What?” you ask finally. 

“I only asked you to do this because of my parents, you know? You don’t have to sit or talk with me when they’re not around.” 

Sunghoon’s known you long enough to recognise the look that flashes across your face. The way your eyes narrow and your brows tug together, the little pout that sets on your lips before you speak; you’re hurt.

“Why can’t I just be nice to you because it’s the right thing to do?” 

Because it hurts, is what he wants to say. He wants to cry, to beg you to forget everything he said that day. “Because I don’t want to make you any more uncomfortable than I already have.” Is what he settles for. 

Your face softens. “I don’t feel uncomfortable around you, Hoon. We were best friends for ages, I don’t think you could ever make me uncomfortable.” You pause to take a gulp of wine. “Why can’t I just want to be nice to you?” 

Sunghoon has to chew on his cheek to distract himself from how much your word choice stings. The implications of were and all of your past tense. “I’m sorry,” he says. 

“What for?” 

“Everything.” 

There’s a sadness in the way you run your fingers on the base of your glass. The way you chew on your lip, how your hair falls when you tilt your head and how it moves when you shake it. “It’s not your fault,” you say. “I don’t know anyone who would choose to have unrequited feelings for their best friend.” 

Wow, he thinks. You’re on a roll. Sunghoon wonders if you’re meticulously choosing your phrasing to upset him. Wonders why you feel the need to remind him that his feelings aren’t reciprocated as if he didn’t live through and spend hours reliving the day he confessed. 

“But I didn’t have to tell you about it. It was unfair of me to spring that on you when I knew about Yeonjun.” 

“Did you.. did you think I was going to leave him for you?” 

“Maybe?” Sunghoon chews on his lip—he has no idea what he thought would happen. “I think I thought I loved you enough for both of us, that you might play the part for fun or out of curiosity, and.. I don’t know, just learn to love me.”

“Hoon,” you whisper, frowning. “How could you even think about settling for something like that?” 

Sunghoon shrugs. “It’s not settling if it’s you.” 

Silence takes a seat at the table after he speaks, interrupted only by the ticking clock on the wall—a glittery mess of scrapbooking paper and washi tape layered over each other that Yeji had decorated at summer camp years ago. You’re picking at your fingernails, letting flecks of black polish fall to the table, stark against the varnished oak. 

“I know it’s not my place to ask,” Sunghoon starts after a while, hesitant and only continuing when you nod. “But what did Yeonjun say when you told him? About.. everything?” 

You take a long sip from your glass and sit quietly for so long that he thinks you’re not going to answer him—he doesn’t blame you. 

“I didn’t.” 

He waits for you to elaborate. You don’t. 

Sunghoon nods slowly, deciding not to ask any follow-up questions. Instead, he takes another drink, scrunching his nose at the bitter taste. “He didn’t ask why we stopped hanging out?” he blurts out.

“I told him we fell out but I didn’t say why.” You shrug, but your posture is stiff. 

“Where did you tell him you were going to be this week?” He knows it’s not his business at all, that he’s pushing your boundaries, but he can’t help his curiosity.

“Nowhere.” 

“You told him you were staying on campus?” 

“I didn’t tell him anything.” Your gaze shifts, avoiding his as you toy with the stem of your glass. You drum your nails against it, letting the dull clink ring out. 

“So you just left?” 

“Does it make a difference to you?” 

Sunghoon nods.

For a while, you tug at the drawstrings on your hoodie, pursing your lips to the side, considering this. “Yeonjun and I aren’t together anymore.” Your admission is so shocking that Sunghoon’s jaw drops. He tries to cover his surprise by coughing, his tongue sticking out like a small child. “I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want you to think it was because of you.” 

Sunghoon’s thoughts move at lightspeed, too fast for him to catch onto any of them and process this information. His emotions compete with each other—disbelief, guilt, and a painful glimmer of hope he hadn’t dared to acknowledge until now all at the forefront. 

“Was it?” he asks. “Because of me?” 

You scoff—an incredulous sound that doesn’t match the sad look on your face. “I don’t know, Sunghoon. Do you think my boyfriend used me to make his ex jealous because of you?”

He’s not sure what he expected you to say, but this is.. Complete disbelief eclipses him as his heart sinks in his chest, shock, and guilt bubbling in his stomach. 

“I’m sorry,” he says after too long. “That I wasn’t there. That I haven’t been there.” 

“You didn’t know,” you say, gaze softening as you look up at him. 

“But I made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me about it.” 

You shake your head. “I made me feel like I couldn’t talk to you about it. All you did was change the friendship, I’m the one who ended it.”

“I still should’ve been there.” 

“You’re here now, right?” 

Sunghoon nods, earnestly. “Always.” 

Only one thing comes to mind when you repeat the word ‘always’ before taking a sip from your glass, downing its contents. Sunghoon gets up and crosses the room with wobbly steps to open the fridge, where he pulls out as many bottles of soju as he can hold in his hands and puts them down on the table. He goes back to collect some glasses from the cabinet, puts some of the leftover fried rice from dinner into the microwave, and brings it all over when it’s done, with bowls and utensils. You watch him with a fond smile as he opens a bottle and he hopes you think the flush on his cheeks is from all the drinking you’ve been doing. 

“Is it bad that I’ve missed doing this?” You’re grinning now.

Sunghoon shakes his head, raising his glass. “To YN’s fifteenth heartbreak.” 

You grin, clinking the rim of your glass against his. “To YN’s fifteenth heartbreak,” you repeat. 

Both of you down the glasses, and Sunghoon refills them, pouring the soju with an oddly steady hand. As you eat spoonfuls of rice and sip your drinks, silence settles over the room. The soft glow of the kitchen lights forms a warm ambience, a cosy familiarity that brings up simple memories—doing homework together at the table while gossiping about your classmates, the first New Year after you were both eighteen and had your first drink with his parents. 

For at least an hour, the only sounds are the occasional clinks of forks against bowls, glasses hitting the table, the faint hum of the refrigerator and the steady tick of Yeji’s clock. Sunghoon’s eyes meet yours, and he can’t help but notice the slight change in your expression when they do. 

You clear your throat, running a hand through your hair. “This is my sixteenth, actually.” 

“What?” 

You take a small sip of soju, staring down at the table. “My fifteenth heartbreak was losing you. Yeonjun is my sixteenth.”

In the two days since your soju ceremony, Sunghoon finds himself sinking into the role of your boyfriend like a hot bath. But there’s no use pretending it doesn’t hurt. Pretending it doesn’t hurt when you kiss his cheek before bed, or when you reach out to push the hair out of his face or snuggle into his side on the couch; because it does hurt—a lot. It hurts to think that in three days when you put your bags in the boot of his car, you’ll sit in silence all the way home. When he drops you off at your flat, you’ll close the door in his face and stop talking to him again. These realisations are harder to confront when he’s alone in his room, like now. 

About an hour ago, you asked if you could borrow his car, saying there was something you needed to do on your own. It seemed important, so he handed over his keys with no question. Sighing, Sunghoon gets up from his bed and heads to the shower, where he jerks off to clear his mind. On his way back to his room, he notices the light leaking from the open kitchen door that illuminates the landing. 

He hears the lock on the front door clicking, and stands at the top of the stairs, dripping water onto the carpet while listening attentively. His ears perk up when he hears a gasp—his mother. 

“What’s this for?” she asks. 

“I just..” You trail off. “I know it’s not much, but I wanted to thank you both for always looking after me.” You pause, and Sunghoon holds his breath, waiting. Your voice trembles as you continue. “It’s been hard since my parents went back home, and I guess it was still hard when they were here, but you both supported me. I don’t think I could’ve managed without you guys. I want to make you guys proud, you know? And I’m trying, really, so this is me saying thank you. I’m sorry it took me so long.” 

He grips the railing by the landing, digging his nails into the wood until they start hurting—an ache in his fingertips that makes him wince. 

An odd feeling settles in his stomach, a bittersweetness tinged in his fondness for you, and the gentle shock of realising how much his parents have done for you. Growing up, you became an honorary member of Sunghoon’s family. His parents showered you with gifts during holidays and birthdays, which you often celebrated with them rather than your own family. 

The memory of your parents’ sudden decision to move across the country still lingers, and Sunghoon vividly recalls the tearful conversation he overheard at the top of the stairs. Your parents understood the enormity of their request but had earnestly asked if Sunghoon’s parents could continue looking after you. 

His chest tightens when you start crying. 

“You don’t have to thank us for anything, sweetie. Just you being here and taking care of our boy is more than enough thanks. You never forget our birthdays, and you always come and visit when you can. You’re doing a great job, and you should give yourself some credit,” his dad says, a little choked up. “We’ve always been proud of you.” 

Sunghoon’s eyes sting with tears and his skin gets dry in the spots where the water from the shower is evaporating. He presses his fingers to his closed eyes, forcing a few tears to fall and walks the rest of the way to his room with his eyes shut. He can’t hear anything through his closed bedroom door, which he decides is a good thing as he coats himself in moisturiser and swipes deodorant under his arms with intention to spend the whole night alone. Once he’s dressed, he gets into bed and pretends not to be bothered by the way his wet hair dampens his pillow. Under the duvet, he tosses and turns before sighing and heading to Yeji’s room.

In her absence, the room’s subtle transformation is stark. The sage green-painted walls, once a backdrop to the A3 faces of Wave to Earth and Beabadoobee, now bear the faint imprints of those missing posters. Tiny, shadowy rectangles are the only remnants of the 6x4-sized pictures of her and her friends, of her and Sunghoon, that she took away with her to school.

Her hairdryer is still on her desk where she’d left it for him to use and he sits in her stiff wooden chair, plugging it in. The airflow starts immediately, hot and loud, humming throughout the space as he runs his fingers through his wet hair, feeling cosy under the heat. His shampoo is fresh and soapy scented under his nose, and his reflection watches him in Yeji’s mirror, eyes red and concerned while his hair blows around his head. Sunghoon closes his eyes and finishes his hair, sighing as he lets his worries slip under the whir of the fan. 

Finished, he shuts off the dryer and opens his eyes, flinching at your reflection in the doorway behind him with a soft smile on your face. “Mum and Dad are going to open a bottle of wine if you want to join,” you say, meeting his eyes in the mirror. 

Sunghoon can’t find it in himself to speak, only nodding in response. You smile wider but don’t move. He unplugs the hairdryer and leaves it on the desk where he found it before crossing the room. Without giving himself a chance to think about it, he pulls you into a hug and kisses the top of your head, smiling into your hair when you wrap your arms around his waist, holding him closer. 

You’re sitting on the edge of the bathtub, mumbling sleepily that you’re never going to drink again, and Sunghoon leans over the sink brushing his teeth, he’s glad you have the decency to cover your mouth as you speak. 

“Brush your teeth and go back to sleep then,” he mumbles around his toothbrush. 

You don’t respond. 

Sunghoon sighs through his nose, spitting foamy toothpaste into the sink, leaving bubbly, blue splatters on the porcelain. “And quit staring at me, I can feel your beady little eyes on the back of my neck and it’s freaking me out.” 

“But you’re so pretty,” you coo. 

There’s a flutter in his stomach and he rinses off the sink and his mouth, buying himself some time. With a hand on the Listerine, he lifts his gaze to meet yours in the mirror and stops short. You’re still staring at him, features soft and glowing under the afternoon light. You look like an angel; a gentle smile spreading over your lips, and a sleepy glint sparkling in your eyes, wide and gorgeous as you watch him. Sunghoon gulps, mumbling his thanks and looking back at himself. He hopes you can’t see the flush on his cheeks. 

“Go back to sleep,” he says. 

“Will you come and lie down with me if I do?” Your voice is a sleepy drawl, coming out in a slow, high-pitched slur, and your eyes are closing on themselves. 

Lying down doesn’t sound like a terrible idea, especially not if it’s with you, so he nods. “If you brush your teeth, then yeah, baby, I’ll lie down with you.” 

You chuckle softly at Sunghoon’s agreement, the sound carrying a mix of exhaustion and genuine amusement, showing no repulsion to him calling you the B-word. He didn’t mean to, it’s been a confusing few days. You nod, saluting to him and getting up to join him by the sink, using your hip to bump him out of the way, but he feels like he’s glued to the spot. 

“Move, baby,” you mumble sleepily, reaching for your toothbrush. “We can cuddle in my bed,” you suggest, to which Sunghoon only nods, taking your words as a cue to unstick his feet from the floor and go to your room, playing the word ‘baby’ on a loop in his head. 

He stands in the doorway staring at your bed, the duvet is all crumpled in the middle, and the pillows are in an L shape at the top corner. He sighs, he can’t go on like this, can’t stand around hoping even a tiny part of you called him ‘baby’ and it meant something for you as it did for him. It’s not fair for him to project his feelings on you like this, but he can’t help it. You’re already pretending for his parents, so would it be so bad to pretend for his sake as well? Even if only until the day after tomorrow when you leave? 

The sound of the bathroom door shutting behind you snaps him out of his thoughts, your bright smile making his heart race when you tug him by the sleeve to your bed where the mattress dips underneath you as you curl into his form, resting your head on his chest and falling asleep. You’ve shared the bed before, countless times, but he knows you’ve only asked him because you’re tired. Because your brain is foggy with drowsiness that clouds your judgement, not because you want him there, not because you miss him when he’s two doors down the hall, tossing and turning at night thinking about you. He wonders absently if you can feel his aching heart beating through his chest, a painful, yet all too familiar rhythm that pulls his own eyes shut, plunging him into a deep sleep too.

It’s dark in the room when he wakes up, the sun already down behind the curtains and the soft yellow of the bedside lamp casting a glow around the space. You’re staring up at him, smiling and you don’t look away when he catches you. “What is it?” he asks, voice thick with sleep. 

“Nothing,” you mumble. “I just missed you.” Sunghoon has no time to respond or even register what you said before you clear your throat, speaking again.  “Come on, dad’s cooking tonight, he’ll need help.” 

Helping Sunghoon’s dad with dinner always looks an awful lot like Sunghoon eating snacks on the kitchen counter and staring at you as you help his dad cook. Tonight is no exception, he’s sitting on the island, and his snack of choice is a family pack of Chilli Heatwave Doritos his mum bought for Yeji. He’ll have to remember to replace them before leaving seeing as he’s reaching the halfway point. 

You go back and forth with his dad about measurements, with you rummaging through the drawers for measuring cups while his dad says it’s best to trust your gut. Reluctantly, you nod, chewing the inside of your cheek as you watch him eyeball the seasoning. 

The gas stove turns the kitchen into an oven, and you complain about it while opening a window, pulling your hoodie over your head and leaving it in Sunghoon’s lap. Time stops when you grin at him, the light from the stove hood illuminating the necklace you’re wearing, his initial resting on your chest and glowing under the light. He chokes around a crisp when he sees it, catching your attention with his coughing. 

“You’ll spoil your dinner, snacking like that, baby,” you scold, using a hand to push his knee. “We’re almost done, I swear.” 

All he can do is nod, cheeks burning as he folds the crisp packet over before putting it back in the bread bin where he found it. 

“Wow,” his dad says, resting his hands on his hips and shaking his head in amusement. “Being in love looks good on him, he’d never have listened if I said that.” 

It’s already your last day when Sunghoon picks up Yeji from school. She grumbles for the entire half-hour drive and all the way to the front door about why the two of you couldn’t have started the trip today instead of ending it, but all of her irritation dissolves when she sees you in the hallway, leaving the front door wide open to fling her arms around you. You and Yeji exchange compliments for a while — You look so pretty. No, you look so pretty. I love your hair. I love your hair. — as Sunghoon locks the door and watches with a smile.

“God.” Yeji sighs, holding you by the waist and craning her neck up to look at you, as you push some of her hair from her face, pinning back her wispy bangs with the palm of your hand. Yeji giggles. “I’m so happy you two are together, even though I have no idea what a girl like you sees in my loser brother.” 

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, leaning back against the wall. Despite his mild irritation at Yeji’s words, he finds the sight of you with her so adorable his stomach flutters. Over the top of Yeji’s head, you look at him with a fond smile. “He’s not so bad.” 

It doesn’t sound like a compliment, but Sunghoon takes it to heart. 

Like always, Yeji manages to capture your undivided attention and the two of you giggle and whisper with each other all afternoon while Sunghoon watches, too enamoured by the sight to care about being left out. An hour or so passes like this, until his parents get home from work, excited to see Yeji after a few weeks, and you leave her side, coming to cuddle with Sunghoon instead. 

It’s nice being home with everyone, laughing and sharing a meal before his family walks the two of you to his car with at least a month’s worth of cooked food for you to share at university. Yeji makes you pinky promise that she can visit you and waves with a pout on her face until the car is out of view.

Contrary to what he’d been expecting, the drive back is nice. Your playlist is on, and you’re telling him about all the new songs you added, catching him up on things with Chaewon and Yunjin, and all the things you got up to in the time you spent apart. You tell him about a new café that opened up near your place and how you’ll have to go together when he has the time, and Sunghoon bites his tongue before telling you that he always has time for you. The first half of the trip goes on like this but you start dozing off around the halfway mark, your sentences becoming few and far between, eventually turning into half-mumbled thoughts that end prematurely. 

You’re still asleep when he reaches your flat, head propped up against the window with your soft lips parted, looking too pretty and cosy to wake up. Instead, he drives in circles around your block, deciding to wait for you to wake up on your own. It only takes a half-hour but you blink your eyes open, stretching your neck before looking around and out the car window, recognising the street. You don’t say anything, only smiling when you look at him, a small curve of your lips that makes his heart race.

He gets out of the car with you, opening the boot to get your bag before pulling you into his chest for a hug, liking the way your arms settle around his waist. “Thank you,” he mumbles into your hair. 

Sunghoon doesn’t follow you when you take your bag from him, only watching from the back of his car. You don’t notice until you reach the main door, looking over your shoulder and frowning at him. “Aren’t you going to walk me up?” 

The two of you walk in silence up four flights of stairs as the lift in your building is out of order. Your bag feels much heavier in his hand now than it did outside. At your door, he watches you dig around for your keys, sighing with relief when you find them. 

“Do you want to come in?” you ask from your open doorway.

“I—uh—I have training in the morning and I’m already pretty tired, so..” He trails off.

Unfazed, you nod. “Right, of course. I had fun this week.” 

“Yeah, me too.” 

You smile at him, sweet and sincere. “Text me when you get home, yeah?” 

Sunghoon nods, saying goodbye. Out of habit, he doesn’t leave your doorstep until he hears the lock click shut, and walks back to his car with his head down. 

True to his word, he sends you a text to let you know he got back to his place safely and you read it immediately but don’t reply. It’s empty in the apartment, Jake is out with his football team and the space is larger than usual in his absence. Far too tired to even consider going out and joining him, Sunghoon goes through his night routine, putting his phone on the charger and stepping into the shower where he spends entirely too long wishing he could live in this week forever as he scrubs his body. With brushed teeth and damp hair, he goes back into his room where his phone lights up with a notification; a text, from you.

YN🫀: i’m glad you got home okay, i just got into bed :) i don’t want to make you uncomfortable or overstep or anything and you can say no (obviously).. i’ve been missing you so much and didn’t know how to reach out or if you wanted me to but i had soooo much fun this week and spending time with you again made me happy, so i’d like it if we could keep hanging out, like before yk? ik it’s a long shot ahahaha but just say you’ll think about it? 

hoonie: You’re not overstepping at all, I’ve missed you too, so bad. I had soooo much fun this week as well and I’d like it a lot if we kept hanging out, thank you for agreeing and coming along 😚 If you’re free after Lit tmrw you could come over? Or we could go out and do something, whatever you prefer

hoonie: I missed you so much.. 

hoonie: 🤍

The texts greet you as the first rays of Monday morning light filter into your room, instantly lifting your mood. Your bright smile doesn’t escape Chaewon’s notice as you find her in the kitchen, bathed in the soft light seeping through the sheer curtains. The kettle is boiling with a loud rumble that fills the whole room and leaves her yelling as she speaks to you. 

“Good trip?” she asks, coming over and hugging you. “Never leave me for that long again,” she mumbles into your shirt. 

“It was a week, Wonie,” you say, rolling your eyes even though you missed her too. 

She leans away, looking at you with knitted brows. “It was nine days.” 

“The longest of my life.” 

Chaewon pulls air through her teeth, tilting her head and releasing you. “That bad, huh?” she asks, walking back to her seat at your tiny square table and shooting you a look that tells you to join her. 

During your trip, you gave her nightly updates over text, so you know she knows how much you enjoyed yourself, but you elaborate anyway, sitting across from her. 

“No, not at all,” you say, shaking your head and trying to fight a smile. “I had fun.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, you have to bite your bottom lip to stop the grin curving them; it doesn’t work. 

Chaewon raises a suggestive brow, crossing her arms over her chest. “How much fun?” 

“You’re disgusting.” 

“I didn’t even say anything!” she defends, holding her hands up. “I made an implication. It was only a matter of time, you two have that whole.. lifelong best friends to lifelong lovers thing going on, and it’s hot.” 

“Shut up.” 

“You’re telling me, you spent nine days playing lovers with Sunghoon and you still don’t want him? You’re a lost cause, people would kill for that chance,” she says, tilting her head. “I think I would kill for that chance.” 

“Don’t touch him.”

“Oh?” 

“Jesus, Chaewon, it’s not like that. Hoon’s too sensitive for your roster.” 

“I never said it was like anything, you’re the one who’s dangling me over the ledge for saying I want to fuck your hot best friend.” 

“Sunghoon isn’t hot; he’s..” You find yourself at a loss for words, unsure how to continue your lie. Of course, Sunghoon is hot, you’ve known since you were seventeen and spent the summer at your grandparents’ house, only to come back to find your previously scrawny best friend having ditched his LEGOs for dumbbells. You sigh. “Just leave him alone.”

Chaewon grins, eyes sparkling as she leaves the table. “Okay,” she says in a singsong voice, leaving you and the irritation in your stomach alone in the kitchen.

You sigh, pressing your eyes shut and trying to will away your discomfort. It’s not like Chaewon would actually try anything with Sunghoon. Right? Even if she did, it wouldn’t bother you, nor would it be any of your business. They’re grownups and reserve the right to explore their options. Still, there’s a nagging feeling you can’t shake, an uninvited guest in the back of your mind. 

When you check your phone, you realise you have half an hour before you need to head to campus, so you leave to get ready and text Sunghoon back on the way to your room.

you: sounds good, see u later 🤍

After showering, you stand in front of your wardrobe, towel hanging from your body as you pick an outfit. For some reason, you feel under pressure, picking a pair of jeans that do the most for your ass and a low-cut top that Sunghoon once — drunkenly — said he loved on you.

You have the residual sting of mouthwash on your tongue, and one foot out the door when your phone vibrates in your hand. 

hoonie: Do you want to head to class together? 

you: sure! i’m omw out, where should i get you? 

hoonie: .. I’m outside your building :D 

Breathing a laugh through your nose, you don’t fight the giddy smile on your face as you make your way downstairs to meet Sunghoon. Through the glass in the main door, he’s standing at the edge of the pavement and kicking a stone between his feet. The top of his puffer jacket covers the bottom half of his face, and the draught nips your skin when the door opens. Two girls you vaguely recognise stumble in with smudged makeup and heels in their hands, smiling at you while holding the door to let you out.

“Hey!” you call out, jogging over to him. 

Sunghoon turns around, his head poking out of his jacket to grin at you, holding a travel cup and an abundance of tinfoil in your direction. 

“I wasn’t sure if you’d have eaten anything yet, you don’t normally in the morning,” he says, a sheepish smile spreading over his lips when you take it. “Matcha. Ham and cheese toastie.” 

“Did you make these?” you ask, inspecting the familiar cup and appreciating the warmth it provides. 

He hums, nodding his head.

You ignore the heat spreading over your cheeks and thank him with a hug, grinning when he offers to hold your drink while you eat on the walk. The toastie is still hot, the cheese coming close to burning your tongue as you chew, but you appreciate it wholeheartedly, humming contently with each bite. When you’re done, you shove the foil into your pocket, taking your drink from him and smiling around the sweet taste of a matcha latte as he tells you about his schedule for the day. 

“I’m meeting with Coach after class to talk about my grades, but I’m all yours after that.” 

“Talk about your grades? What’s wrong with your grades?” 

Sunghoon groans, head falling back and highlighting the bump of his Adam’s apple. “My grades are.. I failed my coursework this month, so I have resubmissions during finals, and I think he’ll bench me if I fail again.” 

He sounds like he’s being serious, and if the look on his face is anything to go by, he is. The news creases your brows because for as long as you remember, Sunghoon’s grades were your parents’ favourite point of comparison.

“Really?” you ask. He nods. “What’s up? Is something the matter?” 

A humourless laugh slips out of him before he pulls air through his teeth. “Yeah, my best friend didn’t talk to me for three months.” 

“Oh..” Guilt stirs your stomach as you look up at him. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not blaming you, it’s not like I was trying to talk and you ignored me.” He nudges your arm with his elbow, giving you a warm smile. “But if you feel as guilty about it as you look, you can tutor me for Lit.” 

“Deal.” 

Sunghoon grins, wrapping his arm over your shoulders and holding you close; the action itself isn’t unusual, but the increased heart rate it brings about is. “You’re too good to me,” he says, holding onto you for the rest of the walk to class.

At his request, you sit with Sunghoon in the back row, watching as the lecture hall gradually fills up in front of you. He seems well-prepared, with his laptop and a small notepad and pen neatly arranged on the desk in front of him.

Throughout the class, your eyes inadvertently track his every move. He diligently types up colour-coded notes, occasionally pausing to write things in his notepad before continuing to type or stopping entirely to listen. There’s something melodic about his actions and the way his fingers run over the keyboard. 

During a five-minute break, you glance at his screen. What you find is more than just lecture content; it’s a document adorned with Sunghoon’s own musings about Hemingway’s style and carefully analysed quotations that go beyond the class discussion.

“How are your notes so good?” 

“I picked up the book over the summer when you mentioned it,” Sunghoon replies with a shrug, a shy smile playing on his lips as he leans back in his seat. “I liked it.” 

A slow nod is your response, though your thoughts swirl like autumn leaves in a breeze. The last time Sunghoon read for leisure, you were in primary school, buddy reading Diary of a Wimpy Kid. But this—this is different. You can’t help but stare at him, awestruck as you take him in. His eyes are wide, shining amber in the sunlight as he pushes some of his hair from his face, frowning when it falls back where it was. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mumbles. 

Sunghoon takes a new line in his document and points at the screen where you watch the cursor move through the words he’s typing: I would’ve read and annotated the Bible if you wanted me to..

There’s no time to digest what he wrote or the funny feeling in your chest as you reread it before he deletes the whole sentence, pressing his lips together and looking out the window. Speechless, you stare at his side profile, willing your heart rate to slip back to normal. Steep-sloping nose, plump lips flattened into a line, two points of the triangular mole constellation on his face. Analysis worsens your condition, breath hitching in your throat before stopping entirely. Warmth and trepidation blend within you, fuzzy enough at the edges to seem like one thing—a single force that makes your palm itch with desire, desperation, to reach out and run a finger over his features, feel the bump of the mole on his nose — the most prominent — against your skin. 

You remain this way — silent, watching — even when your lecturer resumes the lesson, and Sunghoon starts typing, writing, and listening again. Polite enough to pretend he doesn’t notice your gaze searing into his face.

After class, and his meeting with Coach, you let Sunghoon lead the conversation and the way to your flat, where you find Chaewon and Yunjin sitting on the couch, whispering to themselves while the two of you study at the coffee table. It’s uncomfortable, an awkward height, too high for the way you’re sitting but you feel calm under the supervision of Chaewon and Yunjin—you won’t do anything to merit teasing in front of them, no matter how badly you want to feel Sunghoon’s face in your hands or stroke his cheekbones with your thumbs. 

To the best of your ability, you answer the questions he has for you—he’d written a ton in his tiny notepad during class, his own concerns clear with each neatly-penned iteration of: How to see actions/dialogue for what they are and not what I want them to be? written in the margins and you try not to feel heartbroken for him.

Three hours have passed by when you walk him to the door, the two of you wrapped up in a bubble so secure you’re surprised to find Chaewon and Yunjin still sitting on the couch. They don’t say anything about Sunghoon in his absence, or the fact he’d given you his sweater when he noticed you were cold. You’re not sure why their silence disappoints you.

Instead, Yunjin asks you about trivial things like dinner while Chaewon sits in silence. 

“What flavour for ice cream?” Yunjin asks, rolling her eyes when you tug on the blanket but not complaining. “And don’t say something ridiculous like mint chocolate, YN.” 

“That happened once! And it was three years ago.. How was I supposed to know you hate fun?” 

Chaewon leans into you, letting you curl your limbs around her from behind as you rest your chin on her shoulder, liking the way her clean scent tickles your nose. 

“Mint-cho isn’t that bad,” she starts. “It’s a little jarring, sure, but it’s kind of sweet. Like watching people come to terms with their feelings for each other.” 

You nod your head, humming in understanding and furrowing your brows when Yunjin scoffs, staring straight at you. Her tone is equal parts cutting and loving, so you know she’s not trying to insult you, but don’t know what she means when she says, “It must be so nice to be as oblivious as you.” 

Yunjin never elaborates, and you never ask, actually feeling the statement’s journey in through one of your ears and out the other when dinner arrives. The three of you share pizza, ice cream, and secrets — the three pillars of 20-something-teenage-girlhood — at the kitchen table, with Chaewon sitting in your lap and picking pepperoni from your slices. 

It’s only hours after Yunijn’s gone home, that her words circle back to you, the statement and all of its weight perching on your chest with all the debilitation and persistence of a sleep paralysis demon.

“I think I’m getting sick,” you say as soon as she opens her door. “It’s been coming on for a while now, at least a week, maybe more.” 

