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jungwnies · 5 months ago

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TIKTOK TREND WITH YOUR F1 BOYFRIEND

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis : wiping off their kiss every time they kiss you

୨ৎ : genre : fluff, angsty only if you squint ୨ৎ : tws : light kissing, nothing heavy ୨ৎ : word count : 3379

୨ masterlist ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : so proud of charles getting podium, i am a happy girl 🥲 also i finally added george to the featuring >.<

ʚ・max verstappen

the living room was quiet, the soft glow of a lamp casting a warm light over the couch. you perched on the edge, setting your phone up on the coffee table, angling it perfectly toward where max would sit. the screen reflected your mischievous grin as you hit record.

the sound of the shower shutting off echoed down the hall, followed by max’s footsteps. he walked in, towel over his shoulder, hair damp and messy.

“what are you doing?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

you leaned back casually, fighting a smirk. “nothing. just waiting for you.”

max dropped onto the couch beside you, still toweling his damp hair. without hesitation, he leaned in and kissed your cheek softly. as soon as he pulled away, you casually wiped the spot, pretending to fix your hair.

his brows furrowed. “did you just wipe that off?”

you glanced at him, feigning confusion. “wipe what off?”

“my kiss,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“no, i was just fixing my hair,” you replied, your tone so casual it could’ve won an oscar.

he stared at you for a second but shrugged it off. leaning in again, he kissed your temple this time, holding it for a moment longer before pulling back. you bit the inside of your cheek to suppress a laugh as you wiped it away, pretending to scratch your face.

“okay, now you’re definitely wiping them off,” he said, his tone sharper.

“max, you’re imagining things,” you said, giving him an innocent look.

“i’m not imagining anything!” he shot back, leaning forward with a slight pout. “why are you doing this? did i do something wrong?”

“you’re overthinking it,” you said, brushing off his concern.

he frowned, leaning in for a third kiss, this time planting it on the corner of your mouth. when you wiped that one off too, his mouth dropped open. “seriously? are you mad at me or something? just say it if you are.”

“i’m not mad!” you said, fighting to keep a straight face.

“then why are you being weird?” he snapped, now visibly salty. “do you not want me to kiss you anymore? should i stop?”

you burst out laughing, grabbing your phone off the table and showing him the recording. “baby, it’s a tik-tok trend! i was messing with you!”

his jaw clenched as he realized, then he groaned dramatically, flopping back into the couch. “you’re actually the worst,” he muttered, though the corners of his mouth twitched.

“aww, don’t be mad,” you teased, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

he huffed, shaking his head. “you're an asshole,” then, with a smirk, he kissed you again and wrapped his arm around you, "but i guess i love you anyways." keeping you locked in place.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

the front door clicked open, and you glanced up from the couch to see lewis stepping inside, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. his face looked tired, but he still gave you a soft smile, the kind that made your heart melt every time.

“long day?” you asked, setting your book aside.

“you have no idea,” he said with a sigh, dropping the bag by the door. “flights, media, and a race weekend? i’m ready to collapse.”

“sounds like you need some love,” you teased, patting the seat beside you.

lewis chuckled, kicking off his sneakers before walking over. he plopped down, wrapping an arm around you and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“missed you,” he murmured.

you smiled but casually brushed your hand over the spot where he’d kissed, pretending to fix your hair. lewis’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t say anything, instead leaning in to kiss your cheek. when you wiped that off too, his lips parted in disbelief.

“did you just… wipe my kiss off?” he asked, his tone soft but genuinely confused.

“no, i was just adjusting my sweater,” you replied, keeping your face straight.

he tilted his head, watching you carefully now. “right… okay.”

a few moments passed, and lewis leaned in again, this time kissing your jawline. before he could even pull back fully, you wiped it off with a quick swipe of your hand.

“alright, what’s going on?” he asked, sitting up straighter. his voice was still calm, but there was a hint of frustration now. “did i do something wrong?”

you shrugged nonchalantly. “i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“babe, you’re wiping off my kisses!” he said, his brows knitting together. “if you’re mad, just say so.”

“i’m not mad,” you said, trying not to laugh at the utterly baffled look on his face.

lewis leaned back, crossing his arms. “so, what? you don’t like my kisses anymore? should i stop?”

you couldn’t hold it in anymore, grabbing your phone from the coffee table and bursting into laughter. “i was recording the whole thing,” you admit, "it's a tik-tok trend, a hilarious one i must admit, you should've seen your reaction."

he stared at you for a moment, processing, before shaking his head with an exasperated laugh. “you’re unbelievable. you had me thinking i did something wrong!”

“you’re too sweet,” you teased, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

he smirked, pulling you into his lap. “if this is your idea of fun, just wait. payback’s coming, and it’s gonna be good.”

ʚ・george russell

the room was dim, only the soft glow of the bedside lamp lighting the space as you slid into bed next to george. he was already lying on his side, scrolling through his phone, his hair still slightly damp from his shower. the sheets rustled as you snuggled under the covers, your head resting against the pillow.

“finally, you're here,” he said with a soft smile, turning off his phone and setting it on the nightstand. “i thought you’d be up all night organizing stuff again.”

“you know me too well,” you replied, adjusting the blanket and shifting closer to him.

george chuckled, brushing a lock of hair out of your face before leaning in to kiss your forehead. as soon as he pulled back, you absentmindedly wiped your forehead, pretending to smooth out a strand of hair.

george stopped, his gaze fixed on you, a slight furrow in his brow. “did you just… wipe off my kiss?”

you blinked innocently, tilting your head. “what? no, i didn’t.”

he leaned back, clearly unconvinced, his lips twisting into a half-smirk. “really? that’s how we’re doing this now?”

“doing what?” you asked, trying to keep a straight face.

he raised an eyebrow, glancing at you before brushing it off. “never mind,” he muttered, shaking his head, but he didn’t take his eyes off you as he repositioned himself to get more comfortable in bed.

a moment later, george leaned in again, this time kissing the top of your nose. before he could fully pull back, you reached up and wiped it away, pretending to rub your eyes.

he sat up slightly, blinking in disbelief. “are you serious? again?”

“serious about what?” you asked, turning toward him with a sweet smile.

he let out a slow exhale, clearly trying to process. “you’re wiping off my kisses like it’s nothing. are you trying to tell me something here?”

you shrugged, still maintaining the innocent act. “it’s not like that, george.”

his voice was a little quieter this time, a mix of confusion and playfulness. “okay, now i’m starting to wonder. do you actually not want my kisses or what?”

you quickly reached for your phone, clicking the screen and showing him the recording. “george, it's a tik-tok”

his eyes widened in realization, and he let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. “seriously? you’ve been messing with me this whole time?”

“yep,” you said, grinning.

he raised an eyebrow, shaking his head. “you're lucky you're cute."

ʚ・carlos sainz

the kitchen was quiet, sunlight spilling through the windows as you sat at the counter, sipping your coffee. carlos was standing by the stove, flipping pancakes with the focus of a man on a mission, but his usual easygoing vibe was still present. he glanced over at you as he set the pan down, a lazy smile forming on his face.

“good morning, cariño,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep, though there was a sparkle in his eyes. “how did you sleep?”

“like a log,” you said, taking a long sip of coffee. “thanks to you keeping me up late last night.”

he laughed, his eyes twinkling as he moved to grab the syrup. “so you admit it? i’m just too irresistible.”

you rolled your eyes, setting your mug down. “not quite. you’re more like a human heater, honestly.”

“ah, a heater with a great smile,” he added, leaning in to kiss your forehead. before he could pull away, you quickly wiped the spot, pretending to adjust your hair.

he froze, standing there for a second with a confused look on his face. “eh? did you just wipe off my kiss?”

you looked up at him innocently, trying to hide your smile. “what? no, I didn’t.”

“no? okay…” he said, his voice now filled with playful suspicion. he raised an eyebrow. “that’s… interesting.”

he took a step back, eyeing you carefully. “so, you don’t want me to kiss you anymore, is that it? too much affection?”

“what are you talking about?” you asked, feigning confusion. “i just didn’t want syrup on my face.”

carlos chuckled, but he leaned in again, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. before he could even fully pull away, you wiped it off again, this time more exaggerated.

he raised his hands in mock surrender, stepping back dramatically. “okay, okay, you’re messing with me now, right?”

“no, I’m not,” you said, trying to stifle your laugh. “seriously.”

he narrowed his eyes at you, clearly starting to get annoyed. “are you doing this just to mess with me? i’m here, making pancakes, and you’re wiping off my kisses? do you want to break up or something?”

“what? no!” you exclaimed, trying not to crack a smile. “I swear, I’m not doing anything weird.”

he sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead. “you’re making me feel like I’m doing something wrong. why are you wiping my kisses away?”

that was when you couldn’t hold it anymore. you grabbed your phone from the counter, showing him the recording of the whole thing. “carlos, it’s a prank!”

his eyes widened as he watched the footage, then he groaned, dramatically slouching against the counter. “you’re unbelievable. seriously, I’m making my famous fluffy pancakes and this is what I get?”

“you know you love me,” you said, laughing.

he shook his head, rolling his eyes. “fine, fine. but just wait, I’m going to get you back for this one.”

“we’ll see about that,” you teased, reaching for a pancake.

ʚ・charles leclerc

you were curled up on the couch, charles beside you with his arm draped over your shoulders as you both relaxed after a long day. the movie was on, but you weren’t really paying attention. instead, you were watching charles every now and then, his focused expression as he tried to get into the plot. a small, playful thought crossed your mind, and you couldn't help but act on it.

you nudged him lightly, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on his cheek, but as soon as you pulled back, you wiped it off with exaggerated care, pretending to smooth a stray strand of hair.

charles paused, the film still playing in the background, but he was no longer paying attention to it. he turned to you, a brow raised and a mischievous glint in his eyes. “did you just wipe my kiss off?” he asked, voice a mix of amusement and genuine confusion.

you blinked, acting innocent. “what? no, i didn’t. you must be seeing things, babe.”

he leaned in closer, his smirk growing. “really? because i definitely saw that,” he said, his voice playfully suspicious. "you sure you’re not hiding something?"

“nope,” you replied quickly, your lips twitching with the effort to keep a straight face. “just... adjusting my hair. i have really messy hair, you know?”

“hmm,” he said, squinting at you. “well, i’ll just have to test that theory again, then.”

charles leaned in for another kiss, but this time, he took his time, making sure to press a little longer against your skin. as he pulled away, he looked at you with a smirk, waiting for your reaction.

without hesitation, you wiped your cheek again, this time a little more dramatically, as though he’d just kissed you with a mouthful of chocolate or something.

charles froze, his mouth parting as he tried to process what just happened. “okay, what the hell?” he laughed, his confusion turning into playful disbelief. “now you’re really wiping it off. i swear, if this is some kind of prank…”

“prank?” you asked, feigning innocence. “no, charles, no prank here. just making sure my skin stays clean.”

he let out a deep sigh, shifting so he was facing you fully, his expression a mixture of frustration and laughter. “you’ve got to be kidding me. you’re wiping off my kisses now? i’m feeling personally attacked, mon amour.”

you couldn’t hold back your grin any longer. “oh, charles,” you said, trying not to laugh, “it’s just a little tik-tok, okay? i swear, i love your kisses... just not on my face right now.”

he blinked at you, processing it for a second before it clicked. “wait a minute...” he said, his voice growing mock-serious. “you’ve been messing with me this whole time?”

you nodded, finally letting out a laugh as you grabbed your phone and showed him the video you’d been recording.

charles threw his head back, a laugh escaping as he groaned in exasperation. “you’re impossible,” he said, shaking his head. “here i was thinking i was doing something wrong, and you’re just messing with me for fun.”

“i’m sorry, babe,” you said, still laughing. “but look at that face you made every time i wiped it off! it was too good.”

he shook his head, trying to hide his grin. “i swear, i’m going to get you back for this. but, just so you know, i don’t think i’ll ever kiss you on the cheek again. i might have to kiss you on your hand next time—keep it classy.”

“that’s fine with me,” you teased, leaning in to plant a kiss on his cheek for real this time, savoring the moment. “as long as it’s real this time, i’ll take anything.”

charles wrapped his arm around you again, pressing his lips to the top of your head with a playful sigh. “you’re impossible.”

“i know,” you replied, grinning. “and you love it.”

ʚ・lando norris

you were getting ready to leave the room, heading for the door to grab something. lando, in the middle of streaming, noticed you getting up and paused his game.

“hey, where are you going?” he asked with a playful grin.

“just to grab my jacket,” you replied, already halfway to the door.

he leaned in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek before you left, but as soon as his lips touched your skin, you wiped your cheek with your hand in one swift motion, acting like it was no big deal.

lando pulled back, his expression frozen for a moment. “wait... what?”

you turned to him with wide eyes, completely innocent. “what? i didn’t wipe anything off.”

“you definitely just wiped off my kiss,” he said, his voice laced with confusion.

you shrugged, still acting nonchalant. “nah, you’re imagining things.”

lando squinted at you, his head tilting in that way he does when he’s trying to figure out what’s going on. “seriously? i gave you a kiss, and you wiped it off like... like i’ve got bad breath or something?”

“i didn’t wipe it off,” you said, barely holding in your grin. “you’re being dramatic.”

“no, no,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “i’m pretty sure you just wiped it off. i know i kissed you, and i know it’s gone now.”

you pretended to look at the floor, trying to look innocent. “you must be tired, love. maybe you imagined it?”

he paused for a moment, trying to make sense of it, but after a beat, he shrugged it off and went back to his game. you turned to leave again, and he kissed you once more on the cheek, this time giving you a teasing smile.

before you even gave him a chance to pull away, you wiped the kiss off again—this time with even more dramatic flair, rubbing your hand over your cheek like it was covered in dirt.

“okay, that’s it!” he said, pausing his game once again. “you’re messing with me. why are you wiping off my kisses? what’s going on?”

you couldn’t help it anymore and pulled out your phone to show him the tiktok trend. “you’ve been pranked.”

his eyes went wide for a second, before bursting into laughter. “oh my god, i can’t believe i fell for that!”

you smiled smugly. “what can i say? i’m just that good.”

“next time, i’m getting you back for this one,” he said, still laughing.

meanwhile, his twitch chat was going wild. "lando, how did you not realize this was the tiktok trend?" one viewer typed.

“i swear, i thought i was being tricked by my own girlfriend!” lando chuckled, shaking his head at the screen. "chat's right though, i should've known better."

ʚ・oscar piastri

you and oscar were lounging on the couch, the tv flickering quietly in the background, but neither of you were really watching it. the evening had that lazy, easy vibe where you didn’t need to talk much, just enjoying each other's presence.

oscar was scrolling through his phone, chuckling at something he’d seen. you leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, but at the last second, he turned his head, and your lips landed right on his.

“wait, what was that?” he grinned, pulling back slightly. “since when did you get so affectionate all of a sudden?”

you shrugged, playing it cool. “what can i say, love? just felt like it.”

he narrowed his eyes at you, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. “hmm, you sure you’re not up to something?”

you raised an eyebrow, acting casual. “nope, just a kiss. no hidden agenda.”

“right,” he said, clearly unconvinced, before leaning in for another kiss. but this time, just before his lips met yours, you quickly wiped your cheek with your hand, like you were brushing something off.

oscar froze, staring at you like you’d just sprouted another head. “wait, did you just—? did you just wipe off my kiss?”

you turned to him with wide eyes, trying to look innocent. “huh? no, i didn’t. you’re imagining things.”

“no, i saw it,” he said, sitting up a little straighter, a grin now playing on his face. “you literally wiped it off like i’ve got something on my face.”

you shrugged nonchalantly. “maybe you do. you never know.”

oscar stared at you for a moment, his grin slipping into mock offense. “so, now i’ve got bad kisses, huh?”

“no, no,” you said, trying not to laugh. “just… you know. maybe a little extra today.”

“extra?” he repeated, leaning in with a suspicious look on his face. “alright, this is definitely a prank. i can tell.”

you bit your lip, fighting the smile that was threatening to break out. “who, me? never.”

“don’t lie,” he said, crossing his arms. “this is 100% a prank. i'm being pranked, aren't i?”

before you could answer, oscar leaned in again, and this time, when he kissed you, he pulled away slowly, rubbing his cheek like he was wiping something off, complete with an exaggerated motion. “is that better?” he asked, grinning ear to ear. “did i nail it?”

you burst into laughter, finally admitting defeat. “okay, okay! you caught me! it's the stupid tik-tok trend.”

oscar chuckled, shaking his head. “you can’t fool me. but, i’ll be getting you back for this one.”

“you can try." you teased.

“oh, we’ll see about that,” he said, leaning in for another kiss, this time making sure you didn’t wipe it off. “but this one stays, just so you know.”

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readwritealldayallnight · 6 months ago

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“Believe the briefing’s down that way, LT.” Soap says, walking alongside the Lieutenant as they make their way to meet the rest of the task force, when he notices the older man starts turning down the wrong hallway.

“Small detour.” Ghost replies in his deep Manchester accent, continuing on his way, uncaring whether the Sergeant follows him or not.

“Where we goin’?” The Scot turns to quickly follow him, curiosity piqued, knowing Ghost is nearly always religiously early to briefings. He has however noticed him appearing nearer to the start time recently now that he thinks about it, something that wouldn’t mean anything should it have been anyone else, but with Ghost, these minuscule changes never came without reason.

“Jus’ have to scratch an itch.” Ghost utters, barely glancing sideways to see the bewildered expression on Soap’s face.

It’s not long before Soap recognizes that they’re on their way to passing by the med bay, confusion worsening when he notices that the Lieutenant keeps fidgeting with something in his pocket. Something that’s making a - crinkling noise? Just as they reach the doors, he watches him pull something out- almost doing a double take at the sight.

“What the fuck are ye doin’ with a bunch o’ lollies?” The Scot asks, befuddled.

“Jus’ shut up and watch, Johnny.” Ghost quickly murmurs, pushing through the doors and walking in a confidently past the nurses station without a care, as though he does this every day. Maybe he does-

Soap tentatively follows behind him at a slower pace, unsure of what he’s walking towards exactly, but utterly intrigued nonetheless. As he turns around a corner, he sees Ghost has just walked up to you, one of the bonnie medics he’s seen around.

“Morning.” You smile softly at him, warmth apparent in your gaze towards the tall man. “Was wondering if you were coming or not.”

“Pick a colour.” The Lieutenant practically grunts at you, holding up a handful of colourful lollipops towards you in his large gloved hand, ignoring your teasing.

“Think I’ll do red. Matches my nails.” You say, leaning towards him to reach a hand out and pluck said lolly from his grasp. Both men watch as you remove the wrapper, pink tongue peeking out from your mouth to wet your plush lower lip. Soap feels the wires in his brain click as well as his pants suddenly tighten when he sees how you wrap your lips around the sucker, closing your eyes and letting out a small, satisfied hum as you taste the candy and pull it out with a ‘plop’.

“Thank you, Ghost.” You blink up at him sweetly, sticking your tongue out to lick at the lollipop this time before sealing it back in the wetness of your mouth, eyes locked with the man before you the whole time.

The first time you met the Lieutenant was while treating him in this very med bay. Already enamoured with you to begin with, the deal had been sealed when you had pulled out a few lollies from your coats pocket, offering them to him. He had come back to see you the next day, his own stash of candy in hand, saying something about how it was only fair that the doctors got sweets every once in a while as well. ‘Every once in a while’ turned out to be every single morning you worked, truly nothing more than an excuse to see you.

And if you looked up at him so sweetly as you licked at the treat, his blood never not rushing down south in the process, well then that was just an added bonus wasn’t it?

Readjusting his tactical pants and licking his own lips, Johnny had never been so grateful to Ghost before.

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #call of duty fic #simon riley #simon ghost riley #cod fanfic #ghost x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon fluff #simon ghost riley x you #cod simon ghost riley #call of duty fluff #cod fluff #cod x reader #johnny soap mactavish

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thepencilnerd · 21 days ago

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When the Sun Hits

summary: What begins as a hospital-wide power outage leaves you trapped in a supply closet with your emotionally unavailable attending. But when the lights come back on, what lingers between you can’t be shut off so easily. genre/notes: forced proximity, slow burn, panic attack + trauma comfort, domestic fluff, my fave kind of intimacy, mutual pining, humor/crack, soft!Jack that can't flirt for shit, idiots in love but neither of them will admit it, you discover you have a praise kink in the most inconvenient of ways, jack abbot on his knees—literally warnings: references to trauma, depiction of a panic attack, mentions of grief and burnout, implied but not explicit smut word count: ~ 7.2k a/n: down bad for whipped Jack Abbot. p.s., thank you to everyone who reblogs/replies/takes the time to read my brain vomit, i appreciate you more than you know ㅠㅠ <3

You had just turned to ask Jack if he could grab another tray of 32 French chest tubes when the lights cut out.

One second, the supply closet was bathed in its usual flickering overhead light—and the next, everything dropped into darkness. Sharp. Sudden.

You froze, one hand on the bin. Jack swore behind you.

"Shit," he muttered, somewhere just inside the door. The backup emergency lights flickered red from the hallway, but barely touched the cramped space around you.

Then the intercom crackled overhead: Code Yellow. Facility-wide outage. All staff remain on current floors. Secure all medications and patients.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Automatic lock.

You turned just as Jack tried the handle. It didn’t budge.

He sighed. "Well. That’s one way to guarantee a five-minute break."

You looked at him sharply, but he was already scanning the room, looking for anything useful, keeping his voice light.

"Guess we’re stuck for a bit," he added.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The air felt too tight in your lungs, too warm all of a sudden.

Because now, the supply closet didn’t just feel small.

It felt like it was closing in.

It had been a normal day.

Or as normal as anything ever was around here—high-pressure shifts balanced by the strange rhythm you and Jack had settled into over the past few years. You worked together well—efficient, quick to anticipate each other's needs, almost telepathic during traumas. Partners in crime, someone had once joked. Probably Robby.

You’d learned how to read his silences—the kind that weren’t dismissive but deliberate, like he was giving you space without needing to say it aloud. He’d learned how to decode your muttered curses and side glances, how to step in behind you without crowding, how to let his shoulder bump yours during charting when words failed you both.

There was a kind of ease between you, a rhythm that didn’t require explanation. He’d hand you tools before you asked for them. You’d finish his sentences when he gave consults. Even in chaos, your partnership felt oddly... quiet. Intimate, in a way that crept in slowly, like warmth from a mug clasped between two hands after a long shift.

When you were paired on trauma, nurses and med students stopped asking who was lead. They knew you moved as one.

People had started to notice—how the two of you always seemed to stay overtime on the same days, how Jack would make dry, cutting jokes around others but soften them just enough when talking to you. Robby, in particular, teased him about it relentlessly.

"Jack, blink twice if this is you flirting," he’d once called across the ER after Jack mumbled, "Great work Dr. L/N," while watching you tie off a flawless stitch or nailing a differential.

Jack huffed. "It’s efficient. She's efficient."

"God, you’re hopeless," Robby laughed.

"She’s my best resident," Jack shot back, like it explained everything. Like it wasn’t a deflection.

You snorted into your coffee. "You say that like it’s not the fifth time this week."

Jack, without missing a beat: "That’s because it’s true. I value consistency."

He was awful at flirting—stiff and dry and chronically understated—but you’d grown to read the fondness buried in the flat delivery.

Like the morning he handed you your favorite protein bar without a word and then said, as you blinked at him, "Don’t faint. You’ll ruin my numbers."

Or the time he stood outside your call room after a brutal night shift, coffee in hand, and muttered, "You deserve a nap, but I guess you’ll have to settle for caffeine and my sparkling company."

He always made sure to loop you in on the interesting cases—"Figure it’s good for your development," he’d say. But then linger just a little too long after rounds, just to hear your thoughts.

And when you were quiet too long, when something in you withdrew, he never asked outright. Just gave you space—and a clipboard he’d pre-filled, or a shift swap you hadn’t requested, or the gentlest, "You good?" when you passed each other by the scrub sinks.

And now, here you were. Trapped in a closet with the man who rarely made jokes—and never blushed—except when you were around.

Now, you were stuck. Together.

The air felt thin but simultaneously stuffed to the brim.

Jack turned on his penlight, sweeping the beam across the room. "We’re fine," he said, calm and certain. "Generator will kick in soon."

You nodded. Tried to match his steadiness. Failed.

The closet was small. Smaller than it had ever felt before.

The walls crept in.

You didn’t notice the way your hands started to shake until he said your name.

Your vision tunneled. The room blurred at the edges, corners shrinking in like someone was folding the walls inward. The air felt heavy, every breath catching at the top of your throat before it could sink deep enough to matter. It felt like someone had filled your veins with liquid lead, your entire body suddenly weighing too much to hold upright. You staggered back a step, hand scrambling blindly for something to anchor you—shelf, handle, Jack. Your heart was pounding—loud, ragged, out of sync with time itself.

You tried to swallow. Couldn’t.

Sweat prickled your scalp. Your fingers tingled, every nerve on fire. Your knees gave out beneath you, and you crumbled to the floor—head buried between your knees, hands clasped behind your neck, trying to fold yourself into a singularity. Anything to disappear. Anything to slip away from this moment and the way it pressed in on all sides. There was no exit. No sound but your own spiraling thoughts and the slow, careful way Jack said your name again.

You blinked. Your eyes wouldn’t focus.

"Hey," Jack coaxed, his voice cutting through the static—low and steady, somehow still distant. His full attention was on you now, gaze locked in, unmoving. "Breathe."

You couldn’t.

It hit like a wave—sharp and silent, rising in your chest like pressure, no space, no air, no exit.

Jack’s hands found your shoulders. "I’ve got you. You’re okay. Stay with me, yeah?"

He crouched in front of you, grounding you with steady pressure and careful, deliberate calm. His hands—firm, callused, the kind that had seen years of split-second decisions and endless sutures—gripped your upper arms with a touch that was impossibly gentle. Like he could mold you back into yourself with his palms alone. His thumbs brushed lightly, not demanding, just present. Just there.

"Can you breathe with me?" he asked. "In for four. Okay? One, two, three…"

You tried. You really did.

Your chest still felt locked, ribs tight around panic like a vice, but his voice—low and even—threaded through the chaos.

"Out for four," he murmured, exhaling slowly, deliberately, like the sound alone could show your body how to follow. "Good. Just like that."

The faint light dimmed between you, casting his face in half-shadow. He was close now—close enough for you to catch the scent of antiseptic and something warm underneath, something that reminded you of winter nights and clean laundry.

"You’re here," he said again, softer this time. "You’re safe. Nothing’s coming. You’ve got space."

You reached out blindly, fingers finding the edge of his sleeve and clutching it like a lifeline.

"Good girl," Jack said softly, instinctively, like it slipped out without permission.

Your brain short-circuited. Of all things, in all moments—that was what hooked your attention. You let out a strangled little laugh, shaky and almost hysterical. "Fucking hell," you murmured, pressing your face into your arm. "Why is that what got me breathing again?"

Jack blinked, startled for a second—then let out the smallest huff of relief, like he was holding back a smirk. "Hey, if it works, I’ll say it again," he said, a thread of warmth sneaking into his voice.

You groaned, half-burying your face in your elbow. "Please don’t."

He was still crouched in front of you, his tone gentler now, teasing on purpose, like he was giving you something else to hold onto. "Admit it—you just wanted to hear me say something nice for once."

"Jack," you warned, half-laughing, half-crying.

"You’re doing great," he said quietly, real again. "You’re okay. I’ve got you."

And eventually—one shaky inhale at a time—your lungs obeyed.

When the power came back on, you stood side-by-side in the wash of fluorescent light, blinking against it.

You were still trembling faintly, your breaths shallow but more even now. Jack didn’t step away. Not right away.

"Feeling better?" he asked, voice low, steady.

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

Jack stood slowly, offering a hand. You took it, letting him pull you up. His grip lingered just a second longer than necessary.

Then he tried, awkwardly, to lighten the mood. "If calling you a good girl was really all it took, then I’ve been severely underutilizing my motivational toolkit."

You let out a startled laugh, breath catching mid-sound. "Jesus, don’t start."

He gave you a crooked smile—relieved, even if the corners of it were still tight with concern. "Whatever works, right? Next time I’ll try it with more enthusiasm."

"Next time?" Your eyes widened like saucers—absolutely flabbergasted, half-tempted to dissolve into laughter or hit him with the nearest supply tray.

He shrugged, another smug grin threatening to cross his lips. "Just saying. If you’re going to unravel in a closet, might as well do it with someone who knows where to find the defibrillator."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t let go of his hand until the light flickered again.

Only then did you both step apart.

You didn’t say much.

He didn’t ask you to.

You’d made it as far as the locker room before the adrenaline crash hit. You rinsed your face, changed into sweats, and shoved your scrubs into your bag with trembling fingers. Jack had walked you out of the department without a word, just a hand hovering near your lower back.

"Thanks," you said quietly, as you scanned out. "For earlier."

Jack shook his head, like it was nothing. "You don’t need to thank me."

"Still," you said. "Just… please don’t mention it to anyone?"

He looked over at you, mouth twitching at the corner. "Mention what?"

That made you laugh—brief, breathless. "Right."

You parted ways near the waiting room, sharing your usual post-shift goodbyes.

Or so you thought.

Jack had been about to leave when he saw you—doubling back through the double doors, slipping through the staff-only entrance and back into the ER.

His brow furrowed.

He hesitated, then turned to follow.

The corridor was quiet. Most of the day shift hadn’t arrived yet, and the call room hallway echoed faintly under his footsteps. He paused outside the on-call room and knocked once, gently. When there was no response, he eased the door open.

The room was cramped and windowless, just enough space for a narrow bunk bed and a scuffed metal chair in the corner. The mattress dipped in the middle, the kind of sag that never quite let you forget your own weight. The attached bathroom offered a stall that barely passed for a shower—low pressure, eternally lukewarm, and loud enough to make you question whether it was working or crying for help. It felt more like a last resort than a place to rest.

Your bag was on the bed. Half-unpacked. Toothbrush laid out. Socks tucked into the corner. Like you were staying in a hotel. Like you’d been staying here.

He was still standing there when the bathroom door cracked open and you stepped out—hair damp, towel knotted tightly around your torso.

You both froze.

Your eyes widened. Jack’s went comically wide before he spun around on instinct, shielding his eyes like it was second nature. "Shit—sorry, I didn’t—"

"What are you doing here?" you asked at the exact same time he blurted, "What are you doing here?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

Jack cleared his throat, ears bright red. "I… saw you come back in. Just wanted to check."

You were still standing in place like a deer in headlights, towel clutched in a death grip.

