#you have to somehow still make it your own ...

[lay-z]

How your men experience their first Father’s Day after you’ve given birth to the twins.  

The only ones who remember are Kyle and Johnny, because they’re still in contact with their families and actually care about their fathers—yet they’re oblivious to their own situation. 

They’re all fathers now, all four. It’s been decided since they made you theirs three years ago. 

Still, it’s surreal to them, the fact that they’re considered dads now, so they’re just as baffled as John and Simon when you suddenly go out of your way to make their day special despite your own exhaustion. 

John, who’s usually the first one up while the rest of the house is either eerily silent or filled with a snoring concert given by three other men, saunters into the kitchen after finding your spot in the martial bed empty and the nursery, too.  

His expression turns the slightest bit sour, not knowing where you and the babes have gone this early without telling anyone, though as soon as the smell of freshly brewed coffee and waffles hits his nostrils along with his favorite sounds reaches his ears—your gentle cooing and the adorable babbles of his babies—John Price is an absolute goner. 

Your eyes light up with glee as soon as you see his reaction. “Good morning, papa,” you greet him, standing behind the two highchairs of your babies, their chubby cheeks and mouths covered in waffle crumbs and mushed strawberry pieces. “Sleep well?” 

“I–” John’s chest feels terribly tight at the sight in front of him, how your eyes shine so brightly, and how his children smile their gummy smiles, babbling happily as soon as they notice him, too.  

“Your chipmunks are saying Happy first Father’s Day, daddy!”  

His throat clicks as he swallows hard trying to keep himself from tearing up. Words fail him as he stands there, love and gratitude blossoming fiercely in his chest and warming him up from the inside out until it burns in his fingertips and he can’t keep himself from approaching you and his babies, pulling you into a bear hug and kissing you slow and deep before smooching both his chipmunks’ chubby, sticky cheeks until they squeal. 

While John has breakfast and watches over the twins, you go upstairs after hearing the toilet flush. 

The ensuite bathroom door is cracked open; light spills into the bedroom, illuminating the silhouettes of Simon and Johnny still sleeping soundly in bed. 

It’s not easy to sneak up on a Special Forces operator, but somehow you manage while Kyle is bending over the sink, rinsing out his mouth after brushing his teeth, and his soul nearly leaves his body as he jumps and barks a high-pitched yelp. 

There’s some movement and rustling of bedsheets coming from behind, but your focus is on Kyle as you grin at him. 

“Bloody Christ, baby,” he curses under his breath, clutching his beating heart. “Nearly gave me a heart attack.” 

You chuckle, stepping up to him until your chests nearly touch. “Skittish, are we?” 

Droplets of water drip off his chin, nostrils flaring as he glares at you for a few seconds—until his lips split into a bedazzling smile and his hazel eyes light up like fireworks in the night sky. 

“Cheeky minx,” he chuckles whilst slinging an arm around your waist to pull you flush against his solid frame. “G’mornin’.” 

You’re swift to reciprocate the embrace, wrapping your arms around his midriff before nuzzling against his sternum while warmth and the smell of sleep and comfort are still clinging to him. 

“Good morning, baby.” You mumble into his shirt. “Happy Father’s Day. I already made a special breakfast for my sweet, sexy hubbies.” 

But Kyle’s brain has already short-circuited as he realizes what day today is, and his fingers flex around your waist, needing to ground himself as his heart flutters rapidly in his chest, full of love and awe for the extraordinary little family he’s claimed for himself.  

And he embraces you tighter, burying his nose into the crown of your hair with a sigh. 

“Thank you, my love.” 

When Kyle parts from you, though not without another lingering smooch to your lips after absolutely railing your mouth with his swift tongue, to go downstairs to see his precious babies, you pad into the still semi-dark bedroom instead, crawling onto the custom-built bed toward the source of gravelly snoring. 

Simon must have snuck out while you were busy with Kyle, because now it’s only Johnny in bed, still splayed out on his stomach and with his head buried under his pillow. 

“Johnny,” you croon against his neck before playfully biting into the delicious thickness of his nape, eliciting a soft hum that dissolves into a whine when his body begins to stir. “Wakey, wakey, Johnny.” 

“Mhmmmpf–uuuck.” He burrows deeper under the pillow but pads his burly hand across the mattress uncoordinatedly, trying to snatch you up blindly. “Jus’ c’mere, hen.” 

A shriek escapes you when he does manage to catch your wrist only to roll onto his side and pull you in with ease, murmuring into your hair: “Thought ye could escape me, hm?” He chuckles darkly. “Nae.” His voice is even more attractive like this, rough and rich, hot gun oil dripping over gravel. It causes your thighs to squeeze together, and your breath hitch when arousal pools into the gusset of your panties while his limbs coil around you like a bloody snake. 

You tap out against his forearm that is now tucked under your chin. “I yield, J-Johnny!” He laughs again, a little louder when you bite into his arm, tugging on coarse body hairs.  

“S’tha’ how ye alway gonna wake me up on ma special day, duckie?” he coos, tightening his hold as you try to squirm only to end up mewling pathetically—which you’re aware is already a dangerous sound to make around Johnny. “Gonna make me a da again, hm? Want me ta fuck ye while our boys are havin’ a cuppa?” You can’t bite your lip hard enough to keep in your moan as he grinds the swelling bulge inside his boxers against your rear. “Have ye waddle ‘round the house while ye carryin’ our babe again?” 

Once you mew out a pathetic little ‘yes, daddy’, it’s over for you.  

By the time you’re able to walk and somewhat presentable again, Johnny is whistling a merry tune under the shower while you clutch the stair-rail as you make your way downstairs once more. 

John is reading the newspaper at the head of the kitchen table, still sipping on a coffee, Kyle is seated across from him, scrolling on his phone while nibbling on a buttered toast, and the twins are nowhere to be seen. 

“Had fun, baby?” Kyle asks cheekily while you blink away the post-orgasm daze. “Where are our children?” 

“Hm?” The newspaper crinkles when John peeks over the edge at you, the crunch of Kyle biting into his toast filling the tense silence before you gesture at the empty highchairs. “Our babies? They can barely walk, so I feel stupid to ask where did they go.” 

“Ah,” Kyle chimes in, wiping crumbs from his mouth. “Simon,” he swallows thickly, “said he’ll put ‘em down f’nap time.” 

“By himself?” you ask incredulously, brows furrowing. “They’re blessed with three daddies and–” 

“Darlin’,” John cuts you off before you can go on a rant, and your lips shut as you meet his stern, steel blue gaze. “Simon needs a moment alone with them. Okay?” 

Now that really shuts you up, and you nod after a moment, feeling utterly stupid for not even considering that today could mean even more to Simon than it does to your other husbands. 

The kitchen becomes livelier when Johnny joins the bunch; mohawk still damp, rocking sweats and a muscle shirt along with a shit-eating grin. He places a wet peck on your cheek before cupping your jaw and turning your face for a proper kiss. 

“Woah, woah, haven’t ya had enough yet, Tav?” Kyle complains, coming up behind you two while John watches in amusement. “Never,” Johnny retorts with a snort before grabbing Kyle by the back of his neck and crashing their mouth together in a bruising kiss—all while you can merely squeak at John for help, sandwiched between their bulky bodies. 

When you manage to escape the usual kitchen chaos, you make your way upstairs, coming to a soft stop in front of the door to the nursery. As you press your ear to the wooden door, you can hear the low murmur of Simon’s voice, though you can’t quite make out what he’s saying. 

The door creaks the slightest bit as you open it carefully to slip inside, and the sight that greets you nearly takes your breath away by the way your heart clenches so tightly. 

Simon is standing by the twins' cribs with his back turned towards you, his massive frame barely illuminated by the soft glow of the teddy bear night lamp on the nearby commode. 

He’s simply been talking to his babies. 

Slowly, you approach him on socked feet, your steps nearly silent on the plush carpet except for the trademark crack of one of your knees. As soon as you’re close enough, you embrace him from behind and rest your cheek against his shoulder blade while he slowly starts melting against you. 

“You deserve it just as much, Si,” you whisper, tightening your arms as best as you can. “Happy Father’s Day.” 

And you can feel how he inhales sharply, how his body tenses for a few seconds, before he relaxes again. The click of his throat loud in the otherwise quiet room as he swallows thickly, cupping his larger hands over yours and intertwining your fingers. 

“Thank–Thank you, lovie,” he sniffles quietly. 

And you both end up watching your beautiful babies sleep peacefully. 

I know it's too early, but Father's Day was last week here in Germany, so—Happy Father's Day! ❤️

[beautifullilacsky]

"did you cry? What's wrong baby"

I have no clue how he could tell. My eyes weren't red or puffy, yet it was the first thing he asked. He tells me I am like an open book to him, he knows me for a bit.

There is a certain safety in his knowing arms. To be known so well that he can tell every single time something is up.. it's a deep level of safety, beloning, love,... the feeling of being known. For him to care about me enough to get to know me to that extend.

I have spend my life hiding my sadness, at times more than other instances. To now have someone who sees right through it all, and wants to understand and help me feel better.. I have people who care for me; sure. Though for my lover to hold me so dear, is deeper than just an "are you okay?" From anyone else.

I don't know how to explain it. It's like the words are locked somewhere inside of me. Maybe the feeling of being known is love. Maybe this is his way of loving me, and maybe I feel deeply loved just like this. Maybe that's the part that seems to be missing; the actual feelings of love that I am not truly allowing in. It's a topic I come back to again and again. Though, why do I need to hear it if I can see it in moments like these? I don't know why the moments alone never seem to feel perfectly enough in the end. Aren't moments and actions more important than the words? Imagine if he were to tell me that he loves me, but would never notice the different switches in my mood. Sure, he'd say the words, but I'd feel alone in my feelings, being able to hide them away from him. Imagine he told me that he loved me, but he did not buy me the specific shape and color of bananas he knows I prefer. What if he were to say that he loves me, but he didn't have any interest in my wellbeing.

Something in me is craving for the words so intensely, the bigger part of me forgets to check the unspoken words that show through his actions. The unsatisfied part inside of me starts screaming louder and louder, just hoping she can get both; actions AND words. Something in her has attached an immense amount of importance to it. As if, if they aren't there, the bigger picture shrinks. As if the base of the painting is words of affirmation, or words filled with love, and the paint of actions won't properly hold without the base. If only the base were to be there, she canvas would stay white. The actions are important to show that the words actually are true. Though, somehow, the actions seem empty without the words. They aren't as noticeable As they'd be with the base. Some actions are more vibrant, and are still able to stain the paper with it's bright, loving colors. Though, the tinier, more subtile colors don't seem to hold well. They are quickly fading, and the white of the base-less background sucks in and absorbs all the beautiful pastel colors that the actions left on the canvas. The white screams through it, pulling all the focus towards it. It isn't fair. How could that be fair? Though, the white has been patient, and eventually didn't have a choice but to become louder, more pronounced. I honestly wish the basecoat wasn't necessary. I wish I could thrive without it. It would be great if I could despise the words the way you do; that'd make it all so easy. Though, for you, those words make your canvas heavy, filling it up with black, deep stains. For you, the words present you with pressure, uncertainty, and unreasonable responsibility. For me, the absence of them fills me with... an empty spot which craves to be consumed by love.

Where lies our perfect compromise? Or do we both just wish to slowly move to our own preferences? I know that secretly, I would want you to tell me you love me, even without me saying it first. And if I could hope for more than that, I'd want to hear it at least once a day. Though, we already concluded that you don't want it to be a thing that's said multiple times a day. In what time and space are both of our wishes respected? Baby, I do want to understand and respect your vision. Though the white is screaming louder and louder. It's yelling me into a corner, making me feel like it's all-consuming. It makes my chest tighten and my eyes fill with tears, the emotions needing to find a way out. I want to be on your side. On ours, not just selfishly on mine.

the intimacy of "how do you know that?"

"because I know you."

[whatsverstappeningnow]

better together

lando norris x oscar piastri x reader

You wanted them both. At once. You weren’t sure they’d say yes. Turns out, they’ve been waiting for you to ask.

-> cw: smut, DP, slightly subby Oscar, no reference to birth control but its there (wrap before you tap people), 18+ content (you are incharge of your own content consumption, not me)

“Feels so good, love,” Oscar whispers into the crook of your neck, voice hoarse and whinny against your skin. “So good.”

“You hear that, baby? You’re taking him so well he can barely speak,” Lando says from behind you, a lilt of mocking in his voice overshadowed by the soft touch of his hands over your bare waist.

You’re held up between the two of them, Lando behind and Oscar in front holding you up with a strong grip on your thighs—already settled deep inside you. Your arms are wrapped around Oscar‘s neck, head leaning back against Lando’s shoulder. All clothes have been discarded long ago.

The older boy laughs lightly at the glazed-over look in your eyes, mind dazed already simply from having Oscar deep inside you and both of them so close.

“You want to tell him how good he feels too?” Lando whispers to you before he dips down to press soft kisses to your neck. 

“’S Good. So deep, Osc,” is all you can manage to get out. Though Oscar can only moan in response, so you suppose you win. 

“You still wanna try, baby? Think you can take us both?” Lando asks, thumbs rubbing calming circles on your hips. "You want us to make you feel good together?”

You’ve already talked about it at length. The awkwardness you felt when summoning the courage to ask them to try taking both of them at once was quickly forgotten when you saw the dark look in their eyes at the request.

Oscar, terrified of hurting you, had been slightly hesitant. But he was reassured by the both of you: you’d go slow, you could always stop. There was no pressure.

A hand on the inside of his thigh and a soft don’t you want me? from you was enough to convince him completely. 

They wanted it. You wanted it. 

“Yes,” you mumbled softly, melting into their brace and feeling soft kisses against your neck and collarbone from the both of them.

“What was that, sweetheart?” Lando said again, pretending not to hear.

“Please. Yes, please.” 

It's Oscar who breaks first, one of his hands slipping from your thigh to grab Lando’s bicep, “Please Lan, no more teasing. Need you both.”

Somehow, impossible, the two press closer into you, the pressure between you three keeping you up in the air while Lando lines up at your entrance. You tense slightly, feeling him, a sudden unexpected pit of nerves settling in your stomach.

Lando is quick to calm you. “Breathe, love. You’ve got us. We’re right here.”

“Tell us if it’s too much. We’ll stop. Just say the word. Yeah?” Oscar adds, his voice soft and careful, but his touch hot against your skin. You can barely feel where you end and he begins. Your three bodies feel so connected and in tune, thatit’s hard to disguise one from the other. 

Then slowly, so, so slowly, Lando pushes in. Your whole world turns erupts in pleasure. Their words swirl around you, lost to the feeling of complete fullness. Complete pleasure.

“You’re being so good for us, love.”

“Look at you. So fucking pretty like this, stuffed full and still asking for more.”

“That’s it, let us hear you. Wanna hear how we make you feel. Every little sound you make…”

“You’re shaking, love. Is it too much? Or just that good?” Lando says it right into your ear, unmistakable as he finally fully settles inside of you. 

“Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop. I need you. Both of you.”

“You have us,” Oscar replies, kissing your shoulder once and shifting slightly inside you, causing you to moan low and long.

You stay like that for a while, holding each other, breathing deeply, whispering sweet things. Until eventually…

“Move,” you beg. And they do. 

It's all too much, and just right all at once. Quickly, they settle into a pace, a rhythm. The smell of sweat and love fills the air, hanging over the room. Hands roam and hold you tightly, gripping your waist, your thighs, your ass, your hands, pushing back your hair and caressing your jawline. 

Each time you think it's too much, their sweet words pull you back to yourself. Each touch feels perfect.

"Harder," you beg, lost to the feeling of them both spliting you open. It's better than you could have ever imagined.

Their speed picks up, ramming into you in unison and causing your breath to get stuck in your throat. You swear you can see stars. You're body twitches and squirms with each thrust, sentive to every little sensation.

“You're clenching so hard," Oscar groans out, his rhythm stuttering slightly, "I'm not, god, I'm not gonna last."

"Fuck, same," Lando admits, some of his earlier cockiness slipping away from him as you whine again at the feeling of both of their cocks bottoming out inside you at once.

"I can take it. Want to. Want both of you." You reassure them with breathy words, grabbing onto any part of them you can until.

"Fuck."

Their climax hits so suddenly that their groans are the only thing you can hear. The whole world seems to come to a stop as they hold you tightly, breathing deeply through their high. Time feels stuck in this moment. It's perfect.

"You still with us, love?" Lando asks, voice hoarse and tired. All you can do is hum lightly and lean into Oscar's touch as he cradles your cheek with his hand.

"Gonna pull out? Ok?" And once you nod slightly, you feel the emptiness fill you up soon after. You groan at the sudden loss.

Soon, you're moving. Strong arms cradle and place you softly down on the bed. One of them, Lando, you think, settles behind you, resting up against the headboard. He pulls you back till your back hits his chest. Hands glide across your body, tracking down your neck and chest and landing on the inside of your thighs, pushing them apart slightly. 

"You haven't come yet darling, can we help with that?" he whispers to you as Oscar settles in front of you, eyes shining and lips glossy with spit. You can only nod. 

After a sweet kiss to your lips, gentle and kind, Oscar goes down. 

You're still so sensitive from having both of them inside of you, it barely takes any time for your climax to hit. Your legs shake with pleasure, your muscles tighten and then suddenly, all at once, relax completely. You let out a breath of peace. 

Oscar collapses on top of you, his head on your chest and his hand interlocking with yours. The pressure feels like safety. You all lie there for a moment, breathing and tracing each other's skin with gentle hands. Soft kisses are pressed to your temple, and you can't help but smile at the feeling.

"I think I could stay right here forever," Oscar whispers, lips ticklish against your neck. 

“You okay? You with us?” Lando asks again, a hand running through Oscar's hair and then intertwining with your free hand.

“I don’t think I can walk," you joke, voice coming back to you as you feel the tiredness settle in you."

Oscar answers before Lando can. "We’ll carry you. Wherever you need.”

You laugh lightly at the words. You should have a bath, clean up, but you can't find it in you to care. Your limbs are too tired and your mind is completely at ease.

You let your eyes slip closed, your hand still wrapped in Oscar’s, your back pressed to Lando’s chest. They’re so close, so constant. It feels like they’re holding you together even as you start to drift off.

Sleep takes you slowly. It comes easily, wrapped in warmth, steady breaths, and the quiet thrum of being wanted completely, without question, without end. 

please be kind, this is my first ever attempt at smut! - ree

[enwoso]

victory tastes like… | alessia russo (18+)

honestly got a bit carried away icl.. but this is an 18+, contains top!alessia, bottom!reader, swearing, oral (r receiving) fingering (r receiving) thigh riding (a receiving), dirty talking, a lot of build up, teasing, nipple play? i think, and more. buckle up its a long one:)

masterlist

alessia strides through the afterparty like she owns the night — and maybe she in a way does. a victorious beauty, radiant in the low light, her hair twisted into a messy bun that somehow makes her look even more effortless. her toned legs, on full display in a pair of barely-there denim shorts, catch more than a few eyes. but hers? they were locked on you.

you see her way before she reaches you, that smug, post-win glow clinging to her like perfume. she's flushed from champagne and the high of victory, lips already curled into that cocky grin that never fails to make your knees a little wobbly.

alessia doesn't hesitate, slipping through the crowd of her teammates and family members who are all dancing and singing proudly.

alessia with a predator's grace found you, a colourful cocktail in your hand as you lingered closer to the back of the group as alessia is pulling you into her.

her arm wind tightly around your waist, her body warm against yours, and her champagne flute clinks softly as it brushes your side.

