#went from sniffling to laughing in a second

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Collision 11/20

Summary:

Lando always had a type : blonde, models, not ready to settle down. Yet once he met her, all his world is changed and he slowly start to realises maybe he was wrong all this time.

It's a prequel story of The Cat Distribution System, on how Lando Norris fall in love with Ariana. Could be read seperatly.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : SMAU, Fluff, slow burn, enventual smut and angst

Warning : none

CHAPTER 11 : SMAU

Serie Masterlist

Lando stirred in his room, wrapped in a sheet, limbs heavy with sleep. The ceiling fan above spun lazily. Outside, the sound of the ocean whispered in through the open windows. 

He blinked once, twice, adjusting to the warmth, to the hum of tropical sun. 

He had slept in, really slept in, the first time in days since he arrived, he’d let himself fall, maybe because it was easier than thinking. Than missing her. 

The smell of fresh fruit and something sizzling wafted through the air. 

Then came the music : loud, sunny, Brazilian pop with too much rhythm for how early it was. And laughter. A burst of it, coming from the kitchen, echoing across the patio. Rebecca and Kika, probably. Maybe Alexandra. His friends were already up and living. 

Lando rolled out of bed, hair a mess, shirtless in old grey shorts. He scratched at the back of his neck and made his way down the hallway toward the kitchen. 

He smiled briefly when he saw the scene, Pierre flipping pancakes, Max already halfway through a smoothie, Carlos and Charles mock-dancing by the coffee machine, all of them sun-kissed and laughing like the world was brand new. 

But even standing in that sunlit room, the warm tile under his feet, the sound of joy all around him.

His heart was still in London. 

In a quiet flat where a ballerina wore his hoodie and kissed him slow. 

He walked past them with a quiet wave and grabbed a banana from the counter, mind still elsewhere. 

And then, his phone rang. 

Her name lit up the screen. 

'Ariana '

His heart stuttered. 

He answered before the second ring. “Ari?” 

“Lando,” she breathed. Her voice was raw. Shaky. Wrong. 

He straightened up fast, banana forgotten. “What’s wrong?” 

“I—” Her voice cracked. “Something happened.” 

His body went cold. “Ari, what is it? Are you hurt? Do I need to come back? Just tell me, I’ll—” 

“No,” she said quickly. “No, don’t come back. It’s not that. It’s not life-threatening.” 

The sound of her breath hitched, and he could tell she was crying. Really crying. 

His voice dropped. “Talk to me.” 

“I hurt my ankle, badly this time” she whispered. “ During rehearsal.” 

He closed his eyes. “Shit.” 

“It’s not broken,” she rushed to say. “But it’s badly bruised. The physio said it needs rest. Four weeks, at least.” 

His mouth went dry. 

“They’ve already transferred my roles to someone else,” she continued, her voice now trembling. “I can’t dance. I had to pull out of everything. They told me to stop immediately. They said if I push it, it could lead to a tear.” 

Lando leaned hard against the wall. 

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured. 

“I don’t know what to do,” she said, sobbing now. “It's my fault, I push to much and now I pay the price, fuck what I was thinking...” 

He could hear how broken she felt. The helplessness behind every word. Like her whole identity had cracked with that one injury. 

“I feel like a failure,” she whispered. “Everyone else is working. They’re on stage. They’re doing something. I’m just… alone.” 

“Ari, no—” 

“I am. I’m alone. My friends are all busy. I can’t train. I can’t perform. My contract here is ending. I won’t have a salary until Paris in February. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be if I’m not dancing.” 

Her voice crumbled on that last sentence. 

Lando’s stomach twisted. 

And then, without hesitation, he said the one thing that came to him: 

“Come to Brazil.” 

Silence. 

Ariana sniffled. “What?” 

“Come here,” he repeated. “Come stay with us. With me. You wouldn’t be alone.” 

“Lando…” 

“I mean it.” 

She went quiet for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was small. “I don’t want to intrude. It’s your friends. I barely know them. I’d feel out of place.” 

“You know Max. You know Pietra. They already adore you. And the others? They’re amazing. They’ll love you, Ari.” 

“I wouldn’t even have the budget,” she said, almost apologetically. “Not for a plane ticket. Or a share in the house. I have to wait until my contract kicks back in next month. I can’t just—” 

“Ariana.” 

He cut her off gently, but firmly. 

“I’ll pay for it. Everything.” 

“Lando—” 

“I’m serious,” he said. “Flight, room, food, whatever you need. If you don’t have a swimsuit, I’ll buy you one. If you want mangoes for breakfast and iced tea and a playlist made just for you, I’ll handle it.” 

“But—” 

“I want you here,” he said, his voice steady now. “Not just so you won’t be alone. Because I don’t want to be here without you. I feel off. You’ve been in my head since I left. And if this injury is giving you a rare break, maybe it’s a sign.” 

“A sign?” 

“That you’re supposed to rest,” he said. “Not just your ankle. You. You give so much to dancing. Maybe it’s time to receive something back. Let people care for you. Let me take care of you, please.” 

A pause. 

He could hear her breathing through the line. 

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “It feels too big.” 

“It’s not,” he said. “You already matter to me. And this? This isn’t an obligation. It’s a chance. So just say yes.” 

A longer pause. 

“…okay.” 

His breath caught. “Yeah?” 

“I’ll come.” 

He let out a sound somewhere between a shout and a laugh, running his hand through his hair. “Oh my God, Ari.” 

She laughed too, broken, teary, but real. 

“You sure?” 

“I am,” she said. “I don’t know why. But I trust you.” 

“You won’t regret it,” he promised. “Send me your passport info. I’ll book it now. I’ll be waiting at the airport. Everything’s going to be okay.” 

She sniffled again. “You’re kind of wonderful, you know that?” 

He smiled. “Only because you are.” 

As soon as the call ended, Lando exploded into the kitchen. 

“She’s coming!” he shouted. 

Everyone looked up. 

Max blinked. “What?” 

“Ariana. She’s coming here.” 

Pietra dropped her fork. “Wait, what?!” 

“Tomorrow. I’m booking her flight now. She’s staying with us.” 

Kika clapped her hands. “Yes. Oh my god, I wanted to meet her properly!” 

Carlos grinned. “Is she okay?” 

“She hurt her ankle,” Lando said. “She’s out of rehearsals. She’s struggling, and she needs a break, and I need her here, so she’s coming.” 

Pietra was already grabbing her phone. “She can stay in the guest room next to ours. I’ll go into town for snacks and sunscreen. And dresses. She’ll need something summery!” 

Max raised a brow. “You’re glowing, man.” 

Lando grinned. “I feel like I’ve just won something.” 

He didn’t care about the trip anymore. Not the parties. Not the beach. 

He just cared that she was on her way. 

And suddenly, the house didn’t feel like someone else’s vacation anymore. 

It felt like something was finally beginning. 

The airport was buzzing with the heat of midday sun, the air thick with humidity and travel and the scent of unfamiliar spices drifting from the cafés. Lando stood at the arrivals gate, pacing in a tight little loop in his hoodie and shorts, sunglasses pushed into his curls. He checked the board again. And again. 

Landing: 11:42 — Paris to São Paulo. 

He felt like he was going to explode. 

When her flight finally touched down and the passengers began spilling out in waves of tired faces and dragging luggage, his heart jumped into his throat with every brunette who passed, every girl with ballet posture or a delicate tote bag. 

And then, there she was. 

Wearing a delicate, rosy pink camisole top that flowed around her like soft cotton candy, paired with a white skirt that barely skimmed the tops of her thighs. Her sandals tapped softly against the tile, one hand pulling her small suitcase. 

Lando forgot how to breathe. 

She saw him, and smiled. 

It wasn’t the polite kind. It was relief and warmth and maybe a little disbelief that they were actually in the same place again. 

“Ari,” he breathed. 

She walked straight into his arms and he hugged her like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it. She smelled just like he remember and he get lost in the scent of her perfume.

“You’re really here,” he murmured into her hair. 

“I’m really here.” 

He pulled back slightly, hands on her waist. “How’s the ankle?” 

“Still attached,” she said with a soft laugh. “Bruised, but okay.” 

“And you? You need water? Food? Flowers for your hair?” 

“I just need you,” she said, so simply it nearly shattered him. 

The drive from the airport to the house was filled with low music and endless questions. 

Lando had his hand resting gently on her knee, his other on the wheel. “Okay, so seriously. What do you need? Food? Sunscreen? Ice cream? I can buy you every flavor.” 

She smiled. “Lando…” 

“Or, do you want to nap first? Or maybe you want to shower? Or—” 

“I just want to get there,” she said softly, lacing her fingers through his. “Be with you. That’s it.” 

She turned to look at him, her hair catching the sun. “You sure you’re okay with me coming here like this?”

He squeezed her hand. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”  

When they arrived, the house burst with sunlight and laughter. 

The open terrace was alive with movement, flip-flops, music, girls in bathing suits and boys tossing balls into the pool. It looked like the setting of a summer dream. 

Pietra was the first to spot them. 

She dropped her drink and ran. 

“Ari !” she yelled, arms flinging around her in a blur of perfume and colorful nails. “You’re here! Oh my god, I was praying you’d come!” 

Ariana giggled, hugging her back. “You did?” 

“Of course! I already picked out a beach dress for you! You will look like a fairy.” 

Then Max showed up beside them, offering a big grin and a warm handshake. “Welcome to paradise, ballerina.” 

Ariana grinned back. “Thank you. And… thanks for letting me crash your trip.” 

“Crash? Please. You’re an upgrade.” 

Lando slipped beside her again, hand lightly at her lower back as he led her inside. “Alright, time to meet the others.” 

One by one, the rest of the group came forward, Rebecca, Charles and Alexandra, Carlos, Pierre and sweet Kika, all smiles, all warm. There were compliments, hugs, drinks passed into her hands, plates made for her with fruit and little snacks. Someone took her suitcase. Someone else offered her sunscreen even though she hadn’t been outside for more than a minute. 

“You look like you belong here,” Rebecca said, admiring Ariana’s outfit. “Seriously, adorable.” 

“That top is so romantic,” Kika added.  

Ariana laughed, blushing. “I wasn’t sure what to wear, so I just… packed summer.” 

“You look like a spring goddess,” Alexandra said, already pouring her a coconut mocktail. 

Lando just stood beside her, glowing with pride, watching everyone fall in love with her the way he already had. 

Dinner that night was laid out under the stars. 

They’d arranged long tables on the patio with glowing fairy lights, tropical flowers, candles. Everyone helped. Lando grilled meat. Max cut up fruit while Ariana was nestled beside Pietra, giggling as the group tossed jokes and playful jabs across the table. 

“So, Ari,” Charles asked, “you’re the one who crashed the go-kart?” 

Ariana covered her face. “No one was supposed to know about that.” 

“Oh, we know everything,” Rebecca said. “Lando talks in his sleep.” 

“I do not—” 

“He said your name last night,” Max chimed in. “Swear on my life.” 

Ariana glanced at Lando with wide eyes. “You did?” 

Lando flushed red. “Fake news.” 

“He said ‘Ari, don’t spin out!’” Carlos teased, laughing so hard he nearly spilled his drink. 

Everyone roared with laughter. 

Ariana leaned into Lando’s shoulder. “You’re never going to live this down.” 

He looked down at her, eyes soft. “I don’t mind. If it means you’re here.” 

After dinner came the talk of sleeping arrangements. 

Pietra turned to Ariana. “So, we have the guest room, next to ours. It’s cute, has AC, and I put out fresh towels.” 

Lando cleared his throat, standing behind Ariana. “Actually, I was wondering if she wanted to… stay with me.” 

The group quieted just a beat, eyebrows raised. 

“I mean, only if you want,” he added quickly. “I’ve got the biggest bed. No pressure. Just… I sleep better with you there.” 

Ariana looked up at him. Her heart squeezed. 

“I’d like that,” she said softly. 

Lando led her upstairs, making sure she didn't hurt her ankle more and carrying her smaller bag while another friend brought the suitcase up. His hand never left hers. 

His room was airy and clean, a big king bed dressed in linen sheets, a fan humming in the celling, and a sliding glass door that opened to a balcony looking out at the ocean. 

As soon as they were alone, he dropped the bag and rushed to her, arms wrapping around her waist, lips pressing against her mouth in a kiss that was all relief and longing. 

She laughed into it. “Missed me?” 

“Missed you like air.” 

She looked up at him, barefoot in his room, looking at him. 

And smiled. 

“I’m happy I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m happy with you.” 

@landonorris sunset swims, cold drinks, best company 🌊🍻 📍Brazil

@maxfewtrell did you finally smile because i beat you at paddle or bc of the caipirinhas 🤔

@pietrapilao this energy >>> 🫶🏼

@charles_leclerc you forgot to tag your personal photographer

@alexsaintmleux you're literally glowing now 🌞

@pierregasly vibes immaculate tbh 😎

@carlossainz55 this beach trip aged you backwards mate

@landoeditz he looks like he’s breathing again omg 😭😭

@lantern.boy not to be that person but... this is love era vibes 🥹

@sunsetgrid the glow, the smile, the energy... someone is happy now

@f1shenanigans went from "lost boy" to "beach boy" real quick 🏖️✨

@brasilgpqueen this is NOT the same man from two days ago i fear 😭💛

@fastlanefever i’m not saying he’s in love but like... he’s in LOVE.

@drsopenpls the way you can tell he’s healed just by the sunset pics 😭🫶

@pietrapilao

girls summer trip (plus 5 annoying other guys we can’t get rid of) 💖

@maxfewtrell we’re literally the reason you’re having fun stop lying 😭

@charles_leclerc you wouldn’t survive without us be honest 😌

@alexandra_saintmleux girls trip supremacy though 💅🏻

@kikagomes literally forced to bring the boys 😭

@rebeccadonaldson pietra carried the vibes all week tbh ✨

@pierregasly i demand a recount i swear i’m more fun than you give me credit for

@landonorris i’m offended. i’m charming. and helpful. and i bring snacks.

@carlossainz55 5 girls against 5 guys… who's winning? 😎 (comment deleted)

@grandprixgossip HELLOOOOO WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT CARLOS COMMENT 😭

@sunsetpitlane WHO IS THE FIFTH GIRL I’M NOT OK

@paddocktea carlos SAID 5 girls before deleting it 😭 lando you got something to tell us???

@lantern.boy SOFT LAUNCH SOFT LAUNCH SOFT LAUNCH 🚨

@beachvibesf1 bro carlos accidentally exposed lando’s secret gf LMAO

@fasttracklovers not the ballerina girl rumors being alive and thriving again 🩰

@f1wildchild the fandom is in SHAMBLES over a deleted comment 😭

@drsmodeon lando if you’re happy just SAY THAT no need for mystery 💀

@gridgossipers and here we thought we were over sadboi lando… turns out he’s just secretly whipped 🫶

@arianawaves Off dancing for a while, got an injury but nothing serious. I miss my cat but it's good to take some alone time for me as well 🤍🌊

@worrywartsclub is the injury really nothing serious? 😭 sending love anyway!!!

@oceanbby this energy is so peaceful i’m obsessed 😭🩵

@goldenhourspells we love a girl healing and thriving ✨✨

@sunsetfairy the vibes are IMMACULATE 🌺🌊💫

@beachblossom wait is she in Brazil too or am i crazy ???

@balletbabes someone said she’s with “friends” but why it looks like she's in the same place as Lando ??? 🤔

@catmomari okay but who’s taking these pics if she’s “alone” 👀👀👀

@fairytalemess pls let it be lando i’m begging 😭

Comments have been restricted on this post

@f1teaspill 🚨 Spotted! #LandoNorris seen getting cozy with a mystery brunette on a beach in Brazil 🌊 The pair were photographed hugging, laughing, and looking very very close. Fans are speculating this could be the mystery girl hinted at during the past weeks... 👀 No confirmation yet, but judging by these pics, Lando might not be as single as we thought!

@pitlaneprincess NO BECAUSE WHO IS SHE ??? I NEED NAMES 😭😭

@lantern.boy lando was never sad he was just missing her LMAO

@sunsetgrid her looking at him like he hung the stars bye 😭🖤

@f1shenanigans the way he’s clutching her like she’s gonna disappear 😭 real romantic movie behavior

@sadboylando guess we really were clowning ourselves with the single lando agenda huh 🤡

@softforlando she’s so pretty even from the back this isn’t fair 💔

@carlossainzstan i knew it. i KNEW he didn’t go on a couple trip to thirdwheel he was hiding her 😭

@pietrasheart lowkey living for him being this whipped. happy for u king 🫶🏼

@lando4everr if this is who’s been making him smile lately, then i approve 👏🏼

@weneedbetter idk was not Lando more into blonde 👀 not feeling this one tbh

@saltypitstop watch it be another "model" who disappears by the next season 🙄

@haterzcorner why does he always downgrade like i’m sorry but you can do better lando 😭😭

@speedyheartbreak hope she’s not using him for fame

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie, @linneaguriii, @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek, @actuallyazriel, @sofs16, @thulior, @sltwins, @knivesdoingcartwheels, @henna006

Let me know if you wanted to be added to the taglist !

[pit-stop-princess]

Click Click - Chapter Three

Ollie Bearman x Photographer!Fem!Reader

Kimi Antonelli & Antonelli!Sister!Reader

Summary: I came to F1 with my little brother Kimi to photograph his rookie season, not to fall for his best friend and Haas's golden boy. Somehow, Ollie Bearman keeps ending up in my shots!

Warnings: Angst, fluff, awkward text messages, young Kimi panicking, self-doubt, talk of perfection, picture of woman in swimsuit, light swearing

Word Count: 1694, not including text threads or social media posts

Notes: I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. It's very long. I'm graduating in just two weeks, so I've been feeling very nostalgic lately, and this chapter very much reflects that. Val's face claim is Niki Victoria for the sake of consistency. All in all, please enjoy and let me know what you liked about it!

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Nine Years Ago, ages 11 & 12

The kart was still smoking faintly when I reached the edge of the track, skidding to a stop just past the barriers. Kimi had ripped off his helmet and sat slumped in the grass, tear tracks already streaking the dirt on his cheeks. His hair stuck to his forehead in damp little curls, and he looked about two seconds from a full meltdown.

“My engine died,” he said, voice breaking halfway through. “It just- it stalled and I couldn’t fix it and I DNF’d the race and-”

“Hey,” I said, crouching in front of him. “Breathe, Kimi. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he sniffled. “I practiced so hard. And I was gonna win. You said I could win.”

“You can win.” I reached out and wiped a smudge of oil off his nose. “Just not today.”

He curled his hands into fists. “It’s not fair.”

“No,” I agreed. “But you’re not done yet.”

He looked up at me through wet lashes, lip wobbling. “What if I never make it?”

I smiled, even though my throat was suddenly tight. “Kimi, I swear on the stars you will. And when you do? I’ll be there. Every race. Every lap. Camera in hand, yelling louder than your entire pit wall.”

His eyes went wide. “You promise?”

“I promise,” I said, tears pricking my own eyes, pinky out. “You race. I’ll shoot. Deal?”

He linked his pinky with mine. “Deal.”

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Present Day

speed bump = Kimi, ollie bearman = Ollie Bearman, that bitch val = Valentina (Val)

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Val was waiting for me at the airport. She's tall, all sharp cheekbones and bright blue eyes, with beautiful curls that live in a perpetual state of artful chaos. She’s got the kind of style that looks effortlessly put together, even when it’s just thrifted jeans, a cropped tee, and golden hoop earrings.

We met at fourteen, two kids who dreamed too big for their school and the nuns who ran it.

Val was the new girl from Florence with clean blue nail polish and dreams of being a model. I was the girl with a camera instead of friends, always in the back of the classroom documenting shadows and corners and silence.

We were on a class trip when I asked if I could take a picture of her for the first time. I posed her, set up my angle, and got the shot. It was my first photo I was truly happy with since leaving Kimi.

When I showed Val the shot, she gripped my arm and told me I was the only one who made her look like her.

We’ve stuck together ever since.

She speaks with her hands, her heart, and absolutely no filter. One minute she’s dramatically reenacting a conversation with the cute barista at the cafe, the next she’s waxing poetic about the symbolism in a street mural or why that particular pigeon seems to be giving her attitude. There’s always a snack in her bag, a book with a cracked spine, and at least three bandages for other people’s blisters.

I told her how I loved motorsports, but stopped when Kimi went to the academy. I showed her the pictures I had taken, a year old at that point, and then newer pictures of people, landscapes, close-ups, and everything in between.

“You always think you’re photographing people doing something. Driving. Laughing. Walking. But the ones that matter, they’re when the person forgets they’re doing anything at all. It’s the breath between words. The blink after a smile. That’s the truth.”

When we left school, we built our empires. I would photograph for her, she would model for me. Our portfolios grew in tandem. She got her first job with a boutique brand in Milan. I got published in a small arts zine out of Rome. When I landed a travel feature for a new indie magazine, Val came with me to the Amalfi coast, wearing vintage scarves and red lipstick, standing barefoot on sea-slick rocks while I got the shot.

“You make me look like someone worth looking at,” she said once, quiet and serious, as we reviewed the prints in a café booth sticky with sugar.

I laughed. “You always were.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Before you, I just felt… pretty. Now I feel seen.”

And now, here she is, picking me up from the airport, hugging me so tight I lose my breath, already talking a mile a minute about the pasta she made and the barista she may or may not have a crush on but is too stubborn to admit it.

“I missed you,” I say into her hair, which smells like bergamot and sea salt.

She squeezes me tighter. “You left for, like, two weeks.”

“I know,” I say. “Too long.”

She pulls back, squints at me, then grins. “You look pale.”

“You look chaotic.”

“Thank you,” she says proudly. “Now come on. I made pesto. And I want to hear everything.”

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“So. Kimi sent you Ollie’s number, you texted first, he responded, and then the conversation died.”

“SÌ, basically. I think he might have been busy because he said he was ‘just training’ but I don’t know if I came across as too awkward.” I said, flopping down on her couch. “We haven’t talked outside of Kimi introducing us, so maybe it was too soon?”

Val shrugged her perfectly tan shoulder. “Maybe.”

“You’re supposed to lie and assure me it wasn’t too soon.”

She blinked at me. “Okay, you came off tragically normal. That’s even worse.”

I groaned and threw my arm over my eyes. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” She said, standing up gracefully. “Now come on, you’re back home, and we’re going to the beach. I need fresh air, and you need the sun.”

“I’m not that pale!”

She threw my swimsuit at me.

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I had missed the beach.

By the time we got down to the shore, the sun was bright and the sea was throwing glitter across the surface with every wave. I kicked off my shoes and wandered to the edge of the tide, the sand already cool and damp beneath my feet.

I just stood there, let the breeze get into my hair, let the waves pull at my ankles, let the sun kiss my skin. I could hear Val rustling around behind me, probably laying out her towel like a ritual, probably already monologuing to a seagull.