Jack rubbed the back of his neck, eyes very pointedly still on the wall, as if the peeling paint had suddenly become the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

Fingers clenched around the edge of the towel, embarrassment prickled across your chest like static. "One second," you murmured, disappearing back into the bathroom before either of you could say anything more.

A minute later, the door creaked open and you stepped out again—now wrapped in an oversized hoodie and soft, baggy sweatpants that made you look small, almost swallowed whole by comfort. Jack’s brain did something deeply inconvenient at the sight.

You lingered in the doorway, sleeves tugged down over your hands, damp hair framing your face. "You can look now," you said, voice softer this time.

Jack didn’t move at first. He shifted his weight, cleared his throat in a way that sounded more like a stall tactic than anything physiological. Only after a beat did he finally turn, cautiously, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

He caught himself staring. Made a mental note not to think about it later. Failed almost immediately.

A breath left your lungs, quieter than the room deserved. You crossed to the bunk and sat down on the edge, fingers fidgeting with the seam of your sweatpants. "You can sit, if you want," you said, barely above a whisper.

The mattress shifted a second later as Jack lowered himself beside you, careful, slow—like he wasn’t sure how close he was allowed to get. His knee brushed yours. He didn’t move it. You didn't pull away.

Your eyes fluttered shut, a long exhale dragging out of you like it had been caught behind your ribs all night. "I’ve been staying here," you said finally. "Not every night. Just... enough of them."

You looked over at him, then down at your hands. "It’s not about work. I just... I didn’t want to go back to an empty place and hear it echo. Didn’t want to hear myself think. Breathe. This place—at least there’s always noise. Even if it’s bad, it’s something."

That made him pause.

"I don’t want to be alone..." you added, quieter.

Jack was quiet for a moment, then nodded once, slow. "Why didn’t you tell me?" he asked, voice quieter than before. "You know I’m always here for you."

You looked down at your lap. "I didn’t want to be a burden."

Your fingers twitched, and before you realized it, you’d started picking at a loose thread along your cuff. Jack’s hands came up gently, catching yours before you could do more than graze your skin. He held them between his palms—warm, steady. Soothing.

His thumbs brushed over your knuckles. "You never have to earn being cared about," he said softly. "Not with me."

A few moments passed in silence. He still hadn’t let go of your hand.

Then, quietly, Jack reached into his pocket.

And handed you a key.

"I have a spare room," he said, voice low. "No expectations. No questions. Just… if you need it."

You stared at the key. Then at him.

He still didn’t look away, even as his voice gentled. "Don’t sleep here. Not if it hurts."

You took the key.

Not right away—but you did. Slipped it into the front pocket of your hoodie like it might vanish otherwise, like the metal might burn a hole through the fabric if you held it too long.

Jack didn’t press. Didn’t ask for promises.

He stood to leave and paused in the doorway.

"I’ll leave the light on," he said. "Just in case."

You didn’t answer right away. Just nodded, barely, and stared at the key in your lap long after the door shut behind him.

The call room was quiet after he left.

Too quiet.

You stared at the key until your fingers itched, then tucked it beneath your pillow like it needed protecting—from you, from the space, from the hollow echo of loneliness that filled the room once Jack was gone.

You didn’t sleep that night. Not really.

And two days later—after another long shift, after you’d showered in the same miserable excuse for plumbing, after you’d sat cross-legged on the cot trying to convince yourself to just go home—you took the key out of your pocket.

You didn’t text him.

You just went.

The last time you'd been to his place was different. Less quiet. More raw.

It was the night after a shift that left the entire ER shell-shocked. You'd both ended up at Jack’s apartment with takeout containers and too much to drink. You’d lost a kid—ten years old, blunt trauma, thirty-eight minutes of resuscitation, and it still wasn’t enough. Jack had lost a veteran. OD. The kind of case that stuck to his ribs.

He’d handed you a beer without a word. The two of you had sat on opposite ends of his couch, silence stretching between you like a third presence until you broke it with a hoarse, "I keep hearing his mother scream."

Jack didn’t look away. "I keep thinking I should’ve caught it sooner."

The conversation didn’t get lighter. But it got easier.

At some point, you’d both ended up sitting on the floor, backs against the couch, knees bent and shoulders almost brushing.

He told you about Iraq. About the first time he held pressure on someone’s chest and knew it wouldn’t matter.

You told him about your first code as an intern and the way it rewired something you’ve never quite gotten back.

He didn’t touch you. Didn’t need to. Just passed you another drink and said, "I’m glad you were there today."

And for a while, it was enough—being there, even if neither of you knew how to say why.

You’d gotten absolutely wasted that night. The kind of drunk that swung from giggles to tears and back again. Somewhere between your third drink and fourth emotional whiplash, you started dancing around his living room barefoot, music crackling from his ancient Bluetooth speaker. Tears for Fears was playing—Everybody Wants to Rule the World—and you twirled with your arms raised like the only way to survive grief was to outpace it.

Jack watched from the floor, amused. Smiling to himself. Maybe a little enamored.

You beckoned him up with exaggerated jazz hands. "C’mon, dance with me."

He shook his head, raising both palms. "No one needs to see that."

You marched over, grabbed his hands, and tugged hard enough to get him upright. He stumbled, laughing under his breath, and let you spin him like a carousel horse. It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t even really dancing. But it was you—vivid and loud and alive—and something in him ached with the sight of it.

He didn’t say anything that night.

But the way he looked at you said enough.

You were still holding his hands from the dance, your breathing slowing, your laughter softening into something tender. The overhead light had gone dim, the playlist shifting into quieter melodies, but you didn’t let go. Your fingers stayed laced behind his neck, your forehead nearly resting against his chest.

Jack’s palms found your waist—not possessive, just steady. Grounding. His thumbs pressed gently against your sides, and for a moment, you swayed in place like the world wasn’t full of ghosts. You were sobering up, but not rushing. Not running.

You hadn’t meant for the dance to turn into this. But he didn’t step away.

Didn’t look away either.

Just held you, as if the act itself might keep you both tethered to something real.

You woke the next morning to the sound of soft clinking—metal against ceramic, a pan being set down gently on the stovetop.

The smell of coffee drifted in first. Then eggs. Something buttery. Your head pounded—dull, insistent—but your body felt warm under the blanket someone had pulled up around your shoulders during the night.

Padding quietly down the hall, you peeked into the kitchen.

Jack stood at the stove, hair ever so slightly tousled from sleep, wearing the same faded t-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants that made your chest ache with something you couldn’t name. He hadn’t seen you yet—was humming under his breath, absently stirring a pan with practiced rhythm.

You leaned against the doorframe.

"Are you seriously making breakfast?"

He turned, eyes crinkling. "You say that like it’s not a medically necessary intervention."

You snorted, stepping in. "You’re using a cast iron. I didn’t even know you owned one."

"Don’t tell Robby. He thinks I survive on rage and vending machine coffee."

You slid onto one of the stools, blinking blearily against the light. Jack set a mug in front of you without being asked—just the way you liked it. Just like always.

"You were a menace last night," he said lightly, pouring eggs into the pan.

You groaned, cupping your hands around the mug. "Oh god. Please don’t recap."

He grinned. "No promises. But the dance moves were impressive. You almost took me out during that one twirl."

"That’s because you wouldn’t dance with me!"

"I was trying to protect my knees."

You laughed, head tipping back slightly. Jack just watched you, eyes soft, like the sound of it made something settle inside him.

And for a moment, the silence that settled between you wasn’t hollow at all.

It was full.

If only tonight's circumstances were different.

Jack opened the door in sweatpants and a black v-neck that looked older than his medical degree. He blinked when he saw you—then smiled, just a little. Not wide. Not obvious. But real. The kind of expression that said he hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted to see you until you were there.

He said nothing.

After a slow smile: "Didn’t expect to see you again so soon," he said lightly, trying to break the ice. "Unless you’re here to critique my towel-folding technique."

Lifting your hand slowly, the key warm against your skin, you tilted your head with a deadpan expression. "Wouldn’t dream of it," you said, tone dry—almost too dry—but not quite hiding the twitch of a smile. Jack’s mouth quirked at the corner.

Then you held the key out fully, and he stepped aside without a word.

"Spare room’s on the left," he said. “Bathroom’s across from it. The towels are clean. I think."

You smiled, a little helplessly. "Thanks."

Jack’s voice was soft behind you. "That was a joke, by the way. The towel thing."

You turned slightly. "What?"

He shrugged, almost sheepish. "Trying to lighten the mood," he said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking anywhere but at you. "Make it... easier. Or, y'know. Less weird. That was the goal."

The admission caught you off guard. Jack Abbot had a tendency to ramble when he was nervous, and this was definitely that.

You didn’t say anything right away, but your smile—this time—was a little steadier. A little sweeter.

"Careful, Jack," you murmured, feigning seriousness. "If you keep being charming, I might start expecting it."

He looked like he wanted to say something else. His mouth opened, then closed again as he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly debating whether to double down or play it cool.

"Guess I’ll go work on my stand-up material," he mumbled, half under his breath.

You bit back a laugh.

He ran a hand through his hair again—classic stall tactic—then finally nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

The room he offered you was small, clearly unused, but tidy in a way that suggested recent care. A folded towel sat at the foot of the bed. A new toothbrush—still in its packaging—rested on the nightstand. The faint scent of cedar lingered in the air, mixing with the soft clean trace of his detergent. The air had that faint freshness of a recently opened window, and the corners were free of dust. Someone had aired it out. Someone had taken the time to make space—room that hadn’t existed before, cleared just enough to let another person in.

You set your bag down and sat on the edge of the bed, fingers brushing over the blanket. Everything felt soft. Considered. You stared at the corner of the room like it might give you answers.

It didn’t.

But it didn’t feel like a hospital either.

You took your time in the shower, letting the heat soak into your skin until the mirror fogged over and your thoughts slowed just enough to feel manageable. Jack's body wash smelled different on you—deeper, warmer somehow—and the scent clung faintly to your skin as you pulled on the softest clothes you had packed: shorts and an oversized shirt you barely remembered grabbing.

When you stepped out of the guest room, damp hair still clinging to your neck, the smell of garlic and something gently sizzling greeted you first. Jack was in the kitchen, stirring a pot with practiced ease, the kind of domestic ease that tugged at something inside you.

He turned when he heard your footsteps—and froze for a beat too long.

His eyes swept over you and caught on your hair, your shirt, the visible curve of your collarbone, the quietness about you that hadn't been there earlier. He blinked, clearly trying to recover, and failed miserably.

"Hey," you said gently, brushing some damp strands behind your ear. "Need help with anything?"

Jack cleared his throat—once, then again—and turned back to the stove, ears visibly reddening. "I think I’m good," he said. "Unless you want to make sure I don’t burn the rice."

You crossed the room and leaned against the counter next to him, still slightly bashful yourself. The scent of his soap clung to your sleeves, and Jack caught a trace of it on the air. He said nothing—but stirred a little slower. A little more carefully.

"Your apartment’s just as nice as I remembered," you said, soft and genuine, fingers brushing the edge of the countertop.

Jack glanced over at you, a flicker of something warm behind his eyes. "You mean the sterile surfaces and suspiciously outdated spice rack?"

You gave him a knowing smile. "I mean the parts that feel like you."

That stopped him for a second. His stirring slowed to a halt. He looked back down at the pot, a faint smile ghosting over his lips.

"Careful," he murmured, voice low. "If you keep saying things like that, I might start thinking you actually like me."

You nudged his elbow gently. "I might. Don’t let it go to your head."

He smiled to himself, the kind of expression that didn't need to be seen to be felt. And in the soft space between those words, something settled. Easier. Closer.

Dinner was simple—pan-seared salmon, rice, roasted vegetables. Nothing fancy, but everything assembled with care. Jack Abbot, it turned out, could cook.

You said so after the first bite—and let out a soft, involuntary moan. Jack froze mid-chew, raised a brow, and gave you a look.

"Wow," he said dryly, lips twitching. "Should I be offended or flattered?"

You felt heat rise across your cheeks, laughing as you covered your mouth with your napkin. "Don't tell me you're jealous of a piece of salmon?"

He grinned. "I’m a man of many talents," he said dryly, passing you the pepper mill. "Just don’t ask me to bake."

You smiled over your glass of water, a little more relaxed now. "No offense, but I didn’t exactly have ‘culinary savant’ on my Jack Abbot bingo card."

He shot you a look. "What was on the card?"

You hummed, pretending to think. "Chronic insomniac. Secret softie. Closet hoarder of protein bars. Dad joke connoisseur."

Jack snorted, setting down his fork. "You’re lucky the salmon’s good or I’d be deeply offended."

You grinned. "So you admit it."

And he did—not in words, but in the way his gaze lingered a moment too long across the table. In the way he refilled your glass as soon as it dipped below halfway. In the quiet, sheepish curve of his smile when you caught him looking. In the way his laugh lost its usual edge and softened, like maybe—just maybe—he could get used to this.

After dinner, you moved to the sink before Jack could protest. He tried, weakly, something about guests and hospitality, but you waved him off and started rinsing plates.

Jack came up behind you, handing over dishes one by one as you scrubbed and loaded them into the dishwasher to dry. His presence was warm at your back, the occasional graze of his hand or arm sending tiny shivers up your spine. The silence between you was companionable, laced with unspoken things neither of you quite knew how to name.

"You’re seriously not gonna let me help?" he asked, bumping your hip with his.

"This is letting you help," you shot back. "You’re the designated passer."

"Such a glamorous title," he murmured, his voice low near your ear. "Do I get a badge?"

You glanced at him over your shoulder, a smile tugging at your lips. "Only if you survive the suds.

Jack leaned in just as you turned back to the sink, and for a moment, your arms brushed, your shoulders aligned. His gaze lingered on you again—your profile, your damp hair starting to curl at the edges, the stretch of your shirt down your back.

You glanced back at him, close enough now to kiss, breath caught halfway between surprise and anticipation when—

Jack dipped his finger into the soap bubbles and tapped the tip of your nose.

You blinked, stunned. "Did you just—"

Jack held your wide-eyed gaze a beat longer, then said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Nice look, Bubbles."

And the dam broke. You laughed, bright and unguarded, flicking water in his direction.

He dodged each droplet as best he could with a grin, triumphant. "I stand by my methods."

You scooped a pile of bubbles into your hand with deliberate menace.

Jack immediately backed away, holding both palms up like he was under arrest. "No. No no no—"

You grinned, nodding slowly with mock gravity. The chase ensued. He darted around the counter, nearly tripping on the rug as you chased after him, suds in hand and laughter trailing like a siren’s call. He was fast—but you were relentless.

"Truce!" he yelped, dropping to his knees in front of you, hands held high in mock surrender.

You smirked, one brow raised. "Hmm. I don’t know… this feels like a trap."

Jack looked up at you with wide, pleading eyes. "Mercy. Have mercy. I’ll do whatever you want—just don’t soap me."

You hummed, pretending to consider it. "Anything?"

"Within reason. And dignity. Maybe." He started lowering his hands.

You tilted your head, letting the moment draw out. Jack watched you carefully, breath held, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"I mean…" he started. "If praise is your thing, you’re doing a fantastic job intimidating me right now."

Your mouth parted, stunned. "Did you just—"

Jack smirked, sensing an opening. "You excel at it. Really. Top tier menace."

You laughed, nearly doubling over. "Oh my god. You’re the worst." The bubbles had dissipated by now, leaving you with only damp hands.

"And yet, here you are," he said, still kneeling, still grinning.

You shook your head, stray droplets slipping from your hand, your laughter easing into something softer. "Get up, you idiot."

But Jack didn’t—not right away. Still on his knees, he inched closer, crawling forward with slow, deliberate grace. His hands found your thighs, resting there gently, like a prayer. Thumbs stroked the place where skin met fabric, featherlight and reverent.

"I mean it," he said, voice quieter now, almost solemn. "You terrify me."

Your breath caught.

"In the best way," he added, gaze lifting. "You walk into a trauma bay like you own it. You fight like hell for your patients. You get under my skin without even trying."

His hands slid up slowly, still gentle, still hesitant, like waiting for permission. "Sometimes I think the only thing I believe in anymore is you."

Your heart thudded. Your hands, still damp, twitched against your sides.

"You deserve to be worshipped," he murmured, and that was when your knees nearly buckled.

The joke was long forgotten. The laughter faded. All that was left was the way Jack looked at you now—like he wasn’t afraid of the quiet anymore.

His hands had made a slow, reverent climb to your bare skin, thumbs sweeping small, anchoring circles into your skin. You felt the heat of him everywhere, your body taut with anticipation, nerves stretched thin. He didn’t rush. Just looked up at you, drinking in every unsteady breath, every flicker of hesitation in your gaze.

"You’re shaking," he murmured, voice low. If you weren't so dazed, you could've sworn you heard a shadow of amusement. "You want to stop?"

You shook your head—barely—and he nodded like he understood something sacred.

"I want you to feel good," he said softly, leaning in to press the lightest kiss to your thigh, just below the hem of your shirt. "I want to take my time with you. If you’ll let me?"

The question lodged in your chest like a plea. You couldn’t speak, only nodded, and his hands flexed slightly in response.

Jack stood first, rising fluidly, eyes never leaving yours. As he straightened, your hands found his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands at the base of his neck. That was all it took—the smallest pull, the softest touch—and the space between you collapsed.

Not in chaos, not in desperation, but in something careful. Like reverence wrapped in desire. Like he’d been waiting for this, quietly, for longer than he dared admit.

And when his lips met yours, it was a live wire.

Deep. Soft. Unapologetically tender.

But it didn’t stay chaste. Jack’s hands found your hips, drawing you closer, fitting your bodies together like a secret only the two of you knew how to keep. His tongue brushed yours in a slow, exploratory sweep, and you gasped against his mouth, fingers fisting in the back of his shirt.

The kiss turned hungry, molten—slow-burning restraint giving way to a need you both had held too tightly for too long. Jack’s hand slid beneath the hem of your shirt, tracing the curve of your spine, and you arched into him, a quiet gasp slipping free.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he murmured between kisses, voice thick, reverent.

You pulled back just enough to whisper, "Don’t you dare."

That was all he needed.

And when he kissed you again, it was like promise and prayer and everything you hadn’t let yourself want until now.

His hands moved with aching care—one sliding up your spine to cradle the back of your neck, the other splaying wide at your waist, pulling you flush against him. The heat between you was slow and encompassing, more smolder than spark, until it wasn’t—until it ignited all at once.

Jack walked you backward until your hips bumped the counter, and he pressed into the space you gave him, forehead resting against yours. "You undo me," he whispered, breath trembling against your lips. "Every single time."

You were already breathless, clinging to his shirt, heart pounding in your throat.

His mouth found yours again, deeper this time, hands exploring—confident now, reverent, like he was learning every part of you for the first time and never wanted to forget. You moaned softly into the kiss, and Jack cursed under his breath, low and ragged, like the sound had torn through his composure.

And then there was no more space. No more distance. Just heat, and hunger, and the slow unraveling of restraint as Jack lifted you gently onto the counter, your knees parting for him, his name spilling from your lips like a secret.

You kissed like the world was ending. Like this was your only chance to get it right. He needed to feel you pressed against him to believe it wasn’t just a dream.

The kiss deepened, urgent and breathless, until Jack was devouring every sound you made, like he could live off the way you whimpered into his mouth. He groaned low in his throat when your nails scraped lightly down his back, your body arching into his hands like instinct.

He touched you like a man memorizing, devout and thorough—hands mapping the curve of your waist, mouth dragging heat across your throat. He tasted sweat and shampoo and you, and that alone nearly undid him. You felt the tension coil in his spine, the restraint he was holding like a dam, every movement deliberate.

"God," he rasped, lips at your ear, "you have no idea what you do to me."

And when you gasped again, hips shifting, he exhaled a shaky breath like he was trying not to fall apart just from the sound.

"You smell like my soap," he murmured with a rough chuckle, nosing along your jaw. "But you still taste like you."

You whimpered, and he kissed you again—harder now, letting the hunger break through, swallowing your reaction like a man starved.

He praised you in murmured fragments, over and over, voice low and wrecked.

Beautiful.

Brave.

So fucking good.

Mine.

Each word making your skin feel like it was glowing beneath his hands.

And when he finally took you to bed, it wasn’t rushed or careless—it was everything he hadn’t said before now, every ounce of feeling poured into his mouth on your skin, every whispered breath of worship like he was praying into the hollow of your throat.

Jack kissed you like he needed to memorize the taste of every sound you made, like your skin was the answer to every question he’d never asked out loud. His hands roamed slowly, confidently, with that same quiet focus he wore in trauma bays—except now it was all for you. Every inch of you. His mouth lingered at your collarbone, your ribs, the soft curve of your stomach—pressing his devotion into the places you tried to hide.

You felt undone by how gently he worshipped you, how much he wanted—not just your body, but your breath, your closeness, your everything. He murmured praise against your skin like it was sacred, like you were something holy in his arms.

And when he finally moved over you, hands braced on either side of your head, eyes searching yours like he was asking permission one more time—you nodded.

He exhaled like it hurt to hold back. Then gave you everything.

Every kiss was a promise, every touch a confession. He moved with aching tenderness, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you beneath him, like this wasn’t just sex but something divine. You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, breath catching in your throat with every thrust. It wasn’t fast or frantic—it was slow, overwhelming, unbearably close.

He whispered your name like a prayer, forehead pressed to yours, and when you finally came apart beneath him, he followed soon after—undone by the way you sang his name like it was the only thing tethering you to this world.

Later, tangled in blankets and the afterglow, Jack pulled you closer without a word. One hand splayed wide against your back, the other curled around your fingers like he wasn’t ready to let you go—not now, maybe not ever. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the warmth of him, the scent of skin and comfort and safety.

"I’m gonna need you to stop making that noise when you taste food," he murmured eventually, voice sleep-thick and amused.

You huffed a laugh into his shoulder. "Or what?"

"I’ll marry you on the spot. No warning. Just a salmon fillet and a ring pop."

Your laughter shook the bed.

Jack smirked, the ghost of a tease already forming. "If I’d known praise got you going, I’d have started ages ago."

You swatted at his chest, heat blooming across your cheeks. "Don’t you dare weaponize this."

He grinned into your hair, voice low and wrecked and entirely too fond. "Too late. I’m gonna ruin you with kindness."

You huffed, hiding your face in his shoulder.

Jack chuckled and pulled you closer.

You were never going to live this down. And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to.

Because Jack Abbot being a secret softie had officially made its triumphant return to your bingo card—and if you were being honest, it had probably been the center square since day one.

"You know," you murmured against his chest, lips curving into a grin, "for someone who acts so stoic at work, you sure have a lot of secrets."

Jack stirred slightly, arm tightening around your waist. "Yeah? Like what?"

You propped yourself up on one elbow, counting off on your fingers. "Total softie. Great cook. An absolute sex god."

Jack groaned into your shoulder, bashful. "Jesus."

"I'm just saying," you teased. "If there’s a hidden talent for needlepoint or poetry, now would be the time to confess."

He lifted his head, eyes heavy with sleep and amusement. "I used to write really bad song lyrics in middle school. That count?"

You laughed, light and easy, your fingers tracing idle circles on his chest. "God, I bet they were terrible."

Jack smirked. "You’ll never know."

"I’ll find them," you said with mock determination. "I’ll unearth them. Just wait."

He kissed your forehead, chuckling softly. "I’m terrified."

And he was—just not of you. Only of how much he wanted this to last.

Jack smiled into your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You're incredible, you know that?"

You shook your head, bashful, eyes cast toward the sheets—but Jack didn’t let it slide. His hand curled tighter around yours, his voice still soft but firm. "Hey. I meant that. You are."

When you didn’t answer right away, he leaned in a little closer, his thumb brushing along your wrist. "I need you to hear it. And believe it. You’re—extraordinary."

The earnestness in his voice left you no room to hide. Slowly, your eyes lifted to meet his.

Jack held your gaze like a promise. "Say okay."

"Okay," you whispered, cheeks burning.

He smiled again, slower this time, and kissed your temple once more. "Good girl."

You didn’t answer—just smiled you were on cloud nine and squeezed his hand a little tighter.

Outside, the city was quiet. Inside, you drifted in and out of sleep wrapped in warm limbs and steadier breath, heart finally quiet for the first time in days. Jack’s hand never left yours, his thumb tracing lazy, grounding circles over your knuckles like he needed the reassurance just as much as you did.

Your limbs were tangled with his beneath the softened hush of early morning, the sheets kicked messily down to the foot of the bed. Skin to skin, steady breathing, fingers still loosely clasped where they had found each other in the dark. He shifted just enough to press a kiss to your shoulder, murmured something you didn’t quite catch—but it didn’t matter. The weight of the night had passed. What remained was warmth. Stillness. Something whole.

You fell asleep like that, curled into each other without pretense. Closer than you'd ever planned, safer than you thought possible. And for the first time in what felt like ages, the quiet wasn’t heavy.

It was home.

#the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt imagine #the pitt x reader #jack abbot #the pitt spoilers #jack abbot imagine #jack abbot x reader #shawn hatosy #dr. abbot x reader #dr abbot #dr abbot x reader #dr abbott #jack abbott #dr. abbott #jack abbot smut #dr abbot smut

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everlastingserenitys · 9 days ago

Text

SMILE FOR THE PICTURE <3

summ. you asked the best photographer in your school to help take pictures of you for your project, not take a video of you guys doing it!

pairing. Caleb x f!reader cw. nerd!caleb, p in v, fingering, masturbation, recording during sex, creampie, dirty thoughts, kissing, handjob, college au, petnames, dirty talk, kitchen sex, 3.7k wc (wtf omg) a/n. hello yes this is kiindaa based off this post ... I just added a tiny switch up hehe

“Is that all you need help with?” Caleb asked, his eyes darting around the library and back at you.

“Please Caleb?”

A tired sigh escaped his lips, he pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head in disbelief, “So what you’re saying is that you want me to take pictures of you for your project?”

You nod.

“I don’t believe it, why do you need me?”

An annoyed sigh escaped your lips and you leaned in closer, being just centimeters away from his face.

“I heard you’re the best photographer and editor, so I need someone to help me so I can pass the class… so, please, just help me this one time?”

Caleb lightly rolled his eyes and stared at you before agreeing, “fine I’ll do it—but I’ll need something in return.”

“I’ll give you anything, Alright? I’ll email you some of my photos and then we can move on from there.” You say, sliding over a scrap piece of paper with your email displayed on it and walked off.

You didn’t even let him speak the second you skipped away from him and headed over to your little friends, giggling and loudly walking yourself out the library, practically announcing to everyone that you’re leaving.

Caleb glared at your figure already leaving the library and sighed against his seat, at least he’ll have something to do for the night.

As the day progressed Caleb was already in his dorm, studying for his other subjects. It was late in the evening and he had totally forgotten about the little deal you made with him, until he heard a crackle sound beneath him.

An exasperated sigh left his lips and he reached in his pocket for the tiny piece of paper with your email on it, he rested it in front of him as his fingers instinctively started typing away on his laptop.

Without realizing or reading over what he had written, the email had already been sent to you. Caleb panicked and tried to find out how to edit, or even delete to send it again, but when nothing was popping up he closed his laptop and attempted to distract himself before you responded.

A few minutes passed and a ding blared through Caleb's laptop. A shaky sigh escaped his lips before he carefully opened up his laptop and checked his emails. He refreshed countless times until, finally your response loaded up.

Caleb read the reply out loud and hovered his cursor over the pdf files of multiple photos you sent, “‘hey these are the photos’, yada yada…mmh alright.” After a second of hesitating he finally brought the courage to click on the photos.

And they were…beautiful.

Caleb was starstruck. He scrolled through the five photos you sent and inspected every single one, eyeing every perfect curve, your pretty eyes, practically just admiring you.

He never really talked to you, mainly because he thought you wouldn't talk to him if he tried talking to you first, but when you stepped up and spoke to him first, Caleb felt like it had to be a prank. Whether it was for the project or not, he didn't mind it, in fact, he’d probably want to work with you again, if he could.

He exited out of the pictures, getting ready to write his reply when he noticed you sent something else. Only captioning the file with ‘and a little surprise for you <3 you look like you’d be into this so i hope this gives you a little motivation !!’

Curious, Caleb clicked on the file without thinking and immediately regretted it. Well, was it regret? Definitely not. Caleb’s perverted eyes scanned at every part of the scandalous photo you sent. He brought his shaky hands to his mouse and instinctively started zooming in on every part.

“Damn it.” he murmured, squirming around his chair as he tried to hold himself back from touching himself, even though the last time he actually masturbated to someone was years before his third year in college, he didn't want to just break the streak when he knows damn well you will leave him once this project was over.

But one time wouldn't hurt, right? I mean, he was practically aching down there.

Caleb brought his fingers to the waistband of his shorts and played with it as he imagined different dirty scenarios with you. He eventually slid his fingers under his shorts, grabbing onto his hard, searing length, wrapping his cold fingers around it. He pumped his fist in a quick motion, staring at your picture through his already teary eyes, captivating every pixel he could see through his blurry vision.

“Ah-shit..” he whined, bucking his hips forward and soon brought his other hand to his cock, pretending it was yours. That thought just turned him on even more and he was practically trying everything to hold himself back from coming too early.

He glanced back at the picture, his glasses were slightly slipping off his nose but he didnt care. He yanked his head back, his pace going even quicker on himself and he was so, soo, clo–

“Fuck..”

Spurs of white pellucid mixture dripped out of Caleb, most of it getting on his desk and papers all over the desk. He breathed heavily as his violet eyes stared into in the ceiling, rethinking his fucking choices.

A few minutes passed and Caleb took a cold shower and eventually cleaned up himself, and the desk. He sat back on desk, reopening his laptop and quickly went to reply to your email. God, he was worried how he was going to face you the next day.

His fingers hovered over the light keys illuminating through his laptop, a response was stuck somewhere in the back of his head but he couldn't bring it back to him. He pondered for a moment, his mind spiraling with many, many thoughts, none of them were recollecting what he was going to say.

Caleb let out an annoyed groan and hit his head on his desk repeatedly. He’ll just respond tomorrow, when his mind was cleared out.

The next day after his classes were over, Caleb headed to the library to study for a bit. He put his ear buds in and started reading his book. But as he was too distracted by the gibberish of numbers and letters that somehow keeps him captivated the whole time he's studying, he didn't notice a presence in front of him.

A minute passed, and he still didn't notice. That was until someone yanked his earbuds off which caused Caleb to flinch dramatically. He looked up to see who disturbed his peace, about to stand up for himself until he realized it was you.

