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pupyuj · 2 months

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→ “dreamlike.” || jang wonyoung x reader fic.

— with your forbidden thoughts and feelings plaguing your head, you failed to do the deed with your crush on a date. and so your stepsister gives you a taste of what you've been craving...

word count: 14.6k.

dynamic: dom!stepsister!jang wonyoung x sub!inexperienced!reader.

content warnings: stepcest, masturbation, mirror sex, unnie kink, praise kink, fingering, edging, voyeurism, exhibitionism (mildly).

requested? : yes!

‼️: this fic features ryujin of itzy as the reader's (second?) love interest!

a/n: i am so glad to tick this off my req checklist omg 😭😭😭 apologies to the anon who requested this months ago, this is for you! from pupyuj many months later 😭💔 i really didn't think i would write over 10k words since i predicted that i would only be writing 7k but i present you guys this big ass meal, i guess... 😭 sorry in advance for this long read but I REALLY HOPE THIS WAS AT LEAST FUN TO READ FOR YA'LL! expect the other requests to come soon 👀

for as long as you’ve known your step sister, which would be two years now, all she has done for you are good things. she helps you around the house, was quick to befriend you and get you comfortable around her father (your stepdad) and herself, made the effort to get along with your mother, and has treated you like family way more than some other immediate blood relatives of yours did. there was no doubt that you couldn’t ask for a better older sister than jang wonyoung, and she continues to prove that the more she hangs out with you!

wonyoung has done a lot of favors for you—some you didn’t even ask for. she didn’t have to make so much time in her schedule just to show you around the city after you and your mother officially moved in with her and her father, but she did. she didn’t have to become your personal campus tour guide when you enrolled at your new college (that she also attended), but she did. she didn’t have to throw a surprise birthday party for you in your first year of being sisters, but she did! you like to tell wonyoung that you would love to give back to everything she has done for you, but she always told you that it wasn’t necessary because she was just fulfilling her role as your older sister.

and today, you just so happen to need her god-given older sister wisdom and guidance… for a cute date! as soon as your crush turned a corner after you’ve agreed to have her take you out on a date in the coming weekend, you immediately turned around and pulled out your phone, texting your reliable older sister.

sliding your phone inside one of your pockets, you started leaving the building with a skip in your step. the hallways were silent with only muffled chatter and the thought of shin ryujin accompanying you on your way out. you blushed as you remembered her vibrant smile when you said ‘yes’ to her date proposal—it looked like she had been nervous before she asked you and was very relieved that you didn’t turn her down. but in what world would you have rejected her, anyway? she was your dream girl! and ever since your first date together, which was only three weeks ago, you have been wanting to see her again.

the two of you have only been texting and chatting in the halls regularly but being in different programs made it hard for either of you to make time. not to mention the nerves! you had no idea if ryujin wanted to go on a date with you again even when you knew full well that she enjoyed her last one with you. it was wonyoung who cleared you of your doubts and worries, told you that if ryujin wasn’t stupid she would absolutely want to be with you, and she was even the one who gave you good advice on how to initiate something she calls ‘the first-date skinship’! it was only wonyoung’s natural big-sister-instinct to want to help you with your second date, and you really couldn’t have asked for a better guide!

arriving at the parking lot, you spotted wonyoung in the sea of cars, leaning on her own sleek, cherry red chevy as she reapplied some gloss on her plump lips. you noticed that she was strangely glammed up on a tuesday where you knew her classes were fairly boring and totally not worth all the effort of looking decent, let alone fabulous. she must have plans—besides taking you out shopping, that is. she spots you once you were halfway across the lot, and her smile lights up the entire area, in your eyes anyway.

you happily walked faster until you were right in front of her, “hi, unnie!” you greeted with a sweet smile that she returned with a pinch of your cheek.

“hey there, lovergirl. you look so happy! it’s cute,” wonyoung spots how your cheeks flushed. surely enough she now knows about how you kept thinking about ryujin on the walk towards this place, and speaking of the devil, she followed your gaze to the car a few spots away from her own, where ryujin and a few of her best friends were standing and chatting comfortably around in. as if she sensed that someone was staring at her, ryujin turns her head and locks eyes with you. you froze up, both embarrassed and terrified that you were caught practically drooling over your crush by… your crush! it was only when wonyoung subtly nudged you that you managed to give ryujin a shy wave, which the latter returned just as shyly and got teased by her friends for it. “oh wow, you two are so into each other.” wonyoung laughed as you turned away from ryujin with burning hot cheeks.

“i’m happy i trusted you and didn’t let my preconceived notions of her stop you from going on that first date. she seems like a good egg. now, anyway.” wonyoung says as she subtly studies ryujin. a once drop-out, repeater of classes, and a reputation for being the token ‘player’ of her little group… wonyoung had all the right to doubt ryujin when you first told her that you had a crush on her. it didn’t help that ryujin looked the part of a player too! even wonyoung herself thought that little smirk of hers was quite charming, but after hearing all of the things you said about ryujin and how she treated you so kindly… well, wonyoung had to give her a chance!

and clearly, shin ryujin did not disappoint.

“if this second date goes well, i’ll properly introduce you both. if you’d like! it doesn’t look like it but you guys have similar interests and i think you’ll get along well.” you said, immediately getting reminded of how much you talked about your perfect wonyoung-unnie to ryujin on that first date. thinking about it now was embarrassing, but it made your heart skip a beat when you remember how ryujin didn’t seem to mind anything ‘strange’ that you did. she just looked happy to be hanging out with you! oh, you could fall in love, really.

“whoa there, maybe save the introductions when you’ve been dating for at least two months.” wonyoung teased, smiling widely at how you just ducked into the passenger seat to avoid eye contact with her. wonyoung sits herself down in the driver’s seat, more than happy to let you hog the speakers with your music while she checks herself one last time in her mirrors.

“ah, do you have a date, unnie?” you asked, your eyes carefully studying your step sister’s every facial feature. in your eyes, jang wonyoung was the definition of ‘flawless’. perfect face, perfect body, perfect personality, perfect heart, perfect lips… sometimes you envied her, but every time you voiced out some of your insecurities to her, she would tell you to be quiet and that you’re perfect in her eyes. you appreciated her greatly because of that and she has increased your confidence in every aspect of yourself! add ‘perfect older sister’ in that list.

“oh, god no,” wonyoung says as she slowly pulls out of her spot. she waves at a couple students that were walking by, and you even spot some who waved at you as well. you returned their greetings with a sweet smile before wonyoung completely drove away from the parking lot, but she of course gave you some sweet seconds to wave at ryujin again before speeding off laughing. “why? did you think i would take you shopping not looking decent?” she asked.

“if your ‘decent’ looks like a pageant entry, then i’m afraid to find out what mine is.” you grumbled. it was almost an unhealthy habit of yours to nitpick your appearance, but wonyoung was quick to make all of that go away.

“yours is winning the pageant in question, of course.” wonyoung said. her words laced with nothing but sincerity, it made you smile.

“i appreciate the lie, unnie.” you replied, laughing.

wonyoung whines, “i don’t lie, (y/n)-ah. you know this!”

the ride to the nearest outlet mall was filled with casual chatter and laughs. you tried to convince wonyoung to go to a less… well, expensive mall but she insisted that it was the perfect time to spend her allowance! and then you begged her not to spend her money on you, and she blissfully ignored you. ever the doting one she is. the entire time you sat on that passenger seat, you were fixing your makeup using the little mirror in the visor, grumbling when you noticed how ‘off’ you looked with how your makeup had worn off throughout the day. and so you get to ‘fixing’ your appearance, but not before noticing that wonyoung’s eyes kept drifting from the road to you.

“what, unnie?”

you hear wonyoung hum, “nothing. you know you don’t need too much of that, right…? you’re so pretty.”

“i’m not about to go into a mall for rich kids with my gorgeous older sister looking like i just woke up from hibernation.” you joked, giggling when wonyoung scoffs and shakes her head.

“trust me. you’re more beautiful than you think.” wonyoung pinches your cheek and before you could deny or say anything back, she speeds off into the highway, giving you no choice but to sit back and relax. you already knew that wonyoung was going to be the one to dress you up for the entirety of this little outing so you didn’t waste your brainpower trying to think of any outfits to put together. instead, you opted to stare at the clouds with ryujin in your head, accompanied by a lovesick smile on your face which was made worse because of the romantic songs playing through the speakers.

once you arrived at the outlet mall, wonyoung wasted no time and took you by the hand before tugging you towards clothing stores that had prices worth more than you think they deserve for being merely… well, clothing.

“u-unnie, this is way too expensive for a skirt! please, i do not need this!” you said after nearly fainting looking at the price tag of a cute, frilly black skirt that wonyoung picked out for you.

“i told you already: don’t worry about it. and less talking, more looking!” wonyoung puts the skirt in a bag, moving on to a rack of some if the prettiest blouses you have ever seen. from the colors to the material—it was all very rich, and you haven’t even included the prices there!

“so! what kind of outfit would you like to wear for this date? preppy? cutesy? maybe even sexy?” wonyoung teased with a smirk. you blushed madly at the suggestion, looking away to hide your cheeks as well as your burning ears. “aww, baby, you think about ryujin in that way? how adorable!” wonyoung laughs.

“have you seen her in the engineering building? she’s so attractive when she’s all serious and focused…” you said with a dreamy sigh. you developed the peculiar habit of taking a long stroll around the campus whenever you had spare time and you just so happened to always walk by ryujin’s classroom on your routes. once in a while you’d see her—nose glued to her notebook or listening to the lecture with great focus… and it really was sexy of her! and now here’s a fun fact: the two of you actually met on one of your first walks around the campus, where you got lost in the engineering building and ryujin had been conveniently running late to class.

you asked her for directions but she insisted that she escort you back to your own lecture hall, and the rest, as they say, is history! every time you think about it, butterflies invade your stomach and turn you into a blushing mess.

“come on, try some of these on.” wonyoung leads you to a lavish (and huge) dressing room that looks like a monster made of pink goo puked all over it. nevertheless, wonyoung takes a seat in one of the puffy, pretty ridiculously pink armchairs and nods at the privacy screen, expecting you to put on a whole fashion show for her. you felt intimidated by wonyoung, but not the kind where you would tuck your tail in between your legs and hide like you usually did with other people that mildly scared you. this kind of intimidation just made you want to impress her—make her proud, almost.

and what would you be if you were not a people-pleaser?!

so you hid behind the privacy screen and stared at the four pretty outfits that wonyoung had arranged for you; they were all pastel-colored outfits. you didn’t have a problem, of course, but you did wonder if you could ever pull it off as flawlessly as wonyoung did. on your last date with ryujin, you wore a sundress embroidered with flowers, petals, and leaves along with a cute hat, one of wonyoung’s expensive purses, and bejeweled mary janes—the outfit made ryujin unable to make eye contact with you for ten minutes until she finally got the courage to tell you how pretty you looked. adorable, but what if she doesn’t think the same on this second date?

shaking your head, you decided to trust your sister.

the mini fashion show was enlightening! seeing wonyoung’s face light up with amusement and joy every time you walked out of the privacy screen with a shy look on your face made you a bit less embarrassed of yourself. wonyoung would sometimes ask you to do a little twirl for her and would giggle sweetly at you when you do what she says even though your face was beet red. regardless of how you felt bashful about being your older step sister’s living doll, you enjoyed everything. you ended up picking an outfit that you really liked too!

“there are ways we can make this look a hundred times better!” wonyoung says, approaching you with a smile on her face. she gets real close to you, making you freeze on your spot and stare at her right in the eyes like a deer caught in headlights. her perfume was so sweet, voice so smooth as if it was made of silk, lips so full, plump, and pink that it was alluring. your breath catches in your throat when wonyoung lifts her hands slightly, undoing the ribbon of your blouse and then tying it back again—prettier this time. you couldn’t help your wandering eyes; you stared at her lips for too long! you hoped to the gods above that she didn’t notice.

(she did.)

“i’ll teach you how to tie your ribbon all cute when it’s date day. oh, and also raise this up a bit,” wonyoung lowers her hand, tucking both her thumbs underneath the waistband of your skirt and pulling your skirt up a bit. you don’t know what kind of sound nearly left your mouth when her cold fingers touched your warm skin but you were so fucking glad that it never came out. “for easier access.” wonyoung whispers with a suggestive wink.

you blushed wildly, “oh, unnie! ryujin’s the sweetest gentlewoman, please don’t put that in my head.” you promptly moved away from wonyoung, opting to stand in front of the full body mirror instead to observe your appearance. with a little bit of light makeup and some accessories, you’d look really cute. you were glad wonyoung was here to offer her expertise, or else you would’ve been panicking trying to find a decent outfit the night before the big day. both you and wonyoung ogle over your adorable outfit before you go back to wearing your regular clothes, realizing that you might like shopping and scourging for outfits more than you thought.

at the cash register, you still insisted on at least paying for half of the payments required for the outfit but wonyoung refused again. “keep this up and i’m going to have to lock your cards myself just to make it stick to you that i want to pay for everything.” wonyoung then pinches your nose and happily slips the receipt into the paper bag before gingerly walking out of the store with you following close behind. at least she allowed you to carry the bag, but that was only because she wanted to loop her arm around yours and tug you everywhere.

for the rest of your time at that outlet mall, you spent most of it window shopping and trying to stop wonyoung from buying you pricey things that you did not ask for. you managed to prevent her from getting you a shiny watch, some sleek heels, and fancy pieces of clothing that were too rich for your little closet, but you couldn’t say no to her when she brought up the wonderful idea of getting matching bracelets. wonyoung’s joy was contagious; it made you so happy to see her smile when you allowed her to put the bracelet on you. it was just another great day of hanging out with her, but the fun didn’t stop there!

“so, tonight! you, me, in my room, a pint of ice cream, iconic romcoms, and planning out your second date. sound good?” wonyoung asks once she had her car parked on the driveway. you nodded eagerly, taking a bite out of the donut in your hand before tidying yourself up. wonyoung wipes a filling off the top of your lips and licks it off her thumb, chuckling lightly at your bewildered expression before exiting her car. you blinked, and asked yourself just why did you think it was so… ‘hot’ of her to do that? shaking your head, you followed after your step sister, closing the car door gently and jogging up to the front porch of the jang family mansion.

the mansion was as posh and lavish as one would expect from the jangs; from the fine pieces of paintings, sculptures, and figures scattered all over the house to the intricately-detailed wallpapers and the expensive furniture. it was way too big for one family of four, three dramatic cats, and two live-in housekeepers but it was home.

“hi, unnies!” wonyoung excitedly greets the chipper housekeepers, giving them hugs and kisses. you stood idly behind them all, waiting as wonyoung chatted with them. “mmh… that smells really good. but why are you guys cooking a bit early tonight?” wonyoung asked.

“ah, sir jang or madam (l/n) hasn’t mentioned it yet?” the older one of the housekeepers, sunhee, said. you and wonyoung exchanged a quick look with each other, making you grab your phone just to take a quick peek to confirm that no, neither your stepfather or mother have texted you about any interesting event that’s supposed to occur tonight. “both of them are inviting some friends of theirs over for dinner. and they’re expecting you young’uns to join them!”

your smile drops slightly. not because you didn’t want to join the big dinner but because your little plan with wonyoung might have to be canceled depending on how long the dinner would be. seeing this, the younger housekeeper, norae, was quick to try and lift your spirits back up. “i’m sure it’s not anything too serious! nothing to be concerned about.” she smiles kindly at you and relief was evident in her face when you smile back, warm from the reassurance. afterwards, sunhee decided to go back to the kitchen but norae insisted on helping you and wonyoung with your bags.

“one day i’m going drag you and sunhee-unnie along to my bi-weekly shopping sprees. it’ll be so fun.” wonyoung tells norae as the three of you struggled climbing the staircases with shopping bags in your hands. while the two older girls get lost in their conversation, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket and your heart jumps at the thought of it being ryujin. she did tell you that she would tell you more about the date she has planned so you wouldn’t be too nervous about it. how considerate of her! you paused on top of the staircases to look at your phone, and you were correct!”

“come on, lover girl, don’t fall off the stairs,” wonyoung teased, her head peeking out from the corner of the hallway. “sorry, unnie. she has another hot date this weekend so she’s a bit… distracted.” wonyoung winks at the young housekeeper before laughing at how you blushed at her statement. shoving your phone in your pocket, you grabbed your bags and made a beeline towards your room, ignoring wonyoung’s giggles and norae’s calls for details. you thanked norae for her help with your bags before bidding your older sister a short goodbye—you had a ‘formal’ dinner to get ready for! and you wanted to see if you can glam yourself up without wonyoung’s help this time.

however, instead of going straight into the showers like you intended to, you decided to crash right onto your bed! ryujin didn’t seem to be camping in your messages anymore, possibly occupied with something. a shame since you wanted to chat with her just to know more about her so you wouldn’t be a total bore to talk to on your second date with her. beyond the cool girl persona, there was a not-so-hidden softness in ryujin that she doesn’t really allow just anyone to see and maybe it was her infatuation with you, but you were one of those people that she let see her adorable side.

for example! once in a while you would find three daisies taped to your locker with a small sticky note that had only a cute heart and ‘ryu’ signed at the bottom of the paper. on one of those days where ryujin pulled that stunt, wonyoung had been with you and you got such a big teasing from her that you had to pretend that the cute gesture didn’t affect you as much. every time ryujin gave you daisies you always made sure to take them home and appreciate them a little more before their time was up, and because of ryujin, you found yourself liking the flower so much that even your phone case was designed with daisies.

you hadn’t been able to get the look of awe in ryujin’s face when she noticed your new and shiny daisy phone case one day and you swore that when her face lit up with a bright smile, you had fallen in love.

you turned to your side and started scrolling through ryujin’s instagram page. you’ve probably seen every post at this point but you would never get tired of seeing her face… plus her pictures were pretty cool, okay?! you wondered who took them—maybe chaeryeong? you always knew they were pretty close, almost like sisters. as you scrolled through your crush’s feed, it started to get… warm. shin ryujin was simply too handsome for her own good; who could blame you for staring obsessively at a certain pic that you liked for so long that you didn't even notice your own hand slipping underneath the waistband of your pants and feeling your own clothed core?

rubbing the fabric of your underwear against your clit, you whimpered and pressed your face against your pillows as a means to suppress your noises. it would be a nightmare if anybody in the house hears you. they may not tease you as it would be embarrassing for everybody, but just the thought of the kind housekeepers and your very own step sister hearing you like this… well, it makes you want to pack your bags and move out. and so you bit the pillowcase and sighed blissfully at the pleasure, sliding your fingers past your underwear and squirming at the contact made with your bare clit. you were doing well for a while with only soft whimpers, heavy breathing, and sharp intakes of breath leaving your mouth, although every time you pressed on your clit too hard a slightly louder whine would slip out and you would have to bite harder.

you started to think about the possibility of your second date ending a bit… differently compared to your first one. what if instead of a sweet kiss on the cheek after ryujin drops you off to the gates of the mansion, you’d be underneath her? a helpless, moaning mess on her bed as she feasts herself on your cunt with her adorable eyes latched onto yours and calling you all the names you like and singing your praises? the thought makes a shiver run down your spine, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body even though you were doing the bare minimum at the moment.

you blame wonyoung for all of this. it was all innocent until she brought up the idea of you potentially dressing sexy for ryujin on your date. now fucking with her was all you can think about. feeling her skin against yours, her hands on you, her lips kissing you until every inch of your skin was covered with her marks, and to feel her own core in your hand…

“mmhn… god, wonyoung-unnie…”

your eyes snap open and all of your movements halted.

wonyoung? your step sister that was right across the door of your own room?

oh, god. you feel sick.

out of all the days you had to acknowledge these forbidden and super fucking weird underlying attraction you had for wonyoung, it had to be today—days away from your dream date with your crush. you can’t even defend yourself by saying that ‘nobody can blame you for being attracted to an admittedly attractive woman’ when the woman in question is your family! you felt disgusted with yourself, and the desire to catapult yourself out of your window only becomes stronger when you imagined wonyoung’s disappointed face in your head. she was scolding you… and it turned you on to an immense degree.

fuckfuckfuck, no!! bad (y/n)!!

immediately, you cleaned up your hand and did everything in your power to forget about what just happened. absolutely no one can know that you had pictured yourself getting intimate with wonyoung and that you moaned her name out loud while you were touching yourself!

after choosing a decent outfit for the dinner, you headed straight into the bathroom to have a nice, long shower that you hoped would wash away all the thoughts you had in your head about ryujin, the date, and most importantly, wonyoung.

you don’t know why it was so hard for you to make your way down the stairs after you have been called to do so by your mother… until you were met with your step sister’s back at the bottom of the stairs. wonyoung had been waiting for you, refusing to enter the dining area without you (since she knew that if she leaves you to yourself, you would walk into the area with cold hands and shaking legs. and she knew you wouldn’t let yourself live that down). thankfully, as mentioned before, her back was turned to you so she wasn’t aware of your presence yet. and then you found yourself torn in between two paths: act like you didn’t ‘accidentally’ masturbate to the thought of her and that your life is merry and happy, or completely avoid interacting with her throughout the night.

the second option was a death trap, of course. knowing wonyoung, she wouldn’t let up until you spat out what was bothering you. especially if it involved herself. so you crossed that out immediately and found yourself in great peril. unfortunately, you didn’t have the luxury to practice your fake smiles and faux enthusiasm as wonyoung took a glance behind herself and finally saw you, flashing you a radiant smile before beckoning you over.

when you reach the last step, wonyoung loops her arm around yours and pulls you close, “what took you so long? and why do you look so scared?” she asked, chuckling at your peculiar state.

it totally wasn’t because of the alluring perfume that she was wearing and how her glossy, red lips were so inviting.