I turned just in time to see her toss a sun-warmed peach into the air and catch it like she was in a commercial for perfect summer evenings.

“Come on,” she called. “You're allowed to be dramatic, but not that dramatic.”

I laughed, and it felt good, loose and warm in my chest. I jogged back up the shore, collapsing beside her and stealing one of her chips.

“Hey!”

“Friend tax.”

We spent the rest of the day sunbathing and taking pictures. As much as I loved photographing F1, I missed taking photos of Val.

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❤️ liked by kimi.antonelli, valentinavlogs, olliebearman, & others

yourusername back home for a little while with @/valentinavlogs 🐚🩵

view comments

valentinavlogs lookin like a couple of baddies

⤷ yourusername girl what are you talking about 😭

user34 I wish this was my life

⤷ user23 don't we all??

kimi.antonelli come back ollie hasn't stopped asking about you

⤷ olliebearman shut up, kimi

❤️ liked by author

user80 will she be at the next race?

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Five Years Ago, ages 13 & 15

It was late.

Too late for the track to still be echoing in his head, but I could see it in the way he sat on the curb- hunched over, hands loose between his knees, helmet abandoned beside him like it’d said something mean. The kart was parked a few feet away, half-loaded onto the trailer, the last stragglers from the paddock already packing up and heading out.

I sat down next to him, not saying anything at first. Just breathed in the warm, dusty air, the scent of engine grease and old asphalt.

He didn’t look at me. Just said, flatly, “I was shit today.”

“You weren’t.”

“I was. I spun out. I missed the apexes. I didn’t listen.” He ran both hands through his hair, frustrated. “Everyone saw it. They always see it. Every mistake, every second too slow-”

“Kimi.”

He kept going like I hadn’t spoken. “And I can’t keep up. Not with the guys the scouts are watching. Not if I keep messing it up every time it counts. Maybe I’m not- maybe I’m not cut out for it.”

“Andrea.” I touched his arm. “Look at me.”

He did, eventually. Eyes bright and wet in the glow from the nearest overhead light, jaw tight with everything he couldn’t say out loud.

“You are not your lap time,” I said gently. “You are not your placing or your telemetry data or how many people are looking at you. You are the kid who listens. Who learns. Who takes everything people throw at him and actually gets better. That’s rare, Kimi.”

He sniffled, quietly. “Doesn’t feel like enough.”

I tilted my head, nudged my shoulder into his. “You want to be perfect. But you don’t need to be. The ones who last? They take the hits, take the lessons, and come back swinging. You already do that.”

He picked at a loose thread on his race suit. “You’re always chasing the perfect picture.”

“SÌ, I am. Everyone is chasing perfection fratellino, but all you can do is attempt to be better than your past self. Learn from your mistakes, give yourself grace, and prepare for the next round.”

He didn’t say anything, so I looked up, out, into the vast stretch of stars overhead, and said, “You know what I think about sometimes?”

He glanced at me. “…What?”

“How lucky it is. That we’re on the same planet. In the same moment in time. Under this same sky.” I gave him a small smile. “Like, out of every possible version of the universe, we ended up in this one. Where I get to know you. Be here with you.”

Kimi blinked. “That’s weirdly comforting.”

I shrugged. “We’re small. But we’re not alone.”

He leaned against me then. Just a little. Not enough to crush me with shoulder pads or helmet hair, but enough that I could feel him start to breathe normally again.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

“Always,” I whispered back. “I’m not going anywhere, Kimi. And even when I’m not beside you we are still under the same sky, remember?”

He looked up, lips twitching into something soft and tired and real. “Same sky.”

[em-prentiss]

lost all control of my heartbeat now

----

The cat’s nose twitches, more of its dark body slinking out in an attempt to sniff at his shoes. When Aaron looks back up, he finds Emily trying to stifle a laugh.

“Sorry about that, he’s nosy. Um, what brings you here?” She asks, not unkindly, her voice polite but fairly confused.

Excellent question. He only wishes he had the answer.

Word count: 3.3k

Ao3

----

It’s all Morgan’s fault.

He was the one who asked Emily what she was doing tonight. He was the one who started the conversation—never mind that she engaged in it—that led him here. She had wrinkled her nose, made her distaste for Valentine’s clear, and recommended them a Chinese place she said she’d be ordering from tonight.

Maybe he could blame the restaurant. Blame the nearly incomprehensible menu that sent him running out the door. The tiny, minuscule distance from it to Emily’s apartment.

But as Aaron rings her doorbell, he knows he’ll only be blaming himself.

He grows antsy in the few seconds it takes for her to open the door. His heart slowly picks up its pace at the thud of her footsteps on the floor, the twist of keys in the lock.

The door cracks open. Emily’s face comes into view, pale and bare of makeup. Her eyes are red, fresh tears running down her cheeks that she wipes away with the corner of the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” Aaron blurts out, subconsciously taking a step closer to the door. “Are you okay?”

His eyes flit over her. He can’t see a point of injury, but that makes it worse, internal. It’s barely been two weeks since—

“Hotch?” Emily’s eyes go wide. “What’s going on? Is there a case? I didn’t hear any—”

“No, there’s no case.” He says, relaxing in time with her when her shoulders slump. She nods haltingly and wraps her blanket tighter around herself. It’s not long enough to cover her legs—bare beneath gray cotton shorts and crossing at the ankles, half hiding behind the door. Aaron’s eyes snap back to hers, the confusion on her face adding to the heat gathering in his cheeks.

“Okay, uh…” She subtly tries to wipe the tears beneath her eyes, “Is everything okay?”

Her voice is a little nasal. She sniffles lightly, the tip of her nose red, and Aaron’s stomach churns.

“Are you?” He asks. The last time he saw her like this is still all too fresh in his mind. It makes him uneasy, seeing the shine of her eyes twice in about the same number of weeks. But her shoulders lift in a casual shrug, the lines of her body looser than they were in the jet.

“Oh, yeah, Sergio’s fur just got into my eyes.” Aaron stares blankly. “I’m mildly allergic, don’t worry about it,” Emily waves her hand dismissively, her gaze flitting down. She closes the door a crack. 

A meow sounds. Aaron looks down, too, surprised to see said black cat craning its head between the gap in the door. 

Well, at least that she wasn’t lying about. The cat’s nose twitches, more of its dark body slinking out in an attempt to sniff at his shoes. When Aaron looks back up, he finds Emily trying to stifle a laugh.

“Sorry about that, he’s nosy. Um, what brings you here?” She asks, not unkindly, her voice polite but fairly confused.

Excellent question. He only wishes he had the answer.

“The Chinese place.” Aaron blurts out again. Jesus, he’s forgotten how to talk.

“The Chinese place?” Emily echoes. She tilts her head, her gaze still blank. “What about the Chinese place?”

“Well, uh…you recommended it,” he says needlessly. Trapped beneath her eyes, he tugs a little at the too-tight tie around his throat, “And I went to check it out. Thought I’d give it a try since it’s close by and we hadn’t eaten, but…” But the restaurant was busy with couples and he already looked pathetic in his starched suit, standing out in the middle of a homey, family owned establishment with no one at his side. The heat travels to his ears and his gaze drops, now solely speaking to the cat that’s halfway out of the threshold, “I couldn’t figure out the menu.” 

The silence rings in Aaron’s ears. He stifles a grimace. The skin beneath his suit itches uncomfortably, hot and tight as he stares the cat in the eye and wonders how the hell he can get himself out now.

Suddenly the cat is getting closer, because the door has cracked wider and Emily is leaning out, her feet still inside the threshold of her apartment as she stretches her body out to meet him. “Well,” she says, her voice quivering with a barely concealed laugh, “you could’ve called, Hotch. I’d have given you some recs.” Dimples wink in her cheeks as she presses her lips together, eyes now shining with an entirely different light.

Aaron’s spine turns to liquid, because even if she’s laughing at him, she’s laughing. He offers back a meek smile, trying his best not to let his eyes drop down to the long expanse of her legs now fully in view.

“I hadn’t really thought of—”

His stomach rumbles. Loud enough that the cat shrinks back, running to Emily’s legs and winding itself around her ankles. 

Emily lets herself laugh this time, a proper one with teeth and dimples. The sound is familiar, singing in his ears, though he hasn’t heard it in a while. Aaron’s lips tug into an embarrassed smile, his face somehow burning impossibly hotter, but it doesn’t matter because she’s opening the door as far as it can go and gesturing for him to come inside.

“Come in. I already ordered but I’ll place another order for you, c’mon.” 

Aaron stares. 

What had he expected, really? 

Emily tilts her head impatiently. 

“That’s very kind of you, but—”

“Hotch,” she interrupts, rolling her eyes, “you already came all this way. I’m not letting you go without food. Unless—you didn’t have any plans, did you?”

Aaron clears his throat. “None.”

Emily smiles brightly. “Well then,” she steps out into the hallway, her fingers circling his wrist and tugging, “you can keep me company. Though I should let you know, I do have a date already,” she tilts her head to the cat. Her palm kisses the back of his hand, fingers pressing against his pulse, and Aaron can’t fight her as she gently pulls him inside. “He gets possessive.”

Somewhere far behind the thick fog in his brain, Aaron thinks he gets why her therapist assumed the damn cat was a person. Emily lets go of him once they’re inside, her warmth departing from his hand as she closes the door on them and the cat, firmly sealing him in. She locks it twice; the small action makes him think it’s habit, the way her wrist turns without stopping until two clicks sound in the silence between them.

Suddenly he thinks of a lonely apartment. A weakened woman hiding herself behind it, licking her wounds. Aaron drops his gaze, fiddling with his fingers to stop himself from over analyzing her every move. Shame bursts in his stomach, hot and acidic as the cat—Sergio, his name’s Sergio (who names a cat Sergio?)—sniffs at his oxfords.

Then Emily turns, and the light in her eyes breathes some easiness back into his chest.

“Are you staying in your coat?” She drawls, her brow arching. With the casual blanket around her shoulders and the soft ruffles adorning the hem of her shorts, he does seem overdressed, ridiculously so.

Aaron shrugs it off, ignoring her extended hand and hanging it on the hooks behind her himself. “I really didn’t mean to intrude,” he murmurs, following her into the living room.

“Yeah, I know,” Emily says, her voice absent as she picks up a worn menu from the coffee table, “you’re not. Do you have any allergies?

She tucks some of her hair behind her ear, her lips pursing as she skims the menu. The corners of her eyes are still red but no longer damp, and when his gaze flits about her living room, he finds the reason: Notting Hill is paused on the tv. Her couch is a mess of balled up tissues and another blanket, this one haphazardly spilling onto the floor, half of it still draped over the cushions. A half full glass of wine sits on her coffee table along with a handful of foil covered chocolates. 

A smile itches to spread across his face. So this is how Emily Prentiss spends Valentines: bundled up in her apartment with her freakishly human named cat, crying over a romcom as she drinks wine and waits for her Chinese takeout.

“Hotch?”

His eyes snap back to hers. The menu is still in her hands, her brows raised. 

Allergies. Right. They’ve known each other for six years and he’s never mentioned any.

“No.” He clears his throat, “No allergies.”

“Good,” Emily hums. “Sit.”

He takes a hesitant seat on the part of the couch not littered with tissues. Silence falls between them as she takes out her phone and dials a number, putting it to her ear and turning on her heel. She walks out of the living room, the edges of her blanket flapping as she leaves him with the cat.

But even the cat doesn’t stay. It follows her dutifully, black tail curling in the air as it chases after her ankles with a cheerful tinkle of the bell at its collar.

Still perching stiffly on the edge of her couch, Aaron stares up at Julia Roberts and wonders how exactly did he get here. He can hear Emily’s voice floating in from the kitchen, distant and muffled through the walls. He doesn’t miss her long before she’s back again, the phone squished between her shoulder and her ear, a wine glass slotted between her fingers.

“—yeah, and could you bring it with the first order? Thanks.”

She hangs up and tosses the phone onto the couch, holding up the glass. “Can I offer you some?”

Aaron thinks of his car downstairs. The thought doesn’t last long, because she’s looking at him with irises as deep as the night he just came in from.

“Sure. Thanks.”

She fills his glass and tops off her own, then gathers the balled up tissues with a sheepish smile. A blush dusts her cheeks as she tosses them in the trash, hastily picks up the wilting blanket off the floor.

“Sergio’s fur got into your eyes?” He asks, fighting back the urge to smile when she wrinkles her nose. Every part of him wrings with affection. “Didn’t think rom coms would be your type.” Aaron says, surprised at the way his voice lilts teasingly.

“No?”

He shakes his head. 

“They can be cheesy, but sometimes you need a feel-good.” She gathers up the chocolates in her palm and offers them to him. 

He clears his throat and takes one. She sits down, the cushion next to him dipping as she rests her weight on it. He tries to relax his stiff muscles, make them sink back into the couch same as hers.

Again the silence reigns, and though he’s never hated being quiet with Emily, something itches under his skin—the need to hear her voice, get back used to it again. The real one, rich with her ever-colorful emotions; not the flat, toneless voice that haunted his dreams and memories, static through speakers playing videos of her he’d eventually dream of. 

“You hate Valentine’s, but you got Valentine’s chocolate.” He muses quietly, taking a hesitant bite. The overly sweet chocolate melts on his tongue; he stifles a wince.

“Quit profiling me, Hotch,” Emily mumbles as bites into one too, her words thick as she speaks around the chocolate. “You’ve been doing it since you got here.”

Aaron’s shoulders go stiff. He almost spits out the chocolate, shame puckering his cheeks like acid.

“But if you must know,” she says before he can blurt out a guilty apology, “an officer gave them to me before we left.”

The chocolate turns to ash in his mouth. Aaron turns to her, somehow unsurprised to see her eyes glittering with mirth. It takes some effort to swallow the tasteless sugar down his throat.

“An officer,” he says flatly. 

Emily nods, the corner of her mouth curling. “That kid, what was his—Jameson.” She snaps her fingers. “I know I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t say no. They have these big puppy eyes, y’know? He’s like Reid.”

The word kid makes him relax a fraction. He makes some noise or acknowledgement and crumples up the wrapper into a shiny ball.

They fall silent again.

It’s fine. A little awkward with the well, what do we do now?, but it’s fine. Her cat curls onto her thigh and she turns on the movie again, letting it play in the background as she takes a jab at him for still wearing a fully tailored suit ‘at this time’. 

It surprises a laugh out of him. Aaron dutifully sheds it and loosens his tie, dragging it further from his throat before popping his collar. Her eyes follow the movement, still webbed with red, and he comments on the culprit, not quite as harmless as it seems. 

Emily smiles wryly and divulges that it’s her second of the night—the first being When Harry Met Sally. Aaron smiles. He feels a familiar warmth in his chest, one that Haley used to spark. She loved romcoms, preferred staying in on a weekend to watch them with him, cuddled into his side, her occasional tears at love confessions soaking his shirt. They were a particular comfort when she was menstruating; countless times Aaron had found her—in her childhood bedroom, in the living room of the home they’d bought together—bawling her eyes out with a tub of ice cream held to her chest, blonde hair in a messy pony and blue eyes drowning in tears. He’d stifle a smile, kiss her damp eyelids and salty cheeks, and let her continue crying it out in his chest.

It’s a parallel he can’t ignore, so he lets go of his silence and tells Emily about it. The wistful smile on his face is mirrored in hers, the curves of their mouths tinged with hazy blues. 

It’s easy to sit with her—not that that was ever surprising, but it’s different in the intimacy of her own living room. They’re not quite held back by the shackles of professionalism. The air between them bends and softens and lessens as her voice fills the silence, her cat stretching between them and pressing a tentative paw against Aaron’s thigh.

They’re cross legged on the floor, boxes of takeaway littered between them, when Emily speaks up around a mouthful of noodles. 

“So, about your offer.”

Aaron stays quiet. His heart doesn’t.

“I’m no good at biking, and swimming’s a big no. Sorry Hotch, but you won’t find me washing chlorine out of my hair on a good day, let alone at the crack of dawn every morning.” The drawl of her voice suggests it’s a heinous crime. “But, uh, running I can help with. If you’d like me to.” She toys with her chopsticks, brown eyes swallowing him whole.

“I would.” He says quietly. “6:00 tomorrow?” 

Emily wrinkles her nose but accepts. “Yes, boss,” she says, then quickly steers the conversation before he can thank her. 

It’s hard, harder than he expected, to keep his attention from splitting. Half of him is here, with her, and the other half is already storing up details to replay in his memory, missing her before she’s even gone. The lock of hair brushing her collarbone, crimped with its natural curl, the looseness of her voice as it twists and curls like smoke, the easy slump of her shoulders beneath her large sweater. He tries to hold all of it in his hands, but it slips, because the glow of her presence demands his full attention.

He’s not even aware of the time until she mentions it, a surprised oh and a little laugh escaping her when she looks down at her phone. Aaron’s watch reads 11:23. He feels his brows pulling together, then feels them smooth over when Emily offers him the guest room. 

“There’s a water bed.” She tells him, sitting on her knees and leaning toward him with a tissue. Something is wiped from the corner of his mouth. His lips part in surprise, and the taste of her perfume dissolves on his tongue. “They’re really comfortable.”

He swallows his heartbeat. “Thank you.” Emily leans back, tosses the tissue, and he still can’t breathe. “I appreciate it, but I can’t.”

“Next time.” She hums decidedly.

They’re both a little unsteady as they rise to their feet, a pink blush on Emily’s cheeks and—considering the fire raging under his skin—on his, too. His head is ducked as he picks up their plates and boxes, ignoring her warm protests on the shell of his ear. As he’s dropping the plates in the sink, the ridiculous urge to wash them comes over him. They’re just two, it wouldn’t hurt, but Emily is already pushing him away from it, taking takeout cartons from hand and dropping them carelessly on the counter.

Aaron collects his jacket from her couch, creased from draping over her cushions. He doesn’t shrug it on. He’s hot enough as it is.

“You should text me when you get home.” Emily says, hovering at his elbow as he grabs his coat.

He raises his brows, an easy laugh tumbling past his lips. “I should?”

“Yeah,” Emily nods. She chews down on her abnormally pink lip, “Wanna make sure you don’t crash into a pole or something.”

Affection warms his chest.

“I’m not drunk.” He says.

“No,” she agrees. “Which is why you’re driving in the first place. Text me or I’ll have Garcia check your location.”

“Threatening,” he says seriously. 

Emily smiles. He’s barely into his coat before she leans forward, her chest suddenly pressing into his, her arms wrapping around his neck. “Just do it this time,” she mumbles, low in his ear as she squeezes him. “Don’t let me worry for once.”

It’s usually him who’s worrying. But Aaron is too preoccupied with hugging her back, wrapping his arms around her waist and squeezing gently. Her breath warms the skin of his neck and he briefly closes his eyes, taking in the way they fit together, her forehead to his cheek. Something clicks into place. Sweet coconut travels down his windpipe and a twisted knot somewhere deep beneath his skin pulls itself loose.

“Okay.” He remembers to say, his voice hushed. Love you, he almost blurts. The hasty kiss to her forehead is the only way to stifle it. It’s a soft press to her hairline, barely there. Necessary. 

“You’re good company, Hotch,” she mumbles softly. She sways a little into him, still holding on. “Come over again, yeah?”

“Sure.” His palm rubs a circle over her back. “You’re good company, too.”

“So you can admit it.” She grins as she pulls back, icy cold taking her place in his chest. Dimples dig into her cheeks, closer to her smile than he’ll ever be.

Aaron lingers with his hand on the door. I love you. I love you, I love you, he thinks.

“I can.” He says. He’s slow as he undoes the two locks in the door. Some part of his brain works furiously, trying to find a way to stretch the moment, make it last, leave them lingering at the door like the chill that creeps in through the walls and makes itself at home on the pads of their fingers. Something to say, something to do. But there’s nothing save for his love.

“Good night.” He says softly, his voice almost drowned out by the creak in the door as he pulls it open.

“Good night.” Emily leans against the frame as he walks out, her lashes heavy with slow blinks. “Drive safe.” She intones.

Aaron nods. The door clicks behind him. Two locks. Still footsteps. He walks into the night, at once colder and warmer than he was when he walked out of it.

[let-roman-bite-someone]

the emotional rollercoaster while watched SvS Redux is really something else. i really don’t know how Thomas and all of the writers (especially Joan) balances out the comedy and the emotional bits so well.

[meowdei]

down the drain (literally) — ft. ryomen sukuna

female reader ; established relationship (engaged even!) ; modern bf sukuna ; slightly dramatic reader (she’s in shambles okay??) ; soft sukuna ; fluff

Sukuna is going to kill you.

For one, you’ve been in the bathroom for thirty minutes and he is clearly sick of it—the door handle rattling is proof enough. For another…well…your engagement ring is down the drain.

(Literally.)

You’re technically supposed to take it off when you wash your face just to be safe, but you get tired, and you forget here and there—mornings are always rough as it is. Sometimes, because you’re human, you forget. And it’s generally okay. Until it’s not.

Because your engagement ring is down the drain. (Literally.)

“God fuckin’ dammit woman,” he hisses, knocking on the door, “what are you doing in there? Open the damn door it’s been ages.”

“Just a second,” you call, panicking as you try to pull the drain plug out, but it doesn’t budge. Your fingers aren’t doing you any favors either—it feels like they’re the perfect size to not fit around anything to help you out here.

Your engagement ring is down the drain (literally) and there’s nothing to do but slowly bite your lip as tears collect at your lash line. So you open the door—and before Sukuna’s angry face can scold you any further, you’ve collapsed against his chest, soaking his bare chest with your tears.

“Wha—” he’s stunned. Stiff and standing there for a moment before he’s stuttering, “h-hey—I didn’t even yell at you that bad, what the fuck? Why’re you bein’ so—”

“I’m sorry, Kuna,” you sob, “please don’t be mad!”

“I’m mad but not that mad,” he says, bewildered. You sob harder at that, and his hands quickly find your hips and squeeze in panic at a poor attempt to reassure you. “Okay, okay! Not mad. Just…mildly annoyed. You’re…mildly annoying, better?”

“I didn’t mean to,” you wail.

“Okay! I got it! You’re havin’ a slow morning. Whatever, I waited. Can we just—”

“I didn’t think it’d slip off like that!”

“What’re you talkin’ about?”

“My ring,” you hiccup. He stills. You sniffle, pulling away and preparing yourself for his harsh, bitter anger as you whisper, “it fell down the drain.”

“What?” he looks at you, still confused. “What do you mean?”

“I w-was washing my face and then…and then—” you take a shuddering breath to try and work through your sobs before you continue, “it fell off and went down the drain! Now it’s in the sewers!”

“The sewers?”

“Yeah the pipes are gonna take it to the sewers!”

“I don’t think it’s in the sewers just yet—”

“And then the sewers will take it to the ocean and then I’ll never find it again!”