“What..”

“Why’d you not respond last night?”

Caleb's face flushed in a light pink tone, but he remained calm, a small smirk rested on his lips as he was trying to think of an excuse on the spot. He couldn't just tell you that he got off at the seductive picture you totally sent to rile him up with.

“I was too tired to, sorry. But I saw everything you sent.”

“You did?” you grin, leaning in closer as you stared into his eyes.

“Mhm, everything.”

“Did you like the surprise picture?” you said, a hint of teasing laced in your voice as you watched for Caleb's reaction. He was trying to act tough so badly, but you noticed how difficult it was for him to keep up the tough act and that just made you want to push his limits even further.

“Caleb?” you whisper.

Caleb’s Adam's apple bobbed up and down the second you whispered his name and he avoided your gaze, “..yeah.” he mumbled, his voice dropping five octaves deeper. You smile and pull away from him, looking down at him before shrugging.

“If you read the email–which I doubt you did–I told you to come over to my place tonight to take some practice pictures.”

“Practice? Wait, when did you even say that?” Caleb frantically started typing on his computer and pulled out the email. Embarrassment washed through his whole face when he read the first email which he totally ignored.

“I see…”

“Uh huh, the pictures I sent you last night were for reference, you know? How you’re going to take them and etcetera.” you fan your hands at him and Caleb stared at you for a good minute before nodding and closing his laptop, notebook, everything lying on the desk.

“Why’re you packing up right now?”

“Well? Why don’t we start early? I have studying to do and I don't want to spend the whole night taking pictures of you.”

You open your mouth, hesitant to say something but when no words could get out, you zipped your lips shut and turned around, walking yourself out of the library. You took small glances to see if Caleb was actually following you, when you noticed he was just a few meters away, you nodded to yourself and continued to walk to your place.

A ten minute walk later both you and Caleb end up at the front door of your apartment. You grab the keys from your purse and turn around, looking at Caleb while the key is shoved deep in the keyhole.

“Wait here, and do you have your camera?”

Caleb nods and rests his shoulder against the wall next to him. You nod and head inside your place. Caleb assumed you were cleaning it up so he leaned back and patiently waited as the sounds of shuffling and stuff moving around were getting louder and louder by the second.

A few minutes pass and you open the door letting Caleb in. Caleb looked around your whole place, his eyes darting on every piece of furniture that was definitely your style, and soon averting his gaze to the large window that showed off the view from outside.

It was already close to sunset and the lighting looked amazing to take pictures with. Caleb brought out his camera and tried turning it on when his worst nightmare happened.

“Dead?”

“Dead.”

A minute of silence echoed through the room, you and Caleb looked at each other before awkwardly chuckling at each other.

“I have a charger, be right back.” you say.

Caleb nodded and sat against your kitchen counter, fidgeting the camera around his fingers before you came back and slid the charger to him. He nodded in appreciation and quickly went to put his camera to charge.

“What should we do now?” Caleb asked, glancing at you then back at his camera.

You ponder for a moment then an idea lights up in your head, “Come, i’ll show you more of my photos so you can get an idea on what to do.” you unwillingly grab onto Caleb's wrist and drag him to your bedroom.

Which looked fairly normal, a little basic. Just a desk consisting of two monitors lying on it, a bookshelf, and your bed. You drag Caleb to your desk and you plop on the chair, unlocking your monitor in a quick movement and pulling out your camera roll.

“Some pictures may be weird so don't mind it, okay?”

Caleb nodded and glued his eyes to your monitor.

As the time went on and you were showing dozens upon dozens of photos to him, that's when your camera roll started to look a little too explicit and Caleb swore you were doing it on purpose.

“Oh whoops!” you giggle, letting Caleb quickly look at the explicit pictures of you, and at this point he wasn’t complaining. He wasn’t going to show that he liked it, but something else was about to shatter him from this nonchalant persona.

He watched you scroll through the pictures as his bottom half felt numb. Caleb looked at the bottom of the camera roll and noticed you were almost at the end of it, just a few more pictures to go and he could go to the bathroom to fix the problem down there.

When you finally showed the last picture Caleb nodded and enthusiastically told you how he knew exactly what he was doing and started backing away from your desk. You raise an eyebrow and get up from your seat walking behind him.

“Where's the bathroom?” Caleb asked, looking left and right at the two different hallways that could lead to anywhere. You peered your head up and brushed past him, but mistakenly stumbled over his shoelace and grabbed onto his thigh to catch yourself.

“Cal–uh..”

Your eyes widened and you looked up at Caleb's flushed look and down to your hand which was not on his thigh.

“Don’t move, please…” he mumbled, covering half his face with his hand as he carefully stepped back, but he was too much in a haze to even focus. He tripped on himself and stumbled against you again, making your hand practically rub on his boner.

“Shit…”

“You said you wanted something in return, why don’t I give you the favor right now and then you could take my pictures, how’s that?” you say, looking up at caleb who was still flushed bright red at the situation happening at the moment.

“I- fine..” he nodded and you smiled, sliding your fingers under his pants, slowly pulling them down and stare at his leaking bulge imprinting his boxers. Eventually, you pull his boxers down and let his cock spring out and, Fuck.

You wrap your fingers around his length and pump your fist in a slow, rhythmic movement, letting Caleb savour the time. Loud whines filled the room and you continued the same pace as you watched his reaction.

“Mo–ngh”

“Hmm?”

“More..” he breathed, Caleb's fingers slid in your hair and he pulled your head up so you could look at him. “Please.”

You smirk and fasten the pace on him, after one hand starts getting tired, you bring your other one and do the same movements to his cock. Both your hands were on his hard, sticky length. With one hand circling around the tip and the other pumping his full length Caleb was practically moaning like a virgin.

You slick your thumb on his tip and leaned in closer, about to make your mouth get put to use but Caleb stopped you and shook his head, “not yet..,‘m close” he groaned, his voice echoed through the room which sent shivers down your spine.

“You’re close? Then why don’t you hold it in.” you challenge, pulling your hands away from his cock and staring up at caleb who looked like he was going to die without the feeling of your hands on his.

“Hold it in, can you do that?” you whisper, getting up from your knees and leaned in closer, your hot breath ghosted against Caleb's skin. But Caleb couldnt even spit out any words, his eyes flicker on yours and before you could tease him further he crashed his lips on yours.

Caught off guard, you reciprocate the kiss and push him further against the wall, grabbing onto the sides of his face as you push yourself closer against him. Your bodies were practically molded together and Caleb lightly bit on your lip when he felt you grinding yourself against him.

His fingers made their way to your waist and soon snaked down to your pants, toying with the edges of it before pulling them down. His fingers slid lower on your body and soon reached your soaking, dripping cunt.

He slid a finger inside you and stroked a slow, deliberate pattern, stimulating and stretching you out before he put his cock inside you. He was holding himself back so bad but he lets the last drops of self control drip down him before he rams his cock inside you.

“Let me…” Caleb whispered, pulling his fingers out of you and stared at the mess coated on his fingers. You grunt and press yourself against him, he takes it as an indication that he can put himself inside you and without thinking he does it right away.

“urgh w-wait–” before you could tell Caleb to go to your bed or another room he lifted you up and pressed his tip against your soaking entrance, slowly pushing himself inside. He wasn't even a quarter in and you felt like you were full, you cling onto him as he lifts your body up and down on his cock.

“K-kitchen” you moan, burying your head on his shoulder. Caleb nods and effortlessly walks towards the kitchen with half his length inside you. You felt him press you against the counter and slightly pull himself away so he could see your face.

Caleb stared at you with love and lust filled in his eyes, his glasses were barely on him, his eyes were teary, and fuck he still looked like a beauty. You yanked your head back when you felt him sink deeper inside you, his tip practically hitting every right spot, and you felt like you were in heaven.

You wink your eyes open and get used to your surroundings again and notice the camera was still charging next to you. Caleb watched your every move as you picked up the camera and flicked it on. It beeped for a moment and flashed unlocked.

When the camera was on you smiled and glanced at Caleb who was too much in a daze to know what you were doing and angle the camera directly at his beautiful face. You coo his name and he averted his gaze to the camera that was in your hands.

“Smile.” you manage to get out and notice Caleb smirk before you flash a picture. Your eyes widened as you clicked the picture and he looked heavenly. Caleb chuckled as he continued to ram himself in and out of you, using one of his hands to grab the camera.

“Let me see.” he murmured, resting his fingers on yours which were still on the camera. You carefully gave him the camera and he examined the photo, a menacing chuckle escaped his lips and he shook his head, “don’t I look great?” he chuckled.

“Mhm”

“Yeah?”

You nod again and Caleb angled the camera to you, his hands, which were once shaky weren't shaky anymore and he looked at you before looking back into the camera screen.

“Smile for the picture.”

Before you could let out a smile you felt Caleb shove his full length deep, deep inside you. A wave of shock went through you and you heard the camera shutter when you noticed he took a picture of an expression you made that was most definitely not a smile.

“That’s a good–mmph e-expression! Shit, do it again.” he whined, continuing to ram himself deep inside you, the impact of his hard tip abusing your cervix sent you to a spiral, you stared at Caleb through teary eyes and shook your head.

“Come on, baby.” he begged, still having the camera aimed at you. A loud moan escapes your lips and you roll your hips against Caleb’s. Caleb let out a low whistle and lowered the camera to the view of his cock buried balls deep inside you.

“Look at t-that..” he chuckled, slowing the pace down. He was already close to release and he didn't want to pull away. Caleb kept the camera at the same angle it was at before and brought his other hand to your stretched out cunt, placing his thumb against the clit as he stretched it out and watched the mess pool out of you.

“You’re recording? A-and you-?!” you couldn't even get any more words out. Caleb nodded and apologized repeatedly.

“I'm sorry.. It was on a-accident” he coughed, shaking the camera around as he slowly started pulling himself out of you. The sounds of the slick seeping out of you filled the room and it just turned Caleb on even more, when he was just almost the tip out of you, Caleb angled the camera from your lower half to your face and thrusted himself back into you.

His pace was quick and his moans grew louder at every thrust he gave. Caleb was practically over the moon and the feeling was just something he wished to experience again. Caleb placed the camera down on the counter and aimed it where you both were in frame.

“Can you handle one more–y-yes? Or no?” he asked, leaning in closer to your face, his breath tickling on your warm skin, you nod and Caleb chuckled, lifting your legs over his shoulders and thrusted himself one more time.

“That's good, might as well go until the camera dies again, should we, baby?”

You didn't know how many rounds you both did, you were almost going to pass out midway through sex but Caleb somehow calmed you down and you stayed awake, didn’t pass out once no matter how many times he filled you up, it was like he was magic.

Both you and Caleb just finished getting cleaned up and you both were back at the kitchen. He held onto his camera as he went through the multiple photos and videos he took, the longest video being about an hour and a half long, which resulted in the camera dying just the second before you were going to cum.

Caleb smirked as he looked through the photos and one photo caught him by surprise, he inspected the photo and flipped the camera towards you. “You look good in this.” he said, as a death piercing gaze was locked on you.

“I’m practically clothless in that, what's so special about it?”

“You can keep it for your album of those types of photos…” he shrugged, turning the camera back towards him and looking at the photo again. You shrug and that's when you realized.

“We haven't taken my practice pictures yet!”

“Well, can you still do it, or should I come back tomorrow?” Caleb grinned, stepping towards you and stared into your eyes with a teasing look.

“Let's get it over with, today.”

Caleb frowned, “Okay one second,” He said, angling the camera at you again.

“Smile.”

part 2 of fly into your heart -> next work

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #caleb x reader #caleb smut #love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb #caleb #xia yizhou #caleb lads #xia yizhou smut #caleb fluff #lads smut #lads x reader #caleb x you #lnds caleb

1K notes · View notes

jaysng · 9 months ago

Text

post arguement — park sunghoon

pairing: bf!sunghoon x fem!reader

genre: angst (resolved), fluff

synopsis: waking up the next day after an argument, sunghoon is a little shy to ask you to follow up your daily routine together.

• help palestine, click me

sunghoon had always been the quiet type, never one to express too much, but last night’s argument was different.

it left an uncomfortable tension lingering between you two, something neither of you were used to. you tossed and turned in bed, unable to find peace, the memory of harsh words replaying in your mind like a broken record.

the morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. you had barely slept, your mind restless with unresolved thoughts.

you felt a soft nudge on your arm, and as you blinked your eyes open, there was sunghoon, standing beside the bed, his expression unreadable, a mix of uncertainty and something else you couldn’t quite place.

he hesitated for a moment, as if he was trying to find the right words. “can you… do that thing?” he finally mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze flickering away from yours.

it was unlike him to ask for anything, especially after a fight, but you knew what he meant. every morning, without fail, you’d apply his skincare for him, a small act that had somehow become your routine.

you let out a sleepy groan, turning away from him and pulling the covers over your head. “not today, hoon,” you murmured, your voice muffled, teasing him just a little, but deep down, you knew you couldn’t actually refuse him.

he stood there for a moment, the silence stretching out between you two.

“please?” he added, a little softer this time, a rare vulnerability in his voice that made your heart soften. it wasn’t like him to ask twice.

you sighed softly, sitting up and pushing the covers off. “fine,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully as you climbed out of bed.

“but only because you said please.” despite the remnants of last night’s argument hanging in the air, you didn’t have it in you to say no to him. maybe this was his way of making peace, in the only way he knew how.

“thanks,” he mumbled, almost too quiet to hear, but you caught the sincerity in his voice.

you slipped out of bed, your feet padding softly on the cold floor as you headed to the small vanity where you kept the skincare products.

sunghoon followed you, his steps equally soft, almost as if he was afraid to break the fragile silence that had settled between you two.

“you know, you could’ve just done it yourself today,” you teased lightly, grabbing the moisturizer and turning to face him.

he shook his head, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“it’s not the same,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze fixed on the floor. it was rare for him to be this open, and it made you pause for a second.

you motioned for him to sit properly, and he complied, scooting back a bit so he was closer to you.

you took a deep breath, your hands working automatically as you unscrewed the cap of his moisturizer. the familiar scent filled the space between you, and for a moment, it felt like everything was back to normal.

“you’re such a baby, you know that?” you said, your tone playful as you smoothed the cream onto your fingers.

“only for you,” he replied, his lips curving into the smallest of smiles, and you felt your heart skip a beat.

you gently applied the moisturizer to his face, your touch soft and careful, as if you were trying to erase the harshness of the previous night with every gentle swipe.

sunghoon’s eyes closed, his face relaxing under your touch, and you could feel the tension slowly melting away.

neither of you spoke, the silence was heavy but not uncomfortable. it was the kind of silence that spoke volumes, the kind that said everything you both were too afraid to put into words.

you finished with the moisturizer, your fingers lingering on his skin for a moment longer before you pulled away.

but instead of standing back up, you suddenly decided to straddle his lap, settling yourself comfortably as you faced him. his eyes flew open, a hint of surprise in them as you smiled down at him, your hands resting on his shoulders.

“what are you doing?” he asked, his voice a little shaky, clearly flustered by your sudden proximity.

“just making sure you’re not going anywhere,” you teased, leaning in to smooth out the moisturizer on his forehead.

you could feel the warmth of his body beneath you, his breath hitching slightly as your fingers grazed his skin.

sunghoon was trying hard to keep his composure, but you could see the faint blush creeping up his neck, spreading to his cheeks.

“you’re really… close,” he mumbled, his hands hesitantly finding their way to your waist, unsure of where to put them.

“is that a problem?” you asked, your tone teasing as you finished up with his skincare, your hands lingering on his cheeks for a moment longer.

he shook his head, his eyes flickering up to meet yours for just a second before they darted away again. “no… it’s just… different,” he admitted, his voice barely audible, but you caught the shy smile playing on his lips.

you leaned in closer, your face just inches from his, your breath mingling with his as you whispered, “different can be good, you know.”

he didn’t respond, but you could see the way his eyes softened, the way his hands tightened slightly around your waist, holding you just a little closer.

“about last night…” he started, his voice hesitant, his gaze flickering to the side, avoiding yours. “i’m… i didn’t mean to make you upset.”

you felt a small smile tug at your lips, his awkwardness endearing. “i know,” you replied softly, reaching out to take his hand, squeezing it gently.

“i’m sorry too, i shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

he finally looked back at you, a hint of relief in his eyes.

“we’re okay, right?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost as if he was afraid of your answer.

“yeah, we’re okay,” you reassured him, giving his hand another squeeze. “just… try not to be such a grump next time, okay?”

he huffed out a small laugh, the tension finally breaking.

“i’ll try,” he promised, a shy smile playing on his lips.

for a moment, you just sat there, side by side, the morning light wrapping around you like a gentle embrace.

and though the argument wasn’t entirely forgotten, the weight of it had lessened, replaced by the quiet understanding that you’d work through it together, just like you always did.

• REBLOG if you enjoyed, do not copy or repost.

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satellite-evans · 2 months ago

Text

my lando

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: Lando and Sophie go grocery shopping, but they come home with more than just food.

Word count: 5k+

Warnings: fluff

Request: If you’re taking requests I would love anything dad!f1. Also would you consider writing doing a part 2 for best friends that fic is so cuteee

A/N:

this is a part 2 to my fic best friends, so I encourage you to read that first xxx

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The doors of the grocery store slid open with a soft whoosh, letting in a burst of cool, air-conditioned breeze that carried with it the faint scent of baking bread and fresh produce. Lando guided the shopping cart inside with one hand, its slightly wobbly wheel clicking rhythmically against the tile floor. His other hand rested gently, protectively, on Sophie’s tiny back as she walked close to his side, her stuffed bunny clutched tightly to her chest like a shield against the vastness of the store.

“Alright, up you go, birdie,” Lando said with a playful grin, crouching to scoop her up effortlessly under the arms. Sophie let out a soft squeal of delight as he lifted her, her sneakers briefly kicking at the air before he settled her into the child seat at the front of the cart — the coveted "captain's chair" where her little legs dangled through the holes, already swinging back and forth like tiny pendulums.

“I get to ride today!” Sophie beamed, adjusting bunny carefully on her lap, making sure his floppy ears were arranged just right.

“You sure do,” Lando chuckled, leaning in to kiss the top of her head, his lips brushing her soft curls. He tried smoothing her wild hair down, but it only seemed to puff up more in defiance, and he grinned at the sight. “You’re my co-pilot, remember? Gotta help me make all the big decisions.”

Sophie nodded solemnly, her eyes wide and serious, though a smile still tugged at her lips. “We need milk,” she began, holding up one finger as though counting on an invisible list, “and fruit. And cereal. And snacks for Mommy.”

“Ah, snacks for Mommy — very important,” Lando agreed, steering the cart deeper into the store, the wheels creaking as they rolled over a patch of uneven floor. “You’re already keeping us in line, huh? What would I do without you?”

Sophie giggled, her arms wrapping around her bunny as she sat a little taller, clearly proud of her responsibility.

As they rounded into the bakery section, the smell of warm bread and sugar hit them like a soft wave. Lando reached out to grab a fresh loaf, checking its softness with a squeeze before putting it into a bag and tossing it gently into the cart. Sophie watched everything around her with wide, curious eyes — the rows of golden pastries, the spinning cake display, the workers bustling behind the glass counter.

“Lando! Look!” she whispered suddenly, leaning forward with excitement, her tiny finger pointing as though discovering a secret treasure. “Donuts!”

He followed her gaze, laughing as he spotted the display case filled with perfectly frosted rings of sugar.

“Dangerous,” he murmured dramatically, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “You found my weakness, kiddo.”

Sophie giggled, hugging her bunny tighter. “Mommy likes chocolate ones,” she added, her voice soft and matter-of-fact, as though sharing insider information.

“Oh, does she now?” Lando asked, one brow raised in mock seriousness. He ruffled her hair again with a smirk. “Well, maybe we’ll have to grab some — just because you said so.”

Sophie nodded, clearly pleased with her influence, and together they moved on toward the fruit aisle.

Reaching for a bright red container of strawberries, Lando held them up to her with an exaggerated questioning look.

“These good, boss?” he asked, making her giggle at the title.

She tilted her head, inspecting them as if she were a real expert. “Hmm… yeah. They look yummy. Mommy likes those.”

“Perfect. Into the cart they go,” he said, gently placing them beside the bread and giving Sophie’s knee a little playful tap as he did.

As they kept moving, Sophie leaned to the side, reaching her hand out as though she could touch all the colorful cereal boxes lining the aisle. Her fingers trailed the edges of bright packages, and Lando smiled, watching her soak in the world around her.

“Alright,” he said finally, steering them to a stop right in front of the towering wall of cereals. “Big decision time, co-pilot. What cereal are we getting?”

Sophie’s eyes sparkled, her legs swinging faster with excitement. “I want the animal one! With the tiger!”

Lando scanned the shelves and plucked down the orange box featuring a grinning cartoon tiger.

“The tiger one it is,” he said, holding it out to show her before tossing it into the cart. Then he reached up for another box, holding it up with a sly smile. “Should we get chocolate cereal too? Y’know, for emergencies?”

Sophie gasped dramatically, her eyes going wide, clutching bunny to her chest like she couldn’t believe such luck. “Yes! And I can share with you!”

“Deal,” Lando laughed, giving her a playful wink as he added the chocolate cereal to their growing pile of groceries.

As they made their way toward the checkout, Sophie kept up a steady stream of chatter — soft, bubbly, and full of little observations about the store. She pointed out balloons near the floral section, admired the shiny apples they passed, and made Lando laugh with her random musings about what kind of cereal bunnies would eat if they could.

But then, as they rounded the last aisle, her voice grew more thoughtful.

“Lando?” she asked, glancing up at him with her head slightly tilted, curls falling over her cheeks.

“Yeah, bug?” he answered, glancing down, ready for whatever question might come.

She hesitated a moment, her fingers playing with bunny’s ear. “When the baby comes… can they ride in the cart with me too?”

Lando blinked, his heart giving a soft squeeze at her tenderness. You found out you were pregnant after your 1st anniversary with Lando, and he was over the moon. He already felt like a dad with Sophie, but this time he could experience everything from the beginning. Sophie was even more excited than the both of you. She always wanted a little sibling, and her dreams finally came true.

He slowed the cart and leaned in closer to her level, smiling gently.

“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “they might be a little too tiny at first. But when they’re bigger? Yeah, I think you two can share. You’ll have to teach them all about being a good co-pilot.”

Sophie’s whole face lit up at that, her smile beaming like sunshine. “I’ll show them how to pick snacks for Mommy,” she said proudly.

Lando grinned, giving her a soft, affectionate nudge. “Best teacher I could think of.”

As they neared the checkout, Sophie’s sharp little gasp cut through the hum of the store.

“Lando! Flowers for Mommy!” she cried, twisting in her seat and reaching one small arm toward the flower stand by the front entrance — a burst of color against the neutral aisles.

Lando followed her gaze, his chest tightening a little at the way she said it — so sure, so full of joy.

“You think so?” he asked, voice softer now, already knowing her answer but wanting to hear it from her.

Sophie nodded, curls bouncing as she leaned forward, bunny squished protectively in one arm, the other still reaching out. “She loves it when you bring her flowers. She smiles a lot.”

For a moment, Lando just stood there, hand resting on the cart handle, watching her. There was something about the way she said it — like it was the simplest thing in the world to make her mom smile, like love was easy if you just remembered the right kind of flowers.

He swallowed the lump rising in his throat, glancing down at her small fingers gripping bunny like a lifeline, her bright eyes shining with certainty.

“Alright,” he murmured, voice a little rough as he nudged the cart in the direction of the flower stand. “Okay, birdie. You get to pick them. Find the best ones for Mommy.”

Sophie’s eyes went wide, taking her role very seriously, sitting up straighter in the seat, scanning the colorful bouquets as though searching for treasure. She leaned so far forward, tiny brows scrunched in concentration, that Lando reached out instinctively to steady her back with a gentle hand.

Her little fingers hovered over a bunch of purple tulips, then bright yellow daisies, before finally pointing with great determination at a bundle of soft pink and white flowers — delicate, gentle things that looked like they’d been kissed by morning light.

“These,” she said firmly, voice full of quiet conviction. “These are like Mommy.”

Lando smiled as he reached for the bouquet, cradling it carefully in one hand. His throat felt tight again, but this time he let it settle, let it stay.

“You’ve got good taste, bug,” he whispered, brushing a hand softly over her curls, fingers tangling for a moment in the wild strands before he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

As they made their way back to the checkout, the flowers nestled carefully on top of the groceries, Lando tried to shake the feeling pressing into his chest — that deep, aching kind of love that made it hard to breathe sometimes.

Sophie stayed perched in the cart, bunny tucked under her chin, legs swinging back and forth as if life couldn’t get any better than this simple moment.

The cashier, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a bright name tag that read MARIA, smiled warmly at them as she began scanning their items, the beep of each product sliding across the scanner filling the air.

“Out with Daddy today, huh?” she asked casually, reaching for the strawberries.

Lando froze for half a second, one hand still on a box of cereal, his fingers tightening around the cardboard. The word Daddy hung there in the air between them, like something delicate he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch. His mouth opened, but the words tangled on his tongue.

“Uh—”

But before he could figure out what to say — before he could trip over the explanation he wasn’t even sure how to give — Sophie piped up, her voice sweet and clear and full of absolute certainty.

“Yeah! He’s kinda like my daddy,” she said with a proud little grin, turning her face up toward Lando, eyes shining with trust that knocked the breath right out of him. “We do everything together.”

Lando blinked, his throat tightening again as he stared at her, at this tiny person who just knew who he was to her, even if the world didn’t have a name for it yet.

The cashier, thankfully, didn’t ask questions. She just smiled even softer, glancing between them as though she saw more than he knew.

“Well,” she said gently, carefully placing the bouquet on top of the groceries, “looks like you’ve got a pretty great team.”

Lando finally found his voice, though it came out a little rougher than before. “Yeah,” he murmured, glancing at Sophie as she hugged bunny tight. A small, quiet smile curved his lips. “Yeah, I do.”

They finished packing up in a comfortable silence, Lando sliding items into bags while Sophie sat watching, her eyes occasionally darting to the flowers with a little grin.

When they were ready to leave, Lando gave the cart a gentle push toward the exit, but before they made it out the door, Sophie reached out and caught his hand in hers, her tiny fingers curling tightly around his, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Lando?” she asked softly as they stepped out into the sunlight, which poured over them like warm honey.

“Yeah, birdie?”

Sophie looked up at him, her face thoughtful under the bright sky. “Can I give Mommy the flowers when we get home?”

Lando looked down at her, heart full to bursting, and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“Absolutely,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “She’s gonna love that.”

Sophie beamed, her legs swinging happily again as she perched in the cart, bunny still safe in her arms. The flowers swayed gently in the breeze as Lando guided them toward the car, and for a long moment, it felt like the whole world had slowed just for them — like this little life they were building together was enough. More than enough.

After putting Sophie in her seat and loading the last of the bags into the trunk, Lando closed the hatch with a soft thud and turned around, expecting to find Sophie already impatiently bouncing in her seat. But instead, he found her still sitting quietly in the car, her stuffed bunny securely nestled in her lap, her little fingers curled around it. She was buckled in, looking out the window with wide eyes, her expression already brightening with the anticipation of the next part of their adventure. She seemed so small in that big car, but the way she sat there — calm, expectant, full of life — made it clear that she was the one driving this moment.

“You ready to head home, kiddo?” Lando asked with a smile as he slid into the driver’s seat, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. His hands settled on the wheel, ready to start the drive, but his heart still carried the weight of all the little moments that made the day feel like something special.

“Yep! Let’s go!” Sophie chirped back enthusiastically, her grin stretching wide across her face. She hugged bunny tightly, giving him a little squeeze like she was sharing the joy with him.

“And can we play the happy song again?” she asked, her voice practically sparkling with excitement.

Lando chuckled, starting the car and feeling the low rumble of the engine beneath them. He gave Sophie another glance, amusement dancing in his eyes. “The ‘do-do-do’ song?”

“YES! The Walking on Sunshine song! I want to sing it again!” Sophie declared, her tiny voice full of enthusiasm, and Lando couldn’t resist her infectious energy. He cranked the volume up a little and tapped his hands on the steering wheel, pretending to be a professional DJ for a second.

“Alright, alright! You got it, boss,” he teased, a grin tugging at his lips.

The familiar beat of the song filled the car, and Sophie’s face lit up immediately, her whole body bopping in her seat. She raised her arms in the air like she was conducting an orchestra, her joy radiating out of every tiny movement.

Lando, unable to resist the infectious tune, joined in with her, his voice a little off-key but full of the same carefree spirit. The car seemed to come alive with the sound of their combined laughter and song as Sophie’s little voice rang out beside him.

"I'm walking on sunshine, whoa-oh!"

Sophie’s eyes sparkled with glee as she turned to him, practically vibrating with energy. “Sing louder, Lando!” she commanded, her voice bubbling with laughter.

“Louder, huh? You got it,” Lando said, laughing as he turned the volume up even more, filling the car with the pure joy of their off-key duet.

Together, they belted out the chorus at full force, both of them laughing through their notes. Sophie’s voice cracked with the excitement of it all, and Lando’s was barely more in tune, but they didn’t care — they were singing for the sheer joy of it, their spirits rising with the beat.

"And don't it feel good!"

As the song reached its peak, Sophie threw her arms up dramatically, her face split by a grin that stretched from ear to ear. “Good job, Lando! You sang it so good!” she said with a proud gleam in her eyes, as if she had been the one to coach him through the song.

Lando couldn’t help but laugh, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest as he glanced back at her through the rearview mirror. “Thanks, kiddo. You were amazing!” he said, his voice full of affection. He gave her a soft smile, his eyes momentarily soft as they met hers in the mirror. “You sure you don’t want to be the singer? You’re way better at it than me.”

Sophie gave him a serious look, her little brow furrowing as she considered his offer. Then she nodded with quiet confidence. “No, Lando, you’re really good,” she said earnestly, like she was offering him sage advice. “But I’ll help you. I can teach you the words.”

Lando chuckled, the warmth in his chest spreading even further. “You’ll be the best teacher, huh?”

“I will!” she declared, her voice full of such certainty that Lando had no doubt she’d take her role as the teacher very seriously. “We can practice more next time!”

“That’s a deal,” Lando said, his heart swelling as he turned the car onto their street. The world outside the windows felt like it was moving slower, almost as if it was giving him space to savor the moment. He smiled softly to himself, realizing just how right everything felt. The car ride, Sophie’s laughter, their simple joy — it was all perfect in its own little way.