Unimpressed and exhausted, Yunjin looks down at you through half-closed eyes. “Do you..” She pinches the bridge of her nose, sighing. “Do you have any idea what time it is right now?” 

“Yes. It’s three a.m.” 

“Exactly. See a doctor if you’re sick, I’m going back to sleep.”

“This is an emergen—” Yunjin cuts you off by pinching your lips together. “It’s three in the morning,” she reminds you. “You can’t yell like that in my hallway, come in.” 

You nod, crossing the threshold and taking off your shoes next to hers. “Sorry,” you whisper when the door is closed. 

Using her hand, Yunjin lifts your chin, squinting as her eyes adjust to the light when she flips the switch to inspect your face. “You don’t look or sound sick,” she mutters, flicking the light back off and going to her room. “What are your symptoms? And why did you come here?” 

You don’t have an answer for her last question so you ignore it, following her and tripping over a pair of her shoes in the process. “My cheeks start burning like crazy and my heart races, sometimes it gets hard to breathe.”

“You seem fine to me.” 

A shoulder-slumping sigh slips from your lips. “That’s the thing. I’ll be fine and then Sunghoon shows up with his pretty smile and perfect hair and I feel like I’ve run a marathon.” You know how it sounds, choosing your wording meticulously to let Yunjin be the one to say the words out loud instead of you—it’ll be easier to confront that way. 

From the doorway, you watch as she arches a brow, her interest piqued. “Oh?” 

“I know.” You nod, head bobbing rapidly in furious agreement. “It’s only a matter of time before I cough up a lung and die in his bedroom.”

At your words, Yunjin doesn't reply, only lifting her duvet and getting cosy underneath. You feel like you’re glued to the spot, waiting for her to say something, anything, but nothing comes. All she does is pat the empty spot in her bed. 

“What are you smirking for?” you ask, entering the room properly and closing the door. 

Her response only comes after you’ve taken your jacket and hoodie off, sitting next to her under the covers. “It’s nothing,” she says, laughing. 

“Tell me.” 

Yunjin sighs, resting a hand gently on your shoulder. You think it’s meant to be comforting but it’s the opposite. “You’ll be fine, I promise. Lovesickness isn’t deadly.” 

Feeling the weight of her reassurance, you settle down properly and sigh when your head hits the pillow. Lovesickness. Hmm. 

Closing your eyes, you try to sleep but can’t help tossing and turning as Yunjin snores behind you. You pat blindly around the end table for your phone, grabbing it and wincing at the brightness of your screen. Chewing on your lip, you open Google, looking up ‘lovesickness’ and frowning immediately at the results. Endless negativity fills the screen, terrifying words like ‘unrequited love’ forming a pit in your stomach. There’s nothing negative about what you feel for Sunghoon, nothing unrequited—you think. 

It was obvious during the trip, painfully so. In the way he’d tuck your hair behind your ear when his parents weren’t there to see, or how he slipped up and called you ‘baby’ in the bathroom, blushing when you said it back. You can’t fake something like that.. Can you?

Yeonjun did.

Shaking your head, you open Instagram to distract yourself. Jake’s story comes up first; he’s at a party where Jay is losing a game of beer pong, and at the other end of the table is Sunghoon grinning with a bright red lipstick kiss on his cheek. You lock your phone, using your hands to press on your belly to stop the stirring. 

Oh, you think. Lovesickness. 

When you wake up, the first thing you do is check Jake’s story again. The video is still there and that terrible stir in your stomach churns on, burrowing deeply into a pit of canyon-like proportion—so vast there’s a safety railing lining its edges. 

You eat breakfast in silence with Yunjin, zoning out mid-chew to figure out the origin of these feelings and how to handle them. Suddenly, the moment hits you clear as day, vivid like you’re watching it on a screen—it was your third night at his parents’ house, after your walk. 

You felt bad about how you acted, and what you said, so went straight up to your room. With nothing but the bedside lamp turned on, it was dimly lit, shadows cast on the walls as you sulked, replaying everything in your head. Guilt wrapped its long arms around your body, making you feel sick as you thought about it all. About the hurt etched over his face with every word you said, and the frown that stuck around for the rest of the walk as his hand clung limply to yours. 

There was a knock at the door, so gentle you almost missed it, and Sunghoon was standing there when you pulled it open, chewing on his lip with a mug in his hand. Steam skated over the opening, a rich chocolatey smell hitting your nose but the real kicker was the mug itself. In its place on Jake and Sunghoon’s mug tree, it was unassuming, a regular white mug, but upon meeting hot water, the face of young Sunghoon appeared, grinning with his tiny glasses on. It was a gift from one of his old coaches and though he never used it, it was your absolute favourite cup in the world. 

You felt soft around the edges when you looked up at him, his eyes wide and unsure as you met his gaze—he brought that mug three hours across the country so you could use it again. The thought shifted your heart into a comfortable position, settling in your chest with overwhelming warmth and an increased rate. 

“Hi,” you said, clearing your throat. 

“Hi,” he repeated, holding the mug out for you to take. “It’s still hot so be careful.” 

Nodding, you covered your hands with your sleeves, taking the cup from him and asking if he wanted to come in. Sunghoon nodded, shutting the door behind him and standing by the bed, watching you set the hot chocolate on the bedside table as you sat down. The two of you stayed like that for a while, with him only moving when you patted the spot next to you on the duvet. Your train of thought escaped you as soon as he sat down, the warmth of his familiar fresh, citrusy scent taking over and becoming the only thing you could register. The smell of summers with him, long days at the beach and short nights spent on the couch at random parties, cuddled into his side with his arm over your shoulders. The smell you’d come to associate with comfort and home—with Sunghoon. 

“It’s not fair for me to treat you like shit just because I’m annoyed, I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that earlier. I’m sorry.” 

A crease ran over Sunghoon’s thick brows as they tugged together, he shook his head. “You don’t have to apologise. I roped you into this whole thing and didn’t even try to think about how you would feel. I’m sorry.” His eyes carried a mix of regret and sincerity, mirroring the weight of his words.

“Anyway, I only came to bring you that,” he said, pointing at the cup. “And to check up on you, I’ll get out of your hair for tonight.” Sunghoon wiped his palms on his pants before standing up, reaching behind him to pick up the cloth he brought. For a moment, he stood there, staring down at it in his hand while you thought about telling him to stay, telling him that you wanted him in your hair—whatever that meant. But he spoke before you had the chance. “You left this, at mine, after.. well, you know. I’m sure you left it intentionally, I mean it was folded up perfectly on the end of my bed, so I know you did, but it didn’t feel right keeping it, you always wore it more than me.” 

Sunghoon extended his hand, holding it out to you and you knew exactly what it was as soon as the fabric touched your skin after so long. It was the shirt Jay bought him for Christmas in first year—they were roommates still trying to get a feel for each other. For a few weeks, Sunghoon had been pestering you about what he should get for Jay, saying it didn’t feel right not to get him anything, and you suggested a targeted t-shirt, one you’d been laughing at all day after seeing an ad for it on your timeline. Sunghoon was sceptical, but bought the red shirt anyway, hoping Jay would find BEING DAD IS AN HONOUR, BEING PAPA IS PRICELESS funny. He did. And Jay bought Sunghoon a targeted shirt too, your favourite. It was black and two sizes too big, with I NEVER DREAMED I’D BE A SEXY FIGURE SKATER BUT HERE I AM KILLING IT written over the chest. 

“Goodnight, YN,” Sunghoon said, crossing the room to leave but hesitating before closing the door. He poked his head through the opening and sighed. “I really am sorry.”

That night, you fell asleep in the shirt, the thinning, yet cosy, fabric wrapped around you like a hug as your heart started to beat a new rhythm, one that eerily echoed the five-foot-eleven figure skater who you let break it. 

This morning, Yunjin claps her hands in your face, seeming irritated when you look over at her. “You have class in an hour, what are you doing?” Before you have the chance to speak, realisation covers her face. “Oh, the feelings.” 

You nod solemnly, too caught up in the butterflies raiding your stomach to come up with something to say. 

At lightspeed, you scarf down the rest of your food, apologising for showing up so late as you head out the door. When you get home, you take the fastest shower of your life and feel grateful Chaewon isn’t around to tease you about the smile you can’t wipe from your face thinking about Sunghoon—you’ll text her later.

You run to campus, feeling the brisk autumn wind beating against your face while the rest of your body overheats under your jacket, hoodie and long sleeve. Despite the discomfort and ache in your lungs, you don’t stop until you reach the door of your lecture hall, huffing and puffing into the faces of classmates who don’t take any notice. Of course, in a stroke of pure luck, your lecturer is late, and you realise bitterly, that all of your huffing and puffing was in vain—you would have gotten to class with time to spare even if you walked.

It’s not a total waste though; you use the time to update Chaewon. 

you: i have news wonie..  i like sunghoon

wonie: …………….. fork in the kitchen yn what’s the news? 

wonie: OHHHH news to YOU.. can i call? 

She calls you immediately. You answer without thinking because your lecturer still hasn’t arrived, and there’s no one sitting close enough to hear or notice you taking a call. 

“Are you going to tell him?!” Chaewon’s voice is so loud you wince, pulling the phone away from your ear. 

“I don’t know.” You shrug even though she can’t see you, still holding the device at a distance just in case. “I don’t have any confirmation that he still.. likes me. It’s been a while, and I was pretty mean that day. 

Chaewon groans and you can picture her throwing herself onto her bed, exasperated. The rustling that comes through the receiver only frames the image, hanging it up. “Did you have to tell him to get a grip?” 

“You know..” You trail off, chewing on your bottom lip. “In hindsight, probably not.” 

A beat passes, she’s thinking. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I’ll help you.” 

“I.. have never been so worried in my life.” You sigh, picking at your freshly painted nails. “But I know you’ll do something no matter what I say, so do what you want, Wonie, but please be subtle about it.” 

Chaewon squeals down the phone. “I love youuuuu!” And it’s the last thing she says before kissing the mic a few times and hanging up. 

Slumping in your seat, you don’t have any time to stress about Chaewon’s plans because your lecturer walks in, with a travel cup in her hand and a paperback tucked under her arm. 

She apologises for being late, running a hand through her hair as she announces that you’ll be watching a film, an adaptation of a book you read at the start of term—Ian McEwan’s Atonement. You spend the first hour of the movie falling in and out of sleep until a text comes through from Sunghoon, and sheer excitement keeps you up.

hoonie: Wanna study together after class? 

you: of course!!!!!! 

hoonie: 🤍

The rest of the movie goes by in a drag, and you come away from it with a mild irritation towards Saoirse Ronan.

you: class just finished, heading to lib rn 

hoonie: Shit, still in the locker room, sorry !!! Omw, can you get a table? 

you: i’ll try..

It takes a while but you find an empty booth on the second floor, and set your bag on the plush green seat to take pictures of your surroundings to send to Sunghoon. You sit on the side facing the stairs so he can see you when he arrives. The thought of seeing him makes your heart race and you try out a few natural-seeming poses for when he’s here, cycling between resting your palm under your chin and sitting with your arms crossed a few times until the top of his head comes into view. 

Seeing him knocks the wind out of you as he approaches the staircase, taking them two at a time with his damp hair clinging to his forehead and neck. It doesn’t help that he’s wearing a tight black vest, and his sweats are hanging low on his hips. A breath you didn’t realise you were holding slips out when he lifts his head, spotting you immediately as a grin spreads over his lips and he raises his arm to wave, the veins in his forearm peeking out to say hi too. You can’t tell if it’s his lack of winter wardrobe or your newfound appreciation for him that’s making his biceps look so huge but it’s hard to look away, even when he reaches the table. 

“Are you hot?” you blurt out. 

Sunghoon laughs, raising a brow and something about the way he’s looking down at you makes your cheeks burn. “Depends who’s asking.” He takes his backpack off, leaving it on the table as he sits down, dumping his jacket and hoodie in a pile beside him.

“I’m asking,” you mumble. 

“Then, yeah, I’d hope so.” 

Is he flirting? It sounds like he’s flirting. Flirt back! “Nice arms.” 

He looks down at his biceps for a beat before looking at you warily. “Are you flirting with me?” He can’t fight the smile twitching at the corners of his lips but he tries his best, pressing them into a straight line.

“A little. They are nice though,” you admit.

Sunghoon grins. “Thanks, I’ve had them for a while now.”

You can’t come up with anything to say, too distracted by the way his smile reaches his eyes, lighting up his whole face and forcing a flustered heat to spread over your cheeks and neck. It’s only when you look away from him that you remember what you’re here for. It’s a study date, not a study date—there’s a difference. 

You hand Sunghoon the material you’d printed for him over the weekend, excerpts from texts you’d studied in class, so he can practise close reading and proper citation. As he makes his way through them, you can’t help stealing glances, smiling at the way his tongue sticks out a little while he focuses, or how he twirls his pen in his fingers while he’s thinking. You aren’t making the best use of your time together, copying out the slides from class yesterday, but you can’t help noticing the way he watches you when he thinks you can’t see. The small smile on his face while he does so only flusters you, an odd weakness settling in your knees as your cheeks heat up. 

After a while, Sunghoon sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Could you stop watching me?”

“If you noticed me watching, that means you’re watching me.” 

He shrugs, chewing on his lip. “Well, yeah. I’m always watching you,” he says like it’s a given. “But you don’t normally watch back, it’s distracting.” 

“You’re distracting.”

A playful smile curves his lips as he arches a brow, smugness painting his face. “Am I?” 

Too scared to verbalise your response, you nod slowly, hoping you don’t look as wound up as you feel. 

Sunghoon’s eyes flick over your face, flashing with something you don’t recognise. At least not from him. He sits back in his seat, assessing you and eventually shaking his head. 

“You know,” he says, eyes glowing with something you do recognise: cockiness. “If my sexy arms are getting to you that much, I can always put my hoodie back on. Wouldn’t want my little tutor getting distracted, would I?” 

Oh. 

Your stomach turns with want, mind reeling from his tone and the way his gaze lands on your lips. Sighing, you roll your eyes and try to seem unaffected. “Sunghoon, I never said your arms were sexy.” 

His phone starts to go off, buzzing against the table and he turns it over immediately, screen down on the surface as he shifts his focus back to his work. He chews on his lip while he does, eyes flicking back and forth between his phone and the words on the page. Curious, you lean over the table, elbows propped up as you rest your chin in your hands. He doesn’t spare you or his phone, which vibrates another four times, a glance.

“Are you going to get that?” 

Sunghoon shakes his head. “It’s nothing.” 

You hum, letting just enough curiosity seep into the sound that he’ll elaborate without being asked to. It doesn’t take long for him to deliver.

“It’s just Chaewon,” he says, running his hand through his hair and lifting his head. Sunghoon smiles. “We’ve been texting a lot these days.” 

“Cool.” You nod a few times, aiming for nonchalance but hitting bobblehead as you wait for him to continue. He doesn’t, only humming in response, nodding too. 

After a beat, he picks up his phone, angling it just high enough that you can’t see the screen. He reads the messages, an exhaled laugh coming from his nose as the tips of his ears redden—Fuck. This is worse than you thought. 

Chaewon’s commitment to girl code runs deep—she’s been rebuffing Jake since first year when she overheard a girl she’d never seen before telling her friends she thought he was cute. So you know without having to read the texts that nothing she’s saying is even remotely flirty, you can smell the auto-caps and use of the word ‘buddy’ from across the table. 

What you hadn’t counted on, however, was the potential for Sunghoon’s feelings to shift. If they really have been texting more, can you rule out the possibility that he might like.. her? Chaewon is a catch, beyond a catch, and you’d already turned Sunghoon down. Brutally. Of course, he’d move on, he has moved on. 

The rest of the study session is spent manifesting, writing Park Sunghoon over and over in the back of your notebook. You fill three pages while brainstorming ways to snatch a lock of his hair until he suggests that the two of you call it a day. He walks you home, telling you about how Jake’s been bribing him with food to get a ride to the LEGO store across town for the new Marvel set. 

“With or without the meals, I would’ve taken him, but his ramen is my favourite, so..” Sunghoon says, climbing the last step of your building and holding the door open for you. “He even brought a slice of tiramisu to the rink for me after practice.” 

“You’re terrible,” you say, frowning up at him as you search for your keys. “Do you want to come in?” 

Sunghoon chuckles, shaking his head. “I have a meeting with one of my lecturers soon, I’d have to leave in—” He pauses, rolling up the sleeve of his jacket to check the time. “—eight minutes.” 

“I’m cool with that if you are,” you mumble, suddenly shy. 

A bright smile spreads over his lips and he nods, following you in. 

Chilled by the harsh wind, the only thing on your mind is a hot drink as you lead Sunghoon to the kitchen. He shakes his head when you offer him one, sitting on the countertop and exhaling into his palms before rubbing them together. You can’t help but frown at the sight, feeling guilty that you can’t change the weather to suit him. At your thought process, your brows raise. Wow, you think. Is this who you are? 

You busy yourself with the selection of hot drinks you and Chaewon have accumulated, eyeing each container from top to bottom. A purple tub of Cadbury’s hot chocolate that you’re sure is on the brink of expiration, coffee—sachets of the instant stuff you’ve grown to like since leaving home, Earl grey from one of many brands, or the fancy silk tea bags Chaewon’s mum brought home from a trip—rooibos or plum-apple-cinnamon. 

Craving something sweet, you settle for hot chocolate, pulling the heavy container from the cupboard next to Sunghoon’s head and setting it beside your cup. He’s on his phone, scrolling too fast to take in anything he’s seeing and he shakes his head when you ask if he wants something to drink. 

On the dish rack, Chaewon’s mug catches your eye, so you pick it up to dry it off and put it down next to yours. “I’m going to check if Wonie wants any,” you say, wiping imaginary crumbs from the counter onto the floor. 

Sunghoon only clears his throat, shaking his head. “She’s not home, one of her acrylics popped off so she’s at the shop waiting for a cancellation.” 

The information itself isn’t jarring but hearing it from Sunghoon is. You put on what you hope is a neutral smile and nod, taking milk from the fridge and assembling your drink on autopilot while thinking of ways to redirect the conversation. 

“If you knew you’d have to go back to campus so soon, why’d you walk me home?” you ask, watching your cup spin in the microwave. “I could’ve walked on my own.” 

Sunghoon is already looking at you when you turn your head, his cheeks puffed out with air as he blinks slowly. Because I love you, is what you hope he’ll say. You think you need him to say it. 

“Because you don’t have to do anything on your own when you have me,” he says instead, and it’s infinitely better. 

The words seep through your every fibre, his intonation and lucid affection making a home for themselves in your heart, spreading warmth from head to toe. Your smile becomes a radiant grin, only brightening when he shakes his head, smiling down at his feet. 

Sunghoon hugs you in the kitchen when it’s time for him to leave, his arms holding you tight to his chest as he rocks you back and forth. You inhale his scent, all warm citrus under freshly washed cotton and something exclusive to him.

Wiping the smile from your face feels impossible. You don’t let go when he does, and a sweet laugh — a giggle, you think — tumbles out of him as he mumbles that he really has to go. Still, you cling onto him, taking clumsy steps backwards, with your arms locked around his waist, to your front door, smiling as you watch him put his shoes on. 

“You don’t have to walk me downstairs, honestly,” he says, looking down at you in the doorway.

“I want to.” 

His lips quirk up at the corners, a full smile breaking through and causing your stomach to flutter with so much force you’re sure it’s visible through your shirt. His eyes fall to your lips, lingering, before he clears his throat, looking away. 

“I’ll text you when I get to the door, promise.” 

You lock your pinky with his. “Send a selfie, just so I know it’s you and not someone else using your phone.” 

Sunghoon’s head falls back in a laugh. “Should I just call you? That way you can make sure I get back to uni in one piece.” 

You nod.

“That wasn’t anything with Chaewon earlier, I just needed advice on some girl stuff..” He trails off, searching your eyes. It’s obvious that he’s telling the truth, that he wants you to believe him. You do. “I wasn’t sure if that was something I could talk about with you.” 

Girl stuff. Hmm. You try not to read too much into it and look at the bigger picture instead—your best friend is going through something and doesn’t feel like he can come to you about it.. You squeeze his pinky reassuringly, a flutter in your stomach when he smiles. 

“You can talk to me about anything,” you say, meaning it. 

Sunghoon presses his lips together, humming and unlinking your fingers. “Next time,” he says after a beat, waving at you. 

You shut the door, locking it while watching through the peephole, he leaves as soon as the lock clicks shut. In the kitchen, your hot chocolate is cooling down, and your phone rings in your back pocket. Sunghoon’s calling. 

Hanging out with Sunghoon. Making sure he sticks to the time-blocked schedule you made for him. Quizzing him on biology terms until he gets restless. If the last two weeks were an episode of Family Feud, those would be the top three answers to the question: Name something YN is doing right now.

Thankfully tonight, it’s the first one. 

You’ve been sitting on the couch for so long, Jake has both left for football practice and arrived from football practice. Conversation ebbs and flows—an hour or so of nonstop talking, followed by another hour or so of comfortable near silence. 

It’s during a quiet hour that Sunghoon sits up straight, clearing his throat before saying, “Let me ask you something. He retreats to the other side of the couch, turning to face you with his whole body. “I don’t want things to be weird after I ask, so no matter what your answer is, I won’t bring it up or ask again.”

Arching a curious brow, you nod. “You can ask me anything,” you say, meaning it.

Sunghoon’s face is impressively blank—minus the motion of sharp teeth worrying plush lip, there’s absolutely nothing behind his eyes that seem to stare right through you. 

Eventually, he asks, “Can I kiss you?” He says more. Big, scary words like for closure and moving on, but they don’t register. They don’t matter. 

Your heart pounds at the base of your throat as you find interest in your hands that sit in your lap. Even without looking at him, you can’t get over the slight crease he had in his brow and the slight tremor in his hands. 

“For closure,” you repeat, though your voice doesn’t sound like it’s coming from you, muffled under the thump of your heart. 

Sunghoon nods. “For closure.” 

A humourless laugh sneaks past your throat as you look at him. You shouldn’t have. In the lamplight, Sunghoon is golden and glorious. Warm light casts one side of his face, diffusing gently over the steep slope of his nose, highlighting his moles and the look in his eyes, gentle and curious all at once. Unwillingly, your gaze falls to his lips, parted, tempting. 

One firm nod of your head brings Sunghoon’s hand to your face, his palm cupping your cheek with soft skin as his thumb traces your cheekbone. You grow anxious under his stare, under the drag of his eyes over your features, taking them one at a time like he’s committing them to memory.

Leaning in, your eyes flutter shut as your lips meet his and he freezes, mouth completely still on yours. Delicately, your tongue traces the seam of his lips, soft and plump, until they part for you, moving with yours. Sunghoon’s kiss is unpolished when it reaches you. It’s hesitant but tender, clumsy but sweet, he’s trying and he’s perfect; your favourite. 

The kiss is.. it’s everything. It’s the racing of your heart, the thudding, the vibrant buzz you can hear, feel humming against your ears. It’s a rush of blood to the head, a lightness all over that pulls you out of your body. It’s Sunghoon’s soft lips curving into a smile against yours, his gentle hold on your face never letting up as he holds you as close as he can manage, and it’s every bit as lovely as the rest of him.

Palpable is the heartbeat of your friendship, beating to a lull under the surface of the kiss, fizzling out into nothing, a steady silence, flatlining to give way to something more, something bigger. 

Every brush of your lips against his is a revelation, a confession. You’re all I’ve ever wanted, you tell him with your kiss. You’re everything I need. His free hand finds yours, locking your fingers and squeezing, the action timed well enough to make you think he hears you, to make you think he’s saying, we’ll be okay, I still love you. 

With that, he pulls away, a delicate tension piercing the air. Blown eyes and laboured breathing—he’s beautiful, fuzzy around the edges with warm orange and all of the love in your heart. Breathless, you chew on your lip, cognisant of Sunghoon’s hand in yours and the sparkle in his eyes as he looks at you. 

Belatedly, you squeeze his hand back, smiling. “Was it everything you ever dreamed of?” you whisper, part teasing, all curious.

Abruptly, Sunghoon stands up, letting go of you in the process. “I have to go.” 

You want to stop him, you think you’re supposed to. To grab him by the arm and kiss him again, to yell in his face that you love him until he understands. But you don’t. Instead, you stay seated, staring at Sunghoon’s back and following him with your eyes out of the room and down the hall until he’s out of sight. 

It’s your first time being so upset after a kiss, and you can’t tell if it’s his leaving or the mention of him moving on that’s tripping you up so much. That’s causing melancholy to crawl from the shadows, sinking its jagged nails into your skin to pull you under. 

You love him. He’s gone. 

Eyes stuck on the doorway, time stretches over the room around you, thick and malleable, wet and cloying—clay stuck under your nails for days as the fire in the kiln rages on. 

Sighing, you get up and wait at his door. You ball your hand into a limp fist, knocking weakly. Sunghoon doesn’t reply. You try again, harder. Still nothing. 

Barging into the room, you find him sitting on the end of his bed with his face in his hands. 

“Don’t move on.” The words come out before you realise and Sunghoon lifts his head, squinting at you. 

“Huh?” He tilts his head, watching closely as you approach him, tipping it back enough to meet your eyes when you stand over him. 

You take a breath, holding it until your head starts to spin. “I don’t want you to love someone else, Sunghoon. Please don’t move on.” 

The stillness that follows is disconcerting, a long quiet you can feel on your skin, amplifying the blank stare on his face as he looks up at you. His eyes flash, a spark of hope behind them so bright it stings to look at.

“Do you..” He trails off, his lips moving to form the next word though stopping short.

“I do,” you whisper, nodding. “I’m sorry for taking so long.”

An exhaled laugh comes from his nose as he grins, shaking his head. “You like me?” he asks, excitement and disbelief fighting for authority over his voice, his hands holding your waist and pulling you down into his lap.

“I love you,” you admit, settling on his thighs. 

“You do?” His eyes are wide and gleaming, searching every feature on your face before settling on your own.

You nod. “So much.” 

Sunghoon’s chin tips up, his lips pressing against yours, excited pecks that can’t turn into much more for the smiles on your faces. You rest your arms on his shoulders, hands clasping behind his head, nervous fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“So.. will you be my boyfriend? For real?” 

Tilting his head, he tries and fails to fight a smile. “I will. I’m a little bummed though.” 

“Why?” You raise a brow, and the word tips up at the end with it. 

“I wanted to be the one to ask you.” Sunghoon’s honesty warms the room, endearing you completely. 

You grin, loving the heat spreading over your cheeks. “Ask me anyway.” 

“Please can I be your boyfriend?” 

In the weeks that followed, it became immediately clear that boyfriend Sunghoon operated on a pendulum swinging between sexual ferality and terror. He’d get distracted during study sessions at home, finding more interest in biting at your neck than stream-of-consciousness prose, but closed his eyes if a sex scene came on TV. He’d buck his hips against yours while making out but flinch at the sight of condoms in the store.

He wasn’t ready to have sex and didn’t know how to tell you, so you took matters into your own hands, asking if you could wait until after his results for resubmission came in, saying you didn’t want the distraction for either of you. Sunghoon agreed, pecking your cheek and holding you tight to his chest. 

The only thing was that your lecturer hadn’t given him an exact date, so every morning, you held your phone in a vice grip waiting for Sunghoon to update you, and every morning, you got the same text: Nothing today, baby ☹️ 

This morning, you’re brushing your teeth when he texts you, in all caps: NO FUCKING WAY I GOT A 98 !!! LOOK !!!

When the picture comes through, it’s of him in the mirror and you choke on mouthwash at the sight. He’s smiling, bright and beautiful, in a black vest that he’s holding up a little to show his stomach, though his palm is in the way of his toned abs, and it cuts off right at the top of his grey sweatpants. 

Your mouth goes dry as you click on it, fixating on every little detail you can find: the thickness of his fingers against his phone, the dip in his collarbones, the breadth of his shoulders and the cinch of his waist. In a fit of desperation, you try swiping at the bottom of your screen, willing the picture to magically extend. It doesn’t. 

hoonie: Finger slipped.. You like?

you: mm.. 

you: 98??? HOLY SHIT, LOOK AT YOU!!!

hoonie: All you.. do you like the picture?

you: i love it………….

hoonie: My girl 🤍

Another picture comes in, and sure enough, through the glare of his laptop screen, you see: Course name: The Modernist Movement: Joyce, Woolf, and Hemingway. Marks Awarded: 98.0.

you: well done baby !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

hoonie: Thx 😁

hoonie: Can I have my prize now ha ha .. haha 😈

you: just for that emoji, no you absolutely cannot.

Your resolve isn’t strong enough when it comes to Sunghoon, because purple devil emoji and all, you show up at his door with condoms in your bag and a bouquet of lilies behind your back. 

The door creaks open and Sunghoon greets you with a grin. “Hey, gorgeous. You proud of me?” 

You beam at him, holding out the flowers. “I’m very proud, Hoon, well done.” 

“I don’t want to ruin the moment,” he starts, taking the bouquet from your hands and sniffing the flowers with an approving smile. “But hearing you say you’re proud of me is awakening something I didn’t know existed.”

“A good something?” 

“Mm,” he hums, arms finding your waist before he pecks your lips. “A very good something.” 

Sunghoon’s words hit your lips and your core, a desperate heat flooding your stomach as he kisses you deeply, his body pressed tightly against yours while he pulls you into his apartment. He kicks the door shut with his foot, slipping his hand under your jacket to settle in your back pocket, not quite squeezing but holding your ass as gently as he can manage. 

He breaks away from you, love in his eyes as he stares down into yours, catching his breath. “I don’t think we own a vase.” 

In his kitchen, you rifle through cupboards to find something to hold the flowers, eventually finding a whiskey decanter in the cupboard under the sink, and holding it up for Sunghoon to see.

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “It’s Jay’s. It’ll work right?” 