“unnie, you know i-i’m not good with people… especially mom and mr. jang’s friends. they always have such high expectations…” you muttered, opting to look at the lively dining area just to avoid wonyoung’s stare.

“expectations that you don’t have any problem meeting already because you’re amazing. stop downplaying yourself, (y/n)-ah. i’m gonna get really angry.” wonyoung pinched your cheek and laughed at how you scrunched up your face in pain. unexpectedly, wonyoung dives right in and gives you a kiss on the cheek that she pinched, making you stiffen on the spot.

“oh, crap,” wonyoung notices that she left a barely faint kiss mark on your cheek. “free blush for you, i guess?” wonyoung says as she wipes away the lipstick gently. you were hoping that she would just ignore how you have completely gone non-verbal because of her actions. and god forbid, she notices how you’ve clenched your thighs together in an attempt to stop that feeling in your core from getting stronger. this was so, so wrong.

“come on, now. it’s only mr. and mrs. naoi with mrs. ahn and mrs. kim—we��ve met them before and we’re schoolmates with their kids, remember?” wonyoung starts tugging you towards the dining table where your mother and stepfather as well as their friends have already settled down while norae and sunhee present the food they have cooked at the table. you hear the adults laughing about mr. ahn and mr. kim’s absence before their conversation was cut short due to your and wonyoung’s appearance. you felt small under the gazes of the accomplished people in the room, with your mother being one of them no less, until you feel wonyoung’s hand touch the back of your waist for support.

“good evening.” the two of you said at the same time, greeting the other adults with a sweet smile before giving your parents hugs and kisses on the cheeks. you were sitting in between your mother and wonyoung, facing the gentleness and warmth of mrs. kim who sat across from you. with a few more greetings exchanged and a brief ‘thank you’ to the housekeepers, the dinner officially started.

it turns out that you didn’t have much to worry about. it was mostly the parents that talked about their businesses and some anecdotes that happened in their respective workplaces, sometimes they asked about wonyoung’s studies, about your studies, and your love lives. both you and wonyoung denied being in a relationship even though you knew how glaringly obvious it was that you had been thinking about a certain engineering student. both your stepfather and mother exchanged a knowing glance upon seeing your red ears—you had told them about ryujin just a few days before you went on that first date with her, and from the looks of it, they seemed fine with you seeing people and going on dates.

it was mostly wonyoung that they all talked to, being the older between you two and they knew her better than they did you. it was fascinating to watch how wonyoung seemed to fit right in; she spoke with so much confidence that it intimidated you. at least you got to hear about her mysterious biological older sister. the one you haven’t exactly met yet if you don’t count seeing her in pictures and having to briefly wave at her through wonyoung’s phone screen when they had been video calling one time. you were more than content to just sit there and eat your food along with occasionally acknowledging and chatting a little bit when you were being talked to. even that proved to be a challenge.

especially when wonyoung’s piercing gaze made your hair stand on end, but you can’t think about that for too long or else you’ll malfunction where you sat.

when the dinner finished and your mother and stepfather have gone outside to send their friends home, you and wonyoung decided to help the housekeepers collect the dishes. you both insisted that you helped them wash it and clean up the entire dining area in general but they refused, saying that it’s already pretty late in the evening and that the two of you should just head to bed. you wanted to persist, but wonyoung takes a hold of your arm and starts tugging you towards the staircases. god, after you did what you did earlier, you really thought that you shouldn’t be alone with her at all. who knows what you might say? what you might do?

the two of you climbed up the staircases in silence. every step weighed heavily in your heart, and seeing the wide smile on wonyoung’s face, thinking that she was going to have another fun night hanging out with her only younger sister, broke you even more. you just had to utter her name that time, didn’t you?

it wasn’t until you had stopped in front of wonyoung’s bedroom door that you finally decided to speak. “u-um, unnie… shopping kind of wore me out earlier so i think i’m going to have to skip movie night,” you said these words while looking elsewhere, not having it in yourself to try to look at wonyoung in the eyes and lie to her face. “i’m sorry. i know you were looking forward to it.”

wonyoung wasn’t stupid. you knew that she knew something was truly wrong and that you weren’t planning on telling her about it anytime soon, but of course, it would be quite intrusive of her to push you into telling her everything, so she doesn’t question you. wonyoung merely caresses your hair and pats your back softly, “it’s okay, (y/n)-ah. we can do it some other time.” she said. you didn’t like how sure she sounded, because you knew that if wonyoung were to ask to have some time alone with you in the foreseeable future, you would have to decline.

when you parted ways with her and she finally disappeared behind her door, you stared at your own for a quick minute, immediately regretting your decisions but finding it useless to take it all back. what were you going to do? tell wonyoung that you were only momentarily freaked out because you touched yourself to the thought of her? no. it was much, much better to live with the intent to carry that secret to your grave than facing it.

you went to bed with unsettling feelings bubbling from the pit of your stomach that night and unbeknownst to you, your mistake was going to be much, much harder to forget.

it really hurts you to continuously avoid wonyoung for days on end. it was always terrible when it was daytime considering she’s driving you to school everyday. she would put on her music and try to start conversations with you, only for you to abruptly end it with mere hums, nods, and short answers. you couldn’t look at her when you have been struggling to get that pretty face of hers out of your head for days—at night, in your dreams and in the morning, when you make the mistake of spacing out and have the same image of wonyoung seducing you. many times at night, you woke up from a wet dream wherein wonyoung had been going down on you and you found your hand shoved inside your soaked panties. and that night, you let out a scream that alerted your step sister herself.

wonyoung had rushed to knock on your door thinking that you were in danger or something, and you had to try your very hardest to cover up that wet spot on your shorts while you reassured her that you just had a ‘nightmare’. she looked like she wanted to talk to you more, perhaps suggest that you sleep with her so she can spoon you like she had done so a few times before when you actually did have nightmares. but you made sure to talk to her for no more than five minutes before you bid her goodnight again and close the door on her face. that night, you actually sobbed quietly into your pillow. you were so horrible to her for no reason, and you hated yourself for it.

wonyoung had learned how to hide unnecessary emotions from showing up on her face as a means to avoid being too much of an open book to strangers, but you have learned to catch every little thing wonyoung does so it was easy for you to see through that veil of hers. this time around, however, it was a curse. every time you came up with some excuse to do things alone, you would see a flash of hurt in wonyoung’s eyes before she covered it up behind an understanding smile. she had gotten used to your rejection to the point that sometimes she doesn’t even bother to ask you to hang out anymore, and this morning she barely acknowledged you.

when you made your way towards your room to get yourself washed up, wonyoung had just come out of her own room clad in her running gear. you hated how attractive she looked wearing it all, but what you hated more was how wonyoung completely walked past you without a word, a smile, or even a glance… and yet she was wearing her pair of your matching bracelets. a familiar lump was stuck in your throat for a few minutes while you paced around your room trying to calm yourself, but you were able to get it together when you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. ryujin had texted you, reminding you that she will pick you up from the mansion and so you shouldn’t bother taking a cab to your meeting place.

yes, it was the day and yet ryujin was somehow the last thing on your mind.

with a deep exhale, you decided that you were going to enjoy this day to the fullest and think about what to do with the mess you’ve created later. there has been a cloud stuck to your head for days now, and while that was mostly your fault, you still deserved a good day filled with butterflies in your stomach and cupid arrows shooting through your heart. with that in mind, you took the first relaxing shower you’ve had after days of being dramatic and moping while water rained down on your sad face. the date was hours away, so you had time to have fun playing dress up in your room. (although there weren't a lot of outfits to choose from thanks to your amateur sense of fashion.)

perhaps you had a bit too much fun ogling over your jewelry since you now only had an exact hour to get yourself dolled up before your princess charming pulls up at the gates. getting dressed up and prepared for the date was disheartening because you knew wonyoung would’ve loved to help you like she had done before, and judging by the fact that she hasn’t returned from her run yet, she was most likely avoiding seeing you leave without her sending you off personally. while this realization might have haunted you to the point that your heart feels hollow as a wave of regret washes over you, you simply had no time to dwell on it even further.

like you decided earlier: date first, problems later. especially when the date in question was apparently waiting at the gates for five minutes while you were busy picking out earrings that complement your outfit. you grabbed your purse and headed out of your bedroom with your heart racing from excitement. norae was sweeping the hallways in the upstairs area and she gave you two thumb-ups while you waved goodbye at her—you made sure to tell her all about it when you finally had time. your mother and stepfather were out on a quick grocery run with sunhee so they were nowhere to be found, which was a win to you because you knew that all three of them would just tease the hell out of you if they saw how giddy you looked.

but then, as you approached the front door, you saw wonyoung taking her shoes off and putting them aside. you watched intently as she took her thin jacket off and revealed her sports bra, which turned out to be the only thing she was wearing underneath. fuck, really? now?! shaking your head, you headed for the door with your head down.

“have fun, (y/n)-ah.”

well, you didn’t expect that.

you stopped in your tracks, turning your head to look your sister in the eye for the first time in a long while. wonyoung didn’t avoid you this time, even going as far as giving you a soft smile. you couldn’t stop yourself—you hugged wonyoung tightly, not even caring that she was a bit damp from sweat. feeling her wrap her long arms around your waist and pull you close was the fullest your heart has been these past few days and when you leaned back to stare at her adoring face, you don’t hide how you were staring at her lips. always so appealing, tempting you to do something so unimaginable. and it seems like wonyoung had the same idea, tightening her hold around your waist with one of her hands resting far down your lower back. it even looks like she already had her head tilted, nervous eyes flickering back and forth between your lips and your gaze.

no. not now. much to wonyoung’s (and your own) dismay, you pulled away from her embrace. “i’ll see you later, unnie. i promise.” you said before swiftly opening the front door and leaving. wonyoung’s scent lingers before it is completely washed away by the smell of nature, reminding you that you had a cute date to worry about for now.

ryujin waits outside of her gray top-down car, holding a singular red rose in her hand while she paced back and forth nervously. smiling, you opened up the gates while she was busy mumbling some kind of mantra to herself, greatly startling her. normally, ryujin would be embarrassed but you laughed so cutely that she had to suck it up, opting to laugh herself before regaining composure. she looked handsome with her loose and silky dark blue button-up shirt while a pair of chic sunglasses pushed the front of her hair back—the look made your heart skip a beat.

“you look beautiful, (y/n),” ryujin extends her arm and hands you the rose which you gratefully accept with a shy smile. she then opens the door of the passenger seat, urging you to take a seat. “ready to go?”

you suddenly felt brave. you closed the distance between the two of you and gave her a swift kiss on the cheek, “thank you, ryu.” you said before occupying the passenger seat. you were glad that it took ryujin a minute to settle down behind the wheel because if she had seen how hard you blushed… you wouldn’t have looked as cool as you initially did! ryujin herself was blushing as well, and she couldn’t resist a wide smile from appearing on her pretty face. well, that was definitely worth the risk.

“oh, here,” ryujin grabs a jacket from the backseat and lays it over your lap. “wouldn’t want you to get cold now.”

from then on, you knew the date was going to be just as fantastic as the last one you had with her. and it really was! your first stop was an italian restaurant that you actually remember vaguely hearing about via overhearing wonyoung talking about wanting to eat there with her friends. you had a lovely time hearing ryujin talk about her studies, her friends, and the little moments in her daily life that she was willing to share, and the way she intently listened to you while you shared your own stories made your heart race. afterwards, ryujin tried to convince you to let her pay for all of the food but after seeing that you refused to back down, she ended up letting you share the bill with her.

the next stop was a quick-but-heartwarming stroll at a lively and colorful park that had the most beautiful arrangements of plants and flowers as well as gorgeous water fountains. ryujin moved on to talking about some funny encounters at her part-time job—she seemed to love it when you laughed with her and at her stories. it took some time, but ryujin eventually found the courage to hold your hand while you were mesmerized by a particularly ravishing flower bed. the two of you toured the rest of the park hand-in-hand, sharing shy glances for a while until ryujin laughed at the ridiculousness of it all and kept the conversations going. you hadn’t heard about this wonderful park before so naturally you couldn’t wait to tell wonyoung all about it!

and the final stop was a quaint local bakery where you ended up buying two whole boxes of pastries to take home to your family and housekeepers. you and ryujin continued sharing your experiences with the most random things over a cup of coffee, tea, and the most delicious delicacies you’ve had in a long while. ryujin held your hand the entire time and her smile seemed brighter and wider, just like yours was. as you walked out of the bakery and towards the parking lot, the sun was well on its way down the horizon and there was a certain mood in the air… and a spark when you got the courage to look ryujin in the eyes.

there was the anticipation of a kiss… and something more.

then, you ask a question that you never would have thought to come out of your mouth ever, “w-would you… like to come over for a bit?”

ryujin was caught off guard by this and you wondered if those were the right set of words to say to her at the time, but it seems like she was more than eager to take up your offer. although, she does ask you a question with uncertainty and anxiousness, “won’t your family mind? i-i would hate to be a bother…”

but oh, you were chasing after something and you wanted to grab it with your hands firmly. “no, no. they would love to have you over! e-especially wonyoung-unnie!” you insisted. you felt pathetic and desperate trying to convince her like this… but it works. ryujin agrees and the two of you get inside her car for a quite silent and admittedly awkward ride back to the jang mansion. you were expecting the worst of the teasing to come from your doting stepfather and playful mother. norae and sunhee would most likely just laugh in the background and as for wonyoung, she would be smiling triumphantly knowing that she was right all this time!

right about thinking of ryujin touching you, she was!

ryujin parks her car on the spot beside where wonyoung’s car was, making the process excruciatingly slow as she was probably nervous about meeting your family so quickly. you comforted her by taking her hand and gently leading her towards the front doors. you intertwine your fingers, giving her a smile to calm her nerves before pushing the door open. where you would usually find your parents lounging around this time was just an empty big couch. you didn’t hear random laughs and chatter in the kitchen either, which means that wonyoung wasn’t hanging out with the housekeepers to kill time. and the housekeepers themselves were nowhere to be found.

the mansion was completely empty. ryujin lets out a sigh of relief at the realization that not a single soul was present in the mansion and was a lot more comfortable going forward: making noises of approval and awe at the pieces of art around the house and the interior design as well as nodding as you tell her random facts about the mansion. eventually, the air was dead silent once again when you reached your bedroom. the two of you sit on the edge of your bed, quietly picking at the lint on your clothes and looking everywhere else but at each other.

this was a stupid idea, you thought. she probably didn’t even want to go here… what was i thinking?!

but maybe it wasn’t stupid! because when you find the courage to turn your head to look at ryujin, you find her already staring at you. her face accompanied with the expression of longing that you’ve seen very clearly on your older step sister just this morning before you left the mansion for this date. before you process anything thoroughly, ryujin leans in for a kiss… and so do you.

ryujin’s lips tasted like caramel and caffeine, and with the faint remains of the cinnamon pastry that she snacked on earlier, it all created a distinguished flavor on your tongue that you desired to have more of. so you got brave: softly grabbing a fistful of ryujin’s shirt and pulling her closer to you as you backed up further in your bed until your back was against the headboard. ryujin couldn’t resist her own urges as much as she tried to be a gentlewoman about this whole ordeal. not long after you’ve gotten comfortable, ryujin attacks your neck while pulling on the ribbon on your blouse. her kisses were almost intoxicating, making you release unheard sounds from your mouth that you could tell she greatly enjoyed hearing when you felt her smirk against your skin.

with your blouse now loose and exposing your shoulders as well as a part of your upper chest area, ryujin was now free to mark you however and wherever she desired. whimpers leave your quivering lips as ryujin trailed feather-light kisses down your neck, and a pretty moan follows when she sucks on a certain spot that feels better than the rest. having been distracted by her work on your neck, you don’t notice how she had a gentle grip on your thigh. that was until she slowly slid her hand up, all the way underneath your skirt until she could feel the fabric of your panties on her fingertips.

ryujin tugs on the material at the same time she leaves her first hickey on your neck, and you panic.

you promptly push her back, rendering both of you in temporary shock. you clumsily fixed your blouse, suddenly feeling way too exposed for your own good. a pang of guilt hits you in the chest when ryujin looks at you with widened eyes, “i-i’m sorry, (y/n). did i… was that too fast?” she asked, immediately putting some distance between the two of you just so you don’t feel scared any further.

truthfully, it wasn’t clear to you why exactly you stopped ryujin. but one thing was for sure: it felt… wrong. wrong for her to be the one to touch you. to kiss you. to even… like you. it was almost as if something in your head was telling you that she was the wrong person to pour all of your affection to. it scared you to think about the correct answer too much because you knew damn well what it was deep inside. you see ryujin’s mouth move as she frantically apologized and talked about how she didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable but you don’t hear any of it—you were way too occupied with the thought of your wonyoung-unnie and how she might react to this event, and how you… needed her right now.

“s-s-should i… leave? i’m really sorry if i made the wrong call, i—”

“it’s okay, ryu… i just—i don’t know, i freaked out. i’m sorry.”

ryujin shakes her head profusely, “no, no, please. don’t apologize for anything. i should’ve known not to do that shit. i mean, it’s our second date—god, i’m so sorry.” when she crawled closer, you flinched… but you allowed her to comfort you. not a lot of words were shared between the two of you for a whole hour as you didn’t find it in you to speak to ryujin again after embarrassing her like that. instead, you rested your head on her shoulder and wondered why, just why, out of all the people you wanted to be this close to you, you wanted it to be… wonyoung? from an outsider’s perspective, being temporarily estranged from her for a week straight would be the quickest answer to that question, but you knew it wasn’t the whole truth.

you wanted her. and while the mere idea of feeling so awfully attractive to her disgusted you to your core, you couldn’t stop your heart from trying to take what it desires. but the real question was would you really be willing to commit to such a thing just to see a sign if wonyoung held a similar attraction towards you, or in order to keep a family after enduring so many years of living in a house divided, should you just shove everything under the rug and instead, forever become distant towards wonyoung?

after ryujin quite reluctantly and regrettably left the mansion and you found yourself sitting with your knees touching your chest on the carpeted floors of wonyoung’s bedroom, it doesn’t take a genius to know that you found the answer to your myriad of questions from before. you nervously awaited wonyoung’s arrival; although her car was very much present in the driveway, you figured that she must’ve gone out with her friends or something considering she was nowhere to be found in any corner of the mansion at all. the entire place has been too quiet for your liking and on top of all that, you hated being alone inside such a big space.

before you sunk deeper into your personal pool of negative thoughts, the door slowly creaked open, revealing a casually-clothed wonyoung holding three large shopping bags with her phone against her ear. she doesn’t notice you upon entering, way too engaged in the conversation with whoever was on the other line. you watched as she dropped the shopping bags to the side and throw her purse to the soft bean bag in the corner before she finally took a good look around the room and spotted your pitiful self all balled up on the floor looking like a kicked puppy. wonyoung was only momentarily surprised, sending a confused look your way before briefly saying goodbye to her friend on the phone.

“i’ll call you back later, unnie. my little sister needs me,” wonyoung then ends the call and puts both of her hands on her hips, jokingly glaring at you. “who said you could come in here as much as you please? especially after being so mean to me for the past week.” wonyoung was pouting, but she was quick to drop her act and laugh at herself. as upset as you were about how things went down with ryujin, you found herself giggling along with her. instead of asking you to stand up, wonyoung sits down right beside you.

you could feel her staring at you and deciphering your expression while your eyes were glued to your feet. you figured that she must have questions for you, and you did have things to say to her obviously but you didn’t know where to start at all. do you start with ryujin? do you start with an apology? do you want to completely avoid deep conversations for now and ask where she had gone? you had no idea. luckily enough, you didn’t have to make that decision.

“did something happen with ryujin? you look troubled,” wonyoung said. her kind eyes refuse to leave your face, wondering just what might’ve disturbed you so greatly that you felt the need to run to her about it. she scoots closer to you and the way you tensed up slightly did not at all go unnoticed. wonyoung tilts her head inquisitively, notices the faint hickey that ryujin gave you, and her mood changes. “what did she do?”

you were to go on ryujin’s defense when you noticed the scary tone in her voice. “no, no. it’s nothing like that, unnie. it’s my fault, i…” you sighed deeply, cringing at the exact memory you pushed ryujin away from you. “i messed up and we couldn’t go through with… you know.” god, you sounded like a child and you hated it. it shouldn’t have to be so hard telling someone you trust about how you ended your date horribly.

“with…? oh! you tried to… oh, wow.” wonyoung seemed to be in complete disbelief. she probably thought you were too much of a prude to even try to initiate sex with a girl you had a massive crush on. you groaned and hid your face in your hands as wonyoung processed your words, and it was then you decided that hey, you weren’t completely innocent! hell, you’re not even a virgin, you should start there! but alas, you resorted to burying your face in your hands and groaning.

“i-it’s okay! what exactly happened?” wonyoung puts a hand on your shoulder for consolation.

“we… i took her here because i didn’t want us to separate just yet so we went into my room and… we kissed,” you remember how ryujin’s lips felt against your skin, how they tasted on your tongue but instead of feeling euphoric over it, there was almost a tinge of dismay that you associated with it. “i-it was getting a bit intense so we took it to the bed and… i don’t know. i didn’t… i didn’t like it when she touched me. and it’s not like i was scared of her or anything like that… i just—”

looking at wonyoung, you found yourself at a loss of words. there is no way you can admit everything you have been thinking about to her. despite her suspicious actions and lingering stares towards you, she wasn’t actually going to entertain such a disgusting act, right?