“The ocean is a long way from here—”

“I’m so, so, so sorry—”

“Oh my god, woman,” he grabs your cheeks, squeezing them together to shut you up as you stare up at him with wet, miserable, teary eyes. And he softens. Lets his shoulders fall a little as he sighs before rough thumbs are swiping at your cheeks less than gently, but more than in love. “’S just a ring.”

“It’s not just a ring,” you gasp, “it’s my engagement ring!”

“Well, yeah,” he shrugs, “but we’re still engaged—”

“But now no one will know!”

“Then I’ll buy you a damn new one,” he groans, rubbing his temples as he clicks his teeth when a fresh new round of tears soak your cheeks. (He doesn’t like how it looks—wobbly lips and puffy eyes on you make him feel like he’s doing something wrong. He has enough mistakes to worry about as is.)

“But it’s expensive and—”

“And not your problem,” he grumbles, “I’ll buy you a ring. A nicer one, too, if you promise to quit your whining.”

“You’re not mad?” you sniffle, slumping against his chest as your arms circle his waist.

He melts. Because it’s you, and he always does when it’s you. His arms wrap tightly around you, and a large hand cups the back of your head as he presses a small kiss to your temple.

“You want me to be mad that bad?”

“No,” you whimper.

“Then ‘m not,” he snorts, chest vibrating under your cheek at his laugh, “so quit worryin’. You’ll get creases and everyone’ll think I married some old hag.”

You crack a small grin. He’s good at that—at pulling a soft smile onto your lips against your will as you let out a quiet giggle, gently swatting at his back with your hand as you huff. For a second, the ring is forgotten. For a second, it’s just you, it’s just Sukuna, and it’s just nothing else.

“Not a hag, you asshole,” you huff.

“You nag like one,” he mumbles.

“Do not,” you huff, “you just always piss me off.”

“You piss me off, too.”

“Are you pissed off about the ring?” you ask quietly.

“No,” he grunts. His arms squeeze you tighter, his lips kiss your head once more, and his body sways you side to side ever so slightly as he repeats, more seriously this time, “no. Forget the ring. I’ll get you a new one if I have to, so don’t cry.”

“Okay,” you murmur. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” he hums.

He does. Ring or not, he does. And you can tell he does when he pulls away, gently pinches your nose and leans in to kiss the tears off your face as you can’t help but smile and giggle.

Your ring is down the drain (literally) and so is the hefty sum of money he spent on it, but everything else is still right here. Him and you and you and him and everything you’re ever built, nestled perfectly safe between the little space between your bodies.

“Done cryin’?” he asks gently.

You nod, kissing his jaw as he hums in content. “Yeah.”

“Great. Then get out—it’s my turn in the bathroom and I’ve waited long enough.”

—————— BONUS.

“Hand me the wrench.”

“Okay,” you hum. You hand him a tool, and he stares at you unimpressed as soon as he looks at it.

“That’s a screwdriver.”

“Oh. Which one’s the wrench?”

“Give me a fuckin’ break,” he groans, rubbing his temples.

Fifteen minutes later, and a good deal of bickering over what a wrench looks like and how his tools don’t all look the same, Sukuna has successfully retrieved your very shiny, and very pretty engagement ring. (It didn’t make it very far down the pipes—which is good. It didn’t make it to the sewers, and it most certainly didn’t make its way into the ocean.)

It’s no longer down the drain. (Literally.)

It’s now on your finger. (Literally.)

“Happy?” he raises a brow, watching as you grin at your finger, clearly pleased.

“Yeah,” you hum, sighing in relief. “Good thing you’re at least good at something.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” you say innocently.

“I’m flushin’ that thing down the toilet next time! Sendin’ it straight into the ocean so you’ll never find it again!”

I’ll never forget when I was six years old and I dropped the small ring I got from a gumball machine down the drain when I was brushing my teeth and then I had such a severe meltdown my dad had to bust out his toolkit, open the damn bathroom sink pipes, and fish it out. Because six year old me could not FATHOM losing my 50 cent plastic ring no matter how many times he promised he’d buy me a new one 💀

Anyway. My dad and I were reminiscing about that on call and then I decided it would make a cute sukuna drabble so here you go.

Anyway peace ✌️

[dolcekissy]

disclaimer // 18+ content. this story includes unprotected sex, p in v, brief masturbation, oral sex and fingering.

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your fingers work fast and harsh circles around your clit so fucking horny you cant even think straight. sitting up with a huff and aggressively pushing your light pink covers off your body ─ you grab your phone off the nightstand searching for rafe's contact.

'rafe come pick me up i'm bored as shit'

Read 9:32 PM

'bet omw'

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honestly at this point you're hoping rafe could at least take your mind off of how horny you are ─ doing something fun with him always helps you feel better.

but when you noticed that throbbing feeling that never went away and that wet patch that kept growing on your lacy pink underwear ─ you knew you were fucked. rafe was not helping you out at all. of fucking course he decided to wear all black today and his new buzz cut was not making this any better for you.

at this point rafe could tell something was wrong. you were being short and extremely feisty with him ─ being so sexually frustrated everything was starting to just piss you off. he repeatedly kept asking you what was wrong, pissing you off even more.

"the fuck is the matter with you doll?" he places a hand on your knee and you bite back a moan. "nothing rafe. oh my gosh stop asking me that." he stares at you, eyeing you and your figure for a minute.

"lay down." you look at him with a confused face. "for what?" you stay still, folding your arms and watching him.

he looks at you with a stern and irritated face. "listen i'm not dealing with this shitty ass attitude you got. lay down or i'm taking you right the fuck back home." you widen your eyes at his tone ─ laying down against his bed.

"since you wanna come over here with a stank ass attitude," he rips your tiny shorts and panties off ─ smirking at the way your pussy is glistening and clenching around nothing.

"i'm gonna fuck it out of you, toots." he leans down lifting your shirt up leaving a trail of kisses from your stomach to your thighs. you buck your hips up ─ silently begging him to just do something.

he leans down further and presses a soft kiss of your swollen clit. "if ya needed some help, why didn't you ask?" you moan loudly while he licks long stripes up your pussy ─ devouring you.

your hands fly to his hair ─ pushing your hips up into his face. he hold your hips down firmly while shaking his head back and forth ─ staring intensely into your eyes.

"holy fucking shit rafe! m'so close! so close ugh!" he adds his fingers into you pumping fast and still sucking on your clit. "c'mon doll. you got it, i got ya."

you cum hard ─ pussy convulsing and body shaking. "shittt!" his fingers fuck you through your orgasm ─ pulling them out of you to suck them clean.

you watch him as he groans out pulling his fingers out of his mouth. you grab his face pulling him up to you ─ kissing him hard. "fuck me, rafe. please." he leans back and studies your face for a second. "you sure?" you whine bringing his lips back to yours. "fuck rafe! please!"

he smirks with a shrug ─ sitting up to remove his clothes while you work on removing the rest of yours. he leans back down pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. "ready?" you respond by grabbing his cock and lining it up at your entrance. pushing your feet into his back ─ forcing the head of his cock in.

"fuck girl. you're horny huh?" he says sniffling a laugh ─ pushing the rest of his cock into you with a groan. "shit. you feel so good."

you whine out impatient. "c'mon rafe. please fuck me." he nods his head with a soft laugh thrusting into you at a relentless pace. you grab onto his shoulders whining and arching your back.

"ohhh my fuck. you got a mean pussy on you. shit." you cry out ─ stomach on fire and so close to cumming around his cock.

"i'm so close rafe! oh my- ohhh!" your eyes squeeze shut, face scrunching up in pleasure as you squirt all over rafe's lower half. you honestly felt like a teenage boy with how fast you came but you were so, so horny.

"h-holy shit." his eyes widen as he watches you soak his sheets. he fucks his cock into you faster chasing his own orgasm. you whine out feeling too overwhelmed as he pulls out and cums on your stomach.

your grip on him loosens ─ feeling completely worn out. "have you ever done that shit before? that was so fuckin' hot." he says quietly with a soft moan leaving his lips.

you tiredly shake your head no ─ grabbing his face and kissing his lips, giggling softly. "thank you rafey."

"shit. anytime princess."

─────────────────────────

[witchywcmans]

NEEDY. | AKI HAYAKAWA

synopsis ━━ you were in need of a roommate, and aki hayakawa needed a place that wouldn't ask any questions. you went to work during the day, while aki worked late nights. you basically had the apartment to yourself. it was honestly a match made in heaven. but then, you just had to come home one day and catch your roommate in a precarious situation. (aki x f!reader.)

content warnings ━━ voyeurism (just a wee bit), sex-deprived aki 🫶, but also possessive + jealous aki, masturbation, dirty thoughts + wet dreams, fingering, praise, multiple orgasms, classic missionary, unprotected sex, creampie, mutual pining/confession, kinda au (we're not mentioning the gun devil arc), aki has lived to see 26 + reader being a similar age, some religious imagery. nsfw (minors + ageless blogs dni).

word count ━━ 5.1k

song inspiration ━━ dealer, lana del rey / friends, chase atlantic / double fantasy, the weeknd

author's note ━━ hi.....hello.........so this idea has been in my head for a little bit, and I realize roommate aus like this are simply not that original, but god dammit I just needed to get this out of my head. anyway, I lurrrrrv sex deprived aki. shout out to my friend hollis for screaming about this with me hehe 💓

The most words you had ever said to your roommate were on the day you interviewed him before he moved in. You immediately noticed that he was strange, but also shy and seemingly harmless. When you had asked why he needed to move in so quickly, he had said something along the lines of a “toxic environment” with his previous roommates: “Denji and Power are just too noisy and reckless. They’re four years younger than me. I need a place less chaotic.” You had been interested in getting to know more – you were curious, after all, about your potential roomie – but once he mentioned that you’d probably never see him because he worked nights, you were sold.

Aki Hayakawa was your new roommate.

He had never been more excited to finally get away from Denji and Power and the tumultuous mess they had turned his apartment into. He was older now; he needed something for himself, even if it was with a roommate. Being a Public Safety Devil Hunter, he needed a place that didn’t think twice about him, a roommate who didn’t ask questions. That’s what he liked about you: your place was on the right side of the city, and you looked at him like he was normal. The Fox Devil said you weren’t going to be good for him, but Aki tended to ignore them anyway.

You had helped him move into your second bedroom just a week later and he hardly said a word, except to ask you who had formerly occupied this space. You were hesitant to talk about it at first, but you cracked soon enough: “My old best friend lived in here. We had rented this place together, but we … aren’t exactly speaking anymore,” you admitted, setting a box down at his feet. “I came home from work one evening and found my boyfriend cheating on me with her. It had been going on for months, right under my nose.” You looked away when you felt your eyes start to sting with tears, sniffling them away. “Friends come and go, I guess. But I’m thankful you, at least, worked out to rent this space.”

“Well,” he sighed, opening up the box as you turned back to him. He smirked. “I promise I won’t sleep with your boyfriend.”

You had laughed, and what a pretty sound it was. After move-in day, Aki was true to his word that you almost never saw him. You worked a normal 9 to 5, while Aki … well, you had no idea what Aki did. You assumed he was a security guard or something with the hours he worked and how he was always wearing a suit and tie. He was working all the time, even weekends. Sometimes, you would catch him coming home as you were leaving for work, or on Sunday morning as you ate breakfast in the kitchen. He would be too tired to talk, simply waving at you before retiring to his room.

It was almost like living alone … except for notes he’d sometimes leave you on the stove or the bathroom. Or the weekend mornings, when he’d get you a coffee and leave it out for you before going to his room. Or the once-in-a-blue-moon nights when you’d stumble in the early hours of the morning after drinking in the city with some friends, standing out on the deck with Aki as he smoked a cigarette. Nights like those, you could’ve sworn Fate was trying to get you two to see each other, because you would be arriving home at just the right hour and Aki would be getting off work early. And you would find him on the deck in his suit and tie, cigarette hanging from his lips, hair pulled up in his classic topknot. He would find you leaning against the railing in nothing but a short dress, the glitter on your lids making your eyes sparkle even more, and – god, you were just so pretty.

After that night, he started dreaming about you. He dreamed about how your lips would feel against his, what it would be like to have you sleep next to him and rest your head on his chest. He was consumed by thoughts of you under him, how you tasted, the way you’d tremble if he kissed that sensitive part of your neck you told him about one late night on the deck. His need for you was insatiable. In his line of work, there wasn’t much time for dating, let alone sex. He hadn’t been thinking about it that much, especially when he’d been housing Denji and Power, but now … he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Naked. Underneath him. On top. God dammit, he’d have you any way you wanted.

It made him wish he had acted on his instincts that night on the deck: pushing you against the sliding door, his lips crashing onto yours, hiking your skirt up that just barely covered your thighs and using his non-dominant hand (the one that didn’t shake) to feel how wet you were. But alas, Aki Hayakawa was a gentleman. 

You two had been living together for a year. He hardly knew you, but also knew you like nobody else did. He knew how you took your coffee – black with two sugars. He knew the brand of toilet paper you liked. He knew that you liked to hang your coats in the closet on the right side. He knew you drooled in your sleep, and what TV shows made you laugh, and how much your water bill was each month.

He was acting out in ways that were unlike him. If he came home from work and saw you had a guy over, he made his presence known. When you were at the office, sometimes he would go to your room just to smell your perfume, and other times he would steal your panties. (He always gave them back, feeling too shameful. But he did keep one underneath his pillow.) Some nights, he would pretend to leave for work early and you would retire to your room for the night, and then he would hear the familiar sound of your vibrator and – fuck, he had to go to work hard. Again. 

You were taking up too much space in his head. He was becoming distracted at work, thinking about what you were doing during these late hours. Maybe the Fox Devil was right: you weren’t good for him.

But he wasn’t moving out any time soon.

It was a Thursday after work and you were completely exhausted. After attending endless meetings and having to argue with coworkers all day, you left work early and were grateful to have a night alone with some leftovers from the night before. You had completely forgotten Aki telling you earlier in the week that he had this Thursday and Friday off, your mind preoccupied with work responsibilities. Sighing as soon as you walked through the door, you set your bag down and shuffled out of your shoes. You shut the door softly, at peace with the silence. You didn’t even have the energy to get out of your work clothes; you simply padded your feet to the fridge, plucking your leftovers out. It was only when you reached up to the microwave that you noticed the apartment wasn’t as silent as you assumed.

Sounds emanated from another room.

You got on your tip-toes, not wanting to make much noise if there was an intruder, and felt for the pocket knife you always kept on your person. Passing by your bedroom first, you popped your head inside. Empty. Hadn’t been touched since you left this morning. The bathroom was next, and you held your breath as the sounds got even more noticeable. You peeked into the bathroom and … clear. Linen closet: clear. Coat closet: clear. But the sounds only became more clear as you got closer to the end of the hall, Aki’s room, and –

You stopped in front of Aki’s bedroom, the door cracked just enough that you didn’t need to pop your head in to see what was happening. Aki was home, for once, and you … you were watching him through the crack in the door. But how could you not? You knew where the sounds were coming from now, because Aki was the one making them.

His dark hair swept in front of his eyes as he sat back against his pillows. He wore a white t-shirt, while his boxers bagged around his ankles. Grunts slipped from his mouth – that pretty, pretty mouth you'd seen wrapped around a cigarette. And his hand … his hand wrapped around his cock, pumping furiously – desperately – with a pair of your panties enveloping the head. The same red lace panties you thought you’d lost months ago. 

You almost considered walking away, making noise in the kitchen so he would know you were home, but then –

Then, your name left his mouth in a whimper.

He was stroking himself even faster, muttering your name into the silent room with your panties wrapped so nicely around his cock. He was thinking about you, wanting so desperately cum in your panties, wondering if you thought about him when you used your vibrator. You were frozen in place, completely fixated on him as he leaned back against his headboard, his face finally exposed so you could see the way his jaw went slack, the way he moaned out your name. And – oh my god, you should leave –

But you couldn’t. And deep down, you knew there was a dirty part of you that always wanted to see this. Ever since that night on the deck, when you were wearing your favorite dress and all that glitter, and you noticed that he was looking at you in a way a platonic roommate definitely shouldn’t. You had started to think about him late nights when you were alone with your toy. You brought home dates, wanting him to see, giggling when you recognized his jealous expression. You tried to wake up earlier, just to see him when he stumbled through the door. Once, you even did his laundry to smell the nicotine on his jacket. 

The two of you simply couldn’t help yourselves.

And when you watched him finally reach his peak, spilling into your forgotten red lace panties, you realized just how wet the ones you were wearing had become. You watched him grunt as he came, breathing heavily and wiping the sweat off his brow. And when he muttered under his breath a soft, “Fuck,” you couldn’t help the short gasp that left your lips.

Aki stalled. Oh, shit. You hadn’t been quiet enough. He sat up more in his bed, pulling his boxers up, and you whipped your back against the wall. You cupped your hand over your mouth, praying he wouldn’t come out and see. But he was whispering, “Who’s there?” And you only had enough time to move ten feet down the hall before you heard the creak of his soles on the old floorboards.

“Fuck,” he muttered, louder this time.

Your back went straight, and after what felt like an eternity, you slowly turned to face him. “Aki,” you put your hands up in surrender, “I didn’t see anything –”

“Oh, what the fuck,” he shook his head at himself, quickly walking back into his bedroom. You were stunned, not knowing what to do, as he continued talking to himself in the room: “Stupid fucking idiot not closing the fucking door. What the fuck? What the fuck? My worst fucking nightmare. Fuck, why do these pants always get caught around my ankles? I need to get out of here. Stay at Denji’s for the night. Fuck, fuck, fuck –”

He emerged from his bedroom, now wearing jeans, his favorite Converse, and a leather jacket. He tried to pass you without looking, whispering obscenities under his breath, but then you were tugging on his jacket, lips pressed together.

Aki paused, cheeks red with both embarrassment and anger at himself, but you didn’t let go of his sleeve. He noticed the redness of your face as well, the black of your pupils almost covering your entire eye, and were you … were you aroused?

Swallowing hard, your voice was but a mere whisper when you asked, “How long have you had those?”

He knew what you were referring to. It didn’t take an idiot. Your stares were locked, and despite his shame, he wouldn’t turn away. “A while,” he mumbled.

“How long is ‘a while?’”

“Months, okay?” His eyes narrowed and his voice took on a new tone. “Now, can you let go of my jacket so I can leave and save us both the embarrassment –”

“Months,” you repeated, licking the corners of your lips. His eyes were made of blue fire as he stared down at you, and even with your office attire on, you felt utterly naked beneath his gaze. “I’ve … I’ve been thinking about you for months too.”

Aki took a moment to process your words, and your grip hesitantly released on his sleeve. But he wasn’t – he couldn’t – let you get away so easily. His breath was shaky as he placed both of his hands on the wall behind you, pinning you to it. So many times had you two passed each other in this hallway, so many words left unsaid. And now, he was pressing you against it.

“You’ve been thinking about me … for months,” he thought out loud, leaning in a little and nosing your hair. Your scent was intoxicating. That perfume … he could cum in his pants just from smelling it. “For months, you’ve been bringing guys to the apartment to … to what? Make me jealous?” He chuckled under his breath. It took him so long to put it together. “For months, you’ve been touching yourself right before I leave so I go to work fucking hard.” His nose traveled down to your neck, grazing that spot you told him about, and you shuddered. “You’ve been putting me through the wringer and I didn’t even have a clue.”

“You’re … you’re not so innocent.” You tried to keep yourself together, but it was difficult with him pinning you to the wall and – oh, he was already hard in his pants, pressing into you.  “You’ve been stealing my panties so you can masturbate with them.”

Aki hummed quietly, pressing his lips so delicately to your neck, as if his cock wasn’t completely strained in his jeans. “I supposed I have,” he whispered against your skin, “for months.”

“Since that night on the deck,” you croaked out, hands balling into fists as he licked a stripe up your neck. If he didn’t stop, you’d surely moan. “But I didn’t say anything – didn’t think about saying anything – because … because we’re roommates.”

“We are roommates,” he said, lifting his head from your neck, his lips hovering so close to yours. “And if we’re just stating facts here, I’ve needed to kiss you since that night.”

You didn’t wait for him. Immediately leaning in, your lips pressed onto his in a hungry kiss. His mouth molded to yours, and he tasted exactly like you thought: like black coffee, cigarettes, those raspberry pastries he always kept in the kitchen. His tongue, slipping into your mouth, tangled with yours in a way that you had only dreamed about. Your hands released from their fists, instead reaching up to twist in his t-shirt, bringing him even closer to you. He’d hardly touched you and you were completely, utterly soaked. 

As if hearing your thoughts, his lips broke from yours for just a moment to beg, “I need to touch you.”

“Please,” you whispered back, and his mouth was back on yours.

He dragged one hand down from the wall (his shaky hand, believe it or not), still pressing you against it, and worked on unzipping your trousers. You nuzzled your nose against his as he kissed you deeply, slipping his hand in your pants, past the waistband of your panties and – you were exactly as he dreamed you’d be. Absolutely wet. Just as needy for him as he was for you. “Fuck,” he muttered into the kiss, spreading your soaked folds with two long fingers. 

Your lips tore away from his, a trail of spit following, because you simply had to release the moan you’d been holding in for so long. Despite loving the way your mouth fitted against his, he was glad for it, wanting to see your face when he started rubbing your sensitive clit. And fuck, was it the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Your fists on his t-shirt went loose as your body felt like it was made of liquid, angling into his. Your lips pursed, soft whimpers filtering out as he rubbed you in those tight circles.

“So fucking wet f’me,” he mumbled, grazing his lips over yours. “Dreamed about this for months. Fuck, I’ve gotten hard just thinking about this pussy.”

He finally dipped a single finger inside you, and your hips immediately jerked against his hand. Aki let out a shuddering breath when he felt how much you were squeezing just one finger, pumping it in and out of you slowly. “Please,” you whispered, despite his thoughts, “I can take more. I promise.”

You didn’t need to ask him twice. He shoved two fingers inside you, curling them against that spot that had your hips instantly bucking. “Fuck, Aki,” you whined as he plunged those fingers in and out of you, using his thumb to rub your clit. 

“Yeah?” He breathed. 

“Kiss me.”

Aki moaned from your words alone, kissing you hard while fucking you with his long fingers. He was practically drunk on you: your scent wrapped around him, you tasted like citrus, and the way bucked into his hand … god, he needed to fuck you. So bad. And if you didn’t want that, then he needed to jerk himself off immediately or else he was going to explode in his pants. The last thing he needed was another embarrassing moment tonight.

It only took seconds to have you sighing into the kiss, squeezing his fingers like a vice as you came. His thumb on your clit was relentless, taking you over that lovely peak, as you mewled and cried into his mouth. It was almost religious, the way you moaned, and Aki had never felt closer to God than in this moment.