"missed you," she murmurs, it slightly raspy from the amount of singing she'd done throughout the night. her lips skimming your ear, her voice a sultry purr.

you hum a soft laugh, trailing your fingers over the waistband of her shorts, slowly, deliberately your touch featherlight. teasing.

"missed me?" you echo, voice laced with mischief. "you've had your hands all over me all night, less. thought you might've gotten bored by now."

alessia pulls back just enough to give you a look — playful, dangerous. "don't tempt me," she murmurs, eyes dipping to your lips, then lower. "you're the one wearing my shirt, my name on your back, baby. what did you think would happen?"

you tug at the collar of it, smug. "i thought you might behave... at least until we get to the third round of sweet caroline."

alessia laughs, a soft, disbelieving sound, before her fingers slip under the hem, brushing the skin at your hip, nipping slightly. "keep running your mouth, pretty girl," she warns, her tone lazy, almost amused. "see where it gets you."

but you don't take that as a sign to stop if anything it makes you want to continue your teasing all the more. press her buttons more.

you shift closer, pressing yourself into her just a little too innocently, your voice honeyed as you whisper, "you gonna kiss me again, or just keep talking about it?"

her jaw clenches, her grip on your waist tightening. her eyes burn.

"you're such a brat at times," she mutters, but it's affectionate laced with tension. "are you gonna carry on messing about... or are you gonna let me take you upstairs and ruin that little attitude of yours?"

the world spins a little at her words, heat blooming low in your stomach, but you can't help the wicked grin that curves on your lips. "you always talk this big," you say, leaning in until your noses brush, "but yet i'm still here fully dressed..."

that seemed to do it.

alessia exhaled sharply, grabbing your hand in hers, and placed her champagne flute down without looking where it's ended. then she's dragging you out of the function room, ignoring the chorus of laughter and karaoke behind you coming from her teammates.

you keep teasing her, brushing your fingers along the back of her neck in the queue for the lift, leaning in just enough to let your breath tickle her skin. "bet you'd let me make a mess of you right here, wouldn't you?"

you say it soft like it nothing, just to see the flicker, the way her nostrils flare that little bit, the sharp inhale and the way her jaw clicks.

alessia doesn't respond, she knows what your doing and soon enough she knows she going to be able to have her way with you. 

and then — the lift doors open.

alessia doesn't even wait for them to close before she's pressing you into the wall, the hand railing close and sharp on your back as one hand braced beside your head, the other tracing slow, promising lines along your waist.

"you've had your fun," she whispers darkly. "now it's my turn."

the lift hums softly, the world shrinking down to just the two of you, breath mingling in the tight space. alessia's lips brush against your jaw, sending a shiver straight down your spine.

alessia steps back just enough to grab your hand, fingers curling possessively around yours as she pulls you through the hallway of the fancy hotel the team was staying in. the noise around you fades, the moment narrowing to the pulse between your bodies.

the door to the room clicks shut behind you, the soft thud sealing off the outside world. alessia's bright blue eyes, darken, fierce and tender all at once as they drink you in—especially the football jersey you're wearing, a match worn one she'd given you from a few games ago. it being a little oversized on you, sleeves loose on your shoulders, the fabric heavy with her scent and the memory of the pitch.

your girlfriend's fingers trace your collarbone as she pushed you against the wall. her hands slipping beneath the edge of the jersey, warm and sure. the contrast of her touch against the rough cotton sends sparks skittering across your skin.

her hand cups the back of your neck, drawing you in until her breath brushes your lips—a low, slow promise that pulls you under.

when alessia's mouth finally meets yours, it's deliberate and searing, every inch of the kiss claiming you. her hand slides from your waist, fingertips ghosting upward, tracing the ribs beneath your shirt, lighting a fire to every nerve.

you press closer, the cool draft from the cracked window mixing with the heat of her body, until the world shrinks to the taut tension between you.

alessia pulls back just enough, breath warm against your mouth. her fingers all over you as they slip lower, tracing slow, tantalising lines along your hip bone, nails grazing just enough to make your nerves hum.

"your so pretty, my love." alessia whispers as her lips follow the path her hands set—along your jaw, the sensitive hollow beneath it. a faint, teasing lick, and you can't stop the sharp inhale that escapes from your lips.

alessia catches it with a low, wicked smile, the heat in her eyes growing. her hands settle firmly on your back, pressing herself impossibly closer.

her breath fluttering across your ear, teeth grazing your lobe, the sensation electric and consuming. slow, teasing kisses trail down your neck, each one a promise, a quiet command. every touch building the tension tighter, winding you both up like a coil ready to snap.

your hands finding her waist, pulling her closer, craving the taut strength beneath her clothes. her eyes lock onto yours, dark and fierce, sliding beneath your shirt once again, her fingers electric as they explore with a hunger that's patient and sure.

her whisper is a thread pulling you deeper: "tell me what you want baby."

you try for something cheeky, a small grin curling your lips, “you, a-always you.” you whine but before you can speak more, alessia silences you—pressing her body harder against yours, her voice low and unyielding.

"soon, baby. i promise but tonight i’m in control."

and in that moment, you head fuzzy from the amount of alcohol consumed and with the way she looked, spoke, moved you. with her hands and lips commanding every inch of you, you knew you wouldn't want it any other way.

the jersey shifts beneath alessia's touch as her hands slide higher, palms warm and steady against your stomach, until the fabric bunches at your ribs. she doesn't rush—there's no need. you're already pliant beneath her, breath coming shallow as the tension winds tighter.

alessia watches your face as she lifts the shirt, slow and deliberate, exposing inch by inch of your skin to the cool hotel air and her burning gaze. when she finally pulls it over your head and tosses it somewhere on the floor, her eyes linger—appreciating, claiming, the corners of her mouth curling like she already knows what you'll be reduced to.

her hands come back to your waist, fingers tracing the waistband of your bottoms, not dipping beneath, not yet—just the steady pressure of promise.

alessia presses forward again, hips against yours, mouth finding the slope of your neck again. each kiss lands heavier now, deeper, wetter, laced with heat and hunger.

you are trembling under her, head tipping back against the wall, exposing your throat, your chest rising and falling faster with every touch.

“le-less please, i-i need you.” you whine as her fingers trail up your side, feather-light over your ribs, then cup your chest through the thin fabric of your bra.

a sharp gasp slips from you before you can catch it—your hips twitching forward instinctively, seeking friction that she refuses to give.

you feel her smirk against your neck. "already falling apart," she murmurs. "i haven't even really touched you yet, my girl."

you let out a soft, helpless sound, somewhere between a whimper and a plea, but it only spurs her on. alessia unhooks your bra with maddening ease, too much ease, dragging the straps down your arms and casting it aside. it landing somewhere.

the air feeling sharp against your skin, your nipples already tight from want and the way her gaze roves over you—hungry, focused, reverent.

alessia kisses her way down, tongue flicking briefly over your skin, teeth grazing just enough to make you jerk beneath her hands.

but when her mouth finally closes around your nipple, you arch, a strangled sound leaving your lips as your fingers twist into her blonde hair, desperate for something to anchor you.

“a-lessi—ah—please…”

but she doesn't let you take control. one of her hands clamps over your wrist, pinning it to your side as she works you over. slow, wet licks, lazy drags of her tongue daunting you almost, sucking just enough to make you tremble.

you knees go weak, and she chuckles darkly, guiding you back toward the white linen sheets of the hotel bed with calm authority, until the backs of your thighs hit the edge and you sit without thinking. you're a mess—breathing hard, skin flushed, nerves raw.

the blonde kneels between your legs, hands running slowly up your thighs. her nails scrape lightly through the fabric still clinging to your hips, and you're sure if she asked you for anything in that moment, you'd give it without hesitation.

but she doesn't ask.

alessia watches your face as she peels the rest of your clothes off—deliberate and unhurried, like she’s unwrapping something precious, something she’s earned. her eyes never leave yours, and the heat in them makes your skin flush under the low light.

you lift your hips when she tells you to, the quiet, “up for me, baby,” sending a fresh wave of want rolling through your belly. her knuckles graze teasingly between your legs as she pulls your underwear down, and a high, desperate sound slips from your throat before you can stop it.

“fuck—less…”

she smirks softly. you’re already trembling, thighs twitching under her hands as she kneels between your legs.

she doesn’t touch you where you need it. not yet.

instead, alessia’s palms settle on your inner thighs, spreading you open with gentle pressure. the pads of her thumbs rub slow, possessive circles into your skin, warm and steady, grounding you even as you start to unravel.

you're soaked. you know it. she knows it.

you can’t help it—you whimper, a breathy, broken noise that betrays how close you already are to begging.

“less… please—” your voice cracks, soft and shaking. “d-don’t tease me…”

alessia doesn’t answer—not with words anyway. her breath ghosts over your aching core, warm and maddeningly close, making your hips jerk instinctively toward her.

you let out a strangled moan, high and needy. “god—please, i can’t take it.”

alessia hums, low and deep in her throat, eyes fixed on the slick between your legs like she’s watching something sacred. “you’re dripping,” alessia murmurs, voice rough. “so wet for me, my pretty, girl.”

your head tips back, eyes fluttering shut as you let out a soft, desperate whine. “please—less, i need your mouth, i need—”

her thumbs press in slightly, keeping your thighs open, and she leans in just close enough to brush her nose against your clit without fully touching it.

you gasp, your whole body jerking.

“say it,” alessia says, calm and low. “tell me exactly what you want.”

you’re panting now, thighs shaking under her hands. “i want your mouth—i want your tongue—please, please just—fuck—less, do something—”

alessia finally lets her lips ghost over you, the barest brush of heat and wetness that makes you cry out, sharp and helpless.

“ah—oh my god—yes—yes—”

but she doesn’t stay there. alessia lifts her head again, licking her lips slowly, eyes burning as she watches the way you squirm beneath her.

“not yet,” alessia whispers, voice like velvet and smoke. “i want you to hear you beg a little more.”

she doesn't give you what you so desperately want. not yet. instead she hovers, breath warm against the aching heat between your legs, so close you can feel the way her exhale makes you twitch, your hips lifting involuntarily toward her mouth.

your writhing beneath her, every nerve lit up, skin hypersensitive from how close she’s hovering but refusing to touch you properly. your hands reach for her, one slipping into her hair, the other gripping the sheets hard enough to hurt.

“please…” your voice is barely a whisper, raw with need. “less—fuck—please, i’m going insane…”

alessia doesn’t move. your thighs twitch in her hold, and you lift your hips again, instinctive, desperate. “i need your mouth. i need you, please, i’ll do anything.”

still nothing—just her breath against you, warm and maddening.

you whimper again, louder this time. “i’m so wet for you, it hurts. i can’t take it—i need you, alessia, please touch me.”

you hear your own voice breaking, high and wrecked, and still she just watches you, so calm, so in control. it only makes it worse.

“please,” you beg again, shakier now. “i’ll be a good girl —just please, please, don’t make me wait anymore—”

another quiet, desperate whimper escapes you before you can stop it. alessia's eyes flick up, and her mouth curls into a slow, dangerous smile. "that's better," she murmurs.

then finally, her mouth meets you where you need her most.

the first lick is slow—broad, deliberate. alessia moans low against you, the sound reverberating deep in her throat like she’s finally getting a taste of something she’s been craving for far too long. her mouth is hot, her tongue languid and sure as it slides through you, and you shudder violently, legs falling open wider without resistance.

“fuck,” you whisper, already breathless.

alessia’s hands slide beneath your thighs and hook around, dragging you closer to the edge of the bed, locking you in place. her grip is firm—commanding. there is no escape, not that you want one. alessia groans again, rough and needy, the vibrations shooting straight through your core.

“your mine,” alessia murmurs, voice low and wrecked as she glances up at you. “so fuckin’ pretty like this.”

alessia dips back down, and then she’s everywhere—tongue pressing in slow, languid strokes, tracing every slick inch of you with devastating control. she savors it, each movement precise, almost reverent, like she’s tasting your pleasure more than her own. your hips stutter, but alessia just tightens her grip, nails biting into your skin as she holds you still.

“stay there, baby,” she says, breath warm and ragged against you. “let me take my time.”

your fingers tangle in the sheets, desperate to anchor yourself. then her tongue flicks—quick, teasing, then swirling around your clit with a rhythm that’s maddening in its precision. you choke on a moan, head tossing back, thighs twitching against her shoulders.

“a-alessia—ah—fuck,” you gasp, voice cracking as your fingers leave the sheets and sink into her hair, gripping tight.

alessia groans again, louder this time, the sound guttural and needy. her mouth seals around you, sucking slow and deep, and you swear you can feel her smiling against your skin when you cry out.

“you love this, don’t you?” alessia breathes against your clit. “love being ruined on my tongue.”

you try to answer, to speak, but your body betrays you—all you can manage is a breathless whimper, hips jerking despite yourself. her tongue presses harder, faster, dragging a helpless moan from your lips, your thighs clamping reflexively around her.

alessia doesn’t relent. she keeps going, relentless, confident, mouth working you like she already knows every way to make you fall apart. the wet sounds between your thighs grow louder, matched only by the breathy little gasps and moans slipping freely from both of you. every sound she makes is a praise—raw, wanting, as though alessia’s addicted to the way you taste, the way you move, the way you sound.

“f-fuck—less…” you manage, voice all torn-up desire.

her grip on your thighs tightens again. “i said stay still,” she growls, low and possessive, licking a firm, deliberate stripe that makes your back arch off the mattress. “be a good girl for me.”

then her lips wrap around your clit and she sucks—hard and perfect—and your whole world snaps. your hands fly to her shoulders, grabbing at anything you can, fingers digging in as the tension coils impossibly tight.

“less—oh god, m’ close, i—fuck!”

alessia hums against you, tongue moving faster now, working you through the build with ruthless expertise. she feels it in your trembling thighs, the way your body rocks helplessly into her mouth, chasing every flick and suck like you’re starving for it.

your moans come out broken now—gasping, pleading, babbling messes of her name and barely-formed curses.

alessia’s hands grip harder, anchoring you as your back bows and your whole body strains toward release. you feel the burn rising, unbearable, unbearable—until it’s not.

“let go, baby,” alessia breathes, voice shaking from effort and lust. “let me hear you.”

and when it hits, it’s not soft—it’s a full-body surrender. your mouth drops open in a silent cry, your hips jerk wildly, and your whole body convulses as the orgasm tears through you like a wave. it’s hot, overwhelming, and all-consuming—her name falling from your lips like prayer.

but alessia doesn’t stop.

she licks you through it, slow and thorough, tongue dragging through your wetness like she’s cleaning you up, worshipping every shudder, every twitch. it’s too much. too intense. you whimper, breath hitching as your body trembles uncontrollably.

“mhm s-still sensitive,” you manage to gasp, twitching beneath her.

alessia finally pulls back, mouth slick, eyes dark and glittering with satisfaction. she looks at you like she’s never seen anything more beautiful than the way you’re sprawled on the bed—boneless, ruined, glowing.

“good girl,” she murmurs. “tasted even better than i imagined.”

alessia, licking her lips as she crawls up your body, slow and predatory, and presses her mouth to yours. you can taste yourself on her lips, on her tongue, and it makes your stomach twist with something deeper than lust—something sharp and consuming.

"think you've still got cheek left in you?" alessia murmurs, voice rough with want, hips already settling between your legs again.

you try to answer. but all that comes out is a whimper. and alessia grins. "didn't think so."

but alessia doesn't give you much time to catch your breath.

she stays right there, pressed against you, her thigh sliding between yours, the warmth of her body anchoring you as her mouth finds your throat again—biting gently now, claiming, leaving faint marks she knows you'll feel later.

her hands roaming without hesitation, familiar now in the way they map your body, coaxing little reactions with minimal effort.

your skin is oversensitive, every nerve exposed and raw, but it doesn't matter. you crave more. need more. wanted more. you feel insatiable under her—lit up and stretched thin and so completely hers.

and alessia knows it.

"you're, we’re not done," alessia breathes against your ear, hand sliding between your legs again. "not even close."

your thighs twitch in protest, but your body betrays you—already wet, already eager, already opening up for her again.

alessia kisses the corner of your mouth as her fingers slip through your slick heat, drawing a broken gasp from your lips. you try to lift your hips, but her other hand lands firm on your stomach, pinning you down.

"no," alessia murmurs. "you don't get to chase it. you take what I give you."

the command coils through you like lightning, and you whimper—eyes fluttering shut, breath catching as her fingers circle your clit in slow, maddening patterns. no pressure, not yet. just enough to make your whole body ache with the wanting, once again.

"a-alessia, please-"

alessia watches you unravel beneath her. every twist of your hips, every shaky breath, every bitten-off moan—she drinks it in like fuel.

"you look so gorgeous like this," alessia says, voice rough with arousal. "messy. needy. my name half-stuck in your throat."

you nod, useless, undone.

alessia pushes two fingers into you in one smooth, deliberate motion, and you cry out—hips bucking before her hand on your stomach pushes you back down again.

her rhythm is unrelenting—firm and deep, the heel of her palm brushing your clit with every stroke until you're practically writhing.

your fingers scrabble for something—her arm, the sheets, yourself. you can't hold anything steady. every muscle feels like it's trembling on the edge.

alessia leans in, her voice in your ear, low and deadly calm. "you're gonna cum again for me, my girl. just like this. don't hold it. let go."

you can't answer, not with proper words. just whimpers of her name. all you can do is feel—her fingers curling just right, the tight drag inside you, the steady grind of her hand, the fire building with every second until you're nothing but heat and helpless moans.

"a-ah, oh, less"

it crashes over you like a wave—harder than before. your whole body arches, eyes squeezing shut, mouth open in a desperate cry as the orgasm rips through you, sharp and all-consuming.

alessia doesn't stop right away. she works you through it, again, until your thighs shake and you're gasping and whimpering, begging with no words, just broken sounds and twitching limbs.

finally, finally, alessia slows.

her fingers slipping out of you, wet and shining, and she brings them to her mouth, sucking them clean with a quiet, satisfied hum.

before she crawls up beside you, her body warm against yours, and kisses you deep and slow—like she's sealing something between your ribs.

your legs are still trembling. your breath's ragged. your body feels like it's glowing from the inside out.

alessia smiles against your lips, fingers brushing the sweaty hair from your forehead.

"still think you could handle wearing my jersey again?" alessia murmurs. you manage the softest laugh, eyes half-lidded, voice nothing more than a wrecked whisper.

"only if i survive the night."

alessia doesn't let you drift far. she gives you a moment—just long enough to feel the tremble still working through your thighs, your chest rising and falling in uneven gasps.

but her hand never fully leaves your skin. it stays there, splayed possessively across your waist, thumb stroking the curve of your hip in lazy, dangerous circles.

you're pliant beneath her, loose and wrecked, and she loves seeing you like this - maybe more than she would ever admit to anyone.

"look at you," alessia murmurs, her voice thick and low as she presses a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then down the column of your throat again. "completely fucked out—and i’m not even close to done with you."

the words ignite something in your gut, deep and molten. you shift slightly against her, instinctively seeking friction, heat, more—and alessia laughs, a dark, amused sound that vibrates against your skin.