“hey, hey… don’t beat yourself up over it. you were going to take a huge step! it’s normal to chicken out when it comes to things like that. but i didn’t think it would take such a toll on you… come here,” wonyoung wraps her arms around your waist and pulls you close. in her embrace you start to relax a bit, although your heart is hammering against your ribcage and you refuse to hug her back. who knows what you might think of doing and where your hands might end up?! even when wonyoung was too close, you refused to move an inch. even when she rested her face in the crook of your neck and inhaled your scent. “did she try pushing you to do it?” she asked. her breath tickled your neck. it took you everything in your power to not whimper.

“n-no… she backed off. i felt so bad, unnie… she thought it was her fault and she went home guilty because of me.” you said with a quivering voice. you didn’t want to hurt ryujin like this. how could you even face her on campus and tell her that the reason you didn’t let her touch you any further was because the thought of having sex with her made you feel like you were doing something wrong?

“no, no, ryujin is kind. she’ll understand once you give her a proper explanation about it all. you don’t owe her one, of course, but if it’s bothering you this much then maybe it would help,” wonyoung leans her back, brushes your hair back and giggles slightly at how cute you looked pouting. “you’ll be okay, (y/n)-ah. let’s take your mind off of it, alright?” wonyoung kisses your forehead. at this point, you thought you were safe. as wonyoung leaned back on the side of her bed, you rested your head on her chest and allowed her to caress your side all she wanted. you were actually feeling much better about it all too!

and then wonyoung reaches into her skirt pocket and pulls out your pair of the matching bracelets you bought a week ago.

“you dropped this in the hallway when we were taking all of our bags upstairs after we went shopping,” wonyoung smiles fondly at the bracelet before turning her head and looking at you. it was her usual ‘sweetheart smile’ that you’ve come to know and love, but there was something sinister hiding behind her eyes that made you hold your breath for what she might say next. her hand felt cold against your skin—you weren’t even aware that she had slipped it underneath your shirt until now. “i was going to return it to you after i got all my stuff sorted out… but if my ears were working correctly that time… you were a bit busy.”

oh, fuck. she heard that?

as if she can read your mind, wonyoung nods. “mhm. i heard you. loud and clear,” a sadistic look takes over her expression as your blood runs cold. “i was right about you, (y/n)… i knew i wasn’t going crazy with all those hints that you were dropping all this time…” you don’t think wonyoung realizes how terrified you were at this moment. what was she going to say to you next? what was she going to do? and how the fuck were you going to explain everything to her? wonyoung takes your wrist and clasps the bracelet there before taking your chin in her hand and making you look up at her.

god, you must’ve looked pathetic. what with your eyes brimming with tears and the genuine fear they held in them. wonyoung doesn’t seem too bothered by the fact that she caught her younger step sister masturbating to the thought of her yet, judging by how she looks quite flattered instead. something inside you was hoping that she would just let it pass as a little joke and forget about it. as long as you get to hear her tell you that you shouldn’t think about things like that again, then you can move on peacefully and continue to be her lovely little sibling. but that… doesn’t seem likely. not when wonyoung raises your hand to her lips and kisses your knuckles, then kisses your wrist just a few seconds longer before putting your palm against her cheek, smiling at you so sweetly.

“i’m so happy you feel the same way as i do,” wonyoung said. before you could even process what she just said in your head, wonyoung leans closer to you until your faces were merely inches apart. your breath catches on your throat at the lack of distance, making you flinch back a bit. “it’s because of me, right? you couldn’t bring yourself to have sex with ryujin because you wanted me… don’t you, baby?” wonyoung places her hands on either side of you so she would have you trapped. when you don’t answer her quick enough, she tilts her head and gives you a kiss on the cheek… before her lips continue on kissing down your neck.

her kisses were pillow-soft. it was as if no matter how much she wanted you, she was still giving you room to completely push her away and run for your life. and you know what? you probably should. deep in your heart, you wanted to scurry away from her and lock yourself away from the world to completely forget that all of this even happened… but instead, you sat there. so awfully still that even wonyoung got frustrated by your lack of movement but regardless, she kissed you. she stops at the crook of your neck, nestling her face there for a moment. “you’ve always smelled so good…” she whispered.

wonyoung raises her head, finding herself chuckling lightly at how petrified you were. “don’t pretend to be so innocent. if you really gave a shit about all of this—about us being a ‘family’—you wouldn’t have shown your face here in the first place. you want this to happen… isn’t that right?”

you knew she was right. and what’s worse is that she knew she was right. that’s why she didn’t have a problem closing the distance and catching your lips with hers. if you weren’t going to answer her questions, then she might as well make you use your mouth for something else! you feel wonyoung smile into the kiss when you start returning it. it makes you sick how good this all made you feel… but you quickly forget about all of that once wonyoung slips her tongue inside your mouth, eager to explore every crevice like she has wished to do for a while now.

wonyoung places a hand on your thigh, and every ounce of hesitation you had evaporates into nothing as you cup her cheeks with both hands, kissing her back. wonyoung moans and your heart skips a beat, even more so when she pulls you closer towards her until her back meets the side of her bed again. and once you were straddling her, wonyoung immediately pulled your shirt off. she even stops the kiss just to lean back and rake her eyes all over your body. you don’t feel intimidated under her stare anymore—all of those feelings of insecurity and self-consciousness have dissipated into nothing as soon as she kissed you. now you only wanted her… and luckily enough, wonyoung was planning on giving you just that and more.

“i thought about fucking you in that changing room, you know,” you feel one of wonyoung’s hands glide across your back slowly, only stopping to unclasp your bra and throw it away to the side. her cold hands grasp your tits, squeezing softly and pressing her thumbs down your erect nipples. you bite back a whimper. “i was so close… do you know how hard i fought against myself knowing you were naked and the only thing stopping me was that damn privacy screen? i think we’re both lucky that i had some sense of decency and didn’t fuck you in a public space.” unconsciously, you rock your hips back and forth on her thigh, seeking for any sort of friction to ease the aching in your core.

wonyoung grins, “so eager… think you can be good for me and be patient, hon?” she asked. you wanted to say fuck no. you needed release and you needed it now but you knew wonyoung would probably fuck you better if you followed her every word.

so you nodded, “y-yes… i can do that, unnie.”

to get you riled up a bit more, wonyoung leaves a trail of hungry, open-mouthed kisses down your neck and across your collarbone until she wraps her warm mouth around your nipple. she hums approvingly of your whimpers which soon turn into blissful moans when she starts using her tongue, flicking and rolling your hardened bud in her mouth. wonyoung slots a knee in between your legs, squeezing your ass as you pressed down and start humping her thigh with the kind of desperation one would only see in a pathetic virgin eager to get bred. wonyoung sneaks her hand inside your shorts which you don’t feel until she presses a finger against your clit. with the added stimulation, it was hard to keep your voice low.

you had no idea who was home at this point in time. what if norae and sunhee hear you? or worse, what if your parents hear you?! wonyoung didn’t seem to care, however. in fact, with how hard she sucked on your nipple and how she rubbed your clit with her fingers, it was like she wanted you to make sounds. a death wish, yes… but perhaps one you were willing to fulfill.

“off,” wonyoung simultaneously tugs your shorts and underwear down. her eyes glinted with desire as her eyes traveled down from your stomach to your pussy—desperate and dripping, but not exactly ready for her yet. “did you have fun touching yourself to me that day?” wonyoung takes note of how tightly you held onto her shoulders, how your lips have formed a thin line with how hard you were trying to hold back from whining and pleading for her to touch you already.

“yes, i did…” you nod. being completely naked and vulnerable but looked at and seen like some irreplaceable treasure made you all the more desperate to please wonyoung. she was most likely expecting so much from you—she was risking a lot after all: her father’s happiness, your mother’s trust, and your entire relationship as siblings… you didn’t want this to be a waste of time for her.

you gently pushed her hair back and sat comfortably on her lap while she eyed you down with a whole lot of feelings in her eyes that you haven't seen before. and for a moment, you thought that you could have your way with her, even just for a little bit. tilting her head and kissing her softly, squeezing the back of her neck and hearing her sweet moans, allowing you to push her back against the side of her bed and get your hands as far as her toned stomach. the upper hand was only temporary since as soon as you felt wonyoung palming your pussy, you were back to being a whiny, adorable mess.

“why don’t you finish what you started, (y/n)-ah?” wonyoung looks up at you, batting her eyelashes and smirking. she was excited, but you didn’t quite understand what she meant. considering she was being such a tease and barely doing anything to your needy cunt, it was very hard to focus! “turn around.” wonyoung says. you didn’t have time to be confused or to question her as she makes you turn your back on her herself. now you were sitting in between her lap and facing the mirror across the two of you, and only then you finally got what she meant.

but that doesn’t make wonyoung telling you exactly what she wants to see any less hot though.

“show me how you did it.” wonyoung says, her beautiful brown eyes piercing through yours as you intently stared at her using the mirror. she spreads your thighs apart and puts your pussy on full display in the mirror for the two of you. god, you almost wanted to crawl in a hole, but at this point, you were too horny to stall anything. you started by doing exactly what you did that day: gently massaging your clit as a means to get yourself wetter. from behind you, you hear wonyoung’s breathing get heavier and although you weren’t looking in the mirror at the moment, you felt her state burning through your skin.

it doesn’t take long for wonyoung to make a move herself. she leaves a trail of kisses from your shoulder, your neck, and all the way behind your ear. her hands cup your breasts again, adding onto your pleasure by squeezing and pinching your sensitive nipples. “don’t be shy now, pretty.” using one of her hands, wonyoung reaches down and spreads your lips apart for you, clearly asking for more than just whatever you were doing.

you had to admit that this was pretty nerve-racking. you rarely touched yourself and when you did, it was just… this. you didn’t have any toys to help you, you didn’t know much beyond what people called ‘vanilla sex’, and as embarrassing as it was to say it, you’ve never known what you felt on… well, the inside. you wanted to believe that wonyoung would just take pity on you and fuck you already but she had a surprising amount of patience despite the pure lust that radiated from her. finding no other choice in the matter, you slowly inserted a single finger inside your cunt.

“see? doesn’t that feel so much better?” wonyoung’s laugh was music to your ears. it was enough to get you moving—sliding your finger in and out of your pussy at a slow pace, getting a feel of what you liked just before you went faster. a string of moans left your mouth as you steadily fucked yourself right in front of wonyoung, who was quite literally having the best time of her life watching such a pretty thing like you do all of this for her. of course she wanted nothing more than to have you crying and whining herself but she also wanted to appreciate the show you were putting on.

you slid another finger inside you and you ended up moaning a bit too loudly for your liking that wonyoung had to clamp a hand around your mouth. she shushes you gently and whispers to you to go slower. while it would be nice to see your legs shake as you squirt all over her carpeted bedroom floor, wonyoung wanted to do that to you herself. and of course you obeyed even though it was disheartening to lose that sweet pressure building up in your abdomen. you didn’t know how long wonyoung was going to have you fuck your own pussy while she just watches, but for now you were fine with it.

this felt good. getting to unwind like this after a fucking whirlwind of a week was just what you needed, alone or otherwise. actually, you probably wouldn’t be loving this too much if you were just by yourself. wonyoung kept you in line, made sure you were calm, guiding you to make this moment last longer so both of you can fully enjoy it before any sense comes back to either of you to stop all of this.

wonyoung, with her left hand, parts your lips with her fingers and slides two inside your mouth. she doesn’t need to tell you what to do; you just sucked on her digits obediently without question. she pushes her fingers deeper, making you gag and pull back a bit but she keeps her fingers inside of your mouth. after making sure your drool was dripping down her palm, she pulls her fingers out and then kisses you softly. oh, your mind was but a haze. wonyoung’s kiss was a drug on its own—intoxicating and addicting. you couldn’t have enough of it.

you weren’t sure which feeling you wanted to focus on. your quickly-building climax, wonyoung’s hungry kisses, her nails digging deep down your inner thigh, or… oh, fuck, she was sliding her spit-covered fingers inside you… while you were busy fucking yourself! the sudden stretch of your pussy caused by wonyoung’s fingers being inside you as well as your own nearly makes you wail, and that is when you realized why wonyoung was kissing you. to shut you up. because she knew you were going to be so loud. with four fingers inside of your cunt, how could you stay quiet?! especially when wonyoung made sure to match your pace, but making sure she was knuckle-deep inside before pulling out then doing the same thing again and again.

“ahh… mmn—unnie..! oh, go—” a pathetic squeak slips past your lips when wonyoung uses her thumb to press against your clit. she kisses you harder, doing everything she can to conceal every noise coming from you but ultimately, she’s enjoying every fucking second of this. the secrecy of it all, the scandal, the thrill of being caught… gosh, if the two of you weren’t ‘siblings’, she would have no problem making you scream and letting the housekeepers hear every goddamn vowel that leaves your mouth.

it was too much. you pulled your fingers out and grabbed wonyoung’s wrist in an attempt to at least slow her down, but it does nothing. having more room to move now, wonyoung only quickens her pace even further. and with her free hand, wonyoung grabs your jaw in a tight grip and forced you to look at you reflection in the mirror just so you can watch how well you were being fucked. wonyoung’s fingers being freakishly long didn’t help at all; her fingertips reached farther inside you than yours did and every time she hits a certain spot inside you, you lose more of your sanity. soon enough, a knot forms in your stomach and wonyoung knew.

well, with your face all scrunched up in both pleasure and pain, how could she not know?

“do you think ryujin could have made you feel better than this…? i know you better than anyone, (y/n)… so don’t feel so bad about her not getting to fuck you. unnie has everything you need…” wonyoung couldn’t believe how soaked she has gotten over the past few minutes she has been fingering you. but this wasn’t about her at all. her pleasure comes after yours, and she was counting on you to do anything and everything to return this favor to her… that thought alone makes her clench around her drenched panties. she couldn’t fucking wait to use your mouth.

“mmh…! u-unnie, i’m—ahh… i’m gonna cum.. please let me…” you whimpered weakly.

wonyoung had intended to edge you until you were a babbling, crying mess. but that would’ve been too mean. especially right now, when you were so cute squeezing her wrist and pouting at her. “you’re so cute… what am i gonna do with you?” wonyoung plants a kiss on your temple before increasing her pace. your moans get higher, the knot gets tighter, and it’s harder and harder to hold yourself back from screaming her name. wonyoung buries her fingers deep, and the pressure in your stomach finally breaks.

but oh, wonyoung made sure you made a mess. pressing her fingers against your clit and rubbing rapidly so you’d squirt everywhere, a sick look on her face forming while she watched you. “you’re so good… i won’t have to punish you ever, hm? because you’re unnie’s good girl, right?” wonyoung smiled sincerely when you agreed and nodded. sure you were most likely lightheaded and barely knew what you said yes to, but wonyoung knew that you meant it.

it takes you weakly pushing her hand away for her to finally stop, letting you calm down and try to come back to her. the whole time you were catching your breath, wonyoung sucked quietly on her drenched fingers while staring at your gaping, spent cunt. and then she started to wonder; when the day ends and another one starts, if she were to just walk up to you and your room and kiss you… would you let her do it? what if she just got lucky today? what if you grow to hate her for all of this? for not respecting your feelings for ryujin and taking you for herself? no… no, no, she can’t lose you like that.

“are you hurt?” wonyoung asked after a while. she snuggled closer to you, keeping you warm as you were still butt-naked sitting in between her thighs. you shook your head, not even finding any energy in you to reply with your voice. it was strange… you thought wonyoung would be more concerned considering that she just fucked you nearly out of your mind… but you should’ve known better. this was a completely new side of her that you were hilariously unfamiliar with, and you being shocked when wonyoung suddenly pushes you to be on all fours was enough proof of your stupidity.

you should feel violated. this was beyond everything that you expected to do with wonyoung, and not to mention that she didn’t look like she planned on asking for you permission to fuck you again… but you didn’t say a word. didn’t make a sound. didn’t even question anything when you felt wonyoung squeeze your ass before palming your once-again dripping pussy from behind. you liked this. when the time comes for you and wonyoung to answer for this situation, you can’t even say that she used some sort of manipulation tactic to get you to submit to her.

no. you needed this. you wanted this. and you loved it all.

with your vision being limited to only seeing your hands on the floor or your reflection in the mirror, it was hard to try and prepare for anything she was going to give to you. when wonyoung pushes two fingers inside your cunt so suddenly, you gasped loudly. it was easy for wonyoung to slip in and out of you; you were so wet that there was nothing that could stop wonyoung from having all the fun in the world. the faster wonyoung fucks you, the harder you had to bite down your lip. your head drops to your arms and beautiful moans leave your mouth but this time… they’re all for wonyoung to hear.

“unnie… unnie, it feels s-so—ah! so good… please, faster.. faster…” and with you being so cute, wonyoung was sure to grant your wish pretty quickly. she was getting extremely impatient herself… the wet sounds of her hand meeting your pussy, your enchanting voice, and the lovely way you moaned her name when she steadily inserted her thumb in your tight hole… god, it was getting harder and harder for wonyoung to not turn you over and ride you until you were both crying from exhaustion and ecstasy.

“the very first time i saw you… i called dad stupid in my head. stupid for bringing such a pretty and nice girl into this family because i knew i wasn’t going to last long before i did something idiotic like this…” wonyoung curls her fingers inside you while simultaneously grabbing your hair and pulling it up, forcing you to look at your face in the mirror again. “see? such a fucking angel. how could i ever resist?” and before you knew it, you were gagging on her fingers again. and you were getting desperate for another release, pushing back against wonyoung and meeting her thrusts.

“you made my dreams come true by coming here, you know… i’m just thanking you now. i’ll thank you again later. and tomorrow. and whenever i want.” after seeing just how willing you were to do such a thing with her, wonyoung simply couldn’t wait for all the things the two of you could do now. even if it will cost her everything.

“mmfh.. i lah… agh.. i love you, unnie..” it was hard to speak with her fingers stuffed in your mouth, but wonyoung heard those magical words loud and clear. you were visibly exhausted, and your body was weak to the point you couldn’t even keep yourself upright… but you made sure your ass was propped right up for wonyoung to fuck you without any complications. wonyoung had pulled her hand out of your mouth and allowed you to lay half of your body down, the side of your face pressed against the floor as drool dripped out of the corner of your mouth.

you think wonyoung was now holding your hand, whispering encouragement and praises in your ears that kept you somewhat conscious while she made good use of your pussy. another deep dive of her fingers inside you and you cum for the second time with a long, soft whimper that was more than enough for wonyoung that she didn’t feel like making you suffer through another round. you’ve gone limp on the floor; barely having any energy to keep your eyes open. you felt your juices seeping out of you once again, drenching your thighs and of course the soft carpet, but wonyoung made sure to not let the slick dripping down her hand go to waste!

a lot of the things that happened afterwards were a blur. wonyoung helped you to her bed, cleaning you up and making sure you were hydrated and clothed before tucking you in as the sun was starting to set. in direct contrast to how she handled you while she fucked you, wonyoung seemingly reverted back into her gentle, loving older sister self as she took care of you. her arm carefully draped over your waist and kept you warm better than her blanket, and even your own. occasionally, you would feel her kiss the back of your neck and it would give you goosebumps. she intertwined your fingers and at the time, you felt the need to kiss her hand… so you do. and wonyoung must’ve liked that because she pulled you closer to her and held you tightly.

you were torn. torn between wanting to face all of your feelings and the consequences of what you just did with wonyoung, but also wanting to hope that you’d fallen asleep in your bed after sending ryujin home and that all of this, having sex with your step sister and laying half naked on her bed in her arms, was just an insane wet dream. but if it was, surely enough it would have been a thousand times harder to face wonyoung with your attraction towards her kept hidden. although it was like it was necessarily better this way; how the fuck are either of you going to have a normal conversation with each other after this? with your parents?!

the idea made you scared. mr. jang was a man with power and influence; if you anger him (which is very likely considering you, his stepdaughter, slept with his biological child), what could he do to you? to your future? and what would your mother think of you if she were to find out about this?

perhaps wonyoung heard your soft sobs because she immediately made you turn around, “hey… what’s wrong, (y/n)?” she takes a hold of your face and wipes your tears away with her thumbs. you couldn’t believe how confident she was that both of you would get away with all of this scot-free. but then again, she is jang wonyoung. she wouldn’t go through with everything she just did if she didn’t have a solid plan in the back of her mind.

or maybe she didn’t need any plans. wonyoung simply loved you and acted on that. maybe she was scared too. she wasn’t perfect, after all. underneath the confidence, the money, and the strong walls she has built around herself, wonyoung was still a softie at heart. she acknowledges that this was a bad thing to do, that this was indeed a mistake… but at the end of the day, the deed has been done and all she can do now is to make sure that she protects you from everything that might come after.

that is what she swore to do the night you became a part of her family, after all.

“listen… dad, mother, ryujin, and everything… we’ll worry about them tomorrow, okay? i love you. we’ll face everything together.” wonyoung gives you a kiss on the forehead, and you automatically snuggle back in her arms and hide your face in her chest. you ended up falling asleep to the sound of her heartbeat and the way she ran her hands through your hair… it ended up being the most relaxing sleep you’ve had in this bizarre week. every lingering thought you had about ryujin just about faded away into nothing once you got completely lost in wonyoung’s dreamlike embrace.

one thing was for sure: you felt a lot braver with the promise of your loving step sister once again proving that everything and anything she will ever do for you are good things.