When the adrenaline subsided, he slowly removed his fingers from you and broke the kiss. You watched him intensely as he brought the fingers covered in your slick to his mouth, tasting you. Your lips fell open slightly, eyes going wide while his own closed, savoring the taste. What the actual fuck, you thought to yourself. How the fuck have we been living under the same roof and it took this long for me to see that?

Without missing a beat, you pushed yourself off the wall, winding your arms around his neck and latching your legs to his waist. He lifted you as if you were made of air, kissing you so that you could taste yourself. Before you could even perceive how much time had passed, you were on his bed, blouse disheveled and trousers undone. Even your hair hadn’t left the updo you put it in every weekday. Your eyes flickered to the right and you giggled to yourself. He had finally shut the door.

His eyes remained on you as he shrugged off his jacket, and then his pants. He was back in the same outfit you saw him in earlier, when your panties had been wrapped around his cock like a birthday present. He hesitated before finally pulling off his shirt, and you saw the scars lining parts of his chest. Definitely not a security guard, you thought to yourself but decided not to ask about it now. You reached up as he stood between your legs, brushing your fingers over the scars, and then dragged them down his abdomen. His frame was thin, but he was more built than you believed, always hiding himself under those oversized button-ups.

He wrapped his hand around your wrist as you touched him so gracefully. “Do you want to …?” His voice was so soft, the question hanging off the edge of his tongue.

And then, you smiled up at him, looking like an angel. “Yes, Aki,” you whispered.

He felt like a kid in a candy store. The only thing – the one person – he’d been dreaming about and looked at him as if he weren’t a machine, or a gun with the trigger pulled, was lying before him and liked him. For months, they’d both said. His dominant hand was shaking as he started unbuttoning your blouse, and when you noticed (though you had observed this the day he moved in), you grabbed his hand and placed it on your cheek. With his left hand and your right, you worked together to undo the buttons until your chest was exposed for him. 

Moonlight streamed through his bedroom, the only light source in a seemingly dark area.  City lights reflected on you as you pulled your hair free from the updo, those pretty strands fanning on his sheets. His sheets. Because you were in his bed. The blinking lights from corporate buildings outside your little apartment created a halo around your head and – fuck, you really were something religious. For so long, Aki thought only hell existed. I mean, all the Devils were here, contracted to them. But seeing you splayed out so heavenly for him on his bed, he knew then that Angels had to exist too. 

He took his time taking your pants off, watching the way you bit your lip when the cold air of his room hit your soaked panties. Your eyes glanced up to his boxers, seeing the indent of his long, thick cock, and your mouth went dry. His fingers hooked on the waistband of your panties, slowly dragging down and throwing them off to the side, hoping you’d forget about them so he could pocket another pair. With you exposed and bare on his bed, he really took a moment to admire you: the way your cheeks flushed, how the halo around your head flickered, the way your arousal seeped out of your pretty pussy and your nipples peaked. He just had to touch you; it would kill him if he didn’t. Leaning down, he began peppering kisses on your neck, your collarbone, before finally latching his lips around one of those sensitive nipples. Your breath stuttered at the sensation, and he used his left hand to palm your other breast, twisting the nipple between two fingers. You writhed under him, and he couldn’t help but grind his clothed cock against you, groaning and swirling his tongue around your nipple in tandem. Locking your legs around his waist, you held him to you so he was forced to keep grinding against you. It felt too good, and he wasn’t even inside you yet.

He tugged on your nipple and released it, breathing heavily as his eyes met yours. “If you don’t let me go, I’m definitely going to cum before I’m even inside you.”

“Poor Aki,” you giggled, letting your legs fall back on the bed. “Would that really be so bad?”

His eyes were burning into yours, serious as a heart attack. “I’ve been fucking my hand to the thought of you for what feels like forever,” he whispered, pressing a light kiss to the valley between your breasts. “I don’t want to ruin this moment.”

Aki moved up so that his lips were hovering over yours again, and he could really see the sparkle of your irises in the moonlight. You reached in between your bodies and gingerly massaged his bulge, feeling how much he’d already soaked his boxers with precum. “You couldn’t ruin anything even if you tried,” you replied, your voice light and airy. “I’m on the pill. I’m ready when you are.”

“Shit,” he groaned at your mention of being on the pill, trembling as you massaged him. This had to be another one of his dreams. Just the thought of being inside you without the barrier of a condom … he was so close to completely exploding. He didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve you, after all the hell he’d witnessed and brought forth into this world. But he couldn’t help himself. He needed to have you, roommates be damned.

He stood up, needing to get away from your gentle hand. You sat up a little to help him tug down his boxers, careful of that shaky hand of his, and his cock sprang free, dripping precum on the floor. Aki, ever the gentleman, laid you back down on his bed with ease, holding your stare as he spread your legs wide for him. He breathed, praying to whatever god placed you in front of him that he wouldn’t cum prematurely. He couldn't remember the last time he had sex, but he was so desperate for you that all he cared about was not tainting this moment, this dream. 

Aki grasped his cock, giving it a few hard pumps and grunting, before positioning himself at your entrance. You both seemed to hold your breath as he finally slid in, just an inch at first, and the two of you seemed to release that shaky, nervous breath. “Oh, fuck,” he groaned, burying himself further in your tight warmth, bracing his elbows beside your head. 

“Keep going,” you begged. “It’ll fit, Aki. Promise.”

You were going to kill him, he was sure of it. Aki had felt the way you squeezed his fingers, but it was nothing compared to pleasure of being inside you, feeling how tight you really were. So much better than his hand. Once he was fully seated inside you, he opened his eyes just to look into yours. Your lips pursed, legs wrapping around his waist once again, and you slowly nodded for him to continue. His cock twitched.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, sliding out of you before slamming back in. You cried out, carding your fingers in his hair, and he molded his face in the crook of your neck to muffle his own whimpers. You just felt so, so good – so good that he could cry. To think that his bed had once been so cold, so lonely, but now you were occupying the space, trembling underneath him as his cock slipped in and out of you. 

Your moans were like gospel. For so long, Aki had been used to loud noise: to Denji’s complaints, to Power’s shouting, to the Devils’ in his ear. But now, it was just you two on the altar of your apartment, silent except for your heavy breaths mingling and the sound of car horns outside. You were wet and slick like holy water, taking him so nicely despite his size, and god – it was like you were made for him and he was made for you. 

You tugged on his hair, needing him so badly even though he was already yours to begin with. He really would have you any way you wanted. All you had to do was ask.

Aki was already so close to release, but he needed you to cum with him. As he fucked into you harder, deeper, his cock curving against that spot that made your eyes roll back, he reached in between you two and found that swollen bundle of nerves in the apex of your thighs. “Aki,” you whined, tears pricking at your eyes as he rubbed your clit. He could die happily now that he heard your voice like that in his ear, knowing it was him that made it happen.

“Yes?” He said, breathless, placing sloppy kisses on your jaw. You clung to him, melting into him like ice cream on a hot summer’s day. “I’m so close. Are you close, angel?”

You whimpered at the nickname. “Almost.”

“Almost?” He fingers went a little faster. “Let’s get you there.”

As his two fingers rubbed tight, small circles on your clit, he angled his cock inside of you so that he could brush your G-spot with every thrust. You were now clutching onto him with all the strength you had left, entwining your body with his and feeling his muscles flex against your stomach. He was so deep now and you were so close and oh my god, Aki Hayakawa had you like putty in his hands.

And it was like he knew it without you even saying it. Because as your walls started to clench around him, he whispered into your ear. “Cum for me, angel. Please, please, need to cum with you.”

Your body convulsed, going tight around his cock as you came. Tears streamed down your cheeks and you called out his name, spurring him to fuck into you faster, reaching his own peak in the middle of yours. He groaned deep into your neck, hips stuttering as he spilled himself inside of you. You kept your legs around his waist, not wanting to miss a drop, and arched yourself against him, coming down from the high of your intense orgasm. Aki was still rubbing your clit slowly, whispering praises into your skin like, “Did so good me … So pretty … Could listen to you cum for hours.”

You two laid like that for a while, feeling his cock soften inside you, panting heavily against each other. Once he finally pulled out of you, your combined releases dripping down your thighs, you laid beside each other on his bed and stared at the ceiling. The silence was comforting, until he whispered, “Please, tell me that wasn’t all a dream.”

Turning your head, you smiled at him. “Do you feel this?” You pinched his arm.

Aki flinched. “Ow.”

“Definitely not a dream,” you chuckled.

[linoxpudding]

Fading Love (Pt 2)- Lee Know

summary: as the distance between you and minho grows, secrets remain unspoken, and misunderstandings spiral out of control—until one final confrontation threatens to shatter everything for good

pairing: lee know x fem!reader, bsf!changbin x reader

genre: heavy angst

word count: 4290 words

warnings: mentions of divorce, pregnancy, emotional distress

a/n: wow my longest fic yet, it's filled with angst and no comfort (I'm sorry, ily)

SERIES: PART ONE PART THREE PART FOUR

ENDGAME: Voting Poll

Masterlist

~°~

The second the door shut behind Minho, a heavy silence settled over the apartment.

It felt unreal. Like a nightmare you were waiting to wake up from.

As you sat frozen on the cold floor, arms wrapped around yourself, the weight of his words pressed against your chest, suffocating, relentless. I want a divorce.

How did it come to this? How did the love you had fought so hard to protect slip through your fingers like sand?

Your body shook with silent sobs, grief clawing at your throat as you rocked back and forth, the reality of your situation settling in. You were alone. Carrying his child, and utterly alone.

Your hands trembled as you reached for your phone. There was only one person you could call right now—someone who had been there from the very beginning. 

Your best friend, Seo Changbin. The one who had introduced you to Minho in the first place.

With shaky fingers, you tapped his name and pressed the call button. The phone rang once, twice—

"Y/N? It's late. What's up?" His voice was warm, familiar, a lifeline in your drowning despair.

The moment you heard his voice, the dam broke. A choked sob escaped your lips, and you struggled to get the words out.

“Binnie… Can you—” your breath hitched, “can you come over? Please?”

Changbin immediately tensed on the other end. “What happened?” His voice sharpened with worry.

You couldn’t answer, your throat tightening as another sob wracked through you.

“I’m on my way,” he said without hesitation. “Just hold on, okay? I’ll be there soon.”

The call ended, and you curled into yourself, pressing your palms against your face as you tried to steady your breathing.

*********************

Changbin arrived less than fifteen minutes later. The second he stepped into your apartment, his eyes darted around—taking in the dim lighting and the way you sat on the couch wrapped in a blanket, eyes red and swollen. Then his gaze shifted, taking in the carefully set dinner table, the soft glow of the candles, the unopened envelope sitting there like an abandoned secret. 

His stomach dropped.

He rushed to you, dropping to his knees beside the couch as he pulled you into his arms. “Hey, hey… I’m here. What happened?” His voice was soft, but there was an underlying urgency to it.

You clung to him, burying your face in his shoulder as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. “He—” your voice cracked, “He asked for a divorce.”

Changbin stiffened. His whole body went rigid against yours.

“…What?” He pulled back slightly, eyes searching your face as if he didn’t believe his ears.

You let out a weak, bitter laugh. “He said… it’s not working anymore.”

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, slowly, his own expression darkened with anger.

“That—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “That bastard.”

You shook your head. “Don’t… don’t blame him. He—”

“No, Y/N.” His voice was sharp, but not at you. “You’re sitting here, crying your heart out, and he—” Another deep inhale. He ran a hand down his face, “I’m gonna kill him.”

You sniffled, clutching the blanket tighter. “It gets worse.”

Changbin turned to you immediately, eyes filled with concern. “What do you mean?”

You hesitated. This was it.

The words you had planned to say to Minho—the words you had hoped would bring you two back together—now hung heavy in your throat.

Finally, you whispered, “I’m pregnant.”

Changbin froze.

His breath caught, eyes wide with shock. “What?”

You nodded weakly, hands shaking as you wiped at your cheeks. “Three months… I found out today.” You motioned toward the table, toward the sonogram that sat there inside the envelope unopened. 

Realization dawned in his eyes. He exhaled sharply, “Holy shit.” 

A sharp breath left Changbin’s lips as he ran a hand through his hair, his chest rising and falling unevenly. “He doesn’t know?”

Tears burned your eyes again. “I was gonna tell him tonight. I thought… I thought maybe the baby would fix things.” Your voice cracked, “But he left before I could say anything.”

Changbin didn’t speak for a moment. He just stared at the table, his expression unreadable.

Then, he reached out and took your hand, squeezing gently. “Y/N.” His voice was softer now. “What do you wanna do?”

You swallowed. “I don’t want him to know.”

He blinked. “What?”

You wiped at your eyes, composing yourself. “I think he fell out of love, Binnie. I don’t… I don’t want him to feel obligated to stay because of the baby. I don’t want our child to grow up in a marriage that was forced.”

Changbin opened his mouth, then closed it. His lips pressed into a thin line. “Y/N…”

“No, Changbin.” Your voice was firm despite the pain in your chest. “He made his decision. He wants to leave. I won’t force him to stay just because I’m pregnant.”

Changbin’s jaw tightened, “But he deserves to know.”

You swallowed hard. “And what if he doesn’t want this child? I can’t—” your voice wavered, “I can’t bear the thought of him looking at our baby with regret.”

Changbin exhaled slowly, his expression torn. He wanted to argue, to shake some sense into Minho, to drag him back here and force him to see what he was throwing away. But he also saw the pain in your eyes, the fear of being unwanted—not just for yourself, but for the life growing inside you.

"Promise me," your voice trembled. "You won’t tell him. You also won’t tell any of the guys."

For a long moment, Changbin didn’t speak. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he wanted to argue, but in the end—he sighed and nodded.

“…Okay.”

*********************

Minho lay on the stiff hotel bed, staring up at the ceiling, exhaustion pressing down on him like a weight he couldn't shake. The silence in the room was deafening—no sound of your soft footsteps, no warmth of your presence beside him. Just him, alone, with his own thoughts.

His chest ached, but he told himself this was for the best.

He hadn't made this decision lightly. It had been months of watching the light fade from your eyes, of feeling the distance stretch between you both like an unbridgeable gap. He saw it in the way you barely smiled anymore, in the way your laughter—once so effortless—had become rare, almost forced. And it killed him.

The guilt had been eating him alive for months. He knew he wasn’t around enough. Work had kept him late, exhaustion had drained him, and slowly, without realizing it, he had let you slip through his fingers. The more he failed to fix things, the more he convinced himself that maybe… maybe you’d be happier without him.

He wasn’t blind. He saw the way you stared at the walls when you thought he wasn’t looking. The way your voice wavered when you asked him if he was okay, as if you already knew the answer. He saw the disappointment flicker in your eyes every time he walked through the door late, too tired to do anything but collapse onto the couch. The countless missed dates. The way your excitement would slowly fade each time he called to tell you he couldn't make it. The way you'd try to mask your disappointment, saying, "It's okay, I understand," when he knew it wasn’t.

He remembered the company dinner you had invited him to—the one you had been looking forward to for weeks. You had picked out a dress, even asked him which earrings looked better, excitement shining in your eyes. Yet, when the night came, he wasn’t there.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he had promised, like he always did. But the truth was, he never really did.

You were miserable.

And he blamed himself.

Minho shut his eyes, allowing himself to drift back to that weekend. He had planned the getaway hoping that maybe, just maybe, escaping reality for a little while would fix things. That if he could just hold you close, kiss you the way he used to, you’d remember how much he loved you. Maybe you’d smile at him like before, without the weight of disappointment shadowing your gaze.  

And for a moment, it worked.  

That night, as he made love to you, he let himself believe that things could go back to how they once were. He traced every inch of you with reverence, whispering silent apologies into your skin. But even as he held you, even as you buried your face into his neck and sighed in contentment, an overwhelming sense of guilt crept into his chest, tightening like a vice.  

Because deep down, he knew love wasn’t enough.  

He knew that you deserved more than fleeting moments of happiness. More than those rare luxury vacations that only served as temporary bandages over a wound that kept growing. You deserved consistency, effort—not just grand gestures when things started to break beyond repair.  

You deserved a partner who showed up for you, not just physically but emotionally. Someone who came home on time, who listened, who asked about your day and actually heard the answer. Someone who didn’t let exhaustion or work become an excuse to neglect the person they swore to cherish.  

That night, as you slept soundly on his chest, he wept in silence, his fingers softly running through your hair. Because he knew he was failing you. He knew you deserved more, and he hated himself for not knowing how to give it to you.

So after three more months of battling his own thoughts, he did what he thought was right. He let you go. 

Minho exhaled shakily, rubbing a hand down his face. He had expected relief, a sense of closure. Instead, there was only a hollowness, a gnawing feeling in his gut that he had just made the worst mistake of his life.

Because the truth was, he still loved you. More than anything. But what good was love if it left you feeling lonely in your own home? What good was love if it wasn’t enough to stop you from hurting?  

*********************

Minho arrived home the next morning, the weight of finality pressing down on his chest. He wasn’t sure if you’d be home, but as he stepped inside, the silence told him everything—no soft humming from the kitchen, no quiet footsteps padding across the floor. Just emptiness.

He let out a slow breath, forcing himself to move. Packing was quick—too quick for something that felt like the end of an era. He grabbed his clothes, his essentials, ignoring the way his hands trembled as he zipped his suitcase. His eyes lingered on the little things—the framed photos, the sweater of his you always stole, the candle on the bedside table that smelled like vanilla because you said it made the house feel warm.

Then, as he walked to the foyer, he hesitated. His fingers brushed against the small keychain attached to his house key—the matching set you had gotten for both of you. The little silver cat charm had been a joke at first, but you had said, “Now, even our keys belong together.”

He exhaled sharply and placed the key next to yours, letting his fingers linger for a second longer before pulling away. Without another glance, he silently closed the door behind him.

*********************

Han Jisung was lounging on his couch when Minho showed up at his door, suitcase in hand.

“Hyung?” Jisung blinked in confusion, pushing his glasses up his nose. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Minho dropped his bag near the entrance, rubbing his face. “Can I crash here for a while?”

Jisung’s expression turned wary. “What happened? Where’s Y/N?”

Minho didn’t answer.

He stared at him for a long moment, confusion dawned on his face. “Hyung, you’re scaring me–” his eyes widened, “Did you guys have a fight?”

Minho sank onto the couch, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He didn’t respond. Because what was there to say? He had done what he thought was right, and yet, the emptiness inside him only grew.

For the first day, Jisung didn’t ask questions. He let Minho stay in the guest room, barely speaking to him. But by the second day, the silence was unbearable.

Jisung finally confronted him in the kitchen, arms crossed as Minho mindlessly stirred a cup of coffee.

“Why are you really here, hyung?”

Minho remained silent.

Jisung scoffed, his frustration clear. “Did something happen with Y/N?”

Minho tensed.

Jisung’s frown deepened. “…Hyung… what did you do?”

Minho exhaled, gripping the edge of the counter. His voice was barely above a whisper, “I asked for a divorce.”

Jisung froze. His mouth parted slightly in shock before his face fell completely. “…What?”

Minho didn’t repeat himself. He couldn’t.

Jisung stared at him for a long moment before shaking his head. “No. No, that doesn’t make sense. You love her. You—”

Minho cut him off, voice flat. “It’s already done, Han.”

Jisung let out a humorless laugh, stepping back. “You’re serious?” He ran a hand through his hair. “What the fuck, hyung? Why?”

Minho didn’t answer.

Jisung scoffed, anger flickering in his eyes. “Did you even fight for her? Or did you just—give up?”

Minho clenched his jaw. “I didn’t give up.”

Jisung shook his head in disbelief. “Then what the hell do you call this?”

Minho didn’t have an answer.

*********************

Days later, Minho finally showed up at the studio.

He needed to get back to work. Needed something—anything—to distract himself.

But the second he walked into the studio, he realized just how naïve that was. The air was heavy. The usual playful energy that filled the space was gone, replaced with thick silence and cold stares.

The other members were there, but they weren’t joking around like usual. Felix and Hyunjin barely glanced at him. Seungmin kept his eyes on his laptop. Jeongin had his arms crossed, face unreadable. Even Chan—who usually tried to keep the peace—looked disappointed.

And then there was Changbin.

Changbin was standing by the mixing board, arms crossed, gaze burning into Minho like he wanted to hit him.

Minho sighed, “Just say whatever you’re going to say, Bin.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I will.” Changbin took a step forward, his voice razor-sharp, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Minho didn’t answer.

Changbin’s eyes flashed. “I mean it, Minho. What the hell were you thinking?”

Minho clenched his jaw, “You don’t understand—”

“I don’t understand?” Changbin let out a bitter laugh. “No, I get it perfectly. You’re a fucking coward.”

Minho flinched.

“You’re seriously going through with this?” Chan’s voice was low, controlled, but he was disappointed, “You’re really leaving her?”

Minho swallowed hard, “It’s for the best.”

“For who?” Hyunjin scoffed, shaking his head. “Because it sure as hell isn’t for her. Or you.”

Minho remained silent, staring at the floor.

“I introduced you to her, hyung.” Changbin’s voice cracked, his hands trembling. “I watched you fall in love with her. And now, you’re just—what? Throwing it all away? After everything?”

“It’s not that simple,” Minho muttered.

“It is that simple.” Changbin snapped. “You’re hurting her. And don’t even try to tell me you don’t love her anymore—because we both know that’s bullshit.”

Minho clenched his fists. “You don’t understand.”

Changbin let out a humorless laugh, “You’re right. I don’t. Because I could never understand how someone could destroy the best thing in their life with their own hands.”

Minho exhaled shakily, lowering his gaze. He didn’t know how to explain it. The self-hatred, the guilt, the belief that you would be better off without him.

The silence stretched, suffocating. Then, almost unconsciously, the words slipped out.

“…Is she okay?”

Minho barely had time to process his own question before Changbin’s expression twisted into something darker—something dangerous.

“You don’t deserve to know.”

The words hit him like a bullet.

Minho’s head snapped up, but Changbin wasn’t done.

“You lost that right the second you walked out on her.” His voice was harsh, his hands trembling slightly at his sides. “You don’t get to ask about her now. You don’t get to pretend you care when you’re the one who left her behind.”

Minho’s throat tightened, “I never stopped caring.”

“Then where the fuck were you when she needed you?” Changbin’s voice rose, his anger barely restrained. “Where were you when she—”

He cut himself off, exhaling sharply, like he had to physically stop himself from saying something.

Minho frowned, his chest tightening. “When she what?”

Silence.

But there was something in Changbin’s expression—something guarded, something hesitant—that made Minho’s stomach twist.

“…Changbin.” His voice was low. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Changbin’s jaw clenched. He looked away, biting the inside of his cheek.

Minho turned to the others. “Do any of you know?”

No one answered. Everyone just stared at Changbin in confusion.