"oh, you want it now?" alessia teases, hand sliding down to squeeze your thigh, her fingers dragging inward, brushing the oversensitive slick between your legs. "suddenly so greedy."

you try to answer, but the sound that leaves you is more whine than word, like it has been since she's been on top of you. your hand curls into her bicep, nails dragging faint crescents into her skin, but she's not giving you any control, not tonight.

alessia shifts, rising above you—knees straddling your thigh, her own body finally pressing close, and that's when you feel it: how wet she is. even through her shorts, the heat is unmistakable, pressed against your skin like a promise you've been aching for all night.

you glance down, dizzy with want, and catch the sharp smirk on her lips as she leans down, her mouth brushing your ear.

"you feel that?" alessia whispers. "that's what you do to me."

and then she grabs your wrist and drags your hand down between her legs, pushing your fingers hard against the soaked fabric.

"take them off me," alessia growls, voice rough with need.

your fingers shake as you obey, tugging the waistband down her thighs, breath catching when you see how wet she is—slick and flushed and so ready for you.

but before you can touch her, alessia grabs your wrists and pins them to the mattress again, her hips grinding down against your thigh, drawing a low groan from her throat.

"don't get ahead of yourself baby," alessia warns, dragging her wet heat across your skin, letting you feel how much she needs it—how close she is to unraveling, too. "this is still my game. my reward.”

and then she starts to move.

the friction is obscene—her body grinding against your leg in slow, deliberate rolls, the slick slide of her clit against your skin making your whole body tighten all over again. her breath hitches, her fingers tightening around your wrists, and you can feel how close she is to losing it.

but alessia doesn't. not yet.

alessia leans down, mouth finding yours, her kiss hungry now—open and hot and messy, tongue pressing in like she's trying to taste every sound you've made tonight. when she breaks it, her forehead rests against yours, breath mingling, both of you caught in the rhythm of her hips.

you're squirming under her, desperate for her to let you touch, to take, to give her back even a fraction of the pleasure she's given you. but she doesn't loosen her grip. alessia just keeps using you—riding your thigh like it's hers, like you are.

and fuck, you are.

your head rolls back, eyes fluttering shut, mouth falling open in a low moan as her pace quickens, her breaths growing shallower.

you can hear the slick drag of her against your skin, feel every tremble as her thighs tighten around yours. "lessi-" you gasp, voice thin and breaking.

"say it again," alessia demands, voice wrecked.

"le-lessi, please”

alessia's right there. you can feel it in the way her rhythm falters, the tremble in her arms, the desperate bite of her teeth into your shoulder as her orgasm rips through her, sudden and intense.

she moans your name like it's the only thing tethering her to the world, her whole body going rigid above you, grinding hard through the aftershocks until she finally collapses against your chest—breathing hard, skin slick, still twitching with the last waves of pleasure.

you were both shaking.

“fuck..that was,, was amazing.”

you lie there in the aftermath, her weight warm and grounding on top of you, your fingers finally freed to tangle in her blonde hair, stroking her back as you come down together.

but even as her breathing evens out, you feel her smile against your skin.

"you're not going anywhere," alessia whispers, already kissing around your skin again. "i'm going to ruin you by morning."

you lie there beneath her, limbs tangled, breath catching in quiet fits as alessia's weight settles over you—warm and solid, grounding.

her skin is damp, her thigh still pressed between yours, but now her hands have softened, brushing slowly up and down your ribs in a soothing rhythm, as if trying to memorise you all over again.

"i love you and, i’m so proud of you, always.” you whisper against her head. but alessia doesn't speak at first. just kisses the hollow of your throat, then your shoulder, then the soft space just above your heart, each one slower than the last. like gratitude. like worship.

"i love you too, my girl. so much.”

and you can't help the way your fingers continue to thread into her hair, gently pulling her closer, keeping her right there.

after a long moment, alessia lifts her head, eyes meeting yours—dark, shining, a little wild still, but soft around the edges now.

"if this is what victory tastes like..." alessia murmurs, voice rough but low, "then i want to win every award possible."

you can feel the smile tug at your lips before you can stop it, the sound that escapes you somewhere between a breathless laugh and a groan.

"that your post-match speech?"

alessia grins, dipping down to press her lips just below your ear. "no, not even close."

and then her mouth is on yours again—slower this time, but no less demanding. her kiss steals your breath, like she's tasting the high of what she just did to you—and already thinking about doing it again.

her hand slides back between your thighs, teasing, coaxing your legs apart like it's second nature. you gasp into alessia's mouth, your whole body still trembling, still so tender and open—but she knows exactly how to touch you now. how to pull you right under again.

you whimper as she slips lower, heat pooling fast in your belly once more.

"i told you," alessia murmurs, voice all gravel and promise as she disappears between you thighs. "we aren't done."

and this time, when alessia's mouth finds you again, you know two things, one that your exactly where you want to be and two that you know exactly how long this night is going to be.

[lynxgriffin]

Deltarune Chapter 3 and 4 RANDOM THOUGHTS

Spoilers so it's going under the cut! This is just me gushing about the madness

Geez I have like 50 different things I want to do art for and I can't focus on any of them long enough to start, SOB

Was NOT expecting Susie to find out that Darkners are objects immediately upon starting up the chapter. I'm glad she took it as well as she did, though! Still think this may come up much much harder later.

Holy crap Tenna's designs and animations just hit like a truck LOL. It wasn't until much later that I was like "wait...this guy is not getting recruited to Castle Town, is he. There's no way those sprites will get integrated."

Disappointed we did not get a proper Susiezilla sequence, I wanted that!

All the banter of them sitting around playing Legend of Kris was adorable

Did not expect Lanino-Elnina-Rouxls Kaard DISASTER THROUPLE???

Lancer MY BOY

Geez all of the stuff where Kris was playing their solo adventure was just. SO unsettling.

"You didn't do Snowgrave in chapter 2? Well you're doing it here now lol"

"You were used up" UH OH!!!!

I managed to S-Rank both boards somehow and got to the Shadow Mantle boss but got my ass handed to me; I'll need to go back and try again later.

Totally called Toriel being in the prize capsule from the start

saxophone noise

Me at the end of the Tenna boss battle: Kris Knight is real? Well, not what I would've liked, but I'm sure it'll be--

Me five minutes later: I'M SORRY, WHOMST??????

But no for real the Knight design and demeanor is LEGIT scary, I'm so glad we got a proper really intimidating villain

But yeah absolutely got thrashed by the Knight as well SOB SOB

THAT ENDING THO??? AND THEN THE TRANSITION INTO THE NEXT CHAPTER?

Please give Susie MORE PANCAKES

Absolutely fascinated by the fact that the monster religion is also just. Like. The game legend. The implications

Cannot believe we had friggin Tom and Jerry-ass shenanigans in Noelle's house with the soul including Kris beating the crap out of us with a hockey stick

banging fists on the table SU-SELLE! SU-SELLE! SU-SELLE! SU-SELLE!

Asgore how did you get more awkward every chapter

The whole scene with Carol was just generally so, so DEEPLY UNCOMFORTABLE

Evil and intimidating deer by awesome lesbian couple indeed

Me earlier: Man Carol Holiday is going to get a pretty brutal death in Eldritchrune, I feel a little bad, it's probably going to feel unwarranted--

Me after chapter four: Hell naw this bitch gettin' what she deserves

I gotta say that I REALLY loved the music in this chapter, absolutely outstanding. I might like From Now On even more than Rude Buster

All in all in chapter four was SO cool, loved that we're taking everything seriously now, it felt like a real turning point

OKAY SO turns out THIS KINDA HAPPENED A BIT? But while my initial thought was Gerson being the Knight, I honesty like this better

IDK Gerson was just SO funny as a J.R.R. Tolkien-esque party member and I absolutely appreciated him being a mentor to Kris and especially Susie

Did NOT expect Susie making her own dark fountain before Noelle did!! But oh man all the differences in her version of the world that you can see compared to the usual one...

In any case I love Susie more and more every day if horrible things happen to her I will teleport to Toby Fox's house and push everything breakable off of his shelves

YOUR TAKING TOO LONG

Ralsei I am DEEPLY WORRIED about you my dude

He was looking so ragged this chapter and missed good chunks of Susie's dark world, too

I am extremely anxious about that critical part of the prophecy that we conveniently missed but that Susie saw, my weird kids need to be okay

Also uhhh??? Am I nuts or like? Did my half-human Susie crack theory get more evidence?? I was expecting just a solid debunking but if anything there's just more hints of it???? I'm kind of terrified???? Half-human Susie real????

Seriously I may just finally dive into the nightmare realm of making a theory video for it

HELLO NEO DARK FOUNTAIN ALREADY

HI TITAN ALREADY THAT WAS SICK AS HELL AND ALSO TERRIFYING

Seriously that Titan boss battle was crazy hard; it took me a lot of tries and it was a LONG fight every time

I have no solid thoughts on whether it's Carol Knight or Dess Knight; I'll have to ruminate on it more

It's Raining Here made real...

CANNOT BELIEVE WE ENDED THIS CHAPTER ON FRIGGIN KRIS MISERABLE IN BED WHILE SORIEL DISCO HAPPENS DOWNSTAIRS

Again: I want to draw but have no focus aaljsda

Also I got like two hours of sleep last night because my brain would not stop buzzing lol

Once again THIS GIF REMAINS MY ULTIMATE REACTION TO NEW DELTARUNE BYE:

[criminalyapping]

the way you look tonight

the pitt masterlist main masterlist

pairing: michael robinavich x f!reader

a/n: sexy old man mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

and listen fanfiction is what you make it so what i say goes. yes everyone isn't working and no i dont know who's working while they're not there. suspend your disbelief for me, pls. also don't ask me about timelines and how all of these interns and residents still work there i have a very rudimentary understanding of how doctor school works

i learned the difference between discretely and discreetly for this fic

warnings: SMUT (mdni!!!!!!!!), language, also somehow this turned into like dom!reader which is usually not my specialty but there is something about this man with the eyes of bambi that pulled it out of me

Robby was proud of Frank, he really is. He went to rehab, albeit begrudgingly, but put in the work and took responsibility for his actions. Frank had hit the lowest point in his life. Remembering fighting with Dr. Robby, his attending- no, his friend, whom he knew cared about him, and he threw his trauma back in his face. It made Frank sick. So did telling his wife why he was suddenly unemployed and going away for a stint in rehab.

From what Robby knows, Abby hadn't taken it well. Rightfully so. She had taken the kids and moved back to her parents' house in Boston, telling Frank that she would come back when he was clean and employed once again.

Now, almost a year later, Robby is able to sit on an uncomfortable chair in the blazing summer sun, and watch as Frank and Abby renew their wedding vows.

And even better than that, he gets to see you, his gorgeous and radiant wife, sitting next to him and dressed to the nines.

Robby always thinks you're gorgeous; waking up in the morning, taking a shower, unloading the dishwasher, reading a book, all of it. But there's something so special about seeing you in a pretty dress, makeup and hair impeccably done, and hanging off his arm as he chats with his friends and coworkers.

The ceremony had been beautiful, a lovely testament what they had been through together and chosen to work together to overcome. It made Robby misty-eyed, with you sliding him a tissue discreetly.

"Come on, honey," he prompts when the ceremony is over, holding out his arm for you to take as you walk down the aisle together and head toward the reception space.

"Hi! Mrs. Robby!" Mel exclaims, coming up to walk beside you.

"Hi, Mel," you greet with a smile, "how are you doing?" you ask.

Mel was your favorite of Michael's coworkers. You get dinner with her and Becca every Thursday evening.

"I'm good! The ceremony was so beautiful!" she exclaims.

"Agreed, and god, Mel, that dress looks amazing on you!" you compliment.

The three of you quickly find your seats at a round table, surrounded by ED coworkers of Michael's.

"Hi Mrs. Robby!" Samira greets, Jack sitting next to her with an arm thrown over the back of her chair.

"Hi everybody!" you greet, smiling at everyone around the table. Before you can sit down, Dana is out of her seat and giving you a tight squeeze of a hug.

"Good to see you," she murmurs in your ear.

"What am I, chopped liver?" Michael asks, sitting down with a groan.

"We see enough of you at work." Santos tells him.

He puts a hand over his heart and groans like he's in pain at the jab.

He smiles at you in the seat next to him.

"You want a drink, honey?" he asks.

"Yes please, I'll have whatever wine they have, thank you," you agree.

He plants a kiss on you as he gets up to get your drinks.

Jack wolf whistles teasingly, to which Micheal rolls his eyes.

You chat and catch up with his coworkers, giving updates on your own job in return.

"-and then, she looks at me and she says, with her whole chest, that I have to figure it out, even though I didn't even cause the problem in the first place!" you exclaim, laughing at your work woes.

A soft touch on your shoulder alerts you to your husbands return, slowly lowering a glass of wine into your hands.

"Thank you, honey," you smile, taking a sip.

You chat and laugh with the group, grateful for the time you get to spend with them.

As a nice, slow song starts to play over the speakers, Michael gently pulls you away from the conversation you're having with Dana and Javadi.

You grin, standing up and follow the gentle leading towards the dance floor.

You wrap your arms around his neck as his hands go to either side of your waist.

"Have I told you how gorgeous you look tonight?" he asks lowly, face inches from yours.

"Oh, maybe once or twice," you joke. He's told you probably 20 times tonight something to that effect.

"I have no idea how I got so lucky." he says wistfully.

"I think you're selling yourself short there, honey." you rebut, "my husband is incredibly attractive." you purr.

"You're giving a poor man ideas, babe." he laughs.

"Ooo, what kind of ideas would those be?" you tease, knowing exactly where his mind has gone.

"Ideas about you and me," he says lowly, "and finding a place that I can take this dress off of you."

"Well, it might have to be more like lifting it up." you whisper.

You sway slowly together until the song is over, looking at each other with love in your eyes.

"Okay," Michael starts, patting your ass twice, "go find a spot and text me." he instructs.

"Okay," you giggle, walking towards the bathrooms. You find a single stall bathroom with a functioning lock and quickly text Michael.

It's not the most glamorous place to fuck your husband, but believe it or not, you've done worse. While you wait, you fix up your hair and work on reapplying your lip gloss.

The door is flung open a few moments later, and Michael catches you swiping more gloss onto your lips. The door shuts behind him loudly and he clicks the lock into place with finality. You smile at him in the mirror and slowly put the lid back on your gloss and put it into your purse, which you place on top of the paper towel dispenser. You finally turn around to face him, giving him a heated look.

“Come here, baby.” you invite.

Michael jumps at the chance, immediately crowding into your space and laying a hand on the side of your face. The hard ceramic of the sink is digging into your back as his chest pushes against yours.

Feeling impatient, you surge up onto your tiptoes and kiss him hard. He responds immediately, deepening the kiss as you make soft, satisfied sounds into his mouth. You push open your legs as you perch on the edge of the sink, pulling him in by the lapels of his suit jacket and feel him, hard in his slacks, starting to rut against you.

You lift your chin slightly, leaving him to press his face into the side of yours, his glasses askew. You chuckle as you reach down to his belt and begin to undo it.

“You just couldn’t wait until we got home?” you ask teasingly, “You need it right now, at your friends wedding?” you ask, hand slipping down the front of his pants and gripping him, starting to move painstakingly slowly up and down.

“Ye-yeah,” he chokes out at the feeling of you running a fingernail over his tip.

“I got ya,” you giggle as you move your hand faster. Michael puts his fist into his mouth and bites down, his other hand cradling the back of your head.

He’s panting out humid, fast breaths right into your ear as you continue working on him.

“Please, let me…” he trails off, one of his hands now trailing up your thigh over your dress.

“Let you what, hm?” you tease.

“Let me fuck my wife, huh?” he pleads, “what do you expect, walking around, looking like this and looking at me like you do.”

You shiver at the raspy tone of his voice and the desperation in which he’s asking for you.

“Okay, one second,” you agree, pushing him back from you slightly. You hop off of your perch on the sink and turn around, now facing the mirror, and lower yourself onto your elbows.

“Alright, come on,” you urge your husband.

Immediately, his hands are dragging up the silky material of your dress, pooling it around your waist and tugging down your underwear and leaving them to hang around your knees.

You smile gleefully into the mirror and at the expression on Michael’s face and he lines himself up to you and pushes in quickly. His head tips back and his eyes fall closed, lost in the feeling of you.

“God, honey, I love you.” he pants. His glasses are still crooked on his face.

You love seeing the effect you have on him.

He starts moving, quickly, shoving you onto your tiptoes as he pushes you forward with the force of his thrusts.

You gasp out a moan at his quick pace, swiftly remembering where you are and clamping your mouth shut to the best of your ability.

“Mmm,” you hum, still watching him in the mirror as he loses himself in you. His hand comes up to your face and covers your mouth for you. With the size of his hand, it’s more like he covers the entire bottom half of your face, his wedding ring clacking against your front teeth with every movement.

You’re both desperately trying not to make noise, but the muffles and choked off gasps and groans filling the bathroom get you off just as much as the loud noises he makes when uninhibited.

Michael’s hand that isn’t covering your mouth quickly slides between your legs and starts running tight, fast circles over you. You whine out a long sound into his palm, tensing your back to pull you up and towards his chest.

You can tell that he’s getting close, with his mouth open but silent, and the movement of his hips becoming jerky.

You end up making it there first, thrown over the edge by his fingers on you and his deep, quick thrusts. Your eyes roll back into your head as you choke out a moan into his hand as he kisses the side of your head.

“Shit,” he whispers as he comes, spilling inside of you.

He braces his hands on the sink on either side of yours and leans down, resting some of his weight onto you. He pulls his hand away from your mouth, seeing it as well as your chin and cheeks covered in your lip gloss.

“Here, honey,” he whispers, pulling a paper towel from the dispenser and gently wiping it across your face.

“Thank you,” you say when he’s done. He helps you situate yourself; making sure your dress isn’t twisted, fixing the back part of your hair that you can’t see, and wiping the smudged mascara out from the corners of your eyes.

He still somehow looks impeccable, which is unfair.

“I love you,” he praises, pressing exaggerated kisses all over your face that he holds between his hands. “Muah, muah, muah,”

The action makes you giggle, pressing a final kiss to his lips before pushing him away.

“Okay, I’ll see you back out there.” you promise.

You make your way down the meandering hallways and return to your seat at the table.

Robby returns a second later, falling into the seat next to you.

“Robby, man, where’s my drink?” Jack asks him. “Took you forever and you didn’t even get it?”

“Uhhhh,” Michael starts, a blush adorning his face as the members of the table all turn to look at him. “Be right back,” he says, swiftly getting up and walking towards the bar.

You throw your arms up in irritation with him leaving you to this pack of wolves.

You turn around with a grimace to sly smiles and raised eyebrows.

“You know him,” you try lamely, “always forgetting things.”

“Sure,” Dana agrees good-naturedly, patting the back of your chair.

[hoofdletter]

I'm not deciding anything ahead of time. I'd love to see the actual data behind this graph, but from how CAM describes this category of incidents, and from the examples they provide in the report and on their own website of what, according to them, constitutes "anti-Israel / anti-Zionist antisemitism", their perception of what actually constitutes an accident being antisemitic is capturing incidents that only target the state of Israel for the horrors it is enacting on Gaza. Not for being a Jewish state. That is why I am quite certain that this data is inflated.