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struwberrii · 2 months

Text

boyfriend! sakusa who isnt super big on physical touch, but always shows how much he cares with the little things he does, like holding doors for you and carrying your bags.

boyfriend! sakusa who doesn’t love physical touch, but still takes every opportunity he can to kiss you

boyfriend! sakusa who immediately comes to you when he’s in a bad mood and needs to talk shit about someone

you were relaxing on your couch when suddenly you heard a harsh knock on your door. you panicked thinking it could be the police, but upon further investigation (looking through the peep hole) you discovered it was just a very irritated sakusa. you opened the door and almost immediately he pushed past you and b-lined for your spot on the sofa

“you won’t believe what that idiot atsumu did today, i swear his stupidity may just drive me mad!”. he practically growled. you could already tell this was gonna be a long rant so you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and got comfortable next to him before he started.

boyfriend! sakusa who only allows you to enter his bedroom and has a blanket and pillow saved for only you (he regularly washes when he knows you’re coming over)

boyfriend! sakusa who leaves a get well soon basket at your doorstep and facetimes you for hours at a time when you get sick

boyfriend! sakusa who always surprises you with designer jewelry and shoes, not for any reason other than him wanting to see you wear it.

boyfriend! sakusa who likes going out with you at the most random times, just to avoid huge crowds (if he wasn’t with you he wouldn’t be making an effort to go out at all if possible)

never in your life did you think you’d be getting ready for a dinner date at 8:30 pm on a tuesday. your boyfriend was on his way to pick you up, he made reservations for the two of you at a nice restaurant with a beautiful view. you were slightly annoyed with the time and date since you had work/school the next morning but just seeing sakusa instantly lifted any negative emotions you had about the situation. you opened the door to see him in a white polo shirt, black pants, a luxury belt on and a fancy silver watch on his wrist. you were practically drooling. the two of you walked to his car and made your way to the restaurant.

“i forgot to say this earlier, but you look absolutely stunning tonight” he said calmly, keeping his eyes on the road. you laughed and returned the compliment.

“by the way, why’d you choose a monday to take me out, kiyoomi?”

“i really do hate crowds, y’know?”

boyfriend! sakusa who has the funkiest music taste and always leaves you confused when his playlists go from the doors band to aphex twin to chase atlantic

boyfriend! sakusa who doesn’t mind your germs getting on him

(he still makes you shower before you get in his bed)

boyfriend! sakusa who sleeps best when you’re lying on top of him under his blanket with his arms wrapped around you

boyfriend! sakusa who made a hand signal that only you and him know, that he uses when he wants to get out of any situation and sneak off with you

you were at one of sakusas games, you always arrived earlier with him since people wanted interviews with him and to take videos for tv, so you would usually just sneak around back and wait for him, but sometimes interviewers caught up to you and would sneak a few questions in with you. this time you and sakusa were both in the lobby of the dome he was scheduled to play in.

“do you know how long sakusas been training for this match?”

“has sakusa shared the secret behind his flexible wrists with you!?”

“are you only with sakusa because of his fame?”

you were being asked so many questions you could hardly even get one answer out, you looked over at your boyfriend to see what he was up to, and that’s when he gave you the signal, low enough for nobody else to catch it. then he made up some partially believable excuse and left the interviewers. quickly after you made up a slightly less believable excuse and followed pretty far behind him. you weren’t exactly sure where he went, there was way too many doors down the hall he took so you just walked in hopes of finding an open one.

that’s when you suddenly felt a strong arm wrap around you and pull you into one of the lounge rooms, followed by an attack of kisses to your face.

“i play so much better when we get to do this”

boyfriend! sakusa who lets you do hair care and skincare on him, and is surprisingly educated on skincare and which products/ingredients work best for different types of skin problems.

boyfriend! sakusa who let’s you count all the freckles/moles on his body and trace them with your fingers

boyfriend! sakusa who wakes you up every morning you’re together by the smell of him brewing your coffee and making breakfast for you

you woke up in sakusas bed earlier than usual. it was 8:25 am on a saturday, you had no reason to be awake this early. but something smelled so good, you couldn’t go back to bed after your nostrils had been blessed by such a scent. you grabbed one of sakusas sweaters and made your way to his kitchen. there he was in nothing but his boxers, cooking pancakes over the stove. the morning sun hitting his back at just the right angle to make all his muscles really pop out at you.

“sorry, didn’t mean to wake you so early love”. he says after hearing you come out of his room.

“it’s all good, just what is that heavenly smell?” you joked, sitting on one of the stools at his kitchen island, watching him finish up cooking. he turned around and slid a plate of pancakes infront of you. he even drew a little smiley face out with all your favorite fruits and whipped cream. then he handed you a cup of hot coffee, just the way you like it.

“what did i ever do to deserve you” you said as you smiled at your boyfriend.

boyfriend! sakusa whos love language is acts of service

boyfriend! sakusa who takes your makeup off for you, does your skincare for you and tucks you into bed when you’ve had a bad day

boyfriend! sakusa who always reminds you to do the little things, like washing your hands when you get home from being out, or drinking water

boyfriend! sakusa who’s trying his best for you

(sorry guys this may be a teeny bit ooc but i love him idc)

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yourheart-inmyhands · 4 months

Note

Hi hi!! I was just wondering if you could write general hcs (or longer blurbs) of the Harbingers (Childe, Dottore, Pantalone, Capitano, Arlecchino and La Signora) with a dumb and naive fem! Reader? (Gn is fine) Perversions such as stalking, manipulation, and non con elements + etc. are a-ok! 👌(^◡^ ) I want the entirety of the Yandere-ness!!!

Much love 😈

hi this request was so cool!! i don't usually do more than 3-4 characters per post so i did a few this time, if you wanna swing back around and request the rest of the characters i'd be more than happy to write it for you :D

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including implied being held against ones will, subject to unwilling experiments, delusional behaviors, obsessive tendencies, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

Childe:

Oh Celestia you couldn’t be any more perfect could you? That wide-eyed, dumb little look you gave him whenever he was talking about his missions, eager to listen but to stupid to understand. He just adores you, his big hands cupping your face, squishing your cheeks to make you look even sillier. Childe just can’t get enough of you.

You’re like a little puppy dog to him, so cute and silly yet so unknowing. He can’t help but want to smother you in hugs and kisses when you’re around, doting on you and making sure no one ever lays a finger on you aside from him.

It’s when you’re not around that things are different with Childe, it’s like he’s gone haywire, feral without your company. He wears a little locket on a chain attached to his belt, it has a picture of you and a lock of your hair inside. He makes sure to keep it well protected, occasionally spraying it with your perfume or beauty products so it smells like you. As soon as he’s back home with you though he’s the same sweet, overbearing Childe he was previously.

Dottore:

He takes full advantage of the situation, subjecting you to minor experiments, most of which are harmless. Dottore always has his eyes on you, whether his actual ones or the ones of his segments. Even in your sleep there’s some variation of him watching you, settled at your bedside with a notepad in hand, camera just beside him. It’s like every second of your life is being recorded for Dottore, because it is.

He’s also obsessed with your body, giving you regular weekly check ups. He tells you that it’s normal, that all proper adults get checkups this often, even when the check ups push beyond the normal means. It’s not just the normal things like checking your heart rate and ensuring you’ve got no lumps, bumps, or growths. It extends into things like how fast your hair and nails grow, any changes caused by the experiments he does, changes in your natural body scent, and other random things.

Dottore also takes care of any and all medical needs you have, he’s become your personal doctor. Anything and everything you do is under his control, he picks when and how often you sleep, what you eat, how much daylight you get, and what you do on a day to day basis. The best part is you’re too stupid and naive to muster up the courage to say anything.

Pantalone:

This man, in all his wisdom and cash, adores how you let him do anything he wishes with you. You’ve become his little doll to dress up, style, and control. He makes you the perfect little partner, picking out all your outfits, regularly rotating the clothing in your wardrobe with new outfits, he’d be criminal if he let you wear the same thing twice.

Pantalone takes you everywhere with him, flaunting his perfect little darling to others. He makes sure to use big, extravagant words when talking about you to others so that you don’t understand, it’s usually all good though so no worries. If there is any reason he can’t take you with him, you can expect him to leave a comprehensive list and schedule for you, keeping his control over what you wear even whilst he’s gone.

He uses your stupidity against you, betting things on which of you will be right or if you can answer correctly. You’re wrong every time and he loves it, and yet despite being wrong every time, because you stood no chance at knowing the right answer, you fall right into the same trap over and over again. He just adores you so much, and he’d do anything to keep you by his side, forever.

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junkissed · 6 months

Text

late night talking

member — minghao x f reader genre — angst, idk if there's enough fluff for this to count as hurt/comfort but the ending is sort of happy ? word count — 2.1k synopsis — the best and worst conversations always happen at 1am. warnings — reader is very drunk and very very insecure, lots of crying, lots of internal back & forth, unreliable narrator moment, refers to reader as girlfriend/my girl/etc., idk if i'm missing anything else but lmk if i am notes — this is an old fic that i never really intended to be released but @onlymingyus and @wooahaeproductions convinced me otherwise. sorry this is not at all what i normally post lmao i swear don't write like this often i just found this in my drive that i wrote when i was in a very shitty mood. we will return to your regularly scheduled smut programming soon i promise lmao! leave a comment in the reblogs or send an ask if you enjoyed this? idk i am nervous to post this pls don't perceive me too much

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you're ugly when you're drunk.

“hao?”

your voice rings throughout the house, the sound shaky and quieter than usual.

he wouldn't even have known you were home if he hadn't heard your friend's car pull up minutes ago, bright headlights flashing through the bedroom window. he wouldn't have known, if he wasn't already worried sick at you being gone so long and consuming an unknown amount of alcohol. he should've been there with you, but too much was riding on the deadline for his students’ grades that had to be finished before midnight. any other day he would've been by your side the whole night, a steady hand on your arm for balance and a sharp eye on your glass just in case. he loves playing the role of protective boyfriend, letting his girl do whatever she wants because he'll always be there to watch over her. but he couldn't do that tonight, and it tears him up inside.

he hears your trudging footsteps down the hall, soft footfalls signalling your approach as you drag yourself towards the room. he pretends not to hear; he doesn't want to make a big deal out of this and embarrass you.

“you're home early,” he comments with a chuckle, but his sarcasm is lost on you in this state. it's well after 1 in the morning, and you tilt your head in confusion at his words, brows deeply furrowed.

“what— are you working on?” you ask after a moment, focusing all your energy on not stumbling over your words.

you know how drunk you are, he knows how drunk you are, but even now you're still putting on an act. you hate feeling stupid in front of him, and right now you couldn't feel any stupider. the worst part is that you feel as stupid when you're sober as you do right now, but you couldn't tell him that.

he pauses, choosing his next words carefully as he surveys your current state. he can't risk hurting your feelings, especially in such a vulnerable headspace.

“grading finals,” he decides on. not too detailed to confuse you, not too simplified to make you feel stupid, just enough to make you feel involved.

distantly you feel your eyes welling up with tears. you don't know why, but at the same time you know exactly why. you're never good enough compared to him, not when you come home drunk in the dead of night, and he never does. not when he's so good at everything he touches, so talented and beautiful and perfect, and you're… not.

he deserves someone at his level, an artistic genius like him who can help him with his work. someone with an eye for his paintings, someone smarter, someone prettier, someone who can keep him on his toes. someone who won't drag him down and burden him with your obvious lack of skill and your quality of being so embarrassingly lightweight that you need to be supervised at all times.

“i’m sorry,” you finally muster. you can't find the words to explain what you mean, but you hope he's able to sense your sincerity.

“what for?” he asks. his voice is softer now.

you hate it when he uses that voice. he's talking down to you, talking like you're a child and he has to explain everything to you in the gentlest way possible because you aren't capable of handling the truth.

you love when he uses that voice. sometimes he can be so blunt it almost feels isolating, but when he talks to you like you're a child in that sweet, gentle, kind tone you feel like everything will be okay. he can soften himself for you, drop his straightforward persona around you and be the tender man you know he's capable of being.

you lift your eyes to his computer screen and the feelings you've been struggling with float back into view. “i'm sorry,” you repeat, voice cracking despite the effort you put in to stop it from breaking. it's all you can say.

you don't notice when the tears overflow, bursting from your eyes without a sound. you're embarrassing, you're an idiot, standing in front of him with red eyes and hunched shoulders as tears stream down your cheeks. you don't even feel them fall.

if he knows what you're trying to convey with your tearful apologies, he doesn't mention it.

of course he knows, how could he not when he's so astute with everything? you suck at keeping things to yourself.

of course he doesn't know, why would he take the time out of his busy schedule to care about how you're feeling? you're not worth his energy.

the moment seems to stretch on for eternity, standing in front of him. you don't know why you started dating in the first place; he doesn't have the time, you're too annoying, too clingy, too affectionate. standing in front of him, you don't feel anything. you just feel cold.

you turn to drag yourself out of the room, deciding that you've embarrassed yourself enough by now. you don't know where you'll go or what you're doing, probably to pour yourself a glass of water and try to sleep on the couch. obviously he won't want you to sleep in his bed when you’re like this, why should he? you aren’t deserving of that privilege.

but then you feel a warm hand on your wrist, gently tugging you back towards him. you lose your balance, stumble over your feet, fall onto his lap. you're mortified, barely able to get another “sorry” out before trying to stand again on wobbly legs. you shouldn't be here. you're so aware, so painfully conscious of your weight on him, every ounce of energy you have left fighting to keep yourself from annoying him even further but it feels like it's too late. everything that comes from you is too little, too late.

“no,” he says. his tone is still that soft, sweet sound, but his voice is firm and you don't try to get up again. “we can talk tomorrow,” he says as he begins to run his hand along your back, and you hate yourself for the way you instantly melt at his touch. “just… relax. calm down.”

your body slouches against his chest, feeling like a puddle on his lap, head tucked into the crook of his neck whether you meant to or not. your legs dangle limply off his lap, arms wrapped loosely around the back of his chair as he holds you.

“it's okay,” he says simply, still stroking his hand along your back in small, soothing motions. “it's okay.” he repeats the words, maybe to convince himself but mostly to convince you from having a breakdown. even now when he's treating you so delicately, your brain won't let you rest: he's probably scared of you, he doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean any of it and he's using whatever means necessary to stop you from turning hysterical or even violent. of course it doesn't mean anything to him.

“how much did you drink tonight, baby?” he asks, and you know you should take that as judgmental but you don't have the energy left anymore. you don't note the twinge of concern in his voice, you can't see the look in his eyes as he gazes down at you.

“a little— a lot,” you answer, somewhat truthfully. the real truth is that you lost count. you weren't trying to get drunk, but one turned into two turned into ten and before you even knew what you were doing a car was dropping you off in front of your house.

he shifts his legs for you to sit more comfortably on his lap, and as much as you want to fight it you don't have the strength to. “do you want to go to bed?” he asks gently. “or do you want to stay up with me?”

“don't… want you to go to bed ‘cuz of me,” you mumble against his neck. god, his skin is so soft and warm. you couldn't move your body right now even if you tried. “not your fault.”

“what kind of guy would i be if i didn't take care of my girlfriend when she needs me?” he asks. “i can put you to bed if you want. it's alright. it's late anyway.”

“it's not– your job,” you manage to reply, and his hand on your back stops for a second.

“it is my job,” he says softly. he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “i'm sorry if you feel like i haven't done that.”

“please, don't— no sorry,” you choke out as fresh tears prick at your eyes. “it's my fault. i'm sorry. it's my fault.”

he holds you tighter, both arms wrapped around you on his lap now. “it's not your fault,” he says in that same firm but gentle voice. “you haven't done anything wrong at all. it's alright, baby, i promise. you don't have anything to worry about. why are you sorry?”

“i don't know,” you mumble. your hand clutches at his chest unconsciously, balling his t-shirt in your fist. “i dunno. i love you. i dunno.”

“i love you, too,” he says after a beat. the tears, the drunken outburst, he just lets it all happen. without a word of complaint. despite the voices in your head fighting to convince you otherwise, he never says a single negative thing to you.

you know he's not normally like this. with everyone else he's polite, unemotional, reserved. he's never vulnerable. which is why you're so confused right now.

“why?” you slur, still grasping onto hope.

he hums in questioning, nudging you to elaborate.

“why are you like this to me?”

but now he's the one who's confused. “like what?”

you pause, and the room goes quiet for a moment, the only sound your shallow breaths against his chest. “nice.”

for all his knowledge, this time he's actually lost. “why would i not be nice to you?”

“i don't deserve it.”

he shifts again, pulling you closer to his chest as he starts to run his fingers through his hair. “of course you do, baby.”

“you don't deserve me.”

he stops again, this time in shock. “hey. that's not true.”

“is too true,” you say. your eyes are closed and you can't help the frown overtaking your face. “you should have somebody you deserve. it's not me.”

he just sighs, and you feel his chest expand beneath your cheek at the deep breath he takes. “i love you, baby. not anyone else. you'll feel better in the morning, and we can talk then. but i'm not mad at you, okay? there's nothing wrong. everything's okay.”

you try to mimic his sigh, but the angle you're laying at on his chest and the alcohol in your system makes it hard to breathe deeply.

“do you want to keep sitting with me?” he asks. he knows how much you like the sounds his keyboard makes, the quiet tapping as he enters grades and types comments to his students about things you could never fathom to understand.

your eyes stay closed and your head doesn't move. “yeah,” you murmur softly.

he settles back into his chair, you curled up on his lap. he's not doing much, he's finished the worst of it and now just entering numbers. he glances down at your figure, almost asleep on him, and he feels an ache in his chest.

every emotion feels amplified to you right now, but if it took getting blackout drunk for you to finally say it then it must've been weighing on you for a long time coming. he wonders how long you've felt like this, felt inadequate compared to him, and it makes him pause. it was never his intention. when you're awake and sober and hopefully not massively hungover, then you can talk, and he can make this right.

he loves the person snuggled against his chest, loves the feeling of you comforted and protected by him, and he'll do anything to make sure you know that. he'll do anything to let you see yourself the way he sees you. above all the worries he has about you, he knows one thing for sure.

you're cute when you're drunk.

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haunting-venus · 7 months

Text

line 'em up and measure ↳ lo'ak sully x male!human!reader

content warnings | smut ( mdni ), characters are aged up, brief description of wounds, slight intoxication, mutual masturbation, literal dick measuring contest, xenophilia ( alien biology ), dirty talk, praise

word count: 3995

notes | this was originally supposed to be for the last day of @eywaite and @tallulah477 romancing pandora event, but life got in the way. still, i couldn't get this out of my head so please enjoy this now !

na'vi dictionary | narlor — beautiful ( visually )

It was stupid—absolutely fucking insane, really—the situation you’ve planted yourself in. You knew you were a trespasser, not looked upon with any grace by Eywa on this exomoon but fuck, this must be some kind of sick joke.

“Dude, my dick is definitely nicer than yours.” Lo’ak’s cheeks are flushed with alcohol, grin toothy and shit-eating as his knee bumps yours.

You’d come across the Omatikaya purely by chance—a lone xenobotanist presumed dead after the tragic and fiery crash of your research team’s buggy in the depths of Pandora’s forests. You’d been warned about the local indigenous population, of course, and had been explicitly told your group was not important enough to risk more lives should you fuck up this exploration.

No one was looking for you, and you were alone on an alien planet with nothing but a scalpel and a faulty research tablet.

You’d wandered for hours, bleeding and disoriented, ears ringing with the impact of your buggy into the tree and heart pounding in fear at the inescapable situation you were now in. You were certain that you were smaller than anything in this forest, and that your sluggishly bleeding wounds and pounding headache would soon make you easy prey for whatever roamed in these woods.

You’d thought the time had finally come as you gasped against a tree for air, vision blurring with pain as your legs shook with the exertion to keep you upright. The air was rife with beastly screeching, the sound so high-pitched you thought briefly that this might be what death sounds like. The deafening flapping of giant wings had you scrambling to the forest floor, using the last of your strength to move pitifully away from the gnashing jaws of the creature who landed in front of you.

You were able to catch a glimpse of worried golden eyes and a lean blue frame that towered over you before the world slipped into inky blackness.

You’d learned afterwards that the Omatikaya did routine patrols in the areas known to the RDA, scheduled bouts of precautionary scouting should the Earth’s military ever stray too far from their boundaries. Well, you’d strayed a lot, apparently.

The man who’d saved you had carried you in a princess hold before the chief, his strong arm holding up your back and looped under your bent knees. It should’ve been embarrassing, you thought, a grown man having to be carried like a ragdoll by a stranger who was bargaining for your life to be saved. Then again, you didn’t exactly have time to worry about how tough you looked when you were on the verge of slipping unconscious again.

It had taken over a week in the medical care of the nearby human outpost before you were on your feet again, body weak from dehydration and healing minor fractures. The man who saved you, Lo’ak, came to check on you regularly, asking questions about your life and your intentions—how you’d wandered into the Omaticaya borders, why you were traveling in the forest, if you had any trackers on you, if anyone was following you.

After several days of him poking and prodding at you with questions, he returned with a much more intimidating man at his back—The chief, Jake Sully, adorned in ornate feathered regalia and a stern expression.

You knew you were best off telling the truth—you were a researcher with many injuries, nowhere else to go, and of no harm to any of the People. You’d even offered to leave once you healed, return to the RDA encampment with tight lips and fake amnesia, though Jake Sully had quickly brushed that off. It was in the People’s best interest that the RDA never knew you came in contact with them, and the only way you could do that was by never returning.