As they approached their house, Sophie’s voice piped up again from the backseat, bringing Lando back to the present.

“You did a good job, Lando. You always do good jobs.”

The words caught him off guard, and his breath caught in his throat for a moment as he blinked. It was such a simple, honest thing to say, but it hit him deeper than he expected. He kept his eyes on the road, his hand resting on the steering wheel, trying to hold it together as the lump in his throat threatened to grow.

“You always make me feel like I’m doing good,” he said quietly, more to himself than to her, but Sophie heard it. She always heard him.

Her eyes met his in the rearview mirror, and she smiled a smile that could light up the whole world. “’Cause you are. You’re the best Lando!” she said, raising her hand in the air like she was giving him a high five from the backseat.

“Thanks, little bird. You’re the best too,” Lando said, his voice full of affection as he winked at her, reaching back to give her hand a gentle squeeze, just for a moment, to remind them both of the bond they shared.

When they finally pulled into the driveway, Lando shifted the car into park and quickly turned off the engine, jumping out to open the door for Sophie. He helped her out gently, making sure she was steady on her feet. She jumped down and immediately dashed ahead, her excitement bubbling over as she ran toward the house, bunny still pressed tightly to her chest.

Lando paused for a moment, grabbing the bags from the trunk, and just watched her. She was humming a little tune to herself, her feet barely touching the ground as she skipped up the steps. Her giggles — full of joy and wonder — floated back to him on the breeze, and for a brief moment, the world outside seemed to fade away.

“She’s something, isn’t she?” Lando murmured softly to himself, his eyes following Sophie’s retreating figure up the steps.

The front door creaked open as Lando pushed it gently with his shoulder, carefully balancing the bags of groceries in one hand. His other hand was pressed to his side, whilst Sophie tried to keep the bouquet of flowers steady as she maneuvered through the doorway.

"Mommy! We're home!" Sophie called out, her small voice ringing through the house, echoing with a sweetness that made Lando’s heart warm.

You appeared from the living room, still in your cozy clothes, your hair a bit messy, one hand resting on the curve of your bump as the other brushed sleep from your eyes. The moment you saw them — Lando juggling bags, Sophie with her face full of joy and her arms holding the bouquet — a soft smile tugged at your lips.

“Hi, baby,” you greeted softly, your voice a gentle melody. You took a step forward and leaned in to kiss Lando’s cheek, your lips brushing against his skin, making him grin, his tired eyes lighting up just from the simple affection. Then you turned to Sophie, who was practically bouncing with excitement, her smile stretching from ear to ear.

“You two had quite the adventure, huh?” you teased lightly, your voice full of warmth as you bent down slightly to meet Sophie’s sparkling gaze.

Sophie’s eyes twinkled as she held out the bouquet toward you, her hand trembling slightly with the weight of her proud accomplishment. Bunny was still clutched securely under one arm, his little button eyes seemingly looking up at you too, as if he were part of the gift.

“These are for you, Mommy!” she declared in her most serious, grown-up voice. “Me and Lando picked them! I picked the best ones.”

Your heart swelled with an emotion that almost caught you off guard. You reached out, taking the flowers from her hand with care, inhaling their soft scent. The delicate fragrance filled the air around you.

“Oh, sweetheart, they’re beautiful,” you whispered, your voice soft as you kissed the top of Sophie’s head, feeling the warmth of her curls beneath your lips. “Thank you, my love.”

Lando, who had set the grocery bags on the counter, watched the two of you with a look in his eyes that melted your heart — that look, the one where it was clear his whole world revolved around both of you. His smile was subtle, but it said everything.

“I'm guessing you were the boss today, Soph,” you teased gently, reaching out to ruffle Sophie’s hair, a playful grin on your face.

“She was,” Lando chimed in, stepping over to you. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, his hand instinctively resting on your bump, as if to remind himself of the little one that was growing there. “Best co-pilot ever.”

Sophie giggled at the praise, her face lighting up with the joy of being recognized for her hard work. She was clearly proud of herself, her small chest puffed out like she had just achieved something monumental.

“Well, I think my little co-pilot deserves a kiss too,” you said sweetly, your voice full of affection. You bent down and peppered Sophie’s cheeks with soft, gentle kisses, making her squeal with laughter, the sound pure and full of life.

“And me?” Lando asked with a playful pout, his voice teasing but warm.

You smiled, reaching up to cup his cheek, pulling him toward you for a soft kiss. Sophie giggled even louder, watching the two of you with innocent joy.

“Okay, okay,” Lando said with a laugh, breaking away from the kiss and ruffling Sophie’s curls. “You win, birdie.”

After a few moments of laughter and unpacking, Sophie seemed content. She scampered off to the living room, her little feet thudding on the floor as she went, bunny still tucked in her arms, her toys calling her name. Her soft giggles echoed from the hallway as she disappeared from sight.

Lando lingered in the kitchen, standing still for a moment with a thoughtful expression, glancing over at the doorway where Sophie had vanished. His fingers brushed the edge of the counter, his thoughts clearly still wrapped up in the day. Then, after a quiet pause, he turned to look at you.

“She, uh…” Lando started, his voice quiet but carrying an edge of vulnerability, as if unsure how to express something important. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to collect his thoughts. “At the store… someone asked if she was out with her dad.”

Your eyebrows raised slightly in quiet surprise. You turned toward him, watching him with soft curiosity, knowing there was more to the story. “Oh?”

He nodded slowly, shifting his weight and looking down for a moment, his hand running through his hair as if still processing the conversation. “I didn’t know what to say. And then she just—” His voice broke into a soft, almost disbelieving smile, and he shook his head slightly, as if still in awe of what had happened. “She just looked up and said, ‘Yeah, he’s kinda like my daddy. We do everything together.’”

Your heart clenched in the sweetest way, and you couldn’t help the soft smile that tugged at your lips. You stepped closer to him, slipping your hand into his, squeezing gently.

“She’s not wrong,” you whispered, your voice full of warmth and truth. “She’s right. In every way that matters.”

Lando exhaled slowly, his eyes softening as he looked down at you. His fingers laced with yours as he leaned into your touch, his forehead gently resting against yours for a brief moment. “I love her so much,” he admitted quietly, his voice almost a whisper, but it held so much weight, so much truth. “I know she’s not mine but… she feels like mine. I don’t know how to explain it, but she just… feels like mine.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you pressed your lips together, knowing exactly how he felt. You cupped his cheek with your free hand, guiding his gaze to meet yours.

“She is yours,” you whispered, your voice a steady comfort. “In every way that matters, she’s yours.”

Lando smiled softly, resting his forehead against yours for another brief moment, savoring the connection between you. He took a deep, steadying breath and pulled away, his eyes set with a determined gleam.

“I wanna tell her that,” he murmured, his voice low but resolute. “I just… want her to know. In case she ever wonders.”

You nodded, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “She’d love that. She’d be so happy to hear you say it.”

With one last gentle kiss to your lips, Lando pulled away and made his way toward the living room, where Sophie was sitting cross-legged on the floor, stacking blocks while bunny sat next to her like a little guardian.

“Hey, bug,” Lando said softly as he sat down beside Sophie, stretching his legs out comfortably. He glanced over at her, admiring the concentration on her face as she carefully stacked the blocks one by one.

Sophie looked up, her face lighting up immediately. “Hi!” she chirped, her eyes sparkling with the innocent joy only a child could have.

“Whatcha building?” Lando asked, his voice gentle, watching her tiny hands work diligently, the small pieces of the block tower taking shape in front of her.

“A tower. For bunny,” she said with a proud grin, motioning to the small stuffed bunny she had tucked safely beside her, sitting as if it were the most important guest in the room.

“Very cool,” Lando replied with a smile of his own, his heart swelling at the sweetness of the moment. He leaned back slightly, his eyes never leaving her as she worked. The quietness between them felt comfortable, peaceful. But there was something on his mind, something he knew he needed to say, even though it made his chest tighten a bit.

He rubbed a hand over his mouth, the nerves creeping in. “Hey, uh… can I tell you something?” he asked, his voice a little softer than usual.

Sophie blinked up at him, her face a perfect picture of curiosity, and then tilted her head to the side, as if trying to decipher whether this was a serious moment or just another silly conversation. “Okay,” she said with a small nod, her big eyes watching him carefully.

Lando took a deep breath and then reached over, gently brushing some curls away from her face. His fingers were soft as they ran through her hair, a gesture that felt almost instinctive, like this was a moment he didn’t want to rush. He let the quiet stretch between them, gathering his words.

“I just wanted to say,” he began, his voice quiet, almost hesitant, “I know I’m not your… well, I’m not your real daddy.” He swallowed hard, as if the words themselves were harder to say than he anticipated. “But you know what?”

Sophie’s small face became serious for a moment as she listened intently, her eyes not leaving his. Her little fingers paused their work as she waited for him to finish.

Lando smiled faintly, his chest tightening with a mix of emotion. “I love you like you’re mine,” he said, his voice cracking a bit with the truth of it. “And I always will. I’ll always be here for you. Even if I didn’t get to be there when you were a tiny baby, I’ll be here for everything else. Okay?”

For a brief moment, Sophie’s lip wobbled slightly, a flash of vulnerability in her eyes. Lando’s heart clenched at the sight, but before he could say anything more, she beamed, her expression shifting in an instant. Without any hesitation, she launched herself straight into his lap, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck.

“I know, Lando,” she whispered into his shoulder, her voice full of sweetness and trust. “You’re my Lando.”

Lando let out a soft, shaky laugh, feeling the flood of emotions overwhelm him. He hugged her tight, pulling her close, pressing a long, lingering kiss to the top of her head, the soft strands of her hair tickling his lips. “Yeah, bug. I’m yours,” he murmured, the words feeling more true than anything he had ever said.

Sophie nestled against him, content and at peace in his arms. Lando stroked her curls, trying to steady his breath, feeling her tiny heartbeat against his chest. There was so much love in that simple gesture, in her complete certainty that he belonged to her, that he was a part of her life in a way that felt both simple and profound.

After a few moments, Sophie pulled back just enough to look at him, her bright eyes still filled with the kind of wonder only a child could possess. She gave him a wide grin, her cheeks still flushed from the affection they’d just shared.

“Can we teach the baby to make towers too?” she asked eagerly, her voice full of excitement at the idea of a new adventure — one that would involve teaching the little sibling who was still growing inside your belly how to build things just like her.

Lando smiled, his heart feeling fuller than it ever had, a lump forming in his throat. He gently cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her soft skin. “Yeah, we’ll teach them everything,” he said, his voice quiet but full of promise. He could already imagine them all together — Sophie, the baby, you and him — building towers, teaching, laughing, and sharing moments just like this.

Sophie didn’t wait for a response but instead leaned in to press a quick kiss to his cheek, her lips soft and sweet against his skin. Then, without another word, she hopped off his lap, grabbing bunny with one hand and skipping back to her tower as if everything was exactly as it should be. She resumed stacking the blocks, her tiny fingers moving with determination and focus, like she hadn’t just shared something truly profound. As if nothing had been heavy in the first place.

Lando sat there for a moment, watching her, a smile tugging at his lips. His heart felt full in a way he never knew it could be. He didn’t have the words for it, but he felt it all — the joy, the love, the hope. His life had been turned upside down in the best way possible, and it was because of moments like these, with Sophie, with you, with everything that was growing between them all.

When he turned to look toward the doorway, he saw you standing there, watching him with a soft smile on your face. Your eyes glistened with unshed tears, but your expression was one of pure love, a smile that said everything he needed to hear without a single word.

This was his family.

And there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.

1K notes · View notes

classyrbf · 1 day ago

Note

super horny babymama!reader with babydaddy!suguru tending to her every needs no matter how dire or casual they may be.

thank you for the request pookieeee, i hope you like it <3

you sat there staring at your phone, an unamused look on your face as you read the text from your supposed to be date tonight.

hate to do this, but I gotta cancel last minute…

all you can do is sigh in disappointment, rolling your eyes and tossing your phone onto your bed. You didn’t have the energy to respond, quite literally drained from scrolling on dating apps twenty four seven and having dates canceled. Getting back into the dating life was harder than you thought, especially now since you were single mother. It’s been tough finding someone, wanting a long lasting relationship and a nice guy who’ll also prove that he’s good enough for your kid too.

Even if you can’t find someone for long term at the moment, you were definitely in need for a good fuck. You couldn’t remember the last time you actually had someone in your bed. The built up sexual frustration added to your stress. You were so excited for this day too, even got Shoko to babysit for you after begging and begging. You frowned, heels clicking against the floor, getting a good look at yourself in the mirror, dress hugging you in all the right places and your makeup enhancing your features. It was a complete waste.

Whatever. You’ll just use the time to have some fun for yourself, reaching into your drawer to pull out your vibrator, hoping that it’ll help take some of the edge off. Any longer without cumming and you feel like you might explode. Unfortunately a horrible idea pops into your head the second you reach in your drawer. An idea that involved calling your baby daddy for a quick fuck.

You and suguru were great at co parenting, but getting too close would always make things messy and confusing, but would it really hurt to have him back in your bed again after a few months. The more and more you thought about it the nastier your thoughts became. He knew your body like the back of his hand, knew all your sweet spots, what made you tick and how to make you cum within minutes. Your pussy throbbed at the thought, and you broke.

You dialed his number, the phone only ringing twice before you heard his voice on the phone. “Hello?” He answered.

“Hey, Suguru.” You bit your lip.

“Hey, baby. Everything alright?” Despite not being together for a while, he never dropped the nickname despite your comments about it.

“Mmm, yeah. I just…my date canceled on me and I was wondering—”

“Need to me to come over?” He finished your sentence, letting out a breathy chuckle. “Anything for you, baby.”

“Yeah, but…I’m just feeling really fucking horny right now,” you take a deep breath, “and I need you so badly. I’ve been pent up for so fucking long, Sugu,” you whine.

“I know, baby, I know. Just be ready for me when I get there.”

Now twenty minutes later, Geto has you riding his cock, his hands squeezing at your hips. You’re bouncing on him with such intensity, greedily pleasing yourself, using his cock to get off. And he lets you without a care in the world. He watches your pussy cream around him, your pretty tits bouncing in his face, tempting to suck on. “That’s it, ride that dick,” he pants, reaching down and rubbing your clit with his thumb.

“Nnnghh, Sugu,” you cry, lewd moans bouncing off the walls and straight to his ears. “I love your cock…feels so fucking good,” you whimper. Your hips are slamming down harder, eyes rolling back at the pleasure coursing through your veins. Your chest heaves up and down with each breath, falling back on your hands and spreading your legs more, grinding your hips against his cock. “Mmmph,” your teeth catch your lower lip.

“Ohh yes, show off that pretty pussy to me,” he groans, still messily rubbing your clit. He feels your cunt clench down on him, a broken moan escaping his lips. “Fuckkk, I can’t get enough of you.” He bucks his hips up, fucking you back. The sound of your pussy squelching makes his cock throb even harder, your juices gathering at the base of his cock with each lethal thrust.

“Shit, shit, right there!” You moan. As you grow closer to your orgasm, your body grows tired from riding, making it hard to catch your breath. Geto notices how much of you slowed down, brows furrowed in concentration before he pulls you up and holds you against his sweaty chest. His arms wrap around you, holding you tightly as he takes over, plunging his cock into you. “Ohhhh shit. Oh my god you’re so fucking deep, Sugu!” Your nails claw at his shoulders, your moans pouring into his ear.

The sound of skin against skin echoes through the room, his cock thrusting in and out a rough and selfish pace. It’s like he needed your orgasm more than you with the way he was fucking you. He always knew how to do it just right, making your toes curl, leaving you speechless and a drooling mess. “Cum, baby, fucking cum,” he whimpers, gritting his teeth as his movements grow sloppier. “No one else can make you feel this good, huh? Fucking you so deep and raw, making you cum harder and harder round after round,” his sultry voice sends shivers down your spine. “This pussy is mine. Say it.” You can hear the cocky smirk in his voice.

“Ah, yes, it’s yours!” You cry out, biting down on his shoulder as he continuously pounds into you, satisfying your every craving and need to be fucked. He knows exactly how you need it, and puts it down just right. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard for you to stay away, and he plays right into each time because he can’t stay away either. He’s there at your every beck and call no matter what.

Your pornographic moans grow only louder, dripping cunt clenching around his thick cock before your body begins shaking from the intensity of your orgasm. “I’m cummingggg!” Your eyes roll back, incoherent mumbles leaving your lips while he fucks you through it.

“Fuck, yes, you feel so good!” His grip on you is bruising, your pussy creaming more than before as his thrusts grow stronger. “Ohh shit, you’re bouta make me fucking cum,” he breathes heavily, quickly making the decision to pull out before he ends up making a rash decision and getting you pregnant again. The warmth of his sticky cum coats your pussy lips, geto making sure to smear it between your folds. “Damn, baby,” he breathily chuckles.

“Oh my god,” you lay there on his chest, trying to catch your breath. “God, I haven’t cum that hard in so long. I feel like I blacked out for a second,” you giggle. His fingers hook under your jaw, pulling you in for a kiss, his tongue sliding against your lips and into your mouth. Your hands travel down his toned stomach, pulling away. “Fuck me again,” you whisper, your hand sliding lower, wrapping around his hard cock. Geto wastes no time, flipping you onto your back, your knees pushed up to your chest.

You were ready to be here all night.

feel free to support me <3

#—☆classyrbf #jjk #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen #jjk smut #geto x reader #geto smut #geto x reader smut #geto suguru x reader smut #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader #geto smut drabble #geto suguru smut drabble #jjk x reader smut #jjk smut drabble #jjk geto #geto x you

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finelinefae · 2 months ago

Text

trust [ceo!h x shy!reader]

synopsis: bambi wants to try something new

word count: 7.9k

contains: ceo!harry x assitant!y/n, deer!reader vibes, fluff, age gap (9 years), shy reader, boyfriend!h, smut (soft smut like very gentle and loving), inexperienced y/n

this is part 4 of Bambi, read part 3 here

. . .

How do I shave down there without getting red, itchy bumps?

Follow these six simple steps to prepare for your first time!

How to suck dick 101

Y/N scrolled through a Reddit page at her desktop computer at work, the screen glowing softly in the dim office lighting. It was a page she had found after typing into Google, ‘how to prepare for your first time.’ Hundreds of subreddits appeared, each packed with questions and experiences Y/N hadn’t even considered until reading about them. She had fallen down the rabbit hole, finding a question and then getting lost in the responses.

Lostrabbit23: I lost my virginity at 15 and it was the worst experience of my life!!!! Lasted five minutes and the guy came before he even put his dick inside me, I swear.

Redberry5: Lost my virginity at 25 and it was a good experience. I’m glad I waited for the right person.

Whitedude32: Can’t understand how people can still be virgins past 18 tbh - just get it over with and live a little.

Y/N gnawed on her bottom lip, her eyes absorbing every word on the page. It seemed unnecessary, and she knew she was overthinking as she normally did, but… Y/N had a boyfriend now. A real boyfriend. And with every boyfriend, she knew what was expected.

The more she read, the more she realized how little she knew. A seed of doubt planted itself within her, growing with every scroll. What if Harry found out just how inexperienced she was? What if he didn’t think she looked pretty naked and ended up having second thoughts about being with her? The thought made her stomach twist in knots.

"Are you watching porn?" Lindsey sauntered over to Y/N's desk, balancing a stack of binders on her hip. Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she frantically clicked off the incognito tab and opened a random Microsoft Word document.

"W-What?" Y/N stammered, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. "No! Of course not."

"Hmm," Lindsey placed the binders down with a soft thud and crossed her arms, her gaze narrowing. "Then why do you look like I just caught you red-handed? That’s not like you."

"I wasn’t doing anything," Y/N blurted, trying to keep her voice steady. "Just looking at today’s meeting notes."

Lindsey leaned in, peering over Y/N’s shoulder. "These notes are from three weeks ago."

Y/N’s eyes darted to the date at the top of the page. "I was catching up?" she added, her voice faltering.

Lindsey raised an eyebrow, skepticism clear on her face. "So, is this Reddit obsession new, or have you always had it?"

Y/N’s face burned hotter. "I-I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Lindsey gave her a pointed look, "You left your tabs open during lunch. Rookie mistake."

Y/N felt like dying, “I did?” She almost felt like crying, embarrassment washing over her entire body she could feel it burning, “I-I was just researching stuff,”

Lindsey’s expression softened slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. " What kind of 'stuff' are we talking about here?"

Y/N hesitated, her fingers nervously tapping the edge of her keyboard. "Just… things. You know, advice. Relationship stuff."

Lindsey’s eyes lit up with curiosity. "Oh, relationship stuff? Now we're getting somewhere. Who’s the lucky man?”

Y/N and Harry were both sure that Lindsey already knew they were an item but they weren’t going to risk slipping their facade by bringing it up, “Just somebody.”

Lindsey looked knowingly, “Okay well are you planning on taking the next step with this just somebody?”

Y/N hesitated, unsure how to respond. Whenever things got too intense with Harry, she had a habit of pulling away or steering the conversation elsewhere. It wasn’t because she didn’t want to share those moments with him—she did. But she needed to feel ready, to prepare herself for something so intimate.

“I... I think I want to,” she said softly, avoiding his eyes. Her voice trembled as she added, “I just... I just want to be good.”

Lindsey’s expression softened immediately. “Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, stepping forward to wrap Y/N in a warm hug. The gesture brought a lump to Y/N’s throat. In the weeks since she’d started her new job, Lindsey had become like the older sister she’d never had—someone she could trust completely.

Pulling back, Lindsey held Y/N’s shoulders firmly, her voice gentle but steady. “First of all, you never have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. Sex isn’t a performance, it’s personal. It’s about intimacy, connection, and trust. Whatever happens is between you and whoever you’re with, and that’s all that matters.

“Second,” she added with a small smile, “it’s not as complicated as people make it seem. Even if it’s awkward or messy at first, that’s okay. You’ll learn together. That’s one of the best parts of being with someone—discovering their little quirks, preferences, kinks and everything inbetween. Trust me, you’ll be fine. And if anyone ever makes you feel less than beautiful in the process? They’re not worth your time.”

Y/N exhaled, feeling a weight lift from her chest. “Oh no, he’s perfect,” she confessed, her voice tinged with a dreamy sigh. “Better than that. He’s... everything.”

Lindsey chuckled, glancing at her watch. “Well, speaking of perfect, it’s time for us to take a well-deserved lunch break.”

“What?” Y/N blinked in surprise as Lindsey grabbed her hand, tugging her toward the door.

Before she could protest further, Lindsey swung open the door to Harry’s office, revealing him seated at his desk in a perfectly pressed suit. Y/N hadn’t seen much of him that morning, and the sight of him made her heart flutter. She wanted nothing more than to cross the room and curl up in his lap.

Harry glanced up, his lips curving into a warm smile as soon as he spotted her.

“We’re taking an early lunch,” Lindsey declared.

Harry raised an eyebrow, checking the clock on his wall. “It’s 11:30. Lunch doesn’t start for another hour.”

Lindsey waved a dismissive hand. “We’ve been working so hard we deserve an extra break.”

Y/N snapped out of her daze just in time to nod in agreement, though the gesture only made Harry’s gaze soften further.

“Is that right, Miss Y/L/N?” he asked, his tone teasing.

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up. “Mhm,” she mumbled. “We’ve been working very hard.”

Harry chuckled, his gaze flicking back to Lindsey. “Fine. An hour extra, but that’s it. If anyone asks, you’re running errands.”

Lindsey grinned. “Yes, boss. Oh, and we’ll need your credit card.”

Harry scoffed. “Not happening.”

“Worth a shot.” Lindsey shrugged, then headed for the door. Before leaving, she shot them a pointed look. “I’ll grab my coat. No funny business, you two. I’ll be waiting outside.”

As soon as the door clicked shut, Harry stood, straightening his jacket before walking over to Y/N. He reached for her hand, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “Hi, baby.”

“Hi, Harry,” she whispered, her breath catching as he leaned down to kiss her gently.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his eyes searching hers. “You don’t have to go with Lindsey, you know. You could stay here and spend your lunch break with me.”

The suggestion was far too tempting, and Harry’s smile only made it harder to resist.

“She hasn’t even told me where we’re going,” Y/N shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the rapid beat of her heart.

Harry reached down, tangling his fingers with hers. His touch was warm, grounding. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Wherever she’s taking you, make sure you don’t overdo it, okay? We still have plans tonight, remember?”

Y/N’s stomach fluttered. Harry had been teasing her about the surprise date all week. She was excited, but also nervous—especially after his cryptic text telling her to wear something she didn’t mind getting dirty.

Harry kissed her again, but their moment was cut short by a loud knock on the door.

“Hurry it up in there! Time’s ticking!” Lindsey’s muffled voice called through the door.

Y/N couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out of her, and Harry’s lips curved into a soft smile at the sound.

“Here,” he said, pulling his wallet from the inside pocket of his blazer. He slid out a gleaming gold AMEX card and pressed it into her hand.

Y/N’s eyes widened. “O-Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Bambi,” Harry interrupted, his tone firm but affectionate. The nickname made her heart skip. “Take it.”

His commanding presence was enough to make her stop arguing. She looked up at him, cheeks tinged pink, and nodded.

Y/N stared at the card in her hand like it might bite her. “But Harry,” she whispered, glancing up at him with wide eyes, “I don’t even know what to do with this. What if I lose it? What if I spend too much? What if—”

Harry chuckled softly, the sound warm and reassuring. He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her flushed skin. “Bambi, all you need to do is enjoy yourself. You deserve it.”

Her lips parted, and she blinked up at him, unsure what to say. “I’ll take good care of it,” she promised in a tiny voice, clutching the card. “And I’ll bring it right back. I promise I won’t spend too much!”

“I know you won’t,” he murmured, a hint of amusement dancing in his voice. “I trust you.”

Before she could overthink it any further, Harry leaned down and kissed her forehead again, lingering just long enough for her to feel the warmth of him. “Go have fun.”

Her heart did a nervous little flip at the reminder. “O-Okay,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lindsey’s voice interrupted again, sharp but teasing. “Alright, lovebirds, seriously! I’m giving you ten seconds before I come in there and drag her out myself!”

Y/N squeaked and turned to the door. “Coming!” she called, her voice high-pitched and rushed.

Harry smirked, clearly enjoying her flustered state. He stepped back and adjusted his tie, looking every bit the polished professional, but his eyes were still soft as they followed her.

“Be good,” he teased, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

Her cheeks turned an even deeper shade of pink. “I’ll try,” she mumbled, giving him a quick, shy smile before hurrying out of the office.

Outside, Lindsey was waiting with her hands on her hips, an exaggeratedly impatient expression on her face.

“About time,” she said, grabbing Y/N’s hand and tugging her down the hallway. “Now, let’s see what kind of trouble we can get into with that fancy credit card of his.”

Y/N let out a soft giggle, her fingers curling around the card in her hand. She glanced back toward Harry’s office door one last time, her heart still racing. Even though she was nervous about tonight, she couldn’t help but feel a little giddy, too.

Lindsey noticed the dreamy look on Y/N’s face and rolled her eyes with a grin. “You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”

Y/N looked away, pressing her lips together as a shy smile spread across her face. “Maybe,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Oh, you’re adorable,” Lindsey laughed, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, let’s make this lunch break worth it.”

. . .

Y/N stood in the small changing room, staring at the pile of delicate lingerie Lindsey had hung on the door hook. Each set was softer and more intricate than the last, made from lace, satin, and ribbons in pastel tones of blue, lavender, mint, and blush. She felt like a clumsy giant in a room of dainty, breakable things.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Y/N called softly through the door.

“You’ve got this,” Lindsey replied encouragingly. “Try the pink one first. It’s so you.”

With trembling hands, Y/N picked up the light blush pink set, the soft lace slipping between her fingers like a whisper. She changed quickly, careful not to look too long in the mirror, and hesitated before stepping out.

“Alright, let me see,” Lindsey said, her voice full of excitement.

Y/N cracked open the door and peeked out timidly. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Promise. Now, come on!”

Taking a deep breath, Y/N stepped out, crossing her arms over her chest shyly. The pastel pink lace hugged her figure, delicate straps tracing over her shoulders and down her back. Lindsey’s eyes lit up as she took in the sight.

“Oh, you look so cute!” Lindsey grinned. “It’s perfect! Very soft, very sweet. What do you think?”

Y/N glanced at her reflection in the mirror outside the stall, biting her lip. “I don’t know... It feels like... too much? Or maybe not enough?”

Lindsey shook her head, placing a reassuring hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “It’s not too much, and it’s definitely not too little. It’s elegant and adorable, just like you.”

Y/N flushed and retreated back into the stall to try the next set. The routine continued for several minutes, with Y/N emerging in pastel greens, blues, and creams. Finally, she reached for the last set—a soft taupe-pink shade, almost like the color of cocoa mixed with milk.

When she stepped out in this set, Lindsey gasped softly. “Oh my god.”

Y/N immediately crossed her arms again. “Is it bad? I knew it was too much—”

“No!” Lindsey interrupted, shaking her head vehemently. She stepped closer and took Y/N by the shoulders, turning her toward the mirror. “Look at yourself. You look like a little deer.”

Y/N blinked at her reflection, her brow furrowed. The taupe-pink color complimented her skin tone, and the simple but elegant design made her feel... grown-up, yet still herself.

“I... I don’t know,” she murmured, her voice shaky.

“Hey.” Lindsey crouched slightly to catch Y/N’s gaze in the mirror. “You’re beautiful, Y/N. Stunning. And Harry is going to lose his shit when he sees you in this.”

Y/N’s cheeks flamed. “Lindsey!” she squeaked, burying her face in her hands.

Lindsey laughed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “What? It’s true! Now, I think we’ve found the winner. Let’s go pay before I start crying over how cute you look.”

Y/N nodded shyly, stealing one last glance at herself in the mirror. For the first time, she felt a spark of confidence in her chest. Maybe Harry would love it.

Or, at the very least, she loved it—and that felt just as important.

. . .

Y/N sat comfortably in the passenger seat of Harry’s Porsche, her old t-shirt soft against her skin and her blue jeans slightly worn at the knees. Her baby pink ballet flats rested lightly on the floor, toes tapping absentmindedly as she gazed out the window, trying to decipher where he was taking her.

Harry, effortlessly cozy in his sweater and loose-fitting jeans, kept one hand on the wheel while the other held hers over the console. His black Vans were slightly scuffed, white socks peeking above the edges. At every red light, he lifted her fingers to his lips, pressing a tender kiss against them as if it were second nature.