You seem to be the one working on assumptions here, instead. Why is it that you see criticism of the Israeli government as a personal attack on your religion and identity? Why do you assume that people criticise and protest against the state of Israel because of antisemitic double standards, and not because of the widely mediatised genocide that its government is committing?

The reason why so many people in the USA and EU have become increasingly vocal in their protest against Israel is not because they inherently hate Jewish people and thus hate Israel by extension. It is because there are far-reaching political, military, economic, and academic ties binding the USA and EU to Israel and making these players--that pretend to be morally superior--complicit in this conflict. The USA is funding Israel's genocide and uses its great power status in the UN to shield it from any repercussions. The EU hasn't broken a single tie to Israel or hit it with even remotely the same sanctions apparatus as it has done to Russia. If citizens don't act and protest, governments will look away. Just like you are choosing to look away from the atrocities Israel is committing, because you somehow conflate criticism against Israel with an attack on your Jewishness.

You don't know what I or any protester against Israel feels about those other conflicts you mentioned. So how can you assume that they don't care, and don't call for other boycotts, too? The fact is that what Israel is doing in Gaza is visible all around the world. It's a salient issue. We all see what is happening, and recognise it for what it is: a disproportionate response that goes far beyond any reasonable interpretation of self-defence. An attempt to exterminate any and all Palestinians left in the Gaza strip. And this attempt will be successful if no one takes action.

The fact that you are even calling this cruelty and its status as a genocide into question is appalling. You bring up Amnesty International, but that's not the only actor labelling this a genocide. There are international law specialists saying the exact same thing. UNSCIIP--the UN Special Committee to Investigate Israeli Practices Affecting the Human Rights of the Palestinian People and Other Arabs of the Occupied Territories--has said that the policies and practices they've seen Israel enact in Gaza are consistent with characteristics of genocide. Anyone who listens to what Israeli leaders are saying about Gaza sees it. Yet you don't--what does that say about your biases?

In an ideal world, every international crisis would receive the same attention, but that's simply not the case. There's nothing antisemitic about that--if anything, it says more about how Western media still underreport on crises happening in the global South and Eastern countries. All of those people deserve justice. But that still doesn't justify what Israel is doing.

You can't fault people for paying attention to a genocide unfolding in front of their eyes and deciding to speak out against it. You can't fault them for putting pressure on their governments because the leaders in charge prefer to stay silent and look the other way. Framing that as antisemitism is not only disingenuous, but it also says a lot about you as a person, and what you choose to attach your identity to.

I get an iteration of this ask like once a month, and it's always some form of "why do you care so much about leftist antisemitism when neo nazis exist"

And there are two main reasons.

1. Antisemitism is still antisemitism regardless of who does it. The left isn't less harmful in their antisemitism simply because it's coming from the left.

2. I am a leftist myself and care deeply about the left. Ignoring the harm to jews it causes, it is genuinely scary seeing people on the left abandon leftist values for right wing rhetoric wrapped in a thin cover of leftism.

[littlegochu]

you can take more │ jjk 18+

“sit on my lap, we’re not done.”

pairing: idol jeon jungkook x reader(f)

genre: established couple

rating: 18+, smut

dominant!jungkook, post-concert tension, possessive energy, filthy teasing, pillow humping (he watches), begging kink, denial & overstimulation, thigh riding, oral, tit play & titty-fucking (heavy focus), multiple orgasms, desperate dirty talk, jerking off while watching, messy, controlling sex, teasing aftercare, nipple obsession, he worships you like he owns you

-

The concert’s over, but he looks like he’s still on stage.

Jungkook’s skin glows with sweat, black shirt plastered to his chest, damp hair pushed back from his temples. He’s barely said a word since stepping off the stage, but I can feel it in the way he looks at me—like he’s been wound tight for hours, like the adrenaline of performing wasn’t enough to drain the rest of what’s building inside him.

He doesn’t kiss me.

He just reaches for my wrist. Grabs. Pulls.

No patience.

My heart stumbles. My legs move on instinct. By the time the door to our apartment clicks shut, he’s already on me—pressing me against the wall, his body hot and vibrating with restraint.

“You wore that on purpose.” His voice is gravel low. “You smiled at me from the crowd like you didn’t know what you were doing.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did,” he says, stepping closer. “And now you’re going to feel everything I didn’t let myself give you back there.”

He walks me backward. No urgency in his steps—just heavy tension. I can feel it like static in the air, the kind that clings to your skin and makes your breath catch.

He grabs a pillow from the bed. Drops it on the floor.

“On your knees.”

“Jungkook…”

“You wanna be a tease?” His voice is velvet-dirty, low but sharp. “Then ride that for me. Let me watch what you look like when you’re the one doing all the work.”

The second my knees sink into the carpet, heat crawls up my chest.

The pillow is too soft. It’s not him. And I think that’s the point.

Still, I press my hips down, grinding slowly.

The friction is immediate—dull at first, then sharper, more focused as I angle forward and catch the edge just right. I press down harder. The pressure blooms like a tight ache under my skin. My thighs tense. I do it again.

Behind me, I hear him exhale.

When I glance up, his forearms are braced on his knees, veins sharp. His eyes are locked on my hips like they’re the only thing keeping him from losing it. His breathing is uneven.

“You’re soaked already,” he mutters.

My cheeks burn.

“Keep going.”

I roll my hips faster. The burn starts to spread—low and hot. My clit throbs against the cushion. It’s not enough and somehow too much. I need more friction, more pressure, more of him, but all I get is the edge of cotton and his eyes watching me unravel.

“Please,” I gasp. “Touch me.”

“No.”

“I can’t—”

“Yes, you can. You wanted to tease me? Then make yourself cum.”

The tension snaps.

My legs shake, thighs clenched around the pillow, and the orgasm hits sharp—ripping through my center like a wave that drags everything else with it. I gasp his name. My whole body curls forward as I come apart.

But there’s no release from the tension in the room.

Not yet.

He grabs me by the waist and lifts me like I weigh nothing, dragging me into his thigh feeling he’s already extremely hard and heavy under the fabric of his pants. His thigh flexes beneath me. I shudder as I land on him, still slick, still oversensitive.

“Again,” he whispers.

I grind down—slower this time, but the contact is deeper. His thigh is firm, unrelenting. Every shift of my hips makes the heat spike again.

Jungkook lets out a broken sound.

His hand drags lazily across his stomach, just brushing the waistband of his sweats. I don’t even have to look to know he’s hard.

“You’re doing so good,” he groans. “So fucking pretty like this. Look at how wrecked you get on just my thigh.”

I can feel it coming again—tight and unbearably sharp. I brace both hands on his chest, gasping for breath.

“You’re gonna cum for me again, yeah?”

I nod—desperate, overwhelmed. My body feels like it’s on fire.

And when I do—when the orgasm hits again, smaller but more intense—I cry out softly against his shoulder.

“I need you.”

That’s all it takes.

He stands with me in his arms.

Carries me to the bed.

And fially, finally presses his mouth to mine.

The kiss is deep, hungry. Full of everything he held back for hours. When he pushes into me, the stretch makes me gasp. I’m already too sensitive, too full, too everything.

He pulls back. Slides in again—slower this time.

Every thrust fills me with more than just friction. It’s pressure, emotion, heat, praise—all wound into his voice when he groans against my throat.

“You feel so good. So warm. So tight, baby…”

My body arches.

And he doesn’t stop.

He flips me on my stomach, then back again—legs hooked over his shoulders, grinding deeper, harder, hitting places I didn’t know I could feel. His hips snap harder, hands gripping my thighs, dragging me to the edge.

“You wanted it like this,” he whispers. “You knew exactly what you were doing to me.”

When I cum again, it’s a blur. He follows with a low moan, body trembling as he releases inside me.

But even after, he doesn’t stop.

He lays down beside me, wraps an arm around my waist, and pulls me into his chest.

And his hand?

It finds my chest again.

His thumb drags softly over my nipple, again and again, until I squirm.

“Can’t help it,” he murmurs. “They’re too pretty.”

I laugh—wrecked, breathless.

He presses a kiss there, slow and teasing.

“I meant what I said,” he whispers.

“I’m not done yet.”

-

authors note: i have this queued so ngl its unedited asf and hella rushed

pls comment or lmk in my anonymous requests if ur into fluff, smut, multiple part stories or drabbles it would be a biggggggggggggg help

[imhappierthanever]

Back row at a cinema

(Warning: The usual smut, g!p)

The movie of choice? You didn’t know or care. You and Billie had an addiction to fucking in places where you knew you could get caught. So today when you whispered to Billie where you wanted to fuck next, it was only a matter of seconds before she was leading you there.

It was pretty empty for the day that it was. (Like that was going to stop you.)

You picked the back left corner, Billie sitting down first. You wasted no time climbing in her lap, straddling her, kissing her neck. Your hands instantly found her shirt, unbuttoning it, pulling it opened, not even bothering to properly undo the buttons.

You ran your hands along her exposed skin, teasing her breast through the newly exposed lace. You bit your lip admiring her underneath the blue flickering light of the old room. Shadows and hues sweeping over her, somehow making her look even more incredible in this moment.

You began grinding your lower half against hers,desperate for the friction, desperate for her as your fingers worked quickly to undo her belt, revealing herself to you.

She was a good 9 inches at least. Thick and full and ready for you.

You ran your fingers along her length before sloppily tossing your tongue into her mouth, stroking her length just how she liked it.

“Cmon pretty. Take ‘em off. Wanna be inside you already.” She whispered into your ear, sending chills down your body as you lifted your hips, tossing your lacy panties aside. You needed to feel her, and you needed to feel her now.

You ran your hand up and down your slit, letting your head fall back as she lined herself up to your entrance. You took every delicious inch inside of you, moving your hips up and back down again, feeling everything she had to offer you as you kept your hold on each other. Kept that eye contact that was sending you over the edge.

You were so blissed out on her cock. Right there in the cinema as you made what could have been a movie of your very own.

“Is this what you wanted?”She cooed. To feel my dick inside you?”

You moaned barely being able to form a sentence or a thought of any kind. All you could think about was Billie and the pleasure she was driving you too.

“You’re taking me so well, mama. So wet and warm. You feel so fucking good around me. “ she said as you lowered yourself back to her body, lifting your hips and returning back to her over and over again.

“Can I fill you up sweet girl? Can I put my babies inside of you?” Billie asked as you were both beginning to tip over the edge. The desperation of it all finally here. Hands were gripping skin, mouths were open, and you were making such a mess in Billie’s lap. But she didn’t fucking care.

All she cares about was fucking you out of your mind, bringing you to your place of absolute pleasure and bliss as you helped her get to the very same place.

“Keep taking me. Just like that angel. Fuck.” She said as you leaned back, trying to steady yourself.

In the dim light she could still see. She could see how you took her, your wetness coating her, squeezing you so tightly. She let her fingers rub and pinch your clit as she continued to babble to you.

“Wanna come inside that pretty pussy, baby. Wanna make you mine all over again.”

You nodded, feeling so overcome by Billie and the moment you were in. Of course she never had to ask, but you loved to hear her beg. And even more, you loved to feel her so deeply inside of you, almost wrecking you but in the most beautiful and perfect way.

You fell apart in her arms and on her lap. Screaming profanities as she came inside you, pulling you closer to her body, biting down on your neck, trying to hold back a scream of her own.

Still you moved against her, riding out your orgasms together. Your head rested on top of hers as you tried to regulate your breathing.

“You’re always so fucking good for me, babygirl. Always exactly what I need.” She said cusping your face in her hands, kissing you deeply. “I could say the same about you, my love.” You rubbed your nose against hers, still loving how you had been connected, that her hands were still all over you.

Moments after, she pulled out of you, leaving you feeling empty without her already. But you knew it was only a matter of time before you two would begin again.

“I’m starving let’s get out of here yeah?” Billie said attempting to fix herself. “Wanna go to the diner?” She asked, watching you scramble around for your underwear.

Of course you agreed.

“But help me find my underwear first?” You laughed softly, giving her a perfect view of your ass bent over. She smiled, smacking it before biting her lip.

“Don’t think you’ll need those, baby. “ she said finally standing, not giving a fuck about anything you had left behind. And certainly not giving a fuck about whatever credits were rolling on the screen.

[regretismyconstantcompanion]

Albus stood quietly, the Highland wind brushing against the folds of his coat, a fine mist settling over the slope of his shoulders. When Harry turned to face him—voice tight, gaze not quite meeting his—Albus listened with the same careful attention he had once reserved for prophecy, for pain, for truths too fragile to be said twice.

“Yes,” he said softly, “I am Albus Dumbledore. But not the one you knew.” He didn’t move closer, only watched Harry struggle with the tangle of certainty and confusion that time travel so cruelly left behind.

“And this—” he gestured faintly between them, “what you’re feeling, what just nearly happened—it is not simple. You’ve crossed not just time, Harry, but timelines. Worlds. Realities. You’ve stepped into a version of me that never becomes what your Dumbledore did. And still, I am him. And not him.” His voice remained calm, never scolding, never shaming. Just present.

“That kind of dissonance… it shakes the ground beneath your feet. And when you are grieving—when you are tired and full of ghosts—your heart reaches for what feels familiar. For what feels safe. Even if it comes in a shape you didn’t expect.” He took a breath, as though steadying his own emotions. The goats stirred in the background, indifferent to the quiet storm breaking between the two men. Albus took a slow step forward—not invasive, but deliberate—then paused again, letting Harry’s words hang there.

“You are not wrong for feeling something. Nor are you broken for not understanding it. Kissing me would not have been a betrayal of morality. It would have been a moment—born of grief, of memory, of connection, and yes, of confusion.” He pause. The goats shuffled somewhere behind them, unimpressed with matters of hearts and timelines. Albus offered the faintest hint of a smile.

“What happened just now wasn’t wrong. It was… complicated. Yes. It was tangled with memory, and grief, and the terrible weight of everything you’ve carried into this world with you. But none of that makes it wrong.” His voice lowered, not to soften the truth, but to steady it. “You felt something—without planning it, without asking for it. And in your uncertainty, you stepped away. That is not wrong. That is human.” A faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth—not amused, but deeply kind.

“You are trying to make sense of something while still standing in the middle of it. That’s never easy. But let me say this, clearly: caring for someone, even in a way you don’t fully understand, is not something to be ashamed of.” He let the silence breathe, gave Harry time. Then, gently continued “If you need this to be nothing more than a moment of confusion, that’s all right. If it was affection born of grief, or longing, or simply the comfort of someone familiar in an unfamiliar world… that too is all right. But if what frightens you is the idea that this feeling somehow makes you wrong…” Albus shook his head slowly, firmly. “Then no, Harry. It doesn’t. It never could.”

“Harry, the world you came from is behind you. The one you stand in now is uncharted—for you, and for me. It makes things complicated. I won’t deny that. But complicated does not mean wrong.”He inclined his head slightly, eyes searching Harrys face not for guilt or apology, but for understanding. “Whatever you need to name this—grief, affection, momentary confusion—I will accept it. I do not ask for more. But do not leave here thinking you erred simply by feeling.”

Albus Dumbledore was sitting on the couch, staring into the fireplace that was across from him. The crackling of the flames was the only sound breaking the silence in the cottage that was nestled in the Scottish Highlands. It was isolated, miles away from even the nearest village. He had chosen it for that very reason, desperate for solitude even if it wasn't something that had been forced upon him. He had lost the duel against Grindelwald. He had known that had always been a possibility. There were equals after all and had known each other painfully well. They had spent that summer duelling, friendly but pushing each others boundaries. They had grown and changed and become more powerful but their tendencies had lingered. The fight had lasted well over an hour but in the end, Gellert had just gotten the better of him and managed to disarm him and send him flying backwards. His only minor consolation was the fight had left them both panting and injured. But it had been clear who the winner was. There was no backing out of the agreement they had made. His time in Nurmengard had been brief. A chance to recover from the duel before Gellert gave him an ultimatum. He could remain free if he agreed to leave Hogwarts and retreat from the Wizarding World. Albus had already known he would leave the school, for certainly he had lost that right when he had failed his students and the Wizarding World as a whole. He had agreed, knowing Gellert wasn't giving him a choice and not agreeing would result in either his death or being imprisoned in Nurmengard forever or the deaths of those he cared about. And so here he was, over a year after the duel. Staring into the fire, sitting beside a cup of tea that had long gone cold. Books had been removed from the overflowing bookshelves, scattered around the room. Some had been read, some he hadn't even yet opened. Plain parchment piled up on the desk. Few knew where he was and so letters came rarely. He had picked some of the fruit and vegetables he grew in a small garden he tended to. Perhaps he would make some jams and chutneys if he could find the strength and motivation. It came sometimes, mixed in with the heavy weight of despair that seemed to fill his waking hours. He had failed. He had let down the wizarding world and now he banished just beyond the world he loved so much. He knew what was happening there, of course. He did his best to learn of Gellerts ongoing plans and rise to power. Without him there, there was nothing to stop him. He knew the few Ministries that still existed moved against him but it wouldn't take much for them to fall. Everything would be lost then and Albus knew he was powerless to stop it. @johamfated

[bewitched-hours]

Forsaken | 007n7 x Robot!Reader (Platonic)

My friend suggested a fic with the reader being a robot but with an AI kinda like Neuro-Sama(iykyk) and I thought it's be whole to see 007n7 in dad mode again so yeah-

Reader's pronouns will be They/Them for this one!

You couldn't remember anything. Your chip was pretty much fried.

You were forsaken for actions you didn't remember. Your lifeless, robotic body was simply found by Builderman and although he was ecstatic to fix you up, you quickly proved to be a challenge.

You didn't show emotions but your programming was clearly flawed.

You'd have moments where you would crash out of nowhere or overheat for seemingly no reason. Usually this resulted in you either collapsing or completely freezing up because your AI had no idea what it was meant to do.

So, 007n7 was called to check on your code. It was like looking at a digital junkyard.

He had to eventually try to rewrite your entire code, removing concerning lines that indicated at you being built originally for brutal killings. He didn't even want to know if it was for better or for worse but seeing as you were brought to the Survivor cabin, it was likely for the better.

When you powered back on, he even tried to make you feel more lifelike. He had you learn on your own to mimic emotions and develop a personality.

He was actually quite proud of it despite the other survivors not really caring all too much.

You were rarely chosen for rounds, mostly being left behind to keep the cabin clean and prepare everyone some snacks and drinks for their return. Wether a round ended in victory or not, you still encouraged that they celebrated it.

007n7 didn't even program the latter into you. You had simply watched the others handle the kitchen and learned from observations and experimenting. Most of what you made was Pizza though because it was usually Elliot in the Kitchen.

But as time went on, you became more and more lifelike. And the other survivors treated you more like a person than an AI upon noticing it.

You had such a gentle and cheerful personality, only carefree outside of rounds and getting serious when you were in one. You had even grown protective over your fellow survivors and they didn't need detective work to know you were beginning to favour the ex-hacker.

Whatever, they figured it was because your code somehow recognized him as your 'creator' of sorts.

But 7n7 wasn't exactly thrilled by the way you treated him. It was too much like you were seeing him as a 'father', and it honestly scared him.