Felix shifted uncomfortably. Seungmin sighed, rubbing his temples. Jisung, who had been watching the whole conversation unfold, hesitated before finally speaking.

“You should just leave, hyung.”

Minho’s heart pounded. “Not until he tells me what’s going on.”

Changbin turned back to him, his expression dark. “You don’t get to demand shit, Minho”

Minho’s breath came unevenly. His mind was racing, every nerve screaming that something wasn’t right. That you weren’t okay.

But before he could press further, Changbin took a step back, his voice dropping to a quiet edge. “If you really gave a shit, you would’ve stayed.”

And with that, he turned and walked out of the room. The conversation was over.

Minho stood there, frozen, suffocating under the weight of his own choices. He let out a slow, heavy sigh—then left the studio. He should come back later. 

*********************

Meanwhile, you were trying your best to keep moving forward as the months progressed. 

The divorce process was surprisingly simple—your lawyers handled most of it, meaning you didn’t have to see Minho face-to-face. In a way, you were relieved. You weren’t sure if you could handle it. At first, you thought he would change his mind. That maybe, at some point, he’d realize the mistake and take it back. But he didn’t.

Instead, Minho had become colder.

No messages. No calls. It felt like he completely moved on.

The one date you would have to see him, the court date for the final signatures, was looming over your head like a storm cloud. But by then, you told yourself, maybe you’d have already delivered the baby. Maybe it would make things… easier.

Or maybe it would make everything worse.

You still debated telling Minho. But why? He didn’t want you anymore—why would he want your baby?

The only thing keeping you steady through all of it was Changbin. He had been your rock through the entire process, making sure you ate, making sure you weren’t alone when you didn’t want to be. Since you had no family in the city, having him around made everything feel a little less unbearable.

Of course, he still pushed you every once in a while. “You should tell Minho,” he’d say, voice careful, knowing you wouldn’t want to hear it. But he kept his promise. He never told Minho, or any of the boys.

Now, nearing your due date, your belly was impossible to hide. 

*********************

You sighed as you opened Changbin’s fridge, only to be greeted by nearly nothing.

“Changbin, what the hell do you eat?” you muttered, your voice echoing in the mostly empty kitchen.

“Protein shakes,” he answered shamelessly from the couch.

You turned to glare at him, “That’s not food.”

He shrugged, “It gets the job done.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, if you want to live like a gym rat and die from malnutrition.” You shut the fridge and grabbed your jacket. “Come on. We’re going grocery shopping. I’m not letting you survive on just protein shakes and instant ramen.”

Changbin groaned. “Y/N, I have food. You’re being dramatic.”

“No, you don’t,” you argued, pointing at him. “And I’m not about to let my best friend starve.”

In the end, you won.

As you and Changbin walked through the grocery store, he was disguised in a hoodie, cap, and mask to avoid being recognized. You chuckled, shaking your head, as you tossed a bag of spinach into the cart.

“You look ridiculous,” you teased.

Changbin scoffed. “Excuse me, this is peak disguise fashion.”

You rolled your eyes, handing him a bag of apples. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

Despite the teasing, your mind briefly wandered. Minho used to do the same—always in disguise, always hiding. Not because he wanted to, but because you had asked him to. You wanted your privacy, wanted to protect his career. He had respected that, never once pushing you to go public.

Funny how things changed.

Your smile faltered slightly, but before you could dwell on it, Changbin nudged you with his elbow. “You okay?”

You quickly nodded. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“Do I really need this many vegetables?” Changbin said in an attempt to lighten your mood. 

“Yes,” you said firmly. “And real food too. Not just protein bars and chicken breast.”

Changbin sighed. “Fine, mom.”

You smirked. “I am about to be a mom.”

He chuckled. “Touché.”

After finishing your grocery run, you both returned to his apartment, and as soon as everything was put away, exhaustion hit you like a truck. You had been feeling extra drained lately, and sometimes, your own apartment felt too lonely to go back to. So, without thinking too much, you made your way to his guest room upstairs, curling up on the bed for a nap.

Changbin didn’t question it. He simply made sure you were comfortable before leaving you to rest.

*********************

Back at Jisung’s place, Minho sat on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through his phone when something made his breath hitch.

“BREAKING NEWS: MYSTERIOUS WOMAN SPOTTED WITH STRAY KIDS’ CHANGBIN—IS HE GOING TO BE A FATHER?!”

Minho stared at the headline in disbelief.

The accompanying picture showed Changbin walking through a grocery store, a shopping cart—and a heavily pregnant woman by his side.

A woman that looked far too familiar. It was you.

The breath punched out of his lungs. His fingers clenched around his phone. His vision blurred with rage.

You were with Changbin.

And you were pregnant.

Minho felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as a horrifying realization hit him—was the baby Changbin’s? Had you moved on that fast?

Minho’s grip tightened on his phone, his vision blurring with rage and something far more painful—betrayal.

He was speechless, you… and Changbin?

Before the divorce was even finalized?

His heart pounded. You had moved on while he was still regretting everything?

His body moved before his mind caught up. Anger surged through his veins as he grabbed his car keys and drove to Changbin’s apartment, each mile fueling his anger.

*********************

Changbin was in the living room, when loud banging echoed through the front door.

“Changbin!”

The furious voice sent ice through his veins. He could tell it was Minho.

The second he opened the door, Minho stormed inside, shoving him back.

“Dude, what the hell—”

“What the fuck is this?” Minho’s voice was sharp, holding up his phone.

Changbin frowned, glancing at the headline. “It’s not—”

“Tell me this isn’t real.”

Changbin hesitated. “Minho, calm down—”

“Don’t tell me to fucking calm down!” His voice cracked, eyes blazing. “You and her? Before the divorce was even finalized? How could you– HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!”

Changbin clenched his jaw. “It’s not what you think.”

Minho took a step closer, fists tightening, “Then tell me. Tell me it’s not yours.”

Silence. Changbin hesitated.

Your words rang in his head—“Promise me. You won’t tell him.”

He swallowed and then, against every instinct screaming at him, he forced the lie out.

“…It’s mine.”

Minho froze. 

His blood turned to ice, his breath caught in his throat. He was then filled with rage. It exploded inside him, taking over every rational thought.

Before he even realized it, his fist swung.

The punch landed square on Changbin’s jaw, sending him stumbling back.

“Minho—” Changbin hissed, touching his lip.

But Minho wasn’t listening. He saw red.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” he yelled, grabbing Changbin by the collar. “You were my best friend!” His voice broke. “How could you—how could you—”

The pain cut too sharp.

"YOU WERE MY BROTHER!" Minho roared, his chest heaving, rage and heartbreak spilling from every syllable. "YOU ASSHOLE—AFTER ALL THESE YEARS, AFTER EVERYTHING WE’VE BEEN THROUGH—YOU WENT BEHIND MY BACK?!"

Changbin shook his head quickly. “Minho, listen—”

"NO!" Minho’s hands trembled at his sides, nails digging into his palms as his vision blurred with anger.

“STOP!” Your loud and shattered voice rang through the room.

Minho turned, still breathing hard. And there you were. Standing at the top of the stairs, eyes wide with panic.

His heart skipped a beat. For a second, neither of you moved. Then—Minho’s gaze lowered. Your hand was resting on your stomach protectively.

Then, reality slammed into him– you and Changbin. A baby.

Minho’s vision blurred as he whispered, “After all this time, this is how it ends?”

The pain in his voice made your stomach twist.

His throat tightened. “I—I quit.”

You stiffened. “What?”

“I won’t be in the band anymore. I quit.”

Changbin’s eyes widened in horror. “Minho, stop—don’t say that—”

But Minho wasn’t listening. He turned and walked out the door.

You finally snapped out of your daze. “Minho, wait!”

But he didn’t stop. He didn’t look back. And for the second time in your life—Minho walked away from you.

----------------

Taglist:

@kaiyaba @lov3rachan @pixie-felix @ellemir2404 @willowhanji @skzimagines @wavetohannie @jamroses @vietjeb @kayleefriedchicken @kokinu09 @nightmarenyxx @my-neurodivergent-world @shuuporanglinos @silly250

Part 2 Taglist:

@lovesunshinefelix @bluebellsringinghereandthere @hanniebunch @minniesverse @expired-vibes @havenwithleeknow @nikithaaaaaa @minghaosimp @zelianlop @imeverycliche @missvanjii @kissesmellow21 @butterflybananabread @skzmasterchef

[minniesfiles]

BRUISES AND KISSES

Jeonghan was always protective of you, sometimes to a fault.

❧ PAIRING; jeonghan x reader

❧ GENRE; hurt/comfort, fluff

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; established relationship, mention of a fight, mentions of injuries, hurt/comfort, fluff

❧ WORDCOUNT; 0.8k

𐚁₊⊹

Jeonghan sat on the worn-out motel bed with his knuckles split and crusted with dried blood. His bottom lip was swollen, and a thin line of red traced down to his chin where a fresh cut sat angrily against his skin.

Your hands were shaking as you reached for him, and your fingers hesitated just before touching his cheek. Your breath hitched. Your chest rose and fell too fast, too erratic.

Jeonghan tilted his head slightly as his bruised jaw tightened. “Baby—”

“Don’t,” you whispered, shaking your head as you tried to hold back the tears welling up in your eyes.

You practically watched it all unfold. The way the man at the bar smirked at you. The crude words he spat in your direction. The way Jeonghan reacted without hesitation.

You barely processed the insult before Jeonghan shoved his chair back with a loud scrape and his fists already flying. It was brutal — quick, ruthless and filled with an anger you rarely saw in him.

But now, as he sat there battered and bruised, he didn’t look angry. He looked at you the way he always did. A softness that made your chest ache. A small, lopsided smile played on his busted lips, and that broke you.

Finally letting the tears spill over, you let out a shaky sob.

“Baby, please don’t cry,” Jeonghan mumbled tenderly, though his voice was rough.

You sniffled and ignored him as your fingers hovered over his cheek before pressing against his jaw. When he flinched slightly, you flinched back in response.

Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest. “You’re hurt,” you whispered almost inaudibly.

Jeonghan exhaled through his nose, his fingers twitching against his thigh as if he wanted to reach for you. “It’s not as bad as it looks” he tried to reassure you.

But you shot him a look that told him you weren’t in the mood for his nonchalance.

“You always do this,” you said.

“You act like you’re made of stone, like you can take every hit without flinching.”

Your hands curled into tight fists against your lap. “But I saw you Jeonghan. I saw him punch you. I saw the blood.”

Jeonghan sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Y/n I love you, and I wasn’t gonna let him talk to you like that.”

Your throat tightened. “I know.”

And that was the worst part. You knew.

Jeonghan was always protective of you, sometimes to a fault. He would do anything to shield you, even if it meant breaking himself in the process. It scared you — this self-destructive need he had to take on the world for you sake. You loved him for it, but God, you hated it too.

You reached forward and gently cupped his face in your hands. His skin was warm in your palms as your eyes traced every bruise and every scrape.

Jeonghan just let you, and his body relaxed under your gentle touch. He always did.

Slowly, you leaned in and your lips pressed the softest kiss against the corner of his mouth — right where the wound met unbroken skin.

Jeonghan sucked in a sharp breath, and his body went still.

Your lips lingered for a second longer as a silent apology and a silent plea for him to stop putting himself in harm’s way for you.

You pulled back slightly, your eyes still glossy with unshed tears and your bottom lip trembling. “You scare me when you do this,” you admitted.

Jeonghan’s expression softened. He reached his hand out and used his thumb to brush away a stray tear from your cheek.

“I’m sorry baby, I don’t mean to.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “I know.”

For a moment, you both sat in silence. Then, Jeonghan finally moved. His fingers slipped under your chin and tilted your face up so you were looking at him again.

“Come here,” he whispered.

You hesitated for only a second before closing the space between you. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. Jeonghan let out a quiet sigh, his arms coming around you to hold you close.

“You’re okay,” you mumbled against his skin, as if saying it enough times would make it true.

“I am now” Jeonghan pressed a kiss against your temple.

You pulled back and looked at him in the eyes intently. “Promise me,” you managed through a broken whisper.

Jeonghan knew what you were asking.

He let out a slow breath as his fingers tracer circles against your lower back. “I promise to try.”

It wasn’t the promise you wanted. But it was Jeonghan. And for now, that was enough.

You sighed and leaned in again, pressing another kiss to his bruised lip. It was softer this time, like you were trying to heal the wound with every touch. Jeonghan kissed you back just as slow and gentle, despite the pain it probably caused him.

When you both finally pulled away, Jeonghan gave you that same lopsided grin.

“You should see the other guy.”

You rolled your eyes as a watery laugh escaped your lips. “Idiot.”

Jeonghan chuckled, but winced slightly. “But I’m your idiot.”

And God help you, he was.

[cameronsbabydoll]

Can you do something like age gap rafe and he comforts you after you get into an argument with a parent (or something along the lines of a parental figure whos an ass) and pats his lap and let him take care of you 🧚 ive had this image stuck in my head all week <33

FRAGILE TEARS — RAFE CAMERON

WARNINGS: crying, mention of fighting with your parents, implied age gap, mostly comfort, rafe sorta implies that the reader depends on him.

A/N: i definitely imagined this with babydoll reader but imagine it however! (wc: 900)

There was a reason you always went to Rafe for comfort and support, especially after arguing with your parents. Sometimes, you just needed to cry on his lap; other times, you needed him to calm you down and whisper in your ear. And he was always there. Always.

So, it wasn’t much of a surprise to Rafe when he heard the door to his office creak open. As always, he stopped what he was working on and turned to see you standing in the doorway, tears streaming down your face.

“Hey,” he said softly, patting his lap. “Come here, sweetheart.”

He watched as you sobbed your way over to him, taking in the sight of your tear-streaked face. He patted his lap again, and you didn’t hesitate, crawling into it like a wounded child. You buried your face in the crook of his neck as another fresh wave of salty tears spilled from your eyes.

Rafe wrapped his arms around you, pulling you as close as possible while running a soothing hand down your back. “Hey… shhh, it’s okay, doll. I’m here now.”

Neither of you spoke for a long moment—he just held you, letting you cry into his shoulder.

Only when your sobs began to subside, replaced by quiet hiccups, did Rafe finally speak again. “You wanna talk about it, sugar?”

He already knew the answer. And, as expected, you shook your head against his neck.

Rafe sighed softly, his hand continuing to rub your back, the other cradling the back of your head. "Alright. You can cry in the crook of my neck all you want, then, baby."

A beat of silence passed before he spoke again. “You wanna know something, doll?”

You nodded against his neck, still sniffling. He chuckled a little at the way you clung to him.

“Come here, sugar. Sit up for a second,” he murmured, giving you a gentle nudge.

Slowly, you sat up in his lap, a few tears still clinging to your lashes. He could see you were calming down now.

You sniffled, your red-rimmed eyes meeting his. “What is it?” you asked, your voice hoarse and wobbly.

Rafe smiled at the sight of you, his thumb brushing away a lingering tear as he cupped your cheek. “You wanna hear something kinda funny?” he asked, a small grin tugging at his lips.

You let out a soft laugh-sniffle and nodded.

He traced his fingers along your jaw. “You think I have some kinda secret superpower, don’t you?” he teased.

“Cause every time you come running to me all upset, you always calm down. Right?”

You nodded again. It was true. You never quite understood why, but whenever you fought with your parents—even over something small—you always ended up here, letting Rafe soothe you with a few words and an open lap.

You’d always assumed it was just his soft spot for you. But now, he was making it sound like something more. “That’s… not a secret superpower,” you mumbled, embarrassed that he’d noticed the pattern.

Rafe chuckled, his hand slipping from your cheek to your hair, brushing through the tangles with practiced ease. “Oh, it most definitely is, sweetheart.”

He let the moment stretch out, his fingers gently combing through your hair, lulling you into quiet submission. Then, he spoke again, “You wanna know why?”

You hesitated, then nodded.

“It’s ‘cause you need me,” he said bluntly, his hand sliding down to rest on your waist. “Even when you’re all riled up, angry, or sad, you come to me to fix it. Don’t you?”

Heat crept up your neck. Your eyes flickered to the side as you realized he was right. You did need him. You didn’t know why—but at the same time, it didn’t matter. Because every time something went wrong, he made it better.

“…Yeah,” you admitted quietly, embarrassed as his fingers continued to comb through your hair.

Rafe chuckled again, his blue eyes gleaming with amusement at your flustered expression. “I thought so,” he murmured, tilting your chin up so you had no choice but to look at him.

You’d always been such a good girl. Polite, respectful, quiet.

And, unfortunately for you, he’d always had a thing for quiet girls.

[jupiterpilgrim]

The Elf Who Couldn't Help

Christmas Special 🎄

Miyeon x Male Reader

word count: 5K

You're wandering through the crowded mall, Christmas music blasting from every direction as you try to check off the last few items on your shopping list. The usual holiday chaos surrounds you - parents dragging screaming kids, teenagers hogging the benches, old people walking too damn slow. Just another December afternoon.

That's when you spot the Santa's workshop setup near the food court. There's a long-ass line of hyper children waiting to sit on Santa's lap, but what catches your eye is his helper elf. She's this tiny Asian girl in a green costume that looks about two sizes too big, desperately trying to wrangle the kids into some kind of order.

"Please stay in line! One at a time!" Her voice is high and stressed as a group of boys completely ignores her, ducking under the rope barriers.

You can't help but chuckle at how overwhelmed she looks. The elf costume is ridiculous - striped tights, pointy shoes with bells, and a hat that keeps sliding down over her eyes. But there's something endearing about how hard she's trying, even as chaos erupts around her.

And she's undeniably adorable too.

"Fucking hell," you mutter under your breath as another kid breaks free from the line, causing even more chaos. The girl's shoulders slump in defeat as she tries to restore order. This will definitely be a long day for the poor thing.

You continue with your shopping, but find yourself passing by the Santa setup a few more times. Each time, the poor elf looks more and more frazzled. Her dark hair is escaping from under the hat, her cheeks are flushed, and she's practically jogging to keep up with all the line-cutting kids.

"Please, one at a time!" the elf girl pleads, her voice cracking slightly. You notice dark circles under her eyes as you walk past.

After finishing up your shopping, you head to your car feeling accomplished. That's when your phone buzzes - a text from your mother saying your cousin - yes, that cousin - decided last-minute to join Christmas dinner.

Fuck.

Now you need another gift.

With a sigh, you trudge back into the mall. The Santa setup is gone now, packed away for the night. You quickly grab a generic gift card (he's not worth much effort anyway) and head back to the parking lot.

That's when you hear it - soft sniffling coming from between two cars. You pause, keys in hand. The sound continues, clearly someone crying. Following the noise, you find a small figure curled up against a tire, wearing that ridiculous elf costume.

"Hey... are you okay?" You ask gently.

She jerks up with a gasp, hastily wiping her eyes. It's the same elf from earlier, but her makeup is smeared and her eyes are red and puffy.

"I'm fine!" She squeaks, trying to force a smile. "Just... just taking a break!"

You raise an eyebrow. "In the parking lot? At night?"

She deflates slightly. "Okay, maybe not just taking a break..."

"I saw you earlier, helping Santa. Rough day with the kids?"

A bitter laugh escapes her. "That obvious, huh?" She sniffs and wipes her nose with her sleeve. "Everything went wrong. The kids were crazy, I couldn't control them, I dropped hot chocolate all over myself... and now they're firing me. Said I'm not 'elf material.'"

"That's harsh. Those kids were like wild animals though, not sure anyone could have controlled them."

She shrugs, looking down at her ridiculous pointed shoes. "I really needed this job though. Even just through Christmas..."

"I'm sorry. I'm sure you'll find something else soon." You hesitate for a second, then you say your name.

"Miyeon," she replies softly.

"Nice to meet you, Miyeon. Look, this might sound weird but... would you want to grab something to eat? You look like you could use a friend right now."

Her eyes widen. "Oh! That's very kind but... I don't know you. And I probably look terrible..." She gestures at her tear-stained face.

You grin. "Come on, who doesn't want to have dinner with a Christmas elf? I promise I'm not a serial killer. We can go somewhere public with lots of witnesses."

That gets a small laugh out of her. "I really shouldn't..."

Right on cue, her stomach lets out a loud growl. Her face turns bright red.

"When's the last time you ate?" You ask.

"Um... breakfast? Maybe?" She admits sheepishly. "I was too nervous to eat lunch..."

"That settles it then. Come on, my treat. Consider it my good deed for the holiday season."

She bites her lip, clearly conflicted. "You really don't have to..."

"I want to. Plus, how often do I get to take an elf to dinner? It'll make a great story."

Finally, a real smile breaks through. "Okay... but only if you promise to drive me home after?"

"Scout's honor," you reply, helping her up.

—

You lead her to your car, noticing how small and vulnerable she looks in the ridiculous elf costume. During the short drive, you learn that Miyeon is a college student who needed extra money for textbooks next semester.

"The mall job seemed perfect," she explains. "Decent pay for just two weeks of work. But I guess I'm not cut out for dealing with kids."

"Those weren't kids, they were tiny terrorists," you reply, making her giggle.

At the diner, you slide into a booth and watch in amusement as Miyeon demolishes a huge plate of pancakes. She pauses between bites, suddenly self-conscious.

"Am I being rude? I must look like such a pig..."

"Not at all. Eat up - you've earned it after this sitty day."

Other diners keep glancing at your table, probably wondering why there's an elf having breakfast for dinner. Miyeon shrinks under their stares.

"Don't you need to return the costume?" you ask.

She shakes her head. "Had to buy it myself. Waste of money now..."

"Seriously? They made you pay for it? That's fucked up."

"Yeah... I spent most of my savings on it too." Her voice wavers slightly.

You study her as she eats - she really is cute, even in the silly costume. There's something genuine and sweet about her that draws you in.

"So what are you studying?" you ask.

"Art history. Everyone says it's useless but... I love it. There's something magical about understanding how art has shaped human culture throughout time."

Her eyes light up as she talks about her studies, hands gesturing animatedly. You find yourself smiling at her enthusiasm.

"That's actually really cool. Most people just chase whatever degree will make them the most money."

"That's what my parents wanted me to do," she sighs. "They think I'm wasting my time. The mall job was supposed to prove I could be responsible and support myself but..." she trails off, looking down at her empty plate.

"Hey, no matter what they think. Do what makes you happy."

She gives you a grateful smile that makes your heart skip a beat.

After dinner, you drive her home as promised. She lives in a small apartment complex near campus.

"Thank you so much for everything," Miyeon says sincerely. "I don't know how to repay you."

You pretend to think hard for a moment.

"Hmm, how about drinks tomorrow night?" you suggest. "No elf costume required."

Her eyes widen. "Are you... are you asking me out?"

"Unless that would be weird?"

"No! I mean... no, it wouldn't be weird. I'd like that." Her cheeks flush pink.

"Great. I'll text you?"