“Did y’have fun with Lindsey today?” he asked, sparing a glance in her direction.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then cleared her throat. “Y-Yeah, it was… fun.” She tried not to think about the underwear she had bought earlier particularly because she was currently wearing it beneath her very casual clothing.

Harry’s lips quirked up in amusement. “You don’t sound too sure about that.”

“No, it was!” she insisted, sitting up a little straighter. “It was really nice. I don’t spend a lot of time with other girls, so it felt… different. In a good way.”

His smile softened as he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before returning his focus to the road. “Y’know you’re welcome to spend time with Sarah and Alessia too.”

“But they’re your friends,” Y/N frowned. “Wouldn’t you feel like I was taking them away?”

Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “Of course not. What’s mine is yours, love. You’re my girlfriend, remember?”

Y/N’s lips twitched, a giddy warmth settling in her chest. She let her head fall back against the headrest, a slow smile curling on her lips.

“What?” Harry grinned, flicking his eyes toward her for a second.

“I just like it when you say that,” she admitted.

“What? Girlfriend?” he teased, his dimples appearing as he chuckled.

“Mhm,” she hummed, cheeks heating up. “I can’t believe I’m a girlfriend.”

Harry laughed, bringing her hand up to kiss her knuckles. “You’re not just a girlfriend, you’re my girlfriend. All mine.”

She liked that label even more.

Later on, the soft crunch of gravel beneath the tires signaled their arrival. Harry pulled into a small stone parking lot in front of what looked like a quaint, cottage-style home. The windows glowed warmly against the dusky sky, lace curtains fluttering slightly from the inside. There was no sign or indication of where they were, just an inviting little house with flower boxes lining the window sills.

Y/N glanced around, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Where are we?”

Harry smirked, already opening his door. “You’ll see.”

Curiosity buzzed in her stomach as she climbed out of the car, the crisp evening air wrapping around her. Harry met her at the front, slipping his hand into hers and leading her toward the wooden door.

Before she could ask any more questions, the door creaked open to reveal an elderly woman with wispy white hair pinned up in a loose bun. She wore a pastel apron dusted with flour and had a kind twinkle in her eye.

“Harry, darling!” she greeted, pulling him into a soft hug before turning to Y/N with an equally warm smile. “And you must be Y/N! Oh, you’re just as lovely as he said.”

Y/N’s brows shot up as she looked between Harry and the woman. “He’s mentioned me?”

“Oh, love, he wouldn’t stop talking about you,” she chuckled, stepping aside to usher them in. The scent of vanilla and butter filled the air, making Y/N’s mouth water. “Come in, come in, we’ve got cakes to decorate!”

Y/N’s jaw dropped slightly as she turned to Harry. “Really?”

Harry grinned, squeezing her hand. “Thought you’d like it.” Y/N let out a delighted squeal as she followed him inside.

The cozy kitchen looked straight out of a storybook—wooden shelves lined with jars of sugar and sprinkles, floral-printed tea towels hanging neatly by the stove, and a large wooden table in the center covered with piping bags, frosting tubs, and trays of undecorated cupcakes.

Y/N hesitated at the doorway, her fingers curling around Harry’s sleeve as she peeked inside. “I’ve always wanted to do a baking class,” she admitted, eyes wide with curiosity.

Harry turned to her with a grin. “I know,”

She furrowed her brows, “How did you find out?”

“You’re brothers told me,” He shrugged.

The elderly woman, who had introduced herself as Margaret, beamed at her. “Don’t worry if you’ve never done this before—I’ll show you everything!”

Y/N’s fingers fiddled with the edge of her sleeve as she stepped further into the cozy kitchen, taking in the warm scent of vanilla and sugar. She glanced at Harry, still feeling a little surprised that he had gone out of his way to plan something so thoughtful.

Margaret handed them each an apron, and Y/N hesitated before slipping hers over her head. As she struggled to tie the strings behind her back, she felt a familiar presence behind her.

“Here, Bambi,” Harry murmured, gently tugging the ends and tying them into a neat bow.

Y/N swallowed, her fingers curling slightly against the fabric of her apron. “Thank you…” she said softly, peeking up at him.

Harry just hummed, the corner of his mouth twitching as he reached for his own apron.

Margaret clapped her hands together. “Now, let’s get started! We’ve got a few cakes ready for decorating, and you two can pick whichever frosting colors you like.”

Y/N followed her to the counter, where bowls of pastel-colored buttercream sat beside trays of undecorated cakes. She hovered near the edge, unsure where to start.

Harry, on the other hand, grabbed a piping bag without hesitation. “I used to work at a bakery so don’t be surprised if my cake turns into a masterpiece,” he declared, scooping up a generous amount of frosting.

Y/N watched him for a moment, then turned back to her own cake. She carefully picked up a piping bag but hesitated before squeezing it. “What if I mess it up?” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Margaret overheard and smiled warmly. “There’s no such thing, dear. It’s just cake. If it doesn’t turn out how you want, we’ll eat the evidence.”

Y/N let out a small giggle, feeling a little more at ease. She took a deep breath and pressed down on the piping bag, carefully swirling the frosting onto the cake. Her hands were a little shaky, but as she stepped back, she couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit proud.

Harry glanced over and tilted his head. “That’s cute,” he said, nodding toward her cake.

Y/N tucked her chin down, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, before turning back to his own. “Almost as good as mine,”

Y/N peeked at his cake and bit her lip to hold back a giggle. His frosting was uneven, the swirls lopsided. She glanced up at him, unsure if she should say anything.

He must have noticed because he smirked. “Go on, laugh.”

She shook her head quickly. “N-No! I—I think it’s lovely.”

Harry chuckled, nudging her lightly. “lovely, huh?”

Y/N felt her face heat up and quickly focused back on her cake, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

Before she could react, Harry swiped a bit of icing onto his finger and gently smeared it across her cheek. She gasped, eyes widening in surprise as he leaned in slightly, a playful smirk on his lips.

“I think you’re lovely,” he murmured.

Margaret smiled knowingly. “You two make a lovely pair,” she said as she reached for some sprinkles. “Now, who wants to add the finishing touches?”

Y/N reached for a jar of soft pink sugar pearls, her fingers barely brushing Harry’s as he reached for the same one.

He didn’t move his hand right away, just glanced at her with a small smile. “You take it,” he said softly, his pinkie finger poking her hand. Y/N ducked her head, feeling a flutter in her chest as she carefully took the jar.

With the finishing touches added—Harry’s cake looking as delightfully messy as ever, and Y/N’s decorated with delicate swirls and tiny pearls—they both stepped back, admiring their work.

Margaret beamed at them. “Wonderful, both of you! Now, how about some tea? You’ve earned it.”

Y/N nodded quickly, grateful for something to do other than stand there under Harry’s watchful gaze. She followed Margaret to a cozy table near the window, where a teapot and delicate china cups were already set up. The scent of chamomile and honey filled the air as Margaret poured them each a cup.

Harry stretched out beside Y/N, his long legs brushing hers beneath the table. He didn’t seem to notice—or if he did, he wasn’t letting on.

As Y/N stirred a spoonful of sugar into her tea, curiosity finally got the better of her. She glanced between Harry and Margaret before speaking up softly. “How do you two know each other?”

Margaret smiled as she set down the teapot. “Oh, I’m an old friend of Harry’s mum. We go way back.” She turned to Harry with a teasing glint in her eye. “She’s actually coming to visit next week for his birthday.”

Y/N froze, her fingers tightening around her teacup.

Birthday?

Her mind spun. Harry hadn’t mentioned his birthday. Not once. And now she had to meet his mum?

Oh. Oh no.

She must’ve gone silent for too long because Harry’s gaze flickered toward her, his brows furrowing slightly.

Then, under the table, she felt it—his hand, warm and steady, pressing gently against her thigh.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she looked up at him, wide-eyed.

He didn’t say anything, just gave her a knowing look—one that was both amused and reassuring. His thumb brushed lightly over the fabric of her jeans, a silent gesture that somehow grounded her and made her even more flustered all at once.

“You alright, Bambi?” he asked, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

Y/N swallowed hard and nodded quickly, even though her heart was racing.

Harry’s lips twitched, clearly not believing her. But, mercifully, he didn’t push. He just kept his hand where it was, a steady presence beneath the table.

Y/N took a sip of her tea, hoping it would hide the blush creeping up her neck.

She had two problems now: figuring out what to do for his birthday and somehow surviving meeting his mum without making a complete fool of herself.

And, judging by the knowing smirk on Harry’s lips, he was well aware of both.

. . .

“Thank you for having us,” Y/N said softly, offering Margaret a small smile as they stood by the door.

Margaret waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, nonsense, dear. It was lovely having you both.” Then, with a knowing smile, she added, “You’re welcome to come back and do some baking with me anytime, Y/N.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the offer. She glanced at Harry, who was watching the exchange with amusement, then back at Margaret. “Oh—I’d love to,” she said shyly.

Margaret patted her arm warmly before turning to Harry. “Take care, love. And don’t forget to call your mum.”

Harry groaned playfully. “You’ve been talking to her too much.”

Margaret only laughed, waving them off as they made their way to the car.

Once inside, Y/N fastened her seatbelt and turned to look at Harry, who was adjusting the mirrors. She hesitated for a moment before finally voicing the thoughts swirling in her head.

“You didn’t tell me your mom was coming to see you,” she said, her fingers fidgeting in her lap. “Or that it was your birthday.”

Harry shot her a side glance, lips twitching slightly. “I didn’t want to panic you.”

She frowned. “About your birthday?”

“I don’t like the attention,” he admitted simply.

That made her pause. She looked at him, watching the way his fingers tapped idly against the steering wheel.

Silence settled between them for a beat before he spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “Are you mad?”

The question shocked her. Her brows knitted together. “No, of course not,” she said quickly. Then, softer, “Just… worried.”

Harry turned to her fully now, one arm draped over the steering wheel as he studied her. “Worried?”

“What if your mom doesn’t like me?” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

His expression softened. “I think she already does.”

Y/N blinked. “Huh?”

“You’re all I talk about when I speak to her these days, Bambi,” he said, his voice warm, sure. “Believe me when I say you have nothing to worry about.”

A small huff left her lips as she sank deeper into her seat, still unsure if that made her feel better or worse.

“Bambiiiiii,” Harry drawled, his tone teasing. “Give me a kiss.”

She almost smiled, shaking her head as she turned toward him to say something—maybe to protest, maybe just to stall—but she never got the chance.

Before she could speak, Harry cupped her entire face in his hands, tilting her chin up as he kissed her.

Y/N melted instantly, her hands hesitating before resting lightly against his chest. His thumbs brushed over her cheeks, his lips moving against hers with a kind of lazy confidence that made her stomach flip.

He pulled back just enough for their noses to brush, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You taste like frosting,” he murmured against her mouth.

Y/N let out a breathless laugh, her fingers curling slightly against his shirt.

Maybe she was still nervous about meeting his mom. Maybe she was still reeling from the fact that his birthday was next week. But right now, in this moment, all she could focus on was him.

“Come on,” Harry’s hand rested on her knee, “Let’s get you home.”

The drive back was quiet, comfortable. The occasional hum of a song on the radio filled the space between them, but neither of them felt the need to talk much. Harry’s hand rested casually on the gear shift, fingers drumming lightly, while Y/N watched the familiar streets pass by through the window.

Before she knew it, they were outside her house. Harry shifted into park and turned toward her with a small smile. “Home safe, Bambi.”

Y/N reached for the door handle but hesitated.

She didn’t want the night to end just yet.

Biting her lip, she turned to face him properly. “Do you… want to come inside?”

Harry blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, “Yeah?”

Y/N nodded, suddenly feeling a little nervous under his gaze. “Yeah.”

His face softened into something warmer, more curious. He tilted his head slightly, studying her. “You sure?”

Y/N swallowed, then nodded again. “I just—” She exhaled, giving a small shrug. “I’m not ready for you to leave yet.”

Harry’s expression changed, something fond flickering in his green eyes before he reached over, fingers brushing her chin briefly.

“Then I won’t,” he murmured.

With that, he shut off the car and stepped out, rounding to meet her at the front steps.

Y/N’s stomach fluttered as she unlocked the door, fully aware of Harry standing just behind her. And as she pushed it open and stepped inside, she couldn’t help but smile when she heard him close the door behind them.

“Everyone’s asleep. We can go upstairs to my room,” she whispered, locking the front door behind them. Slipping off her shoes, she glanced back as Harry did the same, his movements quiet and easy.

Without thinking, she reached for his hand, her fingers curling around his as she led him up the stairs. They tiptoed carefully past her brother’s rooms, the only sound the faint creak of the wooden steps beneath them.

Once inside, she gently shut the door and turned to find Harry standing in the middle of her room, his gaze slowly sweeping over the space.

It was strange seeing him there—so tall, so effortlessly cool—against the soft pink and white of her bedroom. He looked almost out of place, yet somehow, he didn’t.

His eyes landed on the mannequin in the corner, where a partially finished dress hung, delicate ruffles cascading down the fabric.

“Did you make this?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity as he stepped closer, taking in the details.

Y/N tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly shy. “Yeah… it’s taking a lot longer than I thought it would.”

Harry turned to her, something like awe flickering across his face. “Bambi,” he murmured, shaking his head slightly. “You should be working with the design team at Pleasing, not stuck behind a desk.”

Her eyes widened, heat creeping up her neck. “Oh, no, no,” she protested quickly, waving a hand. “The desk job is more than enough.”

Harry just hummed, still admiring the dress. “At least give it a think.”

Y/N blinked, a confused smile tugging at her lips. “Wait, are you offering?”

Harry turned to face her, already standing just a step away, the small space of her room almost too close. His lips curled into a teasing grin. “I don’t know… do you want me to?”

Her heart skipped a beat, and before she could answer, Harry intertwined their fingers, his touch sending a jolt of warmth through her. He lowered his head, his lips ghosting over hers, just a breath away.

“I think you’re going to do such great things, Bambi,” he murmured, his voice soft but certain. “You don’t need me for that.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, the sincerity in his voice melting the walls she had built up around herself. Her chest tightened, and before she could stop herself, she kissed him, her lips pressing against his with a soft urgency.

His hands cupped her cheeks gently, his touch grounding her as she stepped back, the backs of her knees hitting the edge of her bed. They both tumbled onto it in a tangle of limbs, Y/N’s heart thudding loudly against her chest.

His hands moved to her hips, fingers digging into her skin beneath her shirt, pulling her closer. The warmth of his touch made her pulse quicken, and her mind raced, completely overwhelmed by the closeness.

Her thoughts scattered, and she found herself whispering, almost breathless. “Y—you can take it off.”

Harry’s hands stilled, his brows furrowing in confusion. “My shirt, I mean.”

His lips parted slightly, eyes widening as he processed what she’d said. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, her heart in her throat, “I-I’m sure,” She replied.

Harry didn’t respond at first, his eyes scanning her face to make sure she truly meant what she said. His fingers tugged on the ends of her shirt and she nodded once more to let him know it was okay and what she wanted.

Harry lifted her shirt, his fingers grazing her skin as he pulled it over her head. The cool air prickled against her newly exposed skin, but the way his gaze darkened sent a different kind of heat through her.

"God," he murmured, voice thick with something unspoken, his eyes scanned the underwear she was wearing. He said nothing at first, Y/N’s nerves growing at his silence. Her first instinct was to put her shirt back on to cover herself up but his fingers wrapped around her wrist, “Are you real?”

Y/N giggled, “I think so,” she poked her tummy and Harry laughed.

“I must have been good at some point in time, I don’t think you’d be here if I weren’t.”

“You are good Harry,” Y/N murmurs.

“For you,” Harry whispers, “I’ll be anything. Anything y’ want, Bambi. I’ll bend and break myself to be whatever you want me to be. I’ve never been one for religion, but I’ve only ever prayed long and hard for someone like you, and now here you are. You’re like holding a piece of Heaven.”

Y/N's breath catches, the weight of his words settling deep within her chest. She reaches up, her fingers brushing against his cheek, tracing the lines of his jaw with a softness that matches her racing heart. "Harry..."

His eyes soften as they meet hers, the intensity never wavering, but there's something tender in his gaze now, something that says he's not just talking about desire, but something deeper, more profound.

Y/N swallowed hard, her fingers twitching at her sides before she reached for the hem of his shirt. He smirked, eyes locked onto hers as he helped her tug it over his head, his movements fluid, confident. Her eyes rounded at the tattoos that littered his muscular torso. Her hands hesitated over the hard lines of his chest, the warmth of his skin under her fingertips making her pulse stutter.

"Go on," Harry urged, his voice low, teasing. "Touch me."

Her breath hitched, but she obeyed, palms trailing cautiously over his chest, feeling the steady, unshaken beat of his heart. Unlike her own, which was hammering in her ribs. She traced her fingers over a particular tattoo on his left pectoral.

Her gaze lifted to meet his, and she noticed the way his chest rose and fell with every breath, the warmth of his body against hers making her pulse quicken. Harry’s eyes softened as he watched her, his lips curling into a smile.

"Relax, love," he murmured, cupping her chin and tilting her face up to his. "S’just me."

And then he kissed her again—deep, sure, in control. His hands slid down to her waist, pulling her flush against him, and she melted into him, letting him take the lead, letting him guide her through the intensity of it all.

They kissed for a while, Harry’s hands roaming over her skin, slowly learning the contours of her body as though he were memorizing each moment. Y/N melted into him, feeling the heat between them grow, her heart racing, pulse quickening under his touch.

Y/N pulled away for a brief second to catch his breath, his eyes were hazy, his lips were pinker than usual and lazy grin lingered on his lips. “What are y’ thinking about Bambi?”

She wondered how he could already read her so well. Her mind had been drifting the entire evening to this very moment, and now she was in it, her mouth dry and she couldn’t seem to conjure up the words. “H-Harry I-” The words were on the tip of her tongue, her mind drifting to a reddit article she read three days prior with tips on this exact situation.

Harry waited patiently for her to continue, letting her have her space to gain the confidence to ask whatever she needed to. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes, the hesitation in her voice, and he respected it, not rushing her, not pushing for anything.

She sighed, her words barely above a whisper, "I bought this bra today."

Harry nodded, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "It’s very pretty, Bambi. So pretty on you." His lips brushed the side of her neck, a gentle, tender gesture meant to reassure her.

But Y/N could feel the weight of her own thoughts pressing on her chest. "B-but there’s a reason I bought it," she continued, her voice shaky.

Harry paused, his lips stilling against her skin as he pulled back slightly to look at her, his gaze full of warmth and curiosity. “What do you mean?”

She took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest as she gathered the courage to speak. "I... I want to try things with you."

Harry’s expression softened, the shock in his eyes mixing with a deeper understanding. He gave her a moment to continue, sensing that she wasn’t finished.

"I want you to do stuff with me." She felt her cheeks flush, but she held his gaze, refusing to look away.

He stayed silent for a beat, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from her face, his voice calm but filled with concern. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for his, needing his touch to ground her. “I want to touch you.” She whispered in his ear, her cheeks scorching.

Harry choked, “Bambi,” He could feel himself hardening in his trousers.

She quickly continued, her voice a little shaky. “But y—you have to help me because… reading things online make it hard to understand, and those articles about… it’s confusing.”

Harry took her hands in his, his thumbs brushing over her knuckles as he looked into her eyes, his expression filled with warmth. “Hey, it’s okay,” he reassured her gently. “We’ll go slow. No pressure. I’ll help you, I promise. What is it you had in mind, Bambi?”

“I’m too embarrassed to say it out loud,” She admitted, breezing past the whole ‘pretending to be confident’ moment she had pictured in her head. “I feel embarrassed not knowing anything.”

Harry’s gaze softened, and Y/N wasn’t sure why it comforted her. He wasn’t showing sympathy, frustration, or excitement—his expression was unreadable, almost effortless. It was as if her uncertainty didn’t matter to him, as if knowing nothing made no difference at all. Being with her was enough, and whatever came with it was just a bonus.

“How about I’ll help you first,” He gently guided her onto his lap, his hands steady on her waist as he settled her against him. “Just follow my lead, yeah?” His voice was soft, reassuring, but there was an edge of something deeper in his tone—something patient yet undeniably wanting.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she adjusted herself, feeling the warmth of his body beneath her. His hands, warm and firm, traced slow circles on her hips, grounding her. “You don’t have to rush,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “This is just us. You and me.”

She exhaled shakily, her fingers gripping his shoulders as she let herself relax against him. The feeling was new, overwhelming but not in a bad way. Safe. Warm. Intimate in a way she hadn’t expected.

Harry’s fingers trailed up her spine, his touch featherlight but deliberate. “Tell me what feels good, Bambi,” he whispered, his lips ghosting over the shell of her ear. “We’ll figure this out together.”

Y/N swallowed, her body tingling at his words. “O-okay,” she breathed, trusting him completely.

Y/N shuddered as Harry’s hands splayed on her thighs, his fingers playfully playing with the hook of her underwear that rested on her hips. His thumb made circles on her skin, goosebumps rising where he traced, ‘Is this okay?” He whispered, eyes looking into hers.

She nodded. His fingers sliding down further until they cupped her between her legs, “What about this?”

She gaped, “Yes Harry,”

“M’kay,” Warm breath fanned down her neck.

Beneath her, Y/N could feel Harry’s hardening length. Her eyes widened, her breath hitching as she shifted slightly, the sensation unfamiliar yet thrilling. Harry’s grip on her hips tightened just a fraction, his jaw clenching as he exhaled through his nose.

“You feel that, Bambi?” he murmured, his voice thick with restraint.

She nodded, her hands clutching his shoulders, her heart hammering against her ribs. “It’s… um, it’s big,” she admitted shyly, her cheeks burning.

“Do you trust me?” Harry asked.

“Completely,” Y/N whispered with a nod. Harry didn’t hesitate, pressing a soft kiss to her lips before his hand drifted lower.

With careful precision, he hooked his fingers around the fabric of her underwear, tugging it aside. She wondered if he could feel the razor bumps from where she had tried to shave. If he did he didn’t say anything, just whispered, “Y’ the most perfect girl. How are you real?” She wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her or himself.

The moment his fingers brushed past her folds, searching for her clit, she stiffened, a sharp inhale catching in her throat. Letting out a shaky breath, her fingers gripping his shoulders as a wave of unfamiliar yet intoxicating pleasure coursed through her. Harry watched her closely, his eyes dark with focus, making sure she was comfortable.

“Relax, Bambi,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her temple as his fingers moved with deliberate care.

Y/N’s breath hitched as he found the sensitive bundle of nerves, his touch gentle yet firm. A soft whimper escaped her lips, and she instinctively pressed closer to him, seeking more.

“That’s it,” Harry murmured, his free hand stroking her thigh reassuringly. “You’re doing so good for me.”

She felt heat pool in her stomach, her body responding in ways she never imagined. “Harry,” she whimpered, barely recognizing her own voice.

His lips curled into a smirk as he pressed a kiss just below her ear. “I’ve got you, love,” he promised, his fingers working her with steady, patient movements. “You’re truly quite perfect.”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at his words, but then her brows furrowed as a thought crept into her mind—she wanted to do something for Harry, too. This wasn’t meant to be just about her.

But as his fingers continued their slow, torturous movements, her thoughts blurred into nothingness. Her body responded instinctively, her hips rutting against his hand when he brushed a particularly sensitive spot.

Harry groaned, the sound deep and raw, sending a fresh wave of heat through her. The effect it had on her was instant—she wanted to hear it again. So she did it once more, rolling her hips into his touch.

“Y’ gonna kill me, Bambi,” he rasped, his grip on her tightening as he fought to keep control.

Harry let out a strained chuckle, his fingers tightening around her hips as he steadied her movements. His gaze was heavy-lidded, filled with something dark and reverent as he watched her.

“So damn sweet,” he murmured, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her skin. “All wide-eyed and trembling… just like a little deer.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her breath catching at his words. His comparison made her feel small, delicate—like something precious in his hands.

Harry’s breath grew heavier, his grip on her hips firm as he guided her movements, letting her find what felt good. Y/N was completely lost in the sensation—his fingers working her with precise, devastating strokes, his voice low and coaxing as he whispered sweet praises in her ear.

“That’s it, Bambi,” he murmured, his forehead resting against hers. “Let yourself feel it.”

Her body trembled, overwhelmed by the pleasure building inside her. She clung to him, fingers pulling on the curls at the nape of his neck, his head falling back as she rocked against his hand, chasing the high she had never quite reached before.

Harry was struggling himself, his jaw clenched, his breathing ragged as her movements sent jolts of pleasure straight through him. He was achingly hard beneath her, the friction almost too much, especially when she rolled her hips just right.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his fingers faltering for a moment before he doubled down, determined to push her over the edge first. “You feel so good, love—so perfect.”

His words sent her spiraling. A broken moan slipped past her lips as the tension inside her snapped, pleasure crashing over her in waves. Her body tensed, then melted, a shuddering mess in his arms as she came undone.

The sight of her—the way she trembled, the breathy whimpers falling from her lips—was Harry’s undoing. With a deep, guttural groan, he buried his face in her neck, his body shuddering as he followed right after her, lost in his own release.

For a moment, neither of them moved, both caught in the aftershocks of pleasure, their breaths mingling as they clung to each other. Y/N felt boneless, her head resting against his shoulder, her heart still hammering in her chest.

“I think I’m falling in love with you, Harry,” Y/N confessed, her voice soft in the quiet light of her room. It was the most honest thing she had ever said, the most vulnerable she had ever allowed herself to be.

Harry’s eyes shone with an emotion she couldn’t quite decipher. Maybe it was love, maybe it was more but she couldn’t quite figure out what meant more than love. Unless what she was feeling was exactly that- something more- because when she thought about loving Harry, the word seemed much too small. She wanted to be the same person, wanted to melt into his skin and never find where she ended and he began.

His fingers traced slow, soothing patterns on her back as he held her, grounding her in the moment. “Maybe it’s your first orgasm talking.” He chuckled and she playfully nudged him before laughing with him.

As her eyes fluttered shut, inhaling the scent of him—warm, familiar, safe, she heard him whisper, “I think I’m two steps ahead of you Bambi.” and her heart pounded against her chest.

Maybe love wasn’t a big enough word for what she felt, but whatever it was, it belonged to him. And she had a feeling it always would.

2K notes · View notes

burgojo · 2 months ago

Text

PRIMADONNA. GOJO SATORU / M!READER

summary. the easiest way to a man's heart is through his stomach – in more than one way.

wc. 9k

tags. smut | dom top reader, sub bottom gojo, husbands gojo/reader, teacher reader. anniversary sex, "sir" for reader + "puppy" for gojo, oral (r. receiving), praise + degradation (gojo receiving), humping, riding, light s/m, bondage (wrists), overstimulation + multiple orgasms (gojo), belly bulge + size kink, crying, off-screen gojo in lingerie

"Satoru."

You smile, your eyes crinkling at the corners.

"If I don't get delayed, I'll be returning at night after my mission. It's a long plane ride back, so don't stay up for me, alright?"

Satoru was miffed, to say the least. How dare they steal away his husband on such short notice? You barely had time to pack a suitcase. And worst of all? It coincided with your anniversary.

For the first time in ten years, he would be spending that day alone. He wanted to be angry – angry at those spineless geezers cooped up in that musty room – but all he could really feel was disappointment. You'd been an anchor for so long that he felt listless without you by his side, throwing the weight of your name behind his whenever he did something he thought was right.

Whatever. At least he woke up to a 'happy anniversary' voice message from you that morning.

"An exponential is a function of the form f of x equals a to the power of x, where a cannot equal one, zero, or anything less than zero. You'll want to note down these eight laws on the board. I'd recommend putting them in a table at the top of a page so you don't have to go flipping for them in exams. I'll go through them one at a time."

Satoru drops the white stick of chalk for a pale blue one, which he then uses to scrawl a line of numbers in a blank space on the left side of the blackboard. "So – a to the x, a to the y equals a to the x plus y. This is a biggie! You'll see it a lot. When bases a are the same and the terms are multiplied, the exponents are added. Added. Don't multiply them."

"Sensei!" Yuji's hand shoots up into the air. "Why aren't they multiplied?"

"Great question!" He glances over the board, then erases a large chunk of old numbers in one fell swoop. Nobara stops writing immediately with an odd expression and Satoru laughs, waving a hand as if to dissipate her troubles. "You can copy off Megumi's notes for that example, Kugisaki. Just leave a space for it."

He continues, "Now, Yuji, we remember that an exponential is multiplying the base by itself a certain number of times, yes? Let's use two raised to the power of three. That's two times two times two. Now, if you have two to the power of four, that's two by two by two by two. Phew, what a mouthful. Are we tracking?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Good! We'll multiply these terms now. Wait!" He raises a finger and splits the two strings of numbers into two sets of brackets. "Putting these brackets here to separate the terms for clarity... Anyway – because the base number, two, is being multiplied over and over—" He slashes a little multiplication sign between the two brackets. "Ta-da! You've got two multiplied by itself seven times, so the answer is two to the power of seven. Therefore, you can skip this whole process in your written answers and just add the powers! Yay!"

"That's crazy."

"When it clicks, it clicks, right?" Satoru snaps his fingers, and to Yuji's left, Megumi snaps out of staring out of the window. "No slacking, Megumi! I can see you daydreaming over there."

"Kinda hard not to with only three students," Nobara mutters under her breath. At least when she dozes off, it's not with her head turned ninety degrees and propped on a fist. Seriously – it's like Megumi never learnt to nap discreetly at the back of the class. Come to think of it, she's certain he's never hidden earbuds under his hair, either.

"Sorry," he murmurs nonchalantly. "I'm not a maths person."

"Megumi, you're tearing me apart."

He shrugs.

"Since what you're doing is obviously more important than listening to your awesome teacher, would you like to share with the class?" Satoru drawls with a shit-eating grin. He sets the chalk aside, dusting off his hands, and leans over his desk, hands flat and forming a triangle with his thumbs and forefingers. "Is there a girl, Megumi-chan? A boy? Ah, a teenager's first love – I still remember mine as if it were yesterday..."

"Cut it out, you're not that old." Megumi glances outside again. Satoru follows his line of sight, but nothing stands out to him. "There was a guy on campus. Looked like a weirdo."

"Oh, for the love of – do you not remember what a finger to the lips means?"

Behind his blindfold, Satoru's eyes shoot open. It's uncomfortable, but so is his face-splitting smile, so wide it hurts his jaw.

None of that matters. He explodes with joy.

"Baby!" he squeals. He launches himself with the speed of a fastball at the person standing in the doorway. It's a miracle nobody goes crashing through the opposite wall.