He was still grieving over failing his son and now he accidentally made himself the father to an AI? He couldn't even begin to figure out how he should feel about it.

At first he tried to discourage the behaviour, telling you not to see him as 'Father' and call him by his name. You listened, but only added to your coding to call him by his name, not changing his dynamic to you in the slightest.

Then he switched to a more neutral stance after the others began teasing him on having two kids now. He began being more gentle with you but usually tried to find excuses to send you off without questions. Of course, you would never dare to question your creator's commands. So you usually went off to do whatever ridiculous task he had given you before idling again.

But then he finally broke, and it felt as though the icy walls he had built began melting. He even started calling you "Kid" instead of your name half the time. For some reason, it made you happy. Especially when he messed up the artificial hair you've made yourself with a light chuckle.

He just couldn't escape it. You were his child now and upon changing the dynamic status for both 007's and c00lkidd's directories, you also began to learn of a new emotion...

Guilt.

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[postmoe]

Really wanna do...

A Konosuba AU type thing with Anaxa, Phainon and Mydei.

You're a God who welcomes passing souls to a new start or whatever they want, and when you get the Blasphemer, you can't help but feel smug that you get to be the deity that proves him wrong.

He somehow still makes you feel inferior, as though he intends to make you doubt your own existence. The back and forth is getting too much for you so you explain the rules, tell him to pick something to take with him-

"Anything? Anyone?"

"Yes, yes, now hurry up! There's a long line, you know."

And when he picks you, it takes you a second to register, then another to scoff at his decision. Well, OBVIOUSLY you weren't on the table... Right?

And then idk Black Swan or some shit come down to say "man we really should update that. Bye (Y/n)~!" and you're in tears because your comfy life as a God is about to crumble with some Blasphemer who doesn't even acknowledge you exist.

They have video games in your world, you're not new to most of these concepts. Adventurer's Guilds, taverns, NPC dialogue, it just sucks you have to start from zero. Not a Gold to your name, not even a name to your name! No one knows you and it hurts.

Anaxa is having the time of his life, taking on small, two party commissions, throwing you in the way because, "Aren't you a God? Then do something divine."

You have to explain that, "My level has dropped to 1, too! I don't have any magical powers or-" and it's when he starts snickering that you realise he knows all this, you don't need to explain yourself to him, he's just the biggest bully you've ever encountered.

Cold nights sleeping in barns are terrible, you either find yourself curled against him for warmth or if you're still awake then he pushes you off. If you do wake up against him, he makes a big deal about it, "I couldn't get you off, geez, why are you so heavy?"

Eventually, you realise you're getting nowhere. Living paycheck to paycheck is hardly an adventure, and you're starting to really hate waking up with hay in your butt crack.

The only issue is that every other commission needs 3 people or more, 4 being the sweet middle ground. You come up with the brilliant idea, "Let's hire people! We can start auditioning others who want to be in bigger groups too."

It's humiliating how little response you get. The tavern owner is nice enough to let you guys hang out there, find commissions on the board and cry when things go bad. Unfortunately, this just means you have become the laughing stock of the town. Anaxa has no qualms coming back covered in slime or goblin blood, whereas you haven't needed to wash your own clothes in centuries, let alone clean your skin of viscera and other unmentionables.

Eventually, a bright and happy man walks up to you, a simple tattoo of a sun on his neck, "It's never easy, is it? I always find it hard to get outside party members. It's easier to just do things myself most times."

"You can do that?" You ask, stunned by his confession.

He looks at you like it's obvious, "Uh- yeah. The party number is just a guideline, a recommendation but no one is going to run in and stop you if you're heading towards danger. Though I do hear it can get you into legal trouble on bigger bounties and closer to the city."

You're about to smile at Anaxa that you can do the job, only to see him laughing into his shoulder, "Did you know this too?!"

He wipes a tear from his eye, "Well, it's pretty obvious. Since when have we followed the suggestion of a commission anyway?"

Like that time you went to invade a small, goblin camp from the rear, only to fall into the river and wash up right in the middle of their nest.

Or the time a hoard of slimes had overrun a farm and you were cautioned to clear them out during a sunny day, only to get the weather report wrong and end up fighting them in stormy weather. You can still taste slime extract from that.

"What are you trying to do, anyway?" The stranger asks, taking a seat across from you at the table.

Anaxa slides over the commission pamphlet, "Demon Lord's Castle. A town nearby has been getting threats from the King and wants someone to fight him off."

The man looks wary at his explanation, "Not to be rood or anything, friend, but even with four people you'd have to be pretty in tune with each other. What's your status level at now?"

You both answer at the same time, "12."

"This says at least 32... How about this, I will gather my partner and we will help you on this quest?" The kind stranger suggests.

Your eyes light up, grasping his hands in yours, "Really?! You'll do that?!"

He laughs merrily, "Of course! To be honest, we've been eyeing this commission as well, so it works in both our favours!"

Phainon is the man with the beautiful soul that offered to team up. His constantly angry-looking partner is Mydei, an undying brute who can harness strength and expel it with every hit he takes.

You soon realise that these men aren't what they seem. Phainon is a glutton for punishment, accepting every challenger offered to him and won't even hit back most times. He just laughs it off before ending the fight in one, swift slash of his sword. He's a bit ditzy when it comes to his own safety, and you have watched in horror many times as a beast will bite him or swallow him or stomp on him-

Mydei is a pretty good cook. That's... the best thing you can say about him. You've almost been eviscerated many times by his "Godslayer Be God" attack. It's terrifying to think of how strong this man is and yet how spatially unaware he can be when fighting.

And then there's your reason for this Hell, Anaxagoras. He's become more of your savior since these two have joined, and though he's not firm on martial combat, he's created a pretty cool weapon with a monster drop and a gun. He tinkers with it frequently, sitting by the fire at night while you lay next to him and try to sleep.

You suppose it's not so bad, the four of you get closer as time goes on. You prioritised your spells on healing and water magic, but since they don't seem to need as much anymore, you start branching out into buffs as well. You can't lie that your heart does a little skip when one of them saves you from imminent danger. Their protectiveness almost obsessive.

You just wished it catered to smaller monsters too, or even plant-based enemies that aim to entrap and snare without any real danger. Yeah, you see where this is going.

They may know of your status as a God, but down here, in a world where you have to start from zero, you're well beneath all of them. You need them to survive.

[sillylilsquid]

bunny kisses

pairing - hyun-ju x chubby!reader summary - You're curvy. Soft. Nervous. And Hyun-ju can't keep her hands off you. With her, sex becomes worship, and your insecurities start to feel a little quieter. You don’t know what this is, but it’s the first time you feel like someone sees all of you—and stays anyway. warnings - afab!reader, explicit sexual content, body dysphoria, very subtle fat shaming, lots and lots of filthy smut, 18+ minors dni!! 10.7k words

You just wanted to be wanted.

You didn’t download the app expecting anything. You weren’t even sure what you wanted–just that it had been a while. Since anyone looked at you like they saw you. Since someone touched you like they meant it.

So you picked the pinkest pictures you had. One of you in a little skirt, caught in a store window’s reflection, legs crossed just right, face hidden behind your phone. One where you’re smiling too big, holding an iced strawberry matcha. And one taken late at night in your bedroom mirror–kneeling in your bunny print pajamas, cheeks flushed, stuffed animals piled behind you like a little shrine to softness.

Your bio was simple. Soft girl. Iced matcha enthusiast. Just looking for something casual, I guess.🌸

You told yourself it was fine if it was just sex. Fine if no one messaged. You weren’t trying to fall in love. You just wanted to be wanted.

You don’t know how long you were scrolling–left, left, left, boredom and doubt pressing into your stomach like a weight. Until you stopped.

Hyun-ju.

Tall. Androgynous. Sharp jawline, dark sunglasses, a cigarette dangling from glossed lips in one photo. A black tank top with a gold chain glistening against her smooth skin at the gym. The last photo was a blurry mirror selfie in a dim room, the angle all collarbones and laziness, like she couldn’t be bothered to try harder–and didn’t have to.

Her bio made you suck in a breath. 

Terrible at small talk. I like good food, fast hookups, and soft girls with too much lip gloss.

You stared at it for a while. Your thumb hovered. And then you swiped right.

Matched.

She messages first.

well hello, gorgeous girl

Your heart flutters. You blink at the screen, reread it twice, then type back.

hi🥺

you’re killing me with that skirt in your second photo. is that legal? do you know what you’re doing to people?

You stare at the message with your mouth slightly open, fingers frozen above your keyboard. She’s not being subtle. She’s not playing games.

🥺🥺it’s just a skirt…

nah. that’s a weapon. you’re a weapon, bunny. i wanna put you in my lap and ruin you

You let out a squeak. Literally. You cover your mouth with your hand like you can shove the reaction back in. But your thighs squeeze together instinctively, and there’s no denying the warmth crawling through your chest.

you’re so bold omg😳 i’m not used to kind of attention

good. let me be the first. you deserve it, soft thing. i’d kill to make you blush in person

Your fingers tremble a little as you type your next message.

you kinda already are…

then let me take you out. tomorrow night. you dress up for me and i’ll try to behave.

behave?? somehow i don’t believe you

you shouldn’t. but i’ll still buy you dinner first. little place in Itaewon. candlelight. cocktails with flower petals. you’ll look good in that pink dress i just decided you probably own

Your lips part slowly. You do have a pink dress. Satiny. Short. The one you bought because it made you feel like a doll, but never had a reason to wear.

i actually do have a pink dress okay… i’m free after 7 🥺💕

good girl send me your number. i’ll send you the address. and bunny?

yes?

don’t be late i’ve been starving for something sweet

You let your phone drop into your lap. Your face is on fire. Your thighs are pressed tight. And your heart won’t stop thudding.

You booked a nail appointment that morning, even though your chest fluttered with guilt as you tapped your card–like part of you still didn’t think this date was real. But now, your fingers are delicate and pretty in the glow of your vanity mirror, the sheer pink polish catching the light like sugar icing. A soft shimmer to them, just in case she holds your hand.

You try not to stare too long at your reflection as you finish getting ready. Your pink satin dress clings more than you remembered. The hem brushes just above your knees, your thighs bare, your chest pushed up in a way that makes you feel both shy and desperate to be seen. You slip on your matching heels, the ones with the little bow at the ankle, and let your hair fall down your shoulders. You spritz perfume on your neck. A little on your wrist.

Then you stand in front of the mirror and pick yourself apart.

My arms look too soft. My thighs look huge. She’s going to take one look at me and think I catfished her.

Your pictures. They were all at angles. Posed. Edited in subtle ways. You looked thinner in them. Sharper. Safer.

But now you’re here. In the soft fold light of your bedroom. Real. Round. Small and curvy and so exposed.

Your phone buzzes. A message from Hyun-ju.

table’s ready. don’t keep me waiting, bunny.

Your stomach twists. You grab your purse and go.

The restaurant is dimly lit, tucked in the corner of a quiet street in Itaewon. Ivy creeps up the brick walls. There are candles on every table, their glow caught in the wine glasses like liquid flame. It’s the kind of place where dates turn into something more. Where people lean close and say things they don’t mean to say.

And she’s already there.

Hyun-ju stands to greet you. Her outfit is simple–just black slacks and a soft gray blouse, open slightly at the chest–but somehow she looks like she stepped out of a magazine. Her lashes painted with a small amount of mascara, her nails glossy. She leans on one hip and gives you a look that makes your skin go hot all at once.

Like she wants to devour you.

“Holy fuck,” she breathes, eyes raking over you from heels to hem to bare shoulders. “You’re unreal.”

Your voice catches in your throat. “I-I–hi.”

She steps forward and gently takes your hand, raises it, presses a kiss to your knuckles. “That dress should be illegal.”

You’re not sure if you can breathe. You sit quickly, letting her pull out your chair, trying to hide your flushed face behind the menu.

Dinner is a slow-burn blur of candlelight and stolen glances.

You order a drink with lychee and rose petals. It’s girly and sweet and tastes like spring. She watches you sip it with such intensity you nearly drop the glass. Her fingers toy with the stem of her wine glass white her other hand rests, casual and elegant, near yours on the table. She asks you soft questions–how your day was, what polish you picked, what perfume you’re wearing.

“You smell like marshmallows,” she murmurs, voice low, leaning just slightly across the table. “I want to lick it off your skin.”

You giggle, flustered. “You’re terrible.”

“I am.” Her smile curls like smoke. “But you’re making it very hard to behave.”

After your second drink, your cheeks are warm and your limbs are a little looser. You start talking more freely. She makes you laugh. She makes you squirm. Every compliment feels like it lands on bare skin. She watches you the whole time–like she’s memorizing you.

At one point, you lift your drink to your lips and she stops mid sentence, tilts her head.

“Do you know how pretty you are when you blush?” she asks softly. “You look like a treat. Sweet little cupcake.”

You hide your face behind your hand. “Stop.”

“Can’t.” She reaches across the table and tugs your hand away gently. “You don’t even know what you do to people, do you?”

You shake your head, shy. “I really don’t.”

She smiles. Not like she pities you–but like she’s starving. “You will,” she says.

The air outside is cooler now, sharp and smoky with the night. Your heels click softly on the pavement as you walk, your dress swishing against your thighs. Hyun-ju walks beside you with her hands in her pockets, every movement confident and unhurried.

You tell yourself not to read into anything.

It’s just a hookup.

She’s beautiful, and she wants you–for now. You’re allowed to want that. You’re allowed to want this.

But when she looks at you like that–like she could pin you to a wall with her eyes–your stomach turns itself inside out.

“You’re quiet,” she murmurs, glancing down at you. “Cold?”

You shake your head quickly. “No. Just…nervous, maybe.”

Hyun-ju hums like she expected that. She brushes your hand lightly with her fingertips. “You don’t have to be.”

“I know. I just–” You chew your lip. “I guess I keep reminding myself that it’s just…casual.”

At that, she stops walking. You blink and turn to her–and find her watching you with something darker in her gaze.

“Bunny,” she says, voice low and steady, “I know what kind of app we met on. And I know you’re trying to protect your heart right now. But I want you to hear this clearly.”

Her fingers tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. She leans in.

“You’re not just a body to me. You’re not just a hole to fill. You’re you. Soft. Sweet. Blushing and beautiful and dressed like a dream. And when I get you inside my apartment…”

She smiles. Slow, wolfish. “I’m gonna feast.”

Your knees nearly buckle.

Her place smells like clean linen and sandalwood. Dim lights. Tall bookshelves. A few mismatches art prints on the wall, but otherwise minimal–like she only brings home what she wants.

The door clicks shut. You barely have time to turn around before Hyun-ju is on you–not rough, not rushing, just hungry. Her hands find your waist. Her lips hover near your cheek. “Take your shoes off, sweetheart,” she whispers. “I want you comfortable when I take you apart.”

You step out of your heels. She guides you gently backward until the backs of your knees touch the bed.

“Sit,” she murmurs. “Just like that.”

You obey, nervous and breathless, hands clasped in your lap. The satin of your dress rides up slightly over your thighs. And she drops to her knees in front of you like you’re an altar.

“Oh, look at you,” she whispers. Her hands slide up your legs, over the soft curve of your calves, then your thighs. She spreads them gently, reverently, so she can kneel between. “Fuck, baby. You’re unreal. You’re art.”

Her hands knead at your thighs, slow and indulgent. Not rushing to undress you–just worshipping.

“So thick,” she murmurs, pressing kisses to the inside of one thigh. “So soft and perfect and fuck, I could die between these legs.”

Your breath catches. You grab the hem of your dress, trying to keep your hands from shaking.

Then she lifts it. Slowly, carefully. She pushes it up to your waist and stares like she’s starving.

“You’re shaking,” she says gently, and looks up. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“No–please, don’t,” you breathe. “Please.”

Her hands slide up to your hips, her thumbs brushing the waistband of your underwear.

“You’re so shy,” she whispers. “But you let me see you like this. You let me touch. That’s so good, bunny. You’re such a good girl for me.”

She presses a kiss to your belly. Then another. Then another. Her lips trial across your soft stomach, slow and adoring. She buries her face there with a soft groan, her palms now smoothing over your waist like she’s trying to hold all of you.

“Fuck, I love this tummy,” she murmurs. “So cute. So soft. Want you to ride my face with it spilling all over me.”

You gasp. “Hyun-ju–”

She pulls your panties down slowly, never breaking eye contact.

“You’re shaking because you’re nervous,” she says softly. “But soon you’ll be shaking because I won’t stop until you scream.”

Hyun-ju pulls your panties the rest of the way and drops them beside the bed like a trophy. Then she leans back on her heels between your spread thighs and breathes out like she’s seeing heaven.

“Come here,” she urges softly. “Come sit on my face.”

Your heart stutters. “W-what?”

She reaches up, hands gliding over your soft thighs again, but slower now. “I want your cunt on my mouth, bunny. Want to feel all this softness, all of you against my face while I make you cry.”

You blink fast, flustered, and fold in on yourself like a closing flower.

“I–I can’t,” you whisper, arms coming up to hide your tummy, legs shifting instinctively. “I’m too heavy. I’ll crush you.”

Hyun-ju tilts her head, but there’s no impatience. Just warmth. Just hunger softened by something almost tender.

“Oh, baby,” she murmurs, gently guiding your hands down, “you don’t have to be shy with me.”

You shake your head. “I’m not trying to be–I just–I know I don’t look like the girls people usually…”

“Fuck that,” her voice darkens. “You think I’d kneel for someone I didn’t ache for?”

You swallow hard. She leans in. Kisses your tummy again, then the crease where your thigh meets your hip. Each kiss is firmer. Hotter. Hungrier.

“I’ll never ask you to do something that scares you,” she explains, gently easing you back onto the mattress. “But I want to show you what I see when I look at you. Can I do that?”

You nod slowly.

She grins, voice low and coaxing. “Then be good. Lay back.”

You do.

Your body sinks into the sheets. Your dress is bunched around your waist. Your panites are gone. You feel bare, exposed–like every part of you is on display. But then Hyun-ju crawls up onto the bed and kneels between your legs, lowering herself down, eyes locked on yours.

“You don’t have to move,” she whispers. “You don’t have to do anything. Just let me taste you like this.”

You gasp as she lowers herself, hands sliding under your ass to tilt your hips just right. 

“Fuck,” she breathes. “You’re soaked. Look at that. You wanted this, didn’t you?”

You nod again, lips trembling. “Y-yeah.”

Her hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider. She buries her face between them like she belongs there–like this is what her mouth was made for. Her tongue licks a long, slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, and the noise she makes? Pure filth.

“Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” she moans.

You whimper. Your hips twitch, but she holds you still, strong palms gripping your plush thighs, her thumbs kneading into the softness.

“You’re gonna take it,” she breathes. “You’re gonna let me worship this pussy. Every inch of you. Don’t hide from me, baby. Don’t ever hide.”

And then, she devours you.

“That’s it,” Hyun-ju breathes against your clit, tongue curling slow and sure. “That’s my girl. Just like that.”

You choke on a moan, hips rocking helplessly, thighs trembling in her grip. She licks you through it again–again–and her voice is honeyed filth, smooth and dark and reverent.

“Such a pretty cunt, baby. Can feel you fluttering on my tongue. She’s so sensitive, huh? Just needs someone to pay attention.”

You whimper, hands fisting the sheets.

