#(the clicks actually happen at the same time as 'wide'

[hamilton-here]

Hey! I know requests are closed but I just had to send this before I forget it (you’re just the best, so I had to send it to you, you can save it for whenever you open requests again if you want, or just delete it).

So, my idea is (I got it when reading your latest story with the university professor), that Reader works in the education system and now has to work closely together with Lewis for his mission44 project to reform the education system.

Thank you so much! I hope you will better soon!

𝑅𝑒𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐹𝓊𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒

Authors Note: Hi lovelies! I finally moved into my new house but I’m still sick. I recently posted a Wattpad story that’s in the works(Account: hamilton-here) if you want to check it out. I hope you enjoy this request. Enjoy! Lots of love xx

Summary: You work in the education system and soon work with Lewis Hamilton on the Mission44 project. Feelings soon bloom between you two.

Warnings: slight slow-burn

Taglist: @piston-cup @hannibeeblog @nebulastarr @cosmichughes

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The Room Where It Happens –

The familiar drone of the air conditioner in your tiny staff room was usually the loudest sound you heard all day, punctuated only by the distant echo of the school bell. Policy briefings, borough strategy sessions, education panels - they always started the same.

You’d be introduced, maybe even praised for your “invaluable frontline insights,” but within minutes the conversation would inevitably drift toward budgets, test scores, or some abstract bureaucratic concern far removed from the actual students you taught every day. You were used to being in rooms where people barely listened, where your voice was just another data point in a sea of well-meaning but ultimately hollow rhetoric.

So, when the Department for Education’s email landed in your inbox, proposing a “groundbreaking partnership with Mission 44,” you almost deleted it without a second thought. Another initiative. Another roundtable. Another well-intentioned man with a cause, usually accompanied by an entourage of handlers and a glossy brochure that promised the world and delivered very little. You’d learned to temper your expectations, to protect your heart from the inevitable disillusionment.

Except this time, the man was Lewis Hamilton.

A flicker of curiosity, quickly followed by a healthy dose of skepticism, made you open the email. The idea of Lewis Hamilton, a global icon, venturing into the labyrinthine world of education policy seemed almost fantastical. Still, you confirmed your attendance, half-expecting it to be a brief photo opportunity, a celebrity endorsement without substance.

The meeting was held in a modern glass conference room at the edge of Westminster, its sleek lines and panoramic views a stark contrast to the faded posters and chipped paint of your classroom. Your temporary badge, emblazoned with the Department for Education logo, had barely finished printing when someone, a harried young woman with a clipboard tucked under her arm, materialised beside you. Her voice was brisk, her eyes already scanning for her next task.

“They’re just about to start, you’re sitting beside Mr. Hamilton.”

You blinked. The words hung in the air, surreal and unexpected. “I’m sorry, beside?”

The woman didn’t pause, already gesturing down a wide, polished corridor. “He asked specifically for a frontline educator at the table. Said he didn’t want to do this without the people who actually know the system.” Her tone implied this was a perfectly normal, albeit slightly demanding, request from a VIP.

Your heart gave a sudden, heavy thud against your ribs. This wasn’t just a photo op. This was different. A nervous tremor ran through you as you followed her, the sound of your sensible shoes clicking on the marble floor suddenly amplified in the quiet grandeur of the building.

And then you stepped into the room.

There he was.

Dressed in tailored dark navy, a stark contrast to the casual tracksuits you’d seen him in on television. His braided hair was swept back from his face, revealing strong, thoughtful features. A small, elegant Mission 44 pin gleamed on his lapel. He was already seated at the head of a long, polished table, reviewing something on a tablet, his brow furrowed in concentration. But he looked up the moment you entered, his gaze sweeping the room before settling on you. His eyes steady, warm, intensely observant caught yours.

And suddenly, in that brief, impactful exchange, you saw something you hadn’t expected: not fame. Not ego. But intent. A profound, almost tangible purpose that seemed to emanate from him.

He stood as you approached, a natural, unhurried movement, extending a hand across the table. His grip was firm, reassuring.

“You must be the education lead from Brixton,” he said, his voice low and sincere, surprisingly devoid of any pretence. “I read about your inclusion pilot last year. It was brilliant, honestly.”

Your fingers closed around his, a little stunned. The scent of a subtle, expensive cologne reached you. “You read my report?” The words came out a little breathier than you intended.

A small, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, softening the intensity in his eyes. “I asked for everything ahead of this meeting. Wanted to understand what’s already working.” He paused, his gaze unwavering. “You’re actually the reason I insisted on today’s agenda.”

Your throat tightened. The usual preamble, the polite but dismissive nods, the subtle hints that your input was appreciated but ultimately secondary none of it happened. You weren’t used to being heard before you even spoke.

The meeting unfolded around you with government advisors with their crisp presentations, youth ambassadors with their earnest testimonies, data analysts poring over spreadsheets. At first, you still harboured the suspicion that Lewis might be a symbolic figurehead, someone there to lend celebrity clout to an otherwise standard policy discussion.

But then he started asking questions. Real ones. Not the kind that were rhetorical or designed to showcase his own knowledge, but genuine inquiries born from a desire to understand. And he listened not just politely, waiting for his turn to speak, but deeply. You could see it in the slight tilt of his head, the way his eyes tracked the speaker, the subtle clench of his jaw.

When you spoke, your voice initially hesitant, about the disproportionately high exclusion rates for Black boys in Year 9, a statistic you knew intimately from your own school, you saw a profound shift in him. He looked furious. Not performative outrage, not the kind of fleeting anger politicians displayed for the cameras, but something deeply personal. Painful. Raw.

“I remember being pulled out of class for no reason,” he said at one point, his voice quieter, more reflective. “They said I was ‘disruptive.’ I was quiet. Just…different.” His voice cracked slightly on the last word, a vulnerability that cut through the sterile atmosphere of the conference room. It was a raw, unscripted moment, and you felt something fundamental shift in the room. The air itself seemed to settle, hushed and attentive.

No one interrupted after that. The advisors, typically quick to interject with their own data points, remained silent.

You weren’t sure when it happened, when your voice stopped shaking, when your carefully prepared notes stopped mattering, becoming mere prompts for a more authentic dialogue but at some point, you realised Lewis was turning to you after almost every question.

Not the Secretary of State, whose department was spearheading the initiative. Not the Director of Inclusion, who had years of experience in policy. You.

“Would that work in practice?”

“What have you seen in your classroom?”

“Do you think it’s enough?”

It was both terrifying and thrilling to be taken so seriously, to have your lived experience elevated to the same level as, or even above, abstract policy frameworks. You found yourself speaking with an unprecedented clarity and conviction, drawing on years of classroom moments, of conversations with students and parents, of small victories and heartbreaking setbacks. You weren't just being heard; you were being relied upon.

After two intense hours, the meeting adjourned. The room buzzed with renewed energy as people began filtering out, chatting in small clusters. Some seized the opportunity to snap selfies with Lewis, who graciously obliged, his smile unfading.

You gathered your papers, a familiar sense of detachment starting to settle over you. This was just another meeting, albeit an unusual one. You’d go home, decompress, file a debrief. This wasn’t personal. It was—

“Hey,” a voice murmured beside you, startling you from your thoughts. “Can I steal a few more minutes of your time?”

You turned to find Lewis standing close, closer than felt appropriate for a mere acquaintance, one hand casually tucked into his pocket, the other fiddling with the Mission 44 badge on his lapel. The lingering scent of his cologne was subtle, yet distinct.

“I’m working on something separate,” he said, his gaze direct and unwavering. “A school initiative we haven’t launched yet. Grassroots. I want someone with field experience to co-design it. Someone who actually knows what works on the ground, not just in theory.”

You stared at him, the implications of his words slowly sinking in. “You want me?”

He shrugged lightly, a gesture that belied the intensity behind his eyes. “You’re not afraid to say hard things. You cut through the noise. I need that. Mission 44 isn’t just a name or a branding exercise - I want it to actually work. And I can’t do that with PR people or those who are just going through the motions.”

A pause, heavy with unspoken weight. Then, his voice softer, almost reflective:

“I meant what I said earlier. You made me feel heard today. Truly heard. I haven’t had that in years.”

Your breath caught in your throat. It was a confession, an unexpected vulnerability that transcended the professional setting and touched something deeply personal.

“Okay,” you said, somehow keeping your voice steady despite the sudden surge of emotion. A profound sense of purpose, almost a solemn vow, settled over you. “Let’s design something that changes lives.”

He smiled and this time, it was a wide, genuine smile that reached all the way to his eyes, crinkling the corners. It was a smile of relief, of shared understanding, of genuine connection.

“I’ll have my team reach out,” he said, but then he hesitated, stepping a little closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “But” he added, “I’d rather hear from you directly. If you’re okay with that.”

He handed you his phone, the screen already open to a new contact.

Your fingers brushed his as you typed your number in, a current passing between you both was subtle, barely perceptible, but undeniable. An electric hum that promised something more than just a professional collaboration.

And just like that, you were in.

Not just in the room. Not just another voice among many.

But in the heart of something real. Something profoundly impactful. Something that might just change everything.

The buzzing of your phone, two hours after stepping back into your quiet flat from the whirl of Westminster, was an unwelcome jolt. You were still in your work blazer, half a bowl of soggy cereal neglected on the coffee table, your mind replaying the day’s unexpected turn. Then you saw the name: Lewis Hamilton.

A single message: Hey. It’s Lewis. You were brilliant today. I meant what I said. Would you be free Friday to start mapping this out? Private planning session. No suits, no media. Just you and me and a whiteboard.

You read it twice, then a third time, the words blurring slightly as your hands began to tremble. This was happening. The casual tone, the directness, the invitation – it all felt surreal. ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Friday, 3:04 p.m.

The Mission 44 workspace was a revelation. Forget the sterile corporate gleam you’d anticipated; this was a haven, a co-working sanctuary pulsating with quiet purpose. Exposed brick walls, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves brimming with educational research and policy papers, colourful beanbags scattered near chalkboards, and long, communal tables that invited collaboration. It was vibrant, lived-in, and entirely unexpected.

Lewis was already there, a striking figure in a fitted black t-shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal muscled forearms. A worn notebook lay open beside a tray laden with oat milk lattes and a crinkling bag of vegan biscuits. He looked up as you entered, a half-smile playing on his lips.

“Figured you’d need caffeine,” he said, gesturing to the drinks. “Also, I didn’t want to look unprepared.”

You raised a brow, a genuine smile forming. “You’re Lewis Hamilton. You could show up with glitter and no notes and still run the room.”

He laughed then, a rich, warm sound that held a touch of surprise. “Yeah, but I don’t want to just show up. I want to build something. With you.”

That phrase again. “With you.” It resonated in your chest, a strange, hopeful flutter.

The first hour flowed effortlessly. You plunged into the core of your shared passion, talking through the raw edges of lived experiences, your pens scratching furiously across notebooks as you scribbled down ambitious goals: reduce exclusion rates, build robust in-school mentorship programs, challenge systemic bias head-on. It was heady and focused, the kind of deeply resonant conversation you’d yearned for, the kind only possible with someone who truly gave a damn.

But as the second hour began, the atmosphere subtly shifted. The energy remained, but it deepened, becoming more personal, more vulnerable.

“I used to think I was the problem,” Lewis said suddenly, his voice dropping to a quieter, more reflective tone. His fingers absently turned his pen, a small, unconscious gesture. “Back then. At school. I’d get pulled out of class, sent home early, talked down to and I thought, maybe I was the troublemaker. Maybe it was something inherently wrong with me.”

You looked up, surprised by the intensity of his gaze, how carefully he was watching you, as if gauging your reaction.

“I didn’t have anyone who looked like me in authority. No teachers that understood. No one who told me I was allowed to be brilliant. No one who told me my potential wasn’t limited by their expectations.” He paused, his eyes distant for a moment, lost in memory. “Until I found racing.”

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table, compelled by his candor. “That’s what we need to create,” you murmured, your voice low but firm. “A system that finds kids before they give up. Somewhere safe enough to truly see them, to nurture that brilliance, even if it looks different from what’s expected.”

He nodded slowly, a profound understanding passing between you. “Somewhere I would’ve felt like I belonged. Somewhere I wouldn’t have had to fight so hard just to be seen.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, a profound quietude that didn’t demand words. It was the kind of silence that held a deeper communication, a shared empathy that transcended spoken language.

You didn’t voice the ache in your throat, the fierce protectiveness that welled up as you imagined the little boy he used to be, yearning to reach back through time and tell him he was more than enough. Instead, you simply let the silence embrace that unspoken understanding for both of you.

By the third hour, the workspace had transformed into a dynamic hub of your collective thought. You’d pushed two tables together, the whiteboard was half-filled with intricate flowcharts and bold declarations, and your forgotten latte had been abandoned in favour of lukewarm water and pure, unadulterated adrenaline.

“That’s your third time referencing the 2022 SEND reforms,” Lewis observed, a grin spreading across his face. His eyes, bright with engagement, were fixed on you. “Are you always this passionate when you teach too?”

You mock-glared, a playful spark in your own eyes. “Only when I’m trying to stop vulnerable kids from getting permanently excluded because of bureaucratic red tape and systemic apathy.”

He leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face, his gaze never leaving yours. “I like that you don’t sugar-coat it. It makes people listen.”

“I don’t always want them to listen,” you admitted, your voice dropping, a flicker of weariness touching your tone. “Sometimes I just want them to care.”

Lewis was quiet for a beat, his expression softening. Then, simply: “I care.”

You didn’t mean to, but your gaze involuntarily dropped to his hands. Strong, steady hands, capable of incredible precision and power, now fidgeting subtly with the corner of his notebook.

He’d taken off a distinctive bracelet, and it lay on the table beside your own pen, your belongings blending together as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

When you looked back up, you found him still watching you. There was something there, unspoken, unacted upon, but undeniably there. A quiet recognition, a mutual awareness that hummed beneath the surface of your professional collaboration.

7:16 p.m.

You had completely lost track of time. The world outside the Mission 44 workspace had ceased to exist. Lewis only noticed the late hour when his phone vibrated – a dinner reminder, likely something formal and forgettable in his demanding schedule. He glanced at the screen, then deliberately ignored it, setting the phone face down.

“You hungry?” he asked, looking at you.

You blinked, emerging from the deep focus of your discussion. “For food?”

His lips twitched, a hint of amusement. “Unless you eat whiteboard markers when you’re low on blood sugar.”

You laughed, a genuine, uninhibited sound, shaking your head. “Yeah. I could eat.”

He stood, stretching slowly, his movements fluid and powerful. And God, his back flexed under the fitted black t-shirt, the graceful curve of his spine a testament to years of athletic discipline. You snapped your eyes away, hoping he hadn’t caught your inadvertent stare.

“There’s a Thai place two blocks down,” he said, his voice casual as he tossed you a dark hoodie. “Bring this. It’s freezing out there.”

You hesitated, the soft fabric warm in your hands. “I’m not cold.”

“I know,” he said, his eyes holding yours. “But I want you to wear it anyway.”

Something in his tone, a quiet insistence, made you comply. You slipped it on. It was soft, worn, and smelled faintly of eucalyptus, ink, and something warm and uniquely him that you couldn’t quite name.

The walk to the restaurant was quiet, but it wasn't awkward. It was a comfortable silence, filled with the lingering energy of your intense planning session. At one point, your hands brushed, and neither of you pulled away. It was a fleeting, almost imperceptible contact, yet it sent a subtle current through you.

You told yourself it was the adrenaline, the lingering high of the project’s boundless potential. You told yourself it was nothing.

But then, as you sat across from him over shared bowls of fragrant curry, Lewis leaned in, his voice quiet, almost a whisper, as if the answer truly mattered more than anything else in the world: “Why did you say yes?”

You tilted your head, genuinely surprised by the question. “To the project?”

He nodded, his eyes searching yours, deep and steady. “To me.”

The air shifted, becoming thick with unspoken meaning. You swallowed, the weight of his gaze almost palpable.

“Because for the first time,” you said, your voice steady despite the tremor in your chest, “someone with power asked not for my opinion, but for my partnership. And because I believe in this.” You paused, gathering your thoughts, and then, the words slipped out, raw and honest: “In you.”

He didn’t say anything. He just looked at you, his expression unreadable, as if you were something he hadn’t expected to find, a surprising, beautiful discovery. And maybe, in some profound way, you were.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The first time Lewis invites you to his flat, it's entirely innocent. Or at least, that's the narrative you meticulously construct for yourself. "It's just quieter there," he says, his voice a low murmur, as you both step out of another Mission 44 session – this one a vibrant but exhausting dialogue with passionate youth workers from Leeds and Manchester. "We'll get more done without people buzzing in and out."

You nod, perhaps a little too readily. "Yeah. Sure. Just work." But every fibre of your being is hyper-aware of the subtle ways he moves around you: the fractional pause as his hand hovers near your lower back when he opens the car door; the quiet intensity of his glances while you speak, as if the very cadence of your words holds as much significance as their meaning.

The flat is in Notting Hill, a hushed corner of London. It's tasteful, understated, bathed in the soft glow of natural light. This isn't the kind of place that screams celebrity; rather, it whispers sanctuary. It feels like a carefully curated retreat from the relentless gaze of the world.

"This place is beautiful," you murmur, stepping into a living room imbued with warm wood tones and eclectic framed prints. Your eyes drift to the bookshelf, a treasure trove of unexpected titles: sociology, philosophy, and poetry. You spot a few authors you adore some you've only ever discussed in hushed academic tones with fellow educators.

Lewis watches you quietly, a subtle smile playing on his lips. "I don't show many people this side of my life," he says, his voice softer than you've ever heard it.

You glance at him, a question forming on your lips. "Why me?"

He hesitates, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, but it's only for a moment. "Because I trust you." The words hang in the air, weighted with sincerity. It’s not just a statement; it’s an offering, a small, precious piece of himself, just real enough to mean everything.

You work. You actually work. The first hour is a whirlwind of focused energy: outlining a rough framework for the pilot programs, debating granular strategy points, meticulously identifying underserved boroughs to prioritise for intervention. The air is thick with ideas, shared ambition, and the satisfying scratch of pens on paper.

But somewhere between the fourth page of meticulously planning notes and the second round of steaming Earl Grey tea, the rigid professional facade begins to soften.

He's sitting opposite you on the floor, legs stretched out comfortably under the large coffee table, his hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

You’re cross-legged, a sprawl of papers surrounding you, notes scribbled in two distinct handwritings across a shared pad. The quiet that settles between you is comfortable, companionable. And maybe…close.

You find yourself explaining some esoteric point about community resilience models something technical, theoretical, pulled straight from a university lecture. He laughs, a sudden, delighted sound that ripples through the calm. It’s not mocking; it’s pure, unadulterated amusement.

“You sound like a research paper,” he says through a wide grin.

You blink, genuinely surprised by his reaction, then burst out laughing too, the sound echoing lightly in the room. “That’s because I am a research paper half the time.”

His laughter deepens, a rich, warm rumble, and for a precious moment, the intricate layers of work and ambition fall away. All that remains is the simple warmth of shared air, a profound mutual understanding, and a tantalising flicker of something neither of you dares to name.

When the laughter fades, the quiet that descends isn’t awkward. It's charged. You look up, and he’s already looking at you, his gaze steady, perceptive.

“Can I tell you something?” His voice is soft, almost reverent, as if he’s about to share a secret.

You nod, your breath catching in your throat, a sudden anticipation tightening your chest.

“I’ve never felt more seen than I do when I’m around you.”

You don't speak right away. The words land with too much weight, too much raw sincerity. He’s not flirting; he’s confessing. This is something deeper, more fundamental.

“I’m always…on,” he continues, his fingers absently tracing a soft crease in the page between you. “Every room I enter. Every lens pointed at me. Even when I’m fighting for change, there’s a performance in it. A pressure to be infallible, to have all the answers. But you… You don’t expect that from me. You expect truth. Just truth.”

You swallow, the honesty of his words resonating deeply within you. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted from people too.”

He looks like he wants to say something else, perhaps something even more profound, but instead, he simply nods, a silent acknowledgment passing between you.

The moment stretches, suspended in the soft afternoon light. You don’t reach across the space between you, though a powerful pull draws you. Neither does he. But something has irrevocably shifted. A deeper understanding has settled between you, a quiet tether that is no longer invisible, no longer merely implied.

You don’t stay too late. You finish your tea, the lukewarm liquid a grounding presence. You review the pilot proposal one last time, making a few final, crucial notes. And when you finally stand to leave, Lewis walks you to the door without a word, the shared silence comfortable, profound.

The city outside is hushed, a typical London night that hums with its own quiet breath, the streetlights casting long, soft shadows.

You turn, offering him a small, genuine smile. “Thanks for letting me see this side of things.”

He nods, his gaze unwavering. "It means more than I can say."

And just as your hand reaches for the doorknob, he says your name, a quiet utterance that halts your movement.

You pause, your heart giving a small lurch. When you look back, his gaze is steady, earnest, filled with an intensity that mirrors your own burgeoning feelings.

“I know it’s still early,” he says, his voice low, “But I meant it. Working with you it’s different. You get it. And that means everything.”

You nod once, a silent affirmation that carries a multitude of unsaid emotions. “It means everything to me too.”

The next few weeks blur into a relentless but exhilarating rhythm. You’re now co-leading the grassroots pilot, and the workload has tripled, but so, too, has the palpable sense of impact.

Your days are a whirlwind of meetings with government liaisons, policy teams, and school leaders. You speak on panels, articulate the project’s vision, and witness firsthand the ripples of change your work is creating. Lewis, true to his word, insists on being at every single one.

You find him in the crowd every time – arms crossed, a picture of focused concentration, his eyes fixed entirely on you, radiating a quiet pride.

Still, what happens off-stage, in the liminal spaces between official engagements, lingers more vividly than any public appearance. The long, reflective walks along the Thames after intense meetings, the city lights shimmering on the dark water.

The shared coffees on park benches, scribbling notes on napkins as you brainstorm solutions to unforeseen challenges. His voice on the phone at 1 a.m., calm and reassuring, after you’ve just finished reading a particularly devastating report on exclusion rates.

The way he listens – really listens – when you talk about your past, your deep-seated frustrations with systemic inequities, your quiet, fervent hope that this project will become something more than just politics, more than just another initiative. He listens with an intensity that makes you feel heard, understood, and valued in a way you hadn't realized you craved.