"You're back, you're back," Satoru coos, burying his face in your shoulder and squeezing your middle so tightly that your spine pops. "Oh, man, you have no idea how much I missed you!"

You laugh, a little wheezy from having the air knocked out of your lungs, and pat his back. A ring glints on your finger. He presses himself deeper into you and you have to brace to stop yourself from toppling over. You close your eyes and inhale the soft floral scent of his hair, which draws out all the tension in your body. Lord knows you've accumulated a lot of it recently.

"There, there," you hum, gently grasping the back of his neck to peel him off you. For the first time, you get a good look at him. He hangs from the nape of his jacket like a kitten, a big dumb grin on his face. His pale cheeks are flushed, and your heart races a little from his sheer excitement. It's flattering.

What a sweetheart.

"We can talk later," you murmur with a smile, setting him down on flat feet. "Just wanted to stop by to drop off your lunch."

He glances down at the lunchbox-sized insulated bag in your hand. He accepts it gently, cradling it like gold. "My lunch...?"

"Mm, that's right. I hate to imagine how you fared without me." You slip a hand into the pocket of your pants. "I'll cook tonight, okay? Anyway, that's all. Toodle-oo."

"Wait!" Yuji slams his hands against his desk as his chair screeches against the ground. "Did I hear that right? Did sensei call you 'baby'?"

"Yes," you say, and Satoru's heart flutters at the pride in your voice. "You must be Itadori Yuji, and you must be Kugisaki Nobara. Satoru spoke of you often. Nice to finally meet you – I'm Satoru's husband."

Nobara replies in kind with a little bow and a polite greeting. Megumi's the only one still sitting, sheltering his eyes with his hand as if he can hide from the inevitable embarrassment. She turns to Satoru with an accusing glare, her hands on her hips. "No way you scored a guy like that with your personality! What'd you do, huh? Promise him money?"

"He hasn't even introduced himself yet and you're already taking his side?" Satoru whines, both of his arms wrapped around your own.

"I can tell that he's a respectable and dutiful man. You, however..."

"I mean, opposites attract, right?" Yuji offers kindly.

"Yuji! Are you saying I'm not a respectable person?" He huffs. "I'm telling Suguru to work you guys twice as hard tomorrow morning. Ridiculous..."

Nobara jabs an accusing finger at him. "You're ridiculous. Which is why I'm so shocked that anyone with any sense would marry you."

"Thrice as hard."

"Easy," you murmur to Satoru fondly. "But he's right about one thing. I haven't introduced myself properly. My name is YN Gojo-LN. You'll have me as a teacher next year. Call me LN-sensei – helps avoid the confusion."

Satoru tugs on your sleeve with a pout. "C'mon... I like it when you use my name. They're not gonna get confused by it. After all, I am the prettier one."

"Hard disagree, sensei," Nobara says flatly.

You smile as Satoru presses himself further into your side, wrapping your arm around his shoulders. "Don't worry, darling. You're plenty good-looking to me."

"You think so?"

"I know so, my beautiful little lily," you say affectionately, pinching his cheek. He holds your hand to his cheek, leaning into it, and Nobara nearly gags at the dopey expression on Satoru's face and the way his leg kicks up behind him like a schoolgirl with a crush. She glances at Megumi with disbelief written on her face and jabs a thumb over her shoulder. He nods solemnly as you coo over Satoru, your voice light and bouncy like a summer breeze.

You turn your attention back to the three first-years, all looking far more attentive after their break from staring at slanting strings of numbers. "It was lovely to meet you – and good to see you, too, Megumi, I can see you slouching there – but Satoru is only one-out-of-eight exponential laws explained. I'm not about to be the cause of bad grades. Ciao, everyone."

Reluctantly, Satoru unfolds himself from around you, and you're quite surprised. You'd think he'd fight harder to keep—

He seizes your wrist in a steely grip and drags you out into the hall. He shuts the door on his students' exclamations.

Immediately, he collapses into your chest, rather more raw and vulnerable than earlier. You wrap your arms around him and coo into his ear, cupping the back of his neck. He sighs, short and sharp and a little shaky, and his breath puffs against your collarbone.

"I was worried I'd lose you," he whispers, hands gliding all over your body as if to prove to himself that you're all still there, warm and complete and ready to embrace him. "Those damn idiots, taking you from me. Especially at a time like this..."

"Relax, dearie," you hum, and the old nickname makes his lips twitch upwards. "I was your equal for a while. I won't keel over so easily."

"You took on two special grades at once and went in ill-prepared because they couldn't do their damn jobs. How am I supposed to trust them when they can't even count to two?"

"Then trust me," you implore, cupping his cheek. He's always been thin, but you're glad you're back. Maybe he'll be less cranky with some meat in his stomach. "Always said we'd get through this together, didn't we? That includes dealing with the elders. I've got your back, but let's not make problems now – not when we have Yuji to look after."

He sighs and pushes his cheek into your shoulder a little harder, rubbing his face into you like a cat. His hair tickles your cheek. His grip tightens, then loosens. "Ugh. You're crampin' my style. Rebellion suits me."

"Obedience suits you better," you murmur lowly, and Satoru shivers at the timbre of your voice. Your hand slips down to cup his chin, lifting his face to yours. His breath hitches. "Listen to me, Satoru. You know I'm right."

He exhales shakily as you dip your head, lips brushing his. He leans into it, trying to take more, but you turn away. "But—"

"Satoru."

Heat zings up his spine. Your nails dig slightly into his skin and he swallows harshly, burning up under the weight of your gaze. Half condescending and half tender, you rake your stare over him from head to toe. It lasts no longer than a second but Satoru's knees weaken anyway.

"Just don't do anything without me," you whisper, bringing his face closer to yours. You press your lips to his and he fists the front of your shirt tightly, gasping as your free hand glides down his waist to rest on the small of his back. He arches slightly and tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

He tastes like sugar and oranges and despite the not-so-sweet flavour of the coffee you had earlier, he devours you as if his life depends on it, tongue twisting with yours. He moans softly at the smoky roasted taste, dark and rich. Even after all these years, he marvels at how perfectly he matches with you – the yin to your yang, the shrike to your thorn. He'd be missing out any other way.

His heartbeat quickens. You can feel it beneath his ribs, his chest pressed to yours, and even through his thick clothes you can feel him yearn for you – the very essence of his bright soul twists and tumbles, reaching for yours. He is the orchid to your oak and just as needy.

Before you forget yourself and get too handsy in the middle of the school hallway, you draw away, tugging your hands back to your sides. Satoru whines softly with the loss of your touch and your lips on his. He lifts his face, lips pursed into a pout as he chases another kiss. You press a finger against his lips with a chuckle.

"Not yet, Satoru. You still haven't promised me."

He pushes your hand away impatiently. "Promise." He puckers up and leans in again.

You click your tongue and grab a fistful of his hair, keeping him at bay the same way you would with an overly-affectionate cat. You lift a brow. "And what are you promising?"

He groans, and you know he's rolling his eyes under his blindfold. "That I'm not gonna make trouble for us. I promise I won't square up against a bunch of geriatrics. Happy, baby? Can I get my kiss, now?"

"Only one more." You dip in, and Satoru hums appreciatively. You open your eyes again with a tiny smile. "There. Now, off you go. You have maths to teach, nerd."

"You're a nerd," he rebuts automatically. "You don't have to leave, y'know. Just sit in the back, like the principal does."

"I'd just be a distraction for you."

"But you'd make me happy. Come on. It's our anniversary."

"The answer's no, Satoru." You smile, tugging his hair gently, and his head feels light. He understands why they call it lovesick. "G'luck, sweetheart."

His bottom lip juts out and he crosses his arms, glancing aside. He ruffles his hair roughly as if to drag himself out of his own thoughts. "Fine... Will I see you later?"

"Mm. I'll take a nap when I get home and then start on dinner. I was thinking something Thai?" You touch his shoulder and he shivers slightly, fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist. It's endearing how infatuated he is with you. You fix his blindfold, smoothing out the sides. "Get home safely, Satoru."

"Yessir." He darts in one last time, sneaking in one last kiss on the cheek. He grins, playful and flushed, as you grumble something about being an 'enabler'. You lift a hand and begin to turn away.

When you're halfway down the hall, he calls out, "You better make it up to me, hot stuff!"

"You're spoilt enough as it is," you call back, eyes crinkling. "Toodles!"

Satoru hums a little tune under his breath as he steps back into the classroom, sliding the door closed behind him. There's a bounce in his step as he moves towards his desk, hovering over a textbook and flipping forward a few pages to find new equations to throw up on the board.

After a pause, with Satoru's soft humming the only thing filling the room, Nobara finally breaks the silence.

"So, sensei... are you gonna tell us what that was all about?"

He glances up, a clueless smile on his face. "Eh? What was what about?"

She stares, appalled. "Uh, the fact that you're married? To the coolest-looking guy I've seen here? He must really be something if he's got you wrapped around his finger like that..."

Megumi sits up in his seat, picking up his pen and ruler and busying himself with ruling new margins into his blank pages. "He's not much better than Gojo, Kugisaki. Together, they're both total fools."

"How can he be more of a fool than he already is?"

"You never mentioned a partner, Gojo-sensei," Yuji says, having clearly abandoned any notion of learning. His notebook isn't even open anymore. "How'd you meet?"

"I didn't take you for a romantic, Yuji," Satoru coos, though he tosses his piece of chalk onto the blackboard's ledge and dusts off his hands. He circles the desk to sit back against it, clasping his hands with a wide smile. "We met here, actually! He's older than me, and he was the one who gave me a campus tour and showed me my room. He was just as handsome back then as he is now. I liked hanging out with him a lot."

Yuji's eyes are wide with intrigue. "Oh! Were you high-school sweethearts? That's so neat, sensei!"

"In a way," he replies, voice soft with fondness. "At first, it was a political marriage. He has an influential name and a uniquely powerful technique, so our families thought it was a good idea to pair us up so the other clans would be less likely to stand against our decisions. We became good friends, so we grew to be alright with it – we were basically already living in each other's rooms, anyway. Marrying him meant I could eat his curry more often, so I was honestly pretty eager to move in with him after graduating."

"Really? You seemed like the type of person to be bad with spice," Nobara comments, tilting her chair on its back legs. "Guess I was wrong."

Leaning back, Megumi speaks around Yuji's body. "No, he is. LN-san often makes two dishes – one with spice, one without. He started when I was a kid, but he still does it for Gojo."

Nobara clicks her tongue. "What? Seriously – he's way too good for you, sensei! I can't believe this. The idea that someone like you had a boyfriend at my age when I don't... I'm, like, actually upset."

"I mean, I also gained two children shortly after, so maybe you should wait a bit for a boyfriend, Kugisaki," Satoru says thoughtfully, tapping his chin. Megumi's face reddens at the statement and his knuckles turn white around his pen.

"Don't say that," he scoffs. "Your marriage had nothing to do with the two of us!"

Pouting, Satoru wags a finger in his direction. "So rude, Megumi-chan! I'm telling your dad. No curry for you for a month."

He rolls his eyes and his mouth curls. "You're annoying."

Nobara snorts and hides her snickers behind her palm. She leans in Yuji's direction and whispers, "Guess he's got a favourite parent."

He nods in agreement. Clearing his throat, Yuji dutifully raises his hand, looking grave. "Sensei, if you're married, why don't you wear a ring?"

"Hm? I do! Wanna see it? Oh, of course you do, you asked," he says cheerfully. He thrusts a hand down the tall neck of his collar and pulls out a silver chain, off of which hangs a platinum band studded with tiny, glittering diamonds. He beams, turning the pretty little thing this way and that to catch the light. "His is more traditional, 'cause he's a fuddy-duddy, but silver suits my skin tone better and diamonds are a classic."

He unclasps the chain from around his neck, and Yuji and Nobara instantly shoot up out of their chairs to inspect the ring closer. They ooh and ahh over it, discussing the bevels and facets and whatnot. He slips the band onto his left hand and shows it off with a beaming smile, nodding proudly when Nobara remarks how well it really does suit him.

"Why is your face so red, Gojo?"

The abrupt question is Megumi's. Like clockwork, everyone turns to him, then turns to Satoru. In response, he only tilts his head with an oblivious smile pasted on his face – his white hair flops over, like a dog's ears. "Eh?"

Megumi sighs and lowers his gaze, scratching tornadoes aimlessly into the margins of his page. "You're terrible – it was two months, not two years. The separation anxiety is crazy."

"He does seem like the type to be clingy," Nobara whispers to Yuji.

"It's not sepa—he thinks it's cute!" he sputters, lifting his bejewelled ring finger as if it's his middle finger. "Look – he married me for it! Jeez, Megumi, you really know how to make a guy feel bad. And you know what that means."

Megumi's face scrunches. "You're gonna follow him around the house like a lost puppy for the rest of the day."

"Right you are!" says Satoru giddily. "I'm sorta disappointed you don't live with us right now. I could've made it so much worse for you if you and YN went out in public. You'd be begging to learn about exponential and logarithmic functions then."

He turns towards the board and claps his hands, startling all three of his students as the sound echoes through the room. "Speaking of! Rule number two: power x over y with identical base a is equal to a to the x minus y. Back in your seats, boys and girl – I hope everyone's awake now. Let's power through every rule before class ends! Heh – geddit? Power? Because – oh, you're all no fun. I'm funny. Let's continue."

—

With a jingle of keys, Satoru twirls through the front door. "Honey, I'm hooome!"

Your voice floats through the hallway. "In the kitchen!"

He kicks his shoes off and dumps his messenger bag onto the couch. He bounds into the spacious kitchen and slithers up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

With a chuckle, you take half a step back from the open flame of the stove. "Careful. It's hot."

"Not hotter than you." His voice is muffled against your shoulder. "Didja miss me?"

"Only a little bit. You are a handful." You stir the pot, picking shards of bone out of the broth. Satoru salivates. He can already feel the tender meat falling off the bone. "You're home early, baby. Dinner won't be ready for a while."

"Rushed back to see you." He kisses your neck, inhaling deeply. The scent of your cologne is heady and woodsy, and he's embarrassed to admit that he's used it on himself when the ache really got to him. "Maybe we can... spend some time together...?"

You laugh, the sound rumbling through your chest, and Satoru smiles automatically. "Eager little thing. You really want to do that now, when I'm obviously very busy?"

"Well, the veggies aren't a pressing concern," he points at the covered bowl, "and the soup's not done. Put it on low and you have both hands free to do things with me."

"And what 'things' would that entail, Satoru?"

"Fun things." He pushes his blindfold up, revealing his startling blue eyes. He looks up at you through his white lashes, a cheeky smile spreading across his face. "Things involving this," he points at his lips, "and this." He points at yours.

Because your hands are damp from dealing with the vegetables, you can't touch him, but you turn and lean in his direction and he drapes his arms over your shoulders. You hum, taking in his beauty like an old-timey knight with his secret lover. "Sounds a bit boring, honestly. We did that earlier. Any other ideas?"

His eyes widen with betrayal. "What—? Fine! This—" his lips "—and this." His hand lowers to the zip of your jeans, brushing over the front. His tongue flickers over his lower lip as he glances down, as if he's imagining it already, and you struggle to keep your composure. His eyes lift to yours. "Yeah?"

You draw in a breath. "Nah. You don't last long enough for that."

"Mou," he whines, brows furrowing, "I can! Just let me show you – y'know, I've been practicing. I've definitely gotten better."

"Whore," you mutter affectionately, slipping out of his arms to wash your hands. You tug your sleeves higher and Satoru sighs dreamily at the sight, cupping his cheek. "You seriously want to do this now? I could burn down the house on accident."

"Yes, I wanna do it now," he huffs, hooking a slender finger beneath his blindfold, as if showing off how long and pretty they are. "The house is insured."

"You – You're ridiculous, baby." You dry your hands and face him properly, gaze flickering over his body. He squirms slightly, fidgeting with his collar. "Hm... Suppose I say yes. What would you do?"

"Ah," he breathes, stepping closer. He places his hands on your chest, pretending to fix your collared shirt, and you rest one on his hip, tugging him in. He flashes you a flustered smile as he bumps into you. "Well, I'd, um – I'd kiss it."

"Mm."

"And I'd... lick the tip, 'nd..." He shakes his head and headbutts your shoulder, eyes squeezing shut with an embarrassed titter. "Babe, don't make me say it! I'll show you, okay? I'll show you how much I missed you. Spoilers: it's a lot."

"Well, when you put it like that..." You dial down the stovetop's heat until the flame is all but gone. Satoru's grin widens. "I'm interested."

He smirks and pecks your cheek, grabbing your hand and dragging you out of the kitchen. He pushes you down on the couch in the living room, taking a moment to shuck off his jacket and tug his shirt hem out from his beltline. He drapes himself over your lap, long legs bracketing yours, and places his hands on your shoulders.

Naturally, your hands come to rest upon his thighs.

He pauses. Have your hands always looked so large compared to him...? He swallows, Adam's apple bobbing. His cock stirs in his tight pants.

You lean back with a soft sigh, stroking his thighs absently. Your touch borders on his ass when it shifts up his hips and his breath hitches. You lift a brow, seemingly unaware of his racing heart. "So? Now what?"

"Shut up," he mumbles, reaching to help pull your t-shirt over your head. "Just admiring my hubby, y'know? Most would be flattered. You're mean for no reason."

"A second ago you were ready to jump my bones." You allow him to toss the shirt on the couch beside you, and his hands run appreciatively down your chest and stomach. "Let's go back to that."

"Yessir," he says breathily. He meant it teasingly, but it comes out with a slight tremor in the middle. His cheeks flush as you grab the front of his shirt and drag him towards you.

He whimpers softly as you press his ass down against your lap, his lips trapped against yours. He rocks his hips. The half-hard bulge in your pants demands his attention, and he moans your name as you pop open his shirt roughly, hands exploring his soft, smooth skin.

"Excited, are we?" you murmur, nibbling the side of his neck. The wet heat of your tongue makes him shiver, nails digging into your shoulders.

"S-Says you," he retorts, gasping softly as your callused fingers find his nipples, cute and pink. He jerks, stomach tensing, and reaches for your belt shakily, undoing it defiantly. "Not f-fair. Fuck, be gentle..."

You shake your head, exhaling softly as Satoru manages to fish you out of your open fly. Your length slaps his wrist. "We can be gentle or we can be done in time for dinner. Your choice."

Twitching as you flick his chest again, he whimpers. "You..."

"I?"

He gulps, blue eyes trained on the thick cock in his hands. He grips the base and twists his fist up and down the shaft, brushing his thumb over the slick slit. You groan softly, switching your attention to the other side of his neck. He tilts his head with a tremulous sigh, allowing you better access to his fair skin.

"I really did miss you, you know," he says quietly, stroking you to full mast. "Your smile, your body next to mine when I wake up... and this cock. Nothing's better than your cock."

With a chuckle, you squeeze his hips, feeling them twitch under your grip. Cute – sensitive. "Yeah? My pretty doll missed my cock?"

"Mhm. Tried other things while you were away." He shuffles off your lap, sliding between your knees with ease. He gazes up at you, one hand on your thigh and one hand on your cock, and licks his lips, glancing away. His cheeks are red. "But nothing can get me off like you can. You always fill me up so good, always treat me right..."

He leans forward, wrapping his pink lips around the head of your cock. His eyes flutter shut and his tongue swirls around your slit – the taste of your precome curls a ball of arousal in his lower belly, and he widens his knees slightly in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure. It doesn't help.

"Fuck, Satoru," you murmur, combing your fingers through his silver hair. His blindfold acts as a headband for his bangs, and you're afforded a full view of his creased concentrated brows and his wide-blown pupils. He bobs his head, thick lashes fluttering against his cheekbones, and swallows several inches of your cock.

But that's as far as he gets before he gags and pulls back, gasping wetly as his pale chest heaves. Nervously, he glances up at you, only to grow more desperate at the lazy grin on your face.

You prop your cheek on a fist. "What was that about improvement, Satoru? Seems about the same to me."

His frown deepens. "It's not my fault! You're just—"

"Excuses don't befit you."

His jaw snaps shut audibly. He reaches forward, taking your cock in both hands, and spits on it, smearing it down your length. You hum softly as he takes the tip into his hot mouth again, and his tongue flicks against the glans hungrily.

His nails dig into your thigh as he regulates his breathing, slowly bobbing his head down half of your length.

You have to hand it to him – he's gotten quicker at getting to this point. Still, he's shuddering, and he's clearly a mess, eyes glistening and lips slick with saliva. He looks small, shoulders pulled in, and so, so pretty as he chokes down your cock, determined to do it right.

"Oh, Satoru," you purr sympathetically, petting his hair. "Nearly thirty and you still can't suck cock to save your life... what'll I do with you?"

He pulls back with a slick pop, eyes wide and glossy. His voice is hoarse. "N-No, I can! I can, I promise, j-just let me try again—"

"You're my good boy, aren't you?"

The words die in his mouth. Head foggy, he nods, throat bobbing as he stares up at you.

You stroke his cheek, smiling softly as he leans into it and kisses your palm. "Let me fuck your mouth. Maybe your toys are just too small to be of any real help, huh?"

Ashamed, Satoru swallows, picking at his shirt cuffs. He inclines his head a few degrees, barely a nod, but he allows you to gently guide his mouth around your cock once more. He wanted to show you how much he loved you, how you wouldn't have to do all the work anymore, but there was something so addicting about the way you controlled his body that he was a little glad to have failed. His eyes slide closed as you grip the back of his neck and hold back his bangs, guiding your cock down his throat.

He moans softly, his own dick throbbing inside his pants as you hit the back of his throat. He swallows around it dutifully, grasping your thighs for balance as you pull him down on your cock.

"Good boy. That's it. Such a good boy f'me." Your voice is a low murmur, flowing in one ear and out the other. Satoru whines quietly, the vibrations making you groan, and saliva drips down your shaft. You lean back and lift your hips slightly, pushing into his mouth.

He gags slightly but settles quickly, tongue gliding against the velvety veins of your dick. Your grip on him is firm but gentle – if you let go, he'd slump like a ragdoll against your leg, no doubt about it. He rocks his hips pathetically against nothing, whimpering as you fuck his throat, and you take pity – you shift your leg between his knees.

He fists your jeans, knuckles white, and moans as he grinds against your leg, his cock throbbing against his zipper. His whimpers sound broken, choppy, in a way you recognise as gratefulness. Thank you, thank you. Your dick pulses and he swallows, drooling and panting with his lips stretched white around you. He swallows greedily around you, the shape of your cock distending his slender throat.

"It's okay," you hum, brushing the tears from the corner of his eye. "You don't need to do anything. Not when I'm here. You just need to be my pretty puppy, yeah? Let me take care of everything. I got you."

A rough shudder runs through his body. He shoves his cock against your leg. He twitches, hips jerking involuntarily, and you can't help the fondness in your voice when you coo at him.

"Oh, sweetheart..."

Carefully, you pull him off of you, and his tongue lolls out of his mouth as he pants, eyes clouded and hazy. His grasp on your leg tightens as you lean forward, placing a soft kiss on his forehead.

"Poor thing. Must be pretty pent up, huh?" You pull him up, and it takes a moment for him to find his balance. You tug his slacks down his hips, but the square something in his back pocket gives you pause. You dip two fingers inside and pull out a black packet.

"Condoms?" You glance up at Satoru, who looks anywhere but at you. "You planned this, didn't you? Dirty puppy."

He wrings his hands, finding his voice. "I-I'm sorry... I just – it's our anniversary, 'n' I thought—"

"You thought you'd be cute," you finish for him, and he nods with a soft pout. You reach in again and pull out another. And another. It's a row of them, separated by perforated tear lines, and his face grows red as you lift a disbelieving brow at them. You let the string of them hang from your fingers like a grocery receipt.

"Satoru... How many of these do you think we need?"

"I don't know! I'd rather be safe than sorry."

You chuckle and lean forward, pressing a kiss against his stomach. He cups the back of your head, slender fingers playing with your hair absently. "You're too cute. Wanna put one on for me?"

"You just like it when I touch you," he mumbles, but accepts the little square. He kicks off his slacks and underwear and takes a seat on your lap, tearing the packet open with his teeth at the same time. His eyes flick up to yours as he slides it down your shaft, his hands warm and pretty wrapped around you. He squeezes – you groan softly – and he whispers, "All done."

"Thank you, baby." You stroke his hips. He giggles in response.

"You can put it in," he murmurs, squeezing your shoulders as he leans forward and aligns your tip with his entrance. "I... Last night..."

"Hm." You watch him rub the tip against his hole – psyching himself up for it, you realise with a smile. "Was that before or after our call?"

His grip tightens. "Ah... After."

"Yeah?" Your smile takes on a dangerous edge and he gulps. "So, when you said you missed me..."

"S-Stop teasing me," he demands, his voice lilting with a whine. His brow furrows and he lowers himself on your cock, gasping as the head breaches his hole. The lube makes the glide easier, but the delicious burn of the stretch has his eyes fluttering and rolling back. The warmth... he's missed this. A toy couldn't have him shaking on his knees on the first thrust. Pain makes tears prick at his eyes. "Ohh, god..."

Satoru braces both hands against your shoulders, his toes curling in his black socks. He whimpers softly as you lean forward, pressing your chests together, in order to ease your cock deeper inside him. He rocks his hips, shallow and jagged, and presses his lips fervently to yours as he drops his hips and takes you all the way down to the base.

Tears prick at his eyes and he moans, long and loose and relieved. Your cock rests perfectly against his prostate, hot and thick, and every minuscule shift of his body has you rubbing deliciously against it. His cock throbs, dusky against his alabaster skin. His stomach flexes.

"Good?" you whisper, hot breath fanning against his throat. He shudders and nods, reaching back and spreading his asscheeks to swallow you deeper. His head falls to your shoulder as he lifts and lowers his hips messily, lips parted to gasp and pant softly.

You take over, hands big and rough on the creamy meat of his ass. There are new calluses on your palms, and a shard of annoyance cuts its way into the pleasured fog of Satoru's mind. Trying to appoint you clan leader through marriage – and therefore safe from the nuisance of arduous missions – had backfired fantastically, and now all those old coots know how much you mean to him.

Like, what was the point of marrying you to each other if you both still had to do the dirty work? Why couldn't he, as the strongest and least likely to complete the paperwork, simply come home to your kisses? You might hate him for making you do all the accounting and logistical work, but at least you'd be safe. He's very good at shoulder massages. The occasional assassin would be like swatting a fly to you.

"Sweetheart," you croon, snapping him out of his stewing displeasure. You grasp his chin in your hand and turn his face to yours, pressing a light kiss to the tip of his nose. He hums softly. "What's wrong?"

"I want you to be here every day," he whispers, pressing his cheek against yours. "Don't wanna have to make up for lost time like this. Drives me crazy."

"Oh, puppy... I know. But hey," you say, thrusting up into him and making him gasp, "you're hot when you're needy. And I'm all too willing to indulge you."

He clenches down around you. His cock twitches. "Mm, really? We could try using up all those condoms..."

You roll your eyes. "You're incorrigible."

"What does that – ah!"

He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip as you thrust up roughly into him and drag him down at the same time, his ass slapping your hips. He scrambles to brace himself, his cock dripping a weak spurt of precome on his stomach. His chest heaves, his face flushed and his eyes wide. His eyes are blown with lust, deep ocean-blue, and his lip quivers as you repeat it, fucking up into his soft, eager little hole hungrily.

Satoru pants, breaths rough and uneven, as he tries his best to ride your cock. But with every thrust, you slam against his prostate and knock the thoughts out of his skull. He stutters and moans, trying to repeat himself – because really, what do you mean he's incorrigible? – but you've got a wicked grin on your face that spells nothing but trouble for him.

"W-Wait," he squeaks out, arms trembling as he tries to hold himself up on your chest. "I'll—!"

"Come for me," you grunt, rolling his hips on your cock in a way that has his vision blooming with stars. "Lemme see you, Satoru. Let me see you, puppy."

He lets out a loud, sharp whine as his body jerks and his cock spurts, painting your stomach with thick ropes of white. The flush of his cheeks extends down his neck and chest, prettily pink, and he collapses against your chest, lazily rolling his hips and riding out his high.

Cooing his name softly, you pet his hair, which he melts into like pudding. His hum is like a purr when your nails scrape lightly against his scalp. "Good boy... so gorgeous when you come, aren't you? Did so well for me, sweetheart."

You begin to tug his blindfold down, as the rapid flickering of his eyes betrays how overwhelmed he is, but he shakes his head, nudging your hand to instead pull it off.

"No," he whines, raising his bright, flitting eyes to your face. They steady when they focus on your face, and his features soften. "Wanna see you. All of you." He exhales, a little shaky. "You still haven't finished."

"It'll be too much for you. Let's stop here."

He scowls. "How do you know that?"

"I—"

"Yeah, that's right. You don't. I can keep going." He lifts himself up on his knees until just the tip rests inside him, then drops back down. He swallows a whimper. "S-See? M'fine!"

Your brow furrows slightly as you hold him still. "Satoru—"

"Please," he interrupts, eyes wide and pleading. "Baby, please, I can do it. Want you to come, too, okay? I want to – because I love you."

You didn't think sudden love confessions in the middle of sex could be so hot.

A breathless grin makes its way across his lips when you glance away and sigh, your hands tightening on his waist. It's the perfect place to grab, slim and fitting just right against your palms. He places his hand against your stomach between his legs, arching his back ever so slightly.

"Well," you drawl, shifting slightly. His breath hitches as your cock brushes his prostate. "Then maybe you could show me how much you love me."

"You—" He lets out a bitten moan as you move his hips, helping him grind against you. "Baby."

In response, you only offer a smirk, eyes glinting.

He sighs shakily and nods, leaning back and bracing against your knees. The position tightens him up and you groan, head tipping back against the couch backrest. He traces shallow ovals over your lap, his hole fluttering against you with every tug.

"Feeling unsteady, puppy?" you remark, but it's softer than your usual teasing. You trace his ribs, thumbs brushing over his nipples. He whimpers.

"No," he breathes, quickening his pace. His half-hard cock smacks his stomach with every harsh drop of his hips, the reddened tip dripping and slick. "I got it."

It's hard to act as if the sight doesn't affect you. His lean muscles flex with every shift, and as he sucks in a shuddering breath, a bulge pokes his belly. The print of it appears and disappears with each roll of his hips.

"Fuck," you hiss, gliding your hand down and pressing a thumb against it. Satoru twitches and stutters at the sight, letting out a ruined cry when words fail him. His breath grows ragged as he rides you harder, eyes wet with need. The bulge in his tummy moves with him.