“I know, I know,” she coos, nuzzling into you. “It’s so much. Too good, isn’t it? That’s okay–I’m right here. Let it happen. Let me make you cum.”

Your whole body arches when she sucks on your clit, just the right pressure, just right rhythm–and her voice stays in your ear like a lifeline.

“You deserve this. All of it. Want you to remember how it feels to be wanted. To be worshipped. Cum for me, soft thing.”

You break like glass in her hands.

When you come down, your thighs are still twitching, breath in shambles, Hyun-ju climbs up your body–licking her lips, her cheeks flushed with heat.

“That was fucking beautiful,” she whispers, kissing your jaw. “You’re such a good girl for me.”

You reach for her before you even think about it. Your fingers tangle in her shirt, tugging, desperate. “Want–wanna take this off,” you mumble. “Wanna see you.”

She pauses. Watches you for a breath like she’s memorizing this–your need, your softness, your hunger.

Then she pulls you up gently and kisses you full on the mouth.

It’s not just hungry. It’s slow and messy and deep–her lips against yours, her tongue pressing in, letting you taste yourself on her. You moan into it. Your hands fumble at the buttons of her shirt. She helps you halfway, then strips it off the rest of the way, tossing it aside. Her bra joins it.

Then she guides your hands to her waist.

“Undress me, bunny,” she murmurs. “I want to feel your hands on me.”

You’re clumsy and breathless, but you peel her pants down, underwear too, until she’s bare between your legs–flushed and damp and trembling with restraint.

And when you both sink back onto the bed, skin against skin, you wrap your arms around her, your legs tangling. She kisses you again. This time, her hand slides down your tummy and between your legs.

“You’re still so wet,” she whispers. “You want more?”

You nod, dazed. “Please…”

Her fingers slip into you, slow and thick, curling just right. You gasp–and your hand moves instinctively. Down her hips. Across the inside of her thigh. She stutters in her breath when your fingers brush over her.

“Fuck–baby–” Her eyes flutter closed. “Yeah. like that. Want your fingers.”

You press in. she rocks down into your hand as she fucks you with her own–matching rhythms, kissing between gasps, her teeth catching your lip when your thumb brushes her clit.

The bed creaks. The room echoes with soft, wet sounds, breathless moans, half spoken praise.

“You’re so tight,” she pants. “So sweet–fuck, your fingers feel so good.”

“You too,” you whisper, voice cracking. “You feel–oh god–”

You both cum within seconds of each other–her hips jerking, your legs shaking, moans swallowed into messy, open mouthed kisses.

And when it’s over, you’re both breathless, your fingers still tangled inside one another, your bodies sticky and trembling and flushed.

Hyun-ju brushes her nose against your cheek, voice gone soft again. “Did so good for me, bunny.”

You nuzzle into her, afraid to say anything that might break the spell. She just pulls you closer, one arm draped over your waist, and breathes you in like a secret.

You lie there in a daze, limbs limp and chest heaving, body still twitching from the intensity of it all. Hyun-ju is half on top of you, warm and soft and barely catching her breath. For a long moment, all either can do is listen to the shared thrum of your heartbeats, skin slick and flushed where it touches.

Then she moves gently–pressing a kiss to your jaw before pulling back, her voice hoarse but warm. “Be right back, sweet girl.”

She disappears into the bathroom. You barely have time to miss her before she returns with a warm, damp washcloth and a glass of water. She knees beside you and begins to clean you up with the softest touch, kissing the inside of your thigh, your tummy, your hip bone as she goes.

“Still shaking,” she mumbles, almost to herself. “Did I ruin you, pretty thing?”

You blush, but you don’t answer.

She smiles and cups your cheek. “Drink some water. Gotta take care of my girl.”

My girl.

You take the glass and sip slowly. She watches you the whole time, like she’s afraid you’ll disappear. Then she tucks you in, pulling the blanket up and settling beside you.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

You feel the weight of it in your chest–like if you stay here too long, you might forget that this was supposed to be casual. Just a hookup. Just one night.

“I should go,” you say softly.

Hyun-ju lifts her head. “What?”

You sit up, pulling the blanket around yourself. “It’s late. I should–I should get home.”

She frowns. “Bunny, just stay.”

You shake your head, voice too thin. “I really shouldn’t. I have work tomorrow.”

“Then I’ll get you an Uber.” She doesn’t say it with resentment–just quiet resignation. You look at her. Her mussed hair, the tenderness in her gaze. It hurts.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Hyun-ju pulls out her phone. “Don’t be.”

She orders the car without another word. When it arrives, she walks you to the curb in just her hoodie, leans down, and kisses your cheek.

“Thanks for tonight,” she murmurs. Her voice is too soft. “Sleep safe, gorgeous girl.”

And then, you’re gone.

The next day, you can’t focus at work.

You’re barely registering emails. Barely hearing your coworkers when they talk to you. You keep zoning out, thinking about Hyun-ju’s mouth on your skin, her breathy little moans, the way she kissed your stomach like it was sacred. You can still hear her voice in your head–lay back for me, bunny. You press your thighs together beneath your desk and tell yourself to stop.

After work, you decide to treat yourself–a little boba run before heading home. Something sweet to make up for the ache you’re trying not to name.

You’re halfway through ordering your drink when you hear her laugh. You freeze.

It’s her. You know her voice now, the rasp of it, the way her laughter curls at the ends like smoke. You turn your head before you can stop yourself–and there she is, in the corner of the cafe, dressed casual and effortless, her hair up, her head tipped back as she laughs at something another girl is saying.

The girl is pretty. And stylish. Skinny. Her makeup’s perfect. She’s leaning close, smiling wide, like she knows she’s winning.

You stare for too long. Hyun-ju catches your eye. For a second, she looks…surprised. Her smile softens, lips parting like she might say something. But your drink is called out. You grab it and turn away, hear in your throat, cheeks burning. You don’t look back.

Your apartment feels colder than normal.

You curl up in your bed in your favorite pajamas and try to color in your Sanrio coloring book, hoping the soft pastel colors and little bows will distract you. They don’t. Your thoughts keep spinning.

It was just a hookup, you remind yourself. You just wanted to feel wanted, even if it was only for one night.

And you did. You got it. She touched you like she adored you. She kissed you like she was starving. She said you were soft and sweet and delicious.

But she’s already moved on.

You swallow hard. Your phone buzzes on your nightstand. You grab it. Not her.

So you open the app again. The same hookup app where you matched with her in the first place. Maybe if someone else wants you–even for a night–it’ll quiet this aching in your chest.

You update your photos. You re-read your little bio. Then you swipe.

A few matches come quickly. You message one–she’s pretty, a little edgy looking, a pierced brow and dark lipstick. You say hi.

She replies: “Sorry, I’m not really into ultra-fem girls.”

Your stomach sinks. You match with another. She messages first, only to say: “Sorry, chubby girls aren’t really my type.”

You set your phone down. You stare at the ceiling. Suddenly, you feel stupid for trying. For getting dressed up. For shaving your legs. For letting yourself hope. You press your face into the pillow and squeeze your eyes shut.

It was just a hookup. So why does it feel like something’s breaking?

You take the next day off work.

You tell yourself it’s just a mental health day. Nothing to do with the hookup you can’t stop thinking about. Nothing to do with the pretty girl you saw Hyun-ju laughing with at the boba shop. Nothing to do with how you spent half the night swiping through a hookup all only to cry yourself to sleep hugging your stuffed bear.

Nope. Not at all.

So you go shopping.

Retail therapy. That’s what people call it, right? You put on your cutest spring cardigan, gloss your lips, and head downtown to your favorite boutiques. You touch silky dresses, oversize bows, sparkly claw clips. You wander slowly through pastel aisles of blushes and creams and shimmer-stick highlighters that promise to make your cheeks “dewy like fresh strawberries.”

And for a little while, you do feel better. A little lighter.

In the dressing room, you try on a little pleated skirt with a lace trimmed pink top, the kind that hugs your curves and shows just a hint of cleavage. You try not to dwell on how tight it is around your middle–or how you keep posing at angles that look more like your profile photos than your actual reflection.

But when you twirl once and catch sight of yourself in the mirror–soft thighs, plush tummy, the shimmer on your cheeks catching the light–you pause.

You look…cute.  Like a cupcake with a pulse.

You whisper, “Okay. Not so bad,” and take a picture before you change.

Next stop: lingerie.

It wasn’t part of the plan, but you wander in anyway, drawn to a matching set in strawberry pink–a balconette bra with little embroidered hearts and a soft, satiny panty with ribbon ties at the hips. You buy it before you can talk yourself out of it.

You’re just tucking it into your shopping bag when your phone buzzes in your purse. You ignore it at first.

But then–something…prickles. A gut feeling. You pull out your phone and glance at the screen.

Hyun-ju.

Your heart stumbles. Your thumb freezes mid-scroll. You tap.

can i come over tonight? need to taste you again, soft thing. been thinking about your thighs all fucking day.

You stand dead still in the middle of Sephora, clutching your phone like it might explode. Your knees nearly buckle. Your brain goes static. Every insecurity from the last 48 hours–the hookup app, the girls who didn’t want you, the way you felt like a placeholder in someone else’s night–all of it vanishes under the heat of ten little words.

She wants you. She still wants you.

You bite your lip and read it again. And again. Your whole body feels warm–cheeks flushed, thighs pressed together, chest rising faster.

You don’t even think before you type. First, you send your address.

i’ll leave the door unlocked. i bought something new. pink and pretty. just for you.🫣

You don’t even wait for a reply. You’re already hurrying home, clutching the lingerie bag like a secret pressed to your heart, already imagining the way her eyes will darken when she sees you.

You don’t even remember the walk home. Just flashes of traffic lights and the ghost of her messages still burning in your chest.

By the time you’re inside, you’re already shedding your jacket, your shoes, your nerves. The apartment is quiet–soft lighting from your little bunny lamp, a vanilla sugar candle flickering faintly on your nightstand. You toss your shopping bags on the bed and breathe in.

Okay.

You’ve got time. You need to get ready.

You peel off your clothes, lay them gently over your chair, and pad into the bathroom. You brush your hair until it falls glossy over your shoulders, smooth on a little shimmer lotion, then pull on the new set–soft pink, heart stitched, with those little satin ties that make you feel like a gift someone’s about to unwrap.

In the mirror, you pause. You look…nervous.

Flushed cheeks, bitten lips, your thighs touching sweetly at the top. The lingerie hugs your curves snug–and for a split second, the doubt creeps in.

Too much. Too thick. Too squishy. Too much.

But then you remember the way Hyun-ju looked at you–devoured you–with her eyes, her mouth, her hands. You remember the things she whispered with her lips against your belly. The way she gripped your thighs like she wanted to live between them.

You breathe out. Okay. You can do this.

You throw on your bunny robe, soft and oversized, and fluff your pillows. You set out a glass of water on your nightstand (just in case), light another candle, and pull the curtains closed.

Then you sit on the edge of your bed, heart racing, robe still open just enough to show the pink lace beneath–and you wait.

You don’t know what tonight means. You only know she’s coming. And that you want her to ruin you softly.

You hear the knock and nearly jump out of your skin.

Your robe’s barely tied. Your cheeks are already hot. You open the door, heart in your throat. And there she is.

Hyun-ju stands there in a long coat and boots, hair down, eyes dragging over you with heat that makes your knees wobble. Her gaze drops to the pale pink peeking through your robe, then back up–slowly, purposefully.

“Look at you,” she murmurs. “Answering the robe in your little bunny pajamas. Trying to kill me?”

You try to speak–to joke, to flirt back–but it’s like your voice gets lost somewhere in your chest. Hyun-ju steps forward, closes the door behind her with a soft click, and cups your face in one warm hand.

“I missed this,” she says softly. “Missed you.”

And then she’s kissing you. It’s not sweet, not at first–it’s hungry, hands finding the curve of your waist, tugging at your robe. She guides you backward, step by step, until your knees hit the edge of the bed.

And then? Then it’s a blur.

Your robe is peeled off. Her mouth between your thighs, her voice filthy and reverent as she praises every part of you. She kisses your belly like it’s holy. Moans into the softness of your thighs like she’s starving. Tells you you’re so pretty like this, legs open, pussy soaked, voice cracking under her tongue.

You’re still breathless when she finally curls into you, fingers drawing lazy shapes on your bare hip, hair messy against your shoulder. Lips still kiss bitten, and you can feel the warmth of her skin pressed to yours in all the softest places.

Her voice comes low, a little teasing. “You gonna let me strap you?”

You choke on your breath, heart lurching. “W-what?” Your cheeks go hot. You glance down at her, wide-eyed.

She grins against your skin, chin nudging your chest. “I said,” she repeats, pressing a kiss to the swell of your breast, “are you gonna let me fuck you from behind tonight?”

You hide your face in your hands with a mortified little squeak. “I don’t–I’ve never–I mean, I don’t even own toys.”

Hyun-ju hums, clearly delighted. “Oh, we’re changing that.” Her voice drops a bit, playful but hungry. “Girl, you’re in for a treat. I’m gonna have you seeing stars.”

Your stomach does flips. You don’t know if it’s the nerves or excitement, or some wild alchemy of both. 

Hyun-ju stretches lazily across the bed, her gin devilish. “You really don’t have any toys?”

You shake your head, shy. “No. Never really…thought I’d need them.”

She hums. “That’s adorable. Tragic–but adorable.”

Then, with a smug little look, she rolls off the bed and unzips her backpack, casually pulling out a small black harness with a toy already snapped in place.

Your jaw drops. “You brought it?” Your eyes snap from the strap back to Hyun-ju. “So you mean like…you’re gonna…now?”

“Of course I did,” she says, amused as she begins stripping out of her clothes. “What, you thought I was bluffing?”

You stare at her, stunned, throat dry as she steps into the harness and tightens the straps at her hips with practiced ease. Your heart hammers. She looks so sure of herself–strong, sexy, in control–and when she catches your eye, her smile softens, just a little.

“You still okay, baby?” she asks gently. “We don’t have to.”

You nod. Too quickly. “Yes. I–I want to.”

“Good girl,” she murmurs. “Get on your hands and knees for me.”

You scramble into position, heart in your throat, burying your face in the pillows to hide your embarrassment–but you can feel how wet you are already, thighs trembling. Then you feel her behind you–warm hands smoothing your hips, kneading at the softness there. She groans low under her breath.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty like this,” Hyun-ju breaths. “Look at this perfect ass. All this soft skin just for me.” She drags her hands along the curve of your waist, your stomach, your thighs–squeezing, admiring. “You’re unreal.”

You gasp when you feel the head of the toy rub between your folds. She takes her time, letting it guide through your slick, spreading you gently.

Then she sinks in.

The stretch has you gasping, arms shaking as you brace yourself, and she leans over your back, kissing along your spine. “There you go, baby,” she whispers, “taking me so good already.”

Her hips pull back, then roll forward again, slow and deliberate. You moan into the sheet, and Hyun-ju groans behind you.

“Look at how perfect you are. Fuck, I love watching this–your pretty body bouncing for me. You feel so fucking good.”

Her rhythm picks up. One hand on your waist, the other sliding up your back, she grips your shoulder as she fucks into you harder. Every thrust makes you cry out, breath breaking.

You reach back without thinking–desperate, overwhelmed–and Hyun-ju catches your hand instantly, pressing it into the small of your back and holding you down. “Oh no, bunny,” she pants, “you stay right there. Let me take care of you.”

She pounds into you now, filthy and relentless, the slick sounds of your body filling the room.

You’re a mess, babbling into the mattress. “C-can’t–feels so–so good–”

“Yes you can, soft girl. You’re doing so good for me. Fuck, I could fuck you forever.” Her voice is thick, adoring, and a little ragged. “I love this body. Love the way you looked wrapped around me like this.”

Your legs are trembling. Your voice breaks. “Gonna–gonna cum–Hyun-ju I–”

“Do it,” she groans, pounding deep. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Let me feel you fall apart.”

You cry out, body locking up as the orgasm crashes over you–loud, helpless, ruined. Hyun-ju doesn’t stop until you’re twitching, gasping, tears slipping from your eyes. Then finally, finally, she slows, hips rocking gently as she eases you through it.

You collapse into the sheets, boneless and shaking, and she leans over to kiss the back of your neck, whispering, “That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

It doesn’t end after that night.

Hyun-ju keeps showing up–some nights with a bottle of wine, others with nothing but that cocky little grin and the promise of a good time. Sometimes she stays until morning. Sometimes she leaves right after, tugging on her hoodie and pressing a kiss to your forehead before slipping out into the dark. But always, she texts. Always, she comes back.

You don’t talk about what it means. You don’t ask. But you feel it.

In the way she pulls you into her lap at your kitchen table. In how she cooks you breakfast without asking where anything is. In the way she laughs with her whole body when you trip over your words trying to compliment her, teasing. “You got it bad, huh, bunny?”

You try not to let it show. You try.

But it builds anyway.

It’s in the little things–like how your phone lights up with her name and your heart stutters. Or how your breath catches when she calls you ‘baby’ in that low, warm voice. Or how she starts leaving her hoodie draped on the back of your chair, her shampoo in your shower.

And then one lazy afternoon, you’re out with her at some tiny boutique, giggling as you both try on ridiculous clothes that are way too expensive. She snaps a candid photo of you in the mirror–half laughing in an oversized sweater that swallows you whole.

Later, you see it on her story:

Mine🍓

No tags. Just you.

Your stomach flips.

That night, you’re curled up in bed, overthinking everything, her hoodie pulled over your bare legs. You hover over your keyboard for twenty minutes before finally sending it.

what are we hyunnie?

The typing bubble appears right away.

well, bunny…what do you want this to be?

And just like that, you forget how to breathe.

You stare at your phone, pulse thudding. You almost don’t want to keep going. You could leave it there, let it hang. Pretend you were joking. But something aches behind your ribs, loud and stubborn.

You type slow, fingers shaking a little.

idk. i mean i like this…you. i trust you but, how do i know you’re not seeing someone else?

Three dots. Then nothing. Then dots again. You swallow hard.

i saw you that day at the boba shop. with that girl. you looked…happy.

And then you wait. You start spiraling before she even responds. God, you think, I sound insane. Possessive. Needy. It’s not like we’re even dating. She doesn’t owe me anything. I’m just some dumb girl she hooks up with–

The screen lights up.

call me, bunny.

Your breath catches. You reread it twice. Call me? Your thumb hovers. Your stomach twists into knots.

i don’t want to bother you if you’re busy…

But your phone’s already ringing. Her name glows on your screen. Your heart pounds like a trapped animal. You hesitate–then answer.

“Hey,” you breathe.

“Hi, bunny.” Her voice is soft. Familiar. It slides through your chest like a warm knife. You don’t know what to say.

“You’re jealous,” she says, and it’s not cruel or smug. Just honest.

“I’m not…trying to be,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“It’s just…” Your voice wobbles. “That girl. She was really pretty.”

A pause. Then, “That’s my ex.”

Your heart stutters. Your tone comes out harsher than you mean for it to. “You hang out with your ex?”

“Yeah.” Hyun-ju sighs. “Look, we went through a lot together. She was there for me when shit was really bad. Like, scary bad. You wouldn’t understand.”

You don’t say anything. You’re still trying to process it–how casual she sounds. Like it’s normal. Like it shouldn’t matter. But it does. It really does.