You never touch, not intimately. Not yet. But there are moments. Charged, lingering moments that hum with unspoken potential.

Like the time your fingers brush as you pass him a critical note during a high-stakes meeting, and neither of you moves for a beat too long, the soft contact sending a jolt through you both. Or the night you leave a formal dinner, and he opens your car door with one hand, the other grazing your lower back, just briefly, lightly, as if he couldn’t help the unconscious gesture, a silent apology for withdrawing it so quickly.

But it’s never rushed. Never spoken aloud. Not yet. The tension, the anticipation, builds slowly, exquisitely.

Then comes the day of the press conference. The culmination of months of relentless groundwork. The partnership with the Department for Education is official. Six cities. A full rollout. A national pilot for equity and inclusion in schools – backed by the immense power of Mission 44 and fuelled by your shared vision.

Lewis insists you sit beside him at the table, front and centre. “No one else but you,” he says quietly, his voice firm, just before the cameras flash and the microphones are thrust forward.

You squeeze his hand once under the table. Just a squeeze. And just for courage, a silent acknowledgment of the monumental moment you are about to step into together.

The press barrage you both with questions about the project, its anticipated impact, the personal cost of such ambitious work. Then, a reporter asks him why this initiative, above all others, mattered most to him. Why now.

He pauses, the silence in the room suddenly amplified. His gaze finds yours, a flicker of something profound passing between you. Then he looks out at the assembled room, his expression thoughtful, sincere.

“I met someone who reminded me what it felt like to be heard for the first time.”

He doesn’t name you. He doesn’t have to. You feel it anyway – the sudden burn under your skin, the way your chest tightens as if trying to contain something vast and uncontainable. You don’t say a word. You don't need to.

But when it’s all over, when the cameras are down and the lights dim, he turns to you, his hand gently touching your arm. You meet his eyes, and there’s still no kiss. Still no explicit confession.

But it’s in the shared exhale, the quiet understanding that passes between you – like the space between you is safe now. And like whatever this is…it’s only just beginning.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

Current time is Monday, June 9, 2025 at 2:03:36 PM AEST.

The article drops three days after the triumphant press conference. You’re halfway through a critical meeting with two sharp, passionate East London youth leaders, dissecting community engagement strategies, when your phone begins its insistent chorus – once, twice, then a rapid succession of buzzes until even Lewis, usually impervious to such digital interruptions, glances over. He raises an eyebrow, a silent question in his eyes, as you flip the screen face down, determinedly ignoring the persistent summons.

After the meeting, as you both walk towards the internal cafe, Lewis catches your wrist gently, his touch light but firm. "You okay?" he asks, his voice low with concern.

You sigh, a weary exhalation. “I think… someone wrote something.”

He frowns, pulling out his own phone, his fingers flying across the screen with practiced speed. A moment later, he exhales hard through his nose, a sound of exasperation.

He turns the screen to you, displaying the headline: Hamilton’s Hidden Partner: The Educator Beside the Mission.

Below it, a grainy, slightly blurred photo, undeniably you and him, captured outside the conference venue. You’re both laughing, genuine and unposed, his hand resting casually on your arm, your eyes on his.

You don’t speak, the image a stark, public mirror of the private world you've been building.

“They’re speculating,” he says carefully, his voice a balm against the sudden intrusion. “About us.” The word "us" shouldn't mean anything in a professional context, but your heart gives an involuntary skip anyway.

You take his phone, your fingers brushing his. You skim the article, your eyes darting over the familiar tabloid sensationalism. Phrases leap out at you like venomous insects: Unusually close working relationship. A source claims the two have been spending late nights together. Whispers of something more than collaboration…

You hand the phone back, a soft, humourless laugh bubbling up. “All it takes is a look, huh?” The irony is bitter. For weeks, you’ve been navigating a delicate dance of unspoken feelings, and the press has, with one snapshot, laid it bare.

His jaw tightens, a visible clench of frustration. “This wasn’t supposed to be about us.”

“It still isn’t,” you say quickly, fiercely. “This is about the work. The kids. The system. This is about Mission 44.”

He studies you, his gaze piercing. “But it changes things, doesn’t it?”

You don’t answer. Because the truth is – it does. You’ve spent weeks, months even, meticulously constructing something quietly sacred between you: trust forged in shared purpose, a vision that bound you together, and an undeniable, unspoken connection that thrived in the shadows of collaboration. But now, with one cynical article, the world has tilted it into a spectacle, cheapening something profound. The cafe suddenly feels too loud, too bright, the fluorescent lights harsh, and the edges of your skin feel terrifyingly exposed.

That night, alone in your flat, your phone vibrates with his text:

You okay?

You stare at it, the simple words holding so much weight. Then, your fingers hover, reluctant, before typing:

Not really. I feel like someone just turned a light on in a room I didn’t want anyone to see.

You don’t expect a reply, preparing yourself for the privacy that usually defines his guarded life. But it comes a moment later, almost instantly:

Same. Can I come over? Just to talk.

Your fingers hover again, a dizzying mix of apprehension and yearning swirling within you. Then, a decisive tap:

Yeah. Just talk.

He arrives with tea, the same soothing chamomile blend from his flat, a quiet comfort in the unsettling evening. You sit side by side on your sofa – not touching, not looking directly at each other – but somehow, the air between you hums with an almost tangible energy, a silent recognition of the bond that has been publicly laid bare.

“They’ll do it again,” you say finally, breaking the comfortable quiet, your voice tight. “Twist things. Fabricate narratives.”

He nods; his gaze fixed on some unseen point across the room. “I know.”

“And if this…if whatever this is between us complicates the work—”

He cuts in gently, his voice firm, unwavering. “It doesn’t. You are the work. Everything we’ve done together – that’s what matters. That’s what they can’t take away.”

You turn your head to look at him, seeking reassurance. “But you’re Lewis Hamilton. If people think you’re distracted by personal matters, they won’t listen. They’ll dismiss the message, the impact.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he leans back into the cushions, eyes on the ceiling, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. “I’ve been told I’m ‘Distracted’ my whole life. That I need to pick between passion and purpose. Between my art and my activism. But what if they’re the same thing? What if the very things that fuel your passion are your purpose?”

You sit with that for a moment, the profound truth of his words sinking in. Then, the question you’ve been afraid to ask, slips out: “Is that what this is for you? A distraction?”

He turns toward you slowly, his gaze locking with yours, intense and utterly sincere. “No. This - ” His voice drops, raw with emotion. “You - are the thing that’s been keeping me grounded through all of it. The constant, the real.”

Your throat tightens, a powerful ache blossoming in your chest. But you nod, a quiet acknowledgment. Because you understand. You feel it too, the sense of being anchored, of finding a profound clarity in his presence.

Still, you both know this path is delicate. You’re not ready to fall into something undefined, not while so much is at stake. Not yet. So, you say, your voice soft but resolute: “Then let’s be careful.”

His eyes search yours, a flash of something unreadable passing through them. “You mean… don’t rush?”

“Yeah,” you affirm, a small, knowing smile touching your lips.

He exhales, a quiet sound that could be relief, or perhaps, immense restraint.

You smile back, just barely. “Besides what we’re building, Mission 44, the pilot programs, or the outreach - it deserves our full hearts. No distractions. No complications.”

His gaze lingers on you, a deep, silent understanding passing between you. Then he nods, a decisive gesture. “No distractions.”

But as you walk him to the door and your fingers brush again just briefly it feels less like restraint and more like a promise. A promise to protect what is growing, to allow it to bloom in its own time, shielded from the harsh glare of public scrutiny.

The next few weeks are relentless. The government signs off on the second phase of the pilot, a monumental achievement that sends a ripple of excitement through your small, dedicated team. You’re flown to Birmingham for a school site visit, the energy in the classrooms palpable.

A regional headteacher asks you for your thoughts on restorative justice practices, and Lewis, who is usually the centre of attention, turns to listen to you, his entire focus shifted, before you even speak. It’s a small detail, but it speaks volumes.

At one point during a school Q&A session, a bold teenager, brimming with youthful curiosity, asks, “Are you two dating?” The entire classroom erupts in embarrassed laughter, and you nearly choke on your water, your cheeks flushing a furious red.

Lewis, however, just smiles, his composure unruffled, and says, with a charming twinkle in his eye, “Only dating ideas. And there are a lot of them.” The answer is clever, deflecting, and yet, somehow, it feels like a subtle nod to the truth.

Later that day, you find a small, folded note on your desk – written in his sharp, slanted handwriting: That kid had guts. Reminded me of you. You fold it carefully and tuck it into your notebook, a private treasure.

The tension doesn’t fade. But it shifts. From overwhelming to familiar. From a burdensome weight to a comforting tether. You’re in this together now, not just Mission 44 but the strange, quiet knowledge of something profound growing between you both.

You start staying late again, the boundary between work and something else, becoming increasingly porous. Brainstorming by lamplight, the city quiet outside. Sharing moments between work that feel less like strategy and more like connection.

Like the night he walks you to your car and doesn’t let go of your hand right away, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, a silent assurance. Or when he sees you overwhelmed, perhaps close to tears from the sheer weight of responsibility, and says softly, “Take a breath. I’m right here.”

He always is.

The tension doesn’t fade. But it shifts. From overwhelming to familiar. From weight to tether. You’re in this together now not just Mission 44, but the strange, quiet knowledge of something growing between you both.

And when the speculation resurfaces louder this time, fuelled by blurry paparazzi photos and increasingly bold, speculative headlines you respond not with a defensive statement, but with a unified, strategic front.

Three carefully curated Instagram posts go live within minutes of each other, a coordinated digital strike.

On your page: A powerful still from the National Youth Equity Conference – you, Lewis, the Prime Minister, and three bright-eyed young leaders, their faces alight with hope. Your caption reads: Change doesn’t happen in silence. Proud to stand beside students, leaders, and partners reshaping the future. #Mission44 #PolicyInAction

On Lewis’s page: A candid shot from backstage of the two of you, heads bent together, reviewing speaking notes, his hand mid-gesture, your brow furrowed in concentration. The caption: Not rumours. Reality. This is what collaboration looks like for purpose, not performance. #Mission44

On Mission 44’s official page: A high angle shot of the entire stage, the full team and students seated in discussion, the Prime Minister at the centre, a symbol of the institutional backing you’ve secured.

The caption: We’re not here for tabloid stories. We’re here to amplify youth voices and build policy change with the people who live it. Our team stands united. #YoungVoicesMatter #Mission44

It works enough to steady the turbulent waters. Enough to remind the world that this isn’t a distraction. It’s a movement. A movement too important to be overshadowed by cheap gossip.

And the movement is still growing, stronger and more resilient with every challenge it faces, just like the quiet, powerful connection between you and Lewis.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

The Pilot Launch Day: South London

The air outside the school is thick with tension not anxiety, not fear but the weight of something earned.

It’s the first official day of the Mission 44 Education Reform Pilot.

Six cities. Dozens of schools. Hundreds of educators trained in trauma-informed practice, equity frameworks, and community-based learning. A year of drafting, rewriting, coalition building, sleepless nights, early flights and now it’s here.

And this school a quiet brick building tucked between tower blocks in South London is where it starts.

A student greets you at the door, hand outstretched. “Miss, you remember me?”

You pause. And then you do.

Devon. From one of the early youth roundtables. The one who sat with his arms crossed and said the system was “bullshit” and that no one ever listened.

Now he’s in a school uniform that fits properly. His lanyard says Student Council Lead.

Your throat tightens. “You clean up well.”

He laughs. “They made me tuck my shirt in for this, innit. But I’m still saying the same things.”

Lewis joins you a beat later, nodding at Devon. “Glad to see you again.”

Devon grins. “Sir, I’m watching you now, you know. Not just for the cars. For this.”

Lewis chuckles. “That’s the idea.”

The student leads you both inside. The halls have been repainted. The posters lining the walls aren’t generic slogans they’re student-created: “Learning should feel like power.” “Justice belongs in classrooms.”

Inside the main assembly hall, press line the back wall, but they’re quiet. The energy is too respectful, too reverent, to break with shouts or flashbulbs.

You sit side-by-side on stage. Lewis’s knee just barely brushing yours.

The headteacher speaks first. Then a student. Then a youth worker.

When it’s your turn, you stand behind the mic and pause because it hits you.

This moment. This reality.

What began as scribbles and what-ifs is now a breathing, living thing.

“I remember the first time I was told I didn’t belong,” you say. “It was Year 10. A teacher looked at me and said, Some people just aren’t cut out for this system. But no one ever stopped to ask if the system was cut out for us.”

You glance down. Lewis is watching you. Not like a colleague. Not like a co-founder.

Like something else.

You go on. “Today, we’re not just launching a pilot. We’re launching a truth: that young people especially those failed by traditional structures, deserve education that meets them where they are, and lifts them higher.”

The applause is soft at first, then spreads like a wave.

When the speeches end, the cameras roll. You and Lewis take a brief walk through the school classrooms in session, teachers with new materials, students who’ve never been asked for input now shaping their own curriculum.

In one room, a girl raises her hand and says, “Sir, is it true you two designed this together?”

Lewis looks at you. “We did.”

The girl squints. “So…are you like, best friends or something?”

He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Something like that.”

Later, once the press clears and the staff breathe again, you slip out to the empty courtyard.

It’s quiet. Cold, but clear.

Lewis finds you there.

“Didn’t know you’d vanished,” he says gently, holding out your coat.

You take it, tug it on. “Needed a second. It’s a lot.”

He nods. “Yeah.”

There’s a long pause. Not uncomfortable. Just…weighty.

Then he says, “I watched you speak today. And I kept thinking if I’d had someone like you in my corner when I was younger, I would’ve believed in change a lot sooner.”

You swallow. “I think the same. About you.”

He looks at you and it’s not a glance this time. It’s a full-on search. Like he’s trying to find the version of you that’s been hiding behind purpose and late nights and policy drafts.

Like he’s found her.

You don’t say anything more. Neither does he.

But when he reaches out just lightly and touches your wrist, you don’t pull away.

And when your fingers stay there, almost laced but not quite, for the rest of the evening… it feels like more than enough.

He doesn’t tell you where you’re going only says, “Dress nice. No blazers. You’ve earned at least one night off.”

So, you do.

You trade your workwear for a soft, fitted dress. Something simple. Comfortable. Something that still makes you feel like yourself but seen.

He picks you up himself, no driver. His car smells like cinnamon and clean leather. He doesn’t say much, but the glance he gives you when you slide into the passenger seat lingers.

“Okay,” he says. “You really didn’t have to go this hard.”

You smirk. “You said ‘dress nice.’ I follow instructions.”

He laughs, and it’s the first time all day he sounds like he’s not carrying the weight of ten thousand expectations.

The restaurant he’s chosen is tucked away no paparazzi, no fuss. A low-lit place with floor-to-ceiling windows, jazz humming from a speaker near the bar. There are no white tablecloths. Just dark wood, gold cutlery, and the kind of hush that invites conversation.

You order drinks ginger mocktails for both of you and share plates between you.

And for the first time in weeks, it’s not about strategy.

It’s about you.

���What was the moment it all clicked for you?” he asks, leaning forward. “The one that made you say, ‘Alright. I’m gonna change the whole damn system.’”

You grin. “Year 11. My best friend got suspended for something she didn’t even do. They didn’t even ask her side. Just a phone call home and an assumption.”

He watches you closely.

“I remember thinking, if the system doesn’t care about truth, what is it doing? And then later, when I started learning about law and policy, I realised maybe I could do something from the inside.”

He nods. “You’ve done more than ‘something.’ You made this real.”

You shrug, looking down at your drink. “We did it together.”

He’s quiet for a second. Then he says, “You know, I’ve worked with a lot of people. Been in boardrooms with some of the most powerful folks in the world. But I’ve never felt this kind of clarity before.”

You glance up.

He continues, slower now. “You’ve made me braver. Sharper. More focused. Like I’m not just fighting for something anymore - I’m building it.”

Your heart is a live-wire.

You sit in it. Let it stretch between you.

The check comes. He pays — quickly, before you even reach for your purse.

You leave the restaurant with a lightness in your chest and a warmth in your cheeks.

Outside, the air was crisp but not cold, carrying the faint, sweet scent of damp earth and distant city life. The London streets shimmered under lamplight, still a little wet from earlier rain, each glint a secret shared with the night. You walked quietly, side by side, your shoulders brushing now and then, a soft friction that sent a quiet warmth through you. Your breath, a delicate mist in the low light, mingled with his.

“Walk for a bit?” he asked, his voice a low thrum against the city's quiet hum.

You nodded, a single, soft brush of your chin against your chest. “Yeah.”

So you did. Slowly, unhurried, as if the ground beneath you held no urgency. The city hummed around you but didn’t intrude like it was giving you this moment, a hushed, private space in its vastness.

“I thought about you that night,” he said suddenly, his voice even lower now, as if afraid to break the delicate stillness between you. “After the article came out. I kept wondering if I’d messed it up. Put a spotlight on something that should’ve been private.”

You slowed your steps, your heart giving a quiet, responsive beat. “I thought about you, too. But not like that.”

He stopped walking, and so did you, the sudden absence of motion emphasising the charged air.

You turned to face him beneath the amber glow of a streetlamp, the rain-slick pavement catching pieces of light like scattered glass. The light softened the edges of his face, drawing your gaze to the gentle curve of his lips, the intensity in his eyes.

“I thought about how I’ve never met anyone who made purpose feel this possible,” you whispered, your voice a little shaky with the admission. “Like it’s not just an idea. It’s a life.”

He was looking at you the way he did during your speech earlier like he was seeing every version of you at once, pulling them into a single, cohesive truth. The fighter, the strategist, the girl who once wanted to be invisible, and the woman now standing at the centre of something seismic, vulnerable and powerful all at once.

His eyes, dark pools in the lamplight, flickered to your mouth. Then back up. Then down again, a silent, electric tracing.

He took a step closer, then another, his presence enveloping you, blurring the edges of the world.

Your breath hitched, a soft intake of air that felt impossibly loud in the quiet. You didn’t move.

You knew before it happened before his hand grazed your jaw, a feather-light touch that sent shivers through your skin. Before his fingers slid gently behind your ear, finding the sensitive hollow there, the pad of his thumb resting just under your cheekbone, a warm anchor.

Before the soft, ragged inhale he took as his forehead leaned in, touching yours, the slight rasp of his skin against yours.

Everything narrowed, sharpened. The cool, crisp press of the night air against your skin, the radiating warmth from him, a protective aura. The distinct scent of cinnamon and something deeper, richer - something undeniably his, a scent that resonated deep within you.

You didn’t close your eyes yet. You just looked at him, memorising the landscape of his face, the intensity in his gaze, the question in his eyes.

And then he whispered, his voice a raw murmur against your lips, “I’m going to kiss you now, unless you don’t want me to.”

Your reply was breathless, barely there, a sigh of surrender and longing: “I do.”

He didn’t rush it. This was not a moment to be hurried.

His lips brushed against yours like a question the softest ask, a hesitant exploration. And when you answered by pressing closer, your hand sliding up, fingers instinctively curling into the soft fabric of his coat over his chest, he deepened it. Still slow. Still careful. But with a quiet intensity that made your whole-body ache with a sweet, profound longing.

It wasn’t the kiss of impulse.

It was the kiss of weeks of near misses, of accidental touches that lingered too long. Of shoulders touching in crowded rooms, sending sparks beneath your skin. Of late nights with mugs too warm to hold, sharing secrets in hushed tones. Of glances exchanged across tables that said not yet, not here, but soon.

It was the kiss of trust earned through quiet battles, of tension survived, of recognising a kindred spirit.

You tilted your head, allowing deeper access, and his other hand found your waist, firm but reverent, grounding you as if you were something precious, something sacred.

Your fingers curled further into the fabric of his coat, gripping him gently as the kiss lingered, built, softened, deepened a symphony of sensation, a silent conversation of souls. And when it finally broke, it was with a pause that felt like a breath held between heartbeats, a suspended moment before the world rushed back in.

He stayed close.

His forehead remained against yours, his hand still cradling your jaw, his other firm at your waist. In the quiet that followed, all you heard was the distant, soothing hum of traffic and the incredible, effortless way your breaths synced without trying.

Then he murmured, his voice husky, “I’ve wanted to do that since the first night you challenged me in that strategy meeting.”

You laughed, a soft, breathless sound that vibrated between you. “And I’ve wanted to do it since you brought me that terrible chamomile tea the first time I stayed late.”

He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling against your forehead as he brushed his nose against yours, a tender, playful gesture. “I knew it was bad. I just needed a reason to walk over.”

You smiled, warm and real, and it bloomed in your chest like something unstoppable, something radiant.

You stayed like that a little longer no expectations, no deadlines, no next steps. Just two people in the middle of a London street, caught in the tender glow of a streetlamp, in the middle of something profound and new.

Something built not from rush or fleeting desire alone, but from shared purpose, deep respect, and a thousand quiet moments that had led, inevitably, exquisitely, to this one.

And when he finally walked you back to the car and opened the door for you, his hand brushed yours again.

This time, neither of you let go for a long while. The connection, now undeniable, hummed between your joined hands, a silent promise in the quiet night.

The kiss didn’t change everything overnight. It didn’t unravel months of carefully constructed caution or send you spiralling into something too big, too fast. If anything, it settled something between you turned tension into a gentle tether, potential into a quiet, comforting presence.

The next morning, there were no grand declarations, no sudden shifts in title or pace. But when you walked into the meeting room and saw Lewis already there, flipping through the week’s schedule, he looked up like he always did with that quiet flicker of something just for you, a warmth in his eyes that had always been present but now felt undeniably acknowledged. And this time, you let yourself return it fully, a soft, open acceptance in your gaze.

You still immersed yourselves in the work, still spent hours in schools, in hushed rooms with policy advisors, with students who carried more weight than any young shoulders should. But now, a new softness was woven into it all. A quiet knowing that hummed beneath the surface.

A foundation that felt just as much about mutual care as it did about systemic change. This deepening connection didn't distract; it enriched, grounding you both as you navigated the demanding landscape of their shared mission.

When the first round of national expansion was confirmed after months of rigorous trial programs, relentless lobbying, and delicate negotiations you were called into a press conference. You sat beside Lewis, the education secretary, and a panel of remarkable young people who had helped shape the pilot. The air thrummed with anticipation.

The announcement came: Mission 44’s groundbreaking school reform initiative would be rolled out to thirty more institutions across the UK. A model rooted in dignity, access, and profoundly, powerfully, youth-led solutions.