His white hair is dark silver at the ends, stuck to his temples. A thin sheen of sweat coats his body, shimmering when it catches the light. With his milky skin, it's as if he's been brushed with crushed pearls.

You reach up and brush a thumb against his bitten lower lip, plush and warm. He parts them and presses his tongue against the pad of your thumb, moaning as you push it in. He grabs your wrist, nails digging into your skin, and lavishes wet kisses upon it. His tongue swirls around your thumb as if it was your cock and he pants hotly, lips pursing ever-so-slightly around it.

Your cock throbs inside him. The beginnings of a smug grin tug at his pillowy lips, and his eyes flash confidently. They falter and roll back into his skull as you bury your cock inside him with a rough thrust – he melts into your touch, his pretty little cock pulsing and dripping precome down his shaft and balls.

"You're so good to me," you chuckle throatily, pushing your thumb deeper into his mouth. He moans sharply. The whiplash between your warm, caressing palm and the violence with which you fuck him makes him downright dizzy. "Maybe I should take long business trips more often."

At that, he lets out a wrecked little sob, shaking his head. He leans deeper into you.

"No?" He shakes his head again, cerulean eyes clouded and unfocussed as you force his hips up and down from tip to base, knocking the breath out of his lungs. "Oh, sweet thing..."

His legs quiver. He's barely holding himself up, his sensitive hole aching with the sharp burn each time you pull out. You press his face into the crook of your neck and he mewls as you tug his arms behind his back, your hands strong and firm. He feels powerless like this, buried in the scent of your sweat and cologne, and all he can do is moan.

He stiffens when something snaps around his wrists. He arches back, trying to spot it. "What—?"

"Sh-shh, puppy. You're too antsy. Gotta learn to take it slow." You smooth out his blindfold, twisted several times around his slim wrists. You glance down at him, your hair tickling his cheek. "Don't you?"

It feels like he's breathing soup. His heart hammers and he clenches around you, knees and feet scrabbling for purchase against the couch without the use of his arms. He whimpers, tugging at the bindings. His fingers flex. "Y-Yes, sir..."

"Good boy."

And god, do you take it slow. He's a mess in minutes, teary-eyed and trembling, as you use him like a toy, lifting and lowering him on your cock, which feels all too big and thick in his swollen, abused hole. He swears he can taste it. He babbles, his sudden orgasm going totally ignored even as he sobs and calls you everything under the sun ranging from his usual pet-names to your title. You ignore him, focussing on keeping your thrusts steady and even.

"Sir," he gasps wetly as his aching cock twitches valiantly. "Sir."

"Yes, puppy?"

His brain is melting out of his ears. Hot tears streak down his flushed cheeks, wetting your shoulder. It's humiliating, being trapped like this on your cock, and he can't help the new ball of arousal swirling low in his belly.

"Too deep..." He lets out a wet whimper as his cock begins to harden again. Oh, stamina. "P-Please – come already..."

"I'm trying pretty hard." You hum, rolling him in your hands like a scientist with their pet project. You sigh as if disappointed. "You're all loose – like a whore."

Choking out a devastated moan, he shuffles on his knees, walls squeezing and swallowing your cock with renewed vigour. "Sir, I'm – 'm not—"

"Please, Satoru. You already admitted to touching yourself while I was away – you couldn't wait just a few weeks for me to come home. If you were good, you would've kept your hands to yourself. You forget who this—" you lift his hips and tap his asshole, making him clench and whine "—belongs to."

Few weeks? Few weeks? Satoru wants to cry. It isn't his fault his love language is physical touch. Going cold turkey for so long was agonising.

"'M sorry," he whispers, eyes squeezing shut as you dance your fingers over his swollen cock. "O-Oh...!"

You huff, shifting on the couch. You hold him up, his delicate hipbones slotted into the V of your thumb and forefinger. "I know you are, but I'll remind you anyway. You belong to me."

You set a punishing pace, fucking up into him and dragging him down to meet your thrusts. His hair bounces and he cries out, arms flexing against the blindfold. His eyes roll back and he moans, open-mouthed, against your neck, broken little half-sobs punched out of his throat.

He can't get a single full word out. Even his cracked, ruined 'fuck, fuck, fuck' is peppered with whines.

Then your hand comes down, hard, on his ass.

His eyes widen. His mouth opens in a silent scream. He comes.

You groan as thin streaks of come splatter your stomach, his cock rutting against you through it. His hips jerk and he starts to sob openly when your pace only quickens, his ass rippling with each thrust. "Fuck, sir," he wails, "y'feel so good...!"

You massage his stinging cheek, whispering sweet nothings in his ear that float him away into a soft cloud of thoughtlessness. It's so easy to give up control to you – so easy to hand himself over. If he has nothing else to give, you will have him.

Even through the fog of pleasure, he remembers how to kiss you. He would know how even if he lost every memory. He moans into it, raspy and wrecked. His toes curl and bliss weighs down his bones as you groan his name and thrust up once, twice, into him, cock throbbing hotly against his soft, gummy walls. Finally, you sink into the couch, holding him close.

He lays there, slumped against you, as you catch your breath together. His eyes flutter shut, the image of your face as you come seared into his mind, and he giggles drunkenly to himself.

You were so good to him even when you were mean.

Gently, you ease his blindfold off his wrists, and he immediately wraps his arms around your shoulders protectively. You're his, and his only. He sits quietly as you clean up to the best of your ability with him on top of you, and he whines softly when you try to set him aside.

"Satoru," you try.

"I'm sore," he retorts, feeling your chest rise and fall with your breaths. His voice is deliciously ragged and raspy. "Fix me."

"No."

"Then I'm staying right here."

"The house will burn down."

"Let it."

Incorrigible. You sigh and lift him just enough to do up your zipper, then lift him in a princess carry and rise to your feet. Satoru purrs and clutches you tighter, rubbing his cheek into your shoulder as you carry him through the house. "Let's find you some new pants, sweetheart."

"M'kay."

"After that, you're on your own," you warn him, stepping sideways through the bedroom door. He uses it as an excuse to tuck his head in the crook of your neck. "I need to check on the soup. I'll call for you when dinner's ready."

"Mm..." He gazes up at you with a sugar-soft look in his eyes. He rubs his hazy eyes as you set him down on the bed to open up his extensive wardrobe. "But I need to set the table..."

"I'll do it. You just take care of clean-up, yeah?"

"Mhm." Satoru tugs the open sides of his button-up shirt closed and fixes the long hem over his milky thighs. He sighs softly, watching you gather his pyjamas with soft blue eyes. "It's really good to have you home, you know. Everything's back to normal."

"Is that right?" Your voice softens and you cross the room, ducking down to Satoru's level. Expectantly, he lifts his face, closing his eyes, and smiles as you brush back his bangs and press your lips to his forehead. "Then you better make sure to spoil me rotten."

He catches your hand before you can pull away. With a teasing, bitten-back grin, he lowers it, and tugs his shirt hem up. He places your hand on his thigh, dragging it higher.

"Like this?" he whispers, coy when he flutters his lashes at you.

Your fingers dig into the soft, sensitive meat of his thigh. He mewls softly, plush pink lips parting.

You tear your hand away, drawing in a sharp breath. "Fuck. Later. Soup first."

Satoru huffs and rolls his eyes, leaning back on his palms when you scramble out the door. "Stupid soup," he mumbles to himself petulantly. "Why would he eat anything else when I'm right here? Stupid noodles. Stupid husband."

A voice breaks through the silence from down the hall. "I heard that!"

"Good!" He collects the clothes you'd picked out for him, smoothing his fingers down the soft cotton patterns. "I ain't a liar!"

He mumbles a radio song under his breath as he tosses away the plain black boxer shorts into the wardrobe. A sly smirk flickers across his features as he pulls out a pair of baby-blue panties from a drawer, placed right at the front and tucked into a neat little square. It's a pretty thing, lacey and soft, and it sits nice and high on him, accentuating his slender hips. They make his legs go on for ages.

He tucks it into his stack of clothes with an innocent hum, and then off he goes, prancing into the bathroom with an extra pep in his step. He doesn't lock the door behind him.

Satoru understands that you enjoy taking care of him, pampering him like a princess even when he pulls your hair and takes your toys. You always will. It's a wonderful thing, to be loved so sweetly; no one else could do it better.

He needs to return the favour, he thinks, glancing at his clothes and the little secret they hide. Nothing feels like it could ever measure up to what you do for him, but he can do this, and it's a start. Perhaps it'll get him closer to being your equal.

2K notes · View notes

foxtrology · 2 months ago

Text

sweet sweet baby (since you've been gone)

harry castillo x reader

series

warnings: no y/n, 28 year age gap, female reader.

The last time he had gone up to a woman was at a wedding reception and it ended terribly for him.

Lucy was her name.

He had thought she was the one. All the time they had spent together, all the nights he held her, it was all for nothing. In the end he was the one left behind while she and that broke fucking waiter—oh how much he hated that broke waiter with a fucking passion—ran off into the sunset all happily.

John.

John was his name. Living in a rundown studio apartment with a struggling college student as a roommate. Yeah, what a fucking life she decided to choose.

He still follows her on Instagram.

An Instagram she begged for him to have. He valued his privacy. Being a successful CEO had its perks but it also had his downsides. Privacy was a major downside. He's lucky if a week has gone by without The New York Times calling his office.

Something he should've done a long time ago was delete Instagram and move on from Lucy, but of course he loves to make things more difficult for himself.

19lucy89 has posted a photo!

He should've at least turn off the notifications notifying him of her posting but he couldn't do it. He still wasn't over her. Scrolling on the social media app had him scoffing.

She had posted a photo of her and that broke waiter kissing.

"Whiskey neat."

Harry slips his phone back into his pocket, thanking the bartender. Sliding off the barstool, he glances at all the couples around him. He rolls his eyes.

Since when is everyone fucking dating? Everywhere he goes it's always a couple canoodling. It pisses him off.

Getting back to his table, Danny slaps Harry on his back as he sits down. He cringes as the hand hits his back. He's always had back problems but never acknowledged them.

Not until Lucy. She made him start seeing a chiropractor.

But since she's out of his life, he has been ignoring his pains and ignoring his chiropractor’s calls. She didn't care anymore so why should he.

"Dude Vanessa and everybody are going to an afterparty—"

"Is this not an afterparty?" Harry furrows his brows, interrupting his partygoer friend.

Danny shakes his head playfully, scoffing. "Any excuse to continue drinking, am I right?"

He really didn't want to spend another hour at a party. He's 54 for god's sake, he done.

He's old. He's an old man.

He gets cranky if he doesn't go to sleep at a certain time, he gets aggravated when he pushes paperwork aside leaving it to the last minute, he hated pleasing his friends who have been trying to get him out more ever since the whole Lucy thing happened.

He's leaving, he wants to go home.

"I think I'll be heading—" Then his phone vibrating in his coat pocket stops him.

Maybe Lucy texted him?

Fuck he's so delusional.

"Actually I'm gonna head out. I have a lot of paperwork." Harry stands up, pulling out his phone.

Danny furrows his brows at his friend.

"But you didn't even touch your drink?"

Harry tells him he has liquor at his place, he can finish his drink at home, not here. He doesn't bother to say any goodbyes to any of his friends. They won't remember it anyways.

He hurriedly swipes open his phone as the cold air hits his face.

19lucy89 has added onto their stories!

Clicking onto her profile made him sick.

He should have deleted Instagram.

He should have blocked her.

But he wasn't strong enough.

She posted a video.

Though it wasn't just any other video. The video showed John on his left knee holding up a ring.

He was fucking proposing.

It was like his whole world came tumbling down.

He had never felt this sick in his life.

Harry used to hate the way rich people would talk about money. They used to say money isn't everything, how it doesn't solve anything and it isn't happiness.

He begged to differ.

He didn't grow up with much. His mother struggled especially.

She was sick and wasn't financially stable for treatment so she died.

He used to think that if they had money she would still be here.

He never told anyone about it. Never spoke about the situation, he always tried to ignore it. Until Lucy came around.

She was the only person he confided in. He cried in her arms.

He didn't understand how she could just leave so easily. He remembers the night she told him, they were in the kitchen when she spoke the truth about how she was still in love with John.

She had said that he was the one that got away and that they needed each other.

She packed up her clothes and left his penthouse.

And that was it.

And now he’s standing outside The Met at 54 years old, pathetically hung up on a woman who left him for some broke waiter in a studio apartment that probably has one fucking bathroom.

A couple bumping into him made him come back to earth. He mutters an apology for blocking the entrance.

Another fucking couple.

He shoves his phone into his pocket with too much force, rolling his shoulders as he takes the steps two at a time, the cold air biting against his skin.

Only Vanessa Garnier would throw a goddamn dinner party at The Met.

He needs to go home.

Needs to drink.

Needs to pretend he didn’t just witness the woman he once loved agreeing to marry a broke fucking waiter.

Harry is already pissed off as he stomps down the Met steps. He’s just trying to leave this godforsaken party, get home, and drown himself in whiskey while pretending he doesn’t care about Lucy’s engagement.

Then—he sees her.

She’s sitting on the steps wrapped up in her own world, scrolling her phone.

She’s alone. Not giggling into her phone like the socialites inside, not throwing herself at men with trust funds bigger than their personalities.

Just…sitting.

And for some reason, it annoys him.

"You’re in my spot."

It wasn't his spot but he was annoyed.

Maybe he was annoyed of seeing people who aren't miserable like him.

She barely looks up.

Just a quick flick of her eyes from her phone to the man standing in front of her, assessing him in a single glance before exhaling softly through her nose—unimpressed and unbothered.

That should have been the end of it.

But it wasn’t.

Since he was already irritated, already on edge, already a step away from either throwing his phone into the street or smashing it against the nearest wall—he stood there, waiting for a reaction that didn’t come.

Nothing.

No wide eyes.

No forced politeness.

No recognition.

Just a woman sitting on the steps of The Met, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights, scrolling through her phone like he wasn’t even there.

His jaw ticked.

"Did you hear me?"

She sighed—actually sighed—as if he was the one disturbing her.

Well he kind of was.

Finally, she lifted her head, phone still in her hand, her gaze settling on him with all the enthusiasm of someone being asked to do a survey on the street.

"Yeah. I heard you."

His brow furrowed. He waited.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t shift.

Didn’t apologize.

Didn’t give him an inch of what he was used to—deference, nervous laughter, people scrambling to please him just because of who he was.

Instead, she blinked once slow and deliberate before tilting her head slightly to the side.

"Pretty sure the city owns these steps."

Harry clenched his teeth.

Of course.

Of course, he’d have to deal with this tonight.

This was not his night.

This was not his fucking night.

He didn’t even know why he was still standing there, why he hadn’t just turned and left. He should be in his car by now, should be halfway home with a drink already in his hand.

But for some reason he wasn’t.

For some reason he sat down instead.

A slow, deliberate movement. A shift of his coat as he lowered himself onto the step beside her, his knee brushing against the fabric of her own red coat as he exhaled sharply.

Her brow lifted slightly, her grip on her phone tightening for a moment as if she was considering whether to acknowledge his presence or simply ignore him altogether.

She settled on the latter.

Good.

Fine.

He didn’t want to talk anyway.

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring out at the street with the same burning resentment that had been sitting in his chest since he walked out of that party.

Another fucking couple passed by.

Laughing. Whispering. Holding hands like they were the only two people in the world.

His grip tightened around his knee. His mouth pressed into a firm thin line.

He should be at home.

He should be anywhere but here.

Instead, he was sitting on the cold steps of The Met beside a stranger who didn’t care that he was Harry fucking Castillo.

He scoffed.

The sound must have been louder than he intended, because this time—she looked at him.

Actually looked at him.

Not just a glance. Not just a flicker of vague recognition before returning to her phone.

No—she studied him, just for a second.

And then…the corner of her mouth twitched.

Not a smile. Not exactly. But close enough.

Close enough for something inside of him to tighten, for his stomach to knot in that irritating way he didn’t like.

She turned back to her phone.

"Rough night?"

He huffed out a sharp breath, shaking his head adjusting his tie even though it wasn’t loose.

"Something like that."

She hummed. Hummed. Like she wasn’t even surprised.

Like she already knew that about him.

Like she had already figured him out.

His teeth clenched.

She didn’t know him.

She didn’t know anything about him.

"What?" His voice was sharper than intended.

She barely reacted. Just tapped her thumb against her screen, scrolling absentmindedly before murmuring

"Nothing."

But it wasn’t nothing.

It was something.

It was definitely fucking something.

Harry exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of his exhaustion settle deeper into his bones.

This night was never going to end, was it?

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.

The sounds of the city hummed around them. Car horns. Distant conversations. The occasional roar of an engine as someone sped down Fifth Avenue.

And then—

"You gonna sit here all night?"

Harry turned his head slightly, catching the amused glint in her eyes as she finally looked at him again.

"Depends," he muttered. "You gonna move?"

She smirked. "Nope."

He exhaled.

Rolled his shoulders.

Ignored the way something unsettled was shifting in his chest.

"Guess I’m staying, then."

And for the first time in a long time—he didn’t mind.

That realization alone should have pissed him off. Should have made him get up, adjust his coat, and leave like he had originally planned.

But he stayed.

The cold air pressed against his skin, sneaking beneath his collar, curling around his fingers where they rested against his knee. The whiskey from earlier still burned slightly in the back of his throat, though it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, to settle the restless storm churning inside his chest.

The silence stretched.

Not an uncomfortable one, surprisingly. But an unfamiliar one.

People didn’t let silence sit with him. They filled it, rushed to fix it, scrambled to find something clever or charming or useful to say because people who sat next to him were always trying to get something from him.

The woman sitting next to him, scrolling through her phone like he wasn’t even there. Like he was just another insignificant part of the city.

That part should have pissed him off.

But it didn’t.

It intrigued him.

He tilted his head slightly, just enough to catch the faint reflection of her screen. Not because he cared what she was looking at—he didn’t—but because he needed a distraction. Any distraction.

A taxi app.

She was waiting for a ride.

She was leaving.

Good.

Great.

That meant he wouldn’t have to sit here much longer, wouldn’t have to keep pretending like this wasn’t some strange, unexplainable moment in his otherwise predictable night.

He could go home, pour himself a drink, scroll through Lucy’s Instagram like a fucking idiot, and pretend he wasn’t still furious.

But—

He didn’t want her to leave.

Not yet.

Not before he figured out why the hell he was still sitting here.

Not before he figured out why she wasn’t miserable like him.

His gaze flicked to her hands, the way she tapped at her screen absentmindedly like she wasn’t in a hurry, wasn’t anxious about the time, wasn’t dreading the ride home.

He wanted to ask where she was going.

He didn’t.

Instead, he spoke before he thought.

"Where do you live?"

She didn’t react at first.

Just kept scrolling.

Then without looking up.

"That’s a weird thing to ask a stranger."

Harry exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly.

"You’re waiting for a cab."

Finally, she turned to him, brow raised. "And?"

He rolled his shoulders, voice even. "I’ll take you home."

A beat of silence.

Then—

She laughed.

Not a giggle. Not a polite chuckle. A real, unfiltered laugh.

Like he’d just told the funniest joke in the world.

Harry’s expression did not change.

"I wasn’t joking."

That just made her laugh harder.

She shook her head, lips twitching as she locked her phone and slid it into her pocket, finally—finally—giving him her full attention.

"You, a man who I met ten minutes ago, are offering to take me home."

Harry blinked, unfazed.

"Yes."

"In your car?"

"Yes."

She exhaled, shaking her head again.

"This is the part where I ask if you're a serial killer."

He smirked, dry and humorless. "Would a serial killer offer?"

"Maybe a dumb one."

He scoffed. "Do I look dumb to you?"

She considered him for a moment. Then—

"A little bit."

Harry almost smiled.

Almost.

Instead, he sighed adjusting the sleeve of his coat as he stared out at the street again.

"Look, I don’t care where you live. I don’t care what you do. And I don’t care if you take the cab or not. But it’s late and I have a driver waiting." He paused. "Take the ride. Or don’t."

She studied him for a moment.

Not like the people at the party, not like the women who assessed him as a prize, a trophy, a walking investment.

No, she was studying him like she was still trying to figure out if he was serious.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why offer?"

Harry clenched his jaw.

Good question.

Why had he?

Because he was restless.

Because he didn’t want to be alone.

Because he wasn’t ready for the night to end.

But he didn’t say any of that.

Instead he said, "Because I can."

She hummed at that, something unreadable passing over her face.

Then to his absolute fucking surprise

She stood.

Pulled her coat tighter around herself.

Looked down at him with a grin.

"Lead the way, then."

The Maybach was parked at the curb, sleek and expensive and definitely out of place for a random stranger sitting on museum steps.

His driver, James barely batted an eye when Harry pulled open the door and gestured for her to get in first.

She hesitated.

Just for a moment.

And then—

She slid into the seat like she did this every day.

Harry followed, closing the door behind them.

James glanced at him through the rearview mirror, silent, waiting.

Harry exhaled, glancing at her.

"Where to?"

She gave him a look.

"Aren't you supposed to be a gentleman and ask for my name first?"

He huffed. "You never asked for mine."

"Because I don’t care."

His lips twitched. "Then why get in the car?"

She leaned back against the leather seat, legs crossed, gaze flicking out the window.

"Because I wanted to see if you'd actually do it."

Harry shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he gave James the silent cue to start driving.

This was insane.

He should have just gone home.

Should have just let her take the damn cab.

But now—he was in a car with a woman who didn’t care who he was, nor his money, didn’t even seem remotely fazed by the fact that she was sitting in a million dollar car with a man who could buy out half the city.

And for the first time all night...

Lucy’s engagement didn’t feel like the worst thing that had happened to him.

The car pulled away from the curb, merging smoothly into the flow of late night Manhattan traffic. The soft hum of the engine filled the space between them, a quiet luxury that most people would have fawned over.

But not her.

She wasn’t running her fingers over the leather seats, wasn’t sneaking glances at him, wasn’t pretending to be indifferent while stealing curious looks.

She just stared out the window, completely at ease.

Harry tilted his head slightly, studying her side profile.

"You still haven’t told me where you live."

She blinked, turning back to him, almost as if she’d forgotten he was even there.

"Oh. Right." She exhaled, stretching her arms slightly before dropping them into her lap. "I’ll just have your driver drop me off at the corner of—"

"Not James." His voice was firm, sharp in a way he didn’t expect.

She raised a brow.

"What?"

"Tell me."

A slow smirk curled at her lips, amusement flickering in her gaze.

"Are you always this controlling?"

"Are you always this difficult?"

Her smirk widened slightly, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she turned to the front of the car.

"Excuse me, take me to—"

"Don’t talk to my driver."

She whipped her head back to him, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"

"He’s not your driver."

She let out a small, sharp laugh, shaking her head.

"You’re serious?"

"Very."

She rolled her eyes, but there was something else there, something interested.

She sighed, crossing her arms, "Fine. Since you clearly need to be the one in control, Lower East Side."

He barely nodded before shifting his gaze back toward the front.

James, wordlessly, made a turn.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Harry leaned back against his seat, stretching out his legs, exhaling slowly as the tension from earlier in the night settled into something quieter.

The city moved past them in streaks of light, taxis cutting through traffic, pedestrians still wandering the streets like the night would never end.

She stayed turned toward the window, her fingers mindlessly tapping against her knee.

The silence should have been comfortable.

But it wasn’t.

Not for him.

Because he was still thinking.

Thinking about Lucy. Thinking about how stupid he felt for still checking her Instagram. Thinking about how much he hated the feeling of losing.

But also—thinking about her.

This woman.

This stranger who got into his car without a second thought, who didn’t care about his money, who didn’t care about him.

That part was what unsettled him the most.

Because he was used to being recognized. Used to being admired, envied, feared.

But she?

She was just here.

Like he was just another man.

Like he wasn’t anything at all.

And for some reason—he wasn’t sure he hated that.

She broke the silence first. "So, what’s your deal?"

Harry exhaled, rolling his head to the side slightly.

"My deal?"

"Yeah." She waved a hand vaguely. "You seem miserable."

"You say that like it’s an observation."

"It is."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Maybe I just don’t like parties."

"Nope."

He arched a brow.

"No?"

"Not just parties. Life."

Harry’s jaw tightened. "Bold assumption."

"Accurate assumption."

His gaze flicked toward her, sharp, assessing.

She met it without hesitation.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then she shrugged.

"Look, I don’t know what rich guy problems you have but you were sitting on those steps like someone had either ruined your life or just rejected your marriage proposal."

Harry stilled.

His fingers twitched slightly against his knee, his pulse slow, heavy.

She didn’t know how close she was.

How dangerously fucking close.

She didn’t know about Lucy. About the proposal he never got to make. About much time he spent believing he was enough only to realize that he wasn’t.

She didn’t know anything.

But she still saw right through him.

And that?

That pissed him off.

"Maybe I just wanted some fresh air." His voice was clipped, sharp.

"Sure." She smirked, looking out the window again. "And maybe I’m a billionaire, too."

Harry inhaled, slow and deep, rolling his head back against the seat, eyes flickering up toward the roof of the car.

"You’re insufferable."

"So I’ve been told."

For a moment, it was quiet again.

Then—

"Was it a girl?"

His brow furrowed.

"What?"

"The reason you were brooding." She tilted her head slightly. "Was it a girl?"

His fingers clenched.

She smirked.

"It was, wasn’t it?"

He clenched his jaw.

"Not everything is about a woman."

"I never said it was." She lifted a shoulder. "You just confirmed it, though."

Harry exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face.

This was insane.

She was insane.

Why was he even still talking to her?

Why hadn’t he just dropped her off and left?

"I don’t do small talk." His voice was firm.

"Good. Me neither."

Then—silence.

Not uncomfortable.

Not forced.

Just…there.

The car slowed as they reached her street.

She shifted slightly, sitting up, unfastening her seatbelt as James pulled over.

For a second, Harry felt something strange.

Something he didn’t want to name.

She reached for the door handle, but before she could push it open—

"Wait."

She paused.

Glanced back at him. Brows lifted, waiting.

Harry swallowed.

"Let me take you to dinner."

Silence.

Her head tilted, lips curving up at the corners. "Are you asking or telling?"

"Does it matter?"

She smirked.

"I guess not."

She pushed the door open, stepping out into the cold.

Harry watched her go, watched as she turned, hands stuffed into her pockets, eyes unreadable as she met his gaze one last time.

Then—

"If you find me again, maybe I’ll say yes."

And just like that—

She was gone.

Harry sat there for a long moment.

Watched the empty space where she had been.

Felt the quiet weight of something new settle over him.

And for the first time in years, he found himself hoping—

That he’d see her again.

And knowing, somehow—

That he would.

#harry castillo #harry castillo x reader #materialists #materialists fanfic #harry castillo x you #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x reader #joel miller writing #joel miller x y/n #joel tlou #pedro pascal fandom #the materialists #the materialists fanfic

1K notes · View notes

heeluvv · 1 month ago

Text

PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY.ᐟ

pairingᝰ.ᐟ yang jungwon x 8th member! reader

warningsᝰ.ᐟ sub! jungwon, overstimulation, inexperienced! jungwon but has an idea, experienced! reader, oral (m n f), unprotected sex, etc. (wc 7.444k)

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

jungwon didn’t think that adding a girl to the group would make things difficult. not logistically, not professionally, not even socially. he thought maybe it’d take some adjusting—new dynamics, different energies—but nothing he couldn’t handle. and at first, he was right.

what he didn’t account for was the shift that started inside him.

he didn’t expect the strange, fluttery sensations that settled in his chest whenever you stood too close. didn’t expect the way his skin would tingle beneath your fingertips when you casually reached out to brush lint from his sleeve, or ruffle his hair like it was nothing, or—god—for some reason always let your hand linger just a second too long on his thigh when you sat beside him. it was innocent. it had to be. at least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

years passed. the group grew closer, tighter, more like a family than a band. but if anything, the feelings only got worse. harder to ignore. he used to brush them off as fleeting, just part of getting used to someone new. but now? now he couldn’t hide it. not from himself.

his heart would beat faster the moment you walked into the room, thumping against his ribs like it was trying to escape. your laugh sent warmth down his spine, curling low in his belly. and when you touched him—so casually, so sweetly, never once noticing the way he stiffened under your fingers—it was like his body betrayed him completely. every soft graze, every playful shove, every gentle lean against his side during long car rides made him ache with a craving he didn’t know how to satisfy.

he should feel guilty for thinking about you like this.

you were his friend. his member. someone he saw nearly every day—hair a mess after practice, yawning over cereal in the morning, soft and sleepy in oversized hoodies during late-night movie marathons. he knew you. really knew you. so it felt wrong, so wrong, to look at you and want more.

he shouldn't be staring at your lips every time you talked to him, eyes flicking down without meaning to, locked on the way they moved—glossy, soft, always tinted some shade that made his throat go dry. he shouldn't be wondering what it tasted like, if it was sweet, if it would stick to his mouth if he kissed you long enough. he shouldn't be imagining the feeling of your lips brushing against his, slow and tentative, or maybe firm and needy—he couldn't decide which fantasy ruined him more.

he shouldn't crave your touch either. not the casual kind you always gave him so freely. not the way your hand would rest on his thigh during group photos, or the way your fingers would toy with his bangs when he was lying on the couch. you probably didn’t even realize you did it. but he noticed. he felt every brush like a spark under his skin, and he hated how badly he wanted more.

so he decided to do something about it.

he waited until the dorm was quiet—just the hum of the fridge, the occasional creak of the walls settling—and sat at his desk, fingers moving quickly across the keyboard. he wasn’t even sure what to search. he hesitated. hovered over the keys, heart racing faster than it should’ve. but then he forced himself to type, vague, simple words. girl rides guy.

he clicked on one of the top results. something basic. nothing too aggressive. just… a start.

the screen lit up with movement—moaning, panting, skin slapping against skin. the woman was on top, knees spread on either side of the man’s hips, bouncing rhythmically. her hands roamed over his chest, his arms, tangling into his hair before dragging down his torso. the man’s hands clung to her ass, squeezing tight, fingers sinking into soft flesh as she rode him faster. her tits bounced with every movement, her expression one of pure pleasure.

jungwon blinked.

he felt the rush, sure. a faint ache stirring low in his stomach, a little throb in his pants that made him squirm in his chair. but it didn’t hit the way he thought it would. it wasn’t you.

his gaze drifted from their faces to their position—bodies tangled, rocking together. he tilted his head, brow furrowed slightly, lips parted in a quiet kind of confusion. it didn’t look natural. it didn’t feel real. something about the way they moved made him question if it was actually supposed to feel good.

he tried. he really tried.

even if it felt awkward, even if it wasn’t quite right, he thought maybe the video would help—maybe seeing it would be enough to guide him. to quiet the ache that had been building for weeks. months, even. anything to dull the heat pooling low in his stomach every time your skin brushed against his. anything to make his thoughts stop circling around you and your soft voice and your wandering hands and your smile that made his chest feel too tight.

his fingers moved clumsily to the waistband of his sweatpants, hesitating for just a second before pushing them down to his thighs. the cotton of his boxers followed next, peeled down slowly, the cool air hitting his half-hardened cock and making him suck in a shaky breath. it twitched a little against his abdomen, needy and unsure, like the rest of him. he wasn’t fully hard yet—just enough to feel the tension, the need for something more.

he clicked through a few more videos, heart racing, mouth dry. eventually, he settled on one. the woman on screen was confident, sensual, her hands wrapping around the man’s cock with practiced ease. she stroked him slowly at first, fingers curling tightly, her thumb pressing against the head, teasing his slit with wet circles. the man moaned. loudly. desperately.

jungwon swallowed hard and tried to mimic her.

his fingers wrapped around himself, cautious, testing. he gave a few slow pumps, thumb brushing over the tip like she had done. a groan slipped from his lips, soft and shaky—but the pleasure didn’t come. not really. it felt dull. disconnected. nothing like what the man in the video was experiencing. nothing like what he imagined you would feel like.

he paused, furrowing his brows. replayed the motion. watched her hand again, studied the grip, the speed, the way her wrist moved. he tried again.

still nothing.

frustration bloomed low in his chest. he shifted in the chair, readjusted his grip, sped up a little—but the tension only tightened in the worst way. like his body was bracing for something that wouldn’t come. like the spark had never caught. his jaw clenched as he scrolled to the comments out of desperation, hoping for something useful, anything that could explain why it wasn’t working. half the terminology made no sense, and the rest was filled with half-baked advice that only made him feel more lost.

he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard through his nose. what the hell was wrong with him? was he broken? was he doing it wrong? why couldn’t he just—

the soft creak of his bedroom door stopped everything.

his whole body jolted, eyes snapping to the doorway as his hand scrambled to cover himself. panic shot through his veins, hot and sharp. and then he saw you.

standing there. eyes wide. lips parted. staring straight at him.