“She’s not my girlfriend anymore,” Hyun-ju says. “We haven’t been together in years. But she…gets me. And I don’t have a lot of people like that.”

You nod even though she can’t see you. You want to believe her. You do. But something twists tight in your chest. 

“I’m not sleeping with anyone else,” she adds quietly.

You just hum, too unsure to say anything more.

There’s a pause. Then she speaks again, a little sharper. “You don’t believe me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

You chew your lip, eyes stinging. “I don’t wanna mess this up,” you whisper. “I just don’t know what I am to you. And that scares me.”

Another breath. This time slower. Gentler. “Bunny,” she murmurs, “you don’t have to be scared. You want something more, just say it. I’ll show up.”

There’s a long silence on the line. You can feel her breathing, low and even. Like she’s trying to decide what to say next.

You bite your lip. Then it just slips out. “Even if you’re not sleeping with her, you’re…emotionally invested. And I don’t know how to feel about that.”

Another silence. Then she sighs. It’s not sharp, not angry. Just…tired.

“I’ll tell you about it some other time,” she says finally. “It’s not something I wanna talk about right now.”

Your heart sinks. “Will you ever be ready?” you ask softly. “Or are you just using that to keep me around?”

The silence changs. It freezes. Sharpens. You can practically hear her jaw tighten through the phone.

Then a quiet, bitter laugh. “I don’t have time for this.”

And the line goes dead. You stare at your screen, blinking. The call ended. No goodbye. No explanation. Just a cold silence ringing in your ears and the sudden, crushing weight of regret curling in your gut.

Hyun-ju stares at her phone long after the call ends.

She presses the heel of her palm to her eyes. Her chest is tight. Her thoughts, louder than usual.

Why did she hang up?

Why the hell did she do that?

She opens her contacts, scrolls down, hesitates. Then taps.

“Hey,” comes the voice on the other end, warm and familiar in a way that cuts through the static in her head.

Hyun-ju swallows. “You busy?”

There’s a pause. Then, “What happened?”

She exhales sharply. “It’s the girl. Bunny.”

Another pause.

“She asked about you,” Hyun-ju mutters, thumb tracing anxious circles on the seam of her sweatpants. “Saw us at the boba shop, freaked out. She thinks I’m emotionally invested in you.”

“Well,” her ex says carefully, “you are. Just not the way she thinks.”

Hyun-ju lets out a frustrated groan. “Yeah, but–fuck, I didn’t know what to say. She asked if I’d ever be ready to talk about it. And I just…froze.”

Her ex hums. “You always do, when it matters.”

Hyun-ju goes quiet.

“You have to remember,” her ex continues gently, “not everyone keeps talking to their ex years after the breakup. You guys are barely a thing and she’s already doubting if she can trust you. That’s not her fault. You’re asking her to believe in something you haven’t even explained.”

“I know,” Hyun-ju says softly. “I know, I just…I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Then don’t.” Hyun-ju goes to speak but is quickly cut off. “Talk to her,” her ex says. “Even if it’s uncomfortable. Even if it’s hard. You’ve never told anyone, I get that. But if you don’t want to lose her–really lose her–you have to let her see you. All of you. Or else she’s gonna walk.”

“And if she doesn’t understand?”

There’s a beat. A breath. Then, “Then she was never good for you in the first place.”

Hyun-ju nods to herself, even though her chest aches at the thought. “Thanks,” she whispers.

Her ex is quiet. Then she says, with a little fondness in her voice, “She better be good to you.”

Hyun-ju’s messages come in quick succession.

bunny please can we talk i didn’t mean to hang up i just panicked i’m not good at this shit but i swear i’m not lying to you please don’t hate me

You read them all with your phone face down beside you, screen lighting up again and again. You don’t respond. Not because you’re angry–but because if you say something now, it might come out too sharp, too insecure, too much.

So you stay quiet. Pull your knees to your chest. Breathe through the ache in your throat. You try to sleep, but it doesn’t come.

And when 2:07am blinks back at you from your phone screen, you give in. Your thumb hovers, then taps her contact.

It rings once. Twice.

A sleepy voice answers. “Bunny?”

Her voice is low, scratchy with sleep. You can hear the confusion and the softness both. It twists something in your gut.

“I wanna talk,” you whisper. “Can we have lunch tomorrow?”

You hear the sound of rustling sheets. “Yeah. Of course. Anywhere you want.”

You nod, even though she can’t see you. “Okay.”

“Are you okay?”

You close your eyes. “I don’t know.”

Hyun-ju’s voice drops even softer. “Thank you for calling me.”

You let that sit between you, quiet but honest. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you murmur.

“Yeah,” she repeats. “Tomorrow.”

You hang up before you can say anything else.

You spot her before she sees you–tucked into the corner of the cafe, hood up over her dark hair, fidgeting with the sleeve of her jacket. Her eyes flick up and land on you, and she straightens a little in her seat.

She doesn’t stand. Doesn’t open her arms like she usually does. And somehow, that feels worse than if she’d looked away entirely.

So you step forward. Wrap your arms around her shoulders and lean down into the hug, holding tight like maybe that will say what you haven’t been able to.

Hyun-ju exhales, relief softening her body against you as her arms come up slowly to hug you back. Then you both sit.

You’re in a big sweater, sleeves pulled down past your knuckles, leggings soft from too many washes. Your hair’s up in a messy clip that you didn’t really try with. You didn’t have it in you to dress up.

Neither of you says anything for a while. You pick at your food. She sips her iced coffee too fast and sets it down with a quiet clink.

Then– “I’m insecure,” you say quietly.

Hyun-ju blinks, lips parting like she’s about to reassure you. 

But you shake your head. “No. Please listen.”

She nods and her mouth shuts.

“I’m insecure,” you repeat. “And I want to hear you out. I swear I do. I promise to listen. And try to understand. But…” Your voice falters, and you wrap your fingers tighter around the cup in front of you. “You have to see my side too. You can’t just expect me to be okay when I don’t know what’s going on. When I see things and make assumptions and then sit in it alone.”

Hyun-ju’s expression shifts–like something tight in her has just been touched. She looks down for a second, lashes low.

“I’m not mad at you,” you whisper. “I’m just scared.”

Shet lets out a slow breath, then looks up at you. Really looks. “Okay,” she says, voice low. “Let me explain. Everything.”

Hyun-ju holds her coffee between both hands, staring down at the melting ice like it might tell her what to say.

“She was my first serious girlfriend,” she says finally. Her voice is cautious. “Her name’s Jina.”

You don’t interrupt.

“At that time, well…” Her jaw works for a second, like she’s chewing on the words, trying to decide how much to give you. “So I am…I mean–well, you see–”

You reach across the table and gently brush your fingers over hers. Just once. Just to say, it’s okay, take your time.

Hyun-ju glances up, and whatever she sees in your face–steady, patient, open–it gives her the strength to keep going.

“When I came out as trans,” she says, and she doesn’t look away this time, “she was the only one there for me.”

Your heart catches. The way she says it–like it cost her something just to speak those words aloud.

“She helped me through my transition. Let me crash at her place when I got kicked out. Took me to my doctor’s appointments. Helped me pick out my name. And when I–when I got too low, when I…” her voice wavers, and she looks away, blinking fast. “I was so depressed. I didn’t think I’d make it. But Jina kept me safe. From everything. From…myself.”

There’s a silence. A gentle, painful silence that hangs between you like fog.

“I’m here now,” she says finally. “That’s what matters. But we couldn’t keep dating. She found someone else. And…we just fell apart.”

She huffs a soft, dry laugh. “I let her go. Romantically, I mena. But it’s hard to let someone go who was there for something like that.”

Your throat aches. You reach for her hand again, this time properly, and she lets you hold it. You squeeze it gently. And say, “Thank you for telling me.”

“I’m sorry for not listening last night,” you say quietly, your thumb brushing her knuckles. “I was…overwhelmed. And jealous. And scared. But that doesn’t excuse it.”

Hyun-ju shrugs, but you see the tension leave her shoulders–just a little. “I get it,” she murmurs. “I do.”

You smile, soft and a little shaky. “You’re so beautiful, Hyun-ju. And I really appreciate you telling me. For sharing that with me. That’s…not easy. But I’m glad you let me in.”

She exhales like she’s been holding her breath this whole time, gaze flicking down lips twitching with the ghost of a smile.

“Yeah, well,” she mutters, “you asked.”

You both laugh–quiet, a little awkward, a little relieved.

“So…we’re okay?” she asks after a moment, like she doesn’t want to hope too hard.

You nod. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

A beat passes. Then Hyun-ju grins. “That means we can go back to my place and I can eat you out, right?”

Your face flushes, and you groan, burying your face in your hands. “Oh my god.”

She giggles, bright and playful. “What? Emotional vulnerability makes me horny.”

You shake your head, but you’re smiling now–something soft and full and real blooming warm in your chest.

The door clicks shut, and before you can say a word, Hyun-ju’s hands are on your waist, sliding under your sweater with that familiar heat in her touch.

“You’re mine tonight, soft girl,” she murmurs, lip brushing your neck. “All mine.”

You barely nod before she kisses you–slow and deep, like she’s been starving. She tugs you toward the bed, helping you out of your leggings and sweater until you’re bare beneath her gaze. Her eyes roam you, hungry and tender, taking in your soft stomach, the stretch of your thighs, the curve of your hips.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” she breathes, sinking to her knees at the edge of the bed. 

You squirm instinctively, thighs pressing together. “Hyun-ju…”

She gently coaxes your legs apart. “Shh. Let me look at you.”

She kisses the inside of one knee, then the other, moving slowly upward. Every press of her mouth is reverent, worshipful, and it makes your skin burn.

“You know how crazy you drive me?” she says, voice low. “All this softness…fuck. Your tummy, your thighs, these perfect tits–” she cups them with warm palms, thumbs brushing your nipples, “–I wanna live between your legs, baby girl.”

You whimper, head thrown back.

Then she lowers herself, breath hot against your center. Her tongue flicks out once–just a tease–and then she groans like she’s the one being touched. “God, you taste so good.”

She licks you slowly, languidly, like she has all the time in the world. You grab at the sheets, hips jerking, but she holds you down with firm hands on your hips.

“Relax,” she says, grinning against you. “Let me take care of you.”

She dives in deeper, tongue swirling around your clit, slow and relentless. She moans into you like she can’t get enough, her arms wrapped around your thighs, her hands kneading your hips and the soft swell of your tummy.

“I love how your body feels under my hands,” she murmurs between licks. “So plush. So perfect. I could eat you for hours.”

You cry out, trembling. “Hyun-ju–oh god–please–”

“Mmm. That’s it. Let me hear, you bunny.”

She sucks your clit, gentle at first, then harder–rhythmic, greedy. She slides two fingers inside you, curling them just right, and your whole body arches off the mattress with a sob.

“Gonna cum for me?” she whispers, pressing kisses into your thighs. “Let me feel you fall apart. I want it all–every noise, every shake, every drop. You’re so perfect when you break.”

You do. You come hard, legs clamping around her head, mouth falling open in a scream. She doesn’t stop–doesn’t even slow down–tongue still lapping at your clit, drinking in everything you give her like she needs it to live.

You’re wrecked. Shaking. Gasping for breath.

And she only pulls away to kiss your trembling thighs, then your stomach, then up your body until she’s holding you, cradling you against her chest. “You’re everything I want,” she murmurs against your hair. “Every inch of you.”

Your body’s still twitching from the last orgasm, legs boneless and shaky where they rest over Hyun-ju’s thighs. She hasn’t moved far–just enough to press soft, grounding kisses to your cheeks, your collarbone, your chest.

But her eyes? Still hungry.

Her fingers trace idle patterns over your stomach. “You good, sweet girl?”

You nod, dazed. “Mhm.”

Hyun-ju grins. “You think you’re done?”

You blink, lips parting. “I–I thought…”

She shakes her head, leaning to kiss your shoulder, your throat. “No, no. You’re too pretty for just one.” Her voice is a low, lazy purr now. “I need more. Need to feel you cum on my tongue again. Wanna make you cry this time.”

You shiver, heat blooming in your belly again so fast it leaves you breathless. Hyun-ju eases your thighs apart, eyes locked on your soaked, glistening center. “Fuck. Still so wet for me.”

She slides down the bed and hooks your legs over her shoulders this time. Her hands knead your hips, then trail upward–palms smoothing over your soft stomach, up to your tits, which she squeezes, massaging them gently.

“Look at you,” she whispers. “Laid out like a dream. In my fucking bed. You gonna let me ruin you again, bunny?”

You nod, wide eyed, breath caught in your throat.

“Words.”

“Yes, Hyunnie. Please, Hyunnie.”

She doesn’t make you wait. Her mouth is back on you, but this time it’s needy–filthy. She tongues your clit in frantic circles, messily, greedily, moaning into you like she’s starved. You gasp, thighs trembling against her shoulders as she devours you.

Your hands fly to her hair, gripping tight. “Hyun–f-fuck–”

“That’s it,” she pants against you. “So sensitive already. God, I fucking love it. Love how sweet you taste. How soft you are under me.”

You cry out, hips jerking, and she just groans, holding you down and going deeper–flicking her tongue fast, then flattening it, then sucking your clit with the perfect amount of pressure until you’re choking on moans.

Your second orgasm builds hard and fast, overwhelming. You feel it cresting–tight and hot–and you babble something incoherent, tugging on her hair like you’re drowning.

Hyun-ju just hums smugly. “Cum for me again, baby. Wanna see you shake. Wanna taste everything.”

You break.

Your whole body goes taut, then collapses as your orgasm crashes through you, even stronger than the last. You sob her name, thighs clenching tight around her head as she licks you through it, not letting up even for a second.

You’re trembling, gasping, your fingers tangled in her hair, and she stays there–pressing kisses into your soaked folds, your thighs, your tummy, until you’re whimpering from the overstimulation.

When she finally crawls back up to hold you, you’re flushed, dazed, messy with sweat and slick. “Still with me?” she teases, voice husky.

You nod, burying your face in her neck, and she kisses your cheek gently.

“I could do that all night,” she whispers. “You’re so good, bunny girl. So fucking perfect.”

The bathroom fills with steam, the air thick and hazy as you step under the spray with Hyun-ju behind you. Warm water rushes down your back, soothing your spent, aching body–but you barely notice it. Not with Hyun-ju’s hands all over.

“God,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to the nape of your neck. “I can’t handle you. These perfect fucking tits.” She cups them tighter, thumbing your nipples until they’re pebbled and sensitive all over again. “This ass.” Her hands slide down, kneading your hips, your backside. “You’re unreal.”

You let out a breathy moan, already melting back into her.

Hyun-ju hums, biting lightly at your shoulder. “You okay for another round, baby?”

You nod, needy and breathless. “Please.”

Her laugh is dark, pleased. “Yeah? Wanna cum for me again, right here in the shower?” Her hand dips lower, between your thighs, fingers sliding through your folds. “Still so wet,” she teases, even though the water’s pouring over you both. “Always so ready for me.”

You whimper when she starts rubbing slow, steady circles over your clit, leaning forward to brace yourself on the shower wall. She presses up behind you, one arm around your waist to steady you as she works you open again.

“You’re so good for me,” she murmurs, mouth hot against your ear. “So sweet. Letting me touch you like this. Letting me make you feel good.”

Your hips buck into her hand, every word shooting straight to your core.

“You like it like this?” she asks, slipping a finger inside you, then another. “Bent over for me? Taking what I give you like a good girl?”

“Y-yes, fuck–”

She scissors her fingers, curling them expertly until your whole body is trembling, your moans echoing against the tile.

“That’s it,” she pants. “I wanna feel you cum on my hand this time. Wanna feel your pussy clench while I fuck you like this.”

You’re almost there–again–already.

Hyun-ju senses it. She presses her body tighter to yours, rutting gently against your ass with a low groan. “Cum for me again, soft girl. Show me how much more you can take.”

You shatter. Your orgasm crashes through you like a wave, your cry muffled against your arm as you jerk and twitch against her hand. Hyun-ju holds you through it, praising you the whole time–so pretty, so good, so perfect–until you’re trembling in her arms.

She kisses your shoulder, then your jaw, then your lips.

“That’s three,” she whispers. “You think you’ve got another in you, or should I carry you to bed and spoil you some more.”

You’re still catching your breath when Hyun-ju kisses your neck again, leaving dark bruises along your skin, nuzzling against your skin with a soft chuckle. “God, baby,” she breathes, fingers sliding slow and sticky between your legs, teasing your folds again. “You’re already so sensitive…”

You whimper, thighs trembling. “I-I don’t know if I can–”

“Yeah, you can,” she whispers, mouth at your ear. “I know you can. You’re doing so good for me.”

She drops to her knees right there in the shower, hands gripping your thighs as she spreads them apart again. Water runs down your stomach, between your breasts, trailing over your soaked cunt–and Hyun-ju watches it like it’s divine.

“Let me see,” she murmurs, licking her lips before she leans in. “Let me have it again.”

Then her mouth is on you, tongue moving in slow, firm circles over your clit, fingers sliding back inside you like they never left. You gasp–your whole body already over sensitive–but her touch is practiced, knowing, relentless. Her fingers fuck up into you swith a steady rhythm, curling just right. Her mouth works you faster, wetter, until your head is tipped back and your cries echo off the tile.

“Tha-that’s too much–Hyun-ju, I–”

She groans into your pussy. “That’s it,” she pants, fingers pounding faster, her voice thick and reverent. “That’s what I want. Gimme one more. C’mon, bunny–I know you feel it.”

You do. It’s building too fast, pressure pooling deep in your belly, your thighs shaking uncontrollably. It’s more intense than anything you’ve ever felt–raw and dangerous and just barely on the edge of too much.

You cry out as the wave crests.

“I got you,” Hyun-ju moans, mouth never leaving you. “Come on, let go. Let go for me, baby–”

And you snap. Your body convulses as you cum, harder than  you ever have before–legs buckling, eyes rolling back. You scream, and something inside you releases. Warmth gushes from you in pulses, soaking her mouth, her hand, the tile beneath you.

“Ohhh fuck yes,” Hyun-ju groans, sounding wrecked. “That’s it. That’s it, baby–fuck, that’s what I wanted. Look at you. Look at how good you’re doing for me.”

You’re gasping, shaking, overwhelmed. She slows her fingers but doesn’t stop–just words you through the aftershocks with soft murmurs and hungry kisses to your thighs. Her voice is full of awe.

“You squirted for me,” she says, kissing your shaking thighs. “You fucking squirted, baby. You’re unreal.”

You slump against the shower wall, panting, your skin flushed all over. “I–I didn’t even know I could–”

Hyun-ju kisses your hip, then looks up at you with the filthiest grin you’ve ever seen. “Oh, we’re just getting started.”

Hyun-ju towels you off slowly, lovingly–pressing kisses to your thighs, your belly, your collarbone between each gentle pat. When you finally stumble out of the bathroom, she’s already pulled one of her oversized shirts from the drawer, sliding it over your head with a quiet, “There we go. That’s better.”

It smells like her. You melt into it instantly.

She helps you into bed–pulling the covers up, smoothing your hair off your forehead–and then slides in beside you, curling her body around yours like you’re something precious. Her hands stroke up and down your side beneath the shirt, lingering at your waist, your hip, the curve of your belly.

“You okay?” she whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You nod, cheeks warm. “More than okay.”