The applause rang out, a wave of sound that seemed to lift the very ceiling. You glanced at him, a natural, almost magnetic pull, and found he was already looking at you. And in that look a small, private smile exchanged amidst the joyous chaos, a silent acknowledgment shared in the middle of something massive - you felt it:

You made it.

Not just the program. Not just the policy.

But this. The thing between you. Built slowly, deliberately, like a strong, resilient current. Without ever needing to rush, or to name it before it was truly, unequivocally ready. It was a growth, a blossoming, unfolding at its own organic pace.

Later that night, when it was all over and your shoes were off and the city had gone quiet again, he walked into your living room with a mug in each hand.

Chamomile, of course. It was still terrible. You still drank it, a small, shared ritual.

He sank into the couch beside you, a little closer than strictly necessary. Your legs brushed, a warm, reassuring contact. Neither of you moved away.

You didn’t talk about work. You didn't need to. That day's triumph had already been shared in a look, a touch. Instead, you talked about music. Family. The versions of yourselves that existed before all this began, before the mission, before each other.

And somewhere between laughing about your mutual fear of karaoke and teasing him about his endless collection of knit beanies, you rested your head on his shoulder.

He kissed the top of it - absent, affectionate, a comfortable gesture that felt as natural as breathing.

And it was then you realised:

This wasn’t a beginning.

Not really.

This was continuing.

You were still doing the work, the urgent, vital work of building a better system. Still learning how to love each other with care, with patience, with clarity, allowing your connection to deepen as naturally as the shifting seasons.

And for the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel heavy with expectation or burden.

It just felt open. Filled with possibility, both for the world you were shaping and the quiet, profound love blooming within it.

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

One Year Later:

You don't even notice the camera flash at first. You're too utterly absorbed in the vibrant energy of the students before you - their eyes bright, their questions bubbling over, a perfect mix of cool indifference and starry-eyed awe at being in the same room as him.

Lewis is to your right, leaning in, his brow furrowed in that familiar, endearing way he gets when he's truly locked into a conversation. A bright girl with box braids is passionately explaining her school’s new peer mentorship program, and when she finishes, he grins, a flash of pure warmth that reaches his eyes, and nudges you lightly with his elbow.

"She just described half the model you spent six months drafting," he murmurs, his voice a low, playful rumble meant just for you. "You've infected the youth."

You bump your elbow back against his, a comfortable, well-worn rhythm that’s become second nature. "Mission accomplished."

The students, sharp as ever, don't miss it, of course the shared look, the quiet, effortless sync between you two that speaks volumes without a single word. One of the boys raises an eyebrow, a knowing glint in his eye, and mutters something under his breath to his friend, a soft giggle escaping. Later, you'll scroll past a TikTok with a blurry, slightly shaky zoom-in of that exact moment, captioned:

THEM??? #powercouple #educatorera #mission44royalty

It has half a million likes by dinner, but you just scroll past it with a soft smile, a warmth spreading through your chest. You don't care anymore. Because somewhere along the way, the whispers stopped mattering. The mission got louder than the noise, a roaring testament to change that echoed far beyond any gossip.

And people, finally, truly saw it for what it was: two people not just working side by side, but loving without spectacle, building something substantial and enduring that would outlast any fleeting headline. Their relationship, once a quiet, private bloom, had simply become another natural, undeniable part of their public story.

You move in together in March. Not with an announcement splashed across news sites or a formal press release the world already knew, or at least suspected, from the easy way you interacted in public, the lingering touches, the undeniable glow that seemed to follow you both.

It was just boxes filled with shared memories, a collection of beloved mugs, and a shared playlist that became the soft, melodic backdrop as you gently, beautifully, folded your separate lives into the same sun-drenched space. Your worn sneakers found their place next to his polished shoes by the door, a small, perfect tableau of domesticity. His well-loved paperbacks were shelved next to your dog-eared academic texts, a silent blending of worlds, each page whispering tales of your individual journeys now intertwined.

A calendar on the fridge, covered in outreach trips and campaign dates, now sported a little heart drawn in your handwriting next to "Cambridge student conference," a sweet, thoughtful idea that was entirely his, marking a shared commitment that extended beyond the professional.

You fall asleep most nights with your head nestled against his chest, the steady beat of his heart a lullaby. His hand is always curled around yours, a soft, protective weight, a quiet promise in the dark.

You still talk about work, about the intricate dance of policy and people, about the breakthroughs and the challenges, still dreaming bigger, together, his presence making every aspiration feel more attainable.

One quiet night in June, after a long, fulfilling day of school visits in bustling Manchester, you're brushing your teeth, the low hum of the electric brush a familiar sound, when you hear him call your name from the living room. It’s a soft call, but laced with a certain tenderness that makes you pause, a tremor of anticipation running through you.

You walk out to find him standing by the window, the soft glow of the city lights painting gentle shadows on his skin. He's in nothing but comfortable joggers and a soft white tee, looking utterly at peace, yet somehow more profoundly present than ever, bathed in the quiet glow of the city.

"I keep thinking," he says, his eyes finding yours across the room, full of a quiet wonder, "about how none of this would've happened without you."

You arch a brow playfully, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "The work?"

He shakes his head slowly, a faint, contented smile playing on his lips, the kind that reaches his eyes and makes them crinkle at the corners. "The work. The change. Me."

He crosses the room, his steps unhurried, as if savouring every inch of the distance between you. He reaches you, and his hands cup your face, so gentle, so utterly natural, as if they were always meant to fit there, anchoring you with a profound, quiet strength.

"I didn't know I could do this," he murmurs, his thumbs stroking softly along your cheekbones, a tender caress, "and feel whole. Until you."

Your throat tightens, a sweet ache blooming in your chest. Not because you didn't know but because you did. You've felt it, every single day, for the past year. The quiet completeness, the profound belonging that his presence had brought into every corner of your life.

So you kiss him. Not like that first night, charged with nervous possibility and the thrilling unknown. This one is different. It's steadier. Familiar. Like something well-loved, deeply cherished, and perfectly settled, a deep breath of coming home. It’s a kiss of deep roots and shared future, of everyday magic, and a love that has bloomed into a comfortable, enduring truth.

When you pull back, only just, he presses his forehead to yours, his breath a soft caress against your lips. "Stay with me," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, "All of it. Always."

And you say, "I already am." Every fibre of your being, every beat of your heart, affirmed the truth of those words.

[namelessprince]

iam. procrastinating this animatic now lol

[strrykais]

── ☁️ ๑ Private Lessons ๑

────୨ৎ────

𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑑𝑒𝑟 ¹ ・・・ when your coworker asks you to take her client for the night, you couldn’t pass up the big payout. unfortunately for you it happens to be your college professor. you somehow end up with a very private lesson on being a good girl.

꒰ 𝓢ubject ꒱ ──── 𝓟rofessor! 𝓗yunjin x 𝓕em.ᐟreader ༘⋆ ‎g. smut cw. unprotected sex, student-teacher relations, age gap , oral (m receiving), hyunjin so dom in this, marking/biting, a dash of breeding kink, slight podophilia?, dacryphilia wc. 4.2k ┈┈┈ Ӄfiles ₊꒷꒦˚ ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ ғᴏʀ�� +

Ӄai’s ¿? i had to force myself to put the pen down.

take my appointment tonight.

no. 

yn please !! Felix finally asked me out and I can not throw away this chance.

How exactly am I supposed to go on a date with a man who knows you and wants you specifically?

Great news! He is a new client, so it doesn’t matter who goes. Plus he is offering a lot …

Fine… you owe me.

I love you!!!!

You actually couldn’t believe that you agreed to this. You much rather be home working on that paper you have yet to start on. You groan, stepping out of the uber, mumbling a quick thank you as you make your way to the front doors. You never knew this building was an art gallery, you drove past this building many times never paying any mind to how gorgeous it was. The door man gives you a smile asking for your invite. You slip it out your small purse handing it to him with a returning smile, he scans it nodding his head, opening the doors for you. The gallery was elegant, you were almost thankful the client sent a dress for the occasion.

The dress was beautiful, an ivory dress with beautiful beading and embroidery flowers running over your body like a sash. Your heels click against the tile floors, scanning peoples faces. You weren't sure who you were looking for, you were just kind of hoping they would kind of find you. One of the wait staff offered you a glass of champagne which you graciously accepted. You nurse your drink walking towards a piece on the wall that caught your eye. As you continue to observe it, a hand grazes your back. “There you are, I have been looking for you.” You stiffen, but not from the hand on your back or his breath fanning your ears. No, it was his voice. You knew that voice. Quickly turning your head to the side, you are face to face with none other than your art professor.  

“Mr. Hwang?” you say eyes wide, you always thought Mr. Hwang was handsome in his teaching attire but seeing him in a suit and tie was something you never thought you needed to see. You were glad the blush on your cheeks was hidden behind your makeup. 

“Miss YN? What are you doing here? This is an invite only event.” He asks you almost like he was accusing you for sneaking in or something.

“I was invited, Mr. Hwang, I am just waiting for my date. What about you?” You ask, taking a sip of your wine, trying to hide your embarrassment behind the glass. 

“I am also waiting for my date, which I thought was you because you have almost the exact same dress.” He glances up and down inspecting the dress's detail now that he was up close. You watch his face morph into an expression you haven’t seen on him before and he lets out a small chuckle. “That is actually the exact dress I sent to her.” 

You force a smile on your face, scared to even imagine the possibility of your teacher ordering an escort. 

“Hyunjin!” A woman' s voice pulls you out of your mind. Mr. Hwang quickly pulls you close to him, whispering in your ear “Play along.”

“Ms. Kim, Sorry I was looking for my girlfriend.” His hand grazes the small of your back turning to give you a smile. 

“Oh. I didn’t know you were seeing someone.” She glances your way, eyes showing a slight disgust towards you.

“Yes, so if you excuse us I have some people I would like to introduce her to.” Mr. Hwang laces his hand into yours pulling you away from the woman who was looking rather pissed.

“She seems lovely.” You let him lead you around the corner, pulling you into the wall as he blocks you in. From the outside it might look like a couple who can't keep their hands to themselves but the way Mr. Hwang was looking at you nothing of the sort.

“What are you doing here for real Miss YN.” 

You cross your arms looking at him. “It's really none of your business. You can’t control me outside the classroom.” 

He reaches up with one of his hands grabbing your jaw, “Glad to know you still have that smart mouth outside the classroom.” He lets go after he takes in your shocked face, stepping back grabbing his phone he pulls up a screen turning it to show you. You glance and see your companies website 

“I never would have taken you as someone who would get an escort.” You stand a little straighter, voice a little softer. This was the guy who was paying you and now you really need to put on your best behavior, even if he is the teacher you despise the most. 

“For situations like this, it’s easier than asking someone on the side of the road. Just play the part as the girlfriend, and you have knowledge about some of the stuff they are auctioning off. Make a good impression.” 

“What’s this event even for? And why is a professor here of all places? No offense Mr. Hwang but can you even afford this? You know with your teacher salary.” 

Mr. Hwang's head falls down slightly, shaking it as he lets out a small laugh. “I’m so much more than just a teacher, Miss Yn. I’ve lived a life before you even met me.” 

Before you can get another word in, Mr. Hwang checks his watch “Let’s go, we have some mingling to do. Remember what I told you.” He reaches out his hand waiting for you to accept it. You glance from his hand to his face, the glasses on his face sitting perfectly on the bridge of his nose. The smile on his face reaching his eyes with another emotion you haven't quite placed. You place your hand into his as he leads you back into the crowd.

It's been a few hours of the small touches you and Mr. Hwang were giving each other throughout the night to appear as a couple who were in love. You were talking to a woman named Sana who you met in the auction room, who you somehow convinced to purchase a piece that you knew was worth more than she purchased it for. 

“Gosh I’m so jealous you were able to get that piece, it has a beautiful story behind it.” you say picking at the bowl of pretzels you both are sharing.

“Do tell.” She says, sipping her drink, waving at the bartender to get us both another round.

“Well of course it's all folktales but basically it's a story of a man who was cursed with 1,000 lives. He was never told how to break the curse and he wasn’t sure what would happen when he reached his thousand. When he reached his 999th life he met a woman, she wasn’t the richest or the smartest but she was the prettiest he had ever laid eyes on. He started doing everything he can to get her parents approval but as a man who has to start over many times in many places he didn’t have much. He knew the girl loved pretty things, especially these beautiful ivory flowers that bloomed only once a year on the highest mountain. So when the time came, he set off to gather those flowers. The journey was long and treacherous but he eventually got them, when he made his way back to the village it was unfortunately too late.”

“What why? Was she married off?”

“No, she passed. It said that she was on a hunt for a bird egg in a high tree. A bird that the man had as a pet when he was younger. When the man heard of the news his heart broke.”

“Then what happened.” Mr. Hwang's voice rings out from behind you. 

“Yes then what happened?”

“Nobody knows. That's why the bird's nest is filled with those ivory flowers, and that’s why it's empty. We don't know.”

“What the fuck kind of story is that? Beautiful? You have a weird definition of beautiful yn.” Sana says laughing out, chugging down the rest of her drink. “But thank you for the story, I'll definitely look at that painting in a new light. It was lovely to meet you and it was nice seeing you once again Hyunjin. Bring her to the club once and a while. It would be nice to have another girl to talk to.” Sana slides out the chair reaching into her purse sliding her card towards you. “Call me if he ever lets you out alone. Hiding a gem from the rest of us. Jihyo would love her.” 

Mr. Hwang laughs., “Yeah she would probably try to take her from me. But we will talk about it. Have a good night Sana.” 

Sana waves at you both leaving Mr. Hwang next to you. “You ready?” He extends his hand. Mr. Hwang leads you to the front where his car is already waiting. Mr. Hwang opens the door helping you in. The ride was quiet, you just take in the building lights shining brightly outside. 

“Thank you.” 

You turn to face him with a confused look on your face, “for?” 

“For tonight, even though you were paid. I had fun, and it was actually impressive that you got Sana to buy art. She is more interested in jewels.” Mr. Hwang lets out an airy laugh. 

“You seem to know Sana well?” 

“Jealous?” he gives you a quick glance, his lips twitching into a small smirk.

“No, curious. You don’t really talk about yourself in the classroom.” 

“That's mostly because you and your friends like to give me a hard time. Plus I doubt you want to hear about this old guy's life. It’s rather boring.”

“Well getting a little glance into it, it doesn’t seem that boring.”

Mr. Hwang shrugs “Maybe.” 

You both fall into a comfortable silence when his voice comes out again. “Are you hungry?”

“Oh, it’s okay, plus it's passed our agreed time frame. I couldn't.”

“I’m not asking you as YN the escort, I’m asking as a concerned man in a car with a girl whose stomach is extremely loud to the point I can hear it.” 

You roll your eyes, “If it's not too much, I would love to eat.”

“Perfect, I know a great place.” 

You didn’t expect the place to be Mr. Hwang's house. You never imagined you sitting on a bar stool as you watch him cooking away in the kitchen. He insisted on cooking, saying no places would be open this late. Now you watch him, with his button down sleeves rolled up revealing his toned arms. The apron he has on is bright against the black and white attire he was wearing. Every once and awhile he would push up his glasses as they slowly slide down his nose. 

His house was something you thought you needed to imagine but now that you think about it, it's exactly what you would think. Papers scattered all over the coffee table, blankets tossed over the couches. Photos of people you saw at the auction and haven't seen before on his shelves. You get up from your seat walking to the shelf finding photo of what you assume is Mr. Hwang and his college friends holding their diplomas with giant smiles on their faces. You scan the assortment of books on his shelves and his art along the walls.

“Come eat.” He calls out from the kitchen, setting down a plate where you last were sitting. “Do you want something to drink? I have water, tea, beer, and juice?” 

“Water is fine.” 

While you ate you both kept a flow of conversations to fill in the silence. You couldn't believe you were having a conversation with him without his snark remarks. You found yourself laughing at his jokes and being engaged in his stories. Soon enough you both ended up on the couch both drinking a bottle of wine that he popped open. You weren’t sure if it was the buzz of the wine finally hitting your system or the way he was staring at you but you leaned in, planting a kiss on his lips. Shocked, you quickly pulled back, mumbling an apology when he reached out behind your neck pulling you back into him.

“Can you help me take off my glasses?” his breath fanning against your lips. You reach out pulling his glasses off his face as he pulls you in for a kiss. The kiss was hesitant at first, he slowly leaned back to look at your face. The blush on your cheeks fanning across your faces, "I wanted to do that all night.” he places another quick kiss on your lips, slowly making his way down your jaw and kissing below your earlobe. The small moan that slips out doesn't go unnoticed by him as he sucks light marks onto your neck. 

You let go of the tight grip you had on his glasses, bringing the back of your hand to your mouth trying to muffle the moans you are letting out. 

“No baby, let me hear. You are always so vocal in class, let me hear it.” His voice vibrates against your neck as he makes his way down kissing your collarbone and going down to the neck of your dress. His hands softly graze up and down your exposed thigh. You sigh when he reaches back up to your neck sucking harder. When his face finally reaches back up to you he kisses the side of your lips. Hand coming up rubbing his thumb against your lips, you part your lips tongue slightly touching the pad of this thumb. He lets out a small groan.

“Do you wanna be a good girl and let me show you how to use your mouth instead of testing me in my classroom?” 

You nod, as he grabs a small pillow placing it between his spread legs. He grabs your hand leading you between him. “I forgot to tell you but you look so beautiful tonight, and right now. Come on, pretty, kneel for me.” 

You slowly drop to your knees, hands on your lap, waiting as he slowly unbuttons his shirt exposing his chest and stomach. You watch in awe with how tone he actually is underneath all the sweaters and ties he wears to school. You must have been gaping for a while when he decides to speak out.

“Do I need to teach you how to give me a blowjob?” 

He leans over in front of your face, a surprised look on your face.

 “No. I can do it.” you say pushing his shoulders back so his back is on the couches back. He places one hand behind his head as he keeps his eyes on you. You reach out to slacks unbuttoning them. You were so eager to see him, yes you talked about how big he was to your friends. Many of the girls did, Mr. Hwang was gorgeous, smart and kind. Many wanted him, but here you are about to suck him off.

Mr. Hwang lefts up his hips as you pull down his slacks along with his boxers. His dick springs free, slapping against his abdomen. He hisses out when you grab the base of him, laying your tongue flat against the bottom of his shaft, licking your way all the way to the tip. You feel his body stiffen and relax when you place him in your mouth. You continue your way down getting as far as you can, your hand covering the parts that your mouth can’t take. You hollow out your cheeks, bobbing your head up and down. 

With your other hand you reach out your hand to touch his exposed hip, gripping harshly as you try to swallow him whole. His head falls back as he lets out a breathy groan, it is music to your ears as you rub your thighs together trying to relieve yourself. You let out a moan against him, He quickly reaches his hand behind your head grabbing your hair pulling you back. You slide off his dick with a quick pop before he stands up pulling you to stand on your knees. 

A few quick breaths in you are back onto him, this time Mr. Hwang forces himself deeper into your throat, moaning up at the ceiling with the warmth and wetness of your mouth. His head falls back down seeing your big eyes, glossy, staring back up to him. 

He feels hot against your tongue, throat contrasting against him as your swallow, soft moans vibrating as he refuses to move. His hand slowly caresses your cheek with a grin on his lips. 

“Now if this is a way to get you to shut the fuck up in class i might have to start giving you private lessons.” you feel him press his hips further into you, tears threatening to fall. And as the first tear slides down your cheeks he begins to thrust harshly into your mouth. The noises of you gagging around him and the grunts he is letting out, make your head dizzy. Mr. Hwang’s rhythm begins to become erratic and sloppy, the grip on your hair becoming tighter. 

You are sharply being pressed into him, with a loud moan as you feel his hot cum fill your mouth, he stalls for a moment as he pulls out of you. “Let me see.” He lifts your chin as you open your mouth showing him the mixture of his cum and your saliva. Mr. Hwang bends over slightly letting his own saliva slide out mouth dropping it down into yours. You watch as he continues to observe, the mixture slowly falling out the corners of your mouth.

“You can swallow now baby.” His voice was soft as he helped you off the floor, eyes never leaving you. You open your mouth showing him that you swallowed everything. He buries his face into your neck once again leaving dark marks over the previous ones. 

“Jump.” his voice muffled between your skin and his kisses, you jump, his hands fly to the bottom of your thighs face never leaving your neck. He turns leading you both to his room. 

He slowly lowers you into the bed, hovering on top of you as his mouth kissing all over your face.

“Youre so freaking beautiful.” he places a kiss on your lips, deepening it as your hands grip the back of his neck pulling into you.

He pulls back, hands reaching under your dress pulling down your panties in a quick motion. You both climb higher onto the bed as you both fumble with your dress, getting frustrated, he rips the front of the dress. Nipples perking up at the cold air hitting them.

“Mr. Hwang.” you gasp out as he went straight for your breast sucking your nipple into his mouth. 

“Hyunjin. Call me Hyunjin.” He says against your skin switching his focus on the other one, and he kneads the one he just left. 

You moan out his name, feeling even more excited with calling him his first name. Hyunjin ruts against your thigh hearing his name fall so prettily from your mouth. Hyunjin pulls away from your breasts looking at the red splotches he left scattered around your body. He looks back up to you, you were really something out of a movie. Pupils blown, chest rising and falling, hair a mess across his pillows, he always thought you were pretty but right now in this moment you were so breath taking, he wanted to frame this moment. 

“Please hyunjin.” you whine out, hands grabbing at this waist trying to get him to bury himself into you. 

“Please what baby?” Hyunjin grabs one of your legs, lifting it over his shoulder, kissing your inner thighs, slowly moving down to your feet, placing a kiss at your ankle, the arch of your foot. Your back arches off the bed with his lips making connection with your foot again letting out a moan. 

“Oh, are your feet that sensitive? Does that feel good baby?” He kisses at your heel then at the flat of your feet. Your toes arch at the sensation you feel across your body. The feeling was so overstimulating you felt it on your lower back. You choke out a moan, as the pleasure builds up in your eyes, slowly falling out. Hyunjin groans as he watches you cry out his name. 

He places your leg back over his shoulder, kissing at your tears on your cheeks. 