You were met with a mix of fear and anger from the local population. You were an intruder, an unwanted reminder of just how closely war knocked at their doorstep. It would’ve been easy to feel isolated, a bird without a nest.

Except you were surrounded with the most incredible flora and fauna you had ever laid your eyes on, the lands near the village so much more rife with life than the secluded bases of the RDA. The scientists at the outpost just outside the village welcomed you eagerly, sharing their notes and knowledge and living space with open arms. Then, of course, there was Lo’ak.

Lo’ak was a friend, one of the few that you’d acquired in the months since the crash. Turns out, one of his best friends was a human boy who’d grown up in the labs outside the Na’vi encampments, Spider, so he was neither scared nor angry with you. He was mostly curious, poking and prodding you with questions about Earth and showing you hidden wonders of the Forest when he got a rare day off.

He was also damn beautiful—tall and indigo-skinned, with lean muscles and swirling tattoos over the length of his strong arms and the curve of his ribs. You would be able to get over your little infatuation with some ease, you’d met plenty of good-looking people in your life, except he wasn’t just beautiful. He was fucking kind too, and it drove you nuts.

So yes, Lo’ak was beautiful, funny and kind. He made you feel safe and wanted in a world that wanted to kill you at every turn, and he did it with the most endearingly toothy smile you’d ever seen.

He was also the chief’s son, which made him explicitly off-limits even if you did have any chance in any multiverse of getting to be with him. Which was exactly why you shouldn’t be in this situation right now, lazing together on a couch that is far too small for the two of you, passing a leather flask of pxir that was quickly emptying.

You must have been more drunk than you thought, letting the rogue idea slip between your teeth. It was supposed to be a joke, really—a dumb quip about how much you missed getting dicked down back on Earth. Your options were extremely limited, even more than they had been in the RDA outpost. At least over there there had been some sexually repressed military guys to get it on with. Here, everyone was either decades your senior, or definitely not your type.

“You just need to get some Na’vi cock. It’ll make you forget all about whatever puny action you were getting on Earth, bro.” Lo’ak laughed

You were two young men, tipsy and comfortable with one another, it was completely natural to talk about sex. You knew that the Na’vi were extremely comfortable with sex, seeing it as a connection between life forms, something natural and beautiful. Plus, humans were inherently curious, not to mention repressed and hormonal. You figured that sexual experimentation between the two species was something nearly inevitable.

Still, it made you hot beneath the collar, having Lo’ak’s eyes so keen on you with hazy comfort as he suggests you get down and dirty with a Na’vi. With someone like him.

“Hey, watch how you talk about human cock. I’ve still got one, dude.” You scoff, taking another deep swig of the bitter alcohol. It’s always been so easy this way, hiding your discomfort behind sarcasm and dumb jokes. “Besides, it can’t be all that different.”

“Dude, my dick is definitely nicer than yours.”

It should be insulting. It is insulting, you tell yourself. That’s why your cheeks flush so devastatingly red, definitely. “Oh, fuck you, pretty boy. If that’s what you tell yourself to sleep at night, go ahead.”

“Well, there’s one way to find out.” Lo’ak’s eyes glisten with amusement, obviously reveling in the dumbstruck look on your face.

That was another thing you’d come to love about Lo’ak. He was always competitive, even over the stupidest things, even with stuff that will get him smacked or killed. He jumps at any opportunity to prove to himself and others that he was capable and brave. It usually made your heart flutter with admiration, now it just puts you on edge.

“You’re not seriously suggesting to whip it out, are you?” You chuckle

“What, you’re scared I might be right?” He goads.You’re about to deny him, about to insist you’ve had too much to drink when you’re barely even feeling a buzz so you can

Except that Lo’ak is already pulling his hips up from the couch, moving to sit up on the arm of the seat so he can untie his loincloth. His muscled torso stretches while he extends his body, black swirling lines of tattoos he acquired with the reef tribes etched down his ribs and tapering just at the edge of the v-line leading into his bottoms.

It’s completely stupid and irrational. It’s definitely something that could get you smacked or even exiled if people found out. Hell, Lo’ak could never talk to you again if he knew what dirty things were running through your mind. It’s also the start of every stupid, dirty fantasy you’ve been unable to repress for months.

If you were a stronger man, you’d get up and leave. Except, you’re not.

“Alright, pretty boy. Put your money where your mouth is.”

Lo’ak’s grin is a little smaller than before, still confident but edged with something that seems bashful, his tail swinging leisurely behind him. It only takes a few tugs of his practiced fingers for the leather of his loincloth to loosen, then fall to the tiled ground of your room.

You feel ashamed for looking, even though that was the whole point of this stupid competition, if it could even be called that. You try to keep your face neutral as Lo’ak lighty spreads his legs, brows furrowing a bit. The apex of Lo’ak’s legs resembles more of a human female’s anatomy than anything. His skin is smooth, hairless just as the rest of his body, the darker stripes on his skin narrowing to a slit in his crotch

You swallow heavily, tucking one of your legs up to your chest to hopefully obscure the growing bulge in your shorts. You try to keep your voice even, teasing, even as it shakes. “From where I’m standing, looks like there’s nothing to compare, bro.”

“Fuck off, just give me a second.” Lo’ak mutters, cheeks warm as he brings a hand between his own legs. “Only humans are dumb enough to have their shit hanging out all the damn time.”

You’re glad to see a flush on Lo’ak’s cheeks, hear the gruff rasp of his voice. It’s comforting to know you’re not the only one a little affected, and you feel a bit of hope blossom inside your chest.

His fingers move between his legs, parting the slit with soft movements, his fingers shining with slick between his legs as he coaxes the opening open. He keeps his lips tight, chest moving with heavy breaths at each of his own touches.

Your eyes are rapt at his every movement, heart pounding .You briefly wonder if this is how he touches himself when he’s all alone, if he makes the same heavy breaths and twitches of his ears.

It takes only moments for something to begin breaching the folds of Lo’ak’s slit, his breath coming a little heavier. Slowly, a cock emerges from the sheath inside his body, a lighter shade of blue tapering to pinkish at the tip. There’s no balls that follow it, though the base seems a bit swollen as he hangs at half-mast before you.

“Whoa.” You clear your throat quickly, averting your gaze from Lo’ak’s laughing eyes. “Thought you’d be bigger, honestly.”

It’s a big fat lie, and an obvious one too. Even without being fully hard, Lo’ak’s cock almost easily matches the length of your forearm.

“Oh, fuck off. I can smell you, you know. I know just what you think of your first Na’vi cock.” His tone isn’t malicious, just teasing, each word laced with

Your face flushes, fingers twitching anxiously against your thigh that still sits tucked up against you. It’s easy to forget how superior Na’vi senses are when you spend so little time with them, especially outside of the lab. You briefly wonder if Lo’ak has been able to tell every time you’ve felt a flare of arousal in his presence, if he had connected the dots that your brain constantly wandered to your filthiest thoughts in his presence.

He leans forward, pressing one hand on the arm of the couch behind you. He’s close now, his breath near ghosting over your face as his eyes search yours. “Your turn. Not much of a competition if I’m the only one showing off, now is it?”

This is quickly treading into dangerous territory, something that sobers you up quicker than any water of coffee could. Lo’ak’s hand is still cradling his length, just ghosting lightly along the enlarged base as he leans over you with his muscled body. You know you’re hard, can feel the blood rushing from your head to pound between your thighs, can feel your length pressing uncomfortably against the cotton of your shorts. Unlike him, there’s nowhere for you to hide, no way to conceal just how affected you are.

You feel like you’re free-falling, diving head first into all the emotions you’d convinced yourself would be better off tucked away. Part of you wanted to keep it all at arm’s length, to let this be a moment of lust, another memory to be tucked away. The other part wanted to jump in feet first, consequences be damned, fuck the fallout.

You steel your nerves as Lo’ak backs off a little, giving you the space to undo the buttons of your pants. You know you can end this all with a few words, that if it really bothered you Lo’ak would forget this ever happened and never bring it up again, because he was that kind of guy. Except, you’re sure you aren’t imagining the lingering heat in Lo’ak’s gaze, or the excited flick of his tail as his eyes follow the movements of your fingers as you drop your pants.

You don’t need visual confirmation to know you’re already hard and leaking, the tip of your cock red and aching as your fingers ghost along your thighs.

“Looks like I win.” Lo’ak’s voice is breathier than before, his knee brushing against your leg as he lingers closely to you. His hand still sits close to his own cock, which has made no signs of retreating back into his body.

“Okay, you’re obviously gonna be bigger than me. You’re a fucking giant.” Your face flushes, trying to ignore the throb in your cock as Lo’ak’s eyes trail across your body.

“Don’t be so hateful, bro. No one likes a sore loser.”

“Yeah, well, at least I have more stamina than you.” It’s so easy to slip back into teasing sarcasm, like a shield you can put around yourself to keep all the confusing emotions at arm’s length. It helps you feel some control that has been steadily slipping away, grasp onto some sort of reality.

Lo’ak just chuckles lowly. “More stamina? I’m a trained warrior, bro. Stamina is my game.”

You snort, trying desperately to forget the fact that you’re both naked beneath the waist. “You’re the most reckless fucker I’ve ever met. I bet you blow your load in two seconds.”

“Oh, come on, you’re the pent up little scientist. You really think you can last longer than me?” Lo’ak’s voice deepens, one of his hands trailing up across the outside of your thigh as he shadows over you.

“Try me.”

Lo’ak’s mouth is on yours before you have a chance to regret the challenge. He’s so much bigger than you, and the way his entire mouth encompasses yours is strange but not unpleasant. One of his hands eagerly comes up under your shirt and along your ribs, the other holding up his weight on the couch behind you. You run your fingers up along the planes of his body, tracing the ridges of his ribs and the curve of his shoulders, to embed them in your memory.

He gasps as he pulls away from you, his hips dipping to nudge his hardening cock against your hip as he leaves a line of wet kisses from the corner of your mouth to underneath your jaw. You vaguely register his tail thumping excitedly into the plush of the couch, the way his ears twitch forward to catch every hitch of your breathing.

“Shit, you’re so hot.” Lo’ak’s voice mumbles across your skin, canines grazing the sensitive skin of your neck as he pushes himself closer to you.

“Touch yourself.” You gasp, tightening your grip on Lo’ak’s bicep as he pushes his hips down into you.

Lo’ak pauses. “What?”

“Come on, you wanted to talk a big game. Let’s see how long you really last.” Your grin is devilish, edged with excitement and desire as you trail your fingers teasingly across the muscle of his arms. You delight in the little shiver that passes through him.

“Wouldn’t you rather be the one to touch me?” His voice is raspy, breathless as he nibbles along the curve of your neck.

“Oh, where’s the fun in that, pretty boy?” You bite your lip in a grin, resting your forehead along his own. “We want this to be a fair trial, and having my skilled hands on you could definitely skew the results.”

Lo’ak laughs, removing his hand reluctantly from your ribs to palm along his own cock. “Fine, no touching. For your results.”

You can feel yourself steadily losing control as you lean back and watch Lo’ak—the way he teasingly trails his fingers down his own chest and across his cock, the little gasp he lets out when he tightens his fingers around the base, the desperate hitching of his hips as he keeps his eyes firmly on you as he works himself over.

Lo’ak’s eyes flick expectantly towards your own hard cock, moaning loud as he finally sees you grip yourself in your palm. You’re so sensitive and it’s been so long, each touch feels magnified with Lo’ak above you, watching your every move with panting breaths. Lo’ak slows his movements on himself a bit, moving to grip himself at the swollen base of his cock. His reaction is immediate, a deep groan vibrating through his chest as his eyes roll a bit.

You tighten your grip on the base, heat shooting through you as you drink in the sounds of Lo’ak’s moans. Fuck, of course he’s loud. Your lips brush against his own as you speak. “Jesus, the sounds you make are fucking incredible.”

A knowing smile reaches across Lo’ak’s flushed face. He parts his lips to run over yours, drinking in the sigh you let out. “Really? Well, you’ve got a pretty incredible mouth too.”

“S-shut up-” You gasp. You know you should go slow because some stupid part of you still wants to win, to make Lo’ak come undone first because of you. Yet, you can’t help the way your fist tightens at each wet little gasp coming from Lo’ak’s mouth, the way your hand quickens around yourself as you watch his pretty cock move through his fist.

“It’s true. You don’t know how many times I’ve done this thinking of your stupid smart mouth, how it would feel.” Your breath hitches at Lo’ak’s words, each breath emphasized with the roll of his hips into his own fist.

“Oh, oh, shit.” You know your desperation is seeping into your tone, suppressed moans barely being hidden by your gritted teeth. You’ve always been weak to Lo’ak, and now is no exception, especially now with the admission that he’s thought of you before.

“You look so sexy like this, all spread out under me. You know, you’re always calling me pretty boy but you’re putting me to shame here, narlor.” Lo’ak’s eyes are hazy but calculating, watching each expression on your face as the filth he’s saying echoes into the air around you. He has a look in his eye, like he knows he’s winning.

“Oh fuck you.” You groan, your hips moving desperately up into your hand. You can feel the heat of Lo’ak’s body encompassing you, the head of your cock brushing against his leg with each movement of your hips. “I know what you’re doing.”

“Hah, really?” Lo’ak gasps. The sly grin that comes across his face is all the confirmation you need.

“You’re trying to get me off, by…by saying that stuff. I-it’s cheating.” You moan as your fingers snag against the head of your cock, catching the precum leaking from your tip to slicken the slide of your fist.

“Oh, that wasn’t in the rules,” he teases, licking a stripe up your neck. He lowers himself closer to you, the head of his cock bumping against your stomach where your shirt has ridden up. “Not my fault I can’t stop thinking how perfect you’d feel wrapped around me.”

Fuck, you don’t know if he means your mouth or your ass but it really doesn’t matter, either one of the images sending your brain into a frenzy. A moan rips through you, fingers twisting around your cock. It’s so easy to picture how Lo’ak would look inside you, or how he would fall apart on your fingers. It has you hurtling dangerously close to the edge.

Your breath quickens as you look up into Lo’ak’s eyes, dark pools ringed with the slightest amount of gold. His tail coils around himself, wrapping possessively around your shin.

“Fuck, look at you. It’s like you’re out of a wet dream.” Lo’ak grits his teeth, pushing his cock up against you as he strokes himself. You can see the slick from his slit dripping across his cock and down his thighs, a sweet and musky smell coating the air.

“Hah, have a lot of d-dreams about me?” You tease, but your voice is thready, more pleading than asking.

He grins against your lips. “Maybe. Wouldn’t you like to know.”

And fuck the thought has you reeling. It’s so easy to see Lo’ak in your mind, waking up hot and needy to dirty thoughts of you, half-asleep as he stuffs a fist in his mouth and strokes himself to completion with your name on his lips.

“S-shit, shit, Lo’ak, I-” your breaths come in quick gasps, too turned on to care about any embarrassing sounds that are leaking from your throat.Your body is thrumming with energy as heat coils tightly in your stomach.

“I want you to come, narlor. Right now, on me.” Lo’ak groans and you can feel his fist bumping into your hip with his rapid movements. Your eyes are clenched shut, riding the overwhelming feeling of your orgasm

“Come, let me see it. Now.” His voice is urgent, pleading.

“Oh, f—uh-”

The muscles in your thighs clench as you buck up into your fist, your cock bumping Lo’ak as you come across your fist and stomach, smearing your release onto your partner with each movement onto Lo’ak. Your nails dig into the skin of his shoulder, a moan tumbling from your throat as you come harder than you ever had. Maybe there was something to Lo’ak’s theory about Na’vi cock after all.

Lo’ak isn’t far behind you, panting into your mouth as his hips move unsteadily against you. His throat strains around a loud groan, and you’re able to open your eyes just soon enough to see his face scrunch in pleasure, ears twitching with each rolling wave of pleasure pulsing through him.

You try to commit the look to memory, down to the lopsided and dopey grin that stretches across his face. Lo’ak sighs with satisfaction, his dirty hand coming to rub softly across your hip. “Told you I would win.”

You can’t help the giddy smile that comes across your face, giving a peck to his grinning lips. “Best two out of three?”

#lo’ak x reader #lo'ak te suli tsyeyk'itan #lo'ak sully #avatar smut #avatar the way of water #avatar 2009 #avatar #avatar fanfiction #smut #venus writes #romancingpandora2024 #male reader #lo'ak x male reader #lgbt #mlm

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dancingtotuyo · 1 year

Text

Build You the World

Joel Miller X Reader

Rating: PG-13 (Language)

Warnings: fluffiness, just fluff

Summary: Joel was stupid. Saying sorry the only way he knows how, Joel built you something.

Pre- Outbreak/ No outbreak because I want them to live a happy undisturbed life together.

Notes: We take a break from our regularly scheduled Narcos/Javier Peña content to give you this teeth rotting fluff piece about Joel Miller. Cross posted on AO3

Words: 1286

Series Master List | Author Master list

Joel sucked in a breath. Supplies scattered on the floor around him. The industrial fan blew the hot Texas air into his hotter garage. Sarah rode her bike around the driveway, purple fairy wings strapped to her back. She chatted on and on, no doubt caught up in a make believe land. He needed to take the training wheels off her bike. Maybe tomorrow he would have time.

Joel’s gaze drifted back over the supplies he’d bought at the hardware store this morning. Sarah had asked what he was making as her little legs struggled to keep up with his long strides. She’d noticed the unusual components he gathered. These weren’t for a job or the back porch he’d been working on all summer.

“Secret project” he’d winked at her and thankfully, she’d accepted it.

He hadn’t been able to sleep last night. He’d handled the whole situation badly. It was 2 am before Joel gave up the tireless pursuit of sleep and drawn up the plans. He currently wondered if he’d bitten off more than he could chew. He was a contractor. He did big projects like framing houses and decks. His fine carpentry skills left a lot to be desired.

Joel pushed those thoughts from his head. He could do this. He wanted to do this.

One lunch break, two first aid breaks, (a splinter in his thumb and a skinned knee for Sarah) and a nap (Sarah’s) later, Joel had all the pieces shaped and sanded. He couldn’t help but admire his handy work. Sure it was a simple design and yeah, it wasn’t assembled yet, but he’d made this. He just prayed it all fit.

Sarah colored at his workbench. She’d woken up not long ago and was still quiet from her nap. “Daddy, what are you making?”

“Top secret, baby girl.” He winked at her, pulling the wood glue and clamps from the cabinet.

She sighed in exasperation turning back to her coloring book. Joel hummed along to the classic rock station. His tshirt clung to his body wet with sweat. At 5:30, the temperature was just beginning its slow descent. He started to assemble to the first side, praying he’d made all the slots the correct size. That had been the most tedious part, ensuring it would all lock together properly.

“Daddy, I’m hungry. Are we going to have dinner soon?”

“Soon, I want to get this first side put together first.”

Sarah sighed, her hair floating up and then falling back over her eyes. Joel chuckled, kissing her forehead. “Why don’t you go grab a cheese stick to tide you over?”

“Okay.” She slid off the stool, running inside.

It slid together with relative ease. Only a few profanities dropped from his mouth when he dropped something or spilled the glue everywhere.

He was jerryrigging the clamps when Sarah squealed, darting out of the garage. He glanced up, just able to make out the blue sedan that pulled in behind his pickup. Your blue sedan.

Nerves coursed through him. He reached for his beer. It was warm and flat now, barely touched. Sharp power tools and alcohol don’t mix well. He ignored the taste, taking another gulp. After last night, fear and shame filled him.

Sarah held your hand, talking a mile a minute as if you didn’t kiss her Goodnight last night. You laughed at something she said, but he heard the way it doesn’t quite reach. The first thing he noticed were the dark bags under your eyes and the red rings around them. Guilt flooded him. You need sleep more than ever right now. He felt the exhaustion radiating off of you.

You attempted to make yourself more presentable before gathering the courage to come over. The shower helped, your hair still damp and curling. The mascara kept running so you left it.

You round the corner with Sarah. Joel can hardly look at you. To be fair, you don’t really want to look at him either. You don’t want a repeat of last night but you can’t ignore the situation at hand either.

You finally call up the courage to look at him. You’d grown proud of yourself for learning the ins and outs of Joel Miller in the two years you’d known him. You could read him like the bedtime stories you read to Sarah, silly voices and all, but right now the pages of him blurred. Maybe that was just the tears you fought back.

“Sarah, do you want to grab your fairy wings to show-“

“Yes!” Sarah didn’t allow her father to finish. She was gone through the door in a flash of dark curls.

“She’s been excited to show you. Can’t believe she wasn’t wearin’ ‘em.” His Texas drawl popped out sending shivers down your spine. He forced a smile.

You wanted to return it, but other things pressed your mind. You weren’t good at diversion.

“Joel.” Your lip quivered and you hated yourself for it. You felt out of control right now.

He sighed. “Come here.” He cocked his head back stepping further into the garage.

The fan pushed air through your hair and skirt granting mellow relief to the heat.

“I’ve been working on this.” He swallowed presenting his scattered workspace. He read all nerves but there was the briefest sense of pride too.

Pieces of carefully shaped and sanded wood laid about in piles. You caught sight of what he’d put together. “Porch railing?”

You failed to see the connection. Not to mention it looked too tall and narrow to be for the back deck. And what was with the arch? Was he trying to build a trellis? He’d been talking about putting in some raised beds for you and Sarah.

Was this some kind of joke? An “I’m sorry?” It hardly accounted for one.

“No, it’s a-“ he sighed, running a hand through his curls. He needed a haircut. You had planned to take the clippers to it last night until things went awry.