She nods, typing her number into your phone. As she gets out of the car, she turns back one more time.

"You know... maybe getting fired wasn't the worst thing after all."

—

The next evening, you meet Miyeon at a cozy bar downtown. She looks completely different out of the elf costume - wearing a simple sweater and jeans that highlight her petite but curvy figure. Her dark hair falls in soft waves around her face.

"Wow, you clean up nice," you tease. "Almost didn't recognize you without the pointy ears."

She rolls her eyes but smiles. "Never mention that costume again. I'm trying to repress those memories."

Over drinks, conversation flows easily. You learn that Miyeon moved here from Korea as a child, that she has a passion for Renaissance art, and that she secretly loves terrible reality TV shows. She's funny and smart, with a dry sense of humor that catches you off guard.

"So what do you do?" she asks, sipping her cocktail.

You tell her about your job, making her laugh with stories about your weird coworkers. As the night goes on, you find yourself moving closer together, knees touching under the table.

"Want to know a secret?" Miyeon says, slightly tipsy. "I actually hate Christmas music now. Hours of Jingle Bells on repeat will do that to you."

"I don't blame you. That shit's torture."

She giggles, leaning into you slightly. "You know what else? Some of those kids were evil. Like, actually evil. One bit me!"

"No fucking way!"

"Yes! Right here!" She rolls up her sleeve to show you a small bruise on her forearm. Without thinking, you gently run your fingers over the mark. Her skin is incredibly soft.

Miyeon shivers slightly at your touch, looking up at you with those big dark eyes. The air between you feels charged suddenly.

"Do you want to take a walk in the park?" you ask softly.

Shd nods, biting her lower lip.

—

The winter air nips at your faces as you and Miyeon stroll through the park. Christmas lights twinkle in the trees, creating a magical atmosphere despite the late hour. Snow crunches beneath your feet as you walk close together, shoulders brushing.

"Thanks for tonight," Miyeon says softly. "I really needed this after... you know." She gestures vaguely, probably referring to the elf fiasco.

"Hey, I should be thanking you. Not every day I get to rescue a damsel in distress from a parking lot," you tease.

She playfully shoves your shoulder. "I wasn't in distress! I was just... strategically regrouping."

"Is that what we're calling crying behind a car now?"

"Shut up," she laughs, but moves closer to you as a cold breeze whips past.

You find a bench overlooking a small pond, its surface reflecting the colorful lights. Sitting close together for warmth, you can smell her light floral perfume mixing with the crisp winter air.

"You know what's funny?" Miyeon says, watching her breath form little clouds. "If I hadn't been such a terrible elf, we never would have met."

"You weren't terrible. Those kids were demons."

"True. But still..." She turns to look at you, snowflakes catching in her dark hair. Her cheeks are pink from the cold and maybe the drinks. "I'm kind of glad it happened."

The moment feels perfect - the lights, the snow, her eyes shining as she looks up at you. You lean in slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wants to.

Instead, she meets you halfway.

Her lips are soft and slightly cold from the winter air. The kiss is gentle, tentative at first, then deepening as she sighs against your mouth. Your hand comes up to cup her cheek, thumb brushing away a snowflake.

When you finally part, Miyeon's eyes stay closed for a moment longer, a small smile playing on her lips.

"Wow," she breathes.

"Yeah," you agree eloquently, making her giggle.

—

The next few days pass in a pleasant blur. You text constantly, sharing memes and stories about your days. She sends you pictures of terrible Christmas sweaters at thrift stores, you counter with photos of your coworker's increasingly elaborate desk decorations.

You meet up again for coffee between her job hunting attempts. This time she's wearing an oversized sweater that makes her look even tinier, hands wrapped around a steaming peppermint latte.

"I had another interview today," she sighs. "At a bookstore this time."

"How'd it go?"

"Well, I didn't cry or spill anything, so better than the mall job already." She takes a sip of her drink, leaving a foam mustache that you resist the urge to kiss away. "But they said they're looking for someone with more retail experience."

"That's bullshit. How are you supposed to get experience if no one will hire you?"

"Exactly!" She throws up her hands in frustration. "It's like they expect me to emerge fully formed from the womb with five years of customer service experience."

You think for a moment. "You know... my friend works at that art supply store downtown. I could put in a word?"

Miyeon's eyes light up. "Really? You'd do that?"

"Of course. Plus, it's related to your major kind of. You'd be surrounded by art stuff all day."

She practically bounces in her seat. "That would be amazing! Thank you-thank you-thank you!"

Her enthusiasm is infectious. You can't help but lean across the table to kiss her, tasting peppermint on her lips.

The art store interview goes well - Your friend's recommendation carries weight, and Miyeon's genuine passion for art shines through. They hire her for a temporary position through the holiday season, with potential to stay on part-time after.

"I start Monday!" she tells you excitedly over the phone. "And the employee discount is amazing. I'm going to buy so many fancy pencils."

You celebrate with takeout at her tiny apartment near campus. It's cramped but cozy, walls covered in art prints and fairy lights. You sit on her futon eating Chinese food straight from the containers while she tells you about all her plans.

"The manager said they do workshops sometimes too. Like, teaching basic techniques and stuff. Maybe eventually I could lead one!" She's practically vibrating with excitement.

"Look at you, moving up in the world. From disgraced elf to art guru."

She throws a fortune cookie at your head. "Never mention the elf thing again! I'm trying to maintain some dignity here."

You catch the cookie and crack it open. "'A surprise encounter will lead to lasting happiness.’ Huh, guess these things are right sometimes."

Miyeon blushes, ducking her head. You set aside the takeout containers and pull her close, kissing her slowly. She melts against you, fingers curling into your shirt.

The makeout sessions are becoming a regular thing, but neither of you pushes for more. It's nice, this slow build of intimacy. Learning the little things about each other - how she scrunches her nose when she laughs, the way she absently hums while reading, her habit of stealing sips of your drinks and more.

—

You help her prepare for her first day, picking out an outfit that's professional but still her style.

She texts you updates throughout the day:

"OMG there are so many types of pencils. How are there this many pencils??"

"Just had to explain to someone why they can't return used paint. Why are people like this?"

"A kid just asked me what colors taste the best. I told him blue. Hope I don't get sued."

After her shift, you meet her for dinner. She's tired but happy, chattering about everything she learned.

"And did you know there are pencils that cost like $50 EACH? For one pencil! But they're so smooth, feel this!" She pulls a sample pencil from her bag, making you test it on a napkin.

"Very smooth," you agree, charmed by her enthusiasm. "Worth $50?"

"Maybe not $50, but with my discount..." She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

The days leading up to Christmas pass quickly. You help Miyeon learn the store's inventory system, quizzing her on different types of paper and brush sizes. She introduces you to her favorite cheap noodle places near campus.

One evening, you're walking her home when it starts snowing heavily. She tilts her head back, sticking out her tongue to catch snowflakes.

"You know what?" she says thoughtfully. "I actually kind of miss the elf costume. Just a tiny bit."

You raise an eyebrow. "Stockholm syndrome kicking in?"

"No, it's just... if I hadn't taken that stupid job, if I hadn't been so bad at it... we wouldn't be here now." She stops walking, turning to face you. "Sometimes the worst things lead to the best things, you know?"

You brush snow from her hair. "Very philosophical. Must be all that art history education."

"Shut up," she laughs, standing on tiptoes to kiss you. Her lips are cold but her mouth is warm, tasting like the hot chocolate you shared earlier.

When she pulls back, her eyes are serious. "Thank you. For everything. The job, the support... just being there."

"Hey, I got something out of it too. How many people can say they're dating a former mall elf?"

She groans. "I take it back. You're the worst."

But she's smiling as she says it, snowflakes catching on her eyelashes, and you think maybe those fortune cookies know what they're talking about after all.

—

The art supply store keeps her busy through the holiday rush. You bring her coffee during her breaks, watching her explain different types of paints to customers with growing confidence. She's in her element here, surrounded by creative supplies and fellow art enthusiasts.

"A lady asked me to recommend brushes for oil painting today," she tells you proudly. "And I actually knew what to suggest! I'm becoming one of those knowledgeable retail people."

"Better than being one of those retail people who hides in the stockroom to cry," you point out.

"That was ONE TIME," she protests, but she's laughing.

—

Finally, about two days before Christmas, you invite her over to your place for dinner. You've cooked before, but tonight feels different. There's an electricity in the air, an unspoken anticipation.

Miyeon shows up wearing a simple red dress that hugs every curve. Her dark hair falls in soft waves past her shoulders, and you catch a hint of floral perfume when she hugs you hello.

"Something smells amazing," she says, following you to the kitchen.

"Don't sound so surprised," you tease. "I can cook sometimes."

"Sometimes being the key word." She peers into the pot on the stove. "Remember the Great Pasta Disaster of last week?"

"Hey, how was I supposed to know the sauce would explode like that?"

She laughs, stealing a piece of garlic bread. "My ceiling is still stained red. My landlord thinks I murdered someone up there."

Dinner is comfortable, filled with your usual banter. But there's an undercurrent of tension, a charge building between you. Every accidental brush of hands sends sparks down your spine. You catch her staring at your lips more than once.

After the dishes are done, you move to the couch with glasses of wine. Miyeon curls up against your side, fitting perfectly under your arm. You can feel her heart racing.

"This is nice," she murmurs, tracing patterns on your thigh.

"Yeah?" Your voice comes out rougher than intended. "Just nice?"

She tilts her head up to look at you, eyes dark and intense. "Maybe more than nice..."

You cup her face with one hand, thumb brushing her cheek. She leans into the touch, breath hitching slightly.

"Miyeon..."

"Yes?"

"Do you like me?"

Instead of answering, she surges up to press her lips against yours. It starts soft, tentative, but quickly deepens into something more urgent. Her tongue slides against yours as she shifts to straddle your lap, dress riding up her thighs.

You run your hands up her sides, feeling her shiver. She grinds down against you, drawing a groan from your throat. When you break for air, her pupils are blown wide with desire.

"Bedroom?" You manage to ask.

She nods frantically. "Please."

You stand, lifting her with you. Her legs wrap around your waist as you carry her down the hall, still kissing. You nearly trip twice, making her giggle against your mouth.

Finally reaching the bedroom, you put her back on the floor, your fingers gently touch her cheek, she looks up at you with such trust and want that it makes your chest ache.

"You're sure about this?" You have to ask.

"I've never been more sure of anything," she replies.

That’s all you needed to hear.

Your hands roam over Miyeon's body, mapping every delicious curve through her thin dress. She arches into your touch, soft moans escaping her perfect lips. When you kiss down her neck, she threads her fingers through your hair, pulling you closer.

"I've wanted this for so long," she whispers, her voice trembling with need. "Ever since we first met..."

You gently bite her neck, making her gasp. "Me too, princess. You drive me fucking crazy." Your hands slide down to squeeze her ass through the dress. She feels so perfect, so soft yet firm.

Miyeon grinds against you, her breath coming faster. "Please... touch me more..." She guides your hand to her breast, letting you feel her hardened nipple through the fabric.

You waste no time sliding the dress straps off her shoulders, revealing more of her flawless porcelain skin. Her medium breasts spill free, pink nipples begging for attention. "Fuck, you're gorgeous," you growl, taking one peak into your mouth.

"Ohh! Yes, suck them..." She holds your head to her chest as you lavish her breasts with your tongue, alternating between gentle licks and firm sucking. Her moans get louder when you graze your teeth over the sensitive buds.

Your hands push her dress down further until it pools at her feet. Miyeon stands before you in just her lacy panties, her face flushed with arousal and slight embarrassment. You drink in the sight of her nearly naked body.

"You're staring too much," she says shyly.

You gently grab her wrists. "It's because you're fucking perfect." You pull her close for a deep kiss, your tongue exploring her mouth as your hands roam her exposed skin.

She melts into the kiss, pressing her breasts against your chest. You can feel her nipples hard against you through your shirt. Her hands tug at the fabric. "Take this off... I want to feel your skin..."

You break the kiss just long enough to pull your shirt over your head. When your bare chest meets hers, you both moan at the contact. Her skin is so incredibly soft against yours.

"Bed. Now." You guide her backwards until her knees hit the mattress. She lies back, dark hair fanning out on the pillow as she looks up at you with those innocent yet lustful eyes.

You crawl over her, leaving a trail of hot kisses from her tummy up to her neck. Her hands explore your back, nails lightly scratching. When you grind your clothed erection against her core, she gasps.

"Can you feel how hard you make me?" You thrust against her again, making her whimper.

"Y-yes... I want to see it..." Her hands move to your belt, fumbling with the buckle.

You help her undo your pants, kicking them off along with your boxers. Your cock springs free, already rock hard and leaking precum. Miyeon's eyes widen as she takes in your size.

"Like what you see, princess?" You smirk as her hand wraps around your shaft, stroking experimentally.

"It's so big..." she whispers, thumb brushing over your sensitive tip. "Will it... fit?"

"We'll go nice and slow, baby. But first..." You hook your fingers in her panties, sliding them down her legs. You spread her creamy thighs wide apart, admiring how her pink pussy glistens with arousal. Her outer lips are puffy and swollen, inner folds glistening with her juices. The musky scent of her cunt makes your mouth water as you lean in closer. “Fuck, you're already so wet for me.”

"Please..." she whimpers, squirming under your intense gaze. "Stop teasing and lick me already!"

You give her a wicked grin before diving in, dragging your hot tongue through her dripping slit from bottom to top. The taste of her pussy explodes across your tongue - tangy and sweet like ripe fruit. She cries out and bucks her hips up into your face.

"Fuck! Your tongue feels so good!" Her fingers tangle in your hair as you focus on her clit, circling the swollen nub with firm strokes. You can feel it getting harder and more pronounced under your tongue.

Holding her thighs open wider, you bury your face deeper between her legs, eating her pussy like it's your last meal. Your tongue alternates between fucking into her tight hole and flicking rapidly over her clit. Wet sucking sounds fill the room as you devour her cunt.

Her pussy is absolutely drenched now, cream coating your chin as you feast on her. You slide two fingers into her clutching channel while continuing to assault her clit with your tongue. The walls of her cunt squeeze your digits hungrily.

"Holy shit, don't stop! Right there!" She grinds her pussy against your face, chasing her pleasure. "I'm getting so close already..."

You curl your fingers to massage her g-spot while sucking her clit between your lips. The combination has her writhing and moaning uncontrollably. Her thighs start to tremble as her orgasm builds.

You increase the pressure and speed, determined to make her cum hard on your tongue. Your fingers pump in and out of her sopping pussy while you flick her clit mercilessly. She's so wet that obscene squelching noises accompany each thrust of your fingers.

"Fuck fuck fuck! I'm gonna cum!" Her back arches off the bed as her climax hits. Her pussy clamps down on your fingers as waves of pleasure course through her. You keep licking and sucking, drawing out her orgasm until she pushes your head away.

But you're not done with her yet. Not so soon. As she lies there panting, you reposition yourself between her legs. Her pussy is still twitching with aftershocks when you dive back in, this time focusing solely on her sensitive clit.

"Wait! I just came—ahhhh!" Her protest turns into a moan as you suck her swollen clit between your lips. You can feel her trying to close her legs but you hold them open, continuing your relentless assault on her pussy.

The oversensitivity quickly transforms back into pleasure as you work her towards another orgasm. Your tongue swirls around her clit in tight circles while three fingers pump into her dripping hole. Her cream coats your hand as you finger-fuck her roughly.

"Oh god, I can't... it's too much!" But her hips are rocking against your face again, chasing the building pleasure. You can feel her pussy getting even wetter, if that's possible.

You alternate between broad strokes with your flattened tongue and quick flicks directly on her clit. Meanwhile your fingers curl to hit her g-spot with each thrust. The combination of stimulation has her climbing rapidly towards another peak.

Her moans get higher and more desperate as you drive her wild with your mouth and fingers. You can tell she's fighting the pleasure, still sensitive from her first orgasm. But you're determined to make her cum again.

"Please... I can't take it... gonna cum again!" Her thighs start shaking as her second orgasm approaches. You double down, sucking her clit firmly while hammering your fingers against her g-spot.

She screams as she cums, her pussy clamping down so hard on your fingers that you can barely move them. You keep your lips locked around her clit, sucking gently to draw out the intense pleasure.

When her orgasm finally subsides, you slowly withdraw your fingers from her quivering pussy. They're absolutely coated in her cream. You make eye contact as you lick them clean, savoring her tangy flavor.

"Holy shit..." Miyeon pants, still trembling. "That was incredible. I've never cum that hard before."

You smirk and dive right back in, making her yelp in surprise. Her clit is swollen and ultra-sensitive now, perfect for what you have planned. You flatten your tongue and lap at her pussy with long, slow strokes.

"No more, baby, I can't..." But her protests are weak and her hips are already moving against your mouth again. You can feel her getting wetter as you continue eating her out.

This time you take it slow, building her up gradually. Your tongue explores every fold and crease of her pussy, occasionally dipping into her hole to taste her essence. When you finally return attention to her clit, she's practically begging for it.

"Please... need to cum again..." Miyeon rocks desperately against your face, seeking more pressure. But you keep your touches light and teasing, driving her crazy with want.

You trace letters on her clit with the tip of your tongue, spelling out filthy words as she writhes beneath you. When you finally slide your fingers back into her clutching pussy, she moans in relief.

"Yes! Fuck me with your fingers while you eat my pussy!" Her dirty talk spurs you on as you pump three fingers into her dripping hole. Your tongue works her clit with firm, steady pressure.

Her pussy is absolutely gushing now, cream running down your wrist as you finger-fuck her roughly. The wet sounds of your fingers plunging into her cunt fill the room along with her desperate moans.

You curl your fingers to massage her g-spot while sucking her clit between your lips. The dual stimulation has her climbing rapidly towards another orgasm. Her thighs start trembling as she gets close.

"Gonna cum again! Don't stop, please don't stop!" She grinds her pussy against your face, chasing her pleasure. You increase the pressure and speed, determined to give her the most intense orgasm yet.

Her back lifts clear off the bed, her body trembling violently as the orgasm tears through her. Miyeon's cries of your name echo in the room, her voice breaking into a series of desperate whimpers. Her pussy clamps down on your fingers, pulsating in rhythm with the waves of pleasure crashing through her. Her hands clutch at the sheets, knuckles white, as her thighs twitch uncontrollably. You don’t let up, your fingers continuing to work her through every shuddering moment of ecstasy, curling and teasing until she lets out a sharp gasp and pushes your head back, her hips jerking away.

"Stop, stop! Too much," she pants, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her body glistening with sweat.

You lean back, watching her recover, her hair splayed out like a halo against the pillow. Her cheeks are flushed deep red, lips parted as she struggles to catch her breath. She drapes an arm over her face, giggling weakly. "Wow... that was—like—insane. I didn’t know you were this good with your hands."

“Take your time,” you say, your tone soft but teasing as your gaze roams her utterly wrecked form.

She peeks at you from beneath her arm, her eyes still hazy and unfocused. Her thighs quiver as she stretches her legs out, one hand brushing against her stomach as if grounding herself. “Okay, just give me a second,” she murmurs, her voice shaky, a tired smile playing at her lips.

While she lies there, basking in the aftershocks, you reach over to the nightstand. Your fingers brush against the foil packet, and you tear it open deliberately, watching her out of the corner of your eye. Her gaze snaps to you as you roll the condom onto your throbbing cock, her pupils dilating slightly.

"Already?" she whispers, a flicker of excitement chasing away the exhaustion in her expression. You smirk, positioning yourself above her, letting her feel the heat of your body pressing against hers.

"Yes. Ready for me, princess?" You position yourself at her entrance, rubbing your tip through her folds.

She nods, pulling you down for a passionate kiss. You can feel her trembling with anticipation.

"Tell me if it's too much," you murmur against her lips as you start pushing in. The head pops past her tight entrance, making you both moan.

"Oh fuck... you're so big..." She bites her lip, adjusting to the stretch as you slowly feed more of your length into her.

You go inch by inch, letting her pussy accommodate your size. Her walls grip you like a vice, so hot and tight it takes all your control not to just slam in.

"That's it, baby, taking my cock so well..." You bottom out, fully sheathed in her warmth.

You stay still for a moment, letting her adjust while peppering kisses across her face and neck. When her hips start moving against you, you take it as your cue to move.

You start with a few slow, shallow thrusts, just to get her warmed up. Miyeon's moans are soft at first, but they grow louder with each push, urging you on. You can feel her nails digging into your back, her legs wrapping around your waist, pulling you deeper into her. The angle changes, and you hit something inside her that makes her cry out.

"Fuck, right there," she gasps. "Don't stop."

You don't plan to. You pick up the pace, your hips moving faster, your cock sliding in and out of her slick pussy. She's meeting your thrusts, her body arching up to take you deeper.

"Faster," she begs, her voice ragged. "Please fuck me faster."

You grip her hips, your fingers digging into her soft flesh. You start really giving it to her, your balls slapping against her ass with each stroke. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard banging against the wall as you pound her tight pussy.

"You like that, huh?" you growl in her ear. "Like getting fucked hard by my big cock?"

"Yes!" she screams. "Oh god, yes! Your cock feels so fucking good inside me."

Her words dissolve into incoherent moans, her body writhing beneath you. You can feel her getting wetter, her cream coating your shaft and dripping down her ass, making a fucking mess of the sheets. You can see it glistening on your cock every time you pull out, can feel it easing the way as you slam back in.

You lean down, your teeth finding her neck, biting down as you fuck her even harder. She cries out, her body convulsing around you. You can feel her pussy clenching, her walls squeezing your cock.

"Fuck, you're close," you groan. "I can feel it."

"Yes," she pants. "I'm gonna cum again. I'm gonna cum all over your cock."

You can feel your own orgasm building, your balls drawing up tight. But you hold back, determined to make her cum first. You want to feel her lose control, want to feel her pussy milking your cock.

You reach between them, your fingers finding her clit. You rub it in tight circles, your cock still pounding into her. She screams, her body bucking, her pussy clamping down on you like a vice.

"Cum for me, baby," you growl. "Let me feel you cum all over my cock."

And she does. She cums hard, her body convulsing, her pussy pulsing around you. You can feel her cream coating your cock, can feel it dripping down your balls. You keep fucking her, drawing out her orgasm, making her cry out with each thrust. Gradually you slow down the pace, each time your cock goes deep inside her, it pulls out slowly, you stay at this teasing pace until she catches her breath, then when you finally pull your cock out of her, without warning, you lift her shapely leg, exposing her dripping pussy and those delicate feet with festive red toenails.

"What are you doing?" she asks, watching as you grip her ankle.

"I'm gonna worship every inch of you," you growl, bringing her foot closer to your face. "Your pretty little toes look too tasty to resist."

Miyeon giggles nervously. "Nobody's ever... Oh fuck!" she gasps as you take her big toe into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it. The polish is smooth against your tongue as you suck gently, watching her face for reactions.