“Don’t worry pretty, I'll make you feel so good.” he says as he rubs himself over your wet entrance, coating himself in your wetness before he aligns himself at your core. Hyunjin slowly pushes in letting your body get used to his size. Your moans dance around each other as he slowly begins to thrust into you, every thrust back into you goes deeper and deeper until he stops when you reach the bottom. He falls into your neck, sucking at the spot of your collarbone before licking it. Hyunjin bites straight down, as you moan out and he pulls out thrust harshly into you. 

All the stimulation to your body has more tears leaving your eyes, mouth fully open gasping on air as he pounds into you. Hyunjin can feel the way you tighten and relax against his dick. Hyunjin pops up looking at your face giving you a kiss to the side of your face. 

‘Fuck you feel so good baby. Like you were made for me.” he moans out, thrusts never faltering. 

Your nails scraping against his back only added more pleasure to hyunjin. His name comes out of your lips like a prayer being repeated over and over again. You thrust up your hips to meet his, earning a deep groan in the back of his throat. 

“I- I’m close Hyunjin.” Your words fighting against the gasps that leave your mouth. 

Hyunjin doesn’t reply to you, but you can tell by the way he thrusts into you harder and faster that he has to be just as close. His hand reaches between you rubbing circles around your clit, the sensation surprises, vision turning white as you gasp, cumming. 

“Hyunjin’s hand continues to rub circles around your clit only faster and hasher. Your back arching off the bed as you feel the pleasure build up again.

“Another one, please god YN please another one.” He watches the way your face morphs back into pleasure as he becomes sloppy with his thrusts and hands. 

Before you can get a word out about cumming, you felt a weird snap and a gush come out of you. Hyunjin watches as you squirt all over this stomach, dripping down onto the bed. Your pussy fluttering around his dick, where he feels his restraint snap as well, cumming right into you. You moan as you feel him fill you up, the overstimulation being too much for you now.

Hyunjin presses his forehead onto yours whispering “god you were such a good girl for me.“ he slowly pulls out, you could feel your combined juices flush right out to you. Hyunjin uses his fingers to push the leaking cum right back into you earning a mix of a moan and whimper.

“Holy shit you are perfect.” he gets up gathering a towel to help clean you up and then dressing your tired body in some of his clothes pulling you in next to him. Falling asleep to your little breaths.

It's been a couple of days since you saw Hyunjin, nerves start to fill your body as you make your way to his classroom. You peek in the door scanning the room for your professor. 

“Dude the fuck you get attacked by?” jeongin comes up from behind you pulling down your jacket. You swat his hand away from you turning back into the room seeing the coast is clear. As you walk to your seat you see a wrapped box laying on it. 

“Why is there a huge box on your desk YN?” Jeongin asks taking his spot behind you. 

‘I don't know” you mummer out. Picking up the note smiling to yourself as you read it.

‘I told you Sana loved jewels more, luckily for you I had something she wanted so this is for you. Dinner tonight?’ 

“Alright class, let's take our seats and get started.” Hyunjin's voice rings across the classroom, your eyes meet and he gives you a smile turning to get the lesson started.

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[luxcuriousao3]

Based on this post by @dante-mightdie . One line of dialogue taken directly from it so all credit for that goes to them!

Warnings: misunderstandings, mentions of murder (no violence or murder actually happens), pregnancy, no smut, ~1200 words

“I’m pregnant.”

The silence that followed your declaration was nerve wracking, and you drummed your fingers against the dashboard of Simon’s car. You’d been coming back to the pub you met him at for three weeks straight since that damn test had turned up positive, wanting—no, needing—to at least tell the man who’d knocked you up about his baby growing inside you. You didn’t expect anything from him, not really. He was a stranger, a ruggedly attractive man you’d gone home with after one too many drinks. Not that you’d regretted hooking up with him, he was as good in bed as he was hot—or at least you hadn’t until you’d missed your period.

You’d nearly given up on meeting him again when you walked into the pub today and saw him in the same corner booth he’d sat in last time, nursing a pint. He hadn’t smiled when he’d seen you, but his eyes had locked onto you and not strayed as you strode towards him, nervous but determined. When you’d asked to speak to him in private, he’d raised a single brow, letting the silence stretch on for so long you were sure he’d say no. But then he’d just gotten up and walked towards the door, holding it open for you and clicking his tongue when he turned around to see you frozen in place. Like a misbehaving child being scolded, you’d scrambled towards him, whispering a stuttered thanks and then following him to his car, cheeks hot.

The car in which you now sat, still stifled by silence as Simon just stared at you, face blank and giving nothing away. You swallowed thickly, a shaking hand pressing against your belly, a habit you’d unconsciously picked up over the last few weeks. Simon’s dark, penetrating eyes tracked the movement, lingering for a long moment before he suddenly reached over you, ignoring your surprised flinch to grab your seat belt and buckle you in. Before you could ask what he was doing, he’d thrown the car into reverse and peeled out of the parking lot, making you grip the handle above you for dear life.

“S-Simon, what— what are you doing?” You asked, doing your best to keep the tremor out of your voice. Simon just grunted. “We have— we have to talk about our options—”

“What options?” He asked, voice flat and deadly. “Ring options? Mortgage options? Paint swatches f’the nursery?”

You shut up, tears stinging your eyes at his mocking. You weren’t going to ask him for any of that, but it still hurt to hear him be so cruel. You turned away to look out the window, the light from the streetlamps the only thing penetrating the inky darkness of the night. Shadows crawled out from the forest, making a shiver run down your spine.

“Just take me home,” you whispered, dejected. “Please…”

“I am,” Simon answered, still in that same emotionless tone.

You didn’t know if you believed him.

Your gut feeling was proven right when he parked the car in an abandoned lot, wooded and secluded and a perfect place to murder the mother of his unwanted child before disposing of your body. You sat stiffly in the passenger seat as he climbed out of the car and walked around to your side, opening the door and holding out his hand for you. You stared at him, eyes wide, frozen like a deer in the headlights. He huffed in what could have been amusement but was probably annoyance, reaching over you once again to unbuckle you before scooping you up and carrying you deeper into the lot.

“See that tree?” He asked, nodding towards a sturdy looking oak. “That one branch stickin’ out’d make a good place ta hang something from.”

Oh my God, you thought, feeling dizzy and nauseous. Is he going to hang me and make it look like a suicide?

“There’s a pond down there,” he continued, and to your minor relief, walked right past the tree. When you reached the pond a minute later, he finally set you back on your feet. “S’dangerous. Fully grown man could drown in it.”

You flinched, your breathing picking up. He’s going to drown me instead. Simon turned to look back up the hill he’d just carried you down, his back facing you. It was now or never. If you wanted to live, you needed to run.

“Gonna have to build a fence ‘round it. Not too high though, don’t want ta mess up the view from the house—”

You didn’t hear the rest of what he was saying, already halfway up the hill by the time he cut himself off. A gruff, angry “hey!” had you moving double time, nearly clawing at the ground just to get to the top faster.

You didn’t make it.

Strong, thick arms wrapped around your middle and lifted you in the air, and you screamed, shrill and terrified.

“No! No! Let me go!” You begged as you flailed in Simon’s firm grip. It was useless—he was so much stronger than you, so much larger than you, and his hold on you was unbreakable. He didn’t say anything as he carried you back down the hill, towards the pond, towards your death, and your shrieks turned into sobs as big, fat tears rolled down your cheeks. You were hyperventilating, now, animal panic wrapping its hands around your throat and squeezing, cutting off your air. Or maybe those were Simon’s hands? You didn’t know, you couldn’t think straight through the fear. All you knew was that you didn’t want to die.

“Thinkin’ we could name the baby John, if it’s a boy.”

The words filtered through your panic after an indeterminate amount of time, and you slowly came back to yourself, the blackness leaving your vision. The first thing you noticed was that you were cradled in Simon’s lap, face tucked into the crook of his neck as he murmured softly in your ear. The next thing you noticed was that one of his hands was rubbing your back soothingly, while the other rested on your belly. You let out a confused, snotty croak, and his voice quieted, before he pulled back a bit to look down at you.

“You back with us, love?” He asked, but then gently shushed you when you whined. “Shh, s’alright. Try not ta get all worked up again, hmm? S’not good for the baby.”

“But— but— but you don’t want it,” you whispered. Simon blinked at you, the slightest of furrows appearing between his brows. “You’re g-gonna kill me…”

“Am I now?” He tsked. “That’s not very nice of me.”

You whimpered, squirming in his lap and trying to get free. His face softened minutely, and he started rubbing your back again, still not letting go.

“Shh, shh,” he repeated. “S’alright, love. M’not gonna hurt ya. Was just makin’ a shite joke, yeah?”

It took another few minutes of you struggling (and failing) to escape, and him cooing gruff reassurances at you, before you gave up.

“You’re not gonna kill me?” You finally sniffled, scrubbing at your wet, red-rimmed eyes. Simon’s lips twitched into an almost-smile, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. You relaxed, practically melting into him as your heart rate started to slow. Maybe you had been wrong. Maybe Simon really wasn’t dangerous.

“I’d eat my gun ‘fore I hurt ya or our baby,” he vowed.

You stiffened again.

“You have a gun?!”

[p0orbaby]

act ii: date @ 8

summary: that’s what happens when you get it on in a multi-storey

warnings: SMUT 18+

a/n: a little something something to tide you guys over

word count: 1.3k

-

Strangely, Leah’s still in her kit, socks rolled down, Arsenal crest stretching across her thigh, and yet she still looks fucking good. Post-win adrenaline still buzzing under her skin, jaw clenched, hands twitchy, like scoring wasn’t enough. Like the energy still needs somewhere to go.

You. She needs you.

That’s why her hand is already between your thighs before the car door even properly shuts.

“We should get home,” you say, voice all weak, half-hearted, because you both know that’s not happening.

Leah smirks, fingers flexing against your thigh. “Nah.”

She tugs, you move, and suddenly you’re in her lap, back hitting the steering wheel, knees pressed into the cracked leather of her seat.

“You’re obsessed,” you mutter, just before she kisses you, open-mouthed and filthy, tongue brushing over yours like she’s been starving for this, starving for you.

It’s messy, rushed, teeth clicking together in your eagerness. Leah groans into your mouth as you roll your hips down against her, her hands gripping your waist, guiding you exactly where she wants you.

“Fuck,” she mutters, head tipping back against the seat.

You take the opportunity to press your mouth to her jaw, her throat. It’s an old trick, one that never fails, and sure enough, Leah lets out a sharp breath, her hands tightening around you.

“This is not fair,” she murmurs, but her hands are already pushing up under your top, fingertips dragging over your stomach, higher.

“You started it.”

“I’m finishing it, too.”

She says it like a promise, like a threat, and then her fingers slip into your shorts, and all you can do is gasp, clutch at her shoulders, bite your lip to keep from moaning too loudly.

It’s desperate, all of it. The way she’s touching you, the way you’re grinding down against her fingers, the way the car windows are already fogging up, condensation clinging to the glass, blocking out the world beyond.

Leah is muttering something against your skin, words you can’t make out, her breath hot, her fingers faster—

And then—

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Your brain doesn’t immediately register it. It’s Leah who stills first, head snapping towards the voice, the very familiar, very exasperated voice that is much, much too close.

“Oh, shit,” you whisper, heart sinking, stomach plummeting straight through the fucking floor.

You both turn your heads at the same time.

Lotte.

Standing right outside the car, eyes wide, looking like she’s just walked in on her parents going at it.

Behind her—oh, because of course—Katie McCabe, hands on her hips, eyebrows so far up her forehead they might never come down again.

You feel Leah’s hand move between your thighs, hastily retreating, and you think about maybe dying, right here in this car.

Lotte makes a sound like she’s been traumatised for life.

“I knew it,” Katie says, way too fucking delighted. “Told ya, Lotte. Told ya they’d be shagging in here.”

Lotte looks at her like she’s just been betrayed in a deeply personal way. “And you still made me check?!”

Katie shrugs. “Had to be sure.”

Leah groans, dragging a hand over her face, already slumping against the seat like this is physically paining her. “You two are actual weirdos.”

Katie grins. “Bit fucking rich coming from you.”

Lotte still hasn’t recovered. She’s rubbing her temples like she’s suddenly developed a migraine. “I can never look at you two the same way again.”

Leah glares at them both. “Okay, well, now that you’ve had your fun, you can leave.”

Katie just leans against the car, looking entirely too smug. “Dunno. Might stay a while. It’s kinda nice out.”

Lotte looks physically ill. “I hate you.”

Leah makes a strangled noise, already reaching for the door handle, but Katie’s quick, hopping backwards, hands up in surrender, still grinning.

“Alright, alright, we’re going.” She winks, throwing one last glance at Leah. “Try not to fog up the whole fucking car park, yeah?”

And with that, she drags Lotte away, their laughter ringing through the otherwise quiet garage.

The moment they’re gone, Leah groans, forehead dropping against your shoulder.

“This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You can’t stop laughing. You can still hear Katie and Lotte laughing somewhere in the distance, but Leah is seething, muttering expletives under her breath, forehead still pressed against your shoulder like she’s genuinely considering murder.

“They’re fucking dead,” she grumbles.

You’re still laughing. You can’t stop laughing, even as Leah pulls back, eyes burning with frustration, cheeks flushed red, hair a mess from your fingers.

“You think this is funny?” she asks, and fuck, she looks hot like this—pissed off, turned on, all adrenaline and leftover aggression from the match.

“Kinda,” you admit, biting your lip, your hips still very much straddling her lap, very much pressed against her, and when you shift even slightly, the way she hisses is enough to kill any amusement.

Her hands clamp down on your waist, holding you still, her breath ragged.

“I was fucking you,” she says, voice low, dangerous. “And they ruined it.”

You swallow. Hard.

Because she’s still looking at you like that. Like she needs you. Like she’s about two seconds away from saying fuck it and taking what she wants anyway, caught somewhere between frustration and feral.

You push at her chest, just enough to lean back slightly, your fingers dragging down the sweat-damp Arsenal jersey, over the embroidered badge, the ridges of her toned stomach underneath.

“We could still…” you start, teasing, but Leah’s already moving, already pushing the seat back as far as it’ll go, fingers gripping at your thighs.

“I’m gonna finish what you started,” she murmurs, dragging you closer again, her mouth hot against your jaw. “You’re gonna let me fuck you properly this time.”

It’s not a question.

Her hands slip under your top again, this time with more purpose, rougher, more desperate.

The first time was rushed, messy. This time, it’s something else.

Because now she’s pissed off. And she’s going to take it out on you.

She tugs at your shorts, pushes them down just enough, her fingers slipping past fabric, past heat, and fuck—she groans at how wet you are, her forehead pressing against yours, her lips parting in something close to disbelief.

“Jesus Christ.”

Her fingers drag over you, teasing, taunting, and you let out a shaky breath, your hands gripping at her shoulders, nails digging into the material of her jersey.

She doesn’t even bother being slow. She’s already worked up, already there, and she wastes no time pressing two fingers inside, stretching you open, swallowing your sharp little gasp with her mouth on yours.

The pace she sets is fast, unforgiving, her other hand gripping your hip, guiding your movements as you grind down against her.

She’s muttering things, half under her breath, between kisses, between ragged exhales—

“Wanted to do this all fucking day.”

“You feel so good.”

“Gonna make you come right here.”

And you can’t even answer, can’t even think, because she’s relentless, her fingers curling inside you just right, her thumb pressing against your clit, her mouth trailing down your neck, biting just enough to make you squirm.

The car windows are fogging up again, condensation clinging to the glass, and you think about how obvious it must look to anyone walking past, about how you should care—

But Leah groans, low in her throat, and you stop thinking about anything else.

Your body tenses, your breath catches, and Leah—fucking Leah—she knows, she feels it, her pace quickening, her grip tightening, her voice going all low and coaxing—

“That’s it, baby.”

“Come for me.”

And when you do, when you break apart above her, clenching around her fingers, gasping her name against her lips—

She doesn’t stop.

She doesn’t stop.

Because she’s still pissed off.

And she’s still not done with you yet.

[willowed-wisp]

apocalypse sex [ könig ]

You are in Austria when the zombie apocalypse strikes- you and a pretty blue eyed stranger called König aim to survive together

You didn’t remember how it went down, that crashed feeling piling onto you was all that could be mustered… the excruciating pain which followed.

Left in the street to die. But you weren’t dead, if only in the days to come. The early days of the apocalypse.

Glad to be in a bed, better than the cobblestone streets you’d been dumped on. Vague snippets filtered through, light eyes furrowed with unneeded worry- arms easily cradling you. That’s when slumber betrayed you. Probably whose bed you found yourself in.

Incoherent words spilled from a masculine voice, surprisingly gentle in your ears. Yet, you couldn’t understand what the man was saying, “I don’t understand, I’m sorry…”

“I said, I’m glad you’re awake… you weren’t well.” Not feeling ‘well’ either, but able to move. Though when you did, a hand rested on your shoulder and you met his face… the same kind eyes in your hazed dream. Something so young about a face that had seen too many atrocities. “Why would someone harm British national?” He must have seen your ID, you couldn’t blame him.

You laughed the nerves away, “I was speaking to the wrong guy, apparently…” The man didn’t laugh, not even cracking a smile. You wondered if he actually could look anything but worried on the verge of tears. “I’ll be on my way… I don’t want to be a nuisance.” Everywhere ached but you’d had worse, a police officer by trade in London. That’s why when this mountain of a man blocked your way, you reached for the imaginary gun you had been specially trained to you in unforeseen situations.

“It’s not safe out there,”

“To me, it doesn’t feel safe in here…” That’s only when you noticed the static on the television huddled in the corner. Strange… you were in Vienna, there must have been service. That doomed look on his face told you as much, “How long was I asleep for?”

“A day…”

“And what’s happened in that day?” Peeking out the window, fire consumed some of the city while trash scattered the streets. Ignoring the people walking. “Rioting?”

He shook his head, “A weapon was released… infecting anyone by the bloodstream.” It clicked.

“Zombies?” You sounded much too nonchalant… that’s why you were in Vienna, investigating reports for HQ. You unfortunately rubbed people up the wrong way in Austria. “Fuck… we need to get moving…” He watched you walk across the room, out to the living area of his apartment. It was bare, lifeless as if he was never there on the frequent. “I never asked your name. I’m Y/N.”

You sat on the sofa while he loomed, “They call me ‘König’,”

“Who’s they? You’re friends?”

He looked out of the window. Hung up on one detail. “You’re taking this zombie problem too well, officer…” He was too observant for his own good.

“Who are you, ‘King’?” You were smarter than you looked… he admired that in an adversary.

Something in his eyes toyed with you, a buzz of some kind. “I’m your friend, we’re going to need each other to survive out there…”

That you agreed on.

You laughed in his face, “You really want to finish unsigned paperwork now?”

“I need to get to my work… they have things we’re going to need.”

When you arrived, it was burned to the ground. “König, we need to go.” It had all moved so fast, those first weeks. Luckily both of you able to handle yourselves, what you really needed to were guns… to no avail.

König drove most of the time, the only time he looked at peace. You hadn’t really spoke much, always having your eyes wide open for potential threats. But in the countryside, where very little people inhabited- you could exhale properly for the first time.

Especially when you found a possible refuge. Passing by a lake- you saw an island out in the clear waters and on the tuft of green in the turquoise glimmer, you spotted a cabin. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“A decent nights sleep?” It didn’t take long to find a rowing boat on the dock your side of the lake. Both equally doing your work, loading up any supplies you had acquired on the way. Tinned food, bottles onto of bottle of water. Luckily König was a big guy… and you couldn’t stop watching him in that previous week.

He had saved your life with an axe in the grocery store, it seemed to be his preferred weapon choice. Ever since, you couldn’t stop the wondering.

The settlement looked like a holiday outlet, it was out of the way of civilisation and had its own livestock on the stretch of island behind your viewpoint on ‘mainland’. Cows, chickens… it was there. Luckily you watched your farming programmes…

König did the security sweep of the two story property himself, deeming it clear. “Still has electricity…” He marvelled.

“There’s a wind turbine out back and solar panels on the roof… these guys were ready for an apocalypse…” Head up looking at the haven you had uncovered, not paying mind… crashing into the body beside you. His hands held the back of your head and your the base of your back. In an ode to keep you upright.

He made you feel incredibly small, “Gotta be careful, kleine dame…” You almost blushed at his handsome smile, eyes shining down on you.

That night you sat by the fire, in the cozy cabin. Having eaten soup beforehand… life couldn’t be too bad like that. Huddled under a blanket, too preoccupied staring at the warm lit visage of the man who had saved your life more than once. Before he peered back in you, a lopsided grin on his lips

“Doors locked?” You asked before heading to bed… a nice comfortable bed instead of the inside of that crappy Peugeot you’d picked up along the way.

He hummed a ‘yes’ to you. All power off, all windows boarded up. “The people who lived here had an eye for security systems…” How he knew the code was beyond you but you’re pretty sure he said he’d grown up nearby and fished the lake with his grandfather. You shrugged it off.

Going downstairs you noticed the pictures hanging up, on the second floor landing. A remarkably tall boy stood with his grandparents- catching his first fish… this was König’s place…

You stepped to the room he’d settled in for the night, only to find him dripping wet from a shower. Only in a towel hung around his hips, “I’m sorry, I should’ve knocked!” Before darting out of the room… too focused on the rippled flesh of his abdomen rather than the colours of the walls. You checked on the livestock, naming each of them in your head. Getting mixed around every time they moved.

A hand grazed your hip for a split second, “This was your grandparent’s cabin, wasn’t it?” He gave a nod. “And you’re the guy with good tastes in security systems?”

He seemed trapped in his own thoughts, “I knew it was safe here, we’d have everything we needed… and yeah I’m the security guy-,” You didn’t care, hands placed on his scarred forearms- craning your neck up, kissing König. Just a small token of your growing affection. He tasted like sea salt and smelled like ginger and sandalwood. “Damn, you beat me to it…”

A hand pressed against what felt like rock but was in fact his chest, “We’ve got many more of those to come…” Not helping the purr in your voice, sultry to a fault. All completely intentional.

Though, something told you he’d have trouble initiating anything.

You were truly mistaken.

That night, nails dug as fingers wrenched in his growing out dirty blonde hair. Tongue riveted along your folds, watching him work before he flicked the sweet spots you didn’t even know existed. That had your head against the dining table, toes curling on the edge. Fingers added, corkscrewing in and out of your wet pussy had you whimpering. Only able to get part of his name out.