He picked his notebook up off the work bench. The leather bound one you got him for Christmas. You were convinced he didn’t use it. It sat on his nightstand and you were sure if you’d picked it up, you would see a dust outline. He handed it to you.

You could tell he hadn’t used it much but that didn’t really matter. Your breath caught, all else forgotten the moment your eyes landed on the page. It was rough, dotted with measurements and notes, but it was clear as day all the same.

Tears built up for a whole new reason.

“I stayed up all night working through the design. It's nothing extravagant, but it’ll be sturdy… and safe.” He stuttered.

You traced the design with your finger. All the doubts from the past 24 hours, gone just like that. “You designed a crib?”

“It’s cherry wood. I know that’s your favorite.”

“You designed a crib for our baby?” You stepped into his bubble. You couldn’t believe it. Of everything you anticipated tonight, this was not on the list.

“Baby, I’m so sorry for last night. I was a jackass-“

“Joel Miller, Shut up! You’re building this?”

You looked at him like he hung the fucking galaxy, and his heart settled. He knew the two of you would be okay.

“Yes.”

You kissed him, arms thrown over his shoulders, tears streaming down your face as the nightmare turned into a dream.

You would hear his apology out in full later, lord knows you deserved it after last night, but right now, you just wanted to celebrate. Celebrate him, your love, and the little bundle of joy to join the three of you in 7 short months.

#joel miller #the last of us #fanfiction #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #fluff

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deadboyfriendd · 1 year

Text

Stains in the Granite

Summary: Throughout the years, Steve has undergone multiple head traumas. You knew this much when you were together. The migraines, the forgetfulness, moderate hearing loss in one ear, vertigo. The list was expansive. When you were together. It’s been over a year since you had last spoken to him, but an unexpected call from Hawkins Regional sends you reeling back to him. A forgotten emergency contact, he probably just never bothered to update it. You would let Robin know and be back to your regularly scheduled activities, sans Steve. A dead line turns the spigot, worry plugs the drain, and your inability to let him go drowns you in the tub. When he wakes up, he falls in love with you again. And again the next day. And again the day after that. They say he’ll regain his long-term memory storage eventually. They say the amnesia will wear off soon, but, for now, this is who he would have to be. He may only have to live through losing you once, but you’re not sure if you could handle losing him again every day until he regains his memory. You wouldn’t have the heart to tell him.

Content Warning: My content is 18+, Minors DNI, head trauma, mentions of hospitals and the things that go in them, smut, fluff, angst, exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, alcohol

Word Count: 14.2k

Author’s Note: This is dedicated completely to @dr-aculaaa I have had this piece in the works for months before getting it to the version that you are getting. Drac has tirelessly loomed over my docs like God beta reading, helping out with dialogue, and brainstorming these characters with me. This is as much her baby as it is mine, and I love her very very much.

Drac, I love you.

Find the Playlist Here!

Granite, noun, gran·ite ˈgra-nət

: a very hard natural igneous rock formation of visibly crystalline texture formed essentially of quartz and orthoclase or microcline and used especially for building and for monuments

: unyielding firmness or endurance

the cold granite of Puritan formalism.

the cold granite of your heart.

You were sullen, eyes unable to focus on any one speckle of the countertop in front of you. You ran your hands over it in a grounding motion, forcing tired eyes upon skin instead of stone. You blinked and it settled. The warmth of your palm could feel the slight unevenness of the surface, where the natural stone had been polished down just slightly too much. You watched it catch the light, glitter beneath your fingers snuffed out by the shadows of your touch. You watched the way the light cast a glowing square onto the ground in its early-morning iridescence. You had not slept, only watched the sunrise before you went to sleep.

You missed the nonchalance of high school, when being sad was not an inconvenience, in the same way you missed the grandeur of college, where being sad was an art. Now, though you took comfort in the blanket of sadness, it was more obnoxious than anything. Your sighs held a certain bitchiness to them now, less sad than they were unimpressed.

But you couldn’t help the way the hogs-hair bristles from your years-old, overused brushes stuck in the too-thick paint. You couldn't help the frustration that bubbled through when the linseed oil seeped through too thick and thinned the pigment of your paint so thin the underpainting shone through. It was hard enough to paint your heartbreak, without the added interruption of frustration and all of its woes. You wanted to pick at the scabs of old wounds, reopen them and let the blood drip down onto self-stretched canvases with ragged edges. You wanted your art to feel as raw as your heart did.

Sometimes you wish you could go back, study something practical like education, be something stupid like an art teacher and talk about fulfillment with dead eyes, but you were too ceremoniously tortured for that. You thought about easy, but you didn’t want it. You craved goddamned difficult. You were goddamned difficult.

But people bought it. Commissioned it to hang in their ugly suburban sprawls. Ugly art in ugly homes. Maybe people liked the subjectivity, felt like they could see their own heartbreak in it. You weren't so pretentious that you felt like the only person in the world to experience it. You certainly weren’t. Maybe there were people that were introspective, that wanted to feel the heartbreak when they dissociated into the white walls of their cookie-cutter homes. Maybe heartbreak was the only emotion they could force themselves to feel.

Maybe they took comfort in it, too.

You didn’t exactly know who you were anymore. Yes, at whatever bullshit ice breaker you could define yourself as an artist. An even more bullshit mediocre descriptor that served as a face to the sacrifice of self you went through for the sake of it all. That was usual, it just came with the territory. It was your only redeeming personality trait. You traded your sense of self for an established style that put cans in your cupboard and secondhand clothes on your back.

Everything was covered in a wax sheen, the desensitization taking over your personage and casting a vignette across everything you saw. Not even sex was good anymore. It hadn’t been for a while. It had reduced itself to nothing more than another school of art— another subject of heartbreak. Another thought process and another complication. Your entire sense of self came from academic validation. You were a bachelor of fine art, consistently praised by professors and featured in student exhibitions, graduated magna cum laude from your university. But now? You were lost in a vapid attempt to redefine yourself outside of the college community. This was the real world now, and sucked even worse than college had.

Your studio apartment overlooked the heart of the historic downtown district of Hawkins, Indiana. It was gray this time of year, rain a near-constant promise over the thick smattering of clouds overhead. You paid entirely too much to live in eight-hundred square feet, but you could justify the cost with the stone hearth and floor-to-ceiling windows, even if that meant sleeping in a twin-sized mattress sprawled on the floor in the corner of the room. Your clothes hung messily on mismatched hangers over a laundry rack beside it. Your few enamel dishes cast drip-drying across the countertops in their own choreography. The rest of the place was barren, save for paint splatters over tarps, stacked canvases, and easels. Maybe it was too indulgent to live in-studio, but poverty would argue and win nearly every time.

The tortured artist persona was trendy while you were in college, but you were just plain insufferable now. You didn’t even want to associate with yourself. You guessed that’s why you had Robin. She was just as insufferable as you were.

She was the embodiment of everything you hated, a humbling experience in a flesh box wrapped with a short bob and a beret and adorned with a nose ring. You had met her in an Art: History of the French Renaissance class. She was a linguistics major with all of the subtlety of a clapped-out Honda Civic. She heavily romanticized the greater works of Van Gogh and made her brief year in a study-abroad program in Paris a personality trait. Though, you supposed, her redeemable feature was that she was loyal to a fault, albeit mean. Like a small, white dog that haunted your home instead of offering companionship and happiness.

Though you, for the most part, kept it to yourself, you had made it known in the past that the Italian Renaissance was far superior to the French. You didn’t understand how she could so heavily romanticize the ritzy portraits of those aristocratic jerk-offs when she had the Arnolfini Wedding Portrait directly in front of her. Maybe you just didn’t think Van Gogh was all that great. Maybe you hated him altogether. Maybe you hated yourself and you were just projecting– or you were jealous that he could be a tortured artist and people left and right seemed to romanticize his work but when you did it, you were just annoying. You knew, for a fact, that you hated yellow. And she sure liked to wear a lot of it.

The weathered oak was hard and uneven against the curvature of your spine, but you refused to move, the numbness in your fingers happening were the beginnings of the best high you had gotten in ages. There was a resonant patriarchal tenor shrill in your ears as you attempted to focus on the beams and exposed plumbing on the ceiling above you. She spoke it again, louder this time,

“What are you gonna do with an art degree? Be a tortured artist forever?” You could hear her arm slap coldly against the ground next to yours and echo throughout the emptiness of your apartment.

You groaned, though it was only proving her point, “I don't know, what are you gonna do with a linguistics degree? Be super fucking annoying?”

“At least I have a job.”

And she did. She was a translator who rotated on call-circuit to Indianapolis for international business meetings, sometimes they even paid her fare to other countries, in essence getting to vacation on some company’s dime between meetings. The grandeur of it all was sickening.

The ring from your land-line was shrill and echoing, shattering the silence of your own discontent like tempered glass, fragmenting and exploding into millions of little pieces. No one called here ever, and the suddenness of the tone made both Robin and yourself jump. You gave her a shove to the shoulder, a wordless gesture meaning, go get that.

Her Hello was tepid, in the same meek demeanor she twirled the line around her finger. Her face registered from confusion to concern, a quick contortion that took place over the course of seconds, “Is he okay? What do you mean you can’t disclose that?”

You sat up, propping your arms underneath you like the kickstands on a bike, brows knit together in question. She looks to you, holding the receiver out towards you,

“For you.” She says, then silently and exaggeratingly mouths, About Steve.

What? You mouthed back.

Just– Pick. It. Up. She insisted in silent accuse, shaking the receiver towards you once again,

You took the plastic receiver from her, fingers drawing the skin of your temples back and rubbing your eyes, “Hello?”

You don’t recognize the voice on the phone. A woman you know is older than yourself by the way she sounds, officiating and knowledgeable, but carrying a certain morosity with her. She held the kind of tone you know brought bad news.

It feels like a fog, hearing his name again. Hearing that he is a person who is alive and living a life separate from you. It wasn’t right, and that unease turned itself in your stomach as you repeated back her medical jargon to yourself in layman’s terms. Steve fell off a ladder and hit his head. Again. He was unconscious but stable. The neighbor found him and brought him in and gave them your name and phone number

“And why are you calling me?” You finally asked, followed by a long pause. You cursed yourself mentally, realizing the harshness of the statement after you had said it.

The nurse sounded displeased, “You’re his wife, aren’t you? You were listed as the primary emergency contact.”

You hadn’t spoken to Steve in over a year, not since you broke it off with him. You trailed your thumb over the webbing between your middle and ring finger, still feeling the phantom sensation of the ring that sat there just a year prior. The dissidence churned in your stomach, and you couldn’t help the worry that filled you.

Steve was the embodiment of everything you loved. He was smooth like linseed and fell into all of your texture. He didn’t understand it, but he agreed on the superiority of the Italian renaissance. If you hated the romanticization of Van Gogh, then so did he. Steve was agreeable. Steve was easy in all of the places you weren’t.

Steve cared about people in the way that you didn’t.

When you broke it off, your families, both found and biological, were shocked. Robin especially. You’d felt bad for her, caught in the crossfire between two of her best friends. You and Steve had both agreed not to make her choose. She was the sentient being of pure neutrality. It was as if she was a separate entity on two different timelines. If she was present in your reality, Steve did not exist. You assumed the same of her relationship with Steve. Though, a part of you still hoped he’d ask sometimes.

Your brain is a flurry of Steve. His migraine medication, his medical history, his eyewear prescription, fuck his shoe size. You card through the rolodex of head traumas he had undergone through the years, recounting them between relationship markers. You don’t allow yourself the time to think, slamming the phone back down on the stand with a quick, I’ll be there.

The drive to the hospital is sombering, though, you selfishly are less worried about him being okay than you are about what he would think of you showing up after they thought you were his wife.

The smell of the hospital is pungent. Horrendously human and unnaturally sterile wrapped up into one fragrant demise. There are people buzzing, both physically and metaphorically, yet despite the controlled chaos the women at the front desk seem unnaturally calm. Uninterested, even. You tell them your name and who you are here to see, and yet, despite the fact that they had just reached out to you over the phone, they still attempt to validate your marriage.

You knew it was nasty when, “If you don’t think I’m his wife, then why did you call asking if I was his wife?” rolled off your tongue, but you knew Robin would smooth the turmoil with an apology on your behalf. Frankly, you didn’t care. They buzzed you in without another word.

There was an older man in a white coat standing in front of the room, flipping through a chart with Harrington across the top. The embroidery on it read neurology. You figured he would have to undergo a few whirring uncomfortable scans with any head trauma, but his face remained stoic. You couldn’t read him, and, personally, it was terrifying.

“Mrs. Harrington?” He asked, holding a hand out.

You took it as an appeasement, tried to let his old man charm seep into your bones and put you at ease. If he was old, that means he’s done this before. “Yes.” You knew it was a lie, but who else was going to claim him? Not his parents. There was no one else remaining in Hawkins but you and Robin, and she wasn’t family. Technically, you weren’t either, but you weren’t cruel.

“I wanted to formally speak to you before you saw him. There’s a few things we need to discuss.” This sent a panicked chill through your bones. You expected to step into the room and they would ask you for permission to pull the plug or something.

“Is he..?” Your face must have registered as panicked, because the neurologist quickly backpedaled with a grounding hand on your shoulder.

“Oh, no. He’s fine ma’am, we weren’t seeing any bleeds or swelling that he can't recover from.”

That he can’t recover from. Meaning that there is, in fact, something wrong with his brain. You figured that much, with maybe six concussions within the last ten years, but you wouldn’t dwell on that fact too much for now, “But?”

“There is a small amount of swelling in the temporal lobe, which is responsible for short-term memory storage. Your husband is suffering from a form of fixation amnesia that is pretty uncommon…”

You zone out listening to him talk, trying to piece everything together. Steve is okay. He lost his short-term memory for a while. Words like retrograde and anterograde and Transient Global are thrown around and bouncing back with a resounding tenor in your phonetic loop. Steve has forgotten the last year, he cannot store new memories for the time being. He forgot your breakup. He still believes you are together. He needs around the clock care.

Steve was awake when they opened the door and pulled back the curtain to the room he had already been admitted to. At least someone in this administration was competent enough to get him into a room instead of keeping him in the ER.

“Baby.” A large, flat palm reaches itself towards you. You stood in the corner in silence, waiting for someone that wasn’t you to speak. But, it just so happened that you were the only person in the room. You don’t realize he’s talking to you, so he says it again, a little more firmly, and you walk up and sit at the chair next to his bed, avoiding the hand outstretched towards you.

Though, in all of his firmness, where the weight of your elbow finds a dip in the bed, his hands finds your arm. It searches for your hands and finds them with a firm grip. They’re warm like you remember. Steve was always warm.

“Hi, Steve.” You keep your voice quiet, remembering the days of migraine management. Barely-there decibels creating resounding, echoing pain around his skull.

“What happened?” He asks you, “ –-head hurts.” He manages, burying his face into the polyfilament of the pillow below him.

You tried to make your explanation concise, only giving him the cause and not the prognosis. You’d deal with that at a later time. “You fell off a ladder, hit your head pretty hard. Cullen brought you in.” You explained.

“The dentist? With the labs?” He asked you, and it made you laugh. Steve always remembered people by their cars or their dogs.

You agreed with him nodding your head despite his closed eyes, “Yes, the dentist with the labs.”

“He’s a really nice guy.”

“He sure is.”

The discharge process was long and rigorous the next morning, swarms of insurance and neurologists and shrinks and case managers. All faces to a crowd that apparently had never communicated with the other department a day in their sad, corporate lives.

Steve had no car, no means of getting home, and, quite frankly, no recollection of the year leading up to the accident. So, you loaded him into your car, pulling out as slowly as possible and driving at least ten under the speed limit the entire way. He seemed chipper as his hand found yours resting over the shifter, hands meeting your movements as your gears moved up and down with the rhythm of traffic– almost as if he was driving the car himself. You silently thanked him for the movement, already distracted by the constant fear of rattling his already tenderized brain any more than it had been.

The street looked like it had frozen in time as you slipped past its residents unscathed. The dentist, surrounded by the flurry of yellow labs, waved as you drove by. The house sat in a caul de sac, the one you used to call yours, the third one in from the end between a vacation home and a stalled fixer-upper. It was a smaller Victorian built at the turn of the century. Your selling point was the turret at the front end of the house, sporting floor-to-ceiling windows and housed by oak buttresses.

You pictured Steve carrying you through the threshold of your home the night of your wedding as you half-dragged him from the driveway to the bedroom. Some of your spring daylilies were coming out of dormancy, the pertinent blooms bulbous and waiting to open. You remembered picking the pink ones, to match the pink peonies and coneflowers that you had planted alongside it.

This house was a dream. Actually, this house was his dream. Encased in dark oak and copper plumbing. You just wanted a place to paint – and, for this, he had spared no expense either.

You remembered the day he’d surprised you with the keys:

You had felt soggy, the stale coffee and milk drying into the stomach of your apron and hardening into a sugary breast plate. You knew you’d never be able to get the smell out, instead understanding that was just a part of life when you were a barista. Along with the burns and odds-and-ends scrapes and bruises.

Steve had been waiting for you on a barstool in front of the door, looking like he had something to say. You knew he had most likely been pacing back and forth from the couch to the barstool as he had waited for you to get home. You weren’t a stranger to his mannerisms. Living with him had been a front-row ticket to The Steve Harrington Show. Sometimes you joked that David Attenborough should join you for dinner, narrating Steve in his natural habitat.

He had greeted you with a kiss, saccharine sweet like everyone before it, grip on your waist like a vice and a smile that he couldn’t help on his lips.

“I picked something up today,” He mumbled against your lips, “for the house.”

The incomplete set sat freshly unwrapped in its paper casings. The Blue Willow china was beautiful nonetheless. Steve had taken a liking to it almost more than you had. You didn’t mean to get annoyed, you had just had a long day. Though Steve knew it, your defensiveness caught him off-guard.

He would never admit it, but he took after his mother in his eyes and in his shopping addiction. You knew you were moving, house-hunting on weekends and late evenings. You didn’t want to begin your life together in this apartment, which had been filling quickly with heirlooms and antique pieces collected from both shops and family members, “for the house” and, “as an engagement gift”.

“Steve, what happened to saving money?” You had asked him, reaching behind you to untie your apron to throw into the basket that needed to be dragged downstairs to the wash. “We’ll never get a house if you keep spending the money as soon as we get it.”

“Actually,” He said to you, pretty lips turning into a smile as he dug around in his pockets, “We already have a house.”

He watched the cogs turn in your head, your face exchanging confusion for shock as your eyes widened and you brought your hands up to cover your mouth. You couldn’t help the small years that spill from your eyes and you jump on Steve, laughing along with him as he spun you in a circle.

You remembered buzzing the entire way there, only remembering to pull your apron off once you tried to buckle your seatbelt. It was dark out, and the streetlights in the historic neighborhood were sparse, if present at all.

The house was a great cathedral in front of you, rickety and crumbling in nature.

“The bones are good.” He reminded you, “We can take care of the rest.”

“I love it!” You squealed to him, throwing your arms around his neck. It caught him off guard, your enthusiasm.

That night, he refused to carry you through the threshold of the house. He said he wanted to save it for the wedding night. Only do it once so it stays special.

You sat alone at the dining table, cigarette in hand. You rarely smoked anymore, but you figured this ordeal permissed one. He kept the binders of your wedding planning, all of the stuff you bought, the cause of your cold feet. They were tucked away next to the dining table in the built-in for easy access. They looked like they had been untouched save for a finger print along the spine of the binder that remained bare of any dust or particles– like he had gone to take them out, but hesitated. You looked up and around at the main living space.

He was going to build you a new life and it didn’t look like he had touched it for a year.

The first day is just playing the game. You were aware he would have temporary, moderate-to-severe memory loss. You attempted to recall the words that swirled around your phonetic loop. Words from neurologists and trauma doctors and nurses alike.

Steve knows he was in the hospital and knows desperately how horrible this migraine was. He spent it in the dark, on his regular dose of sumatriptan, supplemented wonderfully in a vicodin-induced haze. You did not expect him to remember today, nor did you expect him to care. You know he is alive from barely-spoken words between exchanges of water and his prescription, which, thank God, hadn’t changed in the last year.

You sleep on the couch.

The second day, you are up before him, sifting through the pots and pans you’d let him keep to try and feed both him and yourself. You are surprised when he gets out of bed before 9:00, and even more surprised when he asks,

“So, what are you going to paint today?” Through squinted eyes, lean arm braced against the counter to support the weight of his body. He sips idly from the orange juice glass he used to take the sumatriptan, but not the vicodin.

It’s not like it was a question that strayed away from the mundane, however, it had been almost a year since you’d heard it last. You’d tried not to let the surprise register on your face as you’d continued to stir the eggs around in the pan. You let the corner of the wooden spoon scrape some of the dried remnants of soft egg from the sides of the pan where the butter hadn’t reached. You shrugged with a soft, I don’t know, unsure of how to answer.

As Steve retreats back to the master bedroom, you hear the kick of the plumbing and the steady stream of water rattling through the house. You thanked him silently for buying an old place, the plumbing was loud enough to drown out your own thoughts.

The knock on the window sends you reeling back like the crack of a gun. Your ménage-a-trois with a nose ring and encased the ugliest yellow beret like some gay French Alp paratrooper stood guard outside the bay seating of your kitchen window. You hated yellow, but, for today, you would keep it to yourself. She came bearing gifts. The only suitcase you owned was filled with the only clothes you owned, and as many art supplies as she could carry with the promise of more. Today, she bore her yellow beret as a barrel full of brandy around her neck– a drooly Saint Bernard to your avalanche. You propped the window open on its stakes, cinnamon color mixed with dirt crumbling from its unused hinges.