"Does that feel good, baby?" You ask between licks. Her toes taste clean with just a hint of salt from sweat.

"Mmmhh... it's weird but... kinda nice," she admits, wiggling her toes against your tongue. You take two toes in your mouth now, sucking harder as your hand slides up her thigh.

"Your feet are fucking perfect," you tell her, kissing down to her arch. "Just like the rest of you." Your fingers find her pussy lips, already swollen and slick from earlier. You gather some of her wetness and start rubbing slow circles around her clit.

"Ohhh..." Miyeon moans, her leg trembling in your grip. You alternate between sucking her toes and licking long stripes up her sole while your fingers work her pussy. Her cream coats your digits as you slide two inside her tight channel.

"So wet for me," you growl. "I love how your pussy gets all creamy when you're turned on." You curl your fingers, finding that special spot that makes her whole body jerk.

"Fuck! Right there!" she cries out, grinding against your hand. You keep the pressure steady, pumping your fingers as you lavish attention on her feet. Her pussy clenches rhythmically around you.

"You gonna cum again for me?" you ask, increasing the pace of your fingers. "Gonna soak my hand with that sweet pussy?"

"Yes! Please don't stop!" Miyeon pants, her head thrashing on the pillow. You can feel her getting close, her inner walls fluttering. Just before she peaks, you withdraw your fingers, making her whine in protest.

"Not yet baby," you tease, releasing her foot. "I want to fuck you while I suck these pretty toes." You position yourself behind her, keeping her leg lifted. Your cock slides easily through her folds, gathering her wetness.

"Please," she begs. "I need you inside me..."

You press just the tip against her entrance, making her squirm.

"Tell me how bad you want it."

"Please, baby, I need to feel your big cock deep in my pussy! Please fuck me... I'm so empty..."

Unable to resist her pleading, you thrust forward, burying your full length in her tight heat. "Fuuuck," you groan. "Your pussy feels amazing." You start a steady rhythm, not too fast yet, wanting to build her up slowly.

Miyeon moans with each thrust, her pussy gripping you perfectly. You capture her toes in your mouth again, sucking hard as you fuck her. The dual stimulation has her writhing.

"Oh god... that's so... unngh!" She can barely form words as pleasure overwhelms her. You increase your pace gradually, driving deeper. Her cream coats your shaft, making obscene wet sounds with each stroke.

"You like having your toes sucked while I fuck this tight pussy?" you ask, releasing her foot momentarily. "Such a good girl, taking my cock so well."

"Yes! Love it... love your cock..." she gasps. You've never heard her talk so dirty before. It spurs you on, making you thrust harder.

Her pussy starts clenching erratically around you as you pound into her. You can tell she's getting close again. This time you don't let up, determined to make her cum hard.

"Something's happening..." Miyeon pants suddenly. "Feels different... like I need to pee..."

"That's it baby," you encourage her. "Don't fight it. Let go for me." You redouble your efforts, angling your hips to hit her g-spot with each thrust while sucking her toes enthusiastically.

"But... unngh... I can't..." she protests weakly, even as her body tenses up.

"Yes, you can! Cum for me Miyeon. Fucking squirt all over my cock!" You slam into her faster, feeling her pussy spasm around you.

"Oh god, oh god, OH FUCK!" Miyeon screams as the dam finally breaks. Clear fluid gushes from around your cock, soaking the sheets beneath you. Her whole body convulses as she experiences her first squirting orgasm.

You keep thrusting through her release, prolonging it as much as possible. More fluid spurts out with each stroke as she trembles uncontrollably.

"That's it baby, let it all out," you growl around her toes. "So fucking hot watching you squirt."

Miyeon can only moan incoherently as waves of pleasure crash over her. Her pussy clamps down so hard it nearly pushes you out, but you maintain your rhythm until her orgasm finally starts to subside.

You gently release her foot and slow your thrusts, giving her time to catch her breath. She looks absolutely wrecked in the best way possible.

"Holy shit," she pants when she can speak again. "What... what was that?"

You chuckle, still buried deep inside her quivering pussy. "That was you squirting, baby. Felt good, didn't it?"

She nods weakly. "Amazing... I didn't know I could do that..."

"Oh we're just getting started," you promise with a wicked grin. "Now that I know how to make you squirt, I'm gonna make you do it again and again..."

Miyeon whimpers at your words, her pussy clenching around you. You can feel she's still sensitive, but also still aroused.

Perfect.

"Ready?" you ask, starting to move inside her again. She moans in response as you lift her foot back to your mouth...

Your cock slides easily through her creamy folds as you build up a steady rhythm once more. Miyeon's moans get louder with each thrust, her oversensitive pussy gripping you like a vice.

"Such a good girl," you praise her between licks to her foot. "Taking my cock so well after that huge orgasm."

"Feels so good," she gasps. "Everything's so sensitive..."

You angle your hips to hit her g-spot again, making her whole body jerk. "Think you can squirt for me again?" You ask, increasing your pace slightly.

"I... unngh... maybe?" Miyeon pants. "Still feels like I might pee..."

"That's normal, baby. Just let it happen." You suck her big toe into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it as you fuck her deeper. Her cream coats your shaft, dripping down onto the already soaked sheets.

"Oh fuck... oh fuck..." she chants as the pleasure builds. You can feel her starting to tense up again, her inner walls fluttering around your cock.

"That's it," you encourage her. "Let go for me. Show me what a good little squirter you are."

Your words push her over the edge. With a sharp cry, Miyeon's pussy contracts hard and another gush of clear fluid sprays out around your cock.

"Fuck yes!" You growl, maintaining your rhythm as she squirts. "So fucking hot watching you lose control like this."

Wave after wave of pleasure rocks through her body as you continue fucking her through the intense orgasm. Her toes curl against your tongue as more fluid spurts out with each thrust.

When her release finally subsides, Miyeon lies there trembling and gasping for air. You slow your pace but don't stop completely, knowing you can wring at least one more orgasm from her oversensitive body.

"Please..." she whimpers, her body trembling beneath you. "It's too much... I can't..."

"Shh, baby," you murmur, your voice steady and firm. "You can take it. You can take everything I give you." You slow your thrusts a little more, letting her catch her breath, but not enough to let her come down from the peak. "You've got one more in you. I know you do."

She shakes her head, her hair sticking to her sweat-slicked face. "No, I can't... I can't..."

"You can," you insist, your cock still moving inside her, stirring up her pleasure again. "You're a fucking goddess, Miyeon. You can take every inch of my cock. You can cum all over it again."

You increase your speed, your hips moving faster, your cock hitting that spot inside her that makes her scream. You can feel her pussy clenching around you, trying to keep you in, trying to milk you.

"Oh god," she moans, her voice rising in pitch. "Oh god, oh god, oh god..."

"That's it, baby," you growl. "Feel that? Feel my cock hitting your g-spot? You're gonna cum for me again. You're gonna squirt all over my cock."

"I'm so close... I'm so clo—OH GOD!" she cries out, her body tensing, her pussy gripping you like a vice.

You can feel her right on the edge, her body coiled tight, ready to snap. You lean down, your teeth finding her earlobe, biting down just hard enough to send a shockwave through her.

"Cum for me, Miyeon," you command, your voice low and rough. "Fucking let go. Let me feel that pussy explode. Let me see that squirt. Do it, baby. Fucking do it now."

She screams, her body convulsing, her eyes rolling back in her head. "I'm cumm—AAAAH!"

You can feel it, hot and wet, gushing out of her, coating your cock, dripping down your balls. You keep fucking her, drawing out her orgasm, making her scream with each thrust.

"That's it, baby," you groan. "Fuck, that's so good. You're squirting all over my cock. You're such a good girl, Miyeon. Such a fucking good girl."

Her body is shaking, her pussy still pulsing around you. You slow your thrusts, letting her ride out her orgasm, letting her come down slowly. You're about to cum, right on the edge, but you hold back again. This is about her.

This is about Miyeon.

You gently pull out of her, your cock still hard and glistening with her cum. You move down her body, your tongue tracing a path down her stomach, down to her pussy, your hands stroking her thighs, your touch gentle and soothing.

The bed beneath her is a fucking mess—sheets soaked through, the scent of sex heavy in the air. You can see the wet spot spreading, a testament to her pleasure.

"Fuck, baby," you murmur, your voice soft but filled with awe. "Look at this mess you made. You're so fucking sexy."

Miyeon's breath hitches as she looks down at the wet sheets, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and satisfaction. "I... I didn't know I could do that," she admits, her voice shaky. "It felt... god, it felt so fucking good."

You smile, your fingers tracing patterns on her inner thighs, feeling the slickness of her cum. "You squirted, baby. You fucking squirted all over my cock. It was the hottest thing I've ever seen."

She shivers, her body still sensitive from the intense orgasm. "I've never... I've never felt anything like that before. It was like... like my whole body just let go."

You lean in, your tongue lapping at her pussy, tasting her, cleaning her up. She jolts, her hips bucking slightly, but you hold her steady, your hands gripping her thighs.

"Shh, baby," you soothe. "Let me take care of you. Let me clean you up."

She relaxes, her body melting into the bed as you take your time, your tongue exploring every inch of her pussy. You can feel her shivering, her body responding to your touch. The taste of her is intoxicating, a mix of sweet and salty, pure fucking heaven.

"You taste so fucking good, Miyeon," you murmur, your voice low and husky. "I could do this all fucking night."

She moans softly, her fingers tangling in your hair. "It feels so good... I can't believe I did that. I can't believe I squirted."

You look up at her, your eyes meeting hers. She's watching you, her eyes soft and hazy with pleasure. You smile, your tongue giving her one last lick.

"You're so fucking beautiful, Miyeon," you whisper. "God, you're so fucking perfect…"

"But you haven't come yet," she suddenly notes.

"You're right. And where do you want my cum, princess?" You ask.

"On my face... want to taste you..."

"Fuck... Okay. Yeah, right. Get on your knees, baby,” you ask her as you quickly remove the condom.

Miyeon looks up at you with those innocent eyes as she kneels before you, her pretty face flushed with arousal. Her lips are already swollen from all the kissing, making them look even more cock-hungry than usual. You grab a fistful of her silky black hair, guiding her face closer to your throbbing shaft.

"Open that pretty mouth for me baby," you command, tapping your cock head against her plump lips. "I want to see how deep you can take it."

She parts her lips obediently, sticking out her pink tongue to lap at your sensitive tip. The sight of your precum glistening on her tongue makes your cock throb with need. You slowly feed her more of your length, watching in satisfaction as her lips stretch around your girth.

"Mmmmph," she moans around your cock, her eyes fluttering closed in pleasure. She clearly loves having her mouth filled, eagerly sucking and slurping as you push deeper.

You start with slow, shallow thrusts, letting her get used to your size. Her tongue swirls expertly around your shaft as you slide in and out between those perfect lips. Wet sucking sounds fill the room along with her muffled moans.

"That's it baby, take my cock," you growl, tightening your grip in her hair. "Your mouth feels so fucking good."

She responds by taking you deeper, relaxing her throat to accommodate more of your length. Tears form in the corners of her eyes as you hit the back of her throat, but she doesn't pull away.

If anything, she seems even more eager.

You pick up the pace slightly, fucking her mouth with measured strokes. Her lipstick is getting smeared all over your cock, marking it with traces of red. The sight of her face getting messy already has your balls tightening.

"Such a good little cocksucker," you praise, watching her cheeks hollow with suction. "You love having your pretty face fucked don't you?"

She nods as best she can with your cock stuffed in her mouth, humming in agreement. The vibrations send pleasure shooting through your shaft.

You pull out briefly to let her catch her breath, a string of saliva connecting her lips to your cock head. She gasps for air but immediately opens wide again, eager for more. Her face is already a mess of smeared makeup and drool.

"Please fuck my face harder," she begs, voice hoarse. "I want you to use my mouth like a pussy."

You don't need to be asked twice. Gripping her head firmly with both hands, you slam your cock back between her lips. This time you don't hold back, setting a brutal pace as you fuck her throat. She gags and chokes but takes it like a champ, her eyes watering heavily.

The wet sounds of her throat getting pounded are absolutely obscene. Drool runs down her chin and neck as you use her mouth roughly. Her hands grip your thighs for support but she doesn't try to pull away or slow you down.

"Fuck yes, take that cock," you grunt, watching your shaft disappear repeatedly into her willing mouth. "Going to paint that pretty face white soon."

She moans eagerly around your length, clearly excited by the promise of a facial. You can feel your orgasm building as her throat muscles massage your sensitive head.

Your thrusts become more erratic as you get closer to the edge. Her face is an absolute mess now - mascara running down her cheeks, lipstick completely ruined, drool everywhere. She looks utterly debauched and you haven't even cum yet.

"Get ready baby," you warn, feeling your balls tighten. "Going to cover that beautiful face."

You pull out just in time, the slick heat of her lips giving way as you grip your shaft tightly, aiming at Miyeon's upturned face. Her mouth is already open, tongue stretched out, her eyes locked on yours with a look of pure, desperate need. "Give it to me," she breathes, her voice thick with anticipation. The sight of her waiting so hungrily for your release sends a jolt through you, your cock twitching violently in your hand.

With a guttural groan, you let go, the first rope of hot cum splattering across her forehead and sliding down to her nose. She gasps softly, her breath hitching as the next thick jet paints her cheek, followed by another streaking across the bridge of her nose. Your hand works your shaft steadily, aiming with intent, making sure to glaze her perfect lips thoroughly, the creamy mess dripping onto her tongue as she moans in satisfaction.

She doesn’t flinch—if anything, she leans into it, her tongue sweeping over her lips, savoring every drop that lands in her mouth. You’re relentless, emptying yourself onto her until her face is a masterpiece of your desire, every inch of her skin marked with your seed. Thick streaks cling to her lashes, a stray drop dangling precariously from her chin before falling onto her chest. By the time you're finished, she’s a vision of debauched perfection, her flushed cheeks and parted lips framed by the glistening evidence of your climax.

"Fuck," you mutter, your voice hoarse as you admire her. "Look at you. My perfect, filthy girl."

She moans softly, tilting her head as you bring your cock closer, your tip still sensitive but eager for more. Slowly, deliberately, you use your softening length to spread the mess across her skin. You smear the cum over her cheeks, tracing her jawline, rubbing it into her lips before sliding down to her chin. She stays perfectly still, her eyes closed, a serene smile tugging at her mouth as she basks in the attention.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” you whisper, your voice thick with awe. “That pretty face deserves to be covered in my cum every day.”

Her lashes flutter as she peeks up at you, her voice soft but dripping with satisfaction. “I’ll let you paint me whenever you want. I love how it feels... so warm, so dirty.”

Your thumb moves to her lips, smearing the last of the cum over them before pushing lightly into her mouth. She sucks on it obediently, her tongue flicking against your skin, her moan vibrating through your thumb.

When you finally pull back, you grab a handful of tissues, leaning down to clean her face. You start gently, dabbing at her cheeks and lips, but you can’t help but pause to admire her wrecked state—the messy hair, her flushed skin, her swollen, cock-bruised lips. Even as you clean her, the heat between you lingers, your touch lingering on her skin as she smiles up at you.

"You’re mine, Miyeon," you blurt out unconsciously, but there’s no mistaking the edge in your voice.

"Yours," she repeats, her voice a dreamy whisper. "Yeah, I'm yours.”

—

After changing the sheets on the bed, you both collapse onto the fresh, clean mattress, exhausted but content. You pull Miyeon close, her body fitting perfectly against yours as you snuggle together. The room is quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the city outside the window.

Miyeon props herself up on an elbow, looking down at you with those dark, beautiful eyes. "So... this isn't just a one-time thing, right?" she asks, her voice soft but hopeful.

You pull her in for a kiss, your lips lingering on hers. "Definitely not," you murmur against her mouth. "Unless you want it to be?"

"No!" she says quickly, then blushes, her cheeks turning a cute shade of pink. "I mean... I really like you. Like, really really like you."

You smile, your heart swelling in your chest. "Good, because I really really like you too," you say. "Even when you're not dressed as an elf."

She groans, hiding her face in your neck. "Are you ever going to let me live that down?" she mumbles, her voice muffled.

You chuckle, your arms tightening around her. "Nope. It's how we met, it's part of our love story now."

She goes still in your arms, her body tensing slightly.

"Love story?" She asks

Shit. Too soon? You think to yourself, wondering if you've fucked up. But then she's beaming up at you with that bright smile that first caught your attention, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

"Yeah," you say softly. "Love story."

She kisses you again, pouring all her feelings into it. When she pulls back, her eyes are sparkling with happy tears. "Best Christmas present ever," she declares, her voice filled with joy.

[inkdrinkerworld]

Heyy!! I absolutely love your work and was wondering if I could make a request?

I read your Logan x Scott’s sister blurb a little bit ago and adored it and was wondering if I could request another one?

Maybe reader is crying in her room over a book or show or something and Logan comes in to soothe her but then Scott comes in and sees his sister crying and thinks that Logan did something to her? He gets all defensive and protective.

If not, obviously no worries but lots of love and hope you’re doing well!! 💗💗

“Bub? Where are you sweet girl?” Logan comes into your room, looking around for you. “I need a hug kid.” He had a fucking horrible day- some of the kids were more shits than he remembered.

Logan finds you in the bathroom crying on the toilet. You’re in your towel, and your hair is dripping down your back with suds following them.

“What’s wrong?” Immediately, Logan’s on his knees in front of you.

You sniffle and wipe at your nose, eyes all red as you look up at him.

“I hurt my wrist when I went on that thing with Jean and Ororo and I thought the pain would go away but when I was washing my hair I think I fucked it up some more.” He pouts, reaching for your wrist.

“Let me take a look, princess.”

You set your wrist in his hand carefully.

It looks more than sprained. Maybe a little twisted and a touch out of place.

“I can set it for you. Wanna bite down on my belt?” He teases and you giggle wetly while shaking your head.

“Will you count me down?” Logan coos, your words are soft and a bit insecure. He gives you a kiss on your cheek and then your wrist.

“I’ll count you down bub,” he rubs a little pressure on your forearm. “Look the other way f’me.”

You turn your head and Logan gives you a count from three to one, and twists your wrist making you cry out. “Fuck that’s rough.”

Just then, the bathroom door bangs open and Scott glares at Logan.

“What the fuck did you do to her? Why’s she been crying? And what the fuck happened to her wrist?”

You roll your eyes, Logan just stares at Scott like he can’t believe he’s in the bathroom right now. He really can’t. He also can’t believe Scott thinks he’d hurt you.

“I’ve been crying because I fucked up my wrist and Logan set it back for me while I was being a baby.”

Logan pinches your thigh, “You were hurt, not being a baby.”

Scott can’t help but soften his stance a bit. Logan treats you well, even if he gives him shit everyday. Sue him for not liking that you’re dating.

“You mind getting out so I can finish washing my girlfriend’s hair, Cyclops?”

Scott’s scowl is back. “When you’re finished can we go get lunch? I miss you.”

Logan gags, “I’m in love with your sister, Scott. Not you.”

You laugh and Scott glares harder. “I was talking to her, dumbass! Why would I miss you? I see you just about eleven hours a fucking day.”

“Yeah, we can grab a bite after Scotty. Give me thirty minutes?”

He nods and walks out, shutting the door behind him.

“What about me, hm?” Logan teases as he helps you out of your towel. “Gonna leave me to sleep in that cold ass bed all alone?”

“I’ll be back in an hour Lo, I swear.” You cup his cheek with your good hand and kiss his bottom lip.

“Yeah yeah,” he keeps you in place for a second kiss. “Did you factor me into those thirty minutes?”

You laugh against his mouth, “Not this time baby, come wash my hair please my love?”

Logan rolls his eyes playfully. You always know the right thing to call him. “You’re not leaving this room the second you come back; fucking missed you today.” He pats your butt as you step into the shower, your laugh making his chest swell.

God he loves you.

[paxtito]

cough drop coloured tongue

pairings: tara x reader (no pronouns used)

word count: 3109

warnings: some swearing, nothing really

summary: you catch the flu and tara is gobsmacked (in a horny way) at how much your voice has changed

MASTERLIST | requested by: @burntoutghost

It started as a scratch in your throat—nothing major, just an annoying little itch that had you clearing your throat more than usual. You chalked it up to the cold weather, the dry air, or maybe even talking too much with Tara the night before.

By the next day, though, the scratch turned into something heavier. Your limbs ached, exhaustion creeping into your bones like an unwanted guest. You still went to class, still tried to act normal, but every blink lasted a second too long, and focusing felt like trying to see through fogged-up glass. Chad had side-eyed you in the hallway, wrinkling her nose.

“Dude, you look rough,” he had said, leaning away as if you might infect him with a single breath.

You had only groaned in response, leaning against your locker for support. Tara had texted you sometime around lunch—Meet me after your last class?—but your response had been delayed, fingers sluggish over your phone.

Feeling kinda shitty. Might just head back to my room.

Tara, being Tara, immediately responded.

Shitty how?

Idk, just tired. Think I’m getting sick.

Do you need anything?

You stared at your screen for a moment, lips twitching at the concern in her words.

Nah, I’m good. Just gonna sleep it off.

That was a mistake.

By the time the sun had set, the fatigue had turned into full-body exhaustion. Your head throbbed with every movement, and a tight congestion settled into your chest, making every breath feel like a chore. The tissues started piling up that night—just a few at first, crumpled on your nightstand. You slept in fits, waking up shivering one minute and burning up the next, twisting the blankets around you in a frustrated haze.

Tara called again in the morning. You ignored it. Not on purpose—you had barely registered the sound over the pounding in your skull.

By the second day, the fever had fully taken hold, and the sickness dragged you under like a riptide. Your phone was somewhere beside you, buzzing every so often, but lifting your arm to check it felt impossible. Tara’s name kept lighting up the screen.

And then, eventually, she called.

You groan, rolling over with a sluggish hand to grab it. She’s already called three times. Probably worried.

Pressing the phone to your ear, you croak out, “Hey.”

The other end of the line goes silent for a second. Then, a sharp inhale.

“Holy shit.”

You frown, rubbing your temple. “What?”

Tara clears her throat. “Uh, nothing. You just—you sound different.”

“Yeah, no shit. I feel like I got hit by a truck,” you mumble, voice thick with congestion, deeper, rougher than usual.

Tara definitely makes a noise at that. Something small. Sharp.

You barely register it, too focused on the pounding in your skull. “Sorry, I didn’t text back. I think my body’s literally shutting down.”

There’s another pause. Then, a suspiciously unsteady breath from Tara’s end.

“Babe,” she starts, voice an octave lower, almost sultry, but you’re too far gone to notice. “You—uh—you should really drink some tea. Might help… with your throat.”

“I tried,” you mumble, head sinking into the pillow. “Burned my tongue. Fuck tea.”