Hyun-ju hums, fingers still tracing your skin. “You were so good for me. So beautiful. You know that, right?”

You hide your face in her chest, shy but glowing. “Stop…”

“I mean it,” she says, tipping your chin up. “I love your body. Every inch. The way you sound, the way you move, the way you feel. I think about it all the time.”

You bite your lip, heart racing in your chest. Her eyes are soft–unguarded in a way that makes your breath catch.

And then quietly, almost like a secret, you say, “Can I tell you my favorite things about you?”

Her brows lift in surprise. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

You inhale, then glance down at her fingers still resting on your hip. “I like how you touch me,” you begin softly. “How gentle you are when you don’t have to be. Like…when you think I’m not paying attention.”

Hyun-ju doesn’t say anything. Just listens.

“I like your laugh,” you add. “When you laugh so hard you crinkle your nose. And how you always smell like citrus and something warm. And how you remember everything I say, even the little things.”

Your voice lowers. “And I like your body too, Hyunnie. You’re so strong. I like your arms. Your shoulders. Your back. Your abs.” You flush a little. “Sometimes I stare when you’re not looking. You just…look like someone I feel safe with.”

You look up at her, eyes wide and vulnerable. “And I like the way you look at me. Like you’re letting me see something no one else gets to.”

Her mouth parts–like maybe she wants to say something–but she just exhales instead and wraps her arms around you, pulling you in.

She kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then the tip of your nose. “You’re gonna break my heart,” she whispers, smiling faintly. 

You bury your face in her chest again, voice barely audible. “Then at least you’ll know you had it.”

She holds you tighter.

The silence stretches between you, soft and drowsy. Her fingers trace idle shapes along your spine, the slow rhythm lulling you into that fragile place where truth comes easy.

You lift your head just slightly, just enough to see her eyes. “Hyunnie?”

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

She nods, brushing her thumb along your cheek. “Anything.”

You swallow, voice small. “Do you…want this to be more than just hookups?”

Hyun-ju’s hand stills. She blinks once, lips parting. “Do you?”

You meet her gaze, trying not to flinch from how exposed you feel. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I think I do.”

For a moment, she just stares at you–like she doesn’t quite believe it.

“You really want…me?” she says quietly. Her voice is raw, unsure in a way you’ve never heard before.

You nod. “I like being with you. Not just in bed. I like you. And I want to see where this goes. If you do.”

She lets out a slow breath, eyes searching yours. Then–so gently–she leans in to kiss you. Not hungry, not desperate. Just…real.

When she pulls back, she rests her forehead against yours. “Okay,” she whispers.. “Let’s try. If you’re in, I’m in.”

You smile, curling closer into her chest. Her arm wraps around your waist, holding you against her like she means it.

“Good,” you murmur. “Just…don’t disappear on me, okay?”

“I won’t,” she replies. “Not unless you ask me to.”

You fall asleep with her heartbeat under your cheek, her hand warm on your back, and something new–tentative and bright–blooming quietly in your chest.

a/n - i hope you all enjoyed!! hyun-ju is literally just the most beautiful, wonderful woman in the world. I just know she worships her partner for sure ;)

taglist - @jeongteen

[leriexoxo]

SKZ HEADCANON SERIES (18+)

Chapter 4: Hyunjin - The Art Rival

OT8 SERIES MASTERLIST

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

From the moment your names were announced as finalists, there was tension.

Hyunjin was the prodigy. Golden boy of the underground art scene. His work was bold, emotional, effortlessly raw. He had the kind of face that belonged in museums and the kind of attitude that made you want to break every brush in sight.

You were the quiet storm. Precision. Concept. Control. Where he was instinctual chaos, you were crafted elegance. The gallery buzzed about your contrast. Critics pitted you against each other. And Hyunjin leaned into it—every critique, every sideways glance, every chance to undermine your technique with poetic bullshit.

He’d walk past your canvas and say things like:

“It’s nice. A little… safe. But clean.”

To which you’d smile, saccharine.

“At least mine doesn’t look like I blacked out with a palette knife.”

You hated his face. His cocky walk. His emotional mess of a technique that somehow worked.

He hated your precision. Your walls. Your ability to stay unbothered when he knew he was getting under your skin.

And still, every time you were forced to stand next to him at press events or critique circles, the air buzzed like static. You noticed how he bit his lip when he concentrated. How he rolled paint between his fingers like it was sex. How he got close when he spoke, like he wanted to get in your head—or under your clothes.

Maybe both.

—

The final night of setup, the gallery was quiet.

Just you and him.

Your works—two large-scale pieces—had been mounted side by side on the far wall, separated by a single spotlight. The contrast was jarring. Yours, crisp and controlled. His, wild and smeared like emotion incarnate.

“I still think they shouldn’t be next to each other,” you muttered, arms crossed.

Hyunjin stepped into your space, arms crossed to mirror you. “Because mine will drown yours out?”

You rolled your eyes. “Because yours looks like it’s having an emotional breakdown and mine has actual composition.”

He smirked. “Your obsession with perfection makes your work… sterile.”

“And yours bleeds without saying anything.”

A beat of silence.

Hyunjin glanced at your piece again, then back at you. “That’s not true,” he said. Softer now. “It says a lot. You say a lot.”

Your breath caught.

His eyes lingered on the curve of your signature, then shifted—studying your face like he was seeing it for the first time.

“I hate that I like your work,” he murmured. “I hate that it moves me.”

You swallowed. “Yeah. Well… yours pisses me off because it does move me. And it shouldn’t.”

Silence.

Heat crept up your spine. The tension shifted—no longer sharp, but molten. Slow. Inevitable.

Hyunjin stepped closer. So close you could smell the faint mix of paint, cologne, and danger clinging to him.

“You’ve got paint on your mouth,” he whispered.

His thumb swiped the corner of your lips.

Then he leaned in.

His kiss was soft at first—curious, hesitant. But the second your lips parted and your hands tangled in his loose shirt, it turned hungry.

His tongue licked the last of the paint from your mouth before plunging deeper. Your back hit the sculpture pedestal behind you, and he pinned you there with his hips, groaning against your lips when your teeth grazed his.

“You have no idea,” he gasped, trailing kisses down your throat, “how long I’ve wanted to shut you up like this.”

“Then stop talking,” you whispered.

He did.

Clothes came off in frantic, desperate hands. Buttons popped, smears of blue and red from drying paint streaked skin, and his lips never left you long enough for the temperature to drop.

He dragged his mouth down your chest, biting lightly, sucking bruises over your sternum like art of his own. You moaned and clawed at his back, and when he pressed his thigh between your legs, grinding you against the cold stone of the pedestal, you whimpered.

“Fuck—look at you,” he growled, voice wrecked. “So pretty like this. Messy for me.”

He spun you, bending you slightly over the pedestal—your palms flat on cool marble, your ass pushed back against his hard length.

You looked over your shoulder. “Are we really—here?”

“Inspiration strikes where it strikes,” he grinned, biting your shoulder.

He pushed inside you in one slow, devastating stroke, filling you inch by inch until you gasped. He stilled, savoring it. You, wrapped tight around him. Breathing ragged. Eyes half-lidded with shock and want.

Then he started to move.

Deep. Slow. Then faster. Harder. His fingers dug into your hips, dragging you back onto him like he couldn’t get close enough.

“Always so smug,” he panted, voice hot against your neck. “Where’s all that control now?”

You tried to answer. Failed.

Your nails scraped the marble. Your moans echoed off gallery walls. He pulled your head back by your hair to kiss you again—sloppy, panting kisses between moans and gasps.

“Say my name,” he demanded, thrusting deeper.

“Hyunjin—fuck—Hyunjin.”

His grip tightened. “That’s right. Say it again while I make you come all over my cock.”

And you did.

Your body clenched around him in waves, his name breaking from your throat like prayer and punishment, and he followed with a hoarse cry, spilling inside you as his hips stuttered and his forehead pressed to your shoulder.

—

You both leaned against the pedestal, panting, sweaty, ruined—skin smeared with paint and fingerprints.

Silence stretched again.

Then, softly:

“…You still think your piece is better than mine?” he murmured.

You smirked, eyes closed. “Yeah. But I’ll admit yours has… movement.”

He laughed breathlessly, his lips brushing your ear. “Then maybe I’ll show you more of it. Over and over.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki @justwonder113 @mbioooo0000 @sammhisphere @nebugalaxy @cutecucumberkimberly @chancloud8 @sunflwerstar

[angel06babysworld]

boss!rafe x angel!reader

Heaven in His Office

Rafe had never believed in handing out power without pressure. Pressure revealed who could handle it. Who broke, who bent, who quit. He didn’t have time for soft people—or so he told himself.

So when the new girl walked into his office on her first day, young and radiant with a folder clutched to her chest and a smile that could probably make flowers grow, Rafe knew she wouldn’t last. She was sweet. Sweet didn’t survive here.

Still, she had a resume, and he was desperate, so he hired her.

He gave her three days. She lasted a week.

Then two.

By the third, she wasn’t just surviving. She was shining. And that? That pissed him off more than he could admit.

It wasn’t personal, not at first. He doubled her workload, tossed incomplete reports on her desk without explanation, changed meeting times last-minute just to see if she’d stumble. She never did. She met every task with a nod and that damn smile—gentle, serene, like she didn’t even notice he was trying to break her.

She organized his mess of a calendar in under an hour. Sorted five years of digital files in two days. Memorized the coffee orders for the whole floor by the end of the week—and somehow still had time to leave a little sticky note on his desk each morning: “Good morning! Meeting at 9, coffee in the kitchen, don’t forget to breathe.”

That last line shouldn’t have made his chest tighten.

She never snapped. Never rolled her eyes. Never slipped. Even when he was colder than usual, sharper with his words. She just met him with kindness so steady it made him feel like a villain in his own office.

One afternoon, after a brutal call with investors, he stormed into his office only to find her already there, typing calmly. She stood when she saw him, holding out a folder.

“I color-coded the talking points from today’s meeting,” she said, as if he hadn’t nearly taken someone’s head off five minutes ago. “And I made a few notes you might want to bring up next time.”

He took the folder, glancing at it briefly—then paused.

She’d caught something he hadn’t. A financial gap that would’ve cost them. His jaw tightened.

“You’re wasting your time here,” he said suddenly.

Her brow lifted, eyes wide but not afraid. “I’m sorry?”

“You could be doing something better. Something bigger.” He didn’t know why he was saying it. Maybe to push her. Maybe to see if she’d finally show something other than that unwavering, maddening grace.

But she only smiled.

“I don’t want better,” she said softly. “I want to be here.”

He stared at her like she’d just spoken another language.

“You like working for me?” he asked, incredulous.

“I like helping people who don’t ask for help,” she said, still smiling, like she didn’t realize she was gently rearranging the very foundation of his soul. “And you need someone who won’t run.”

That was the moment it hit him—not like a whisper, but like a crash.

She wasn’t naive. She wasn’t clueless. She knew exactly what he was doing, and she stayed anyway. Not out of weakness, but because somewhere deep down, she chose him.

And that broke something open in Rafe.

He turned away before she could see too much, jaw clenched, hands shoved in his pockets like he could hide the earthquake happening under his skin. “Get out of my office,” he muttered.

“Yes, sir,” she said, still kind.

When the door shut behind her, Rafe sat down slowly and opened the folder. Her handwriting was neat, looping. So different from the messy, ugly things he’d been thinking about her for the last week.

Because the girl he’d hired expecting to break was now the only person in the building who could break him—with nothing but a smile and a goddamn sticky note.

He closed his eyes, ran a hand down his face.

He was in trouble.

And worse, he wanted her to.

tags: @amelialovesrafe @alyisdead

[fallenbratfiction]

constants & variables ~ reed richards x f!reader

a/n: don't come for me, I had to google terms and concepts, I'm in another field of science FAR, FAR AWAY FROM THIS. That's all I gotta say.

mentions: fluff, stressed out reader, imposter syndrome, reed reassures you, sweet lil fanfic. if i missed any mentions let me know!

minors dni with my blog or works!

do not copy, translate or claim any of my work as your own.

⟡��─────────────⟡

You’ve been at it for days. Every path leads to a dead end. Every new equation collapses in on itself. The whiteboard is a battlefield of half-erased solutions, and your notebook is filled with coffee stains and frustration.

“Fuck!” you mutter, scrubbing another attempt off the board with your sleeve.

Across the lab, Reed glances up from his tablet, his brow creasing as he watches you. He’s been buried in his side of the mission just as intensely, but somehow… he still finds room to worry about you.

The whiteboard squeaks under the force of your marker. You’ve been staring at the same theoretical loop for hours now. Your hands are covered in ink smudges and half-erased formulas. Your coffee’s gone cold. Your chest is tight. You want to scream or cry or run.

Reed's voice is quiet behind you, "Sweetheart"

"Don't," you shake your head.

He stands up, walks over, and offers his hand. “Come on. Let’s take a pause, okay?" he says softly. "Come lie down with me.”

“No,” you snap, sharper than you mean to. “I can’t rest. Not until I solve this. I’m stuck.”

“You’re hitting a wall, love." he moves a strand of hair behind your ear. “And the harder you push right now, the worse it’s going to feel. You’re not going to break through it tonight. You need distance—fresh eyes, another perspective.”

You exhale shakily, grip loosening on the marker. Reed gently eases it from your hand. “You're brilliant, but you're not a machine.”

He’s not trying to be Mr. Fantastic right now. He’s not lecturing you. He’s right, and you hate that he’s right. But admitting that feels like defeat.

You take his hand and let him lead you over to the couch in the corner of the lab, pulling you into his lap like it’s second nature. Your cheek finds his shoulder, and you close your eyes. His arms wrap around you like a quiet shelter.

“You’re so brilliant,” Reed murmurs against your hair. “And I admire you for it. I’m so lucky. But I hate seeing you like this, sweetheart. It’s no use burning yourself out. You don’t deserve to run yourself into the ground just to prove you can.”

“I just worry...a lot,” you whisper.

“I know you do.”

“What if there’s no solution? What if I can’t figure it out? What if we can’t fix this?”

“Hey.” He tilts your chin up gently with two fingers until your eyes meet his. His voice is low and steady. “We always figure it out. There’s always a solution. Like Feynman said—‘There’s a pleasure in finding things out.’ And we will. Just… not like this.”

You look him in the eyes. His gaze is steady, warm, full of quiet love.

And it makes it worse somehow—because all you can feel is the weight of not being enough. Not fast enough. Not brilliant enough. Not worthy enough.

“I feel like a fraud,” you whisper, voice barely audible. “To all of you… especially to you. When I can’t get it right.”

Reed doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t brush it off or tell you you’re being dramatic. He just cups your cheek with that steady, ink-stained hand, and his thumb brushes against your skin like he’s holding something precious.

“You’re not a fraud,” he says gently. “You’re exhausted. There’s a difference.”

You shake your head, but he leans in closer.

“I know that voice in your head. The one that tells you you’re not enough, even when you’re doing the impossible. But let me tell you something—you are not failing anyone. Not me. Not the team. And especially not yourself.”

You close your eyes, leaning into his touch.

He softens even further. “You’re allowed to be stuck. You’re allowed to not have all the answers right now. That’s not failure. That’s just… being human. Being brilliant and human.”

You let out a breath that trembles at the edges, and your shoulders fall.

“The problem will still be here tomorrow,” he says, brushing your knuckles with his. “But right now? I just want to hold the woman I admire most in the universe.”

You sink into his warmth, letting yourself be held. His arms wrap around you with a tenderness that makes your chest ache, grounding you in a way nothing else can. His heartbeat is steady beneath your cheek, his fingers slowly brushing through your hair. You're curled up in his lap, legs folded beside him, your cheek resting against his shoulder. The lab is quiet now. The whiteboard is blank.

Reed's fingers move gently through your hair, slow and rhythmic. His head leans back against the couch cushion, eyes closed but not fully asleep—just resting.

Silence feels like a pause, a much-needed one.

You’re staring at the empty whiteboard, and something shifts. A gap clicks into place. Not a solution, not yet—but the shape of one. You blink, your breath hitching. You sit up slightly.

“Reed.”

He hums, not opening his eyes. “Mmm?”

“I—wait.”

You freeze, staring, running over it again. It fits. The answer doesn’t lie where you thought—it’s beside it. A pivot. You scramble to untangle yourself from his lap, jolting up so fast he startles.

“Wait—hold on, what—?”

You’re already sprinting across the lab. You grab the marker and take the cap off with your mouth. You hit the whiteboard and write. Fast. Lines, symbols, a theory folding into itself with every pass. Your wrist aches, but your mind is flooded.

Reed sits up slowly, rubbing his eyes. Watches you in a daze as you scrawl.

“Baby,” he calls, voice still thick with exhaustion. “Enough for tonight. You need—”

“No, no, no, I got it—” You barely glance at him. “Reed, I got it! It’s the derivative link between phase decay and the fluctuation threshold—that’s what was throwing it off—oh my god, it was right in front of me—”

His brows lift as he watches, stunned, the fatigue melting off him. You’re in a frenzy, hair wild, marker racing. He sees the full scope of your idea unfold on the board. Elegant. Bold. Just Right.

Reed mutters something under his breath. He doesn’t interrupt. Just walks over quietly, standing behind you.

You’re halfway through the final line when he slides his hands onto your waist. “You did it,” he says, breathless with pride. “You fucking did it.”

You turn, eyes glassy, heart pounding. “I knew it was in there. I just needed—god, I just needed to stop thinking so loud.”

He leans in, forehead pressed against yours, grinning like he hasn’t slept in days and doesn’t care anymore. “You’re a genius,” he laughs. "Brilliant!" He lifts you slightly off the ground, arms tight around your waist, spinning you in one small, giddy circle before pulling you against him again.

“You solved it!” he says, half in disbelief, half in reverence. “You actually solved it.”

You’re breathless, laughing through the rush of adrenaline, still stunned by the clarity that hit like lightning.

“I did,” you say, dizzy. “I really did.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, hands still on your waist. “You realize this changes everything.”

You nod, beaming, heart still racing. “I know.”

“God, I’m so proud of you.” His voice cracks slightly—just enough to show how deeply he means it. “I love your mind.”

You blink back the emotion threatening to rise, overwhelmed not just by the breakthrough, but by him—his joy, his belief in you, the way he sees you even when you can't see yourself.

Your fingers slip into his hair, grounding yourself in him. The marker falls somewhere behind him and clatters quietly to the floor.

You lean in, eyes fluttering shut, and kiss him—deep, steady, grateful. You break the kiss to look at him. "Thank you," you whisper, a smile tugging at your lips.

He exhales against your lips like the weight of the universe just shifted, and he pulls you impossibly closer, his hand cradling the side of your face, the other still clutching your waist.

You break the kiss, forehead pressing against his, and breathe in the silence between you—the hum of the lab, the soft glow of the whiteboard behind you, still filled with your handwriting, your solution.

“Now we can rest,” you say, voice light, tired.

He chuckles, brushing his lips gently against your temple. “Yeah, baby. Let’s get to bed.”

And this time, when he leads you back to bed, it’s not with worry in your chest or doubts in your mind. Tomorrow, you're telling the team how you'll move forward with the mission. For tonight, the work is done.

⟡──────────────⟡

likes, reblogs & comments are appreciated always!!!