She looked around in secrecy, “How is he?”

“Better today. He just got in the shower.” You shrugged, looking back over your shoulder.

“How’s the…” She circled her splayed hands over her head, signaling amnesia. You wish she would just say it instead of tiptoeing around the subject.

You shrugged again, running a hand over your head, “I’m not sure yet. He knows who I am, but, ugh, I don’t know.” You sighed, sitting down at the bench and burying your face in your hands.

Robin leaned against the windowsill, reaching a hand through to push your hair back out of your face, “What’s wrong? Why is that bad?”

“He still thinks we’re together. Like– doesn’t remember that we’re not together.” You said through your palms, knowing that her linguistics degree also covered your dramatics and mumbling.

“Oh God,” She gasped to you, not quite able to contain herself, “What are you gonna do?”

“I’m just gonna have to roll with it, I guess.” You slurred past your arms, willing back the onslaught of stress-tears beginning to pool against your tightline. You couldn't abandon him now, not when he was like this.

Your former studio, nestled at the base of the turret within the house, surrounded by windows encased in stained-glass embellishments and flying buttresses, remained the only room in the house that was finished. You sat on your spinning stool, ignoring the creak from the way you pushed yourself back and forth on the balls of your feet. Your eyes fixated on the piece in front of you. It had been sitting on this easel for a year– the only one too heavy for you to move on your own, however, you were past asking for Steve’s help. So here it sat, holding your work once again, arms open in waiting.

“Woah, you work fast.” Steve’s voice startled you, the stool squeaked again as you jumped.

He walked up behind you, hands smoothing over your shoulders in apology– his skin still shower-warm and tacky from the water, “What are you talking about?”

Your voice was much softer than you initially intended it to come out as. It resonated under the guise of a smile rather than the initial annoyance you turned to as a defense mechanism.

“Didn’t you start that painting last week?” He asked, smoothing a broad hand down the exposed expanse of your upper arm, turning his face to look at the painting, “It’s done now.”

You tried not to let the confusion register on your face. You had finished the painting well over a year ago. The oil had long-since cured. You thanked the universe softly for Steve’s untrained eye.

“I guess I just got really into it.” You shrugged, feigning your own insufferability for his well being– just this once.

You had forgotten what it was like to be held by Steve. He lingered around your proximity in a near-shroud of constance. You had forgotten the soft feeling of nimble fingers as they grazed across any exposed skin you had. You had forgotten about warm hands cupping your cheek or twirling the ends of your hair. You had forgotten what the warmth of his felt like, in the same way that you moved away from the slow-creeping sun square that beamed from the windowsills. You didn’t realize how long you had been fighting any warmth after him.

That night, his broad hands lured you to bed with the promise of warmth. You try to remember the way it felt a year ago, if it resounded in the same way. His hands were still a comfort as they encased you in a tight embrace. His breath still felt the same coming from his nose and traveling across your shoulder, dotted intermittently by haste staccato kisses.

You tried to hold on to that feeling after he had long been asleep, and held on to it again as you peeled his hands from your waist. You let it slip from your fingers as you slid from the bed and let your feet pad across the hardwood flooring. You laid it to rest next to you on the couch, let it fold into itself and hibernate once more.

By the next morning, Steve’s brain had pistoned back into his regular routine, which consisted of a god-awful early morning jog. It was almost obnoxious how perfect he was for this neighborhood, golden skin glowing against the rays of morning, efflorescence in nature and ugly, heinous perfection. By the time he gets back, it’s still ungodly early. The sun only casts a blue haze into the atmosphere in its feigning presence.

You could guess by the way he tried to control his heavy breaths as he walked through the door that he was dewy, shirt tucked into his jogging shorts and hair raked back with sweaty fingers. You would not force your eyes open to look at him, leaving any feelings of adverse adoration back in the white quilt you had abandoned over a year ago. He walked up to you, feat unabashedly heavy against the hollowness of the floor despite the carpet muffling them. His hand was warm and heavy against the exposed expanse of your hip, riding your shirt up further.

“What are you doing out here? You know this couch kills your bac-” He started, pausing abruptly in surprise, “Where did that come from?”

“What?” You mumbled through closed eyes, still only barely awake.

He traces the tattoo on your back, rough fingers tracing over the thickened lines of ink, “This.”

You didn’t bother to crack an eye open, instead folding your arms in further on yourself and readjusting against the couch cushions, “Gee, Steve, you must've hit your head really hard.”

“What?”

“What?” You asked him, finally waking up enough. You pushed your arms underneath you, squinting at him as best you could through the haze of the morning light.

“I hit my head?” He asked, confusion– then terror– registering on his face.

You sat up fully, realizing then that, in your daze, you had effectively put your foot in your mouth. The look on your face, supplemented by the look on his face tells you that there is no way that you could backtrack now.

“... Yeah-”

“When?”

“Three days ago.” You started, and he let out a deep exhale, almost in relief that it hadn’t been longer.

He turned to look at you, and you reached out to grab his hand. He took it, gripping yours like a vice, but never enough to hurt, “What did I do?”

“You were up on a ladder, doing something with the electrical. You fell and hit your head pretty good. Cullen brought you in.” You shrugged, trying to play it off.

“Where were you?” He asked, it wasn’t accusing. He just tried to piece everything together. Still, you couldn’t help the pang of guilt that pooled in your chest after he said it.

You weren’t going to break his heart, not now. Not while he was already fragile like this. You hated lying, but anything was better than a category five meltdown. He shook now, acting too tough to hide it. Steve was strong for everyone, too strong for too long.

“Am I okay?”

“Yeah, Steve. You’re okay.” You reassured him, no matter what.

That night, you put a band-aid over your neck, despite the itching, burning sensation from the adhesive, it would live there for now. You said it was to save yourself the trouble. You didn’t know why you’d thought to care so much. You also don’t know why you felt so guilty. Maybe it’s because you weren’t there. Maybe it’s because you were here now and you shouldn’t have been. All you know is that you can’t break Steve’s fragile psyche now, not again.

Steve’s routine was stone-set and rigorous, you’d remembered that much. He was the kind of person that thrived off of routine and egg-whites alone. You’d envied him for his discipline.

He started out of bed every morning at the heinous, ungodly hour of five. Every morning, without fail, he rose silently, rubbed his hands over his face, fought the urge to disturb you and lost every time. He would smooth a tender hand over your hair and slip out the door with a soft, waking kiss, and proceed with a jog. Every morning, he would run his 3.1 miles, 5,000 kilometers, and every morning, he would slip back through the front door.

Every morning, you woke to the smell of a better-than-cheap cup of coffee with a sweet kiss, and he would whisper to you that he achieved the run in thirty minutes– a personal best, and you wondered if one day it would slip below that number. Without missing a beat, he would place the coffee on a coaster placed there for that specific purpose on your antique bedside table, and your body would roll into the dip in the mattress where his body sat, his warm hand circling waking patterns across your bare back while you sifted through the prevalent swarm of too-little sleep.

Because, every afternoon, Steve would take his Saturday (which was actually a Tuesday) and paint that heinous yellow wall in the guest bedroom over with an earthy green tone– one that, without fail, would remind him of you enough to where he would seek you out to tell you.

And every night, without fail, you would slip from the bed in silence, pull the heinous yellow paint bucket delivered thankfully by Robin out of the bushes from the window that was set just slightly too high to be comfortable reaching over, and paint that lovely green wall back to that awful, ugly yellow.

There were no discrepancies to his routine. He was an unfortunate creature of habit, and it was so dreadfully painful that you indulged him in this routine. Because, every day, he would pull those old wedding binders out– no longer covered in dust and forgotten memories– and pick the same three options for wedding china that you never saw the point of anyways. Every day, he would try to cheekily pull you in for a shower, and you would make up the same excuse over the same dishes from the same meal that you had eaten to the point where you were just choking it down.

And you would do it all over again.

Because, if that same meal and awful yellow paint and ungodly six o’clock wake time would be enough to stop him from feeling like that again, you would keep doing it.

Your nightly decompression was your saving grace. The only way you felt like a human again. Because every night, Steve would sit and read the same chapter out of the same book, and you would get in some still-life practice.

Steve was pretty always, even in his blissful unawareness. Even in his ignorance. Even in the fact that he was no longer yours. Steve was pretty by fact. Pretty by nature. You had gotten good at drawing him, you knew where to block the square of his head and the triangle of his nose. You knew where his glasses rested against his face and exactly where to place every mole. You knew where the bone beneath would ebb and flow and where the warm light from that stained glass bowl-lamp would accentuate and valley against them like rivers. Steve was a topographical map and you had explored every inch in these moments of blissful dissonance. You did not need to waste your time getting the likeness correct by now, only getting in the fine details.

Every night, your wonderful moment away from the catatonic nature of this ordeal would end when Steve would finish his chapter. You would act like you didn’t notice, like you weren’t staring at him. He would act like he didn’t know you were. He would press a tender kiss to your shoulder, smile at the work in your hands, tell you how talented you were, and finalize the ritual with a kiss to your cheek– an invite to bed.

You know there will come a time when there will be a deviation from this routine, and you try to prepare yourself for this by running every possibility through your head. Calming tactics in the event that he has a category four meltdown, the words you would say and the explanations you would give him, but nothing prepared you for this deviation. Not in the slightest.

You are unsuspecting as you wipe down the kitchen counters, melancholy with your towel in hand. Your hair is still wet and dripping uncomfortably down your back. You breathe deeply, enjoying the smell of kitchen lemon multi-surface cleaner. Steve approaches you. You feel his presence before you see him or feel his arms around your waist. You indulge in his warmth before he even touches you, before he reaches for your hand. You bask in his radiance before you feel the cold smoothness of gold scrape across your ring finger.

“You forgot this after your shower.” He whispers through a kiss against the tender skin beneath your ear. He does not understand the devastation his words have caused you, not in his innocence.

You reconstructed the scene in fragments of memories:

They were lawn seats, and you had no idea how he scored them. This concert had been sold out for weeks. The Tragic Kingdom tour was potentially the greatest album to ever grace this earth, and Steve agreed– potentially more than you did.

When your eyes turned to get a good look at his face, it was hard to tell where that light sheen of sweat ended and the glitter that wafted in the air began. He was so fucking beautiful. You could look at him forever, put him in a jar on a shelf to admire for a lifetime. He was more blonde than brunette at this time of year, gold-skinned and eager. The July rays had set minutes ago, yet seemed to settle their clinging remnants in his eyes.

His eyes that shone when they met yours, the eyes that gripped on to your hands, met your mouth, and settled within your gaze.

You came in with the breeze, on Sunday morning…

You almost missed his words over the ambient concert sounds around you, louder now as Gwen started the beginnings of the song. Had you not been staring at him, you figured with your mouth open like a trout, you would have missed the two quiet words he mustered.

“Marry me?”

You didn’t say anything back, you didn't need to. You remember the feeling of your knees sinking into the grass beneath you, wet against your skin. You remember how his body was too-warm in the staleness of the July air and the hardness of his body pressed tight against yours. Any qualms he had about saying more than those words disappeared in an instant, your hand willingly accepting the modest diamond encased in a gold band the only answer he ever needed.

You thought back on that time, on the I love you’s and the please hold me’s.

You remembered the I can’t do this anymore.

The problem was never committing to Steve. He had you. He had all of you. He could take you whole or in pieces in any slice or interval or fracture that he could have ever dreamed up. Though, that was the problem. You had committed yourself to him fully, never to the idea of committing yourself to anyone else, never thought of having to share him or change what you had. You lived in comfort, willful bliss. You’d never wanted anything more.

But you saw that hopeful glimmer in his pretty eyes. The ones that looked like chunky baby legs and bubbly giggles. The distant memories that sounded like mimed laughs and raspberries against new skin. You were not maternal, not by nature nor by instinct. You felt broken, not wanting that.

And knowing how well Steve was made for it.

How he mapped rooms in the house with oak cribs and baby-pastel paint colors. How he pointed out names he liked and stared for just a little too long at happy families in passing.

That night, long after Steve had fallen asleep, those dusty old wedding binders called out to you, screamed your name in birdsongs and infant wails. You clung to them, still covered in that awful yellow paint on the floor of that awful yellow room, and you cried awful tears that stained the pages of the awful thing that could have been.

Except that could have started to feel less awful. It felt more like a should have now.

You kept the wedding band on, convincing yourself it was more for him than yourself.

“Hello?”

The shrillness of the landline still rings in your ears despite picking up the sound of a voice on the other end. Instinctively, you twirl your fingers into the cord.

“Hey.” Her voice is scratchy on the other line. You know who it is, yet you still ask.

“Who is this?”

“Bill fucking Clinton.” You can hear the way her eyes roll in her voice. You almost find it endearing.

You roll your eyes back, knowing that she can’t see it. You hope the sentiment is the same. “Hi, Robin.”

Silence on the line. You know what she will ask. She asks almost every other day or in the in-betweens where you can catch each other and she doesn’t have to fake a conversation on the phone with Steve.

“How is he?”

You feel like she knows the answer by now, she knows every part of his routine and exactly where you fit into it, “He’s fine. He just got into the shower.”

There was a silence again, this time slightly more deafening. It felt like she was thinking, pondering the exact thing she was going to say and how exactly she planned on saying it.

“How are you?” You hated it, despised it. It almost made your blood run cold. You didn’t do feelings, you were just a pawn in this big, fucked up game. It was your obligation to live in this lie. You had already hurt Steve once, the least you could do was keep him safe now.

“Fine, Robin. I’m good.” You willed, regurgitated it like a curse.

She sighed, hoping she wouldn’t have to pry but knowing she was going to, “Ha-ha. But really?”

“Really what?”

“How are you?”

You fell silent, the static basso of the line between you buzzing like a flatline as the tears welled up and over your lash line. The first sob you choke out is louder than you expect, and draw your knees up to your chest in the bay as you cry over the phone, unable to find words and unable to speak if you had then anyways.

For once robin shuts the fuck up. For once she doesn’t have anything to say. Somehow you wish she would. Instead, she lets you cry for a few minutes in silence. She lets you let it out.

“Do you need me to come over?” She asks, voice a welcome comfort not that you can breathe through the snot and tears running down your face.

“No.” You sniffle, wiping the stream of facial fluids across your sleeve like you didn’t disgust yourself when you did it.

“Do you need a professional?”

“No.”

There was a sigh, followed by another moment of silence. She didn’t know how to help you, though, she didn’t really think you needed help.

“Hey, Robin?” You finally spoke up, eyes finally dry and your throat finally clear enough to be coherent.

“Yeah?”

“Tell Monica Lewinsky I said hi.”

You have a headache, simply put. That you could supplement. The ache and the pressure behind your eyes could be solved with acetaminophen and a glass of water and a bath. The ache in your chest was less tangible, and would have to wait until the ache in your head was fixed to even be evaluated.

You’d managed to slip past Steve getting dressed in the convex opening of your walk-in closet, light spilling yellow against the dark floors in the dim lighting of the master bedroom. The one thing you’d greatly missed about this house that your apartment did not have the luxury of was the cast-iron tub, in its claw-footed, wing-backed glory. The water spilled steam from the mouth of the faucet as it spilled down the white porcelain glaze, hot enough to turn your skin red and draw the overage of blood from between your temples. You dimmed the lights, shoulders lax as you slumped your arms sideways over the edge of the tub, water tinged green from both the reflection of the seafoam walls and the capful of eucalyptus epsom salts dissolving in the water around you.

You close your eyes, focusing more on the crisp smell of the water instead of the pounding of your head. You rest one arm beneath your head as a barrier between your temple and the porcelain, allowing the other to hang off the side.

You don’t miss the way Steve slips in, nearly silently. The change of air pressure that came with his presence was what gave him away– that and the soft click of the chair legs against the hexagonal tile as he rotated it to face you.

His touch is so gentle. His touch feels like the only inherent good in the world around you. His touch is soft enough to bring you to tears. And it does.

You cannot help but let two roll down your face, not upset enough for it to scrunch up in the ugly sobs that you heaved on the kitchen floor to Robin. They splat quietly on the tile beneath you, and you sigh like an exasperated hound. One deep, shuddering breath beneath Steve’s hand.

You cannot confide in him, even if he asks. You wonder if that fact hurts worse than understanding that he is going to wake up eventually.

Steve does not pry. He’s really good at that. Instead, he rakes his fingers across the grain of your hair, thrown upwards with reckless abandon– fingers both a consolation and a devastation. He wishes desperately to know. Wishes desperately that he could fix it, but he knows this sadness. Knows the pain of forcing you to talk. The only thing that hurts worse than not knowing is the pain of seeing you cry.

But he’s so tender, and he’s so endearing. You can’t help but want him.

“Can I get you anything?” He says to you, just above a whisper. He even dips his head down closer to yours so you can hear, but you’re already clawing at the collar of his shirt.

“Wanna be close.” You mutter, words muffled against your arm. He understands it anyway.

His skin is hot. Hot enough to still be felt under your hands despite the temperature of the water. You missed the texture of it, smooth, interrupted by soft constellations of moles and bone. Quickly, and with grace, he stands– pulling your hands from his body for a mere few, painful seconds. He strips his clothes quickly, and you watch the muscles of his shoulders ripple as he maneuvers to pull his shirt over them.

Silken skin glides across your back, the hot water squelching between your bodies as he slides into the tub behind you, arms encircling your waist in an iron-clad grip. Caring and grounding all at once.

His lips are soft as they press a hot path against your neck and you sigh, tilting your head further away to allow him the affection you so desperately need.

“That’s it, honey. Let me give you what you need.” It’s a low growl, not quite a whisper. His voice keeps that resonant patriarchal basso that vibrates against your neck and settles in your coccyx. His kisses turn to soft nips, as he takes the suppleness of your flesh between his teeth– never enough to hurt.

His hands reach up to cup your breasts, squeezing tenderly as he runs a thumb over a pert nipple. He leaves one hand on your chest, gently pinching and rolling the flesh between his thumb and forefinger, another hand sliding over the hills and valleys of your body to find a home between your legs.

Despite the water surrounding you, there is a much more distinct slickness that has gathered there in decadent anticipation of him. When his thick fingers finally breach the threshold of you, it is both a devastation and a need. Slowly, he finds the bud of your clit, circling it slowly.

You suck in a breath, accompanied by a soft whine. When you arch your back, you feel him press against your back, hard and heavy against your flesh.

“Come on, honey,” He urges, a heeding groan fans across your shoulder disguised as a breath, “I’m gonna get you there. Just gotta let me do it.”

His middle and ring finger circle your core, easing their way in. You relinquish the new, subtle stretch. His other hand leaves its place on your breast, coming down to hold the soft flesh of your lower belly, creating a soft pressure that soothed the ache in your core as he held you there, relentlessly pumping in and out of you with his fingers. The other hand crept lower, the other two fingers continuing the rhythmic circling of your throbbing clit.

You cried out, the coil in your core hitting that vapid crescendo and tumbling over the edge with shaky legs and breaths. Steve continued working his fingers within you, easing you through the climax of your orgasm and slowing when you whined. His arms remained around you like a vice, holding you in your place against him.

He nibbled at your ear softly as you came down from that wonderful, floaty place, and whispered softly, “You did so good.” against your neck. His hands rubbed the insides of your thighs in slow, soothing circles. You felt the water from the tub rush over his arms and create whirlpools over the valleys of your skin.

It was then that you turned, your arms locking around his neck and your lips crashing into his. Your body fell against his with enough force to push a wave across the edge of the tub, but the wet floor was an issue for another time. Your own carnal desire to have him seated within you was far worse than your desire to maintain the grout in the bathroom floors. This much you knew.

The stretch was welcome and familiar, albeit foreign to you, now. You cried out, as you slid down to the hilt and seated yourself firmly atop his thighs, either one of your thighs bracketing around his. You felt the scrape of hair from his thighs scratch against your skin, broad hands planted firmly on the plush of your waist, and deep, guttural groan fan out across the crevice of your neck where he buried his head.

Your hand clutched the nape of his neck for purchase, fingers burying themselves in the damp locks there and tugging softly. It draws a gasp from pretty pouted lips as his head tilts back in reverie. He looks at you through dreamy, half-closed lids, reminding himself to draw himself back and forth again, now that you have adjusted to the sensation of him filling you.

“Oh, baby. Honey.” He cried, pistoning his hips upward, more rhythmically now. It was more of a cry now than it was a plea, and a rosy blush crept its way across the bridge of his nose, spread over his cheeks, and kissed the tips of his ears. He was ethereal as it spread across his chest and he heaved whines into your mouth like he needed to feel himself inside you to survive. You caught the way his dark lashes kissed the apples of his cheeks, and the way the space between his brows scrunched as he huffed breaths towards your face.

There is a realization in the impending vapid crescendo where Steve attempts to push you over the edge a second time. Your body is on fire as he rubs fast, sloppy circles around your already sensitive clit. He falls from the edge first.

“O-oh, fuck.” He cried out in pleasure as a tear rolled from beautifully crinkled eyelids. Though, he desperately urges you to continue bouncing with fingers buried into the plush that accumulates where your hips fold. His thumb is still relentless over your sensitive bud until he pushes your already teetering form over the edge as well.

He holds you close, strong arms around your shaking frame and wet hands smoothing back your flyaway hairs. He presses a kiss to your forehead, guiding your head between his palms and trailing them down your nose. He lands his final kiss, longer this time, against your lips and fans his palms across the expanse of your cheeks and neck.