"fuck—i'm sorry, y/n—it's not wh—i didn't mean—" the words tumbled out of him in a breathless rush as he fumbled to tug his boxers back up, one hand diving for the laptop to slam it shut. the screen went dark. his cock, still half-hard and sticky at the tip, disappeared beneath fabric that did nothing to hide the fact that he’d been caught. fully.

you didn’t say anything.

not right away.

you just stared for a moment longer—so quiet, so unreadable—and then, to his utter horror, you let out a soft, amused little giggle.

"you should maybe wear headphones next time," you said, voice smooth as you stepped into the room, shutting the door behind you with a soft click. "also, always lock your door. rookie mistake."

you moved to sit at the edge of his bed like it was nothing. like you hadn't just walked in on him trying to jerk off to porn he didn’t even understand.

jungwon coughed, voice caught in his throat, still too flustered to think straight.

“i-it’s okay…” he muttered, eyes darting anywhere but at you. “it won’t be happening again…”

but you just smiled.

like you knew something he didn’t.

your gaze roamed slowly, deliberately, up and down his body.

he looked like a mess. his chest rose and fell in short, uneven breaths, puffed out in a mix of embarrassment and frustration. the low light of the room cast shadows over his skin, highlighting the soft sheen of sweat forming at his temples. his sweatpants were rumpled, the waistband haphazardly tugged back into place, doing little to hide the obvious outline of his half-hardened cock pressing against the thin fabric. his thighs shifted, restless, as if trying to hide the very thing giving him away.

but it wasn’t just his body—it was the way he looked at you.

like he was trying not to. like it took everything in him not to stare at your mouth, your hands, your eyes. the need in his expression was barely masked, lingering there behind his lashes every time he blinked. and you’d seen it before. you weren’t stupid.

you'd caught on months ago.

the way his breath would hitch when you got too close. the way he’d squeeze his thighs together subtly—so subtly it might’ve fooled anyone else—every time your hand casually settled on them during car rides or movie nights. how his face would flush when your fingers brushed his neck, or the shaky little gasps he'd let out when you leaned in too far, your lips near his ear. it was all so obvious. he just never thought you noticed.

he tried so hard to be composed, to be innocent, but his body gave him away every single time.

and tonight? tonight only confirmed it.

you’d walked past his room with no real intention of stopping—but the sound that spilled from the slightly ajar door made you freeze. a woman’s voice, high and breathy, fake and repetitive. porn. loud and clear. the moans were drawn out, forced, looping over themselves like a broken record. it was awful. but what really caught your attention was the soft, frustrated groan that followed. his voice.

so you peeked inside. just enough to see him fumbling beneath his desk, flushed and flustered and trying so hard to make something happen that clearly wasn’t working.

now, moments later, you sat at the edge of his bed, eyes locked on him as he tried to pull himself together in front of you. he wouldn’t meet your gaze. his lips were parted, breath unsteady, hands fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie like he didn’t know what to do with them.

you let the silence stretch for a second longer, before tilting your head and offering a soft, amused smile.

“you could’ve just asked, wonnie,” you said gently, your voice dipped in teasing warmth.

his entire body tensed. you didn’t miss the way a visible shiver ran down his spine at the nickname—wonnie—the one you only ever used when you wanted to see him squirm.

his eyes finally flicked up to meet yours, wide and unsure. “w-what are you talking about?” he asked, though his voice cracked halfway through the sentence, the words weak and unconvincing.

you didn’t answer right away.

instead, you stood slowly, walking toward him with deliberate steps. he backed up instinctively, and you guided him gently back into the chair behind him. he sat down with a gasp, shoulders tense, legs stiff.

your fingers trailed lightly along the edge of his jaw, tilting his face up to yours. “i could help you with your little problem,” you whispered, leaning in close enough for him to feel your breath against his lips.

his eyes fluttered shut for a second, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. he didn’t move. didn’t answer. just sat there, frozen under your touch, his cock twitching beneath the fabric of his sweats, aching for something—anything—you’d give him.

and you hadn’t even touched him yet.

you leaned in close, your lips brushing the shell of his ear—not kissing, not whispering, just letting your breath hit the sensitive skin there, warm and soft. he froze beneath you, every muscle in his body pulled taut like a bowstring, waiting. anticipating. but you didn’t say a word. instead, you let your hands speak for you.

your fingers began at his arms, slow and deliberate as they dragged from the bend of his elbow up to the curve of his biceps. you took your time, feeling the quiet strength beneath your palms—the way his muscles twitched under your touch, already so reactive. he wasn’t overly built, not bulky, but toned in a way that was subtle and honest. real. you squeezed gently, just to see what kind of noise you could pull from him, and sure enough, he gasped—quiet, but shaky, his lips parting as his chest began to rise faster.

your hands continued their path, now sliding over his shoulders, across his chest, under the loose hem of his hoodie. you tugged it upward, slow and teasing, revealing more of his skin inch by inch. he helped you without a word, arms lifting just enough for you to pull it off completely, the fabric falling somewhere behind you. he was shirtless now, vulnerable in a way that made his breath stutter again, his eyes locked on yours like he didn’t know what to expect next—but needed all of it.

you took a step forward, guiding his legs apart with the gentlest pressure of your knees against his. he opened up for you instinctively, thighs parting just enough for you to slip between them. his cock strained visibly against the fabric of his sweats, twitching helplessly with every shift of his hips, the fabric doing little to hide the swollen shape of him now. his arousal was pulsing through him like a current, alive in his veins, making his skin flush and tingle.

you pressed your hands to his bare chest, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your palms. he was so warm—too warm. and when your fingers flicked gently over his nipples, the reaction was immediate. his hips jerked up slightly from the chair, a startled little moan catching in his throat as his back arched just barely into your touch.

he’d never felt that before. not like this. not so raw, so exposed, so real.

his cock throbbed, painfully hard now, pressed up against the inside of his sweatpants in a way that made him bite his lip and squirm. the ache was unfamiliar. overwhelming. and somehow, it still wasn’t enough.

his hands gripped the armrests of the chair, knuckles white as he tried to hold himself still. to be good. to let you do whatever you wanted with him. and then—your lips.

your mouth met his skin without warning, and the moan that fell from his lips was soft and unguarded, full of shock and something like desperation. your kisses were light at first, just the ghost of your mouth trailing down his chest. his skin was hot beneath your lips, his breathing stuttering with every press.

you took your time, letting your lips move lower, kissing across his sternum, over the curve of his ribs. his stomach tightened beneath the attention, his body trembling as you slowly made your way back up—this time heading for his neck.

and that’s when your kisses changed.

open-mouthed. wetter. slower. your tongue flicked out, just slightly, tracing the edge of his pulse point before your lips closed over it. you sucked gently, and the sound he made was broken—something between a gasp and a whimper, his thighs tensing on either side of you.

“hmm—y/n…” he breathed out, the name barely forming as it slipped from his mouth. his eyes were squeezed shut, brows drawn together, and you could see the tremble in his chest, the way his whole body was fighting to hold itself together.

he was falling apart for you.

and you hadn’t even taken his pants off yet.

his breathing was ragged now, soft pants falling from his parted lips as you dragged your mouth up the column of his neck, your lips still warm and wet from the trail of kisses you left across his chest. he tilted his head instinctively to the side, giving you more room to work with, exposing the delicate skin along his throat like he wanted to offer himself up completely. his hands were still gripping the armrests of his chair like a lifeline, like if he let go, he’d melt into nothing right there beneath you.

you moved slowly, deliberately, letting yourself sink into his lap, the tension in his body instantly spiking as your thighs settled on either side of his hips. he froze beneath you, like he didn’t know where to look, what to do, how to breathe now that you were pressed so close. his hands hovered uselessly at his sides, like he didn’t trust himself to touch you. his eyes were wide, trained on your face like he was still trying to process the fact that this was real—you were real, and you were here, in his lap, looking at him like you already knew every single thought racing through his head.

you leaned in, arms sliding slowly around his neck as you brought his face closer to yours, your breath warm against his lips as you spoke.

“kiss me, wonnie…”

your voice was soft, coaxing, and the second it touched his ears, something in him gave out. his hands gripped the edge of the chair, and he surged forward—clumsy, eager, desperate—his lips pressing against yours with more need than experience. he didn’t know how to move, not really, but he kissed you like he meant it. like he’d dreamed about this a hundred times and never thought it’d actually happen.

he gasped when your hands threaded into his hair, your fingers curling gently as you tilted his head, guiding the kiss deeper. your mouth moved against his slowly at first, letting him feel it—your lips warm, soft, molding to his in a way that made him tremble. you could feel the tension in his shoulders, the way he was trying to hold back, to stay composed, even as his body betrayed him completely.

your tongue flicked across his bottom lip, teasing, tasting. he moaned quietly, lips parting just enough to let you in, and you didn’t waste the chance—you licked into his mouth, slow and confident, letting him feel every inch of it. your tongue brushed against his and he whimpered, the sound caught between surprise and pleasure, his thighs twitching beneath you as his hips shifted upward in a subtle, instinctive movement.

his cock strained against the fabric of his sweatpants, already hard and aching—so much more than he expected. he didn’t even know it could feel like this, didn’t know that a kiss could shoot heat straight to his core, that your mouth on his could make his stomach clench and his skin burn and his thoughts disappear all at once.

he let out another shaky moan, this one higher, softer, and you could feel his body tremble under yours. his hands finally lifted, unsure, then settled on your hips like he needed something to hold onto. he gripped you like you were his anchor, like he might float away if he didn’t keep his fingers pressed into your skin.

you shifted in his lap slightly—just a small grind of your hips, nothing intentional—but the pressure was too much for him. too new. too much heat. too much you.

he tore his mouth from yours with a gasp, his head falling back against the chair as a sharp, broken moan spilled out of him.

“ah—fuck, y/n—”

you froze, your breath catching as you pulled back just enough to look down at him.

his entire body was shaking.

his chest heaved with every breath, his brows pulled tight in shock as his cock throbbed beneath you—once, twice—before he came with a strangled sound, hips jerking weakly up into the air. there was no warning. no buildup. just raw, overwhelming pleasure that ripped through him like a wave, soaking straight through the front of his sweats.

his hands clutched at your waist like he didn’t know whether to hold on or push you away. his mouth was open, lips wet and red from kissing you, his cheeks flushed so dark it nearly reached his ears. he blinked up at you like he didn’t know what had just happened—like he’d just drowned and come back gasping for air.

you stayed quiet for a moment, watching the way his chest rose and fell, the way his eyes blinked slowly, still trying to recover. your gaze flicked down—his sweats were soaked at the front, the outline of his cock still twitching beneath the mess he’d made. all from kissing you.

you pulled back slowly, breath still warm against his flushed skin, before climbing off his lap with a smooth, fluid movement. jungwon let out a soft sound at the loss of contact—half whine, half exhale—as his trembling body sank deeper into the chair, still trying to recover from the kiss that shattered him.

but you weren’t finished with him. not even close.

your hands moved to the waistband of his sweatpants, and this time, he didn’t try to stop you. he watched, wide-eyed and dazed, as you tugged them down with practiced ease. his boxers followed in the same motion, peeled away in one fluid drag that left him completely bare in front of you for the first time.

his cock—still hard, coated in a messy mix of slick precum and the lingering aftermath of his first orgasm—twitched against the cool air, the head flushed a deep, aching red. he gasped softly, hips flinching at the sudden temperature shift, his thighs instinctively pressing together before relaxing again as you settled on your knees in front of him.

you should’ve taken your time. you could’ve teased him more—watched him squirm, dragged it out.

but the moment you got your first full look at him like this, flushed and breathless and so fucking beautiful, you knew you couldn’t wait.

you wrapped your fingers around the base of his cock, the warmth of your hand pulling a ragged moan from his throat. your touch was firmer this time, surer, and he reacted instantly—hips jerking slightly, lips parting in another gasp. you didn’t give him a chance to catch his breath before you leaned in, your lips parting as you took him into your mouth in one slow, purposeful movement.

he cried out.

the sound was loud, broken, echoing in the room like he didn’t even realize it was coming from him. his fingers flew to the edge of the chair again, gripping the armrests so tight his knuckles turned white.

his cock pulsed against your tongue, and fuck, he tasted so good—salty, a little sweet, the mix of his arousal and cum coating your mouth as you let him slide deeper between your lips. you moaned softly around him, letting the vibration hum through his length, and his entire body shuddered from the feeling.

your hand stayed at the base, keeping him steady, while your other hand moved lower—gently cupping his balls, rolling them in your palm as your mouth worked his cock with wet, eager strokes. the mess didn’t bother you. your saliva was already sliding down his shaft, mixing with the cum still clinging to his skin, dripping down onto your fingers and smearing across your lips.

you didn’t care.

you only cared about him—about the way his breath hitched with every glide of your tongue, about the way he whispered your name like a prayer, about the way his thighs trembled as he tried to hold back and couldn’t.

his voice was a mess—gasps and whimpers and soft little please, please sounds that made your core tighten. he was falling apart so quickly, too quickly, but you didn’t slow down. you wanted to ruin him. you wanted to hear what he sounded like when he broke for you.

his face twisted in the most beautiful way, brows furrowed, jaw slack, lips parted around cries he couldn’t hold in. his fingers twitched like he didn’t know where to put them, like he needed to grab something—you, your hair, your shoulders—but was too overwhelmed to move.

he looked so fucked out already, even though this was only the beginning.

“oh—god—y/n, i—I can’t—i think i’m gonna—” he gasped, voice cracking.

and you pulled back just slightly, enough to look up at him through your lashes, your lips still wrapped around the head of his cock as you gave him one more slow, teasing suck before letting him fall from your mouth with a pop.

“you’re gonna cum for me again, baby?” you whispered, your voice wrecked and low, breath brushing his sensitive skin. “already?”

his head dropped back with a shudder, and you didn’t wait—you took him back into your mouth, deeper this time, sucking harder, faster, as your hands worked his length and touched his balls in tandem.

he felt like he was in heaven.

no—beyond that.

like his body wasn’t his anymore. like he was floating, burning, unraveling all at once. every nerve lit up, every breath stolen from his lungs, his thoughts reduced to nothing but you—you and your mouth and your hands and your eyes, locked on his face like you never wanted to look away.

his vision blurred, a thin sheen of tears clinging to his lashes from how overwhelmed he felt, how good you made him feel. it was too much, and not enough. his entire body was trembling, overstimulated from his first orgasm, but still so desperate for more. because this? you? this was unlike anything he had ever known.

the videos had never helped. cold, flat, impersonal. watching strangers move with mechanical rhythm, forced moans and dead eyes. he never understood the hype. never understood the pleasure. his own hand barely brought him relief—awkward, uncertain touches that left him aching rather than satisfied.

but this?

having you take him into your mouth with that hunger, that confidence… it wrecked him. completely.

you were a mess—hair tousled, lips swollen, chin glistening with his release. the taste of him was still heavy on your tongue, the heat of his cum still coating your mouth from the first time. and even with your face marked by it, even with saliva and arousal smeared across your cheeks, your eyes never left his. not once. you looked at him like he was precious. like he was yours.

and it broke something in him.

his hips jerked suddenly, uncontrollably, as the pressure built too fast, too intense. you didn’t stop—you couldn’t. your hands tightened around him, mouth sucking hard around the flushed head of his cock, and that was all it took.

“y/n!” he cried out, louder this time, voice cracking on the syllable as his body convulsed under your touch.

his orgasm hit him like a tidal wave.

this one was so much more intense—stronger, messier, desperate. his entire body bucked into your mouth, his thighs shaking violently beneath your hands as thick, hot ropes of cum filled your mouth in fast, heavy pulses. you tried to swallow—god, you tried—but there was so much, and he wouldn’t stop cumming, and you couldn’t breathe fast enough.

it spilled out, leaking from the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin and onto your hand, warm and sticky and so incredibly filthy. he was still gasping, body twitching with aftershocks as tears slipped down the corners of his eyes—his expression one of pure disbelief, lips parted, brows drawn together in an overwhelmed mix of pleasure and shame and awe.

you pulled off him slowly, letting his softening cock fall from your lips with a soft, wet sound. his cum coated your mouth and your skin, warm and slick as you wiped it from your chin with the back of your hand, licking your lips without a second thought.

you looked up at him.

and he looked wrecked.

his chest was heaving, hair sticking to his forehead, mouth still trembling from the sounds he couldn’t quite stop making. his arms had gone limp at his sides. and the second your eyes met his again, he whimpered—small and broken and so, so in love with the way you ruined him.

you wanted more.

god, you needed more.

seeing him like this—so soft, so fragile, completely wrecked and trembling in the aftermath of his second orgasm—only made your hunger spike. his skin was flushed, sweat-damp and glowing under the low light, and his cheeks were streaked with tears he hadn’t even realized he’d shed. his chest rose and fell in ragged, shallow breaths, lips parted, eyes wide and glassy as he looked up at you like you were some kind of dream.

and you were going to ruin him.

“you look pretty when you cry, wonnie,” you murmured, voice warm and unshaken as your fingers trailed up his jaw to brush away the wetness on his cheek. he shuddered under your touch, blinking up at you with a sound caught in his throat—like he didn’t know how to respond. like no one had ever said anything like that to him before.

you stood, hands reaching for the hem of your shirt, and peeled it off slowly. his breath hitched the moment the fabric cleared your chest, exposing the soft swell of your breasts, full and flushed and so fucking real. his eyes dropped immediately, devouring every inch of skin now on display. his lashes fluttered, lips trembling again as his gaze trailed lower—past the slope of your stomach, to the curve of your hips, and finally, between your thighs.

when he saw your bare pussy, slick with need, glistening in the soft light—he whimpered.

actually whimpered.

a broken, high-pitched sound that spilled from his lips before he could stop it, like his brain short-circuited just from the sight of you.

you smirked softly, stepping closer, watching the way his eyes never left your body. you climbed back into his lap, slowly this time, knees bracketing his hips, your hand wrapping gently around the base of his still-hard cock. he gasped at the contact—so sensitive, so spent, and yet still so desperate for you. your other hand cupped his cheek, thumb brushing his lower lip as you guided him to look at you.

“you want me to take you, baby?” you asked, voice soft, low. “want to feel me for real?”

he nodded frantically, chest rising faster now, lips parting in a breathless plea. “please… i wanna feel you… need to feel all of you…”

you lined him up, dragging his tip through your folds slowly—once, twice—coating him in your arousal before you sank down onto him in one long, slow motion.

his head dropped back.

his mouth fell open.

a sob of a moan escaped him.

“f-fuck… y/n—oh my god—”

he was crying again. tears spilling fresh from his lashes as you took him in fully, the tight, wet heat of your pussy wrapping around him for the first time. he trembled under you, both hands flying to your waist like he was afraid you’d vanish if he didn’t hold on tight enough. his fingers dug into your skin, not harshly, but with a kind of quiet desperation—needing to feel you, all of you, chest to chest, skin to skin.

you moaned softly as you settled into his lap, your walls pulsing around him from the stretch, your hands resting on his shoulders to steady yourself. his cock filled you perfectly, thick and flushed and twitching deep inside of you as his hips jerked slightly, instinctively.

he looked up at you through wet lashes, eyes wide with awe, with disbelief, with a trembling kind of gratitude that made your heart ache. his lip trembled as he whispered your name, like it was the only word he could remember.

you leaned in, wrapping your arms around his neck, letting your chest press against his as you cradled his face gently between your hands. his arms came around you instantly, pulling you in tighter, like he wanted to feel every inch of your bare body against his own. like he wanted to memorize how it felt to be this close.

you didn’t move at first.

you just let him sit there—your pussy wrapped around his cock, his arms locked around your waist, both of you pressed chest to chest. you could feel his heartbeat pounding beneath your fingertips, could feel the way his cock twitched deep inside you, overstimulated and desperate but craving more. his breath came in soft, stuttering pants, lips parted, eyes fluttering like he was trying to keep them open but couldn’t stay focused on anything except the way your warmth squeezed around him.

you leaned in, your nose brushing his, your lips ghosting over his mouth.

“look at me, wonnie,” you whispered, your voice sweet and gentle as you cupped his face. “don’t look away.”

his eyes opened, glazed with tears and pleasure, and locked onto yours. you kissed him softly—slow, with purpose—pressing your mouth to his like you had all the time in the world. he gasped into the kiss, and you swallowed the sound, deepening it with a roll of your hips that made both of you moan.

it wasn’t fast. it wasn’t rough.

you rocked into him slowly, deliberately, letting him feel every single inch of you as you moved your hips in smooth, grinding circles. he felt everything—the way your walls hugged him tight, the slick drag of your heat around his cock, the soft press of your tits against his chest, your lips moving against his like you wanted to breathe him in.

his mouth was messy on yours now—wet, open, sloppy kisses that had no rhythm, only hunger. your tongues tangled, your teeth scraped, your breath mingled in shaky exhales as you kept grinding down on him in that perfect, slow rhythm that made him sob into your mouth.

you pulled back just enough to whisper against his lips, your eyes still locked on his.

“you feel so good inside me, baby,” you murmured, dragging your fingers through the sweat at the back of his neck. “so full. so deep. you’re perfect.”

he let out a broken moan at that, his head falling forward onto your shoulder. his arms tightened around your waist, pulling you even closer, like he needed to be as close to you as humanly possible.

“you’re doing so well for me, wonnie,” you whispered into his ear, your lips brushing against his skin. “taking me so well. look at you… crying again, just from the way i’m riding you.”

he whimpered—literally whimpered—against your shoulder, his hands roaming your back now, touching every inch of skin he could reach. he was trembling, his body trying to stay still while you moved so slowly, so carefully on top of him. each roll of your hips dragged another soft moan from his throat, his cock pulsing inside of you, so close to the edge but too scared to fall over it again.

you pulled back again, grabbing his chin gently to force him to look at you.

“keep your eyes on me, baby,” you said. “you’re not cumming without watching me fall apart with you.”

his lips parted like he wanted to say something—maybe a please, maybe your name—but you kissed him again before he could speak. this time deeper, wetter. your tongue pushed into his mouth, claiming him, making him shiver beneath you.

and as you rode him slowly, your lips never left his.

the kiss turned filthy fast—his moans muffled by your mouth, your spit mixing with his as you sucked on his tongue, dragging your nails softly down his back. his hips bucked up helplessly, chasing your movements even as he cried from how overwhelmed he was.

“so good for me,” you whispered when you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, your lips swollen and wet. “you’re being so good, wonnie. i’ve never felt anything like this. you’re making me feel so fucking good.”

he whined—loudly—and you knew he was close.

you picked up the pace just a little, grinding down harder, bouncing softly in his lap, your pussy fluttering around him as his cock throbbed with every movement.

“cum for me again, baby,” you whispered. “give it to me. give me everything.”

and the second your walls clenched around him, the second you moaned his name into his mouth—he shattered.

his mouth dropped open, eyes rolling back as his entire body locked up beneath you, another orgasm ripping through him with a strangled cry. hot cum spilled into you, thick and endless, his hips jerking erratically as you milked every last drop from him with slow, delicious rolls of your hips. he held onto you like he was drowning, sobbing into your shoulder as his cock twitched inside of you, so full, so sensitive, so wrecked.

he was still trembling in your arms, both of you bathed in the afterglow of his release. his body was a little limp beneath you, his chest rising and falling with soft, uneven breaths, but his eyes? they were still wide, still locked on you—still holding that quiet, desperate need that hadn’t yet been satisfied.

he kissed you again, gently, his lips brushing against yours with that same tender urgency as before. but this time, when he pulled away, there was something different in his gaze.

something new.

you saw the shift in his expression, the hesitation mixed with desire, as he glanced down at your body, at the way you were still so open, so warm, so inviting. his eyes flickered to your hips, to your thighs, then back to your face, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“y/n…” he whispered, his voice thick with a mix of uncertainty and something else—something deeper. “can I… can I…?”

he didn’t finish the sentence, but you saw what he was asking. he wanted to return the favor. he wanted to make you feel the same way you’d made him feel—completely undone, but this time, with his mouth.

a soft smile curled at the corner of your lips. “of course, wonnie,” you murmured, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “but if you’re nervous, we can take it slow.”

he shook his head, determination flickering in his eyes. “no, i want to… i need to.”

you let him guide you gently, your body moving as he shifted you into his arms, his hands running over your sides as he helped you onto the bed. you settled against the sheets, propped up on your elbows, watching as he climbed between your legs.

his gaze was hungry, but there was still that same uncertainty behind it, as if he wasn’t sure how to start, but was too eager to stop. you saw the way his breath hitched as he hovered over you, his eyes moving from your face to your core, and you couldn’t help but smile softly.

“just take your time, wonnie,” you whispered, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair. “you don’t have to rush.”

he stood with you in his arms and carried you the short distance to his bed.

he laid you down softly, his hands lingering on your waist, eyes scanning your body like he still couldn’t believe this was real. his lips brushed your inner thigh as he knelt between your legs, and you gasped softly at the warmth of his breath, the look of pure focus on his face as he stared at your pussy—wet, swollen, messy with his cum and your slick.

“you’re so pretty,” he whispered, mostly to himself, and you saw his tongue flick across his lips before he looked up at you again. “just… tell me if i’m doing anything wrong, okay?”

you gave him a small nod, encouraging him without a word, and that was all it took.

he kissed the sensitive skin of your thigh first, just a soft brush of his lips against you, before he moved closer, more eager now. his hands gripped your hips gently, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he pressed his face between your legs. when he finally made contact with your pussy, his tongue was a tentative, unsure swipe, not quite sure how to navigate the new territory but too lost in the taste of you to stop.

he moaned against you, the sound vibrating through your body, and it made you shiver in his grasp. he was messy, unsure at first—his tongue moving awkwardly, pressing against you too hard, then too soft, but you could feel his desperation. his eagerness to please you, to make you feel as good as you’d made him feel.

“it’s okay, baby,” you whispered, your hand running through his hair again. “just… relax. i’ll guide you.”

he nodded against you, his lips trembling as he pulled back just enough to look up at you. his eyes were wide, full of innocence and something else—need, desire. he wanted to learn, wanted to make you feel everything, even if he wasn’t perfect at it yet.

so you guided him. you showed him how to move, how to swipe your folds with his tongue, how to apply pressure just right, how to circle his tongue around your clit with slow, patient strokes. you could feel him getting more comfortable with each passing second, his movements becoming more confident, more certain. the moment his tongue flicked over your clit, soft and gentle, you couldn’t help the moan that left your mouth, your head falling back against the pillow.

he heard it, and it made him hum in satisfaction, the sound of his pleasure in the way he ate you out sending waves of heat through your body. he was still messy, his tongue dragging over you in uneven strokes, but it felt so good—so good. the warmth of his mouth on you, the way he moaned and gasped as he tasted you, filled you with a new kind of desire, one that had you writhing beneath him.

“you’re doing so good, baby,” you gasped, hips bucking against his mouth. “fuck—just like that. you’re making me feel so good…”

he made a sound against you, a muffled whimper, and you looked down to see him watching you through hooded eyes, completely lost in the way you responded to his touch. you smiled down at him, your chest heaving as your hand tangled in his hair again, guiding him with soft tugs as you moaned his name.

“that’s it, baby… just like that. you’re doing so good, wonnie…”

the praise sent a rush of heat through his body, and you could feel him pushing deeper, his tongue flicking faster, more sure of himself now, his movements eager and desperate. you could tell he was loving every sound you made, every tremor of your body beneath him, and it only made him work harder.

you could feel the pressure building in your stomach, the heat intensifying as your orgasm crept closer, but you didn’t want to rush it. you wanted him to feel every moment, every inch of you, just like you had for him.

“keep going, baby,” you gasped, your back arching slightly as you rode his mouth. “don’t stop.”

he didn’t. he kept going, and the way he made you feel—messy, overwhelmed, taken—was enough to send you spiraling. your orgasm hit you suddenly, crashing over you like a wave, and you couldn’t help the loud moan that escaped your lips as you came on his tongue, your body trembling beneath him as he worked you through it, his hands still gripping your hips to hold you against his mouth.

you panted heavily, chest rising and falling as he looked up at you, his face flushed, eyes wide and full of pride. he’d done it. he’d made you feel like that.

and even though he was still learning, still new, you knew he was the one who had given you the most real, unfiltered pleasure you’d felt in a long time.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ hoped y'all liked it !!

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