You nod, taking it to the sink to rinse it. Sunghoon wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder watching you fill the decanter with water and flower food before grabbing the bouquet. He presses open-mouthed kisses to your neck and you struggle to stay focused as you cut down the stems on the flowers, arranging them neatly. 

“Can I take a photo?” he asks when you’re done. 

He’s smiling when you turn around to look at him, a soft curve of his lips that makes your heart race, a deep tenderness in his eyes when you meet them. You smile too. 

“They’re yours, baby, do whatever you want.” 

“A photo of you with the flowers,” he clarifies. 

Warmth settles in your chest, a grin spreading over your lips from ear to ear. You nod, taking the decanter in your hands when he lets go of you, holding the flowers up beside your face and smiling for his camera. As his phone shutter clicks away, you steal glances at his face behind it. He’s watching the screen with a smile, telling you how beautiful you are.

“I want pictures of you too,” you say, handing the flowers over. 

“I’m yours, baby, do whatever you want.” 

Sunghoon poses for your photos, smiling sweetly in some and sniffing the bouquet appreciatively with closed eyes for others. He’s glowing and he’s beautiful and your heart triples in size while taking picture after picture until your phone tells you it has ten percent. 

“Thank you, YN,” he says. “I’ve never gotten flowers before, I love them.” His arms settle around your waist, lips pressing against yours before you have the chance to respond. 

You try anyway, mumbling against his lips that you love him. In response, Sunghoon grins, but the feeling of his cock growing hard against you is distracting, a lust-coated thorn in the side of the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. With locked lips and uncertain steps, the two of you bump into corners and trip over your own feet, stumbling to his room and parting only to tear his hoodie over his head.

Breathless, you pull away, eyes trailing over him and picking up on everything, from the tremble in his hands to the lust-addled worry in his eyes. He’s nervous, you think—though it escapes you, the last word coming out like a question.

Sunghoon scoffs, his hands resting on your waist under your shirt, skin clammy against yours. “Of course, I’m nervous.” 

“You don’t have to be.”

“I just want to be good for you.” 

“Don’t worry about that, let me take care of you, Hoon.” Your palms drag up his torso — firm abs through soft cotton, defined chest over racing heart — to rest on his shoulders. “Sit,” you say when he nods. 

He gulps, taking a seat on the end of his bed under your gentle push, eyes widening when you sink to your knees between his legs and reach for his drawstring, pulling the ends to untie the knot. 

“Wait,” Sunghoon says, breathless, scrunching up his face and dropping his head. “Let me calm down, baby. At this rate, I’ll come just seeing your hand on it.” 

You giggle, resting your head on his thigh and wrapping the drawstring around your finger.

“I’m serious, YN,” he mumbles, laughing as he takes his vest off. “I need a minute.” 

Sunghoon’s eyes are pressed shut as he tries to collect himself, lips pouty and kiss-bitten, slightly parted with ragged breaths slipping out. You wait patiently for him. He’s so pretty like this, with the crease in his brow and the pretty pink flush dusting his cheeks as his chest rises and falls. You can’t help but smile, leaning into his touch when his hand rests on top of your head, his blunt nails grazing your scalp. After a while, he seems more at ease, his eyes finding yours and he smiles shyly, telling you he’s ready now and lifting his hips from the bed to let you pull his sweats and underwear down. 

Free from the constraints of fabric, his cock slaps his stomach with a wet sound as the tip meets his skin, leaving a pearlescent streak over his abs. The sight makes your mouth water and you can’t look away. “Pretty,” you whisper.

Wrapping a hand under his tip, you swipe it with your thumb, taking time to memorise the flutter of his eyelids, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple, and the soft sigh he lets out. You stroke him slowly, liking the way his breath picks up as his brows knit together before you take him in your mouth. It’s a tight fit but you do your best, spurred on by the way he tugs at your hair and stutters through a holy fuck as you take as much of him as you can. 

Sunghoon goes silent, only squirming when you use your hand to stroke him near his base. Self-conscious about his lack of vocal affirmation, you look up at him through your lashes, and the pure bliss on his face is unbearably attractive. His eyes are rolled back under furrowed brows, his mouth hanging open as he throws his head back.

“Am I doing okay?” you ask, using the moment to catch your breath.

He nods, inhaling shakily and screwing his eyes shut while his hips buck up into your fist. “I’m.. You’re doing such a good job, baby, so good.”

Satisfaction courses through you from the praise, a high that dulls the ache in your jaw. Still watching him, you massage his balls in your palm, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his tip when he whines. You tongue at his slit until he thrusts back into your mouth, tip hitting your throat, and he gasps when you gag, his arm coming up to cover his eyes. A belated apology slips from his lips, mumbled as he strokes your hair with a shaking hand and goes quiet again. When you speed up, his breath stutters, the muscles in his thighs contracting around your head as you suck and lick and drool on his cock. 

A moan of your name, and his hand holding your hand down, are the only warnings you get before Sunghoon comes, spilling his load right down your throat. Whining, his hips buck up against your face, pushing further and further until he falls back onto the mattress.

Your throat is hoarse and aches while you use the back of your hand to wipe at your lips, enjoying what’s left of his taste on your tongue. Deep red tints his neck and chest, a pretty flush gleaming under the sheen of sweat on his skin. He’s mesmerising, as he tries for air through swollen lips and looks up at you through squinted eyes. He reaches for you, cute grabby hands tugging your shirt and pulling you down so you’re lying next to him with your head on his chest. 

“You’re amazing, baby, so good for me,” Sunghoon whispers, eyes fluttering shut as you drag your nails over his torso, feeling the subtle heave of the slick, sculpted muscle over his stomach and chest. 

Pride heats your chest, satisfaction rolling over you like a wave. “Really?”

He hums in affirmation, nodding his head. 

“You were so quiet, I couldn’t really tell,” you add, hungry for more praise. 

“The walls are so thin in here, I just got used to being quiet,” Sunghoon says, frowning. Hand meeting your chin, he tips your head up towards him, pressing a soft kiss to your lips and mumbling, “I’m sorry. You were perfect, I swear.” 

It’s a sweet kiss. Until lips move harder and hands get lower, desperate as he thumbs the top of your leggings, palm unmoving but a dangerous heat blooms in your stomach anyway.

“Can I..” Sunghoon pinches you softly through the material, unsure eyes boring deep into yours. 

You nod. “You can.” 

Slipping under your waistband, his fingers skate across your skin dipping between your thighs. He grazes your slit, satisfaction clear in the groan he lets out as he feels the wetness there, pulling it over the length of your slit to cover your clit. Your breath hitches, a strangled gasp, pleasure and surprise meeting in your throat under the pressure of his thumb on your clit, the gentle sting of his finger pushing into you. 

What Sunghoon lacks in experience, he makes up for with the sheer length and thickness of his fingers. It’s almost jarring, it’s enough to force your eyes closed and bring a sigh rumbling out of you, ache and relief settling between your legs, where he curls a finger against your walls and drags slow circles over your clit. 

“Can you take these off, baby?” he asks, hand away to touch your leggings. 

You don’t waste a second, sitting up to pull them off, throwing them and your underwear across the room. Sunghoon licks his lips, tugging at the hem of your shirt. 

“And this? If you want..” 

You nod, pulling it off immediately to let it join the rest of your clothes in a heap on the floor. The way he gulps is a confidence boost, his dilated pupils taking in every inch of your body, though his gaze always pulls back to your bra—white and lacy, thin enough for your nipples to push through the fabric and Sunghoon can’t seem to get enough, though he waits until you’re lying down again to touch you. 

Sunghoon props himself up on his elbow, leaning over you. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, dragging a finger over the lace at the top of your bra, toying with the material and the little bow sitting between your breasts. His eyes flick up to meet yours. “So beautiful,” he repeats. 

Hiding your face in his chest, you mumble, “Thank you,” into his skin while trying to ignore the heat spreading over your body wherever he touches you. His hand trails from your arm to your waist, resting on your hips to slip over your ass for a beat, where he grabs and squeezes the flesh there before coming back around to slot between your legs—you lift one of them, resting it over his body, and he’s smiling sweetly when you look up at him.

Sunghoon’s movements are unchanging, though the sensation is heightened by the unbridled desire in his lidded eyes that urges white heat to lick over every inch of your skin—this time he pushes two fingers into you.

It doesn’t get better than this, you think. But it does, quickly. 

Leaning over you, his eyes flick across your face, one feature at a time as he chews on his lip. Reaching up, you push some of his hair from his face, holding it back and saying, “Relax, baby.” 

“Don’t want to hurt you.”

Moving your hand, you blink when his hair flops back over his forehead, tickling your eyelashes. His eyes are focused now, staring straight down into yours, want and worry flashing behind them. 

“You won’t, I promise,” you say, locking your pinky with his, feeling relieved when he smiles.

Sunghoon pushes in slowly, his name slipping from your lips when he exhales shakily, head falling forward. The sting, the pleasure, make it hard to breathe, molten desire taking hold of your lungs as he carves out a place for himself as far as you’ll take him, all the way to the hilt as slow as he can manage. 

A moan tears out of him, lewd and whiny as his hair tickles your collarbone, head falling into the crook of your neck. His skin is hot and damp against yours, his breath burning your shoulder as he tries to calm down. It’s difficult to register much else, tethered only by the sound of his voice when he asks, “Am I hurting you?” 

“Hoon,” you whisper. 

“Can you look at me, baby?” He lifts his head, resting a hand on your cheek. You blink your eyes open, gaze locking with his, where concern pushes through his desire. “Am I hurting you?” he asks again. “Are you okay?” 

You nod. “I’m okay, just..” You sigh. “Full. Need a minute.” 

Sunghoon kisses you, lips moving gently with yours, passing breathy whines between your mouths until you feel yourself relaxing. Pulling his plush bottom lip between yours, you suck on it, nodding. “Want you to move, baby,” you mumble. 

He scans your face, eyes meeting yours as he pulls his hips back. He’s slow, so slow with his thrusts that your belly turns with want, your fingernails sink into the taut skin of his back, and jagged sobs fall out of you with each drag of his cock along your walls. 

Everywhere his skin touches yours is set ablaze with scorching heat, goosebumps pushing past the surface as his breath fans your neck and his sharp teeth graze your skin. He bites hard enough to sting, and you wince as his tongue flicks over your bitten flesh to soothe you.

You were so worked up earlier, writhing against the sheets and coming undone in his palm, so bliss quickly pushes through the ache between your legs. “Good, Hoon, feels so good,” you manage, struggling to convey how perfect it is.

“Just want to make you feel good.” His words melt into each other, vowels soft and elongated as they curl around each other. He’s working up a steady rhythm, his tip consistently nudging you where you need it—the spot that makes the room blur around you. “That’s all I want.” 

Before long, the knot in your stomach pulls you up from the mattress, arching your back towards the ceiling. Mouth to mouth, chest to chest—it’s the closest you’ve ever felt to someone else, the closest you’ve ever been. The thought alone knocks the wind out of you, and his persistent whining does nothing to help.

Your want and adoration for Sunghoon run bone-deep, inching up your spine and creeping over your shoulders, intertwined with an all-consuming pleasure that turns the heat in your stomach molten as a shudder zips through you. Even though you can’t find the words to let him know, he lifts your hips from the bed to fuck you deeper, harder, into the mattress until shaky orgasms pull both of you under. 

You let him fall into you, fingers curling around his hair, whispering I love you into the skin of his neck as he comes, most of his weight on top of you while you catch your breath, relishing in the fullness you feel as the last waves of your high pull back. You stay like this for as long as he needs, his head coming up from the crook of your neck to smile at you before pressing his lips to yours. A sleepy haze fills the room around you, tongue swiping tongue as you giggle happily into his mouth. 

After a while, he gets up, tying the condom to throw it away and comes back with his shirt. He uses it to clean up—gentle between your legs, pressing kisses to your calves while he does. Sunghoon’s tenderness wraps around your heart, and love clouds your vision, forming a blurry trail that follows all of his movements, glowing like something from a dream, ethereal, an apparition. 

The bed dips beside you, his arms around you, pulling you in so his chin rests on your head. You push your cheek into his chest, hoping the two of you will meld into one—the thought makes you warm all over, a fuzziness that reaches every part of your body while he presses kisses into your hair, rubbing your back. 

“I love you,” he says, voice as soft as the rest of him. “I’m glad I exist.”

mama park: Hi lovely 😍 missing you lots, wondering when you’ll be home for Xmas………..love ma

Sunghoon stirs, nose scrunching as he snores softly into the quiet of a winter morning. His chest rises and falls steadily under your head and he doesn’t move when you sit up. The lamp on his desk is still on — neither of you could be bothered getting up to turn it off last night — and under its dim glow, you admire him. Perfect lips gently curved—long lashes kissing the skin under his eyes. 

Love hits you from all angles, warmth all over from head to toe despite the chill in Sunghoon’s room. You can’t help but grin, leaning up to nose along the underside of his chin, his natural scent so soft yet dizzying as you nuzzle into him. He stirs again, turning his head this way and that before resting, you feel a bit bad, deciding to leave him be and text his mum back. 

you: hi mum !!! missing you sooooooo much :((( will be home asap

mama park: BTW Sunghoon told me everything. I raised such good actors LOL make sure he looks after you and keeps you happy!

you: i’m so sorry we lied to you..

you: but i’m really happy with him and he loves me a lot

you: i love him so much .. never been so sure of anyone in my life

© zreamy (2023), all rights reserved. do not repost, translate, or plagiarise my work. do let my know your thoughts !

permanent taglist: @asahicore

[sunnymoonxx]

❝here i blur into you❞ | qimir x fem!reader

pairing: qimir x fem!reader

summary: you've been stranded on an unknown island with your nemesis for weeks now, the air getting filled with unpalatable tension as you try to find a way to get away from him. one afternoon, the tension breaks as he offers his knowledge to help you train.

warnings: english is not my native language, reader also has a twin and has a similar situation as osha, reader is a bit paranoid, lot of foreplay from qimir, teasing, fingering, cunnilungus, vulgar terms,

now playing, acquainted by the weeknd

He smelled like sandalwood, filling the air every time he passed you by or handed you a plate of food. For the first few days, you ignored it, letting it brush against your nose, your thoughts concentrating on how to get out of the island or how to kill him without breaking the code. But after nights and nights of sleeping in the same cave, sharing his space, and smelling him in every corner, it started to drive you crazy.

You lost your nerves last morning during your hand-picked breakfast when he strolled into the cave after his morning swim, water still dripping from his hair, the smell punching you in the nose, leaving you dizzy and breathless. You didn't know where you wanted to go, but as you picked up your things and bottle of water, it wasn't your main concern.

The smell itself didn't bother you. He bothered you. You knew exactly what game he was playing. With your sister, he played the role of a big brother, older protecter that she always wanted and wished for. With you, his mask dropped, revealing a charming seductive character. Every time he handed you something, he towered over you, gazing into your eyes so intensely it made your knees shake. Or when he walked towards you, he took his time, his eyes going up and down your figure until they fixated on you, staring at you until he came so close you could feel his breath brushing over your face. The slightest touches of his hands, the knuckle strokes, the skin contact when he healed your wounds.

He was trying to seduce you, knowing your weaknesses, just so you'd turn your back on the jedi and stay with him. As a padawan, desire was one of the forbidden emotions, alongside hate, anger, and fear. You never felt the touch of another, not one you desired.

His act had its way with you. You didn't deny it, but it was just a role for him. A mask he put on whenever you were close. You wanted to know the real him and maybe even try to help him. Instead, you were met with lustful eyes and breathtaking smell of his. A few days ago, you returned his gaze when he spoke to you, to try to read his thoughts and emotions. You only saw the colour red.

After you stormed out of the cave, leaving Qimir wondering, you kept walking around for about thirty minutes before you found yourself surrounded by smaller rocks, standing ankles deep in a hot sand. It wasn't that far away from the cave but far enough to get away from him and his sandalwood smell.

You dropped your bottle and some spare clothes on one of the flat rocks, letting yourself fall on your ass, letting out an anxious breath. You had no idea what you were going to do, how to act, or how to survive the upcoming days. You were certain Sol was going to find you and save you. You started to think about Yord and Jecki. You weren't that close to Yord, even in your padawan days. Jecki, you knew from afar, but she always had a soft smile on her lips. Your heart ached for them, feeling guilty even if there was nothing you could do.

You sat there for hours, staring at your dirty shoes. You were frozen. You needed to train. You were sure there was going to be time when you would have to protect yourself against Qimir and his brute strength. He killed Yord with his bare hands. As long as you would attack his hands first, you'd be safe.

You found a branch, pictured it as a lightsaber, and started repeating over and over fighting methods you were taught by your master. You held up till the sunset, and when the sun rose again, you picked up the branch and started again.

You didn't bother with breaks. You kept going till your knees gave up, and your arms fell by your side. Your chest rose up and down fast as you sat down, the branch falling metres away from you. You rested your head against the closest rock, daring to close your eyes. You were away for almost a day, with no food, just water to keep you company. You slowly started to regret leaving so impulsively, but you had no idea what you would do if you'd stay another minute around the intoxicating smell of his.

You had to fall asleep, your body reacting to the unknown sound earlier than you. Trying to compose yourself as you rubbed your cheek, painful and red, from resting against the hard rock. You picked yourself up, turning around to find where the sound came from. It didn't take you long, for Qimir revealed himself, appearing just a few metres away from you, a bag around his shoulder. He took you in, scanning your body like he was searching for any weapons or injuries. He found nothing, only a thin branch right behind your feet.

"You could at least take some food." he broke the brooding silence and your mutual staring contest. His voice was soft, small tug on the corned of his lips. He wore his usual beige shirt, transparent to his muscles. You shook your head, trying to focus on something else than his forearms as he put down his bag to take out the stuff he brought you.

"I'm not hungry," you lied, holding steadily your position, scanning his every move. He took out all the food to put them on the rocks in front of you, gently, making sure not to drop anything. He didn't forget to bring you fresh water, new clothes and a lightsaber.

Lightsaber.

You took a quick step back at the sight of the lightsaber, your ankle meeting with a rock. He brought a lightsaber. He was going to kill you now. You were sure of it.

"It's for you," he read your mind, making himself a place to sit next to the food, lightsaber at the opposite end of the food row. He tilted his head, softly smiling at you. "The tide is going to end by tomorrow," he said, his eyes set low, eyebags underneath. "you could disappear."

"What do you want?" you asked, attitude and hidden fear in your voice. Why was he helping you. Why did he inform you about the tide and possible escape. Was he planning something?

"For you to eat," he smiled, his teeth showing up for a second. "I have no desire to hurt you or let you die of starvation." His hands rested on his lap, his eyes soft and gentle, morning sun reflecting in them. He was beautiful in this light. But you shook that though away.

"What's with the lightsaber," you pointed with your head to the weapon, not daring to move, feeling his eyes burn into your skin.

"I made it for you," he replied quietly, looking over at the saber. You flinched when he slowly stood up, walking towards it to pick it up, holding it so the handle could be in your direction. He was close, too close to your liking, a small circle of rocks surrounding you two. "Figured you'd want one." he purred, taking slow steps towards you, not breaking his gaze at you. Like he was waiting for you to run, taking in every detail of you.

He stopped at arm length, lifting the lightsaber to you. You didn't move to take it and just stared at it. It was small compared to his hand, plainly black.

"How long is it since you've held one?" he asked, almost in whisper, looking down at you with curiousity. You didn't answer, forcing to look away from the saber, mirroring his intense gaze. You tried to read him again but failed. You were too tired to even see one small thought. He took a step closer, instinctively you wanted to take a step back, but the rock behind you made you stumble, Qimir's arm catching you sharply, pulling you back up.

He was so close now that the saber handle was touching your ribs, his breath tickling your face again, the sandalwood, again, penetrating the air. You tried to move away, pushing against him, but he didn't move an inch. He looked like a marble statue against the light.

"Take it," he growled, shaking with the saber a little. When you still didn't move, he took your hand and placed it on the weapon, his grip strong and tense. "Turn it on," he moved even closer, the head of the lightsaber pushing against his abdomen.

Turn it on.

You repeated his words.

Turn it on and get it over with.

Only you couldn't. You tried to force your hand to move, but like someone froze it, it was paralyzed.

"I'm not like you." You managed to let out, breaking your neck to look up at him. "I don't attack the unarmed."

"When did I attack the defenceless?" he asked, still holding your arm firmly, keeping you standing in one place. His hair fell like a black curtain around his eyes that stared into yours, awaiting an answer.

"Jecki," your voice broke at the memory of her. She had no reason to be there. She should have been safe at the temple.

You heard him take a deep breath, his fingers slightly amplifying the pressure around your wrist. "She attacked first,"

"She was a child." You raised your voice, trying to move away from him but as much as you wanted he didn't let you.

"Your Master brought her there. He knew the risk." He replied, his voice soft and calm with no hints of remorse.

"What do you want?" You cried out, furrowing your eyebrows. You wanted to scream at him, punch him, fight him, erase the stupid smell he had that drove you crazy and confused your thoughts.

"For you to eat," he repeated, stupid smile dancing on his lips. For a second, you wondered why he wore a mask to hide his beautiful face, but you quickly erased it. With the final push, he let go of your arm and stared at you as you made your way towards the food. You devoured embarrassingly quickly, forgetting about the claim you weren't hungry. All the time he stood there, watching you carefully.

When you finished eating, you took advantage of the bird that took Qimir's attention for a moment to hide the fork and knife behind your belt. It was stupid, but it counted as something. You could sharpen it using the rocks and use it when he'd attack you in your sleep.

"Why won't you kill me?" You asked after you finished your plate, reaching for the water bottle. You felt his stare. Everywhere. At that point you didn't know if he was still playing the role of a whore or he just had a staring problem. Both options made you nervous.

"As I said, I have no desire to." He smiled, kneeling down to squat. He slowly started rolling up his sleeves, the scars on his arms now more visible than ever. His long, thick fingers were wrapped around the lightsaber, his other hand now hanging in the air.

It was useless talking to him. It was obvious before, ridiculous now. You nodded, accepting you won't get any honest answer out of him.

"Thanks for the food, you better get going now." You slowly stood up, your stomach full and warm. "Time for your daily swim." you added, hoping he'd leave you alone till tomorrow when you could swim to the other side and leave this abandoned island.

You didn't hear him letting out a chuckle, his dimples showing. "I can take one here," he pointed at the calm water in front of you, guarded by gigantic rocks.

Great.

"Do whatever you want," you murmured, trying to convince yourself you're okay with his presence. Naked presence. You saw him the first few days, where you followed him every morning, not trusting anything he said. He invited you to join him every time, and every time you didn't say anything, just stood on guard, scanning and taking in every movement he made.

He was well built, with big arms, strong back, and powerful legs. Was he stripping in front of you as a part of his act, or was he just that unbothered by your presence. You hoped it was neither. You rather got tricked than ignored.

"Okay," you heard him murmur, walking towards you for his clothes. You flinched, taking a big step away from him, finding the lightsaber lying in the sand. As he slowly made his way to the water and started to undress, you took the lightsaber in your hands, feeling it, remembering the last time you held it.

You started your routine again, this time with your lightsaber, the branch left lying in the sand. You were well aware he was watching you, motivating you to show off and not to embarrass yourself.

Minutes ran by before you heard a splash, Qimir walking out of the water. You didn't even think to turn around, but your body decided for you. Your head tilted his direction, your eyes going up and down his figure. It wasn't the first time you saw it but this time you saw it from a clear view.

Suddenly, you had a hard time swallowing the saliva forming in your mouth, your heart aggressively punching your ribs.

Focus.

You quickly turned your head back, hoping to remember what you were doing before you scanned his form. You wondered if it would hurt, or would it be pleasurable.

You felt shame thinking about these things, but you never received an answer. The Jedi around you never answered, and those outside you didn't trust.

The unknown heat overtook you again, you had to close your eyes to regain your focus. Instead, The Force directed you back to him. His grin fixated his lips as he put on his clothes, not bothering to dry himself. Water droplets falling from his hair to his shoulders, his muscles forming themselves against the skin-tight robe.

Opening your eyes, you took a glimpse of your lightsaber, unaware of Qimir slowly approaching you. You practised your movements, your hand twists, and leg work. You had to get used to the weight of the lightsaber after years of not touching one.

You stopped yourself from turning his direction when you felt his touch on your shoulders.

"Keep your shoulders back," he whispered, forcing your shoulders back into their correct position. You froze, now only focusing on the warmth reflecting of his body. He bent over so his lips could reach your ears, and his hands travelled down to your biceps. "Your elbows up. You have them too low." he simply added, his lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You pressed your legs together, unaware of your need.

You listened to him, tho, keeping your shoulders and elbows in the position he moved them. His hands didn't touch you fully, only tickling the surface of your skin, but it was enough to make you burn.

"You need to spread your legs," he added, hearing a small smile while informing you. You fought the urge to turn and hit him in the face with the lightsaber handle.

When you didn't listen, he forced his knee between your legs, forcing them apart.

"So you don't fall over," he whispered against your ear, the little hair on your neck standing up.

"I didn't ask for help," you uttered, bitterness in your tone. You wanted him gone, but not for the same reason you did yesterday. For the reason that he made you have physical reactions without touching you. Having to press your legs together because of his voice. Feeling your skin burn by feeling him pressed against your back.

"You obviously need it," He smiled against your earlobe before pulling back just to let his hands fall onto yours, checking the way you hold your saber. He fixed the placement of your fingers, his breath on your neck erasing all of your thoughts. His warm wet chest pressed against your back, his breath tickling you. Your ass pressed against his abdomen. It was all too much for you. You shouldn't be feeling this way.

Yes, he was attractive. Yes, he was charismatic and soft when he wanted to be. But he wield the power of the dark side. He couldn't be trusted. You were scared the dreams you were having so often might become true.

"Use your thumb," he woke you up from your thoughts, pushing himself against your back as he held your hands. His voice was low and dark. "Place it on the top to hold it steadily. That way, it won't slip out of your hands, and you won't have to use strength to keep it in place." Even the way he talked and taught you almost drove you over the edge. You knew that's what he wanted and fought hard against it.

"I know how to hold a lightsaber." You hissed, shaking off his hands. Regretting it as his hands found its way to your lower back, pushing in, you had to hold back a moan,

"Straight posture." he simply said, ignoring you, leaving his hands on the back of your hips. You focused on taking deep breaths, hoping the heat between your legs would go away.

Almost as if he felt it, his hands moved from the back to the front, tickling the exposed skin of your stomach. You wanted to cry out, his touch driving you insane. You wanted to do something and, at the same time, nothing. You wanted him to take you, but you also wanted to drive the lightsaber through his skull.

"You won't fight anyone without a straight posture," he emphasized, pushing his fingers into your stomach, holding you in place.

"I've fought many people without you before." you replied angrily, a small moan leaving your lips at the end of the sentence as he moved his fingers lower, under your belly button.

"And did you win?" he mocked you, whispering into your ear. His hands right above the place you used your fingers while wishing they were his.

You were done with his stupid comments and mockery, pushing against him to turn and punch him, but he didn't let you move a muscle. He was too strong.

"What do they teach you," he asked, genuine curiosity in his tone. "They don't teach you how to stand still or how to hold a lightsaber. Only how to surpress your emotions to become a hollow shell."

"That's not true," you argued. "We are taught to control our emotions, to feel them but not to let them get the best out of us."

"So why do you supress what you really want?" his voice turned into whisper again, his thumb making circling motion on your lower stomach. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he knew you were about to give up.

"Why do you shy away from your desire?" he added, using little to no strength to bring you skin to skin to him, feeling his length on your lower back.

Accidental moan left your lips. You closed your eyes out of embarrassment, wishing he didn't hear that. But you weren't that stupid.

"It's the path, path to the dark side." you stumbled over your words, feeling his fingers go lower, right above the belt of your pants.

Fuck.

"Then stop me," he whispered, his index finger going slowly underneath the hem of your pants. "Stop my hand. I'll let you." he added.

You didn't move a muscle. Only rested your head against his chest and let your arms fall by your side, lightsaber falling into the sand. You wanted him, and he wanted you. There was no reason to fight it. That was a problem for your future self.

"Tell me," he purred, his right hand painfully slowly maling their way to the hem of your panties. "Has anyone ever touched you like this?"

He was mocking you, playing with you. He knew no one ever had. You didn't count. "No," was your simple answer, wanting to dig yourself a deep hole in the ground and bury yourself in it.

"How does it feel?" he asked, his fingers finally reaching your wet bundle of nerves, slowly starting to circle your clit. You grabbed his arm out of shock, digging your nails into his skin. It felt too good. You were dripping wet, it was too easy for him to find your weak spot.

"As a Jedi, you can't even be with the people you love," he murmured into your ear before starting to leave small kisses down to your neck. "Can't give them the pleasure they deserve."

His fingers started to go up and down your clit, always stopping right before your entrance. You wanted to start begging for him to take you, but you didn't want to embarrass yourself more than you already have. You didn't pay attention to anything he was saying, only focusing on his fingers driving you crazy, making it difficult to keep a steady stance.

"What kind of life is that? Hmm?" His sloppy kisses and his fingers teasing your core themselves, almost had you falling over the edge. You were so touch deprived you were surprised you didn't cum when he touched you for the first time.

"Qimir," you cried out, wanting his fingers inside of you already. The first time, you said his name out loud. And he listened. His fingers stopped their movements, deserving an annoyed groan from you. He took them out of your pants, placing them on your waist to circle you so he could be face to face with you.

He didn't say anything before he bent his legs, kneeling in front of you, letting the sand swallow him. He looked up at you with pitch-black eyes, hinting on your pants. You understood, taking your time but nodding, letting him take off your pants and underwear.

The urge to cover your face and run away was strong, but the feeling of his mouth on your clit was stronger. You cried out hard, grabbing his hair as he dipped his tongue between your folds. This is what the Jedi deprived you of. You wanted to scream.

Qirim's tongue moved with rhythm against your dripping cunt, his fingers holding you still by your hips. Your hands were tangled in his hair, tugging on them every time he moved his tongue, teasing your entrance.