Tara lets out a strained laugh. “Right. Yeah. Uh—so, how sick are you exactly?”

“Very,” you groan. “I can barely move. Why?”

She’s quiet for a moment, and then, her voice is softer. “No reason.”

You sniffle, rolling onto your side. “I probably sound disgusting.”

Tara, who is gripping her phone a little too tightly, lets out a nervous chuckle. “No. Not at all.”

You hum in response, already halfway to passing out again. “Mmm. I miss you.”

Tara lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah,” she mutters. “Miss you too.”

You’re out before you hear the way her voice lingers.

You come back to yourself slowly, your eyes fluttering open as you hear knocking at the door. It takes a moment for your brain to register the sound, still fogged up with feverish haze. You groan, rolling onto your back and blinking against the sunlight filtering through your curtains.

The knocking comes again, more insistent this time. "Hey, you awake?" Tara calls out, voice muffled by the door between you.

You open your mouth to respond, but it comes out as a strangled croak. Your throat feels like it's on fire. "Yeah," you rasp out, voice barely above a whisper. "Just a sec."

You heave yourself up to sitting with great difficulty, bones creaking in protest. Your room spins a little as you swing your legs over the side of the bed. You sit there for a moment, head hanging between your shoulders, until the dizziness passes.

Shuffling to the door, you unlock it and crack it open. Tara stands on the other side, a look of concern etched on her face. She's holding a tray with a steaming mug and a plate of food.

"Hey," she says softly, brown eyes searching yours. "How are you feeling?"

You give a weak smile. "Awful. But better than yesterday, I think."

Tara frowns slightly, stepping into your room and shutting the door behind her. She sets the tray down on your desk and comes to stand in front of you, reaching out to feel your forehead.

"You're still so hot," she murmurs, frowning at the heat radiating off your skin. "I brought you some soup and tea. Figured you might need it."

You lean into her touch, nuzzling her palm. "Thanks," you mumble, voice rough and gravelly. "You didn't have to do that."

Tara shrugs, sliding her hand down to cup your cheek. "Of course I did. You're sick, dummy."

You huff out a weak laugh at that. Tara takes a step closer, until you're sharing the same air. You notice how her gaze lingers on your face for a long moment before flicking down to your lips.

"How about you sit down and eat something before the soup gets cold?" Tara suggests, voice a little strained. She clears her throat, pulling back and gesturing to the desk.

You sink back down onto the bed, moving slowly and deliberately to avoid jostling your aching body too much. Tara watches you with a mix of concern and... something else. Something you're too out of it to fully recognize just yet.

Settling yourself against the wall, you pull the tray onto your lap, eyeing the steaming mug of tea and bowl of soup. Tara sits down beside you, close enough that your legs are brushing against each other.

"Thanks for bringing this," you murmur, wrapping your hands around the mug. The heat seeps into your chill-prone fingers, and you sigh at the small comfort. You take a sip, wincing slightly at the heat, but welcoming the way it soothes your raw throat.

Tara watches you, lips pressed together. You glance at her and catch her gaze lingering on your mouth, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. She clears her throat and looks away.

"Feel free to stay as long as you want," you offer, voice a low, rough rasp. "I could use the company."

Tara swallows hard, nodding. "Yeah. I... I want to be here for you."

You frown slightly, noticing the way her voice dips, the blush deepening. She's acting strangely, but you're too focused on not falling back asleep to think much of it.

"How's your throat feeling?" she asks softly, inching a bit closer to you.

You shrug, taking another sip of tea before answering. "'S okay. Better than yesterday. Still hurts though."

Tara nods, eyes flicking down to your lips again. She's quiet for a long moment before speaking.

"You sound... different," she says, voice barely above a whisper. There's a hitch in her breath at the end of the sentence.

"Yeah, I know," you rasp out, voice low and gravelly. "Guess it's from the sickness."

Tara swallows hard, and you finally notice the way she's looking at you, really look at her. The flush on her cheeks, the dilation of her pupils, the quick pulse fluttering at the base of her throat.

"Guess so," she breathes out, eyes still locked on your face

You study Tara's face, noticing the way her chest is rising and falling a little faster than usual, the flush that seems to be spreading down her neck. Something about her demeanor is setting off alarm bells in your foggy mind.

"Because you're acting weird," you point out, voice a low, concerned rumble. "And you keep staring at my mouth."

Tara's eyes fly up to meet yours, widening in surprise. She swallows hard, a visible gulp in her throat. For a moment, she looks flustered, at a loss for words.

"I... I didn't realize I was..." she starts, before trailing off. She clears her throat, looking away. "I'm just worried about you. You're really sick, and I want to make sure you're okay."

You narrow your eyes, not entirely convinced. "Tara, what's going on? Is there something you're not telling me?"

Tara takes a deep breath, and when she turns back to you, there's a new intensity in her eyes. A heat that makes your stomach flip, even through the haze of sickness.

"It's just... your voice," she says softly, slowly. "It's... really sexy like this. All low and rough..." She blushes deeply, looking mortified as soon as the words leave her mouth.

Your eyes widen, finally understanding the undercurrent of her behavior. A slow smirk spreads across your face, even as your cheeks flush with warmth.

"Oh, I see," you murmur, voice a low, husky rasp. "Well, I am a little bit dying, after all. Guess that's making me extra irresistible, huh?"

Tara's eyes widen, and she lets out a shaky laugh. "I... I didn't mean to be so blunt. That was really inappropriate of me to say out loud."

You shrug, taking another sip of tea. "Hey, no worries. I'm just happy you find me attractive, even when I'm a gross, sick mess."

Tara bites her lip, glancing at you from under her lashes. "You could never be a mess to me. Sick, yes. But never a mess."

You both end up sprawled out on the bed together, the TV flickering in front of you. Tara keeps shifting, tossing a pillow behind her back, before leaning forward to grab the remote and flip through channels.

You're too tired and fuzzy-headed to really pay attention to the screen, but you can feel the restless energy rolling off Tara in waves. She's practically vibrating, and you glance over at her with a furrowed brow.

"Hey, you okay?" you ask, voice a low rasp. "You seem... tense."

Tara startles, glancing over at you. She forces a smile, but it's strained at the edges.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she assures you quickly. "Just... wanna find something good to watch."

You shrug, sinking back against the pillows. "Whatever you want. I'm too out of it to care much."

Tara nods, but she's still fidgeting. You notice her eyes flick down to your lips again before darting away. There's a heat in her gaze that wasn't there before, and you suddenly feel a little warm under your blanket.

You're about to comment on it when Tara suddenly sits up straight, pointing at the TV.

"Hey, they're playing one of your favorite movies!" she exclaims, grabbing the remote. "Want me to put it on?"

You squint at the screen, trying to make out the title. It's one of those cheesy horror flicks you love, the kind with a campy plot and over-the-top kills. You smirk slightly.

"Sure. Why not," you rasp out, shrugging. "Might as well enjoy it, since I'm stuck in bed anyway."

Tara nods and hits play, flopping back down on the bed beside you. She's a little too close, her shoulder brushing against yours. You glance over at her and notice her gaze is glued to the screen, but there's a faraway look in her eyes.

You're about to ask her if she's sure she's okay when she suddenly turns to you, chewing on her bottom lip. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and her cheeks are flushed.

"Hey..." she starts softly, voice barely above a whisper. "Can I... can I ask you something?"

You frown slightly, noticing the way her breathing has picked up. "Of course. What's up?"

You blink slowly as Tara turns to face you fully, her brown eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. Even through the sickness fogging your mind, you can sense the shift in the air between you, the electricity crackling like a live wire.

"What's on your mind?" you ask softly, voice a low rasp. Your words come out slower, more deliberate than you intended. Maybe it's the fever, or maybe it's the way Tara's gaze is burning into you, but you feel suddenly self-conscious, hyper-aware of every movement.

Tara takes a deep breath, and you watch as she swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing in her throat. She's looking at you like... like she wants to devour you whole. It's a look you've seen before, but never this intense, this hungry.

"I was just thinking about... well, your voice," she says quietly, almost hesitantly. "It's just... different. Really deep and rough and... sexy. Even more so than usual."

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you feel your cheeks heat under your sickly pallor. You're pretty sure you'm blushing, and the realization makes your head spin.

"Oh," you murmur, at a momentary loss for words. "I guess the sickness is doing weird things to me."

Tara nods, and you notice her tongue dart out to wet her lips. "Yeah. I guess it is."

There's a charged pause, and you're suddenly very aware of every inch of space between you. Tara's knee is brushing against yours, her shoulder pressed to your arm. The heat of her is seeping into you, and it's making your head swim in a way that has nothing to do with the fever.

"And I was thinking..." Tara starts again, a little breathlessly. "Maybe... maybe you could read to me? Like, from that comic you like so much? I want to hear more of your... voice."

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you blink slowly, trying to process her request. You're not sure if it's the sickness or the way Tara is looking at you, but you feel like you're drowning, pulled under by the intensity of her gaze.

"Okay," you breathe out, voice a low rasp. "If you want."

You start to read from the comic, your low, rough voice filling the room. But as you flip through the pages, you can't help but notice that Tara seems distracted. Her eyes are glazed over, not really focusing on the illustrations. Instead, she's staring at you, her gaze heavy and intense.

You pause, glancing up at her with a frown. "Everything okay? You seem... elsewhere."

Tara blinks, coming back to herself. She shakes her head, a little smile on her face. "Yeah, I'm fine. Your voice is just... really nice. It's hard to focus on anything else."

You feel a blush spreading across your cheeks, and you duck your head, focusing on the comic pages. "Sorry. I don't want to bore you."

"No, no, not at all," Tara assures you quickly. She's quiet for a moment before speaking again, her voice a little hesitant. "Can I... can I be honest with you?"

You glance up at her, eyebrows raised. "Of course. Always."

Tara takes a deep breath, and you watch as she seems to steel herself. "I just... I really want to kiss you right now. Like, really, really want to."

Your eyes widen, and you feel your heart stutter in your chest. "Oh," you breathe out, at a momentary loss for words. "Tara, I... I'm really sick right now. I don't want to get you sick too."

"I know," Tara says softly, reaching out to touch your cheek. Her fingers are warm against your skin, and you lean into the touch instinctively. "I just... I can't help it. You're just so... you're irresistible like this."

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. "I appreciate it, but... I don't want to risk it. Especially with how bad this cold is."

Tara nods, a little sadly. "I understand. I do. I just... I wanted you to know how much I... I want you."

Your breath catches in your throat, and you feel a wave of emotion wash over you. Tara is looking at you with such raw, naked desire, it's overwhelming. You cover her hand with your own, squeezing it gently.

"Thank you," you whisper, your voice a low rasp. "That means a lot to me. More than you know."

You blink slowly, trying to process Tara's bold words. A small, surprised laugh escapes your lips, turning into a cough as it catches in your sore throat. Tara looks a little sheepish, but there's still a determined glint in her eye.

"A little peck can't hurt, right?" she asks hopefully, a small smile playing on her lips. "And then, once you're all better... I'm totally jumping your bones. Consider it a promise."

You gape at her for a moment before a slow, stunned grin spreads across your face. "Wow, you're... wow," you rasp out, shaking your head in disbelief. "Okay. One little peck. And then... I guess we'll see what happens when I'm feeling better."

Tara grins, her eyes sparkling with excitement and anticipation. She leans in slowly, and you feel your heart start to race as she gets closer. Your eyes flutter shut instinctively, and you hold your breath in anticipation.

Softly, gently, Tara's lips brush against yours in the lightest of kisses. It's over in an instant, but it sends a shiver down your spine nonetheless. Tara pulls back, a satisfied smile on her face.

"Mm. Can't wait for that promise," she murmurs, her voice a low, husky rumble.

You open your eyes, blinking up at her dazedly. "Wow," you breathe out again, still trying to process the moment. "That was... wow."

Tara chuckles, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Her fingers linger on your cheek, and you lean into the touch.

"Get some rest," she whispers, her thumb brushing over your cheekbone. "You need it. And then... then we'll see about that other stuff."

She leans in to press another feather-light kiss to your forehead before settling back against the pillows, pulling you with her until your head is resting on her shoulder. You feel yourself starting to drift off, lulled by the warmth of her body and the promise of things to come.

[kashverse]

Hiiiii! Just wanna say, I love, love, LOVE your writing. Like I eat it up every time. I keep seeing you asking for writing for others, so could you maybe do Nanami and Yuuji making breakfast for reader for her birthday/Mother's day and Yuuji spills all the pancake batter or something similar? And then they have to improvise and Nanami's stressed because he wants to make it perfect but Yuuji's just obsessing over how his mama gets to eat in BED (gasp the horror). Thank youuuu! :)

mother’s day. a monumental day. a day of great importance. a day to celebrate you, the mother, the queen, the beloved mamamin—brought to you by papamin and his little assistant, yuuji. the plan? simple. a classic breakfast in bed: pancakes, fruit, and raspberry jam. romantic, timeless, and foolproof. except, of course, nanami should have known by now that nothing is foolproof when yuuji is involved. it started with the pancake batter.

"papa, i mix!" yuuji had declared, puffing out his tiny chest.

"alright, yuuji, but carefully—"

SPLAT.

the bowl, the entire bowl, slipped from yuuji’s tiny hands and crashed to the floor. pancake batter everywhere. on the tiles. on nanami’s slippers. on yuuji’s little dinosaur pajamas. there was a horrified silence. yuuji froze, staring at the crime scene. his hands trembled. his little lip wobbled.

"papa… i… i…" his voice cracked. "I RUIN MAMA DAY."

nanami immediately felt his soul leave his body.

"no, no, yuuji—"

but it was too late. yuuji’s entire face went red, his little body shaking as he tried so hard not to cry. his cheeks were the exact shade of the raspberry jam nanami had planned to serve. nanami sighed, crouching down and wiping off a glob of batter from yuuji’s tiny pajama pants.

"yuuji, it’s fine."

"… it fine?" yuuji sniffled, voice small.

"yes. it’s just pancake batter. we still have some left."

"so… so mama day not ruined?"

nanami placed a hand on his son’s head. "no, yuuji. mama day is not ruined."

yuuji gasped dramatically. "I GET SECOND CHANCE?!"

nanami sighed. "yes, yuuji, you get a second chance."

yuuji fist-pumped the air. "WET’S GO!"

with whatever batter was salvageable, nanami made mini pancakes—ridiculously tiny, fit for a hamster, but saved by the assortment of fresh fruit on the side. "wow!" yuuji clapped his hands, beaming. "they wittle! tiny! like baby pancakes!"

“yes, yuuji. because someone dropped the original batter.” yuuji laughed nervously. "hehehe. who do dat? dat so crazy."

nanami sighed, plating everything onto a tray. finally, the hardest part was over. now, all he had to do was—

"wait." yuuji suddenly froze, looking up at him with deep suspicion. "why mama get to eat in bed?"

nanami blinked. "because it’s mother’s day."

"so?"

"so we’re celebrating mama."

yuuji squinted. "but i like bed. and i like pancakes."

"yuuji, you're four."

"AND?" yuuji crossed his arms. "i am also child. and child’s day exist."

nanami sighed. "yes, but that’s in november."

"… it is?"

"yes."

yuuji narrowed his eyes, processing this information. then, suddenly—

"but, papa." he leans in. "when is papa day?"

nanami, exhausted, pinched the bridge of his nose. "father’s day is in june, yuuji."

yuuji gasped dramatically. "PAPA! WHY YOU NOT SAY SOONER?! WE HAVE TO MAKE YOU PANCAKES!"

nanami blinked. "wait, what? no—"

but it was too late. yuuji had already jumped down from his seat, running in circles.

"I GONNA MAKE PAPA PANCAKES!"

nanami sighed deeply, rubbing his temple. this was a problem for future him. right now, he had to survive getting the tray to you without yuuji trying to steal the pancakes.

[mattscoquette]

bf!matt with a pouty!gf

your arm was hooked around matt’s bicep and your cheek rested on his shoulder while you both waited in line in the cafe, softly murmuring about what you were both getting. the second the weather dropped and the leaves began to change color, you’d made it a point to go to your favorite local cafe to try the new fall drinks.

“i think that apple cider shit looks good,” matt mumbled, turning his head to speak into your hair as he planted a kiss to your head, “what are you gettin’, doll?”

you hummed softly, looking up at him with a smile. “white mocha.”

he scoffed, playfully rolling his eyes. “you always get that.”

“it’s good, though.” you giggled, hiding your face in his arm.

the both of you continued your light banter until you got to the register, the both of you ordering your respective drinks before heading to the end of the counter to wait. while you were standing, matt tugged you into his chest, hugging you closely as you both swayed back and forth. you both often found solace in just being close with one another. matt perked his head up at the sight of the barista placing two coffee cups down at the counter, softly mumbling to you that your drinks were both ready.

the two of you grabbed your drinks before heading out the door, heading down the street as you walked hand in hand to go for a small walk. you both admired all the little stores you passed, the windows on full display for the autumn season that was now upon you.

“this is soooo good.” you sighed after taking a long sip, looking up at matt with a smile.

“yeah, so’s mine,” he mumbled in agreement as he looked at you over the cup while he drank.

“can i have a little sip?” you smiled, perking up.

matt laughed, shaking his head. “no.”

you eyed went wide as you whined, dramatically and almost childlike, “what? why not?”

“you shoulda ordered this instead of your white mocha shit.” he chuckled, sounding matter of fact while he took another sip tauntingly.

“matty, please?” you pouted, stopping in the middle of the side walk to peer up at him, your best pleading eyes on display.

“no,” he pouted back as his bottom lip jutted out, his expression laced with faux sympathy.

you huffed in annoyance, clearly upset. you flicked your eyes down, then back up again, tears beginning to well. “please?” you rasped again

matt laughed, shaking his head yet again. “no, baby, you got your own drink. drink that.”

“you’re so mean.” you whined, a couple tears falling as you tried to rapidly blink them back.

matt was used to you overly-sensitive nature by now. when you’d first started dating, matt was always in a state of constant worry about what could possibly set you off, and try to find ways to calm you. now, he knew it was nothing serious. he knew that you would get over it and the world would continue to turn.

“yeah, i am, aren’t i?” matt chuckled down at you, softly cupping your cheek and wiping a tear with his thumb.

you sniffled, nodding your head as tears pooled out of your eyes. “yeah, i just wanted a sip an’ you’re not lettin’ me.”

“aww, poor baby,” he cooed teasingly, pulling you into his chest. he wrapped his arms around tightly, softly stroking your hair, “i’m just the worst, right? never met anyone meaner than your matty.”

you whined into his chest. “stop makin’ fun of me, you’re being so mean.”

“i know, i know,” he mumbled into your hair with a smirk.

you sniffled and cried for a few more minutes before pulling away, wiping your tears away with the sleeve of your sweater. you looked up at matt, still a bit upset as he laughed. “matty it’s not funny.”

he shook his head, leaning in to kiss your forehead before letting his hands fall to your hips, giving them a squeeze. “i know it’s not. this is serious.”

you huffed, pulling away from his grip as you joined hands once more, continuing your walk down the street, only this time a bit more annoyed. you sighed, taking another sip of your white mocha, smiling to yourself quietly, gaining matt’s attention.

“what’s got you so giggly over there, princess? they put somethin’ funny in your coffee?” matt asked with a smirk playing on his lips and his eyebrow raised.

you shook your head. “no, this is just really good an’ i’m glad i got this and not apple cider.”

© mattscoquette | taglist

[erwinsvow]

“stay away from her, rafe,” his sister’s voice comes from behind.

rafe resists an eye-roll, staring out across the pool of tannyhill and in particular, you, his sister’s friend, sprawled out on a beach chair with your nose in a book. he’s seen you before, around the house, usually unable to meet his eyes and flushing at anything he’d say. he didn’t pay much attention before, since you were almost painfully shy and skittish to the touch— definitely too shy for him—but he’s starting to change his mind. 

he watches you lower the book to your chest, covering your flimsy blue bikini and looking up to see where the noise is coming from. you catch rafe’s eye for one second, taking in the fact that he’s staring right at you, and you panic, bringing the book right back up to hide your face. he smirks, until sarah speaks again.

“seriously rafe. don’t even look at her. she’s way too nice for you, anyways.”

“shut up. not doing anythin’, and i don’t have to listen to-”

“sarah!” ward’s voice comes from inside. she walks back inside, telling rafe to leave you alone one last time. he stays out there, minutes passing by quickly, until he notices you glancing up at him again. you walk over in his direction, and even in your demeanor he can tell sarah was right, that you’re so shy you can’t even find the nerve to approach him, and you hover in front of the backdoor, trying to peer inside to see where your friend went.

“need somethin'?” rafe asks you, and he notices your entire body tense up. you turn around slowly to face him, but you stare at your feet while you speak.

“um, i’m sorry. sarah was gonna bring me home.” you look up quickly and then look back down. he thinks it’s cute, though he’s sure he once thought it was annoying. he wonders if you’re like this with everyone. “it’s almost curfew so i should-”

“well sarah’s occupied.” you meet his eyes finally, your own wide like coins, taking in his words. “get your stuff, kid. i’ll take you home.” 

“oh, you don’t have to-”

“get your ass in the car. come on. i don’t have all day.” you comply quickly, gathering your book and bag, not even looking for sarah again, which he likes a little too much. you climb into the passenger seat of his truck, but keep your gaze locked out the window. it’s not until he pulls infront of your house that you speak.

“thanks, rafe,” you mumble quietly. he turns to look at you, but you’re sniffling with quivering shoulders.

“you cryin’?” he’s actually confused—unsure of what he did, if anything. he thought driving you home was something that would make you happy.

“no,” you get out, in between a sob. “i didn’t mean to bother you, or m-make you mad.”

“mad?” he asks, staring at you curiously. rafe thinks maybe he should have expected this, or seen this coming. gears start turning and clicking into place, the way you play with the hem of your dress and keep your head down. you were more messed up than he thought. he chooses his next few words carefully. “and what did i say…to make you think that? hm?”

“y-you said you didn’t have all day. and you sounded upset.” rafe tries to think back, but he hasn’t felt upset with you at any point in the last hour. he exhales, laughing a little. he thinks he could have a lot of fun with you, with the way you behave around him. the very thought of you talking to some other guy like this makes his blood boil. 

“well, m’not. not mad or anythin’ else, okay?” you look back up through watery eyes.

“really?”

“no, kid. not at all. you walk around thinkin’ everyone’s mad at you all the time?”

“i-i don’t know. i guess. you just scared me.”

“well i’ll try not to. get inside. i’ll see you tomorrow.” you climb out, picking up your bag and adjusting your dress. before you turn to head back, you peer in through the open window at rafe. your gaze darts around, finally settling on him.

“tomorrow?”

“yeah, tomorrow. i’ll swing by. g’night, kid.”

“goodnight, rafe.”