You whine when he pulls himself from you, suddenly empty. Steve soothes you with a, “Shh. It’s okay honey, ‘ve got you.” as he pushes water up from the tub and over your cold, drying shoulders.

You cannot tell if you feel better or worse, having him in this way again. You think of the way he slid the ring back over your finger, and relived all of the gilded moments of your past. You’d always felt like a ghost in this house, haunting the remnants of what the life that should have been. But this did not feel like the life that you walked out on. This felt like the life that you chose.

Steve felt like your husband when he kissed the skin of your shoulder in the early mornings after his runs. He felt like your husband when he sprinkled the feta into your spinach omelet in the morning, and when he sat behind you to watch you paint like you couldn’t sense him behind you, and when he gave you that goofy smile and wave when you caught you peering at him from the bay curtains while he tended to the lawn,

And he certainly felt like your husband when he helped you from the tub on shaky legs, while he dried your legs with fresh towels and planted sweet kisses against your ankles and knees as he did so. He felt like your husband as he held your hand and guided you with soft hands to bed. He felt like your husband when he pulled your head to his chest beneath the sheets, sneaking a not-so-secret sniff to the crown of your head and smiling a not-entirely-concealed smile.

Steve may not have been yours anymore, but he was yours for tonight.

The morning light is dappled when you wake, and the way it sparkles hurts your eyes. You half expect to see Steve, feel his lips against your shoulder and relinquish the warmth that radiates from his skin like the sun as he invades your waking space. Instead, you find him sleeping, golden and beautiful under the dappled light, white linens draped over the oiled ellipses of his hips and legs tangled in the sheets. You bury your nose into the valley of his spine and he jolts awake. You can’t help but to giggle.

“Jesus, what the fuck?” He starts, pushing himself up on his elbows, stomach pressed to the bed.

“Oh, good morning, Steve.” His brow furrows as he looks at you. Steve does not look happy to see you. Steve looks confused.

“What are you even doing here?” He asked, more towards the sheets than you. He buried his face in his hands, groan echoing in his palms before he asked, “Oh, God, how drunk did I get?”

Your heart sinks. He is awake. There is no retrograde and anterograde and Transient Global to worry about anymore. It is just you, and him, and your new sense of impending doom. Though, how impending could the doom really be if it was staring you in the face this very moment? Impending should have been reserved for when you decided to move back into the house you tried to build. Impending was reserved for the phone call from the hospital. No, this was doomed from the start, and now, it was blowing up in your face.

You can tell he doesn’t know what happened, and that he has a throbbing headache.

“Here– let me–” You start, turning over to grab his prescription from the drawer in your– Steve’s bedside table. He stood, suddenly.

“No– ugh,” He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to apply some pressure there, “I think you need to go.”

“No, Steve, let me explain–”

“Just, go. Please.” He pleaded.

You would not argue. You especially would not cry in front of him, not now. Instead, you scrambled the bathroom floor for your clothes that were shed before your bath, pulling them on, scrambling for your purse and car keys on the counter, and promptly leaving with those items to your name. It was foolish for you to build another home there, to leave remnants of yourself and reminders to him of just how fucked you were around his house. You don’t remember breathing on the drive back to your apartment. The air in this place is stale and, if you owned more things, you figured they’d be shrouded in a fine layer of dust from your negligence.

When Robin answers the phone, you are incoherent. At first, she figures it is the shoddy signal from her company-issued brick phone, though she eventually realizes that it is not the faulty technology. You are in fact, choking on words and hot tears. Robin has a nagging feeling that she knows what happened, and your few words, “Steve” and, “fucked up” both confirm her suspicions and are reminiscent of a time where she was caught in the crossfire over a year ago.

Robin’s car zig-zags in and out of the morning traffic, shaving both minutes off of her commute time to your apartment and her life. Her entrance to your apartment is dramatic, tired screeching and door hitting the wall so hard you can almost feel the security deposit solidifying in you landlord’s bank account. She greets you with a hug that you don’t ask for– you don’t need to. She doesn’t ask what’s wrong.

Instead, she stands there, in the nearly empty room where your studio once stood, and she holds you. And you cry. And you want to scream and want to throw things and want to curse the universe and ask why me? But you know why you stand here. You know that you are shitty. So instead, you sit here, and feel sorry for yourself, and let Robin hold you. Because, no matter how shitty you are, she won’t say anything about it.

This ugly nostalgia rears its even uglier head when the phone rings shrill, deafening against the brick walls that encase you in this place worse than they had when there were paintings occupying this space. She slides across the concrete on the floor just slightly so she can grab her phone.

“Hey– you busy?” Steve asks, and she can tell he’s been crying.

You look at her, eyes red and confused.

“No,” Robin lied to him, it was small and white, “What’s going on?”

Who is it? You mouth.

Robin is inherently a bad liar. She could say it was her boss, or her mom, or a telemarketer. Instead, she stares back, contemplating the lie and the inevitable conversation she would have to make up on the spot. She decides it is not worth the effort, and mouths back,

Steve.

You sit up, looking at her with wide eyes. You will not ask to eavesdrop, though, there’s a small, shitty part of you that wants to.

“Something happened.” He started, and she knows exactly what happened, “but I don’t exactly know what.”

What’s he saying? You mouth back at her, though, she holds a pointed finger up at you in waiting.

“Are you in trouble?” She asks, “Do you need help?”

“Look, I don’t know. Can you just come over? I’ll explain everything.” He asks, voice small. He sounds like he is on the precipice of a breakdown. She hangs up the phone, knowing you know what she is going to ask next.

“Hey, are you gonna be okay? I’ve gotta–”

“Yeah, I’m fine. You can go.” You tell her, pointedly, though, she doesn’t fully believe it. However, your nosiness outweighs your ability to be this hurt for this long, “Look, can you just give this back to him? It doesn’t feel right.” and it's not right, it never was right.

You slide the ring from your finger, closing Robin’s palm around it. She opens her palm once again, twirling the diamond between her fingers. She slides it over her middle finger, diamond side in to protect it.

“Yeah, I can.”

“Thanks, Rob.”

“Call me.” She says to you, and It is both a threat and a consolation.

“Okay.”

There is an aura that has overtaken the house since this morning. It was threatening. Robin had sensed the shift from her car, clear up the avenue. There was something frighteningly wrong here.

Her knock on the door was poignant, scared almost, and she held her breath as Steve turned the knob. He looked tired. He looked spent. He looked like he wanted to cry, and yell, and throw things, and curse the universe, but was too morose to perform any action but stare blankly at Robin.

“What happened?” She asked, taking the invited, but welcome, step through the threshold of the front door. She knew what had happened already, there were remnants of you strung about this place like shrapnel. Steve avoided them like landmines, even though the explosion had already happened.

“She– she,” She meaning you, he started, but didn’t know where to begin. He sat on the couch, bouncing back with the weight and force of his body thrown against the cushions.

“You don’t remember anything, do you?” Robin finally asked.

Steve looked up at her, red eyes slick with freshly fallen tears, “What?”

“Steve, you hit your head. You fell off a ladder and knocked something loose.” Robin explained to him, voice soft as she said it, “You couldn’t remember anything that happened in the last year.”

Robin wished you were here to help her explain. She wished she could remember the big words you remembered to describe what was wrong with him– maybe it would help him understand better. Maybe you should have come. She could have been able to act as a buffer between the anger–

“You fucking knew about this?” Steve interrupted her thoughts, he had stared for a few seconds while he figured out his thoughts.

Robin went quiet, more quiet than she already had been, “Yeah. I did.” It was a statement riddled with shame, though she didn’t quite know for what.

“Steve, you were sick fo–”

He stood, rage apparent in his eyes as he poked his finger into Robin’s shoulder, “No, Rob, I wouldn’t put it past her to lie to me like that but you?” Robin didn’t say anything to him. Instead she just looked up at him, “Whose side are you even on?”

“Steve, you know goddamned well I’m not picking a side.” She was angry, standing now to match his posture, “You brooded for months fucking haunting this house like a ghost, Steve. You. Were. Miserable– and you were making me miserable too! All you did was talk about how you were gonna get her back, and now that you had her, you decide you don’t want her?” Robin started. It was Steve’s turn to stare, now.

“I get that you’re mad, and I get that you’re confused, and I’m sorry that this happened to you, but this isn’t my fault.” She continued. She was a republic of voices tonight, and unfortunately, that republic was Italy.

“Oh, and here’s your stupid ring back. It’s ugly, anyways.” She finishes, shoving the ring back into his chest. He holds it in his hands, stunned.

There is an immediate regret that fills him up and drowns him in it. Robin was right, it was not her fault. “Ugh, Robin. I’m–”

She turns at the beginning of his apology, scooping her back from the doorway, “Don’t. I’m not the one you should even be apologizing to.”

“Rob–”

“Bye, Steve.”

He is alone now. The house is quiet and stale, the walls sing in silence, speak their truths, tell him how awful he was. He was so quick to anger, wore his father’s anger like a hand-me-down coat. It hung loose in the wrong places, did not cling to him like his father and looked silly while he was wearing it. He twirls the ring in his hands, watching the light refract white off the brilliant-cut diamond.

He should call Robin, should. He knows that, even after this, that she will forgive him. You, however, would not be so easy, though, he can’t exactly fathom how badly he wants your forgiveness when he has not quite forgiven you himself.

He twirls it in his hands as he gets into his car, runs his thumb over the cluster of diamonds in his pocket as he drives down the road, in search of your apartment. It burns a hole in his pocket as he parks, burning hotter and hotter until he swears it scorches his skin the closer he gets to your door.

When you answer, door swinging open in reprieve and eyes holding the morosity of several generations, he feels a pang of guilt begin to choke him, though it is not big enough to not be swallowed. Something else burns there, still hot and still angry and still confused. It takes over the forefront of his mind. He should not have come here. It was not right to come here.

“Seriously? This? You still had it?” It is an ugly statement, it's the first thing that he can think of. The angry coat was still tied tight around his waist, the anger was still bubbling in the forefront of his temporal lobe. He holds the ring up in your face, the sparkle hurts your eyes.

You furrowed your brows, confused by both the fact that we was standing at your apartment door and also that you opened your door to him yelling at you, “You gave it back to me Steve–”

“No, the version of me that forgot what you did gave it back to you. And you took advantage of that. You–”

“Steve, I couldn’t–”

“Couldn’t what?” He wouldn’t give you a chance to explain yourself, he took a step forward and crowded your space. It wasn’t entirely fair, but you hadn’t been entirely fair either. There was no winning this battle.

You stared back at him in silence, willing fresh tears from breaking over the edges of your lash line. His eyes seethed with anger. You had never seen Steve this angry before.

“Couldn’t what?” He asked again, taking another step closer. He stood over you now, towering and angry.

You were shaking now, seeping with your own anger and frustration, “Anterograde Amnesia!”

“What?” He stops sudden;y, realizing his closeness to your figure, taking a step back.

“That’s what you had. Every morning you woke up and it was the same day. Every morning you woke up and you– you–” You were crying now, hot tears running down your face at an embarrassing, unrelenting pace. You could not tell if they were of anger or sadness. Probably both, “You woke up and did the same thing, and then every night you went back to sleep and we started all over again.”

“Why didn’t you just walk away?” He asked, turning and bracing himself on your counter, hand on his hip as he stared you down.

“I-I I just couldn’t, okay?”

“Why not?” He had a way of backing you into a corner, making you feel small in this confrontation. Steve was rarely angry with you, and never like this.

“Because the one day you did find out, before all this shit,” Before he felt like yours again, “–you begged me to tell you that you were okay. You fucking begged me to.” Your arms were flailing now, it was your turn to back him into a corner. You hadn’t meant to be this defensive, hadn’t meant for this to end in a screaming match, but no one ever intended that, you supposed, “How the fuck was I supposed to leave after that, huh? Let them institutionalize you? Saddle Robin with you? How the fuck was that supposed to be the better option?”

His hands were up now too, defenses in a war against yourselves, “Oh so you just did this so you could be a hero? So you could prove to yourself that you aren’t shitty? Prove to yourself that you weren’t gonna fucking leave again?”

You found silence, suddenly, more hurt and more angry than before. You stare at each other. He knows he’s crossed a line. Several lines actually. You aren’t as forgiving as Robin.

“Just go, Steve.”

“I–”

“Just fucking go.”

This felt like the remnants of a hurricane. You could hear the wind ringing heavy and violent in your ears like screams. You could feel the rain hot and heavy as it rolled across your cheeks still. Yet the air was still, entirely too still. The shrapnel of your reality built back up and torn back down again, and now you were here. Alone. In silence.

Robin’s pointed knuckle is quiet against your door, yet it crashes and booms a resonant patriarchal tenor across the echoing walls of your solitude. You groan at her, something akin to its open. You hadn’t managed to lock it again after she left this morning.

“Are you still being insufferable?” She asks you, as if it isn’t clear by the way you seem to enter a state of active decay, melting into the corner piece of your sectional.

Though you are insufferable, you are not so insufferable that you cannot bite back, “Are you still being annoying?”

She does not answer, instead, the clinking of glass on glass and heavier glass against granite serves as an answer for her.

“Do you want a glass?”

The ruffling of a paper bag wills your head up, and she exhumes the bottle from it. You see that it is red, but don’t say anything about it. You recognize the bottle as Beaujolais Nouveau, from the same region in France in which it is aptly named– the same region in which Robin did her semester abroad. You could have said something about how it is not winter, or how there are better italian wines or better whites or literally anything else from Trader Joe’s, but alcohol seems nice, and you are never one to complain about free alcohol.

“Yeah.” you say instead.

“Okay.”

She serves you a too-full glass on the couch. She had half a mind to bring some snacks over, but did not feel like putting forth the effort into making a snack board. Instead, she pulls a bag of salt and vinegar chips and a candy bar open with her teeth, pointing the mouth of the bag towards you in a peace offering. You oblige, stuffing a handful of them into your mouth as a chaser for this awful, dry red.

“What a jerk.” She says, and you know who she is speaking about.

“What an ass.” You say back to her, and she knows who you are speaking about,

Your body rolls into the dip where hers sits on the couch, and you let the natural flow bring your head to her shoulder. You do not wrestle with the qualms of physical affection, and, if she is surprised by your sudden affectionate nature, she doesn’t say anything.

“I spilled some wine on your counter.” She said to you, but you’ll clean it up later.

You have half a mind to let it stain.

You beg Robin to get your stuff from his house. Your heartbreak is scabbed over enough for you to pick at, and you have a desperate urge to smear some goo all over a canvas in an Oliver De Sagazan-esque pity party, but alas, your studio resides in the place of your demise– Steve’s house.

Robin is more forgiving than you are, and also more willing to brave the walls of Fort Steve for your stuff. Robin is also a saint, and you have let her know ten times over.

“She wants her shit back. Have it ready on the porch when I get there.” She says to him on the phone, the line aptly going dead seconds later.

His hands on your things feel foreign when they touch them, like they might blow up. He had been avoiding them like landmines as he haunted the remnants of this home. Nothing had been touched since that morning. The house would not change.

There is a fine layer of dust that has accumulated over the confines of your studio, and it makes his eyes water as he agitates it enough to send particles swirling through the air. He stacks your canvases in piles according to their sizes and fills your water cups with brushes. He takes extra care to separate the current painting you abandoned midway through, the one where the linseed-to-oil ratio wasn’t quite right and, in turn, the layers of paint would not cure properly.

When he moves to the last stack, one of a modest collection of books and sketchpads, he loses his bearings, and the top sketchpad slides out with loose pages all over the floor. He sighs in exasperation, and bends down to scoop them into a pile. He recognizes the figure drawn on one page, and then another, and then another. A mirror image of himself, ruched hair at the end of the day, glasses perched on the end of his nose, elbow on the arm chair. In some he can see the tops of his folded knee. In some he is smiling and looking directly back at him.

Every one of them is dated one a day for eighty-six days in chronological order, yet every paper he is holding has the same headline.

The final page in the stack is a doodle page, he almost misses it. A series of boxes and riddles. Number two down, number three across. You were creating crossword puzzles, a new one every day, and yet none of the answers vaguely familiar to him. His blood runs cold. He was the ass.

In a panic, he scoops the drawings up, sliding them as quickly as possible into the sleeve from which they fell and clutching them to his chest like previous gems. To him, this was a lifeline, and he did not have time to wait for Robin, though she is sitting outside waiting for him when he runs out the front door, leaving it open in a panic.

She is colder when she greets him, colder than he’s ever seen. It's an odd juxtaposition, seeing her be so cold. She adorns black jeans with a black turtleneck. She does not look like herself, she looks like you.

“And where are you going?” She asks him, watching hum fumble with his car keys and with the drawings in his hands.

He puts his hands on her shoulders, wraps her in a hug, and gives her a kiss on the forehead.

“Robin, I love you, and I know you came here for her stuff, but I’m going to talk to her.”

She is stunned, staring at him with wide eyes at both the kiss and the sudden change in demeanor. She does not have time to ask him what drugs he possibly could have been on or make a back-handed remark about how hard he hit his head. Because, instead, she is standing in his driveway while his car takes off down the road.

Your ground floor apartment has floor-to-ceiling windows. It was charming, really. It was one of the reasons you chose this place despite its ridiculous cost. Well, that, and the fact that it was the least suburban place you could think of. You are sitting on the kitchen island, scrubbing now at that wine stain on the counter with a rag and granite polish at the forefront of this battle when the first thud sounds off clear against your winder. You thought it had been an unsuspecting bird, but the shadow of a man behind your sheer white curtains startles you. You unfold yourself quickly, going over to pull them back and investigate.

Steve stands with his feet in shrubs, hands with papers pressed flat against the glass. He pulls more from his chest, switching them out every so often, and then ends the spectacle with a crossword puzzle placed flat to the glass. He looks ridiculous like this, hands splayed across glass, hair disheveled and out of breath from running. He left his glasses on in the shuffle, and they slid down his nose in the commotion. Your confusion registers clear across your face, and he says something adjacent to, “Can I come in?” against the glass.

You nod, and he shuffles the drawings back into a cohesive, carryable pile. You meet him at the front door, letting him run in and dump them on the counter you were currently cleaning. He spreads them out in front of you, breathless and disheveled. They are in order, chronologically. All of your drawings of him. You are both mortified and embarrassed.

“That one.” He points to it, moving to stand next to you on the counter to look at it.

“The first one.” You say, looking at the date.

“Was that the first day?” He asked, “Of being home from the hospital?” he specified, staring down at you with intent eyes.

You nod, looking back up to meet him, “Yes, that was the first day. I knew you had amnesia, I knew you thought we were still engaged. Though, I didn’t know the extent of your condition yet.”

You go through all eighty-six drawings, the things he said to you, the things you did. A lot of them are repetitive, some of them caught you off guard and you are able to laugh about it now. You talk about the day he gives you the ring back, and the day you realized he was in the same infinite time loop, you talk about the dastardly yellow paint and the vellum crossword puzzles so he wouldn’t get bored even though you knew he wouldn’t remember, and the binders. You talked a lot about Robin and her place in it all. You talked about the dentist up the street, and how Steve, even in his delirium, still knew him as the guy with the labs.

There is one day where the drawing is missing.

“Is this the day,” He asks, “The day that I–”

“Yeah, it is.” You answer.

“What exactly happened then? On that day?”

You struggle to recall every detail, so you start by giving him the gist, “Well… you saw the tattoo on my back,” You reach up to touch it, running your fingers over the raised lines of ink beneath your fingers. Steve tilts his head back to get a glimpse of it as well, his own fingers calloused as they chase yours across it.

“Looks nice.” He says, without thinking.

“Thank you.” You reply back, “And then you got really confused. I was still sleeping on the couch then. We were still figuring it out, and I was still clumsy. I asked you how hard you hit your head, and you didn’t even remember doing it. You panicked so quickly, I– I had a hard time calming you down.”

The guilt still ate you alive, the guilt at your own clumsiness for letting it slip, and the guilt that you lived in the lie for that long. The guilt mostly for leaving in the first place.

“You asked me where I was, and I couldn’t answer. I wasn’t there because I was trying so hard to live my life separately from you. We hadn’t been together in a year, but I couldn’t tell you that.” You said, words becoming frantic as you fought off tears.

His hand is both a consolation as it is a devastation as it rests across your shoulder, broad and warm and grounding.

“What did you say to me, then?” He asked.

“You asked me if you were okay. You were so confused.”

“And?”

“I told you that you were.” Hot tears broke the threshold of your lash line, and spilled in streams down your face. It cut through the dryness there, and you choked on a sob. “I didn’t even know if you were or how to take care of you or what I was doing and, and I’m sorry.” You cried ugly tears now, wet into your own hands.

He grips your shoulders, pulling you into a familiar hug as your words grow frantic and your breaths become shallow and stuttered. He holds you close to his warm chest, encased in soft arms. He cradles the back of your head like you are encased in glass, and he plants a kiss to the top of your head.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers into your hair, now rocking your back and forth as you calm down. A wet drop falls on your shoulder, and you cannot tell if it belongs to yourself or him. You would forgive Steve in every life.

He pulls back from you, hands still planted firmly on your shoulders as he stares at you, amber eyes both piercing and comforting.

“Listen, you don’t have to take this, not yet. But it would make me so fucking happy if you would.” He pulls the ring, sparkling and brilliant from his pocket, and presents it to you. You oblige happily, sliding it back on to your hands before tackling him into an embrace. His kiss is as soft as it had always been.

You would do this again, and again, and again if it meant you could have him, because the same day with Steve was better than any of the days you had ever spent without him.

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