"Fuck," you hissed, your knees bending. Qimir quickly caught you, not stopping assaulting your clit. "Qimir, please," you begged. You weren't sure what you were wishing for anymore, but his name in your mouth felt almost as good as his tongue felt between your folds.

Your arms moved from his hair to his shoulders, holding yourself steady when his hand left your hip to put them between your legs. You caught a glimpse of his face when you looked down. Lustful dark eyes, messy hair, sweaty against his forehead, his nose and mouth covered in your slick. The view itself almost had you cumming on his tongue. So when his fingers joined the game, pushing inside of you, betwen your walls you let a pornographic moan. You were alone on this island but if someone was on the other end, you were certain they could hear you.

His fingers moved fast, in and out of you, spreading and curling inside of you. He was gentle with you at first but as he felt you getting closer and closer to the edge he threw all the respect out of the window, fucking you mercilessly with his thick fingers.

If his mouth and fingers had you screaming his name you wondered how his cock would feel.

"Qimir, I'm- " you cried out, wanting to warn him, but he felt it. The way your walls started to contract, crushing his fingers inside of you. His tongue kept circling your clit, adding to the pleasure. You were sure you formed new scars on his shoulders as you came hard around his fingers and tongue, failing to catch your breath and keep your legs straight and strong.

He held you for a few minutes as you rested against him, his lips still glossy with your wetness. Without thinking, you bended over to press your lips against his, tasting yourself, mixed with the flavor of him.

[pynkfairyheart]

pairings: Onyankopon x black reader

warnings: Jean slander, smut 18+

Need you

“And then the bitch scoffed and rolled her eyes like I didn't just apologize. I need to find a new place asap cause I swear next time she try me Imma fuck her up- “

“What I tell you bout cussing?” Ony’s deep voice filled the room, dark eyes piercing into yours as a warning.

“Anywaysss” You rolled your eyes, ignoring the side eye he was giving. “You’ve been awfully quiet since I came over. What’s going on?” You put your freshly manicured feet in his face.

“Nothing you’ve just been yapping the whole time.” He smirked.

“Rude” You gasped, nudging him with your toes.

“Nah I'm just chillin’. You know I like listening to you talk.” He shrugged, placing your legs into his lap. Lighting the blunt he just rolled, a cloud of smoke surrounding him as he took a hit.

“Whatever” You smiled as he passed it to you.

You and Ony often had moments like these, a smoke sesh usually spent with you talking about your week as he massaged your feet. Your relationship with Ony was…complicated. Ever since Sasha introduced you two, y'all were inseparable, constantly getting mistaken for a couple, and who could blame them?

Most thought this because Ony always had to be touching you, whether it was holding your hand, an arm around your shoulder, or a tight grip on your waist. However, for some, it was how you two would always disappear during the function. Claiming you were only talking, but the slight sheen on Ony’s lips and your slightly ruffled clothing told otherwise.

You weren’t quite friends with benefits. At least that's what you told yourselves. The whole ordeal just kinda happened. You were stressed over your midterms and Ony of course offered to help you study. Though after hours of reading flashcards and practice tests, you were still stressed and on the verge of tears when Ony offered another way to help you. That night you ended up with your legs in the air as Ony sucked the soul out of your pussy. Ever since then any inconvenience one had, the other would do their best to help relieve the stress. Your roommate upset you? Ony fed you long deep strokes, pampering you with soft kisses while he whispered in your ear. Ony was pissed that his supplier flaked on him? Ony would have the tightest grip on your hips as he drilled into you from behind, claiming the waves of your ass hypnotized him into forgetting what he was upset about. Some days neither of you needed an excuse. Some days you just craved each other.

Despite your unique relationship, you remained friends allowing the other to do what they pleased, though neither you nor Ony slept with or saw other people. Your dynamic was good and worked for both of you. That was until you started seeing Jean.

“You n that nigga Jean still fuckin around?” He broke the silence, waiting for your answer as your eyes met his.

“Ony” You groaned, the tight grip he had on your ankles preventing you from moving.

“What? I can’t ask you questions now?” He kissed his teeth, putting out the blunt.

“No, because any time you ask about Jean we end up getting into an argument and I’m really enjoying my time with you right now. So no, you cannot ask.”

“Whatever. I’m just tryna figure out when you gon stop playing in my face nd be with me instead of his bitchass.”

“Onyankopon '' You shrieked. You never understood why Ony hated Jean till a few weeks ago when Ony drunkenly confessed his feelings. At first, you thought he was joking but the look on his face told you otherwise. For a minute, you were happy. Ony was everything you had wanted in a boyfriend and you two had practically been in a relationship just without the labels. It wasn't till Jean texted you that you got upset. Why confess his feelings when you're finally in a relationship? Deciding it'd be best to forget about it, you put Ony to bed, hoping he'd also forget about his confession. Clearly, you were wrong.

“What? I don't understand what you see in him. He's annoying as fuck, and I'm pretty sure he has 4 brain cells. Maximum.” He rolled his eyes at the thought of Jean. “Why won't you give me a chance when I'm the one for you?”

“We've talked about this Ony.” You sighed. Conversations like these were becoming frequent and they were so tiring.

“No mama you've talked nd I've listened.” You thought about it, he wasn’t exactly wrong. Silently praying this wouldn't end up in an argument you gave him a chance.

“Okay. I'm listening.” You whispered.

“C’mere,” He released your ankles.

“Ony I’m not gonna-”

“[☆]” The dominance in his tone had you clenching around nothing.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you did as he told. The moment you sat on his lap you just knew how it was going to end.

“Why you with him instead of me? And don't feed me no bullshit” His large hands were rubbing up and down your thighs getting dangerously close to your pussy that desperately ached for him.

You tried and you tried but there wasn't any good reason as to why you were Jean. Sure he was cute but he had no idea how to make you feel special and overall just couldn't please you. In multiple ways. The main reason though was that he wasn’t Ony. He just asked first.

“I don't know, Ony” You finally sighed, looking everywhere but him.

Any discipline you had when it came to Ony vanished when his hand wrapped around your throat, the slight pressure on your carotid causing your brain to go fuzzy and your panties to get damp “Look at me”

“Be real. Please” Ony released his hold on your neck to grip your thighs.

“You had the longest opportunity to ask me to be with you but you never took the chance, yet when I'm finally in a relationship you suddenly wanna give up everything and take a chance to be with me and I feel like that’s not fair to me Ony.”

He rubbed his hands down his face with a sigh. “You're right.”

"I did have that opportunity and always hesitated. I always assumed it would be just you and me, that you wouldn't pursue other relationships because of our bond. Since the day we met, I've wanted you. I know this is unfair and I'm so sorry princess, but I can't ignore my feelings any longer. Jean can't possibly be the man you want, the man you deserve. But I can. I promise to take the chance if you just give me another opportunity, and I'll do everything in my power to make you proud. You’re my best friend, my favorite person in the whole universe and I'm determined to be the person you need. I love you [☆].”

“Ony” you huffed, feeling as if all air was being vacuumed out of your lungs at his confession.

“Please. Lemme show you how much I love you.” He whispered, closing the distance that separated you. “Please” He captured your lips, his usual sweet taste with a hint of spiciness from the weed clouding your thoughts. Oh, how you missed this. Missed him. The kiss was intimate and familiar, the passion growing with each second. Ony’s hands roamed your body, gripping the soft flesh of your thighs before traveling to your ass, taking pleasure in the soft moan you let out, and using the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips. On instinct, your hips rocked down onto him.

“Fuck, baby. I missed you” He groaned, flipping you onto your back.

“Ony we can’t” You huffed, despite the wetness growing in between your thighs. God he looked so good. His muscles bulged as he took his shirt off, your eyes trailed down his torso, mouth watering at the prominent v-line peeking from his low sitting sweats.

“Do you want this? Yes, or no?” His tongue traced lazy patterns on your skin as he littered your neck with kisses.

“Ony I-”

“Yes or no [☆]?” He nipped on your earlobe, hand dipping below the waistband of your leggings.

“Fuck, Ony” his hand slipped beneath the thin fabric of your thong, fingers slipping through your folds. Gathering your arousal before circling your clit in tight circles. “Yes, please”

“Then shut up and lemme show you how much I love you” He murmured as he undressed you. Replacing his fingers with his tongue, he lapped at your folds like a starved man, his tongue repeatedly flicking your clit. “Missed you so fucking much. Don't ever give my pussy away again. You hear me?” He muttered, sliding two digits past your entrance. The action was easy with how wet you were.

“Ony” Your thighs threatened to close around his head.

“Answer me or I'm stopping” He slowed his movements, leaving you needy.

“It's yours. I'm yours pa, I promise” Your legs shook as he continued to give you slow strokes, the addition of another finger having you seeing stars. “O-Ony wait” You panted, attempting to push his head away but he refused to let up on your pussy, never wanting to stop till he and his couch were soaked in your essence as he lapped at your clit.

“Ony I’m so-fuck I'm so close” Your words encouraged him to speed up as he repeatedly hit the spongy spot of your walls. “Ony” Your walls clenched around his fingers, leaving little room for his fingers to continue as you reached your peak.

Despite your thighs tightening around his head he continued his assault on your pussy. It wasn't until he was finally satisfied with slurping up your arousal, that he pulled away pressing gentle kisses on your throbbing clit as he pulled his soaked fingers out of your walls.

“Missed you so much” He mumbled, giving you the nastiest kiss ever, your arousal all over his lower face.

“I missed you too”

“Yeah?” He grabbed your hips, positioning you on all fours.

“Ony” You whined, pout forming on your lips as you looked back. His dick standing tall now that it was no longer confined. God, please let me have feeling in my legs tomorrow.

“I know you ain't think I was done. You played in my face and let another nigga hit and think I'm not finna put you back in your place? Nah, both you and this pussy need a reminder of who you belong to” He slid his dick through your folds, your cream acting as lube.

“Matter a fact” He lined up at your entrance just as your phone started ringing ‘Jean baby’ flashing on the bright screen.

“Lemme show this nigga too.”

first time ever writing smut nd even though it was short it took me foreverrr but i think it turned out okay. also so sorry for all my Jean girlies out there lol. anyways i hope you enjoyed nd any feedback is greatly appreciated. mwah

[jamminvroomvroom]

congrats on 5k queen! you’re writing is so brilliant beyond belief and you deserve all the love and support this site has to offer. can i request lando+angsty smut (the best combo)…prompts along the lines of “i don’t think im ever going to love anyone the way i love you”//“i don’t think i want to love anyone else”

how did it end?

ln x famous fem!reader

in which it ends, until…

i love this fic with my whole heart. thank u sm for this request, anon, and for being so absolutely for gorgeous and kind <3 kicking off the 5k celebration with a big, sad, sexy bang! lemme know what you think, hugs n kisses

songs to set the mood: how did it end? by taylor swift

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! smut, angst angst angst, fluff, happy ending! exes to lovers, just. a lot going on. sad!lando, sad!everyone, so many feels, r is a big deal model, alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking

4.1k words

one gasp, and then…

“how did it end?” the woman strokes your arm, soothing, tentative.

you don’t know her all that well, she’s signed to the same agency as you, you see her in the halls sometimes and sit next to her in makeup chairs.

you stare blankly at her, registering. news travels fast apparently.

you smile, small, fake, tilting your head to the side. you mumble something about different schedules, timezones, right person, wrong time. she watches your face intently, with sympathy. you want to throttle her. she’s being kind and you despise her for it right now.

“i won’t tell anyone.” she affirms, her fingers still smoothing over the skin of your arm.

yes you will, you think. all of her friends, the rest of the building will know exactly what you’ve told her by the time you get to your meeting. you don’t begrudge her, though, that’s the nature of the industry.

“well, it was good to see you.” you nod, even go in for a quick hug, and then you speed away, beelining for the elevator. the ride is short, your managers office somewhere on the third floor and you shuffle down the corridor, ready to be informed of what your life will look like for the next three months.

fittings, shoots, paris trip.

mhm.

swimwear season, charlotte tilbury, meeting with the vogue journalist.

cool.

week off, few days in london, monaco grand prix.

no.

“what? no.” you splutter. out of habit, you reach for a necklace, frown when you realise it’s no longer there.

“what do you mean, no?” she narrows her eyes at you.

“i can’t go to the race. no.”

“girl, i love you, but did i ask?”

“you know i can’t-“

“you won’t have to see him.” she reasons.

“but what if i do? he’s obviously gonna be there, and the events before and after- no. no.”

“lando norris is not gonna be the end of you.”

you stifle a laugh, one that sounds more like a strangled cry.

what if he already was?

-

look who we ran into at the shops,

walking in circles like he was lost

lando stares at the shampoo.

specifically, the one you use. used. he can’t be too sure anymore, he supposes.

he’d popped out for a loaf of bread, about an hour ago. he didn’t want to acknowledge how long he’d been staring at the women’s toiletries section.

you seemed to live on, everywhere. lando could see you in his apartment, the passenger seat of his car, the back of the garage. even the fucking supermarket wasn’t safe. you were very much alive, moving on with life, and yet you haunted him like he’d killed you himself.

perhaps he had, in a way.

the basket grazes the outside of his leg.

that’s the shower gel he’d buy for you, the one you only used when you stayed with him in monaco.

there’s the tampons you asked him to buy, crying back at home on your- his bed.

oh, and there’s the shampoo that you made him buy, the one that you told him made his curls feel extra fluffy when he was between your legs-

“lando?” a voice calls, drawing lando out of the mist.

“oh, alex. hey.” lando croaks. he hasn’t noticed the lump in his throat until now. he clears his throat, running a hand through his hair.

“what you doing, mate?” alex asks, eyebrows furrowed. he scans lando’s face, puffy eyes, watery.

“shopping.”

“for women’s shampoo?”

“no, no, just… looking.” lando stutters.

“when was the last time you slept?” alex’s voice is laced with concern, apprehensive. he doesn’t know what to say to his heartbroken friend.

lando smiles weakly.

“i’ve been sleeping.”

alex sighs.

“okay, when was the last time you slept properly, then?”

lando’s shoulders visibly sag.

“about a month ago.”

-

we hereby conduct this post-mortem

“we can’t do this anymore.”

the words fall from your lips in a whisper, but they reach him like you’ve screamed them at him. he sits opposite you, in the arm chair, so far away, only a metre or so.

“i know.” lando breathes shakily.

“i don’t want this but…”

“yeah.”

it’s been such a good year. you’re in love. it’s not enough. there’s too much distance, too many outsider opinions, too much longing for someone who’s on the other side of the world.

he’ll be in london. you’ll be in brazil.

he’ll be in australia. you’ll be in amsterdam.

it’s too much.

“i love you, though.” you remind him meekly.

“don’t know how to not love you.” he sniffles.

your heart shatters, the pieces flying over the room, spilling across the floor. they mix with the splinters of his, painting the room red. all you feel is blue.

you cry in his arms when he takes you to bed, his own tears spilling over your collar bone when he buries his head in your neck, licks over the marks he’s left there. to remember me by, he’d muttered dryly.

when you’re both finished, he lays there for a moment, still on top of you. damp with sweat and tears, the taste of one another still lingering on your tongues.

“how is it possible that i miss you already?” he pants, lips grazing just below your ear.

“i get it, lan. i’ve been missing you for a while.”

you’re gone when he wakes up.

and so, a touch that was my birthright became foreign

-

come one, come all

it’s happening again

the empathetic hunger descends

there are about six cameras pointed at you when he asks the dreaded question.

you’re in new york, sat on a talk show hosts sofa, lit by stage lights and his inquisitive eyes. two hundred people sit in the audience, on the edge of their seats waiting for you to spill your secrets.

“so, what happened there, with lando?”

you plaster on the fakest smile to date, crossing your legs anxiously.

“we’re both just so busy, you know? he’s doing amazing things in f1 and i’m all over the place with work.”

“we love both of you over here, it was sad to hear.” he sympathises, adjusting his tie and leaning back in his chair. his fingers drum over the wood of his desk, waiting for more.

vultures. everyone is a vulture.

“and we still have a lot of love for each other. he’s a wonderful person.”

there are tears in your eyes and bile rising rapidly in your throat when you shake hands with the crew, the host, and retreat to your dressing room. you stumble into the en-suite and throw up. then, you fall onto the sofa and cry. you fix your makeup at godspeed and reply to the text from your team, inviting you to drinks at some rooftop bar, promising to meet them there. you punctuate the text with one too many exclamation marks, feigning excitement.

“we still have a lot of love for each other.”

translation: i can’t understand: how did it end?

-

lando watches your interview. of course he does. he watches everything that you do, watches the way you set the world on fire.

he can’t help himself where you’re concerned, like an addict craving the next hit. you look so pretty on tv, glowing. you look fine.

god, why do you look fine?

he hates himself for hating just how fine you look. he is not fine.

“he’s a wonderful person.”

your words ring in his ears. they anger him, because if he’s oh-so-wonderful, why aren’t you here? why isn’t he there with you, waiting backstage? why can’t you just hate him? why can’t he just hate you? maybe you will, if he shows you just how not wonderful he can be.

he gets drunk that night. forces max to hit the clubs with him. sticks his tongue down a pliant woman’s throat. doesn’t ask her name. let’s her invite him back to her place. it has to be her place, he can’t fuck someone else in your bed, the one you used to share. he leaves minutes after he’s pulled out. he’s sure she’s lovely, too good for him and his bitter fucking heart. he feels utterly disgusting.

lando goes home, scrubs his skin red, and then does it again. he doesn’t go to sleep, watches from his balcony as the sun begins to rise over the sea. he hikes to the highest point he can reach in monaco, where it’s quiet and there’s no one to judge him, or worse, sympathise with him.

he stands at the edge of the cliff. screams once, twice. he sits on a rock, and lets himself cry.

the deflation of our dreaming

leaving me bereft and reeling

my beloved ghost and me

sitting in a tree

d-y-i-n-g

-

your stylist is plying you with options.

you can wear the denim with the cream OR you could do the red and white? or we can go full glam! or! or! or! we could-

you drown her out. you don’t give a fuck. not a single one.

what you wear to the monaco grand prix is quite literally the least of the your problems. your biggest problem, of course, is that you have to go to the fucking thing.

visibility is important, get people talking! the words of your manager ring in your ears until you have a dull migraine brewing behind your ears.

you leave the fitting not entirely sure what you’re wearing, but your stylist will be sending the clothes over so you can pack.

when you land in all too familiar nice, there are cameras. when you get to the hotel in monaco, you and lando are already trending on twitter. well, at least he knows you’re coming. when you’re getting your makeup done before your first event, you get a text.

i’ll try and keep my distance.

try.

try is such an interesting word. the fact that he has to try to stay away makes your belly flutter with embarrassing, self loathing butterflies. don’t try too hard, you want to respond. you don’t.

should’ve told you i’d be here you shoot back.

you think i didn’t already know?

of course he knew. he’d probably asked god knows how many brands to invite you. you try and feign an illness but your team drag you kicking and screaming to the event.

-

there are no two ways about it: you’re drunk, on a tuesday night, somewhere in the principality. a few cocktails with a jewellery brand turned into a night on the town, bar hopping with people you hardly knew and barely recognised.

you’re shaking your ass in jimmy’z, pretending to have fun when you see him.

lando stands at the bar, watching you, jaw tensed, eyes solemn. you exit the club faster that his car down a back straight, stumbling into the smoking area. you bum a cigarette from a guy who tries really hard to convince you that he’s the son of a british lord, and sink into the corner, ignoring the people recording you.

depressed model shame smokes outside monaco club because she is fucking pathetic, the headlines will read.

“thought you quit that shit.” his voice washes over your body like you’ve been set on fire, smooth tone, ambiguous accent making you ache.

“i did but then i got forced to come to monaco, so.” you shrug.

“forced?”

“‘m here for work.” you sigh.

“i guess i am too.” he mumbles. you raise an eyebrow.

“you live here, lan.” you tease. lan rolls off of your tongue too sweetly.

“doesn’t feel like it anymore.”

how can it, without you? he wants to scream at you. he can’t, you don’t deserve it.

“how are you?”

you want to touch him.

“shit.”

he needs a taste.

“yeah.”

you put your cigarette out. it tastes like shit, half smoked.

you stand there, stare at each other.

take me home, you want to beg.

come home, he clenches his fists, trying not to grab you and remind you how you’ll always be his, right here, up against the side of the club.

“good luck, if i don’t see you.” you whisper. you linger, praying that he’ll beg you to stay so that you can crumble into his arms, without having to make the first move.

lando ponders his options. his head and his heart wage a war.

logic wins, unfortunately.

“thank you.”

you take that as your queue to get the fuck out of there, and disappear into the night.

-

it’s raining on sunday. the dreary weather seems to perfectly sum up what has been the worst week of your life.

you’ve seen your ex boyfriend more times than you can count, ended up with about four hangovers as a result, and with a pounding head, you have to sit in the paddock club and wait for the sound of engines to split your head in half. it was your own doing, so you’d suck it up, recognising that you were a disgustingly privileged bitch, and there are people who would sell their kidneys to do what you’re complaining about.

you never complain, not usually. but your heart hurts and your body hearts and your mind hurts and it’s just not fair. lando is gorgeous, and you miss him so badly, and your shoes are digging in. who the fuck thinks it’s a good idea to wear heels to an f1 race?

you see him before the race, mouth good luck from afar. he winks. it’s something you used to do before every race. old habits die screaming.

the rain falls harder, the track slick. you say a prayer and take your seat.

“norris has this in the bag, he’s bloody good in the wet.” you hear some old guy say behind you. you are cursed with the knowledge of just how good in the wet he is, and you end up flushed.

he wins. his second one in three races. you pray that no one notices the way you weep. everyone notices.

you make a mistake and rush for the podium, your pass giving you access. he graces the top step and you sob, grinning like a fool, soaked through with rain. the anthem plays, the champagne pops. he finds your eyes in the crowd. your hair falls, stringy and curled, mascara smudged. you are the most breathtaking sight. he stands still, washed with an onslaught of champagne, watching you like he’s scared to take his eyes off of you. his boyish grin and hopeful eyes render you weak - you’re there for him, after all - and he can’t help but bask in that little fact.

dangerous territory. you break, and disappear.

-

say it once again with feeling…

the photographers barely get a second to snap a picture of the top three, because lando is gone. he takes the stairs two at a time, descending from the podium and throwing his pirelli cap and a shaky apology at his pr rep. the adrenaline spike makes his blood rush; he needs to find you and stop you and tell you that he will never be able to stop loving you.

the exit is the natural assumption, and he nearly slips a thousand times as he sprints through the paddock. the ground is wet, but he figures that if his car made it, so can he. the gates are in sight, and so are you, your clothes sticking to your shivering frame.

he calls your name, thunderously travelling towards you, his voice hitting your ears like a sonic boom. you freeze, turn slowly until your facing him. the rain splashes around you, not letting up.

you’re within his reach, and he pulls you in, hugging you tight. you melt into him, clinging like he’s a life force. he inhales you, your scent that he’s missed so horrifically. you crumble, and so does he, pieced back together as one.

“i can’t do this, i can’t.” he kisses the words into the cold skin of your neck.

“no, neither can i.” you choke wetly with emotion.

“miss you too much. it’s too hard, it’s stupid, it’s-“

“wrong. it’s wrong. ‘m sorry.” your breath fans his face, breathing life into him, life that he’d lost four months ago.

he grabs your shoulders, lowering so that his eyes are level with yours. his curls fall over his eyes, sodden from the rain.

“i don’t think, no, i know: i’m never gonna love anyone the way i love you.” lando speaks slow, convincing. your chest is tight.

“i don’t want to love anyone else.” you croak, the lump in your throat making it hard to breathe.

“come back to me.” he mutters, pleading.

“don’t think i ever left.” you breathe, hushed.

your lips slot over his easily, it’s like breathing. the kiss is messy, helpless, and he engulfs you whole, his body wrapping around yours like a blanket. you latch onto his race-suit, drawing him in, and then you both seem to remember where you are.

lando norris caught kissing ex like horny teenager in monaco paddock!

you pull away with breathless chuckle. the air is fresh, and you feel alive. he steals another peck.

“wait for me at home. i’ll be quick.” his hand finds you ass, just for a second and you scold him playfully.

home.

yeah, home.

“don’t make me wait.” you grin.

his brain short circuits.

“do you still have your key?” he splutters, refocusing.

you scoff. “never took it off the chain.”

-

you pace the apartment, taking in the space. it hasn’t changed, but it’s messier, a visual representation of lando since you left. the pit of your belly swirls with anxiety, anticipation. he’ll be back soon, and he’ll kiss you, make love to you, remind you that you’re home and that it’d be stupid to leave again.

you’re still damp from the rain, shedding layers until you’re left in your vest and jeans, ridiculous heels kicked off by the door, your jacket airing over the back of a chair.

he hasn’t taken down the pictures of you together. he hasn’t moved your ugly collection of magnets from the fridge. he hasn’t changed the blinds that you chose, but he didn’t really like. your candles sit on the bookshelf half burned, the teddy he’d won you at a fair sits neatly on the sofa. the L pendant and it’s chain is strewn over the coffee table, right where you left it the morning after it ended. your breathing is heavy.

the front door opens behind you.

you don’t move, your eyes still fixed on the silver chain, overwhelmed by how empty your neck feels all of the sudden. he comes up behind you, his head resting on your shoulder, arms finding home around your waist. you often used to find yourselves in this exact position; while you brushed your teeth, made coffee. the room is deathly silent, breathing and the distant buzz of post race festivities the only thing you can hear. lando follows your gaze.

“kept it. knew that one day, you’d come back for it.”

“i came back for you.”

“and that necklace will stay with you when i can’t be there.”

you nod. he kisses your neck.

“missed you so bad.” you gasp. he licks your skin, bites down softly.

you spin in his arms, his hands pawing at your hips and everything blurs when he kisses you.

-

shaky fingers work over zippers, buttons, clasps, and then you’re both bare. you sink into the mattress that you missed so much, his body moulded with yours when you both tumble into the sheets. this is messy and frantic, utterly lovestruck. the lightning strike of his touch has you keening, sweating beneath him already.

“missed you. missed this.”

“do something, lan.” you cry, quiet against his shoulder.

“missed my perfect girl.” he grunts, lips working your chest while his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps over your inner thigh.

“please.” you sigh when his fingers dip between your folds, sliding over your wet flesh. his lip catches between his teeth, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of you.

he thumbs at your clit, stroking over you in slow, firm swipes, and then he’s sinking a digit into you, slow and steady. your toes curl, tears pricking your eyes at the intrusion, but you don’t have much of a chance to adjust, a second finger joining the first. he fucks you full, the stretch of just two fingers making you whine, one hand threading into the sheets while the other slams over your mouth. you want to hide, the pleasure rendering you a mess across the pale grey linen.

“no, let me look at you.” lando rasps, spare hand tugging at your wrist. you whine, writhing when he curls his fingers. “why are you hiding?”

you can’t hold back the choked cry that sounds from the back of your throat, his palm bumping your clit as he grinds his fingers deep.

“gone shy on me, baby? where’s my good girl gone?” lando coos, moving so that he’s leaning over you. the angle change sends your legs flying, kicking out at the sweet torture. “‘s because you haven’t been fucked right in so long, hm? can’t remember how to behave?” he’s smirking down at you, scanning the changing lines of your face.

“need it, need-“ you stutter, the words dying on your tongue.

“words, pretty girl, words.” lando encourages, false sympathy dripping from his tongue.

“need to cum, want you to make me…” you trail off.

“was that so hard?” he tuts, and everything speeds up.

the sound of him working you so sweetly makes you shake, your thighs clenching tight around his hand. the wet squelch hits your ears and you blush, cheeks coloured deep with embarrassment, awe, desperation.

your mouth drops open, screaming silently when it hits, your thighs slick. you drip down his wrist, his hand covered in your release.

“there’s my girl.” lando sighs, diving down to kiss you hard.

you can feel the damp press of his fingers as they dig into your thighs and you squirm beneath him, finding your way into his mouth.

“fuck me.” you slur, teeth knocking with his. he swallows you whole, groaning into your mouth.

“not so shy now, hm? been dreaming of hearing you beg for it.” lando shudders, shifting between your legs.

you can feel the press of him, thick against your cunt and you wiggle your hips, pushing to meet him halfway. the stretch burns deliciously, and you grab at his shoulders, dragging him in.

“fuck, baby.” he breathes, sinking into you slowly. “feel like heaven.” disbelief coats his voice, like he can’t reconcile that this is real; you’re back here, his, in the bed you were always supposed to share.

“it’s so good. feel so good for me, lan.” you whisper, lacing your fingers through his hair.

“love you so much.” he kisses you like he means it, rocking into you with purpose.

“can’t believe i lived without this.”

“can’t believe you’re all mine.”

the release builds, every thrust reminding you of what you could have lost for good. there was no lack of love, in fact you were starting to wonder if you had loved each other too much before.

“never losing you again. can’t live without you. my beautiful girl.”

your tummy grows tight, and he finds your clit when he feels you clamp down on him. he pulls you through the pleasure, guides you to your orgasm and you blindly follow him. you’d follow him anywhere, you decide.

you tell him you love him when you let go, spilling all around him, warm. he’s panting, kisses your forehead gently. he rolls off of you, and you feel the slow drip instantly, but you curl into his side and he wraps around you.

home.

“promise me something.” he whispers. you feel the way he shakily inhales.

“hm?”

“don’t leave again. you belong here, too. with me.”

your eyes are watery.

“i’m staying. ‘m yours.”

“about that…”

lando springs from the bed, naked, disappearing from the room. you watch, confused, cold all of the sudden.

you can hear his footsteps padding through the hallway, and then he’s back, his figure in the hallway. he runs, jumps, lands gracelessly next to you. endeared, you laugh softly.