His hands wrapped around your ankles, propping onto his shoulders. Bending your legs so your knees were at your waist, mouth invading deeper. Kissing and marking his territory, careless moans thrown into the void. Curses tossed out, fingers teasing your bud while he devoured.

Tasting yourself on his lips, fucked out already, “This isn’t over, prächtig.” Draping your legs around his hips, holding your ass as his carried you to the bedroom you’d found him half naked.

Walls a dark grey and military decor splattered here and there. Fingers at your chin, kisses twining the two of you. A shared effort to get the t-shirt over those broad shoulders. Hot, bare flesh under your fingertips. Muttering a swear, open-mouthed adoration consuming you. Tracing along rough and ready skin, he keened away, “Sensitive? How ‘bout here?” A palm at his denim, you witnessed König melt. Caging you in under him, never breaking contact.

Thick fingers teased- delving at a slow pace - curling at that sensitive patch inside. Breathless gasps coming from you in ebbs and flows, “Be loud, schatz…”

“Still so shy, even after making me come on your tongue…” Caressing his soft cheek, eye contact broken. Clenched down only for him to pick up the slack- feeling yourself gush with a wail. Grasp on his forearm tightening, your face pitifully scrunched up. Mouth carved to an ‘o’.

König’s warmth gone as he stood, tall and domineering. Unbuckling his belt, though you could see the outline in the blue fabric before. White underwear, black elastic at the top. Subdued but in tune to your surroundings, your eyes wide. His height corresponding at the thick, lengthy outline. Scarred hand giving it a rub, looking down at the mess in between your legs… the pool on the already dark covers. “Fucking hell…” It slapped across the trail of dark hair down the lower half of his stomach. V-line encasing the well defined cock in front of you.

How was it ever going to get inside you? You hadn’t had sex in a while, and this was the thing that would prize you open. You salivated thinking about it. His weight dipped against yours, seating between your legs. “Don’t look so scared, Y/N,” A thumb against your bottom lip, claiming both once again. Laying you down, the same thumb rubbing your face. “I’m going to go slow…” Resting on his knees, you couldn’t help but touch the thickness. He huffed so sweet at whatever touch you gave him.

Lifting your hips up with one of the pillows, legs stretched to fit his hips. Cold air hitting your bare parts, his legs filled the chill. You didn’t look, as his tip sank in. A sharpness turned into pleasure as the rest of him burrowed inside of you. Hands stapled to his neck- look at every twitch in König’s features. A loud groan from him, “Scheiße…” All that more attracted to him from that angle, incoherently in a void between dizziness and suffocation. Fleshy walls swollen around his girth. “I don’t think I can control myself, schatz…”

Your mind delirious and vision like a kaleidoscope, “Give it to me…”

König struggled to move, which made his movements more erratic. Hands everywhere on him, maiming him any time he bucked. Movements not rough but pent up.

Wriggling too much, his hands clamped down on your raised hips while ploughing you. Lifting your ass off the bed, fucking into you. Slaps of skin and strained choruses of teeth gritted screams was all that could be heard. Discomfort outmatched by carnal tears… He knew when you came- each time you did. Pulsing around him, almost pushing him out. That’s why he ground so deeply. And that’s when he’s name came out in a squeal.

Before his body buckled, hilted in you. Holding your wrists down, all while you milked him dry. So right, so soft… all his from now on. This giant of a man inside of you.

What a way to spend the zombie apocalypse…

————

Thanks for reading :)

————

masterlist

[altruistichellhound]

Prey vs Predator

Louis x Fem!Hybrid reader

In this you are a grey wolf snow leopard. Angst to half way good ending.

Warnings include: Implied smut, mentions of sex, Louis being a dick…

I exhaled softly through my nose, watching the deer get out of the bed we had just shared. Per usual I laid there as he left without even looking back at me. Stop, I need to stop… This one was the last time. I’m a carnivore, an apex predator, he was nothing but a deer. A deer that had me in the palm of his clawless hands. This was never going to happen again.

That’s what I said last week. Tonight the room was heavy with a haunting need. One so deeply engraved it was as if it was carved into my very bones. His hands ran down from my blank stomach to my leopard spotted thighs. He traced the spots with his finger teasingly. As his hands roamed his grip went between light and thoughtful, to rough and demanding. I couldn’t help but let out a shaky breath. However, something was shaking my focus. I inhaled deeply, catching a sent different than his. It was not something, but someone that had caught my attention. The smell of a rabbit was barely prominent on his coat.

Leaving my body Louis fell to the bed, both of our heavy breaths filling up the room. We had rules, a lot of them, but the question was nagging at me. Who was this rabbit? These thoughts kept me silent and motionless, finally Louis spoke.

“Aren’t you going to leave?” He turned his head to look at me.

My heart skipped a beat when he looked at me, “Yeah,” I sat up in the bed, “actually… I was wondering, you smell like a rabbit?”

His eyes filling with anger he snapped at me, “That’s none of your business now is it?”

I rolled my eyes at him, “Whatever,” collecting my clothes I dressed swiftly and practically ran out of the room.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" I looked up to see who I had just ran into. Looking down on me on was deer with a large set of antlers. The sun cascaded over his more than slightly serious face. I quickly scrambled to my feet, brushing off my school uniform.

“It’s fine, be more careful next time,” he patted at his green jacket.

While both his tone and eyes were very simplistic there was a snobbish air about him.

“y/n,” I spoke as I looked into his eyes.

“Louis,” he extended his hand out to me which I accepted.

Shaking his hand he had a strong, firm grip. Suddenly it clicked in my head, “Aren’t you the main actor of the drama club?” Star of the show and whatever?”

“Yes that would be me.” It sounded like something that he was proud of, “Goodbye then,” he nodded to me as he walked away.

From that moment on I thought about him daily. When I showed up to drama club that same day it was not a shock to see him, though he seemed somewhat surprised to see me. What surprised him even more was that being able to look at me entirely he noticed my wolf face, but my spotted legs and wide bushy tail. Over weeks of watching him lead the club, the way he spoke, walked, carried himself… All reasons that led us up to this point. His strength and willfulness was admirable. Always being among the strongest animals in the room it was not often I felt weaker than someone. When we first slept together I’m not sure who was more shocked.

“Let’s set ground rules then,” Louie stood facing me with his arms crossed. “We both have reputations to uphold.”

I nodded in agreement, “Yes I think rules are a good idea.”

He hummed at my agreement, “First and foremost this is between you and me, no one else.”

I agreed to that before he continued to speak, “Second, no meddling in each others personal lives. There is no reason to know each other beyond this and the club.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, “You mean no small talk then? I’d prefer to know the person i’m sleeping with.”

He left out a sigh that sounded somewhat understanding, “I suppose that’s not unreasonable…” he thought for a moment, “We can get to know each other. However, you can know me; not my personal life or the things that surround it.”

I again nodded as that sounded more reasonable. He further explained some more rules such as no discussing our “situation” in public, acting as no more than acquaintances in drama club and a few other simple ones. I only had one more rule to add on.

“Either of us can call this off at any time, no questions asked,” I reached out my hand to shake on out agreement.

He thought about my rule only for a second before reaching out and firmly grabbing my clawed hand.

“Why are we going to the gardening club?” I looked at Legoshi whom looked back at me.

“Ah.. I wanted to visit a friend…” His tail swayed back and fourth seemingly excited but nervous.

“How come you didn’t go alone?” I questions him lightly.

“I think I want you to meet her?” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“You think?” I asked as we arrived at the club.

It was beautiful, the sun gleamed against the plants and its warmth swallowed up my fur. It smelled deliciously of flower and herbs. Another more delicious and mouth watering scent caught me by surprise. A very familiar scent of a red deer. Legoshis head dropped in concentration, obvious he had caught that same smell. I looked at him unsure of what to do, he looked back and walked over to a small building. I followed closely behind before he lifted his hand carefully to turn the knob. Before he could the door swung open causing him to yank his hand back.

There is the door way stood Louis, wide eyed, a shocked look covering his face. Behind him stood a small white rabbit.

“Legoshi?” He spoke before looking behind the wolf at me, “y/n?”

My jaw dropped and I spit words out, “Oh I uh, I forgot! Jack needed my help with..” I began backing up. “I’ll catch you later Legoshi!” I turned to leave, the second I was out of sight I sprinted away.

The rest of the day I avoided Louis the best I could. It was stupid really, it’s not like I was his girlfriend. We were just friends, hell not even friends. Then why? Why were my cheeks hot with anger? What was this wretched feeling in my stomach that made me want to hurt anyone that looked at him? A feeling of dread consumed me as I considered skipping drama club. I could run away to my dorm, but then Louie would know that I care.

Instead, I dragged myself to drama club. I would prove to not only him, but myself, that I in fact did not care who he was with! When I arrived at the club Louis was outside, with a rabbit. That same damn white little rabbit as before. She was as tiny and meek as they come. Louie brought his hand up to pat her head gently. I clenched my teeth together so hard I thought my canines would shatter, the rabbit walked away. I stood there in a towering stand of rage and jealousy. Suddenly, a hand was on my shoulder. I turned to look at whoever it was, a grey would stood towering behind me. Before he could say something I spoke up.

“Who is that rabbit from the gardening club?”

His face contorted into a mixture of shock and happiness, “That’s Haru!” He half shouted at me before slapping his hands over his mouth.

I raised an eyebrow at him, “Haru huh?”

We walked into the club together, Louis looked at me the same way he always does. I wasn’t sure if it was good that he was pretending nothing happened, or if it was the worst thing possible. Either way it’s what he was doing and I wasn’t going to contest that. Whilst the club proceeded like normal Bill was unusually flirty with. Every so often he would throw a harmless comment at me. Staring and offering more help than usual. It seemed that the others had noticed this, specifically Louie who almost looked jealous. It dawned on me that in more recent drama club news Bill had been dumped by his girlfriend not all that long ago. It was more than obvious to me that he wasn’t actually interested, he needed an ego boost. I wasn’t most inclined to be the person to help him, however it seemed as though it would benefit me. While I was never going to actually let him near me, it seemed enticing to flirt a little.

I could feel eyes burning into the back of my head. It made me nervously excited. After club had ended everyone began to back their bags and get ready to head home as the sun was setting. Just as I was about to leave Louis asked me to stay behind momentarily to discuss a few set displays with me. Without a word he locked the door after everyone was gone, he practically pounced on me. It was like I was the poor meek prey and he was like big scary predator ready to devour me whole. His hands were rough and full of greed, kisses hungry and ready to take my body as his own. After we were finished the night confirmed two things, one: I was in love with a deer, and two: I had to have him as my very own or not at all.

The choice in my mind was solidified, either Louis would commit to me or I would be leaving him forever. I could handle it if he rejected me. What I couldn’t handle is being in this position any longer. The air was cool today, clouds partially covered the sun. I had asked Louis to meet me outside behind the dorms, it was private and no one really came back here. I stood there, leaning against the brick with my heart beating out of my chest. In the distance I spotted a distinct set of antlers.

“Why did you call me here?” Louie stood right in front of me, his voice as cool as the air.

I sucked in air and my nerves along with it, “I’m… Well i’m not sure how to being this up.”

His face looked annoyed, “Would you spit it out?”

“I want to end this, our situation.” I put emphasis on situation.

He looked at me to see if I was serious, “Okay. I know it’s rule but seeing as you break them I can too. Why?”

Exactly what I had hoped for, “Because I fell in love with you.”

He thought about it for a second, “Okay.” He walked away.

While my face remained calm inside I was furious. Okay? What did he mean okay! I waited for him to walk away before I turned, punching the brick wall. It crumbled underneath my powerful hand, as well as my own bones.

“Fuck!” I shouted into the sky.

The next day my hand was wrapped and healing. My heart was still bleeding heavily and Legoshi had been nothing but questions.

“I still don’t understand why you hit that wall.” He looked at me with an empathetic look.

I sighed heavily, here’s to breaking our rules right? “I was sleeping with Louie, and when I told him I love him all he said was okay.”

Legoshi stared at me plain faced, zero expression and no word, “Legoshi?” I quipped.

He didn’t respond, still stuck in time. “Oh my god did I break you!” I grabbed his hand and yanked on it, “Wait I need someone to talk to!”

The large wolf snapped out of it, “You’ve been sleeping with Louie? WHAT.” He practically screamed at me while somehow falling out of his chair.

When he scrambled to his feet I explained everything, how we met, how we ended up sleeping together, our rules, and most importantly how I fell in love. It was then he also told me that he too had fallen in love with a herbivore.

“We’ll look at us,” I said, “Falling in love with our food.” I couldn’t help the cackling laughter that followed.

“Cosmic joke, I know.” He laughed with me.

“I guess I have to quit drama club…” I said sadly.

“What?” He asked me with a concerned tone, “You love drama club, you can’t quit because of him.”

I looked at him with defeated eyes and explained to him how I just couldn’t face Louis. He argued back, telling me I couldn’t let one person ruin my passion. I decided he was right, I couldn’t let someone ruin something I had worked so hard for. Legoshi walked with me that day, we walked in together and I put on a fake face of uncaring confidence. It was easy to ignore Louis as he had also decided to ignore me.

After drama club was over I walked out with Legoshi. He told me about how he was going to the gardening club to say hello to Haru and ask her to dinner. I watched him walk away, looking back at the door I wondered if I should go back in and face Louie alone. I had nothing more go lose so why wouldn’t I confront him? The least he could do is give me closure. I walked in together find Louie standing in the middle of the club, he looked at me before quickly looking away.

“Louis we need to talk,” I stepped closer but he didn’t move.

“Louis!” I yelled at him in a stern voice, yet again nothing.

“You are such a coward!” I turn to leave the room, it was a mistake to go back in.

A force ran up behind me, yanking my body towards him I collided with his chest

“What did you call me?” his voice was angry and his eyes looked almost on fire.

“I said you’re a coward! I told you that I loved you and you said nothing! You could’ve rejected me, gave me some sort of comfort.”

He left go of me, “Because I’m in love with you too and i’m scared!”

Both our faces dropped in shock. Louis grabbed me tightly, his hands moved to cup my cheeks as he brought me in for a passionate kiss.

When we pulled away, both breathless I was only able to utter out one sentence, “What do we do now?”

That question was answered by a series of quick pecks and my clothes being removed. Working it out physically was better than words.

[idkdudethisisntpermanent]

Elixir

wednesday addams x female reader

part i | part ii

summary: What happens when your best friend's roommate who you're always at odds with, suddenly becomes uncharacteristically affectionate towards you? Just what was in that mysterious bottle that set everything into motion?

word count: 1.9k

a/n: I've made a taglist! If you want to join, refer to this post

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Friday nights at Nevermore Academy held different meanings for different students.  Some gathered for the Vampire Book Club, an all exclusive group that spent their evenings immersed in gothic horror novels.  Others were part of the secret society, kicking off the weekend by leaving cryptic messages and riddles around the school in search of their next recruit.  And then there were those fortunate enough to be welcomed home by their parents for the weekend.

But for you, Friday nights meant something different. You had no interest in secret clubs or cryptic hunts. Instead, you chose to spend the weekend cozied up with Enid for a movie marathon.

With a grin, the werewolf-in-training held up two DVDs, one in each hand. "Okay, we've got 10 Things I Hate About You and When Harry Met Sally."

You point to the hand holding the first film and Enid squeals excited to begin your long awaited movie night. It's been difficult finding a time where you both could commit to a long task like watching a movie without Wednesday getting in the way.

It wasn't that Wednesday particularly got in the way of these activities, but you both did. You two would inevitably clash when put in the same room together and be at each others throats until you were separated by some brave soul (most of the time Enid).

"Are you sure we won't be interrupted?" You ask as Enid climbed into the bed.  "I don't want to get my hopes up, and believe that I can actually have a moment of peace in your room," you added, recalling all the times you've stormed out of this very room due to Wednesday.

Enid bumps into her drawer as she climbs into bed and almost knocks off a glass bottle with a bulbous base, fortunately you were able to grab ahold of the dresser leg in time and stabilize the furniture before the glass bottle filled with liquid could fall.

"I should probably put this somewhere safer," Enid says grabbing the glass and walking it over to Wednesday's side of the room and placing it on her desk. "And yes Y/n, I've quadrupled checked.  She should be in the car by now, heading home.  Her mom was really insistent on her visiting this weekend, so she had no choice." Once Enid and you cozy up together in her bed and turn all the lights off, you hit play and the movie begins.

"Wednesday will literally deep cleanse this room if she found out we're watching rom coms in it," you laugh as Heath Ledger makes his appearance on screen.

Enid giggles, "Sometimes I think she's a secret romance lover, recently I found out she knew the plot to Clueless."

"No way!  I wonder what critiques she has about that film," you muse sarcastically. "She definitely had to feel some type of way about that yellow outfit."

Enid hums and you notice that she's now engrossed in the film.  Taking the cue, you focused on the screen as well, ready to enjoy your peaceful night together.

Only thing was, you couldn't.

As the film continues, all you can think about was how relieved you are that Wednesday isn't here.  How you don't have to listen to the incessant click-clack of her stupid type writer.  How you don't have to endure her cold, calculating gaze that always seems to dissect your every word and action, and especially how you don't have to listen to her sharp and cutting remarks that always seem to find their mark.

At some point during the movie Enid notices that you were not present and paused the film.  "Okay what's on your mind?"

Absentmindedly not registering her question, you respond, "Wednesday." Your eyes go wide, "Wait! I meant-"

She smirks, "You know Y/n/n, for someone who hates her, you bring her up an awful lot.

You scramble at Enid's statement. What was that supposed to mean? "She's just frustrating you know? Get's under my skin, obviously I'm gonna bring her up."

Wednesday suddenly enters the room following your explanation, and sits at her desk without a word. Then after a minute she speaks, "It's gratifying to know that my efforts have left the desired impact."

You didn't care that Wednesday walked in on you complaining about her however you did care that Wednesday walked in.

You give Enid a look, "I thought she wasn't supposed to be here."  The blue-eyed girl holds her hands up in defense, "She wasn't! I swear she was supposed to be back Monday morning."

She then turns to her roommate and asks, "Wens, what are you doing here? I thought your mom wanted to see you?"

"Something came up," the unconventional girl replies short, not explaining any further.

Enid knew that was the only explanation her roommate would give, and there was no point questioning any further. You however did not care, and narrowed your eyes at Wednesday. "Something came up?" That's all you're going to say? You're just going to crash our night with no explanation?"

Wednesday raises an eyebrow, her voice cool and detached. "I wasn't aware I needed your permission to be in my own room."

"You know that's not what I'm saying," you snap back, frustration bubbling up. "You always do this—just show up and take over, like no one else matters. We had plans, Wednesday."

"And now you have new plans," she replies evenly, not a trace of guilt or concern in her voice. "Plans that include me."

You let out a groan. "But that's your problem, you can't just conform to our plans. You always give Enid and I shit for the things we want to do and we always end up catering to your needs. This is exactly why we can't get along. You never consider anyone else's feelings. It's always about you, your needs, your twisted games."

Wednesday's gaze narrows, and her tone turns icier. "If you can't handle a simple change in plans, that's your weakness, not mine. My presence shouldn't be so disruptive unless you're letting it be."

Letting it be?! You couldn't just let this dark kooky girl think that she has some sort of effect on you.

"Oh, don't flatter yourself, Wednesday," you retort, standing your ground. "Your presence isn't 'disruptive' because I'm weak, it's disruptive because you deliberately make it that way. You thrive on pushing people's buttons, and I'm not about to give you the satisfaction."

Wednesday's expression remains unchanged, but there's a flicker of something in her eyes—amusement? "Is that so? Then why are you so bothered by it?  If I truly had no effect on you, you wouldn't even be arguing with me right now."

You clench your fists, struggling to maintain your composure. "Maybe I'm bothered because I care about Enid, and you're always in the way. Maybe I'm just sick of you making everything about yourself!"

Wednesday's eyes narrow further, and her voice drops to a whisper.  "You care about Enid, yet you argue with me, knowing it will disturb her. Perhaps you should examine your true motivations, because from where I stand, it seems you're more interested in clashing with me than in protecting her peace."

You scoff, "I don't know what you're implying." Behind your cool nonchalant front you were panicking, worried that Wednesday will say something that you did not want to hear.

You glance over at Enid who is picking at her nails, calculating the perfect time to break you and Wednesday up without getting hit in the crossfire.

"I'm sorry Enid," you say genuinely. As much as you hate to admit it, Wednesday was right, you're a hypocrite. You know how much it bothers Enid when you and Wednesday fought, yet you always find yourself caught up in these verbal battles with her.

Giving Wednesday one last glare, you storm out of the dorm room not knowing where exactly you're headed. All you know is that you're done with the movie night—and done with Wednesday.

As you march down the hallway, footsteps echoing behind you catch your attention. You don't slow down, but you know exactly who it is before she even calls out to you.

"Y/n, wait!" Enid's voice rings out, filled with concern. You sigh, your pace slowing down automatically.

Enid catches up to you, and grabs onto your arm incase you decide to storm off again. "Please talk to me, I know you're upset."

You find your frustration start to crumble as you sense the concern in your friend's eyes. "I don't know Enid," you begin, your voice quiet. "It's like every time I'm around her, I get so worked up. And tonight, I just couldn't take it anymore. I'm so tired of feeling like this, I'm just constantly on edge around her."

Enid carefully listens, her expressions softening with empathy as you speak. "I get it Y/n. But you don't always have to fight her. Sometimes walking away is the best thing you can do for yourself and for her."

You nod, understanding where Enid was coming from. "You're right, I guess it's just hard when she knows exactly how to get under my skin. And tonight when she accused me of arguing with her for some other reason, like it was something I wanted. It just got to me." You finish in a whisper.

"She has a way of getting to everyone, but that doesn't mean you have to let it affect you so much. You've got to take care of yourself too." She smiles gently.

"Yeah, you're right." As you look at Enid, you can see the worry in her eyes, not just for you, but for Wednesday too. You get it. Wednesday is her friend as well, and even though she came running after you, she's probably also concerned about how Wednesday's handling things. Not that anything in this world could really faze her, but still, Enid cares.

You sigh dreading your next words, "Go." Enid quirks her head to the right like a puppy. "Let's go back to your dorm, I have to grab my bag anyways, and... you should check on her."

Enid smiles in relief and gives you a quick hug before you stroll on back to the dorm room of the polar opposite girls.

As you approach the door a sense of unease starts to creep in, but you push it aside. You probably just didn't want to face Wednesday after your heated exchange.