“sit up.”

you do, leaning up to sit next to him. his fingers skim your shoulder, pushing your hair out of the way. cool metal dances over your skin.

“back where it belongs.” lando smiles at you, eyes wide and stunning.

you toy with the L. something heals in your chest, right around where your heart is.

“the sweetest boy.” you shake your head in disbelief, grin up at him like a fool.

“bath?”

“you know me so well, noz.”

come one, come all

it’s happening again

-

oh, my heart. there is something deeply wrong with me

-

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[luveline]

hiii! i adore you jade so much and can’t thank you enough for all your amazing writing! your fics are incredible! can i have more reader and hotch with their new baby? maybe their night routine takeing care of their newborn? or literally just anything i just love the way you write hotch taking care of both babe and reader! thank you!! xoxo🤍🤍🤍

thank you for your request! fem

“Ready?” Jack asks.

“No. No, no, no!” you cry, giggles slipping through your facade as Jack pelts himself full force from the end of your bed to the pillows where you’re curled. You put your arms out just in time to avoid getting them snapped, catching Jack, and feeling the brunt of his face as he lands on your chest. “Oh! You broke me, Jack. I’m broken!”

“You’re not broken,” Jack says breathlessly, wrapping his arms around your neck.

“You better not be breaking your stepmom, Jackers,” Hotch says from the bathroom. “I’m not getting you another one.”

“Boo!” you say.

“I don’t want another one,” Jack declares, still gasping for breath as he presses your faces together.

You pull him in for a cuddle. “Good, baby, I love you too much to be replaced. And I don’t mind dad either.”

“Jack, you gotta stop jumping on her, remember? She just had a baby. It really hurts to have a baby, and it hurts afterwards to get better. Gentle hands,” Hotch says, pulling the bathroom door open completely, the baby bathed and changed in his arms.

Hotch has cared for a baby before, so while you’re not useless, the majority of things have defaulted to him while you recover. You’re lucky, even if it’s how a woman should be treated —Hotch hasn’t made you get up once since you came home almost a week ago. He’s forced you to sit down a few times, actually. And you’d told him how thankful you were for it in whispers only yesterday night, grateful to be cared for with so much dedication.

I should've been better, for Haley, he’d whispered back. She was amazing all by herself when she didn’t need to be. You’ll be amazing too, but we’re gonna do it together.

Maybe he’s overcompensating for past regrets, maybe he’s just looking after you.

Jack strokes your cheek with a little hand. “Sorry. I don’t want to break you.”

“You won’t.” You lean back and attempt to bring him in with you, but Jack won’t be contained.

He springs down off of the bed to crowd Hotch’s legs, face up and smiling. “Dad, are you done?”

“I am.”

“Can you help with the robot now?”

“Yeah, yes. Sorry, I’m gonna fix your robot. You ready, honey?”

You open your arms eagerly. You’ve had a hug from Jack, and Hotch held you under his arm while you were eating your lunch, so all you need now for the trifecta is a cuddle with your baby. One day he’s gonna be able to hug you back, but for now he stretches out in the well of your arms and coos when you kiss his tiny forehead.

Hotch and Jack leave to fix their robot. You slink down, further and further, too tired and sore to want to sit, sliding the baby’s weight into one arm beside you and leaning down to watch him smack his lips. The few baths he’s had have made him tired each time. You feel sleepy just looking at him.

You’d hope that the baby will be handsome like his brother, though Jack looks so much like Haley they probably won’t be very similar. There are hints of Aaron in them both. Babies look like babies, sure, but he has the Hotchner nose. You can tell already.

“My handsome handsome boy,” you sing-song under your breath. He sniffles. You bring your pinky to his nose and give it a gentle touch. “Beautiful baby. I love you.” Your voice turns to sugar. “I love you, baby, you’re so beautiful, just like daddy.”

Footsteps creaking on the landing. You quieten without looking away from the baby, until you feel a familiar hand on your arm. “You okay?”

“Did you fix the robot?”

“Of course I did.” He leans down and in, lips and nose pressing to your arm. “Are you okay? You look tired.”

“I am tired. Maybe I’ll nap while he’s sleeping.”

“That’s a good idea. Give him a kiss and I’ll put him back in the crib.”

“No, no, can’t he stay?”

“You want me to stay here and watch you sleep?” he asks, laughing into your arm, pressing another kiss in a path toward your shoulder. “You can keep him until you fall asleep, okay? Then I’ll move him.”

“Will you do that thing to my cheek?” you ask quietly.

“If you tell me what you were saying before I walked in, yes.”

Hotch sits on the bed behind you where you’re sidled up to the baby, the back of his hand falling gently against your cheek, fingers curled and knuckles brushing the skin just shy of your eye one tender centimetre at a time. “Well?” he prompts.

You close your eyes with a contented smile. “Was just telling him he’s gorgeous.”

“Yeah?” He turns his hand, his pinky finger rubbing the delicate skin under your eye briefly, and the his palm flat to your face. His thumb takes up the guard. You feel fatigue pulling at you from the sheer comfort he offers, though you can manage a few more words, at least.

“He’s beautiful, he has his daddy’s nose.”

“I don’t think that’s what makes him so handsome.”

“No?” you mumble.

Hotch lets his face rest again on your arm. “No, that’s his mother. Couldn’t be anything else.”

[hedgehog-moss]

Here are before/after pics of my two shorn llamas ✂ ✂ Pampoldine was the one with the most wool, which makes sense seeing as her father looks like a long-necked Komondor dog. I didn't shear Pampelune, she's my least woolly llama so I decided to leave her alone until next year, to her great satisfaction.

Shearing Poldine made me discover new aspects of her, like the fact that her tail is very impressive! It's not as striking when the rest of her is covered in equally thick hair but look at it now:

I had tried to prepare Poldine in previous weeks by stroking her with a stick in increasingly annoying ways while going bzzzzzz (we had reached a point where her only reaction to being bothered in this way was glaring at me). I should have bzzz'ed louder, though. Or maybe bothered her with an electric toothbrush instead, or sat on the couch with her to watch youtube shearing tutorials together with the volume turned up—because when the moment came she was very alarmed by what an ugly noise the shears made. Every time I turned the thing off to reapply oil to the clippers then turned it on again she was like aaaahhh what's that noise all over again.

I bought cordless shears so I could shear her in the pasture, surrounded by the emotional support of her loving family, but as soon as they saw Poldine tied to a post and heard that ominous robotic wasp sound, Pampe & Pampy went okay Poldine it was nice knowing you! And left. Abandoning their daughter / granddaughter to her grim fate.

(the very bad quality pics in this post are screenshots from bad quality videos) (oh and the grey fur you see at the bottom right is Pandolf's, my mum brushed him a few days ago. I promise I didn't shear Pandolf—although he would have probably volunteered, to share Poldine's suffering.)

Considering it was her first ever shearing, I think she was very brave and stoic! There was no spitting, no dramatic hyperventilating, no attempts to lie down on the ground and play dead as llamas sometimes do. (But wait for Part II.) She just danced around a lot to escape the shears, and made plaintive HMM sounds in a vain attempt to awaken some deeply-buried maternal instinct in Pampérigouste. Who never came.

The only (tiny) incident was when Poldine stepped towards me as I was shearing (surprising; she kept moving away before) so I took advantage of this spark of goodwill to lean over her back to shear on the other side, and then she abruptly stepped away and almost made me fall !

This second pic is the most malevolent Poldine has ever looked. She looks just like her mother!

But other than that, it went really well. The process was long and tiring (the shears get heavy after a while) and I kept discovering hidden unshorn spots when I thought I was almost done (look at these Niagara Falls of wool in the pic below!), but Poldine was very sweet. I didn't insist too much on her legs or under her belly as those were her least favourite parts, and I also left a little goatee at the top of her neck so she can stroke it pensively and look wise, and I gave her muesli afterwards and she gave me a kiss, no hard feelings. I couldn't have asked for a better llama partner for my first shearing.

My second shearing, however.

(Continued in Part II...)

[jarofstyles]

Stacy’s Mom

Stacy’s mom has got it goin’ on… and Harry’s definitely been noticing for a while.

We haven’t seen a lot of reverse age gap fics and figured it was our time to contribute to the cause. We hope you enjoy!

Check out our Patreon for early access and 150+ exclusive writings

Warnings- age gap, unprotected sex, teasing, creampie, soft dom!H

———————

His lip was bitten as he watched her walk across the backyard, sunglasses hiding his gaze. The back of her sundress brushed the softness of her thighs, her hair pulled up in a claw clip as she placed snacks down on the glass table for the group of friends that often frequented the pool at her house. The very house she had won in the divorce just three years ago. 

Stacy’s parents had always been generous when it came to letting their home be the epicenter of their friend groups’ hang out. It didn’t stop when they all came home from uni for the summer, everyone falling back into their routine with the hometown group, or after they’d graduated and some had stayed in town. Drunken food at the diner, pub crawls- legally this time-, the mall, the summer carnival, and movie nights and pool days at Stacy’s house. It was spacious and clean and it had only changed a little bit since the divorce. Her hotshot lawyer father paid a nice big chunk of change in alimony keeping the comfortable lifestyle afloat, one Harry was aiming to get for himself. Hopefully after he opened up a garage or two, he’d be able to grab a house like this. Make someone happy. 

The problem is, the last three summers all he could think about was someone he definitely shouldn’t be. 

It was no secret that she was incredible. Everyone loved Y/N from the start and not just because she was the ‘cool, young mom’ who didn’t make them call her by her last name. She was genuinely kind, loved to make them snacks, would pick up anyone who needed it, let them nurse their hangovers at their house and made them the greasy breakfasts they needed to get through the mornings. The woman was an angel- and she had an exterior to match. 

It seemed like in the last few years though, she had been rediscovering herself and her body. Dressing in ways she hadn’t before, ways he knew Stacy’s father wouldn’t like. Denim shorts and tank tops, sundresses, the like. Things that made Harry’s crush morph from minor to major. Y/N had become the centerfold to his wet dreams, the woman he compared other girls to, the one he closed his eyes and imagined in the shower when he was stroking off. He watched her in her kitchen while she chopped up fruit for them, her back turned and imagined approaching her from behind and placing kisses on her neck, hiking the dress up and offering her all the fun she could want. 

There was something so tempting about the older woman. Harry’d always sort of had that preference, but it had intensified as he grew up. His friends liked to prod at him about being into MILFs and he couldn’t deny it. He was. There was certainly one mother he’d love to fuck, and it was Stacy’s. In all honesty, it was half the reason he kept showing up here. 

“I hate to say it, Stace- your mom is banging.” Jeremy said what Harry was thinking but got a smack upside the head with a waterlogged pool noodle, making him yelp. 

“Do not talk about my mom like that you freak!” She hissed. “She’s a beautiful woman but none of you are going to even think about her in any way but my mother.” Her warning glare did little to deter Harry, though he merely shrugged at her to get her to think he agreed. There was no way in the world that he would ever turn away a chance to be alone with Y/N. He would beg on his knees for a chance to touch her. 

“Don’t look at me! I’m just saying it. Harry’s the one who’s the MILF Hunter.” Jacob snickered, making him raise an eyebrow. It was true and he wanted to smirk- because yes, he’d fucked a few older women before. Being a mechanic during the week and a bartender during the weekend had their perks, including women who found him to be more than a bit interesting. There had been a few instances he’d taken them up on their offers, quelling their loneliness and lack of orgasm with his own brand of fun. But none of them had ever appealed to him quite like Y/N. 

The forbidden fruit theory, maybe. He really, really shouldn’t even entertain it. A crush turned into an obsession though, he was fucked. The moment he thought he had a chance, he would be taking it. As cocky as he could be, he knew he would be able to handle her. 

“Yeah, but Harry’s not going to say stupid shit to my mom.” She huffed. 

With a smirk on his face, Harry gave a half ass nod before watching the woman of discussion shoot them a beaming smile across the yard before she turned to go back inside. Harry’s eyes ate up every curve, every drop, every inch of skin he could see before she closed the sliding glass door to the deck. 

If only she knew. 

——

Harry was sitting at home when he got a call from a number he didn’t recognize. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. People usually gave his number out to people who had car trouble, knowing he was reliable and could always use a bit of cash. It wasn’t something he minded, but he was exhausted tonight. Sitting down in his apartment, he exhaled slowly before clicking the green button to answer the phone. 

“Hello, who’s this?” He asked gruffly, his slight agitation bleeding into his tone.

“H-Hi! I’m so sorry to call you so late, but it’s Y/N. Stacy’s mum.” She said shyly. “I’m sorry to bother you Harry, but my car… it’s not starting. I was meant to go to the grocery but it’s just making this noise and-“ 

His whole body shot up straight as he got confirmation as to who it was. Was it some sort of joke? Or were the angels smiling down on him for once? Any ache in his body and heaviness in his eye disappeared as he stood up from the sofa, making his way towards the door. 

“M’on my way. It’s no trouble.” He said in a softer tone, thankful he had already showered. Maybe he’d need to do it again, but he wanted to look halfway decent for Y/N. “It’ll be about 15 for me to get over there.” 

“Oh-are you sure?” Her voice was slightly hesitant. “You sound tired and I can order groceries if I need to, I really don’t want to put you out.” 

“Promise, it’s not a big deal.” He assured her, tucking his wallet into his jeans before opening his front door. “I’d always help you with whatever you need. Didn’t mean t’’sound so grumpy, I didn’t know it was you calling.” He’d have been halfway to her house if he had known. “Give me 15 and I’ll be there.”

“As long as you’re sure.” He could tell she was doing the worried thing she usually did with her fingers touching her bottom lip. There had been a lot of silent observing on his end towards the woman and he could almost see her in his head. “I’ll make sure to make it up to you.” 

Even though there was nothing suggestive in her tone, Harry could feel his prick stiffen up at the mere thought of it meaning something more. It took the whole drive there to will it down. 

—-

Harry arrived to the house to see the garage doors open- and Stacy’s car gone. 

Was this his divine intervention? He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but he knew she had to be gone. Harry was the one who did all the work on their cars, so it wasn’t in the shop. More than likely they’d be all alone. 

The summer night was cooling off a bit but there was still a decent amount of daylight left. The stickiness had subsided and it was far more comfortable than he had been at work all day in his damn coveralls. He’d sweat up a storm and cringed the moment he’d had a moment to himself, hating how hot the garage got in the summer months. His own garages would have proper AC one day. 

He was thankful for the heat though when he saw Y/N come out from the garage, her lavender dress obviously a swimsuit cover up. The straps of a bikini were underneath it, the halter top of the dress tied behind her neck. It was shorter than her normal dresses making Harry peer up at the sky and ask anyone who was up there to lend him some strength in order to not pop a stiffy in front of her- at least not yet. 

“You really didn’t have to come out so quickly. I didn’t think before calling you.” Y/N crossed her arms as she walked towards the younger man who was fishing his toolbox out of the back of his pickup truck. She couldn’t help but admire how much of a man he’d truly become. Tattooed now, shown off by his black tank top. Hair a bit unruly and curled. Stubble on his upper lip and jaw. He was a man now, not a hint of boy in the slightest, and it was a little intimidating. She remembered him when he was far more lanky, 19 and shy. Now he was 23, with larger arms and broadened shoulders, a pretty set of lips and a husky voice. Things she shouldn’t have been paying attention to. 

There had been a bit of tension between them somehow, tension she hadn’t been able to pinpoint where it had begun. The one thing she did know is that he was an observer. His eyes were watching her when she came out and he kept eye contact as they spoke, like he was giving her every bit of attention he had when she was talking. Maybe it was the heart sickness she felt but it was so nice to feel listened to, appreciated. Harry always helped clean up, always told her daughter to be respectful to her mum, always asked her how her day was. He was a complete gentleman every time he came over and she had to wonder how much of a problem it was for her to sort of wish for that attention all the time. 

Ever since she had found out Patrick had been cheating on her, she’d felt a bit used. Dirty. Of course marrying a man 10 years her senior who was a hotshot lawyer had probably been her first sign something would go wrong, but he used to dote on her. That was until she began to age. It wasn’t like she was old- she could probably still have a kid if she wanted! But she’d gotten pregnant at 17 and Patrick had been quick to marry her on her 18th birthday. A problematic union at best, but she’d tried to be happy. She was provided for and had a beautiful home and daughter, one so smart she was able to skip around in school! But… she’d never felt truly loved. Not that toe curling, soft eyed, tummy turning love that she’d always imagined. 

Not even the passion she wanted. All she wanted at this point was for someone to want her. To make a move, to show her she was sexy and prove that her newfound revelations were true. 

The last three years had been tearing herself down to build back up. There was some part of her that felt 22 again, wanting to live the life she hadn’t been able to as a young mum. But that didn’t mean she had to look at Harry the way her brain was trying to. 

“Stacy is at a concert a few hours away otherwise I would have just asked her to borrow her car.” Having him here now made her feel all the more ridiculous for calling him over for such a stupid reason. Tomorrow would have at least been during normal work hours.

“Y/N.” Harry’s hand rested on her shoulder, making her breath catch quietly. “S’fine. I’m more than happy to help you. Alright?” His thumb rubbed over the cuff of her shoulder before he gently lifted his hand away, carrying his toolbox further into the garage. 

She felt a bit buzzed, as pathetic as it was. It had been so long since a man had touched her, let alone a younger, attractive one. It made her feel like her brain had fogged up. 

“Keys in the ignition?” He murmured. “Want t’see what we’re working with.” 

It was enough to shake her out of her fog, nodding a bit too eagerly as he gave her a soft smile, sitting himself in the driver’s seat. She leaned against the garage door as she watched him turn it over a few times to no avail, making her worry her bottom lip between her teeth. She had no idea about anything car related and luckily it had all been minor stuff until now. Her ex had the cars serviced every few months and she had been dropping the ball. What if it was bad? What if she needed a new engine and Harry thought she was an awful car owner? What if-

Her train of thought was snapped out of it as he let out a chuckle, standing up from the seat. “I know what it is. Isn’t a big problem at all.” He walked over to his toolbox. “Battery is dead. You may have accidentally left the key in, or a door open, maybe a light on. Not a big deal. I’ll just give it a jump.” 

While he didn’t seem annoyed about it at all, Y/N felt very, very dumb. How could she have not known that’s what it was? Something so easy to fix. Her cheeks burned as she cringed, feeling the guilt well up in her body for making him come out when she could have just asked a neighbor for a jump. 

It took him just a few tries with her following his instruction to turn the car on when she said so in order for her car to turn on as if nothing had happened. It was slightly humiliating.

“Oh, god… Harry, I’m so sorry.” She groaned. “I’m not… I’m not good with cars and I thought the engine was dead or something big happened to it. I made you leave your house for no reason. I can’t begin to say how awful I feel.” It felt even more embarrassing because it was such a quick fix and he was an expert in cars. She probably seemed like a bobble head. 

“Woah- S’okay.” He closed the hood of her car and detached the jumper cables. “It’s actually a good thing. I’d rather it be a quick fix than something that would cost you thousands. That’s the ideal. No one is an expert in cars right away and m’sure that the whole thing was probably be a bit troubling if it’s the first time it’s happened to you.” His voice tried to soothe her worries away. The man truly looked unbothered by it all, happy to help- but still. 

“Well… if you’re sure.” It still felt hot around her cheeks as she made her way towards the door leading to the kitchen. “Come inside, I’ll get you something for helping me.” 

Harry let out a sigh as she waited at the door for him, tucking his toolbox and cables back into his car before following her inside. A mixture of giddiness and nerves rocked through his system as she led him towards the kitchen where her handbag was. Alone with her at last- and with a good excuse. No one would question him coming over to help with the car. Surely, Stacy had given her his number. He had every right to be here. 

So why couldn’t he extend his stay? 

“How much do I owe you?” Her hair fell in her face as she looked down into her bag, fishing around for her wallet. It was always a bit of a mess with receipts she needed to toss, makeup she needed to put away, a first aid kit she’d only really ever needed once- all the things making it more difficult to find her wallet. So difficult that she didn’t notice how close he got until his warm, slightly calloused hand closed over hers, gently pulling it out of the bag. 

Her heart stuttered as she raised her head to look at him. Tanned skin from being out in the sun, a few freckles here and there. A birthmark near his mouth she’d never noticed. He had more scruff than the last time she had seen him too, making her mouth dry a bit as she blinked up at the man, her hand suddenly feeling much smaller in his own. He was a bit too close but there was no desire in the slightest to pull back.

“You know me a bit better than t’think that I’d charge you for a jump.” His voice was low, soft. A volume it didn’t need to be for it being just the two of them. He also didn’t need to be this close to her, close enough to smell a warm, woodsy soap on him and mint from the gum he was usually chewing. Her body felt hot under where he touched her, heartbeat quickening at his unforgiving eye contact. 

“B-but you came all the way out here.” She whispered back. It wasn’t necessary to talk that low but it was following his tone, the tension palpable in the room. “I’d feel awful for making you come for nothing. I really should pay you.” His stare was intimidating but also… a bit addicting. He didn’t look away from her- no, his eyes looked over her face. Maybe she had imagined the lingering at her lips, but part of her hoped she didn’t. 

“Have you had dinner yet?” His question made her slightly confused, not the response she had been expecting. 

“No, why? Did you want me to cook for you?” That made her perk up a bit. She had to do something to repay him. It wouldn’t be right not to. 

“No. I want t’cook for you.” His words were matter of fact. There was no way she didn’t believe his desire to do so, considering he looked so sure of himself. It just was a bit confusing. Her brows furrowed, head tilting a little as she turned more towards him- all too aware he hadn’t dropped her hand from his grip yet- giving him that questioning look. “You have the ingredients for chicken teriyaki? Rice?” When she nodded, his eyes glanced over to the pineapple in her fruit bowl. “Saw a recipe on how t’make it in a pineapple bowl. Was going to do it this weekend but I’d like to make it here. A bit more room in this kitchen and… it’d be nice to eat with someone.” He wasn’t shy about letting her know he’d like to eat with her. “May I?”

“I- I mean of course you can, but it doesn’t… how is it payment for you? For you to be the one to cook me dinner?” It was a bit hard for her to understand. She was the one who did the cooking for everyone else and it sounded like he was doing her yet another favor. 

“Because you’re fun to be around, nice to talk to, I won’t have t’shop for the ingredients, and m’starving.” It was self explanatory to him. He wanted to get away with spending as much time with her as possible. Especially when she seemed to be so shocked at the idea of someone being nice to her without the thought of repayment. It sort of pissed him off. “Just sit and talk to me while I cook. It’ll be nice to hear you without people interjecting.” 

Y/N hadn’t realized he had noticed that. His back was already turned, going through her fridge to get the chicken out along with some of the ingredients for the sauce but her brain was still on that. Had his shoulders always been that broad? Harry had always been quiet and observant. The nice guy, sweet and thoughtful but he didn’t seem to take any of the friend groups shit. Stacy was the youngest out of them all and he’d always been thoughtful about her. Protective over her feelings- to the point Y/N had assumed Harry had a bit of a crush on her at first. That proved to be false when she’d heard about Harry being set up with one of the mothers of the kid’s Stacy taught swim lessons to. 

One of her faults was indeed being nosy, and she’d listened in on her daughter when she dropped off lunch to the pool talking to said mother. She was definitely younger than herself with a much younger child but she apparently had one good night with Harry before he politely decided not to see her again. 

She wasn’t dumb. Y/N heard their teasing of Harry liking older women… and perhaps that’s why he made her a tad bit nervous. It wasn’t like he’d ever made a move, but he had a sensual air around him. He’d been gentle with her today, but never inappropriate. Was it bad to wish he would?

The answer was a resounding yes, it was not at all something she should ever want- but that didn’t mean that’s what her brain was thinking. 

She pulled out a pineapple wine she’d gotten as a gift, never a more appropriate time. A glass was poured for each of them as Harry went about the motions, preparing and chopping and starting the rice. Maybe adding alcohol into the mix wasn’t the smartest idea, but she needed something to take the nervous edge off.

“Is it lonely in a big house like this?” Harry asked as he dropped the chicken into the pan. “When Stace is gone, does it feel a little daunting?” 

“Sometimes.” She pursed her lips. “It’s been my house for a while now so I’m used to all the noises and I know all the neighbors. You can hear the kids playing outside, lawnmowers, or people getting home from work.‘At night it can be… it can be a bit unnerving. Cold. But Patrick was gone a lot of nights at the office, so it’s nothing I’m not used to.” A bitter scoff left her as she took a sip of wine before shaking her head, face falling. “Sorry. I know that’s the last thing you want to hear about.” 

“No.” He said simply. “I’d like to. I don’t mind.” His tongue ran over his bottom lip before he met her eyes, placing his wine glass on the counter. “Everyone needs someone to vent to sometimes, Y/N. Know m’younger than you and all but I’m not clueless when it comes to relationships.” A gentle smile softened the blow of the words. “Tell me about it if you want. You don’t have to censor yourself. Not around me. It’s just us.” 

There was a burn in her belly at the last few words. It felt… really fucking nice to be told that. That he wanted to earnestly hear her talk. He was an incredible listener, she found. It made her wonder how much of what she said in the past he had really heard. 

“Uh… well…” twirling the glass in her hand, her fingers tightened around the stem as she had to break eye contact with him. It was making her feel a little light headed. “He was cheating, as I’m sure you know. Stacy didn’t take it well. She’d cut up all his ties by the time I found her.” Her smile quirked on her lips. Her daughter had a thirst for revenge. “It was worse when I found out it wasn’t just one person but multiple women. All at his job. It’s why he moved firms.” Her lips tightened as she looked towards the sliding glass door that was open to let the air in, the sun having started to set just a bit ago. A golden glow ran over the kitchen and she had a hard time not staring at the man in front of her. 

“I… I’m not sure how much you know of myself and Patrick, but we were in a relationship when I turned 17. He was 27. I thought it was very impressive and I was so mature for my age that he chose me, but it wasn’t. It was wrong. And when I got pregnant, we had to hide it until I turned 18 and he could marry me. His parents were lovely grandparents to Stacy but awful parents to him in the way they enabled his behavior. So for a long time I just thought it was a big star crossed love story when in reality, he stole my youth from me. I don’t ever regret my daughter- don’t get me wrong.” Her look was desperate for him to believe her, but he didn’t seem to have any judgment on his face. It was a breath of fresh air considering people usually gave her pitying looks this far along. 

“I love her and I wouldn’t change it. Everything happens for a reason but… I’m just a bit bitter now. My best years spent on him and he’s fucking other women because I’m ’showing my age’ and I’m essentially aged out.” Her face curled in disgust. “I work hard on my body! I keep up with my appearance! You know? I’m not lazy. I didn’t let myself go which- even if I did, that’s no fucking excuse for cheating. Marriage was supposed to be for love, for better or for worse. At least that's what I naively thought.” It had been so long since she had someone to talk to, someone who didn’t seem to fucking judge her or try and tell her it was okay. Harry merely nodded, keeping his eyes trained on her face as she got it out. 

“It should be what marriage is for.” He replied in a bit of a lull. “I mean, I’ve never been married but… S’a simple enough concept to understand. I don’t think you were naive in thinking that. He was just a dick for taking advantage of you.” Harry didn’t like Patrick much from the start. He’d been a show off, obviously trying to compensate for something. He’d sort of steamrolled over things Y/N used to say, and even though he’d only seen them married for a few times he came over. It was a good thing they divorced in his humble opinion, and not just because he was a bit obsessed with the woman standing in front of him. She seemed to grow from it, her confidence rising tenfold.  He’d been holding her back. “I don’t think there’s much wrong with an age gap… as long as the parties are both of legal age.” He chopped the pineapple in half, making sure to make it even. “So, m’sorry you had to go through that. Stacy is great, but I wish you didn’t have to feel that way. It’s shit.” 

Y/N felt a bit validated with his words. Maybe it was the wine, but she had a feeling it was just his presence that had her relaxing. He was right on all counts, but it was a little hard to accept at times after being manipulated her whole adult life. Someone was agreeing with her that weren’t her own parents. “Thank you.” She whispered. “I’m glad at least you think so. People kept telling me that marriages have bumps in the road and I was being a bit rash, filing for divorce so quickly after I found out but… Cheating is just not something I can stomach. I think they were thinking about his money, his reputation. Cared more about how he would be seen than if I was happy. I had to do a lot of cleaning up after the divorce. Friends I had for years chose his side and… yeah. I’ve been a little lonely.” A sad laugh left her before she cleared her throat. The man probably didn’t want to hear about that. “But luckily I’ve found more fulfilling things. It’s nice when you guys come around.” Her smile grew genuinely. “I’ve always liked taking care of people. That was one perk of being in the situation I was. Being a mum was great. It’s a bit jarring now though, with her out of the house the majority of the time. So, in the long roundabout answer to your first question- yes, the big house is a bit daunting sometimes.” 

Y/N had rambled and babbled. Harry had been happy to listen, attentive even while cooking. She knew she may be embarrassed later about spilling her fucking guts out to him when he had only come over to fix her not so broken car and decided he wanted to make her dinner, but it was so fucking refreshing to have someone in her kitchen with her. 

It was embarrassing how much she missed male attention. She’d wanted to clench her thighs together when he grabbed her shoulder earlier and it was pathetic, but it was hard not to notice how wonderful Harry was. He was hardworking, intelligent, sweet, charitable, understanding and stupidly fucking handsome. He could cook too, apparently. Something her ex husband could never even attempt. 

“Thank you for sharin’ all that with me.” His voice was even and smooth as he gave her a gentle smile. “I, for one, am glad you divorced him. I think you’re incredible. You don’t deserve someone who’ll step out on you. Let out multiple times.” It truly did piss him off. The man had a woman who was willing to give the world and still managed to be greedy for other women and fucked it up. “I’ve never really understood that sort of thing but, I think you’re too good for him anyways. Know you said you feel like you wasted your youth and by the risk of sounding a bit cliche, age is just a number in this instance. You can do anything you want now that you think you would have wanted to do back then. And..” He smirked slightly. “You look like you could still be in your twenties. So I wouldn’t worry too much about that. Him acting like aging is a sin in any situation is fucking dumb considering it’s something unavoidable and sorta beautiful if you ask me. Older, wiser, more experience. It’s a good thing. To me, at least.” 

Y/N did know of his taste for older women and though she had no intention of bringing it up, she seemingly couldn’t keep her mouth shut tonight. Without permission from her mouth, the words fell out like a tumble. “Is that why you go for older women?”

The room fell silent for a minute and she could feel the return of the heat under her cheeks, eyes widening as she snapped her hand over her mouth. It wasn’t something she wanted him to know that she knew, but too fucking late now. His head tilted back up, eyes falling on her own wide ones before he let out a laugh. A reaction she hadn’t expected in the slightest. Her hand fell in a motion to try and apologize but he lifted his own to stop her, calming from the laughter as he shook his head. 

“Fuck, M’sorry. I didn’t mean t’laugh, but you looked like you scared the shit out of yourself.” He giggled, running his fingers over the corners of his mouth as they curled into a smirk. “It’s fine. You don’t need to apologize. We’re both adults here.” A clear definition that he was definitely seeing himself on her level. “It’s okay t’ask me about, love. I’m fine talking about it. You just told me details about your divorce so this seems a little tame in comparison.”

As much as she hated herself for it, her stomach flipped at the term of endearment. Harry and her hadn’t spent much time alone before but he had never called her that before. Maybe it was a bit of a bond forming being alone with him. He’d always been a bit ahead of the others in terms of maturity. Not in a creepy way like Patrick used to say about her, but in a genuine hard working way. He’d taken his jobs, career, and promises seriously. It was hard not to know how reliable he was when people constantly used that word to describe him. Seeing him as more of an equal instead of his daughter’s friend was easy when they weren’t around. There was that old soul type of thing she liked.

“I obviously did not mean for that to come out of my mouth. But uh-” She ran a hand over her dress to self-soothe. “I heard them teasing about you and one of the mum’s of the kids Stacy teaches had been bragging about…” The woman didn’t need to finish her stance before Harry laughed through his nose, trying to hide his smirk. 

“Ah.” He nodded, turning the heat off on the stove and pouring the sauce onto the chicken. “Yeah. I do, I’ve always preferred older women. I get teased for it but it’s just what I’m attracted to.” There was that thought in his mind though, wondering what the woman had been bragging about. He’d sure as hell fucked her well and thoroughly, but at the end of it he had opened his eyes and it wasn’t Y/N. It’s his common problem these days. Falling out of interest when he realized he was chasing a feeling from people that weren’t the object of his affections. “I went out with her once… went back to her place.” He shrugged. “It was alright. I was pretty up front about not being sure we clicked but she wanted me to come in, so…” He shrugged. The girl didn’t seem to have hard feelings when she texted him a few days later asking for a repeat and he declined because he was going to be here for a get together. 

“Can I ask why?” Morbid curiosity, that’s what she would call it. It was killing her since she had found out though. Why does a young man, almost in his prime, go for older women specifically? Not that she didn’t think they weren’t worth that, but it wasn’t the norm. “If it’s not too personal.”

“You can get personal with me, Y/N. I don’t mind.” He clarified, dishing some rice into the pineapple bowls he’d carved out. “I think there’s a few aspects to it but I appreciate maturity. One of my first experiences was with someone a few years older than me and it kept going from there. I enjoy intelligent conversation. Someone who can keep up and not just talk about the things girls my age talk about. Nothing wrong with them at all, but every time I’ve tried dating someone my age it’s fallen flat. I enjoy dates at nice restaurants or at home. Cooking for them, listening to music. I work a lot, I’m not much for clubs. Even pub crawls have been a lot for me at times considering I work at a bar on the weekends, work all day in a garage. People my age don’t usually seem to understand or appreciate my work ethic but.. I want a house like this one day.” He motioned around the kitchen. “I’ve been saving loads of money, staying in my apartment and making sure I don’t spend crazily. I’ve always been a bit of a romantic, so I want t’provide for someone one day. Maybe that’s a little old fashioned but It’s fulfilling to me. Want to open my own garage, maybe multiple and… I dunno, older women have always been more receptive to my plans, to the way I am. And I’m not a huge texter. I like phone calls, seeing someone in person. Dating my age is a lot of that.”

It wasn’t a shock to her that his ethics would be a turn off for younger women who sometimes got a bit in their head about the attention they needed. It wasn’t a drag or anything of that nature, but a lot of younger women relied on that sort of thing. Texting all day that he obviously wouldn’t be able to do. They deserved the relationships they wanted but so did Harry. It was a surprisingly nice answer from him. He had lots of decent reasons that made her feel a little more intrigued than she should be, but she couldn’t help it. The man was alluring. 

“And… permission to overshare a little bit?” He asked, wanting to test the waters. Y/N looked intrigued, nodding as she leaned on the counter. “Older women tend to be a bit more.. Compatible with me sexually. A bit more eager. Some are experienced but it isn’t really about that, it’s about knowing what you want. Being a little less shy in asking for what they want. Everyone’s different of course, but I find that a disappointing amount of men aren’t giving women what they want, and I’ve been happy to provide that. I’m a giver, it’s what I like. So…” His pink tongue ran over his bottom lip as he kept eye contact with her. “There’s that aspect of it too.” 

Y/N could feel the slight throb between her legs as he spoke. There was no hint of shyness in his face as he spoke to her, just matter of fact. He had no shame, if anything he seemed.. A little smug. Something that oddly made her stomach flip and flutter  as he pushed her plate towards her and settled on the opposite side of the island, sitting on the stool. 

“I.. I can see that.” She murmured, knowing she must look a little flustered. Considering it had been years since she’d had sex, just the way he was looking at her was working her up a bit further than she would ever want to admit. “I think..” If he was oversharing, maybe she should too. Or maybe that was the slight buzz the wine had provided. “I’m still trying to learn what it is I want. I was only with one person my whole life and then… After the divorce I had a one night stand and it was not at all satisfying. I’ve meant to try and go on dates more often but the few I’ve been on just didn’t feel right.” It wasn’t something she talked about often at all. She had her two girlfriends she talked to about sex- or lack thereof- and the toys they got in order to satisfy what their dates couldn’t. 

This little tidbit had Harry leaning in a bit closer, chewing the first bite of his food. It was surprisingly good for a recipe he’d found on a social media site, but he was far more interested in what Y/N had to say. “I mean it’s only natural, isn’t it? To be curious?” He waved his fork in the air. “Was he satisfying you in your marriage?” The look on her face was all he needed to see for an answer. Her lips pulled in and her gaze averted, he did feel a seedling of pity for the woman- but hope for himself. One man’s loss was another’s gain, wasn’t it? He would be able to actually pleasure her. He knew he could. He hadn’t failed yet, and there were genuine feelings there for her so… he had a lot of faith he’d be willing and able to please her. Half of the battle was just listening to her. Knowing what she wanted. “It’s okay, I can tell what your answer is. But m’sorry to hear that.” He frowned. “You deserved better than all of that. I know you don’t need me to tell you that, but you deserved a hell of a lot more for what he put you through.” Personally, Harry would never drop the ball like that. 

Realistically, Y/N was his dream woman and this was without knowing what she liked in bed. Everything about her was perfect to him, all except the pesky fact that she was the mother of one of his friends- but honestly? He was willing to risk it. She was worth that sort of risk. She had the demeanor, the charm, the intelligence, and so far, the sort of lifepath that aligned with him. He had to talk his way into it a little bit more than likely, but he was ready to try. 

“Thank you, Harry.” Y/N knew she probably looked a little flustered. She was. He was saying all the right things and she felt a weird level of comfort with him that she hadn’t experienced before. He was a man. Maybe he was younger than her, but he had a level head. He could cook. He worked multiple job, had ambitions, he knew what he wanted and he wanted to be a provider. Something that she found to be overwhelmingly sexy. She was noticing him in less than appropriate ways more and more. Like how cut his jaw was as he chewed his food, the scruff on his face, his strong, big hands. So fucking big, making the fork he held look small. His arms were built, flexing as he leaned against the countertop. The memory of his broad shoulders wasn’t too far from her brain either. “You’re… I haven’t spoken to a lot of people about that stuff. I don’t mean to take up too much of your time tonight, I know you must be tired after work but… I really appreciate you coming here, fixing my car, cooking. Talking to me. You’re great company.” 

“Like I said earlier, I like being around you.” It felt like he could see into her soul. Green peering inside of her, spreading her open. “If m’being honest, there aren’t many other places I’d rather be. M’happy to help you with whatever you need.” 

If Y/N was crazy, she’d think it was a double meaning. She’d overthink and imagine that he was implying something not so appropriate. Things that had her tummy flipping and cunt weeping. Pathetic, she knew that. Here she was, lusting after the younger man as he stared at her from across her kitchen. The sun had now set and the darkness was beginning to set in, and she wanted more than anything to take his hand and drag him upstairs to her bedroom but she had to clear her brain before she did something rash. “I enjoy spending time with you too.” Her smile was soft as she took her plate and brought it to the sink. “Just let me clean these dishes and then I’ll walk you to your car. You’ve been such a help tonight.” 

Y/N felt a little shaky as she turned the water on and let it run over the dirty pan and the other dishes she hadn’t quite gotten to. As much as washing dishes was something people usually hated, the girl found it a little therapeutic. She’d just gotten into it, relaxing just a bit when she felt a hand curl around her hip, a cleared plate set into the sink and the other hand shutting the water off on her. “What-”

“I think we’re dancing around it now, Sweetheart.” He said lowly, cuffing his other hand on her waist. Her body stilled as he pressed himself into her, his confidence high as he watched her shaky hand drop the sponge. “I think there’s something we both want and you don’t know how to ask for. And that’s okay.” His nose brushed the shell of her ear as she closed her eyes, swallowing thickly. “I know that you haven't been taken care of. I know you weren’t satisfied in the ways you deserved. I meant it when I said that there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Y’know that, right?”

“Harry, what are you doing?” Her voice was breathy as she clenched her over the counter but making no move to leave his grip. 

“I’ve been after you for a while, Y/N. I think you pretend to not notice how I look at you. I think… you were a little jealous when you found out I took that mum from the swim group out and fucked her, because you wanted it to be you. But let me assure you… I wanted it to be you, too.” His heat spread along her back as his fingers moved to splay over her tummy, the same tummy that was a mess of butterflies just under his fingertips. 

“You did?” While she should have been shutting this down considering this man was friends with her daughter… she couldn’t. Not when he was making her feel more listened to, more desired, more aroused than she had been since… well, possibly her whole life. 

“Of course, love. To be honest, I was tryin’ to give you time to adjust. To be single, to find more of yourself. You’ve blossomed so much since I’ve known you. I knew you’d probably want t’reject me because of how you know me, but I just need a chance to prove to you that I can be what you need.” The chills on her skin were unavoidable as his lips smeared over her neck, groaning quietly as he inhaled. “You smell so fucking good, y’know that? Makes me crazy. No one else smells like you… I knew touching you would ruin me.” He pulled her further into him, laying the first kiss on the hinge of her jaw. “I’d be fucked. But I’ve been fucked for a while now. No distraction took away from the fact that any body under mine wasn’t you. Wasn’t the voice I wanted saying my name. I just want to show you that m’worth the risk.” 

The low baritone of his voice was making her want to whimper. Soft, hot lips pressed a trail of gentle kisses down her throat that got progressively more wet, making her cunt follow. Leaning back into him, it was hard to fight when her body felt like it needed him. His hand pressing on her stomach, pushing her all the way back until she felt him. Her gasp was wet, a chuckle vibrated against her throat as he ground himself against her ass.

“I’d fill you up. Make you feel it all the way in here.” The pressure on her stomach suddenly made a flash of heat boil in her belly, imagining it. Craving it. It always felt like something was missing during sex anyways. “I know you need it. You need someone to worship you, to make you understand just how irresistible you are. I’ve been dying to do that for you. Makes me so fucking angry t’know the people who’ve had you haven’t pleasured you, made you unsatisfied while I was dreaming about just a fucking lick of you. Just a squeeze.” Her hand fell on top of his own, breathing a bit more labored as the length of him against her ass taunted her further. 

“You were?” The woman knew she probably sounded a bit wrecked but she was. Harry was making her needy, desperation filling her chest in a way that almost overwhelmed her. She was hungry for more, more of his touch, his lips, his confessions. 

“Mhm. Had t’get my fill in those little touches you’d give me. Running you hand over my back, brushing past me in the kitchen, grabbing my hand. I’ve been wanting to hold you like this. Kiss you until you can't breathe. Make you cum on my fingers, my tongue, my cock, make you melt just for me. S’that something you’d want, baby?” His teeth grazed her jaw getting a little whimper from her throat. “Hm? I’d like some words from you. I don’t mind doin’ most of the talking, but don’t leave me hanging.” 

“I would- yeah. I would like that.” She was indeed panting. If she was a different woman she’d probably be ashamed over how much she was actually gagging for it, but there was something that made her truly believe that Harry could back up every single claim he said. “I haven’t been touched in so long but… you’ve made me feel so good already.” The admission made him smile against her skin, she could feel it. “Is this- do you just want sex?” 

“No.” Her neck felt cold as he pulled away, manhandling her a bit and making her enjoy it far too much as she was turned and reversed in position to be facing him now. Her chin was grabbed between his fingers and his now dark eyes pinned her own. “S’not just a fuck to me. I like you, Y/N. Know it’ll be a little complicated considering the situation but to put it bluntly, I don’t give a fuck.” There was no room left for doubt with his words. “I want you. I’ve wanted you for fucking years, and unless you don’t want me, there’s nothing and no one else that’s gonna keep me from getting what I want.” When she failed to reply, he coaxed it from her. “C’mon, baby. Words.” 

“I-I want that. I just didn’t know it was so serious for you.” She felt her cheeks flush at the intensity of it all. “It’s a good thing though… You’re making me a little dizzy.”

“Yeah?” He crooned. “A little dizzy? So fucking cute. I intend to do more than that, though.” Without another word, he took her mouth. Took it like he owned it, kissed her like it was already his. 

Y/N melted into it immediately. Fell into the kiss and clutched his shirt to pull him closer as he made her brain empty of any thoughts but ones pertaining to him. How big his hands were, how easily he moved her around, how soft his lips were, how he tasted, the slight smell of motor oil underlying the fresh, clean smell that followed him over here. It was pathetic, maybe, to completely resign herself, to hand herself over to the younger man but… could anyone blame her?

Yes, he was younger. But he kissed like he had been hand plucked to be attached to her lips. His tongue brushed into her mouth and she moaned out loud, allowing him to kiss her any way he wanted. Y/N was touch starved and she knew it, but there was something electric about the way he held her. The way he kissed like he was starving, like he couldn’t get enough of her. His hand slipped down her back and greedily palmed her ass, squeezing it tight enough to make her whimper. It had been so fucking long since someone touched her like they knew what they were doing, like they knew what to do to make her feel good. Harry acted like she belonged to him already, pulling her leg up over his waist as he pressed her into the counter. “Hop up.” he whispered against her lips, using his hands to cuff her waist and tug her right up on the countertop. 

Immediately her legs were spread and his body was between them. While he was somewhat lean, he was broad. His arms were big, his hands were too. She had to spread a bit and let her dress ride up as he manhandled her, yanking her back so she was right up against him. The sweetest whimper left her lips and translated to his, making him pull back to look down at her. Her smeared lip gloss and wide, glossy eyes looking up at him. Hair a little messy when it was usually styled, she looked… alive. The way he wanted her to feel with him. “M’gonna spread you open and get a taste, because I’ve been fucking dying for it for years.” He told her bluntly. “But just a taste. I’ll spend hours between these perfect damn thighs tonight… but I need to be inside of you.” He felt like he toed the line between unhinged and the most control he ever had. The man knew what he wanted, he told her what she was going to get, and yet he felt like he had never been more passionate about something in his life. Finally getting the chance to be with the woman he wanted was something that he had been counting down the days for. Nothing could stop him from doing this. 

“Yes, please. I want you… I want you to take over.” She swallowed. It wasn’t always this way. Sometimes Y/N enjoyed the idea of being on top, enjoyed teasing, enjoyed the thought of being in charge for a little bit- but never in her life had she wanted a man to just do whatever the fuck he wanted. It was because she knew he would know how to please her. 

That assumption wasn’t wrong. 

Seeing the man get on his knees in front of the counter, ordering her to take the dress off and toss it to the side to expose her plain cotton bra and underwear, maybe she should feel a little apprehensive- but the only thing she felt was needy. Desperate. Wanted. The look in his eye told her that he wanted her and he wanted her more desperately than she even knew. His lips kissed over her knees and upper thighs, obviously pacing himself as his fingers tugged the waistband of her panties and slowly peeled them off her body. 

Harry wished he spent a bit more time admiring her. He wished he had the self control at this point to not just pull her to the edge of the counter and take a thick lick over her glistening cunt and nuzzle his face into it regardless of the fact he was getting wet- but he didn’t. He pulled her up and onto his tongue, getting the delicious little gasp he had been dying to hear. Manicured nails gripped the countertop behind her and buried in his hair, wet gasps leaving her mouth. Garbles of his name and calling to god, but he was busy. Getting her flavor on every inch of his taste buds and committing it to memory, dipping his tongue into her entrance and lapping up to her clit where he sucked lightly, he was self serving. This was for him and she was reaping the benefits. 

“Oh my f-fucking god.” Y/N said in disbelief, watching green meet her eyes as his nose nudged her clit. “Oh, you’re so fucking good, Harry. Holy fuck.” It was hard to comprehend that this man was on his knees for her when just a few nights ago he had been helping her set out snacks for their friend group as they had a hang out at the pool. Seeing him as the man he was, she couldn’t believe she’d never seen him in this light- not seriously. He had completely blown her expectations out of the water as his tongue flicked over her entrance, pressing against it and making her curse repeatedly. 

The sound of a belt clanking on the floor was mostly ignored- but his fingers inside of her weren’t. In fact, she teared up slightly at the feeling. “Yes, fucking… finger me, feel me.” She growled, her thighs pressing him closer. He had no problems, humming against her as he played with her clit and opened her up with his fingers- surely for her benefit considering he had felt quite impressive against her ass. “Shit, I can’t believe this.” The laugh was quickly melded into a moan as he pulled her clit back into his mouth and added a second finger. 

Harry shook his head into her cunt. He felt her clench around his fingers and the sounds of pleasure above him, and he didn't want to stop but if he didn’t, he was positive he was going to blow his load all over the kitchen floor. There was no bothering to wipe his chin as he stood back up, gripping her face for another deep kiss. “M’obsessed. Tastes even better than I expected… You’re never going to get me away from it.” He wasn’t even joking. He would gladly call off his shift from the bar tomorrow if it meant getting to spend that time tasting her. “But I need to get inside of you. I need to make you cum around my cock.” He went to get his wallet from his pocket but was surprised when she stopped him. 

“I’m clean. I’ve- I’ve been tested and I’m on birth control-” Harr interrupted her with a loud groan, fisting his cock in his hand as his pants fell to his ankles. 

“Thank fuck.” He laughed. “This may be over quickly, but this isn’t the last time I’m in you. I want to make you cum over and fucking over- but I don’t want to waste my load on the floor when it’s better suited inside of you.” He watched her to answer, but he was pushing in before she got a word in. 

“Oh- shit.” Y/N clutched him, looking at him with wide eyes as he sunk into her. Mouth hanging open, she adjusted to the stretch as his head dropped against hers and he kept her eye contact as he sunk in inch by inch. Their breathing mingling as the feeling encompassed both of them. “Oh my god- you’re so fucking big.” Her voice was unfamiliar to herself, sulky and whiny with the pleasure she felt from being stretched. 

“I know, baby.” He grinned, holding on to the nape of her neck. “You’ll get used to it.” Without another word, he pulled out to thrust back in. The process was repeated as her hot, slippery cunt clenched around his cock and tried desperately not to give it up each and every time. 

It was, again, better than he imagined. Nothing could have prepared him for how good it would be to sink into the perfect hole, how she would grip him and suck in deeper. How she’d soak him and how her fingers would dig into his arm, how all he’d be able to see and smell and taste was her. It completely engulfed him and he had no urge to do anything but stay right here. “Okay?” He checked on her as he ground himself into her, her clit brushing over the hair right above his cock and getting it wet. 

“I’m so good.” She slurred, lost in how good it felt to have him inside of her. “I’m so full.” It was insane to her, knowing how she had been treated last time. Even with his direct approach, she’d never felt more cared for, more appreciated. He was working with her, checking in, all while making the first moves that made her feel like he had been hand made for her. “Go harder. I can take it.” 

Y/N had never been fucked the way she wanted and that had been apparent to Harry. He just had a feeling and he knew that she was going to need him in ways she hadn’t experienced. Ways he was more than happy to deliver. “I’ll give you anything you want, Baby.” His nose brushed against hers. “Just make sure to scream my name nice n’loud when you cum for me.” 

It was unlike sex that she thought was real. Y/N held on to Harry as he plowed into her, his grip on her tight as his eyes looked down at where they were connected. It was wet, so fucking wet and creamy all over the base of his cock that she hadn’t known she could do. Her thighs were spread out and over his forearms as he fucked into her like it was his one and only job, whimpering out his name as he gave it to her the way she’d needed. “I knew you’d b-be able to give me what I wanted.” Her words were jostled as her body was, but he replied with another hot kiss. 

Messy, full of tongue and wet, she relished in his desperate need to taste her again. It didn’t matter that her chin was wet or she was getting bruised on her hips, she’d finally felt fulfilled in sex. “Yeah? Y’knew I’d be able to give it to you?” He crooned. “M’glad you knew, because I plan on being the only one doing it.” The words were completely serious and possessive and Y/N loved it. Feeling this level of desire was brand new to her and she didn’t want to give it up. 

“Uh-huh, I- I want you to be the one to give it to me.” As wrong as some people may see it, this was the epitome of a man. Even if he was younger- he had a plan, he had two jobs he’d held for years, a place of his own… He had more than some people her own age. Dedication and loyalty like his were irreplaceable. Maybe she was crazy in indulging in this, in allowing him to have her, but after wasting years with a man who didn’t want her- she wasn’t going to turn away someone who obviously desired her, wanted to worship her- and made her feel like she wanted to do the same back. 

“Good. I wasn’t planning on letting anyone else get a taste. You’re going to be my woman, this is going to be my pussy, M’gonna keep making you feel good. I don’t care who has shit to say about it.” He grunted, pressing theirs mouths together again as he felt her get close. The rippling around his cock and her soft whimpers against his mouth, her hand gripping him hard, he was close to finally fulfilling his fantasy. His dream girl letting go around him and making a mess. “I can feel it, y’know. Feel how you’re gonna cum for me.” He panted against her mouth. 

Y/N felt lightheaded in the best way, her body tingling and the pressure in her stomach building with each scrape of his tip against the spot no one else had reached- or even bothered to look for. Harry was perceptive and keen on her, about to make her orgasm from penetration for the very first time. In all her years she had thought something was wrong, but it turned out that she’d just been with shit people. Her ex husband, the attempts at hook ups, they had no idea how to work her body… But Harry? It seemed like he’d written the manual from the first time he touched her. The only thing she could think about was the pleasure and how good he looked giving it to her. 

Lips swollen and teeth grit, vein on his neck visible, his arms flexed as he railed her. It was like fucking her was his purpose, and fuck- he was fulfilling it. “I am.” She breathed, the tension getting tighter in her stomach. Again, those tears rose in her eyes as each thrust jolted the pleasure inside of her. “I am, I’m gonna cum for you Harry.” Remembering at the last minute that he wanted her to say his name, she sure as hell gave it to him.  “Please, Harry…. Just keep fucking me, give it to me, you’re right where I n-need.” It was right there, she could fucking taste it. “Harry, Harry-”

“Cum for me.” He coaxed. “C’mon, baby. First of many, show me how you cum on my cock. Get me nice and wet- fuck, you’re gorgeous.” The man was in awe of how beautiful she was, but even more about how good it felt as she began to finish on his prick. Her mouth dropping and her eyes watering as she let out a slew of cusses, the quivering of her cunt making it hard to hold on. “Fucking beautiful, that’s my girl. F-Fuck.” 

Y/N felt like she was floating. Pleasure hit every nerve, white hot and tingling. She had no idea what was coming out of her mouth but she felt the burn in her eyes as a tear fell down her cheek, clinging to him as each thrust got that sweet spot and made her tremble in his arms. He didn’t stop, the dark noises he made only spurring her on further. She was wet and she knew she must have completely soaked him. The wet sounds had gotten louder and the way he had groaned let her know she had to have gushed around his cock. “Harry, Harry- H, oh my god.” She bleated, nails digging into his arm. The constant stimulation was only making her more wet and he seemed to be loving it. 

Harry was drunk on the feeling, his own orgasm trailing right behind hers as he worked her through it. She’d made a mess, one he was happy to have all over his skin. The scent of her on him would be his reward, her marks even more so. “M’gonna cum.” He growled. “Where? Where do y’want my cum, baby? Tell me where you want it.” 

“Inside. Inside me, please, give it to me there.” Her legs wrapped around him tighter, making it nearly impossible for him to pull out- like he’d ever want to. His balls tightened at the words, eyes blazing as he looked down at her face. She seemed just as far gone as him, the suction of her soaked channel making him feel borderline insane.

“You- Fuck, Yeah? You want me to give you my load in that perfect cunt?” His grip on her tightened, sure to leave bruises but that was a problem for a later time. It had been a fantasy of his forever, his spunk dripping from her swollen pussy and now she wanted it- was begging for it. There was no mistaking her rapid nod, head tipped up at him as she whispered ‘please, please, please, give it to me’ and fuck, Harry was only so strong. 

He did exactly as asked, his sloppy thrusts hard as he grunted while coming to his end. It flashed over his vision as the loudest groan left his swollen lips, hips stuttering as he buried deep and let loose. Spurts of cum leaving his tip as he unloaded inside of her, the pulsing of his prick felt by both of them as he emptied his balls of every drop of cum. Claiming her, marking her in a symbolic way and the way he’d always been desperate to do. 

There was little hesitation as he took her mouth again, giving her a deep kiss. Tongue running over the roof of her mouth before sucking on her tongue, the most unhinged kiss he’d felt in his life as she clung to him and her cunt continued to milk him of every little bit. “Fuck.” He laughed in disbelief against her mouth. He was coated in a light sheen of sweat, Y/N’s hair was a mess and he was still snugly wrapped up in her as he gently moved her back so she was more comfortable on the counter. His hand came up to stroke her cheek, watching her hazy eyes look back into his own. This was his wet dream come true, but Y/N had no idea the man she had just unleashed. He was just… happy. Satisfied, motivated and fucking happy.  This wasn’t just a fuck for him. “Meant what I said.” His voice was hoarse as he fawned over her, adjusting her hair so it didn’t stick to her forehead. “M’gonna keep you. This isn’t a one and done and I plan on treating you the way you’ve always fuckin’ deserved.” His lips sampled hers again, feeling her arms come up over his shoulders as she reciprocated. “You’re my dream woman, Y/N. M’gonna make sure m’your dream man.”

[fathomlessgaze]

bring your child to work day: zayne and his daughter spend a day at the hospital

fluff, dad!zayne/reader (a little bit), ~2.2k

warnings: reader only makes a small appearance it's mostly about zayne + his daughter spending quality time together tbh, allusions to zayne + mc's lore (no specific memory idt just the overarching theme of their story), zayne is a devoted girl dad bc i believe in girldad!zayne...

a/n: mc/reader + zaynes daughter is named zenith here bc i liked the idea of them sharing an initial 😭 meaning the highest point/the point right above you in the sky bc i think thats what she would be for zayne+mc like one of the best moments of their lifetimes :( anyway it's mentioned in the fic but shes the spitting image of zayne thats his mini-me fr

“good morning,” zayne says, passing by the nurses’ station without much fuss. it’s an ordinary wednesday, after all.  

“morning,” greyson echoes with a curt nod, his eyes still focused on the files he’s reviewing from an overnight patient. 

“mornin’!” a third voice calls happily. 

greyson freezes, his papers falling unceremoniously on the floor. “huh!?” he exclaims, a little too loud for a hospital corridor. 

however the chief pays his outburst no mind, and he suddenly sees why, greyson’s gaze finding the little girl perched on his boss’ hip. of course, he remembers, it’s “bring your child to work” day. but for some reason, he never thought that zayne would actually bring his child to work. perhaps that explains why he’d made sure no surgeries were scheduled for this day weeks ago. 

zayne strokes her dark hair, brushing a loose strand from her pigtails behind her ear. “this is dr. greyson,” he speaks softly, pointing in his direction. “dr. greyson, meet zenith.” 

“nice to meet you!” she exclaims, waving a chubby hand in the air, paying no mind to his wide eyes and slack jaw. 

she can’t be over four judging from her height, and, of course, greyson knew zayne had a daughter, but he didn’t really know. he remembers you mentioning her at your appointments, the photos on his desk and, of course, zayne’s paid time off actually being used at personal all time highs (which had already been on the incline after you moved in and then got married) since a few years ago, but it still feels surreal to actually see him with his child. 

if she has any opinion on greyson’s lack of response besides the cartoon birds that would appear around his head if they were in an animated tv show, she gives no hint. instead, she smiles brightly, her green eyes sparkling as she takes zayne’s glasses off his face and fists the lenses, trying to rotate them in her tiny hands and fit them on her own face. 

somehow, with the much too large frames perched on her nose, she looks even more like her father. everything, from her dark hair tied with ribbons to her hazel eyes, the curve of her brow and little nose, she is her father’s daughter to a t. perhaps the only un-zayne-like thing about her is the permanent cheeriness in her gaze and her gummy smile. that she must’ve gotten from you. while greyson has definitely noticed how his boss has become a little less taciturn and stern over the years, he would be lying to himself if he said he ever thought zayne would become even a miniscule fraction as bubbly as the daughter he holds close right now.