When you open the door, the sight that greets you is... off. Wednesday is sitting at her desk, but something about her looks strange— her normally sharp posture seems a bit more relaxed, and her gaze, usually piercing, is unfocused, almost dreamy.

Before you can fully process this, you hear a soft rolling sound, and your eyes dart down to see Thing, casually pushing the glass bottle that Enid almost knocked over from earlier. It stops right at your feet. You pick it up, turning it in your hands. It's empty.

A chill runs down your spine as realization dawns on you. Wednesday drank whatever was in this bottle.

Enid steps closer, noticing your frozen expression and the empty bottle in your hand. Her eyes widen in alarm, quickly shifting to Wednesday, who now seems to be gazing at you with an intensity that's entirely different from her usual cold demeanor.

"Wednesday?" Enid's voice is hesitant, as if she's afraid of what the answer might be.

Wednesday stands up slowly, her movements uncharacteristically casual. She steps toward you, her eyes locking onto yours, and for a moment, it feels like the air in the room has shifted.

"I'm glad you're back," Wednesday says softly, her voice carrying a warmth that catches you completely off guard.  "I was just thinking... how much better this night would be if you stayed."

Your heart skips a beat for reasons you do not know the answer to yourself. You exchange a bewildered glance with Enid, something is definitely not right.

The room falls silent, the tension thick as you both realize that Friday night just took an unexpected turn. Looks like your movie marathon will have to wait.

next chapter

[paxaz535]

DOUBLE (DATE) TROUBLE {sequel p2}

reader x azzi x nika x paige

nasty, they fuck every day (on day six is a break) but yeah.

this is the (second to last) part, yall are some nasty gals lmfao

hope u enjoy

Nika was sprawled across the couch in a tank top and boxers, legs parted wide like she owned the furniture and the air you breathed. Her phone was balanced on her chest, lazily scrolling through Airbnb listings while you sat on the floor in front of the coffee table, sipping wine and watching her more than your half-forgotten book.

The group chat had been chaos all afternoon.

Paige: “This one has a hot tub, a fire pit, and no neighbors for miles.”

Azzi: “We’re 100% getting banned.”

Nika: “Good. We’ll leave our mark.”

Paige: “On each other?”

You: “Y’all tryna top last time?”

Azzi: “We never stopped thinking about last time.”

You looked up at Nika. “We need to talk.”

She glanced over the screen, one brow raised. “Talk like ‘don’t go,’ or talk like ‘bring the good lube’?”

You exhaled, fighting the grin. “Talk like… you know what’s gonna happen if we’re all under one roof for a week.”

“You mean: ‘horny chaos.’”

Before you could respond, a knock came at the door. Paige’s voice followed: “We brought tequila and several moral dilemmas!”

You opened the door, letting in Azzi and Paige—hoodies, sweatpants, smugness, and all. Azzi made a beeline for the couch, slipping in beside Nika like she lived there. Paige stayed near you, giving you a once-over before tossing her keys on the counter.

“We should actually talk,” Azzi said, suddenly a little more serious beneath the teasing. “Before we get up to the woods and lose our clothes and common sense.”

You gave her a nod. “Exactly what I was saying.”

“We’re not trying to complicate anything,” Paige added, folding her arms. “You two are solid. So are we. But let’s be real: last time? It almost didn’t matter who was in which room.”

Nika tilted her head. “That’s not a complaint.”

“No,” you agreed, “but it’s a line. And I think we need to draw it—together.”

Azzi looked around, then leaned forward on her knees. “I’m gonna say it. I love Paige. But if I ended up bent over something in front of Nika? With you watching? That’s not a betrayal. That’s a vacation.”

Nika’s smirk stretched slow and sinful. “Could say the same about watching Paige make you come, babe.”

You bit your lip, heart thumping harder. “Okay. So we’re saying… still couples. Emotionally. Day to day. But if it’s sex? In the moment? As long as it’s all of us in it together, we’re allowed to swap.”

Paige looked to Azzi. Azzi nodded.

“Bodies, not hearts,” Paige said firmly. “No sneaking around. No feelings for someone else’s girl. But everything else? Fair game.”

Nika turned to you. “Still mine at the end of the day?”

You nodded, stepping in close. “Always.”

“And still yours when I’m fucking someone else in front of you?”

“Especially then.”

Paige chuckled darkly. “This is gonna be a problem.”

Azzi lifted her tequila bottle in a toast. “Here’s to being greedy little sluts… respectfully.”

Nika clinked her drink against hers. “Consensually chaotic.”

You laughed. “Filthy and fair.”

Paige grinned. “Let the week-long of nastiness commence.”

-

The car doors slammed shut one by one, echoing across the gravel driveway and through the trees. The cabin loomed ahead — tall, rustic, and blissfully secluded. Wood-paneled siding, stone chimney, big wraparound porch. The kind of place that was supposed to be for hiking and unplugging.

It wasn’t going to be used for either.

You stretched your arms above your head, spine cracking as you stepped away from the trunk. Nika watched you openly from the driver’s side, dragging her teeth over her bottom lip before popping it free with a smug little click. “Keep that up, baby, and we’re not even making it inside.”

Azzi groaned from where she was pulling bags out of the backseat. “Can we not break the pact five minutes into arriving?”

“No promises,” Paige said, already hoisting a cooler onto one shoulder like it weighed nothing.

The walk to the front door was full of quiet looks and silent innuendos. Everyone remembered what had been said back in your apartment. The boundaries. The rules. The openness. You could practically hear it, even though no one said it outright: We’re allowed now.

Inside, the cabin was better than the pictures. Open-concept main floor, vaulted ceilings, exposed beams, soft golden light pouring through the big windows overlooking the woods. A fireplace sat in the center like the room was built to circle around it — and the bedrooms branched off both upstairs and down.

Nika tossed the keys on the kitchen counter and turned a slow circle, her voice low. “So which room is the loudest?”

“Better question,” Paige said, dropping the cooler, “Which one has the best view?”

Azzi drifted to the living room and leaned against the back of the couch, biting her lip. “We could leave the doors open. No one’s around. And someone might want to watch.”

You felt Nika’s hand graze your back, palm flat and warm. She whispered near your ear, “They’re already plotting.”

You didn’t look away from Azzi. “So are we.”

The group split naturally: you and Nika took the downstairs bedroom — big king bed, private en-suite, door that could shut tight. Paige and Azzi went upstairs, where their window overlooked the firepit and hot tub below.

Unpacking was fast. Clothes folded into drawers, lube tossed in the nightstand. Everyone had brought more swimsuits than actual outfits, and the implication of that settled over the place like humidity.

Later, with drinks in hand and music humming low from a Bluetooth speaker, the four of you gathered on the back deck. The sun was setting through the trees in streaks of orange and gold, bathing everyone in warm, forgiving light.

Azzi leaned back in her chair, sipping something fruity and spiked. “Okay but… are we pretending this is normal? This whole ‘horny summer camp’ energy?”

“I thought that was the goal,” you said.

“Exactly,” Paige said, nodding toward you. “We’re not being weird about it. We talked. We know the rules. I know who I’m sleeping with tonight, and I know what I’m allowed to do to everyone else.”

“Allowed, huh?” Nika said, raising a brow. “That sounds so… tame.”

You turned toward her. “Did you want a permission slip?”

“I want to earn a performance review.”

Azzi choked on her drink.

“Jesus,” Paige muttered, smirking.

The laughter was real, but so was the heat underneath it. No one was touching each other yet, but glances lingered. Knees brushed. No one pulled away.

And even though you were sitting beside Nika, you noticed how her eyes dropped to Azzi’s mouth when she licked a bit of syrup from her thumb. Just like you caught Paige looking at your legs when you shifted in your seat.

You stretched your foot out beneath the table, nudging Azzi’s bare ankle. She looked up slowly, her eyes unreadable for a moment—then her smile turned sly. She didn’t move away.

It had begun.

-

The kitchen smelled like garlic, butter, and sin.

You were sautéing vegetables at the stove while Nika manned the cast iron pan behind you, searing steaks like it was a competitive sport. She’d tied a dishtowel around her waist like an apron, but wore nothing else except black athletic shorts and a smug grin. Every time she leaned past you for salt or seasoning, her chest brushed your back on purpose.

Paige and Azzi were handling the table, clinking glasses and setting out plates with too much sass and too many looks. Azzi wore a cropped UConn tee and shorts that clearly hadn’t been designed for bending over in, and Paige—shirtless, in grey sweats that sat criminally low—kept “accidentally” brushing past her.

“Gotta say,” Azzi called, peeking back into the kitchen. “I didn’t expect y’all to actually cook.”

“We’re multi-talented,” Nika said, not looking up from the pan. “Wanna find out how many ways later?”

“She’s been on one since the drive,” you muttered.

Azzi smirked. “Sounds like she’s still pent up.”

“Sounds like you want her to stay that way,” Paige added, “so she breaks you first.”

The table went quiet for a beat. It wasn’t awkward—it was charged. Everyone heard it. Everyone let it hang.

Then Nika clicked the burner off with one hand and turned to you with her free one resting low on your hip. “Food’s ready.”

You shot her a look. “We’re still feeding them?”

“Temporarily,” she said, grinning. “Then we can eat you.”

⸻

Dinner was… civilized. Barely.

The four of you sat around the wooden table like this was a normal vacation and not the prelude to an agreed-upon sexual free-for-all. Wine bottles uncorked. Plates passed. Eyes drifting where they shouldn’t. Forks paused midair just a moment too long.

“Okay,” Paige said after a long sip of cabernet. “Let’s make a bet.”

“Go on,” Nika said, leaning back with her wine.

“Losers have to sit out tomorrow night.”

Azzi perked up. “Sit out what?”

“Whatever happens. If things go down—” Paige shrugged one shoulder lazily, “—you don’t get to join unless you win tonight.”

“What’s the game?” you asked, intrigued.

“Truth or dare,” she said. “After the hot tub.”

You looked at Nika. She raised a brow like she’d been waiting for an excuse.

Azzi smirked. “Say less.”

⸻

Cabin Hot Tub

The air outside had cooled just enough to make the warmth of the bubbling hot tub feel like silk. Steam rolled off the surface, rising up into the dark trees. The stars were bright above you, crisp and clear.

You sank into the heat with a soft moan, your back hitting Nika’s chest as she pulled you against her. She was bare from the waist up, only a black sports bra and swim trunks, her hands spreading across your stomach like she owned every inch. Which, to be fair, she kind of did.

Across from you, Azzi was practically glowing—tight black one-piece clinging to her like wet sin. Her legs were draped over Paige’s lap, and Paige looked smug as hell, one hand resting dangerously close to Azzi’s inner thigh.

No one spoke at first. It didn’t feel necessary. You were all watching each other too openly for words.

Azzi finally broke the silence, voice husky. “So this is normal now, huh.”

“This is foreplay,” Nika murmured behind you, fingers grazing just under the band of your swimsuit.

Paige gave her a look. “Save it for the game.”

“You assume I plan to lose,” Nika said, eyes gleaming.

Azzi sat up, water slicking down her skin. “Let’s make it even more interesting. Whoever wins the game gets to choose the first pairing.”

Your breath caught—so did Nika’s.

“Oh, you mean like—”

“Exactly like that,” Azzi interrupted. “We all agreed, right? Sharing’s on the table.”

“Only during sex,” you added. “Still loyal. Still us. But in the moment… it’s fair game.”

“Fair,” Paige said. “Filthy. Friendly.”

Nika leaned in behind you and kissed your shoulder. “Then let’s play.”

-

The four of you were draped across the oversized sectional, wet swimsuits traded for dry sweats and oversized tees—well, barely dry. Azzi was still shirtless under her open hoodie, legs stretched out and feet in Paige’s lap. Nika sat with you curled between her thighs, your back against her chest, her hands tucked comfortably around your waist like you belonged there.

The tequila was making the rounds. Music pulsed low, more rhythm than melody. Outside, the woods were black and silent. Inside? Everything was vibrating with tension.

Paige leaned forward, eyes sharp. “Let’s make the first round honest. Truth only.”

Azzi raised a brow. “Who’s first?”

“I’ll start.” You sat up slightly, looking across at Azzi. “Truth: Who’s the one person here—other than Paige—you think about when you touch yourself?”

Azzi didn’t flinch. She looked at you dead-on and smiled. “Nika.”

You felt Nika laugh behind you, low and smug. Her hand slid lower, fingers brushing your thigh under the blanket.

Your turn. “Okay. Nika. Same question.”

“Easy,” she said, dragging a hand up your inner thigh with slow, deliberate pressure. “Paige.”

Paige raised her glass in salute. “Appreciate the honesty.”

Nika’s turn. “Paige. When’s the last time you thought about touching someone else here?”

Paige tilted her head. “Last night. In the shower.”

Azzi turned toward her. “Which one of us?”

Paige licked her lips. “You and her,” she said, nodding toward you without apology.

Your mouth went dry.

Azzi gave a lazy smile. “Noted.”

Nika shifted behind you, her voice a quiet growl. “I think we’re past the talking phase.”

Azzi sat up straighter. “Then dare it is.”

The room thickened.

Paige smirked. “Dare for you,” she said to Azzi. “Kiss Nika. Not sweet. Not soft.”

Azzi didn’t blink. She rose from the couch, stepping barefoot over to you and Nika. “You good with this?”

You looked up at her. “You know the rules.”

Nika tugged her arm around you tighter, tilting her chin up toward Azzi. “Don’t be shy now.”

Azzi leaned in and kissed her—and fuck, it wasn’t sweet. It was hot, slow, claimed. You felt Nika hum against your back, her fingers digging harder into your hip while Azzi’s hand slid into her hair and held. It lasted a beat too long. Maybe two.

When they pulled apart, Nika looked dazed, eyes dark. “Damn, Az.”

Azzi just smiled and walked back to Paige.

Nika exhaled hard and turned her mouth to your ear. “Your turn to play.”

You nodded slowly, nerves buzzing electric under your skin. “Dare me.”

Azzi looked at you. “Touch Paige. Mouth only.”

Paige shifted, spreading her thighs a little wider, eyes fixed on you. “You coming or what?”

You stood, pulse in your ears, and crossed the room. You knelt in front of her, hands on her thighs, and dipped your head between them.

The sound Paige made when your tongue first touched her—low, wrecked, needy—sent a jolt through everyone in the room.

Azzi watched, lips parted. Nika stood, walked up behind you, and gently pulled your hair back just enough to see your face working Paige over, to see how Paige was squirming from your mouth.

“You’re gonna make her come,” Nika said, quiet and possessive. “Make her fall apart and send her back leaking for Azzi.”

“Then I’ll do it,” you whispered—and you did.

You worked Paige slow and deep, holding her open until she was gasping and shaking, fingers twisted in your hair, half-cursing under her breath. Azzi leaned in, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.

“God, you look good like that,” she murmured.

Paige came with your name half-formed in her throat, and you only pulled away once she slumped back into the cushions, breathless and undone.

You stood. Nika kissed your cheek.

“Fuck,” Azzi whispered.

Then she turned to Nika. “Dare.”

Nika raised a brow. “You sure?”

Azzi didn’t hesitate. “Use your fingers. Right here. Right now.”

Paige sat up slowly, dazed but eager to watch. You crossed the room back to Nika, but she pulled Azzi toward her instead, sat her down on the couch, and spread her legs wide. Azzi let her, tilting her head back with a groan as Nika slipped her hand into her shorts and down beneath.

Azzi choked out a sound the moment Nika touched her.

You watched. Paige watched.

Azzi rocked into it—needy, wrecked—and Nika didn’t hold back. She fucked her slow but deep, drawing filthy, wet noises from between Azzi’s legs until she was whining, grinding into her palm, mouth open and flushed with pleasure.

And when Azzi came, shaking against her, Nika looked over her shoulder at Paige. “Still think I’m gonna lose the bet?”

Paige just laughed, breathless. “We all already lost.”

-

After that game, there was no pretending left.

Clothes came off in the hallway. Kisses landed wherever lips could reach. Hands roamed, greedy and wild. And when the four of you spilled into the master bedroom downstairs—sheets clean, lights low, music still thumping softly from the other room—it didn’t matter who belonged to who. Not right now.

Paige sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread, her chest rising and falling hard as she watched you kneel again—only this time, it was Azzi between your thighs, hair pulled back, lips slick and eyes locked on yours. She was working you over like she meant to win something for it, and maybe she did. Her mouth was insane, all teasing tongue flicks and sudden plunges that made you choke on your breath.

Behind you, Nika had a hand tangled in Azzi’s hair, guiding her pace even as her other palm dragged down your back, fingers pressing at the curve of your ass.

“You like that, baby?” Nika murmured, voice wrecked. “You want me to watch you fall apart on her mouth?”

You couldn’t even speak—you just nodded, hips grinding helplessly toward Azzi’s face. She hummed like she was proud of herself.

“Fuck,” Nika whispered, kissing the back of your neck.

On the other side of the bed, Paige had Azzi’s spot now—her head between Nika’s legs. Azzi had turned to watch, flushed and panting, licking her lips like she was memorizing the way her girlfriend’s tongue moved. Nika lay back, legs spread wide, a hand in Paige’s blonde hair, jaw slack from what must’ve been relentless pressure.

“Holy shit,” you gasped, eyes flicking to Paige’s face. “Is she always like that?”

Paige didn’t answer. Couldn’t. She had Nika right on the edge already, hips twitching, knuckles white from how hard she was gripping the sheets.

Azzi slid up your body, still between your legs, and kissed you—slow and dirty. You could taste yourself on her tongue. She moaned into your mouth, her fingers already trailing between your legs again.

“You’re so wet for us,” she whispered. “You’ve been dying for this, haven’t you?”

You nodded, desperate.

Nika came with a shout behind you—loud and sudden, her thighs squeezing Paige’s head as she arched off the bed. You watched it happen over Azzi’s shoulder, breath hitching at the sight of her losing it. She always looked hot when you made her come, but watching someone else do it?

You wanted to ruin her after.

Nika caught her breath, eyes fluttering open, locking on yours.

“Your turn,” she said, and reached for Azzi.

Azzi let herself be pulled, rolling off you and into Nika’s arms like she’d been waiting to be handled like that. Nika flipped her fast, shoved her onto her back, and kissed her like she meant to claim her. Azzi moaned into it, legs parting easily, hands already tugging Nika’s briefs down.

You turned to Paige.

“Come here,” she said, voice low and thick, reaching for you.

You straddled her without thinking, her hands instantly on your hips, her mouth dragging up your chest until her tongue flicked at your nipple and made you gasp.

“God, you taste good,” she muttered. “How does Nika let you leave the bed?”

“She doesn’t,” you groaned, grinding down against her thigh.

Behind you, Nika had two fingers inside Azzi and was fucking her open with slow, deep strokes. Azzi writhed, arms over her head, whimpering like she didn’t care who was watching—wanted to be watched.

You could feel Paige hard between your legs, her strap thick and pressing just right as you rolled your hips into her. She kissed up your throat, breath warm against your skin.

“You want it?” she whispered, rocking up against you.

You nodded.

“You sure?” she teased, dragging her tip through your wetness. “This still Nika’s?”

“She’s watching,” you panted. “So don’t hold back.”

That made her grin. “Oh, fuck yeah.”

She slid into you—deep, slow, stretching—and you swore so loudly you heard Nika laugh through a moan. She didn’t stop fucking Azzi, but her eyes were locked on you, watching how you took Paige, how your mouth dropped open when she filled you completely.

“That’s my girl,” Nika said, voice hoarse. “Take her cock like I trained you to.”

Paige groaned. “Jesus Christ.”

You rode her harder, back arching, hips slapping against hers. She met every thrust, her hands gripping your ass, her mouth dragging over your chest like she couldn’t get enough.

And Azzi? She came with Nika’s mouth on her tits, her moan shattering the air as she writhed under her—flushed, sweaty, beautifully undone.

You came next, shaking against Paige’s chest, biting her shoulder to muffle the scream. Paige didn’t stop until your legs gave out. Until you collapsed on top of her, chest heaving.

The room smelled like sex. Like sweat and heat and victory.

No one spoke at first. Just the sound of breathing. The shifting of limbs.

Then Nika leaned back on her elbows, still between Azzi’s legs, and said, “Well.”

Paige laughed, breathless. “Round one?”

“Definitely round one,” Azzi mumbled, completely fucked out.

You curled against Nika again as she wiped you down with a lazy kiss to your temple.

“Still mine,” she whispered.

“Always,” you said, lips brushing hers.

But your eyes met Azzi’s across the room—and she smiled, slow and promising.

-

Morning, Day 2

The sun was barely up when you rolled over and found Nika flat on her back, arm draped over her eyes, a smirk already ghosting across her lips.

“Someone’s walkin’ funny today,” she murmured, voice thick with sleep.

“Pretty sure you’re the one who screamed,” you shot back, stretching luxuriously as the sheet fell off your bare chest.

She cracked one eye open. “You tryna get eaten before breakfast?”

You smirked. “Not today. You’re resting.”

That got her attention. “Excuse me?”

You were already pulling on a loose crop top and soft shorts, nothing underneath, just enough to tempt without giving her what she wanted. Nika sat up, eyes narrowing, clearly clocking the tease in your every movement.

Before she could pounce, you kissed her cheek and whispered, “It’s our turn to play.”

⸻

You and Azzi were already at the kitchen island when Nika and Paige wandered in, still half-asleep and wearing last night’s smugness.

You shared a look with Azzi and struck.

Azzi leaned over the counter in her sleep shorts, tank top riding up her back just enough to show skin. “Sleep okay?” she asked, voice smooth.

“Barely,” Paige muttered, rubbing her neck. “Got attacked.”

“You’re welcome,” Azzi said, sipping orange juice slowly, deliberately licking the condensation from the rim.

Nika’s eyes dropped to your thighs where you were sitting cross-legged on the counter, sipping coffee. No panties. You could feel the draft and knew she could see it.

You raised the mug, like cheers. “Hope your fingers aren’t sore.”

“Oh, baby.” Nika looked ready to start something. “You keep flashing me like that, I’ll use my mouth instead.”

Azzi made a mock-scandalized sound. “At breakfast?”

You bit your lip, feigning innocence. “What? I’m just sitting.”

All day, it continued.

Azzi swam topless. You lounged across Nika’s lap but never let her touch. You bent over “accidentally” in front of Paige while Azzi made eye contact with Nika and bit into a peach obscenely. Every time Nika or Paige reached for either of you, you’d both laugh and pull away.