“i didn’t know you were bringing your daughter in today!” greyson exclaims, the realizations of today finally settling and coming together in his mind.

there’s a fondness in his eyes as he glances to zenith, his lips quirking the slightest bit upwards. “she’s been asking for weeks to come with me; i figured now would be the best time with the other kids here. i know you’ve seen the schedule for today, but—”

“oh my god!” yvonne gasps, speeding towards the trio gathered. “you brought your daughter, dr. zayne!” she extends her hand to the girl, which she happily takes. “i’m yvonne, i work with your dad.” 

“i’m zenif,” she babbles, her syllables getting caught on her missing tooth. 

simultaneously both greyson and yvonne coo at the little girl. 

“aren’t you the cutest thing? i’ve seen so many pictures of you but you’re just the dearest little one, hm?” 

and word of mouth travels fast, because, soon enough, a whole crowd has come to fuss over the most adorable little girl who looks exactly like the aloof department chair and has the sweetest smile. she graciously accepts their compliments with quiet ‘thank you's' and hides her face in her father’s neck and shoulder, causing even more ‘aww’s to fall from his colleagues’ lips. when the attention dies down, zayne finally gets to his office, nearly an hour later than he usually would have by now, but he can’t even be annoyed. his little girl is the most precious; of course, he would react in the same way. 

he shuts the door behind them and puts his bag down by his desk, moving zenith so she has a place on his lap when he sits down. “what would you like to do today, hm?” he asks, booting up his computer and finding a pile of files from the depths of a drawer. 

“what do you do?” she asks.

he hums. “well sometimes i see patients who don’t feel well, sometimes i do surgeries on them so they feel better, and sometimes i have to do paperwork. i don’t have any patients or surgeries scheduled today, so we can do whatever you want; how does that sound?”

“what about paperwork?” she exclaims. “you said that’s what you do?” 

“would you like to do paperwork with me?” 

she nods firmly. “i wanna spend time with daddy!” 

his heart softens, his already abnormally warm (at least for work standards) gaze growing even more endeared by his precious, favorite little girl. “you want to spend time with me?” 

her head bobs and she wraps her arms around his neck, resting her cheek on his shoulder. “of course! i love you, daddy.”

pressing a kiss to her cheek, he can’t help a smile. of course he knows she loves him, loves spending time with him. when he’s home she’s practically glued to his hip. and he tries his best to make sure she knows the same. but sometimes it’s just nice to hear it from someone you love. “and i love you, princess.” 

it used to be a foreign expression on his tongue many, many years ago, before you’d returned to his life, and especially before she came into his life. but as time flew by, thanks to you and your help, he’d grown familiar, comfortable, fond with it. while he knew you didn’t mind him not saying that as much as other boyfriends and husbands might from all your conversations, knowing he expressed how much he loved you and then some through other ways, he knew she might not have understood just how her father expressed his feelings and fondness at her young age. 

so beyond his quiet actions, he makes sure to tell her. whether it’s a post-it note in her lunchbox, right next to the heart-shaped sandwich with the crusts cut off, just how she likes it, whenever it’s his turn to make her lunch, or a birthday card she’ll know how to read one day, he tries to tell her through words too. ‘i love you’ went from an expression he seldom said or heard, to one he couldn’t get enough of, whether it be from your lips or hers, and one he always wanted you both to know. 

“let’s see what kind of paperwork we can find for you, then.” coincidentally a knock sounds from the other side of the door. “come in.” 

“they brought some donuts and coloring pages out in the lobby,” yvonne says, popping her head in. “i figured you’d both be interested.” 

“thank you, yvonne.” when the door shuts, zayne leans back to look at his daughter, brushing her hair. “what do you think about that? do you want to take a look?” with her eager nods, zayne stands.

“i wanna walk,” she pouts, tugging on his once crisp button-up, and he puts her down accordingly, taking her small fingers in his. 

they make their way hand in hand down the corridor, drawing even more endeared coos from the staff until they reach the table. kneeling down to her height, he points at a smaller kids table in the corner.

“how about you get some coloring sheets and crayons? i can get you a donut and we can head back and do some paperwork,” he explains.  

she happily obliges, skipping over and inspecting the books with a familiar seriousness (which also makes the other staff coddle her just as much as her bright smiles. “aren’t you so precious!?” “she’s just like her father!” zayne can’t help the small quirk of his lips when he hears how cute they find his daughter, because she is, speaking from his personal experience.). meanwhile he grabs a strawberry donut with sprinkles and a chocolate one, both her favorites, placing them on a napkin and grabbing a few extra knowing how she takes after you in terms of her messiness. 

meeting her in the corner, he bends down, taking a quick look at the drawings she’s taken. “find anything you like?” he asks.

raising her pages to his eyes, she beams. “they have the bears!” 

he smiles softly, tucking her loose hair away. “yes, they do,” he hums. “who knew?” 

it totally wasn’t like he’d ordered specific character coloring books when it was time for the cardiology department to refill their kids’ activity section. it totally wasn’t like he’d looked for some ones he knew his daughter would love. it wasn’t like that at all; zayne maintains he’s as impassive and serious at work as ever…he’s lying to himself.

when she gathers her crayons, the duo make their way back to his office. the day flies quickly by, her babbles and light, curious questions bringing a new level of comfort and joy zayne never thought he’d get from his job. he loves what he does, of course, but everything just seems more enjoyable and memorable with his daughter by his side. or rather, with her on his lap, in her own little world of just her and her beloved dad, oblivious to the seriousness of the paperwork her father is dealing with as she busies herself with her own “paperwork” and scribbles vibrant colors all over the once black and white image.

and zayne thinks he would be perfectly content if it were to stay like this forever. even with all his prizes and awards, nothing could compare to the reward and title of being your husband and zenith’s father. 

he lowers his pen to the desk from his fingers, using his free hand to rest his head as he admires the precious life before him. “i love you, princess,” he murmurs, pinching her cheek. 

“i love you too, daddy!” she turns to face him, crumbs of donut glaze still around her lips. 

he takes a napkin and dabs at her face before checking his watch. you’d said you’d meet them around now… “how about we get lunch soon?” 

right on time, a knock sounds from the door, which opens to reveal you. “how are my favorite doctors doing?” you exclaim. 

“mama!” she cheers, hopping off zayne’s knee and running into your waiting embrace. 

kissing her head, you give her a squeeze. “how’s work with dada going?” 

“i love it here! daddy colors and eats dessert all day,” she cheers. 

glancing to your husband, you chuckle. “is that so?” 

he makes his way towards you both, giving you a peck as you stand, your daughter now on your hip. “something like that,” he mumbles. 

“then maybe i should become a doctor too,” you tease. “is now a good time for lunch?” 

he nods, opening the office door once more and allowing you to pass first. 

“i wanna become a doc-tor, too,” zenith ponders, suddenly serious with her small fingers tapping at her chin as she thinks, a habit no doubt from her father. “then daddy and i can color and eat snacks together forever!” 

“is that so?” you ask, but you can’t help the smile you shoot at your husband. 

she bobs her head, a determined furrow in her brow. “i wanna be with mama and daddy forever.” 

zayne has a warm fondness in his gaze as his eyes find his daughter. she looks up to him with wide eyes and her gummy grin, reaching her small hand out for his own, which he happily obliges. her tiny fist wraps around two of fingers, and he briefly wishes that she could stay his little girl for eternity. she doesn’t need to know how hard her dad’s job actually is, how much work he had to put in to get to where they are now, the sorrows of her parents’ past. she is a precious gem, the shining peak of all your shared lifetimes. 

this one existence, finally at peace, a happy ending for you and him, domestic bliss with the two, now three, of you, he thinks it’s worth every tear that’s been shed before. and maybe in another universe and lifetime, the you’ll get another happy ending. he thinks that even if it’s a simple life, as long as it’s with the two of you, it’d be one he cherishes and treasures close to every fiber of his existence, one he would fight all there may be to remember, for no god could tear his devotion. maybe he’d even bet every splintering past life that led to this one was worth the years he’s gotten to spend with you in this one, and the years still to come. so he hopes she stays as optimistic and bright as ever, that you stay by his side in this heavenly life he could only once dream of. after all, ice is made of crystals.

[toruily1]

ex husband!nanami x reader

MDNI

2.7k

ex husband kento who forgets that your daughter was sleeping over at a friends house this weekend, so he still shows up at the house that the two of you use to share at exactly 11 am on saturday morning.

you should've figured he would've forgotten, when you called to tell him on thursday, it didnt seem like he was really listening. he was probably busy stroking his cock to the sound of your voice, while desperately trying to keep his deep moans quiet hanging with one of his little girlfriends.

he rings the doorbell, waiting a few seconds before ringing it again when he gets no response. it takes him a few seconds to remember how you told him a couple of weeks ago that the doorbell was broken and it looks like you forgot to get it fixed.

he digs around in his pocket for his keys, pulling out the key he had in case of an emergency and unlocks the door.

"y/d/n" he calls out and expects to hear her soft voice come from somewhere inside the house, before she was rushing out to greet him, instead he's met with silence.

well its not completely silent.

no, there's a faint sound coming from the master bedroom— your bedroom, and if he listens hard enough he can just make out the breathy moans that slip past your lips.

kento's eyes widen as he realizes whats happening, his brain is telling him to leave, to turn around and walk right back out the house. its obvious that your daughter isnt here and there's no need for him to intrude on your personal time.

its just as he turns towards the door, ready to get back in his car and drive home when he hears it.

"kento!" its the loudest you've been since he's walked inside and if the sound of you pleasing yourself just a few feet away from where he was currently standing didnt have his cock stirring in his sweatpants, then the sound of you crying out his name as you touch yourself certainly did and he's hard in a matter of seconds.

nanami would've thought after all this time, especially after the divorce, that you would've been replused by the thought of him but the way you continue to cry out his name the closer you get to your release says otherwise.

its like his feet have a mind of their own because before he knows it, nanami is standing directly in front of your bedroom door thats slightly ajar and giving him the tiniest peak of the two fingers you have thrusting in and out of your cunt quickly.

he pushes the door open just a little wider and has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning out at the sight of your naked body, flushed and glistening with sweat. your eyes are closed, mouth parted slightly as soft moans fall from your lips as you grind your clit up against your palm, fingers still thrusting in and out of your wet heat with a loud squelch from now wet you are.

"k-kento.. deeper. please" you whine and nanami's resolve breaks. he pushes the door open with more force than necessary, too busy letting his eyes rake up and down your naked body to care about the loud sound that reverberates through the room as the door roughly makes contact with the wall.

your eyes snap open at the realization that someone is inside of your home, hands instantly scrambling for your blanket as you attempt to shield your naked body from someones prying eyes.

"k-kento?" you question confused and slightly embarrassed, cheeks heating up at the fact that he definitely heard you calling out his name mere seconds ago as you fingered yourself to the thought of him. "what are you doing here?"

"i... we.. you—" he stutters out, his mind still clinging to the fact that you were thinking about him, in the same way he’s thought about you since a few weeks after he moved out and the fact that you were really gone finally began to sink in. he’d think about you as he remembers the feeling of your mouth on him, the feeling of your walls squeezing him in so tightly before he was painting his shower floor in creamy white.

he walks over towards the bed stopping when he's directly in front of you. you're eyes immediately fall down to his crotch, zeroing in on the prominent bulge in his pants, your hole clenching around nothing as you imagine him stretching you out.

deciding to let your actions speak for you, you begin to push the blanket away from your body, kicking it towards the opposite side of the bed as you spread your legs seductively.

nanami groans at the sight of your glistening pussy and thighs coated in your slick, and drops to his knees.

he didnt realize how much he missed the taste of you so much until the first swipe of his tongue through your puffy folds. after the first taste he knows he's addicted once again and since this was probably going to be the first and only time he got to have you like this again he was going to take his time, savoring the taste of you.

his hands wrap around your thighs, mouth never leaving your pussy as he pulls you down further on the bed, until your ass was hanging off and he was hands were pushing your thighs upwards, your pussy spread out just the way he likes it.

he dives right back in, his tongue forcing its way into your tight hole as his nose swipes against your clit. your hands instantly find his dark strands, tugging roughly as he tongue fucks you, thrusting his tongue in and out of you as if it was his dick.

"kento— f-fuuuck" you whine when he pulls his tonuge out with a lewd pop that has heat rushing up to your face before he takes your clit into his mouth and sucks on it harshly. nanami forces two of his thick fingers into your cunt, his pace starting off punishing slow as he gets himself familiar with to the feeling of your gummy walls once again.

your tighter than ever, probably since the only thing you've had to stretch you out was your thin fingers that probably couldn't even find your gspot with how much smaller they were than his.

he begins to pick up his pace, his fingers fucking into you at such a pace that it has your toes curling, drooling dripping from your mouth and all you can do is moan out for him.

he palms himself over his pants, moaning against your pussy at the slight relief he feels at the friction. he chooses to ignore the sticky, wet patch he feels as he squeezes himself over the cloth.

he's so hard it hurts, having been hard since the moment he walked into the house and the taste of your pussy on his tongue certainly didn't help the ache in his balls as they scream for release.

"m'close" you cry out when he curls his fingers upwards and hits your gspot head on. "m'close m'close m'close!" you repeat over and over again. the feeling thats been growning inside your lower tummy ready to burst.

"what the fu—" you practically yell when nanami pulls his mouth away from your clit and frees his fingers from the tight grip your walls had on him.

your about to snap at him, yell at him about how you knew you shouldn't have gave him another chance, yell at him for getting you so close to the edge only to snatch it away in some petty joke when any words get lost in the atmosphere as kento lands a hard smack directly on your pussy, his palm making contact with your swollen clit. your eyes squeeze shut as a burst of pain shoots through your body.

"wanna scream my name like a slut knowing i was coming here today huh? probably planned this just so i'd fuck this tight ass pussy" he pairs his words with another harsh smack to your pussy.

"shittt" you mewl as the pain quickly turns into pleasure, your cunt burning from the sting yet dripping as two more smacks rain down on your reddening pussy.

he uses two of his fingers to pull the hood of your clit back, exposing your clit and landing the final hit directly to your sensitive bundle of nerves.

"oou fuuck" you sob as you cum, body quivering as your orgasm rips through you. nanami watches as your hole clenches around nothing as your orgasm drips out of your pussy and down your asscrack.

your legs shake as you come down from your orgasm, the ringing in your ears finally coming to a close as your heart rate goes back to a normal steady beat.

kento smashes his lips into yours, hoping it's enough to portray just how much he's missed you this past year. he wants to think you missed him just as much if the way you kiss him back with so much passion is anything to go by.

"kento" you whine against his lips, hands fisted in his shirt as you attempt to pull him closer, your legs are about wrap around his waist when nanami pulls away with a disappointed tsk, taking a step away from the bed as you chase after his lips, whining again when he doesn't grant you what you so obviously want.

"been gone so long you forget how to ask for what you want?" he questions with a slight tilt of his head.

"can you please fuck me already" you pout, taking your hands and using them to spread your cheeks, displaying your fluttering holes and hoping its enough to get you want you want.

kento shakes his head but seeing as your just as desperate for him to be inside of you as he is, he decides to be nice, stepping towards the bed once again, his hand already undoing his pants and pushing them down his thighs just enough to free his aching cock from its confines.

you can feel yourself practically drooling at the sight of his cock that somehow seems bigger than you remember. the tip flushed a pretty red with a bead of precum that drips from his slit. you swallow deeply as you think about tasting him.

kento manhandles you, moving you upwards on the bed until your head is resting on your pillow, legs spread wide to accommodate his large frame as he positions himself between them.

he runs the head of his cock up and down your slit, coating himself in the evidence of your orgasm. he lets his tip nudge against your clit and grinning smugly to himself when you whine at the overstimulation.

"hurry up and fuck me" you demand and nanami realizes right then and there he's tired of this battiness that came with him being out of the picture for so long and decides he's going to fuck it out of you if it's the last thing he ever does.

he lines himself up with your entrance and in one quick motion, he buries himself into the hilt, lips connecting with yours once again as he swallows down the scream that ripped from you as your walls are stretched to their limits.

nanami uses that as his chance to force his tongue into your mouth, letting it swipe along your teeth, taking your bottom lip between his teeth and tugging on it gently as he starts off with slow, shallow strokes, thrusting in and out of you as he pulls away.

you immediately suck in a deep breathe as kento fucks the air outta your lungs, picking up his speed, each thrust faster and harder than the last until he's plunging into you with so much force it sends you flying upwards each time his hips meet yours.

"k-kento!" you squeal, hand coming down to push at his stomach when he changes the angle of his hips and automatically finds your gspot. the pleasure starting to be to overwhelming as stars begin to cloud your vision.

"s'too much... fuck-- s'too much" your hand continues its futile attempts at getting him to slow down or pull out or do anything that wasn't repeatedly fucking against your gspot with such force and accuracy that you know you'll be cumming again in seconds.

"hurry up and fuck me," he says in a mocking tone, repeating your words from earlier as he continues his assault on your gpsot. " those were your words right? now be a good girl and take it"

you sob out pathetically, arms wrapping around nanami's neck and pulling him down against you, forcing his head into the junction between your neck and shoulder as you hold onto him for dear life as he fucks you, pulling out just to slam right back in.

kento uses this as an opportunity to suck on your neck, drunk on the feeling of being able to mark you up again after so long. he pulls away after a few minutes, feeling your grip you had on him loosen as your orgasm sneaks up on you, and admires his artwork.

the sight of your neck covered in blooming purplish bruises that he left on you has his cock twitching inside your walls.

you can feel every drag of his cock inside of your sensitive walls, every ridge and vein as he pushes all the way in, watching the way your head falls back and your mouth falls open in an o shape as he begins grinding his hips against yours, his pelvis grinding against your clit and pushing you over the edge. your body twitching and convulsing as you cum, clenching tightly around kento’s cock.

kento curses, his strokes starting to get sloppy as he feels himself approaching his own high, the feeling of your walls spasming around him has his balls tightening and his cock twitching.

all it takes is a few more thrusts, one drag of his cock along your velvety walls, then another and another before his cock begins emptying itself deep inside of your pussy, mixing with your own arousal and coating the base of his cock in a creamy white ring.

"Shiiit" kento draws out as you milk him for the last couple of drops. when he's sure he's given you everything he has, he slowly begins to pull out, whispering out a soft apology as you whine at the sudden loss, your now empty hole clenching around nothing.

nanami flops down on the bed next to you, breathing heavily and covered in sweat, the bottom half of his face still shiny with your slick. he lets his hand settle on your thigh, rubbing up and down in a soothing motion.

it takes a couple of minutes for both of you to come down from your highs, breathing growing steady as nanami continues to rub his hand up and down your thigh.

"we're not getting back together" you tell him after a few minutes of silence.

he doesn't respond, figuring as much. this was probably just a lapse in judgement for you, your sexual needs taking over the rational part of your brain but he would be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed.

he missed you for crying out loud and he was hoping you missed him just as much.

"but" you start and kento turns his head to look at you, waiting for you to continue "i wouldn't be opposed... to doing this again that is... maybe you could come over one day when y/d/n is at school?"

well fuck, that's not what he expected but he'll be a damn fool to turn down a once in a lifetime opportunity.

"fuck yes" he grunts out as he tugs you onto his lap, smashing his lips into yours once again as he prepares for round two.

[raitonsfw]

𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎'𝚜 𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚗𝚒𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 | 𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚜𝚞𝚐𝚞 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

synopsis: They made a fucking bet – whoever made you cum first wins first fuck of the night. The drawback? They can't drop their cursed techniques, Gojo with his Limitless and Geto with his Curse Manipulation. You can only imagine where this was gonna go, your legs already spread open wide for the sorcerers.

warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, fem!reader (she/her pronouns), threesome, inappropriate use of cursed techniques, sex toy (vibrator with insertion), clit play, doggy style, facefucking, creampie & cum swallowing, dirty talk, banter, satosugu arguing like idiots, geto pisses gojo off, geto kinda cheats, toji's worm pins reader down, gojo's love language is touch (so this is really hard for him), gojo being a bit cocky and geto being a bit condescending, satosugu don't interact sexually (i know, i'm sorry), endings kinda weak but who cares?

a/n: with this treasure i summon– dunno came up with this plot like a few weeks ago cuz i was really intrigued by satoru's technique and not being able to touch him like- if there are mistakes, just know i suck at distinguishing the power system of jjk so my bad. wc: 2.2k. m.list

divider credit: @hitobaby

“Aw, she’s crying…” You heard from afar and you knew instantly– you were fucked. 

“Satoru, don’t tease her.” 

The two men made a bet– of who could get you to cum without dropping their technique wins first fuck of the night. Naturally, Gojo had it much worse as he couldn’t touch you but Geto was able to do whatever he pleased… with the exception of his curses clinging to you. And that made you squirm with discomfort– you hated his curses, they skeeved you out and you were worried they might attack you even though Geto’s assured you many times he has full control of them. 

You reached out for Gojo again but you were met with traction, the slipping feeling of reality falling apart and breaking your hand’s outstretch. Tears slipped from your eyes as you were fooled yet again, the pressure vibrating through your body becoming way too much and you tried to pull from Geto’s grasp. But the wormed curse he summoned kept you tight and taut against the heat of the mattress, the vibrator flush with your clit and you frowned.

You couldn’t cum like this– with the way Geto’s slimy purple worm looked, so goddamn disgusting…and all you wanted was Gojo’s affection. You wanted him to touch you– to crave you like he always did. He was such a touchy man and the fact that he sat in front of you without so much as reaching out killed you.

Geto had you in his lap, the worm clinging onto one of your arms and the other expelled out towards Gojo. Geto ran the vibrator down towards your entrance and you writhed against him again, your back arching up with a whiny moan but you were met with the babbling of the wretched worm next to you and you instinctively tried to flung it off. “Getooo… Get it off me.” 

Geto pressed a tiny kiss to the back of your head, his other hand stroking your hair with a quiet murmur of ‘sorry baby…’ which didn’t make you feel any better. Gojo sat in front of you in a criss cross position, looking quite bored as he leaned his elbow against his knee. “Bring out another curse, Suguruuu. Toji’s worm’s weak.” 

“I’m not going to scare her.” Geto sighed, his hand faltering on your cunt and you visibly relaxed as he pulled it away from you. Instead he slipped the other part of the vibrator inside you curtly, leaving it there as his fingers brushed your clit. “At least I can touch her.”

Jealousy flashed on Gojo’s face as Geto rubbed circles on your clit, earning another whine from you– a long needy whine too. Your eyes threatened to squeeze shut, barely able to concentrate on anything besides the incessant vibrating pressing into you. Gojo huffed out dramatically, his eyes leveling towards your cunt then back towards Geto. 

“Just because I can’t touch her doesn’t mean I can’t get her off.” The sly remark from the white haired sorcerer went unnoticed by you as the toy nudged deeper into you, the force much more prominent than before. 

You moaned out as it started to fuck in and out of you, the motions absurdly fluid as it pinned your sweet spot, making you tremble. Your hips rolled into the sensation, your hands clutching against the silk of the bed sheets quickly. When you vaguely registered where Geto’s hands rested – one in your hair and another rubbing your clit – you realized that it wasn’t him thrusting the vibrator in you.

You glanced down quickly and through blurred vision, you recognized the invisible energy dragging so heavenly along your walls– Gojo was using his technique.

The vibrator moved to the force pulled within the constraints of his limitless technique, infinity constriding your every nerve and you writhed against Geto, completely forgetting about the curse that crawled against your arm. Your eyes met Gojo; his hand flush with cursed energy glowing a bright blue along with the crystals he called eyes, the damned things nearly taking your breath away. It felt like you were on display for him, taking in every whimper and moan coaxed out of you by his precious power.

He seemed so into it now, his cock straining in his boxers– he found a loophole of course – and he was sure he was going to win the bet. Gojo felt his cock leak as your pretty pussy clenched around the toy, his hand wavering slightly at the thought of it being his– ‘cause God, you’d squeeze him so fucking hard sometimes when he fucked you that he saw stars. Your pussy slicked the little toy with a mass of your arousal, glistening the ribbed toy beautifully and he had to stop himself from drooling. 

When he wins the bet, he’s going to suck the life out of you– your clit and your soul.

The fucking bet sucked his soul right out of him though; all he wanted right now was you on his lap, quivering against him as he played with you. His dick would settle right against the small of your back and he’d grind up into it as you rutted yourself against the little toy and then he’d press the head of his cock right against your aching cunt– maybe even next to the juddering toy, teasing you until you were crying for him and– 

“Stop toying with her.”

The vibrator was delicately pulled out of you, the pleasure ceasing and leaving you empty with pure neediness. You whined out, trying to grasp at Geto’s wrist but his black portal had materialized next to it and another one of his curses grabbed you and kept you still. You grimaced in disgust, leaning forward from Geto before you were forcefully pushed back by strong, uncontrolled energy. 

Gojo was wildly annoyed; you could tell. In fact, you weren’t sure if he could go one more second without touching you– or punching Geto square in the face. 

“Gojo, don’t–” You started, but it was too late now. He was livid, because how dare Geto. How dare he just fucking pull it right out of you with not even an inkling of regret etched on his face. Especially since you were so close– he sensed it, practically saw you tensing up in chase of your release and he just ruins it for you? 

“I’m not toying with her. That was fucking allowed–! Put it back in her.” Gojo growled, his eyebrows furrowing in anger. Animosity dripped from his presence, his body leaning close towards yours before stopping in harrow. 

“Do it yourself.” Geto smirked. He definitely wanted to get under Gojo’s skin; anything to get him to lose the bet. “Maybe I’ll fuck my cock in instead…”

You noticed Gojo stiffen, a menacing look painting his face for a split second before it fell away into a lazed attitude. You watched as his jaw clenched, his fists balling up against his lap as he crouched forward. He had a slight pout to his features, which you adored– he was always in a mood whenever it came to Geto’s taunting. “You wouldn’t.” 

“Oh? Satoru– you should know me by now.” 

“That’s cheating, Sugu.” You leaned up to look at him, kissing at his jawline to prevent any more arguing. His hands found your clit again, feigning more circles into the soft bud and you cooed at him with a tiny whine. His fingers dipped into your pussy slightly which in turn, made you buck your hips against them and his eyes never left Gojo’s as they tranced him into a challenge.

“Who cares? I’ll win anyway. I’m just getting a headstart into the night, pretty.” Before you had time to readjust underneath Geto’s intoxicating touch, his curses pulled you upwards; sitting you directly against Geto’s thick cock. 

And there it was– a flash of blue. Your body was instantly flush against Gojo’s chest, his strong arms embracing you like he was trying to protect you from harm. He pulled you into a desperate kiss, his fingers roaming over your waist as he lapped his tongue against yours in a soft hum. God, he missed this– he missed you, even though it was only for a few minutes. As his mouth sucked a tiny bruise down your neck, revelling in the way you keened, he vowed to never fucking make a bet with Geto Suguru ever again. 

Geto’s curses faded away back into the portal, disintegrating against the black mass as soon as Gojo touched you. “Told you, Y/N.” 

Geto’s big hands wrapped against your hips, the tip of his cock already prodding against your entrance as he aimed to mount you right then and there. No, he didn’t want to waste any time because just as quickly as Gojo lost the bet, he could turn it towards his favor; the damned idiot spinning you like a hot wheel whenever he flashed his mesmerizing eyes at you.

One wink and you could probably squirt a mile for him. 

Geto turned your chin towards him with his forefinger, his dark eyes sending chills down your spine as he bottomed out. You took to your hands and knees, unable to hold onto Gojo any longer as Geto filled you full. A slight blush spread throughout his cheeks as he let out a low deep groan, his eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Fuck… Just keep your eyes on me, darling.” 

You had your eyes on him for like five seconds before your head was tilted back towards Gojo, his cock now directly in front of you and he slicked the tip against your mouth while pumping it shallowly. “Open wide, baby.”

“Not going to scold me, Satoru?” Geto teased, pulling out his cock lightly and slamming it back into with fervor. You whimpered out, your eyes rolling towards the back of your head as Gojo tried to feed his cock into your mouth. 

“Just need her right now– shit…” He stuttered out as you sunk down on him eagerly, his cock hitting the back of your throat in one go. Oh, you must’ve broken him– his entire body jolted forwards to fuck into your mouth and his mouth dropped open in a shuddering moan. Or he was already broken beforehand, unable to keep his cock to himself as you were almost fucked without his permission. 

Geto was a dirty cheater, but a brilliant fucker; his hips snapped into you at the perfect angle and you whined happily around Gojo’s cock as he rammed into your sweet spot. You drooled on Gojo’s cock, unable to do anything but take it– take both of them in one sitting and try not to die from the pressure building in your tummy. Geto fucked into you so deep, his stamina barely faltering as he pounded you from the back with breathless pants seeping from his mouth. 

You wished you could turn back to look at him– or better yet, his hand tangled into your hair and pulled you towards him but he wouldn’t go that far to piss Gojo off. You could only imagine the sight of him, his long hair snaking down his back and sticking to the frame of his face while Gojo glared at him. Geto wouldn’t care though– because he won fair and square in his eyes, his cock pressing against your cervix with a tremble to his thighs now due to the way you clenched around him. 

And you knew Gojo wanted so badly to feel you squeeze around him– so you hollowed out your cheeks and smoothed one of your hands over his thigh as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. He took the golden opportunity to face fuck you, his hips rolling into you with a broken groan. 

“Ah, k-keep going. That’s it… you love being stuffed by the both of us, huh? Can’t even fucking think straight– fuck, do that again…” Gojo babbled above you as his hips thrusted into your wet mouth, your tongue sliding up the underside of his twitching cock. 