“No touching,” Azzi sing-songed around dinnertime. “We’re busy.”

“You’re gonna regret this,” Paige warned, voice low.

Azzi winked. “That’s the plan.”

⸻

Bedroom – Night 2

Nika and Paige were sprawled out on the bed, smug, shirtless, waiting for their “reward.”

You and Azzi stood at the foot of the bed, backs straight, eyes locked.

No more teasing.

Time to destroy.

You moved first—pushing Nika back onto the pillows, straddling her waist, dragging your nails down her stomach. She blinked up at you, surprised, but didn’t fight it. Not yet.

Azzi climbed over Paige, grinding down just enough to make her groan, but instead of giving her what she wanted, she pinned her wrists to the mattress.

Paige raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Oh,” Azzi echoed, and kissed her hard, deep, slow—before pulling away and saying, “You don’t get to run shit tonight.”

You leaned down to Nika’s ear. “That goes for you too.”

Then you started.

Nika was already hard in her strap, but you didn’t ride her—no. You teased her the way she always teased you. Grinding just barely. Letting your slick heat drag over her cock but never letting her all the way in. Her hands twitched on your hips and you slapped them away.

“No touching,” you whispered.

She growled. “You’re gonna make me beg?”

“Say please and I’ll think about it.”

Across the bed, Azzi was wrecking Paige’s composure. Her strap-on still hung untouched at her waist while she ground down against Paige’s abs, tongue flicking over her nipple, nails scraping her chest.

“You always get to lead,” Azzi whispered, lips brushing Paige’s jaw. “Tonight? You get used.”

You let Nika slip inside—just an inch. She moaned, hands curling into the sheets.

“You wanna fuck me so bad, don’t you?” you asked sweetly, rolling your hips just enough to make her twitch.

“God, yes,” she groaned.

You pulled off of her entirely.

She swore under her breath.

Azzi bent Paige’s legs up and slid her cock inside slowly, watching her girlfriend grit her teeth and try not to buck.

“You stay still,” Azzi whispered. “You take it.”

You kissed Nika—open, filthy—while rubbing her clit slow, teasing.

“I could make you come just like this,” you whispered, stroking her, “without ever letting you inside again.”

Nika was breathless, begging now, too wrecked to be smug.

You finally rode her, slow and punishing, dragging it out while Azzi pounded Paige on the other side of the bed, keeping her arms pinned above her.

Paige came first—loud and biting Azzi’s shoulder. Nika followed, swearing your name, clutching the sheets like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

And you and Azzi?

You high-fived over their fucked-out bodies.

“You good?” you asked her, grinning.

Azzi wiped sweat from her brow. “Oh, I’m great.”

⸻

Day 3

The house was quiet when you woke, sunlight filtering in, the sheets still damp with last night’s filth.

You stretched, pleasantly sore, and looked over to find Nika already awake—arms folded behind her head, watching you with that calm, unreadable face she wore whenever she was planning something.

You rolled onto your stomach, chin propped on your hand. “You mad at me?”

Nika raised an eyebrow. “Mad? Baby… I’m impressed.”

A pause.

“But also,” she added, voice dropping, “you’re absolutely fucked later.”

Your stomach fluttered.

⸻

Everyone was lounging after a lazy lunch, half dressed, still buzzed from last night’s high. You sat curled on one end of the couch, Azzi beside you, both of you smug and content. Paige sat across from you, legs spread, tank top damp with sweat from chopping wood earlier.

She caught your gaze and licked a popsicle slow—ridiculously slow—then winked.

Azzi nudged you with her knee. “They’re up to something.”

“Obviously,” you whispered, but couldn’t help the grin.

You didn’t know what they were planning.

But you knew it was coming.

⸻

Night 3

The lights were low. The room smelled like candles and clean sheets. Paige and Nika sat at the edge of the bed—fully clothed. You and Azzi stood in front of them in just your underwear, still laughing from earlier.

“Alright,” Paige said, voice smooth. “That was fun. You got your little victory.”

Nika nodded. “Cute, really.”

Then she stood, closing the gap between you and her in two slow steps.

“But now it’s our turn.”

Before you could react, Nika spun you around and shoved you gently back against the bed. Paige caught Azzi and pulled her down into her lap with a firm, possessive grip.

You blinked, surprised.

Nika kissed you—deep, hot, tongue taking its time as her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your panties.

“No teasing tonight,” she murmured. “You get used.”

You moaned before you could answer.

⸻

You were on your knees, face pressed into the mattress, Nika behind you with one hand gripping your hips, the other in your hair.

“This how you wanted it?” she asked, voice right at your ear. “Make me beg one night and crawl for me the next?”

You tried to speak but all you could do was nod, fingers clutching the sheets as her cock slid in—deep, steady, making you sob into the bed.

She didn’t go slow. She fucked you open, hips snapping hard, her name tearing from your throat in stuttered cries.

“Louder,” she ordered, spanking you once, sharp and hot. “Let her hear you.”

Across the room, Azzi was straddling Paige’s face, hands on the headboard, riding with abandon. Paige’s grip bruised her thighs, mouth locked onto her like she hadn’t eaten in days.

“Oh my god,” Azzi cried out, hips jerking, eyes rolling as she came—hard, messy, loud—and Paige didn’t let her go, didn’t slow down, kept licking until Azzi collapsed forward with a whimper.

Nika pulled out suddenly, dragging you up by the hair, then shoved you back down onto the pillows.

“On your back,” she ordered. “Legs open.”

You obeyed instantly, already trembling, already soaked.

She slid back in and bent over you, face close, one hand pinning your wrists above your head as she fucked into you with merciless rhythm.

“Thought you were in charge?” she growled, watching your expression break. “Thought you were gonna take control?”

You moaned so loud it echoed.

Paige had Azzi on her hands and knees now, pounding into her from behind, one hand wrapped around her throat, the other teasing her clit with slow, cruel circles.

“Say it,” Paige demanded. “Say who owns this pussy.”

Azzi choked on a gasp, voice high and fucked out. “You do, baby—fuck, Paige—!”

You came hard when Nika bit your shoulder and thrust deep, deep, staying inside while your whole body shook around her.

She held you through it, forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged.

“You still mine?” she whispered, voice wrecked.

You cupped her face. “Always.”

⸻

The four of you lay tangled together, bodies sticky and spent, the covers somewhere on the floor. Nika had her arm around you. Azzi was curled into Paige’s chest.

You reached out and linked pinkies with Azzi across the middle.

She smiled, eyes half-lidded. “Day four?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Azzi smirked. “Shower. Sauna. Maybe a little partner-vs-partner…?”

Paige groaned, eyes closed. “You two are gonna be the death of us.”

Nika pulled you closer, lips brushing your temple.

“Then we die happy.”

-

You wake to the sound of birds and the soft click of the shower in the en suite. Nika’s not in bed. You stretch, sore and satisfied, then drag yourself up and shuffle toward the sound.

She’s in the shower, water running over her shoulders, hair slicked back. When she hears the door, she turns lazily, already smirking.

“Back for more already?”

You hum, stepping in behind her. “Didn’t say stop, did I?”

⸻

SCENE: Cabin Kitchen – Later That Morning

Azzi’s got a towel slung around her neck, sports bra clinging to her damp chest, and a banana in hand—definitely eating it with intent. Paige watches her like she already knows the game, but plays along anyway.

“We should sauna today,” Azzi says, licking her thumb.

You glance at Nika, who raises a brow.

You: “We turning up the heat?”

Azzi grins. “Let’s make it interesting.”

Paige leans in. “Define interesting.”

Azzi: “Team bet. Pairs stay the same. We go in. No touching. No kissing. Just teasing.”

You add, “Whichever pair cracks first—moans, begs, or breaks—loses.”

Nika laughs. “And the losers?”

You lean over, lips barely brushing her ear. “Get tied up tonight.”

⸻

Sauna

It’s already unbearable after three minutes.

You’re sitting across from Nika, legs wide, glistening sweat rolling down your thighs. Azzi’s beside you, back arched just enough to be disrespectful, while Paige—directly across from her—looks like she’s in pain trying not to look.

The rules are simple: no touching. No kissing. No moaning. Just pure restraint.

Azzi casually runs her fingers through her hair, lifting it off her neck, exposing the long stretch of skin.

Paige clenches her jaw.

You slowly tilt your head back, lips parted, one hand sliding down your own stomach and almost—almost—between your thighs.

Nika watches, breathing a little too hard, cock straining under her shorts.

Azzi whispers in your ear, soft and evil: “I give ‘em five minutes.”

You smile. “Generous.”

Two minutes later, Nika breaks.

“You fuckin’ brat,” she snaps, standing up and crossing the sauna in three strides. “That count as losing?”

You bat your lashes. “Only if you beg.”

She grabs your jaw. “I will tie you up tonight.”

Paige—still silent—suddenly stands too, yanking Azzi to her feet, eyes blazing.

Game. Over.

-

The ropes are soft but unforgiving, looped snug around your wrists and secured to the headboard. You and Azzi are lying side-by-side, bare and stretched out, arms bound above your heads, legs spread wide, thighs already slick. The air smells like sweat and candle wax. Heat hums beneath your skin.

Nika and Paige sit on the edge of the bed, still fully clothed. Still smug.

Nika runs the back of her hand down your inner thigh, not touching anything important yet—just close. Her voice is low, full of syrup and threat.

“Look at you. All that talk in the sauna, and now you’re tied up like you want to lose.”

You smirk despite the throb between your legs. “Maybe we did.”

Nika grabs your chin and makes you look her in the eye. “Then you’re gonna regret it.”

Next to you, Azzi’s hips jerk as Paige trails a single finger from her navel down between her legs, stopping right at the top of her slit. Paige doesn’t move it—just lets it sit there, heavy and warm, right where Azzi wants it most.

Paige hums thoughtfully. “I think we should take our time with this.”

Azzi tilts her head back, biting her lip hard. “Fuckin’ tease—”

Paige slides the tip of her finger lower. Not inside. Just slow, steady pressure along the seam. “What was that, baby?”

Azzi gasps.

Nika climbs between your legs and drapes your thighs over her own, spreading you wide. You’re dripping already, your slick smeared across your inner thighs from just a little teasing. She licks her lips.

“Didn’t even touch you yet,” she murmurs.

She doesn’t kiss your clit. Not yet. She starts with everywhere else—your stomach, your hips, the crease between your thigh and pelvis. It drives you mad. Your arms strain at the rope without meaning to.

You pant. “Nika—come on—”

She finally licks once, slow and flat from your opening to your clit. Your whole body jolts.

“That’s not begging.”

You groan. “Please. Please eat me. Please.”

She smiles against you and dives in.

⸻

Paige is being just as cruel on the other side of the bed. Azzi is a mess already—writhing, flushed, moaning in soft little bursts. Paige kneels between Azzi’s legs, her strap glistening from lube and Azzi’s spit, but she hasn’t used it yet. She’s got two fingers slowly, agonizingly fucking Azzi open, curling them just right but never fast enough.

Azzi throws her head back, hair fanned out over the pillow. “Fuck, Paige, please—I can’t—”

Paige slides her fingers out and smacks Azzi’s inner thigh hard enough to make her squeal. “Shut up.”

She climbs up her body and kisses her—deep and dirty, tongue pushing into her mouth like she owns it. Then she pulls back just far enough to mutter:

“You lost, baby. You don’t get to ask for anything.”

She grabs Azzi’s hips and lines the strap up, teasing the tip over her entrance, not pushing in yet.

“Beg properly, or I make you wait all fucking night.”

Azzi’s eyes flutter. “Please, Paige. I need it. Need your cock. Please—”

The second the words leave her mouth, Paige thrusts in hard, bottoming out in one long, unrelenting stroke.

Azzi screams.

⸻

Your eyes roll back when Nika presses two fingers into you while her tongue circles your clit just right—tight, fast spirals that make your hips stutter against her face.

She looks up, lips glistening. “You close already?”

You nod, breath hitching. “Yes, yes, just like that—”

She stops.

You nearly sob.

She leans up and kisses your cheek. “Not yet.”

You don’t know how long it lasts—how many times she gets you close only to back off, teasing you until tears prick the corners of your eyes. Every time she pauses, your hips chase her mouth, your thighs shaking.

“I think you like being edged,” she murmurs. “Look at you—already ruined, and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Next to you, Azzi’s moaning nonstop now, body jerking as Paige pounds into her, rough and steady. Her hands fist the sheets since she can’t grab Paige, and her voice is high and broken.

“F-fuck, yes—Paige—don’t stop, don’t—don’t—”

You glance sideways and see it: Paige’s hand on Azzi’s throat, her rhythm brutal now, strap driving in deep. Azzi’s mouth falls open in a silent scream as she comes, whole body tensing so hard it arches off the bed.

She whines when Paige doesn’t stop.

“Too much?” Paige whispers. “Or not enough?”

Azzi nods, both answers at once.

⸻

Nika finally gives you what you need. She takes off her harness slowly, straps on her cock with deliberate care, then crawls over you, settling between your trembling thighs.

“Beg again,” she whispers, dragging the tip through your soaked folds.

You bite your lip hard. “Please, Nika. I need it—I need you to fuck me.”

She pushes in slow, watching your face the whole time.

You moan loud. “Fuck, yes—”

And she starts fucking you.

Hard. Deep. One hand planted on your hip, the other sliding up to wrap gently around your throat. She leans over, lips right at your ear.

“You’re mine,” she growls. “No matter who hears you scream.”

You lose it fast, body clenching around her cock as your second orgasm crashes over you like a wave—loud, shaking, breathless.

And Nika doesn’t stop either.

⸻

You and Azzi are untied, but too spent to move. You’re curled into Nika’s chest, boneless, her arm holding you tight. Azzi’s limp across Paige’s body, face buried in her shoulder.

Everyone’s still breathing hard. The air is thick with sex.

No one talks for a while.

Then Azzi lets out a hoarse laugh. “That… was foul.”

Paige grins against her forehead. “You love it.”

You groan softly. “We’re never winning another bet, are we?”

Nika kisses the crown of your head. “Not if you keep teasing us like that.”

You hum sleepily, satisfied. “Worth it.”

-

It starts playful.

Breakfast is a little quiet after the night before, everyone sore in the best way. Paige is in a hoodie, nursing coffee with two hands. Nika’s only wearing a sports bra and boxers, sitting on the counter like she owns the place. Azzi’s across from you, legs tucked up in the chair, shooting you a secretive little smile between bites of toast.

You lean over to grab a napkin and catch her looking again.

There’s a charge to it. Something unspoken. Something a little dangerous.

“You two good over there?” Nika teases, raising a brow at you and Azzi.

“More than good,” you say. “Thinking about switching it up tonight.”

That gets a pause. Paige glances up. “What do you mean?”

Azzi sets down her mug. “I mean… me and her,” she nods toward you, “you two,” she nods toward Nika and Paige. “Just for tonight.”

Nika scoffs, smirking. “You’re really trying to hand me off like that?”

“Hand you off?” Paige laughed. “I’m doing you a favor.”

You glance at Azzi, fighting your smile.

“Sounds like they’re scared,” you murmur.

Azzi shrugs. “They’ll survive.”

⸻

You and Azzi get ready together, subtle but suggestive. You tie your hoodie around your waist, showing off the curve of your hips in those clingy little shorts. Azzi wears a cropped tank and nothing else—no bra, no shame.

Meanwhile, Nika and Paige disappear into the guest room together.

By the time dinner is over, the tension is thick. Everyone’s pretending it’s normal—just game night, just music playing low from someone’s phone—but there’s too much heat in every glance, too much challenge behind every word.

When the wine bottle’s empty and the table’s cleared, no one has to say anything. Everyone just… splits.

You take Azzi’s hand and lead her to your room.

Paige pulls Nika upstairs by her waistband.

The door closes behind you.

⸻

It’s different with her.

You’re used to her being a little soft around Paige, but with you? Azzi’s eyes darken fast. She moves like she knows exactly what she wants.

She backs you up against the bed and slips her hands beneath your shirt, dragging it off slowly.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all week,” she murmurs.

You laugh, breathless already. “I could say the same.”

She kisses you hard—deep, hot, hungry—like she’s been holding it back. You let her push you down, legs spreading automatically as she climbs over you. Her thighs cage you in, her hands slipping beneath your waistband.

You gasp when she touches you—bare, warm fingers slipping between your folds, slow and deliberate.

“You already this wet for me?”

You nod, too wrecked to lie.

Azzi leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“Then I’m gonna take my time.”

And she does. Fingers teasing, tongue circling your clit just enough to make you squirm, but never enough to push you over. She kisses her way down your stomach, her voice low, rough:

“Been thinking about how you taste.”

Your back arches as her mouth slides down, tongue flicking, licking, sucking. You tangle your fingers in her hair and rock your hips, gasping her name again and again.

When you finally come, she doesn’t let up. She keeps going, licking through it, until your thighs are shaking and your voice is broken.

You flip her after.

She grins like she expected it.

You strip her slow—kissing her neck, her chest, licking over her abs. You settle between her thighs and eat her like it’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted. She grabs the headboard, moaning, legs trembling around your shoulders.

And when you slide two fingers inside her and curl them just right?

Azzi comes hard, gasping your name, eyes wide open, locked on you the whole time.

⸻

They’re not gentle.

Nika’s pressed up against the wall the second they’re alone, Paige’s tongue in her mouth, one hand already up her shirt. Clothes are pulled off, thrown across the room without ceremony. Paige pushes her onto the bed and climbs on top, straddling her thighs.

“You gonna take it?” Paige asks, dragging the strap up her legs.

Nika smirks. “I was born to.”

Paige fucks her face-down, one arm around her waist, the other gripping her hair. Nika’s moans echo through the walls, ragged and wild. She’s taking every inch, biting the pillow, soaking the sheets.

Later, Nika pins Paige down in return, grinding on her thigh with slick-slick skin, eyes half-lidded, lips swollen from kisses and teeth.

They don’t stop until the room smells like sex and sweat and sin.

⸻

You’re lying in Azzi’s arms, her fingers tracing soft lines over your skin. She kisses your shoulder, your neck, then your cheek.

“That was…” she starts, then just laughs a little.

You nuzzle into her, still dizzy. “Yeah. I know.”

Upstairs, Paige and Nika are tangled together, bruised and lazy, grinning like idiots.

No one talks much the next morning.

But when you walk past each other in the hallway—eyes meeting, lips twitching—you all know exactly what went down.

And no one regrets a thing.

-

The cabin’s unusually quiet when you wake up.

You’re tangled in Azzi’s arms, both of you still warm and lazy from the night before. Her hand rests low on your back, fingertips tracing absent little circles. She doesn’t say much when you stir—just hums softly and presses a kiss to your shoulder.

“Morning,” she mumbles.

You glance over your shoulder. “You good?”

Azzi smirks. “More than.”

You both stay like that for a while—silent, satisfied, but fully aware of how last night changed something. Not bad. Just… different.

Eventually you drag yourselves out of bed and into the kitchen, where Paige is already drinking from the OJ carton in her sports bra and sweats. Nika’s shirtless, sprawled on the couch, flipping through the TV menu like she doesn’t remember how buttons work.

You and Azzi exchange a look.

Here we go.

(sorry to cut it, it got too long so this is part 1 of 2)

[coucouatoi]

take it as a compliment | h.s.

Pairing: Harry Styles X Reader

Warnings: smoking, swearing, light angst, making out

A/N: Got a request for Outgoing Harry/Shy reader and then this happened. I'm actually so in love with this so I hope y'all enjoy :)

Summary: Your band is out of a main singer after a petty feud. The hunt for someone new is pure torture, not a single audition has peaked your interests. None until he walked in.

"Next!!" your band's drummer, Maeve, exclaims with an exasperated tone. The person who was auditioning scurries off the small stage, too embarrassed to say goodbye. They were the 10th person to audition today. Ten people have gone on stage and tried to show off their singing skills but no one has been even remotely close to good. You're starting to suspect that all of these people are pranking you. There's no way that this many people are tone-deaf... Right?

You look back up when you see someone new walking on stage. Your eyes widen in surprise when you see who's next to audition. Harry Styles, the myth, the legend. He's a star member of the swimming team, captain of the rugby team, honorary member of the debate team and the most sought-after guy at your university. He is probably the last person you expected to show up for your band's audition... You don't even know if he can sing.

"This is going to be hilariously, so happy we are filming" Riu, your band's bassist, chuckles under his breath. You shrug with a small smirk, guess he wants to join today's humiliating compilation of failed auditions.

"Hello everyone, I'm Harry Styles auditioning for lead singer? I guess" he laughs at himself, now this is something you've never seen... a nervous Harry? Could this be an act??

"Don't sound too excited now" Maeve rolls her eyes, "What are you going to sing?" she clicks her pen ready to write the title down.

"October by Broken Bells" he speaks more confidently into the mic now. Your eyebrows raise, shocked. You would have expected something a little more mainstream maybe something currently in the top 10 chart or even an old classic. Riu presses the record button on his camera and rearranges the tripod to better capture Harry.

"Whenever you're ready," You say softly as you hope for the best, your behind is really starting to hurt after sitting for so long hopefully you can leave the auditorium soon.

The man onstage takes a deep breath before pressing play on the acoustic track on his phone.

Soft guitar strings start playing and only a few seconds in Harry starts harmonising with the instrument before the lyrics come in. And when they do... Your jaw hits the floor. The voice that comes out of his mouth would have been impossible to imagine. It's not a very vocally powerful song but requires a certain knowledge of music to get it right. He sounds beautiful and enchanting.

Riu, who's sitting next to you, shakes your arm making you turn your head to him. He mouths "What the fuck?" and you only nod as an answer completely bewildered.

He doesn't move around the stage or anything, just stands in the same spot and sings. Sings better than anyone you've heard today. Better than your past lead singer you're sure. His eyes are shut in what you have to assume is concentration but he could just be too nervous to look at you and your bandmates. His dark hair is pushed back out of his face letting you see his features, his furrowed brows and the sheen of sweat on the tip of his nose.

The song ends and he finally opens his eyes, gagging your reactions. You make sure that you've closed your mouth not wanting one of the first times he really looks at you for your mouth to be wide open...

"Do you write your own songs?" Maeve breaks the silence.

"I have some written yes" he answers quickly, a small jitter going through his body. Excited that he wasn't immediately shooed off stage.