You felt your release practically racing towards you as Geto fucked into you relentlessly now, the crown of his cock catch on your hole each and every time he plunged in. You breathed through your nose as your walls fluttered around him through your orgasm, feeling the warmth of Geto’s following not long after. 

His groans were quickly overtaken by Gojo’s desperate little whines, both of their hips slapping against you being one of the few sounds in the room. Gojo could only be out of the limelight for so long before his moans became downright filthy whimpers when he came down your throat, burying his cock deeply into your mouth. “Swallow it all, princess. Don’t waste a goddamn drop…” 

And you did– you swallowed every goddamn drop that dribbled from his cock while Geto fucked his cum into you greedily. As you pulled off of Gojo’s cock, you wobbled against the bed slightly before the two of them held you up and placed you carefully against the pillows. Looking at the two of them, there seemed to be no sign of ill intent racking their brains. Maybe they wouldn’t fight and you could sleep peacefully, snuggled against them in a warm, cozy blanket.

“Next time you make a bet, fucking keep it Suguru.” Gojo breathed out, his voice void of malice but there still was a bite to it. Wedged between the two of them, you felt Geto shake with laughter– the mocking kind that dug at Gojo’s psyche.

Or maybe not.

“What, you really think you’ll win next time?”

“I know I will.”

a/n: y'all want them to make another bet or no?

[wandaslovey]

𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗, 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚢

➺ step mommy!wanda x innocent!fem reader

wc ~ 2.8k

a/n: the people have spoken! the poll i posted was incredibly close between mommy!wanda w/ readers first time being with a woman and mommy!wanda corruption kink. i decided to just go ahead and combine the two. enjoy!

a/n: so i actually hate this buuut i figured i would post it anyways. any feedback is welcome, just please be nice :)) (im fragile🥹)

*not proofread*

cw: unspecified age gap, stepcest, mommy!kink, corruption kink, somnophilia, cunnilingus (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), mild humiliation (sorta?)

∴.·:*¨¨*:·. ☙.·:*¨ ¨*:·.♡ .·:*¨ ¨*:·. ❧.·:*¨ ¨*:·.∴

you were cuddled up in wanda’s arms as you lie on your side, facing the television with some old disney movie playing. she had her arm draped around your torso, holding your body back against hers. you had fallen asleep a little while ago, your breathing slow and even.

it was your last week of being home for summer semester before you had to go back to school. you had debated going back home for break, and not even because you had to face your notoriously neglectful father, but because you had to face your step mother—wanda. it had been a few years now that she had married your father. it was a marriage strictly out of convenience and stability. she had her twin boys to raise and wanted a father figure for them to look up to. what she didn’t expect was to inherit you. her beautiful, precious, innocent step-daughter. you were 18 at the time and a senior in high school. she easily took your under her wing and loved you just as much as she did her own children. her love for you started out innocent, but soon morphed into her own perversion. she loved how perfectly innocent you were—even as the years went by. the way your dressed, spoke and acted all seemed to drive her fantasies into an even more perverted corner.

she would often lay awake at night, touching herself to the thought of you. your soft, small hands squeezing and caressing her breasts. your full, pouty lips pressed against hers or better yet.. wrapped around one of her nipples. she knew you were inexperienced and that only drove her more insane. one of her favorite fantasies was having you in her lap, your little skirt bunched up at your waist as she had her wand vibrator pressed up against your cloth-covered pussy. she would try different settings, taking in your little gasps and whimpers as she takes note of just how sensitive you are.

“oh, does that feel good, baby?”

“mm, mommy loves watching you squirm like this in her lap.”

she would watch in real time as your panties become soaking wet, the material almost see through by the time she was done.

now you.. you were completely and utterly enthralled with wanda. she was so beautiful, elegant and seemed to perform every thing she did with grace. even down to the smallest domestic actions, you found yourself squirming in your seat as she went about doing the tasks. growing up, you never had much sexual interest in boys or girls. once your step-mother came into your life, boy, did that change. you found yourself instantly attracted to her femininity, her kindness, but mostly her nurturing disposition. having a narcissistic biological mother meant you lacked one of the most important female relationships in your life.

you craved her attention. since you were attending a local college, that allowed you to travel home often. you didn’t ever go back to see your dad (of course) but to see her. and if you were being honest, you did love billy and tommy as well. they were the greatest little siblings you could have ever hoped for.

each time you went back to visit, your fantasies and thoughts about wanda became progressively more explicit. it started with her holding you, gently stroking your hair as you were cuddled up. however, you knew your feelings were getting stronger when one day you were passing her bedroom and found the door open a crack. she was dressing into her night clothes and you caught a glimpse of her naked back. you couldn’t walk away even if you wanted to. you stood there gawking as she dressed, seeing more of her bare skin than ever before. there was a growing, slightly foreign ache between your legs as you watched her. you pressed your thighs together, mouth slightly agape as you stared at the sight before you.

from then on, anytime you were home you would make it a point to try and sneak a peak of her nakedness whenever you knew she might be showering or changing. in bed at nighttime, your mind ran wild with so many fantasies. you were innocent, but not clueless. you would imagine her perfectly manicured hands sliding down your bare torso, her fingers dipping into the hem of your sleep shorts. then after teasing you a bit, her pulling them off your legs. she would be slow, soft and gentle with her touches. her voice (which you could listen to all day) murmuring sweet praises as she drew small, tight circles around your clit. her kissing and marking your neck. you would proudly wear her love bites.

her gasping with you as she inserts her fingers into your virginal pussy for the first time…

as the movie played on the screen, wanda found herself unable to focus on the scene unfolding before her. instead, she was watching you—your chest rising and falling steadily. she propped herself up, peeking down at your face to make sure your eyes were closed. her libido was burning hot. your body held firmly against hers was enough to get her mind running a mile a minute. you sigh softly in your sleep, wiggling your ass further against her front. wanda smiles to herself, finding the image of you sleeping so soundly in her arms just adorable. but what would be even more adorable? hearing your little whimpers and moans as she touches you. she had never touched you in a non-innocent way before and honestly—she was tired of being good. she wanted her way with you, and tonight she was going to have it.

she began slowly tracing her fingertips up and down your arm, goosebumps rising in their wake. your skin was so soft under her touch. her hand slid to your torso, her fingers slipping under your shirt and running up your waist. she stopped when her fingertips felt the fabric of your bra. she shifted herself carefully so she was propped up on one arm, her body hovering above yours. her free hand now traced slowly up your knee, her fingers on a sinful journey to your soft, milky inner thighs. she gently squeezed the squishiest part, wanting to do that since she saw a glimpse of them whenever you wore your bikini’s at the pool. your legs parted for her and she smiled at your body’s natural instinct to open up for her.

her fingers teased the edges of your panties and she noticed there was already a small wet patch on the material. oh you were a needy girl, weren’t you.

she quickly became desperate to see more of you, but she didn’t want you to wake—yet. she gently pulled your shirt down, the material bunching just past the middle part of your bra. she then leaned down, pressing slow, wet kisses along the tops of your breasts. her tongue snaked out, dipping behind the material and grazing over your nipple. you shifted slightly, a small whine sounding past your lips. wanda paused her movements briefly, glancing up at your face to make sure you were still asleep. once she was satisfied you weren’t going to open your eyes, her fingers resumed their teasing of your inner thighs and panty lines. she dragged her tongue across your chest to your other breast, this time swiping her tongue more firmly over your pert nipple. the hand that was teasing the seam of your panties finally slid past the material, seeking your now inexplicably wet heat. her finger dragged down your slit, gathering the wetness at your entrance and then swirling it up around your clit. you began to stir slightly, your hips gently rolling up into her ministrations.

she kept you on the edge of unconsciousness, being careful not to rouse her little girl prematurely. once she thought you were sufficiently worked up, she maneuvered herself until she was laying between your legs. she gently lifted one of your legs so it bended for her, your unconscious body seeming to assist her as you rest your foot flat on the couch, your leg leaning to the side for better access to your core. she leaned down, her eyes intent on your face as she didn’t want to miss a single reaction. her warm tongue drew a line up your panty-covered slit. your body twitched at the sensation, a small hum in the back of your throat. she repeated the action, gliding her tongue up and down a few times before she needed the offending garment off your body.

her hands caressed up your thighs before grabbing onto your panties and sliding them off of you. she was mindful to take them all the way off, tucking them away in her pocket for later. returning to her previous engagement, she watched your brow furrow slightly, a small gasp leaving your lips as her tongue parted your wet folds. she hummed softly at the flavor of you and fought the urge to delve in right there.

wanting to see those pretty eyes of yours now that her head was between your legs, she licked a firmer stripe up your slit, her hands squeezing your hips. you began to stir again, a feeling of confusion washed over you as you realize there was something hot and wet against your core. you gasped, suddenly awake all at once as you look down and see your step-mother with her head between your legs, her tongue swirling all over your heat. “w-wanda?” you panted out, confused. while you had hoped for something like this to happen, you didn’t think it actually would.

“hmm, hi sweet girl,” she murmured into your pussy, her eyes gleaming with wicked intent as she looked up a you. her tongue expertly explored your folds and you couldn’t help but whimper softly, the sight before you almost overwhelming.

“what’re you doing?” you whimpered. your hips gently rolling into her face at their own accord.

“shhh, baby. let mommy have her fun, hmm? i promise you’ll like it.” you didn’t really need much further encouragement, so you let her proceed without further protest.

“that’s it, huh? were you hoping i would do this to you? were you hoping mommy would finally cave and eat her little girl’s pussy?”

you moaned, her words only making your head more cloudy. she chuckled and you could feel the vibrations reverberate through your core.

you were getting lost in the sensations when she suddenly stopped. “tell me,” she insisted, her eyes were intent on your face as if searching for the truth.

“y-yes mommy..” you whimpered, feeling embarrassed to have to admit this to your step mother. “yes what, baby?” you squirmed under her scrutiny, not wanting to reveal your naughty fantasies out loud. with your hesitation, she decided to tease you further, her finger coming up and circling your entrance. she teased your opening, dipping just the tip of her finger in and out. you whined, her ministrations pleasant but not enough. “please,” you whined. she persisted with her teasing motions, careful not to give you too much stimulation. “tell me the truth milaya moya..i want to hear your say it.” you swallowed back some of your nerves, your fuzzy mind making it harder to want to hide the truth from her. “i’ve wanted you to touch me like this for so long, mommy..” your voice was breathless, your body became more desperate as her fingers continued teasing you.

“have you? what a naughty girl.. and here i was thinking you were a sweet, innocent little thing.” she cooed, her touch becoming more pleasurable as she rewarded your honesty by drawing firm circles around your clit. you moaned, your eyes slid shut wanting to savor every sensation she was pulling from your body.

“ah ah ah, open your eyes. watch mommy.” her voice was gentle yet commanding; you had no choice but to obey. you opened your eyes and find that where her eyes were once green, they were now almost black with desire. “have you ever stuck your fingers inside here before?” her finger gently prodded at your opening, you body wiggling at the sensation.

“o-once..” while the experience wasn’t entirely unpleasant, you didn’t understand why girls would pleasure themselves that way. it just didn’t feel that good to you. “and you didn’t like it?” she gently probed, the hand that wasn’t teasing your entrance caressing the outside of your thigh.

you shook your head, opting to remain silent to answer her question. “that’s perfectly normal, baby. you know what though? i’ll bet mommy can find that special spot inside of you. will you let me try?” truthfully, she was going to try it regardless of what you said. she knew she would be able to find that sweet, spongy spot to curl her fingers against, drawing white hot pleasure from you. you nodded your head slowly, sucking your bottom lip into your mouth nervously.

with how wet you were, wanda was sure two of her fingers could easily slip inside. she watched you as your eyes were locked in on her hand that was between your legs. when she slipped her two fingers inside your hole, you gasped. there was a slight pressure from the stretch but you found it only added to the pleasure you felt. her face contorted with yours and she mimicked your facial expression, wholly invested in your pleasure as if it were her own.

her fingers moved slowly at first, but soon after picked up the pace. you threw your head back, your eyes shutting once again.

“open your eyes, pretty girl. look at me.” you whimpered, reluctantly opening your eyes again to look into hers. she chose that moment then to curl her fingers up against that spongy spot inside you. your mouth formed an “o,” your brows pulling together as you whined, the feeling surprising you. she quickly picked up the pace, her fingers curling and rubbing up against your g spot with fervor. “that’s it baby. you feel that? you feel mommy inside of you?” you moaned and bucked your hips into her hand, feeling her thumb start to circle your clit.

you felt the pressure building in your lower abdomen, your heart starting to pound in your chest as you get closer to your climax. one of your hands clutched onto her wrist of the hand that was pumping in and out of your wet hole.

“mommy! gonna cum!” your body was writhing and shaking under her touch. you finally become unraveled as she leans down and wraps her lips around your clit, suckling the bundle of nerves into her mouth. the moan you let out was downright pornographic as she helps you ride out your high; her fingers slowing and her tongue giving you little kitten licks until you were fully back down to earth.

you chest rose and fell heavily as you tried to catch your breath. wanda crawled up your body, her legs on either side of your hips as she gently rested her upper body atop of yours. she brushed some stray hairs behind your ear, taking note of your adorably flushed cheeks. your eyes were closed as you gathered yourself and when they peeked open to look at hers, they were met with a sea of green. a small smile was tugging on the corners of her lips.

“hi,” you whispered quietly, your eyes slightly hooded as your orgasm only made you feel sleepy again. “hi, baby love,” she smiled at you, her eyes crinkling and her nose scrunching. you give her back a small smile of your own, your brain and body feeling fuzzy and light. “mmm i feel like jello, mommy.” she chuckled gently at your chosen word to describe how you feel. “yeah?” she leaned in and began peppering light kisses all over your face, relishing in your cuteness. you giggled softly, wrapping your arms around her neck to keep her there. she scooted over, maneuvering herself so she was lying next to you with your body pulled close against hers.

you two lie there in silence for several minutes, just enjoying each others company. “wanda?” you questioned, your voice soft and a little hesitant. “hmmm?”

“how long have you wanted to do that to me?”

wanda smiled to herself which you didn’t see with your face tucked under into her neck.

“a long time.” she said simply.

[aerynwrites]

Unexpected, But Not Unwelcome

Gale Dekarios x afab!Reader/Tav

A/N: based on this request - god I literally wrote this the second that I got it lol. Gale was the perfect one to write this request for imo and it was such a pleasure!

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: pregnant reader, slight angst, pregnancy, fluff.

The longer you’ve lived in Waterdeep the more you start to understand why the balcony outside the study is Gales' chosen spot in his tower. 

You still remember the slight shock you felt when you first arrived to see the space was exactly like the illusion he showed you all those months ago. 

Now it’s also become your place of solace, much to the wizards delight. 

“Views like this are much better enjoyed with company. And I couldn’t wish for a better half to spend it with.” 

The balcony is swathed in deep orange light, the sun slowly creeping towards the horizon, the bottom just barely kissing the edge of sea way out in the distance. Her fading rays dance along the calm bay waters, the only disturbance to its surface being the few ships leaving or entering port. 

‘What do they carry?’ you wonder. 

Fine silks and clothing? Or perhaps rare spices from across the world. It’s a game you find yourself playing more often than not whenever you sit out here. But now…

Now it’s all you can do to try and focus on the ships, your mind constantly flitting back to the news you were given earlier in the day. 

You’d missed your monthly cycle a few weeks back, and while it wasn’t immediately alarming, that along with other symptoms finally made you decided to seek out a healer. 

Gale had told you of his plans to spend the day at Sorcerers Sundries, looking for a specific tome for research he was working on. So, today was the perfect day to slip away unnoticed. You didn’t want to worry your husband unnecessarily, but now you want nothing more than for him to be home, the news eating away at you. 

You’re pregnant. 

It’s honestly nothing you’ve ever truly thought about. Before the tadpoles, you’d been alone, just living day to day in Baldur’s Gate. Then of course the whole tadpole incident happened and then…you met Gale and fell in love and started to build a life with him here, in Waterdeep. 

You’re honestly surprised the topic never came up. But now, with it staring you in the face…a sense of uncertainty settles deep in your belly. 

Tara noticed immediately of course, aware of your unusual quietness as you retreated to the balcony as soon as you got home. You’d found yourself spilling the news to the intelligent cat as soon as she asked, her deep eyes softening ever so slightly as she jumped in your lap and curled up. 

You couldn’t help but sense a wave of excitement coming from her, though. A sense that somewhat calmed you despite the nerves running wild in your mind. 

That was a few hours ago, Tara hasn’t moved from her spot, lounging peacefully as you stroked her fur and watch the ships glide across the water. 

Only the very distant sound of the tower door opening and closing, and Gales faint greeting finally pulls you from your thoughts, that anxiety creeping back in full force as you tense. 

Tara sits up as well, stretching and letting out an enviable yawn. You wish you could be that relaxed. 

“Relax, dear,” Tara says gently, nuzzling your hand before turning to jump from your lap. “I feel you have nothing to be worried about.” 

She turned and pads towards the inside of the tower just as Gale appears in the archway, stopping to offer her a welcoming scratch before she disappears.

He sends you a warm smile as he rights himself, approaching and taking a seat next to you on the padded bench, arm wrapping around your waist instinctively as he presses a kiss to your temple.

“How was your day, my love?” He asks, nose nuzzling your cheek. 

You smile, realizing it doesn’t quite reach your eyes past the anxiety roiling in your chest. “It was good,” you tell him, not completely lying but not offering the full truth either. “How was your adventure to Sorcerer’s Sundries?” 

At the mention of the bookstore Gale’s eyes light up as he tells you about what he found. Slowly, as he talks about the new information he found regarding his research, you both maneuver into a more comfortable position. Gale moves to lay across the length of the padded bench, leaning against the armrest as you settle between his legs, back resting against his chest. 

His arms wrap loosely around your middle, hands resting over your stomach, completely unaware of the life that’s now growing there. 

His words fade into the background as your mind starts to wander again, your hands moving to rest atop his own, your fingers slipping to toy with the simple gold band around his ring finger.

You don’t truly have many worries about the news. You know that Gale will weather anything with you but…you don’t want this to be a storm, or anything negative. What if Gale doesn’t want children? What if he pulls away from you when you tell him the news or is just as scared as you feel?

Soft lips against your neck pull you from your thoughts, familiar fingers slipping between your own to give them a squeeze. 

“I know my research ramblings can at times be boresome. However, you seem to be lost to me more than usual this evening.” His words are gentle with just a touch of amusement as rests his head against yours. “What’s on your mind?”

You don’t respond right away, your nerves at an all time high and making your already tumultuous stomach even more uneasy. You squeeze his hand in yours.

“I went to see a healer today.”

Gale’s arms tighten around you, and you can feel the way he sits up straighter, your words concerning him. 

“A healer? I didn’t even notice - are you sick?” He asks, worry clear in his voice. “I cannot believe I was so preoccupied I failed to take note of-“

You tug on the sleeve of his robes, holding him tighter to you. “I’m not sick. At least not…” You trail off, taking your lip between your teeth.

Gale urges you on with a gentle press of his lips to your shoulder, and that action alone seems to calm the raging sea of anxiety within you. 

“I’m with child, Gale.” 

The silence that follows your revelation feels oppressive. The only sounds meeting your ears being the lapping of waves against the shore and the distant call of gulls in the air. 

Emotion clogs your throat as you clutch his hand. “Please…say something.”

You sit up then, turning to face the man behind you, but before you can fully do so, two strong arms wrap around you and bring you to your feet. Your surroundings turn into a blur around you as Gale spins you through the air, boisterous laughter falling from his lips until he brings you to a stop, capturing you in a breathtaking kiss. 

His lips are warm and his arms secure as he holds you to him, as if afraid this would all fade away if he were to let you go. 

Heat floods your cheeks when he pulls away, elation adorning his features as he looks at you, eyes glowing with an utter joy you’ve never quite seen on him before. He cradles your face in his hands, thumbs brushing softly against your cheeks. 

“I’m going to be a father? We’re going to have a child?” He asks, whispering the words in unbelieving reverence. 

The smile that splits your lips is almost painful, any and all anxiety dissipating from you as you take in his reaction. 

“Yes they…The healer said I would start showing soon, and if we want…Towards the end of the pregnancy they should be able to tell us the gender,” you tell him, hands grasping at the fabric of his robe. 

Gale smiles wider, hands falling down to cradle your stomach and the new life that sits there. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he says gently. “They will be loved either way, and no doubt a powerful wielder of the weave if I have anything to say about it.”

You can’t stop the chuckle that slips past your lips, and the surprising happy tears that fall down your cheeks. Gale notices the streaks immediately, smile faltering ever so slightly as he reaches back up to wipe the tears away.

“Why the tears? This is a joyous occasion, we should be celebrating!” 

You shake your head, reaching up to place your hand atop his own as you turn to press a kiss to his palm. “They aren’t tears of grief…I was worried. Worried about telling you. I didn’t…we’ve never talked about children.”

Your husband smiles gently, eyes reassuring as he leans in to press a kiss to the corner of your lips. “I can admit that this news was unexpected, but it’s…it is not unwelcome,” he tells you, eyes bright once more. “I’ve never given much thought to children because of everything that had consumed my mind in the past and then you appeared in my life and took over the rest of my thoughts,” he laughs. “But this…” He presses his hands to your belly again. “This is more than I could have ever asked for. More than any power I’ve ever dreamed of having. I find myself filled with indescribable joy at the thought of creating a life with you - a family.”

You press your lips to his as soon as the words leave his lips, pulling him impossibly closer until you break away to nuzzle into the space between his head and shoulder, excitement and happiness threatening to burst from your chest. 

“I love you, Gale Dekarios.” You say, smiling as he pulls you tighter against him. “I can’t wait to start a family with you.”

You move to speak, but the presence of a familiar winged feline interrupts you as Tara rushes onto the balcony, wiggling happily. 

“Oh my!” She exclaims, weaving between yours and Gale’s legs before jumping effortlessly up to perch on his shoulder as you both separate. “This is most exciting! Another Dekarios, can you believe it?” She asks, turning to Gale. “Hopefully this one won’t light himself on fire like you did all those years ago.”

You watch in amusement as Gale flushes a light shade of pink, flicking Tara’s ear playfully. “I was just starting to learn to master the weave! And I was eight, you can hardly blame me.”

You chuckle at their antics and reach up to card your hands through his hair at the nape of his neck, drawing his attention back to you.

“Well, they will have the best teacher. There’s no telling what they will accomplish with you as their guide.”

Gale smiles, leaning down to kiss you one last time before embracing you once more. 

“We’ll guide them together.”

You hum in agreement, basking in the golden rays of the setting sun, the snapping of sails echoing across the water as you whisper against his skin. 

“Together.”

Tags:

@dark-and-kawaii

[goldsbitch]

can I request a Lando x reader where the reader’s weakness is when people stroke her hair? Her mind goes completely blank and she falls silent immediately when people stroke her hair and Lando uses it at his advantage.

Fluffy pls and ty🫶🏻

omg, i love this prompt so much - thank you and hope you like it!!

This is one is dripping with sweetness a little too much, don't say I did not warn you. No other warning.

Lando was born a tease, oscillating between clueless and shy, to unapologetic and bordeline dickish. It all depended on the setting, his relationship to the person and how much sleep he got the night before. Sometimes your boyfriend was the sweetest little thing, giggling shyly about everything instead of coming up with an actual response, and the other times he was a walking menace actively seeking every opportunity how to get you into a flustered state.

You and Lando were full on deep in the beginning of your relationship, the sweetest part of the honeymoon phase. To put it bluntly - fucking almost non stop. And the desire was never-ending. Blinding sunshine kissed good morning to every day you two got to wake up next to each other. Problems seem to be non existent. Bliss.

It was the way his hair curled when he got a little bit sweaty, his toned body what you were desperate to explore from every angle and the need to know every little secret trick that worked on him. It became some sort of a game, who would get better at knowing the other. Which one of you found all the buttons to push.

Lando rose up that morning and chose violence. Metaphorical one, of course. Snuggling up to you in order to wake you up as well for some morning work out, as he like to call it. Whispering sweet nothings to your ear and touching you all over your body. But you were just incredibly sore from the past few days, physically unable to keep up.

"Why don't you love me anymore," he pleaded jokingly as you murmured another weak appeal for your sleep.

"Lando, you know I love you more than anything," you replied, still half asleep. But it was hard to distinguish as reality resembled a sweet dream everyday lately.

"I remember when you used to want me, physically," he kept going.

"We literally had sex few hours ago, stop whining," you kissed him between your words. He looked at you with his incredible eyes, little devil dancing in each one of them.

"Exactly, too long ago. Wish I could go back in time when you were not sore and get inside you all over again."

You simply laughed, absolutely smitten with this lovey dovey side of him. His words made you melt like butter sitting under direct sun. You brushed your noses together and then he kissed you.

The best part of romantic relationships is the one that you cannot absolutely share with other people, the almost embarrassing pleas, desire and gross goofiness, simping at each other all the time.

"Fine, if you play by these rules, I'll come back with my own revenge," he said finally as you inevitably had to start getting ready to go to the paddock with him.

Today was the big day. You'd been spotted in public countless of times, the "girlfriend" title officially sitting on your head for weeks now. But this was the first time you were to join him in the paddock as a wag. You were trying to hide your nervousness, but he saw right through you. Before you exited the apartment, he made you stop and took your face in his hands. "I'm happy I get to do this with you. I love parading you around, for everyone to see that we're a team." You smiled, his words hitting like first snowflakes of the year. "Poor Oscar, I can't wait to finally trauma dump the shared misery you bring to our lives," you jokes and locked lips with him once again. "God, it's terrifying how much I like you," you said automatically, without having to think about it.

//

It actually wasn't as bad as you'd expected. It was definitely weird and strange, but not necessarily bad. Having Lando by your side as you passed the gates definitely helped. The photographers were lined up as people at a shooting range would and it did feel like that at first. But as quickly as you were initially overwhelmed, fatigue took over you and you blocked their ever-presence out. Trying to chat up those Lando introduce you to and memorizing the names. You knew how much some of these people meant to Lando, so you were trying to be at your best behavior. The thought that his friends would hate you in the same way as some of his fans haunted you.

In the middle of all the rush, you parted for a moment. To be honest, little peace of quiet and chill was something you appreciated. But remember, Lando woke up and chose violence this morning. And his plan was quite simple, yet bulletproof.

"Y/N! There you are, my love," you heard from coming from behind you. "I have someone to introduce to you! I'm very much sure you'll appreciate meeting him." As you turned, you saw Daniel Ricciardo walking your way with your Lando. You were a little perplexed as to why Lando was so cheerful about that. You clearly remembered him getting very upset when you admitted to him that at some point in the past, when formula 1 was a world far away from you, that you had a minor crush on Daniel. Which obviously went out of the window once you met Lando. That did not mean that Lando was 100% ok with it.

"Y/N, as I'm sure you know, this is Daniel, hell of a driver and good friend of mine," Lando continued and you knew him well enough to know he had ulterior motives. Not sure what to do, you smiles shyly and shook Daniel's hand.

"Hi, Daniel," you said, eyes flinching between him and Lando. You were full on preparing for anything. Lando's smirk almost had a life of his own at that point.

"Nice to finally meet you, Y/N. I've heard quite a lot things about you!" Daniel opened, life of the party as per usual.

You chuckled. "All good things, I hope!" And with that, Lando stepped behind you and put his arm around you.

"Only the best," he said, leaned closed and inconspicuously started to stroke you hair gently. Oh, he did not just go this low.

It was slow, yet like tidal wave. You stopped breathing for a moment. Your body relaxing, as if you'd just taken the world's best sedatives. The way his hands made you feel was etherial. It was the same sensation the luckier ones experienced when listening to ASMR and the less fortunate ones sometimes called an orgasm. Shivers slowly traveling around your whole body, every part becoming sensitive out of nowhere. You weren't able to look at Daniel, let alone continue speaking. Lando was more than aware of what touching your hair did to you. He'd discovered this trick quite early on. And it was his favorite one.

"So, where are you from?" Daniel attempted at small talk. But how could you possibly give a fuck at that moment. Not that your body would even allowed you to respond. The only thing you were able to take in from the outside world were the soft slow movements Lando's fingers were doing, blocking everything out instanteniously.

Daniel stared at you, waiting. From his perspective, this was a very awkward meeting.

Lando answered for you, with a smirk you did not see, but could feel from the tone of his voice. "You have to excuse her, she is bit shy in front of new people."

You could not give less of a fuck at that moment of what these two were saying. Your lips were starting to shiver from getting so sensitive. You took a short breath and someone who would be standing close and knew you well would know, that what escaped your mouth was not a nervous laugh, but something very close to a moan.

Lando and Daniel were saying words, but none of that was important, while Lando's fingers were working his magic. He would only leave your hair alone once he saw Daniel leaving.

You wanted to be mad at him. But you were still sort of high from all the sensation bomb Lando dropped on you. You slowly turned around to face him, coming down from your own personal nirvana.

You took a deep breath while he watched you without a blink and biting hims smile away.

"You promised," you let out air that got stuck in your lungs somewhere along the way. "You promised you would not do this in public." Your brain was slowly wiring up to normal again.

"I told you I'd punish you for the morning," he said as if it was the most amusing thing ever. "Also, if Daniel is my competition, I'm going to use all the advantage I have."

Lando had a way of looking at you that made you unravel instantaneously and there was no way of stopping it. There was just something about his smile that did it for you. As anyone who is properly in love, you could not imagine somebody being able tor resist that. In your love soaked mind, he was irresistible. To a normal mind, he was probably just a regular guy, but that idea was unfathomable to you.

"I'm pretty sure that after what I just pulled, you will not have to worry about Daniel liking me," you chuckled, having to accept that Lando won this one.

"I would never let my guard down...But yeah, I think this one is pretty safe," he chuckled once more. You kissed his overly proud face and promised to yourself to get back at him later, in the privacy of his bedroom.