"Is this a serious audition or are you just joking around?" Riu then asks having had enough of this long and boring day.

"Serious, I love singing" he nods quickly, "And I think I'm pretty good at it" Ah! There's the cocky attitude you've gotten used to from him.

Maeve grabs your arms from across the table tugging you towards her, Riu in the middle simply lowers his head closer to hear what's about to be said.

"What do you think?" She asks looking deeply into your eyes. You nod before answering already conveying your approval.

"He's really good guys, winning the UK universities competition good" You definitely see him adding a lot to your group. He's got the charms, the voice and the confidence to get you all the way to the finals.

"We're really accepting Harry Styles into our band?" Riu sounds annoyed but you know that he approves of this choice too...

Here goes nothing.

-

It's officially been two weeks since Harry has become your lead singer and he has not been on time for any of your practices. He's always got some elaborate excuse explaining his tardiness. More often than not he demands multiple breaks to go out for a smoke "Helps the vocals ya know?" he laughs before leaving the room. Maeve is one hair off of kicking him straight out but you've unfortunately entered his name down for the UK competition... and Harry knows this. Both of your other members have tried to reason with him, without success so they've told you that it's your turn to try, and try you will.

There's one hour left and Harry is out on another smoking break you choose this time to go out and attempt to talk to him. You haven't had many one-on-one conversations with him since him joining you. You're still intimidated by his status, his popularity, his reputation, his looks...

After leaving your guitar behind, you head out to find him leaning against the brick wall of your school, his head is tipped up and cigarette hanging off his bottom lip. You take a deep breath before walking up to him, mentally preparing yourself for this conversation.

"Is it your turn to tell me about the importance of punctuality, darling?" his lips form into a smirk as he hears your thick heels crunch the gravel as you move towards him.

"I guess so, the other two didn't work" you shrug leaning on the wall next to him. "Why did you audition if you don't care?" you ask him in a hushed tone, still surprised you have to have a conversation like this with him.

You don't see it but Harry's body tenses. Guilt flows through his veins and he looks at you but you're looking at the ground.

"I do care" is what he answers.

"I'm sorry but I don't believe you" You shake your head and finally meet his gaze, "Are you late for any other extracurricular activity you're part of?" your tone is unbothered but Harry feels it sting him, as if you insulted him... maybe you did. He thinks about it and... well he's not. He prides himself on being a stellar member of everything he's a part of.

"Why don't you treat us like equals? We are all part of the same team here" you add with a tilt of your head actually curious for an answer.

"I... Look, our other two members treat me like I'm lower because of how I act and who I'm friends with" he plucks the cigarette out of his mouth and stomps it under his shoe. He runs his hands through his hair and sighs, "I've gathered that you're the reserved quiet type but not one of you has tried to get to know me, why should I make an effort when none of you want me here?" with how rapidly the words are leaving his mouth you know he's been holding all of this in. You're stunned to silence.

"I don't feel welcomed so I'm not making an effort anymore" he walks away from you and from the building, "I tried to mend the gap by inviting all three of you over to my mates party last week and none of you showed... my message was left on read in the group chat" he looks at you and you don't see any malice or anger just... sadness? Disappointed? You're not sure.

His confession pains your fragile heart. He was trying, he had tried and your bandmates and yourself had only damaged the already non-existent relationship.

"I've never been to a party, I'm not great in crowds" you try explaining, "I barely even make it through our gigs, I'm always the first to go home" Harry nods in understanding, grabbing another cigarette from the packet he has in his pocket and lights it.

"Still could have said something... I know Maeve and Riu hate me so I guess there's not much I can do about that" he shrugs as he takes a drag. He's trying to brush off the emotions he just let himself have in front of you.

"I should have, I'm sorry" you mumble your apology still shocked that you've managed to get this far.

It's quiet for a few minutes. Harry focused on finishing his cigarette, seemingly needing to ease the tension he felt.

"I'll be better about my tardiness," he says after a while. You nod, smiling slightly when he looks over at you.

"Let me know when your next party is, I'll try and go" you offer, a peace offering between you and him. He laughs and shakes his head.

"Sure, darling" he stomps his second cigarette out and walks back over to you "Won't invite those two losers tho" he smirks at you before walking back into the building. You roll your eyes with a laugh and follow him back inside.

-

Harry S

10 Pleasing Road, Tomorrow 9 pm

See you there?

You

What should I wear? Should I bring anything? How many people are going?

Harry S

Whatever you're comfortable in, nope just yourself ;) And about 20 people nothing crazy

You

Okay, see ya

-

Oh god. You have no idea what to wear and you can't possibly ask Maeve or Riu for advice they'd need to know what you're dressing up for. You've been procrastinating your outfit choice all day. Your makeup is done dark and mysterious just how you like, your hair is up and out of your neck predicting that it'll be too warm wherever you're going but you're only wearing underwear... a matching set sure but not an appropriate outfit for a public outing.

You look at the time on your phone and your breath hitches, you're already past your maximum departure time... you're going to be late. This is not good. You contemplate texting Harry and telling him you can't make it but you want to have a better relationship with him you want to make an effort.

You find a long dark red floral dress that you haven't worn in forever and decide that tonight it will stop gathering dust. There is a slight chill in the outside air so you grab the crochet bolero Riu made you for your birthday. It's black with a ladybug charm in the center of it, she lands perfectly in your cleavage. You rush out of your room and out of your shared flat with Maeve before she starts asking questions. You slipped on your go-to heeled boots before running out of the building.

The address Harry sent you is, surprisingly, only a 15-minute walk away from where you live. Keeping a rapid pace is all you're focused on so you can make it with as little delay as you can. Being late gets your anxious gears running like crazy, your internal and external clock always chanting "Early is on time, on time is late and late is unacceptable!". You can thank your mother for that one.

You make it to the one-story townhouse at 9:28, you hear music from the outside and a few cars parked in the driveway and on the sides of the roads.

You breathe in and out deeply as you make your way to the door, calming your heartbeat and yourself. This is your first uni party, the first party that isn't family or Maeve/Riu related. Your first big girl party. It's nerve-wracking but also a little exciting.

As you're about to knock you realize the door is already ajar, you don't overthink it and head inside.

Turns out Harry had been pretty spot on with the number of people at this gathering. Doing a quick scan of the living room, after going through the small entrance, most people are sitting down, drinking and smoking different things. Only a few people look your way but they go back to their original conversations quickly, unbothered by another presence. You spot a table filled with different liquor bottles and mixers and make a beeline for it. Before you start mixing a drink for yourself someone calls out your name.

"You made it!" you turn your head and spot Harry making his way towards you. He's all smiles and bright eyes, he's got a beer in his hand and a cigarette in the other.

"I did, sorry I'm late" you grimace thinking about it again.

"Pff, no one's on time at a party" he waves it off before taking a drag, he blows it out away from your face and looks down at the empty cup in your hand.

"Why isn't there a drink in your hand, darling?" he asks you in mock shock. You shrug and gesture to the table, "I don't know what to make"

He nods and asks for your go-to spirit. Once you tell him he starts making a mix, only using the one liquor, finishing it off with a scoop of ice and a straw.

"Voila!" he winks as he hands you the now full cup. You take a sip and hum appreciatively.

"This is really good thank you" you smile in gratitude. Any worries that have been clawing at you since the moment you accepted to come are slowly disappearing. Harry seems genuinely pleased that you've shown up and that makes the overwhelming feeling large crowds give you dissipate. You should be able to stay like this for a while now.

"You look really nice, darling, I love your style" he lifts himself onto a stool, carefully not to spill his drink or drop his cigarette.

You can feel heat crawl up your neck and onto your face, not used to getting compliments. It's not that you haven't dated or hooked up with people but it's not something that just happens. Flirting requires a lot of energy from you, you're quick to feel embarrassed and shut yourself out just to process it all. Not that you think Harry is flirting or trying to get with you, he's just a socialite who's not shy to say what he's thinking.

"Just threw on whatever" you shrug avoiding his gaze.

"I'm sure that's an understatement but nonetheless you look gorgeous" he winks as he takes one last long drag before putting out the cigarette in the ashtray next to him and then throwing it into a trash can.

He's quite captivating to watch; his eyes are dark, an attractive smirk is always present, and wavy hair moves around with him and his tattoos. God his tattoos! You knew he had loads just by having seen his arms but now his button-down is pretty much unbuttoned at this point. You see many more that you never knew existed and it's only making him more handsome. The butterfly on his sternum, the two swallows beneath his collarbones, the fern leaves peeking out of his jeans; a very dangerous and tempting combination. You'll let your imagination run wild later...

"Mh, so um what does one usually do at a party?" Ah yes, a very natural change in conversation! You go Y/N, you mentally mock yourself with a subtle shake of your head. Harry doesn't seem to mind the switch or notice your mental scolding because he answers truthfully.

"Depends what you're up to doing honestly, I know someone has weed somewhere so you can join the stoners..." you shake your head, not your vibe. "You can dance in the basement that's where the music is playing and people are grinding" You shrug at that option not completely opposed to it. "Or you could go in the yard and join one of the many drinking games happening" That is a good option for later in the evening.

"Take me dancing?" your voice is a little high pitched, not completely confident in yourself but you want to make the most of this. It's not every day you'll be doing this kind of thing.

Harry doesn't answer verbally but he does grab your hand and guides you. His grip isn't tight you could easily free yourself if you wanted to but you want to make it to the dance floor... and holding Harry's hand is quite pleasant.

As he had previously said, the dancing is happening in the basement. This is where you realize Harry is probably the worst counter you've ever met because in this room alone there are at least 30 more people. The space is huge and open; no walls just another makeshift bar, large speakers, some funky lighting and some overused-looking sofas.

Feeling brave you pull Harry towards the other people dancing, and he follows with no hesitation. The beat of the pop song is good and gets your hips moving quickly, you'll never admit it but cheesy pop music is your guilty pleasure. Harry quickly matches your moves, smiling as you dance together he almost looks surprised that you're doing this with him. When you realize you haven't let go of his hand you quickly spin away in a somewhat casual attempt to free yourself, not that the handholding was bad. You just don't want to make him uncomfortable or maybe get anyone he's into at this party to think he's unavailable. The thought of him leaving you right now does make your skin crawl but you focus on dancing back towards him to finish your super duper casual and unnoticed freeing.

"You're a natural, who knows under all that eyeliner and glitter you liked bubblegum pop" Harry jokes as you get close to him again. You laugh and shake your head.

"It's all a distraction, Styles, I'm good at distractions" You wave your hands in front of his face with a spooky witch tone of voice.

"I don't doubt that..." he grabs your hand again and pulls you close to him, careful not to spill either of your drinks.

You feel the heat of his palm travel all the way up your arm and down the other. He's now deliberately taken your hand twice. Twice in the same hour. Hell in the same 5 minutes! God, he's so intoxicating. Your friends would not approve of the thoughts you're having. Riu would scream bloody murder and Maeve... Maeve would never look at you in the eyes again.

You chug the remainder of your drink and toss your empty cup onto a nearby table, you mentally apologize to the person who will pick that up later. Harry follows your lead and places his now free hand on your waist pulling you even closer to him.

"What do you think of the party so far?" he leans into your space even more, softly asking his question right next to your ear. You hum first as you angle yourself towards his own ear to answer.

"Not as crazy as I've seen them in movies or TV shows... but I think I watch too much American television" You laugh at yourself but you quickly still when you feel Harry's lips touch your ear.

"What? You're missing some cheesy games and making out with strangers" he teases you, tightening his hand grip on your waist.

"Something like that yeah, ha" Your breath is quick and uncertain. Overthinking how you're even supposed to breathe normally because you know Harry hears and feels your every breath.

"Mh, let me satisfy your wishes then" he pulls back and winks. "Hey!", he exclaims, "Anyone wanna play truth or dare?" at his question many people cheer affirmatively and he drags you towards one of the couches where everyone else follows suit.

The couch you're now sitting on has obviously been occupied by many other butts and now your own but you try to get that thought out of your head.

"You go first Haz, you initiated" you hear someone with a thick accent say.

"Fine, fine... who wants to ask me?"Harry playfully rolls his eyes as he leans back, his arms splayed across the top of the couch.

"Truth or dare?" someone new calls out.

"Truth let's keep it tame for now" he answers the crowd. You hear some people whisper to each other, debating what question they should ask now that they have free will.

"Did you actually fuck Olivia Flores while she was dating your mate Niall?" a high-pitched voice calls out. Harry rolls his eyes and breathes out deeply.

This rumour had spread all over the school through all clicks and social groups. Olivia was the most beloved student you could think of. She loves speaking with anyone and everyone, she volunteers every other day, and she's never in a bad mood or at least never lets anyone see if she is. The only time that you've ever seen her smile gone was when the rumours started. When everyone was whispering about her cheating on her boyfriend with his best friend. Niall is basically the embodiment of a golden retriever and people took the news of him being cheated on very badly. She denied it endlessly and tried to get people back on her side because her friends ended up turning on her. Harry and Niall both denied the rumours but there was no stopping everyone else from saying what they wanted. Especially after their break up and her decision to switch schools...

"I've said it a million times before, no. Never. I never have and never will because I know how much they still care for each other" he clicks his tongue at the end, annoyed at the question.

Some questions still cross your mind but you decide that his answer is enough. You choose to believe all three of them in this, that their denial is truthful and that Niall and Olivia breaking up after had nothing to do with the rumours.

"Y/N, in honour of your request, truth of dare?" Harry brings your thoughts back to the present, where everyone is now looking at you... analyzing. These people don't know you so you let them watch you even if it makes your skin crawl.

"Dare" might as well go past your boundaries even more. You're getting to know a whole new you tonight, it's exciting.

"Kiss me" he murmurs close to your ear, having leaned into your space. You chuckle pushing him away playfully.

"Come on! Be serious this is my first party game!" you poke his chest with your nail and squint your eyes. He can't just tease you like that! Pfff.

"Serious? You don't think I'm serious" he tilts his head to the side. His expression is unreadable and it makes you question whether he's being a goof right now or if he really wants to kiss you. Why would he want to kiss you out of anyone here?

You roll your eyes and push his face away from you. He looks shocked for a moment before letting a breath out, it almost sounds disappointed... can air sound a certain way? You're definitely overthinking this.

"A real dare please!" you squint your eyes at him in a playful manner. He shakes his head at you with a crooked smile, he's bewildered but you don't know that. You don't know how much he yearns for you right now. How much you attract him or how much it means to him that you're trying. Really trying to know him and make him your friend.

"Fine, I'll settle for the cheek" he winks and points to his right cheek which is inches away from your face.

You assess his expression, he's smirking again obviously happy that his teasing is affecting you. Ever so slightly furrowing his brows in worry that you'll reject that too. So. In honour of your first-ever big girl party, you do it. You kiss his cheek and you play dirty a little bit. Pressing your lips right to the corner of his lips. Right where they merge into the skin of his face.

"There! Now who's next?" you exclaim excitedly turning back to the group of people. A girl you don't know raises her hand and you dare her to do a shot of her least favourite alcohol. She walks off in search of it and your head is turned back towards Harry by a gentle hold on your chin.

"You're such a tease, gorgeous" his voice is soft but rugged almost sounding bothered by something... by someone?

"How so?" your lips form a small smile as you take a sip of your beer, you're conveniently sat next to a cooler full of them.

"You're irresistible" he replies with dark eyes, the hand on your chin moves to your cheek. The tips of his fingers tangling in your hair almost scratching at your scalp.

You don't completely understand how he's saying that about you when he looks the way he does. His hair is falling gorgeously onto his face as he looks at you, his eyes are dark and inviting, lips parted and numerous tattoos still on display.

"What are you going to do about it?" Wow! You're feeling brave tonight good on you! It might be the drinks you've been working at starting to make the anxiety you previously had melt away. Making the nerves calm and the fear of embarrassing yourself much less important.

"What do you want me to do about it?" his lips brush your own as he whispers his answer. You hadn't realized how close you'd gotten to each other; your chest is pressed to his, thighs seemingly glued together at the side, hands holding onto whatever part that isn't yet connected...

Before you can answer and quite possibly take him up on his first dare, your phone rings in your lap. You jump in surprise but Harry's strong yet gentle hold on you doesn't waver, he keeps you close to him. You glance down at the screen and see that Riu is calling you, the terrible selfie he took for his contact picture staring back at you. He has the habit of "stalking" you and Maeve on the Snapchat map, he says it's to make sure you're all in your usual spots. And... well... right now you're definitely not in one of your usual spots.

"Are you going to answer?" Harry asks with a slightly annoyed tone. You look at him again breaking eye contact with Riu's picture. You shake your head and take a deep breath, encouraging yourself. Harry's eyebrow raises in confusion but before anything else can be said you surge forward. You connect your lips to his desperately, forgetting everything else around you.

Harry's hand, the one that was on your cheek, reaches to the back of your head and pulls you closer. Deepening the kiss more than you thought possible. His other hand wraps around your waist and pushes you forward making your chest completely stuck to his. Your hands busy themselves as well, your right one tangles into his curls and your left grabs onto his forearm almost in an attempt to brace yourself. His tongue meets yours making you moan in pleasure. Who knew making out with someone could feel so good?

Harry doesn't stop, not for one second, as if he'd been wishing to do this for a while. He has but you obviously don't know that. He's been interested since his audition, he had seen your band before but never interacted. He always thought you were gorgeous but never had a chance to see if there could be any chemistry between you both. And now? Lord.

Someone around you hollers and it snaps you out of the bubble that surrounds both of you. You jerk away from Harry putting as much distance between you as you're able to on the otherwise cramped sofa.

"You two better go off to somewhere more private before we all need to bleach our eyeballs" The person sitting next to Harry laughs as he nudges him on the arm, shaking both of your bodies against each other. Harry shakes his head and playfully punches the person but you stare at him shocked. Shocked that you were just fully making out with him, shocked that he wanted to make out with you... Shocked that you're kind of wishing it kept going.

When Harry's head turns back towards you, you can't help but meet his gaze. Your own eyes are wide and just now getting back to focus, they had gone hazy with want but you won't admit that to yourself just yet.

"Let me walk you home? I know you have an exam first thing in the morning tomorrow" He asks sincerely, wanting to make sure you don't miss any essential studying you might want to do.

"Um, sure, a party on Wednesday is weird..." You shake your head in thought now just realising that you had completely forgotten about the test.

"Makes hump day less humpy I guess" he shrugs with a teasing smile before standing and helping you up off the sofa.

The walk back to your flat is entertaining. You get to know your new bandmate even more, truly getting to know him as a person. You share about yourself as well not wanting the conversation to seem one-sided. Turns out drinking a little alcohol makes you chatty.

Somehow, your left hand has interlocked with Harry's right one. How and when this happened you're not sure all you know is that you've had a painfully obvious blush on your face and neck ever since. You don't attempt to break the hold because... well... you really don't want to.

"Well, this is me" You turn to face Harry as you speak. You gesture to your complex vaguely still wanting to talk with him.

"Mh, quaint," he says without even looking at the building.

"Guess this is goodnight then" Your lips form into a small pout, disappointed that you have no real excuse to stay around Harry anymore.

"Guess so... I'll see you at practice tomorrow?" his hand tugs you towards him gently, leaving only inches between you. You bite your lip and nod as an answer all words having vanished from your mind. He smirks and bends down to press his lips on yours one more time. This kiss is much different than the one you previously shared, this one is only a short peck barely even qualifies as a kiss. You instinctively follow when he parts from you desperate for a real kiss.

"What's wrong pretty?" he's teasing you and you know it.

"Kiss me properly... leave me regretting coming back home to study instead of staying at yours" There's a sentence you never imagined yourself saying. You're feeling like a completely new you. Maybe it's the liquor in your system but Harry stops the nerves and the overthinking that's always going on in your head. He feels like a breath of fresh air and that is so fucking hot.

Harry doesn't hesitate to reconnect your lips again for a real kiss. He bites and drags your bottom lip towards him you moan at the feeling, quickly wrapping your arms around him to deepen the contact. Your tongue meets his between your mouths, it's not a battle, feels like they've been waiting to reconnect since they parted ways at the party.

"You're so hot Y/N" Harry practically moans out before slamming his lips back against yours.

Kissing someone has truly never felt this good.

-

The exam you only spent about 45 minutes studying for ended up being a total breeze as it was open book. Your nerves had immediately vanished when you'd stepped into the auditorium and read that on the board. But now your nerves are back up as your final period is about to end. Band practice is after this. You'll have to face Harry in front of both of your other friends... who have no idea that you've made out with the new member... twice.

Harry hasn't stopped messaging you all day thanking you for giving him a chance again and asking if he could take you out after practice. You haven't answered yet, every time you try to write one up your fingers word vomit and you end up deleting your drafts. You want to say yes to him but you feel like you might be braver telling him face to face.

When you hear your professor announce that he's dismissing you early you practically jump out of your seat. This could be the perfect opportunity to go see Harry early. He's been done with class for about an hour now and is already at the auditorium waiting so you rush over. You don't take the time to put away your pencil case or your notebook, keeping them in your hands as you make your way.

"Hope you haven't been ghosting me, sweetheart" Harry calls out immediately as you walk into the auditorium. He's lying down on the edge of the stage, a leg hanging off the side with his phone in hand above his head. He doesn't turn to look at you but you can't blame him so you're quick to walk to him ready to explain yourself.

"I wasn't I swear! I just kept overthinking my answers... thought I'd have an easier time answering in person" you tell him as you put down your things on one of the seats.

"Understandable, things can be more complicated to convey through a screen" his answer lifts a weight off of your shoulders. You were so worried he wouldn't understand.

"So, I'm glad you gave me a chance to get to know you" you start, "I know we weren't very welcoming and I'm sorry" You tentatively place your hand on Harry's chest, between both of his pecks.

"It's okay gorgeous, I know it's cause you were just so intimidated by my hot bod" he lightens the mood with his joke and you're so grateful.

"Mh, sure" you tease him with a shake of your head.

He gasps in mock offence batting your hand away from his chest. You laugh at his antics,

already thinking up your next answer. Harry doesn't let the hand that was on him go far grabbing it and tugging you closer to him.

"As for your other texts... I'd really like to go out with you later tonight" Your voice turns very weak at the end of your sentence, shyness taking over. Harry chuckles and tugs you to him again.

"You're so cute, darling" he smiles softly, "I'm glad I didn't scare you off" his free hand reaches out and wraps around your neck to cup your nape. He pulls your face down to his kissing your lips, once, twice, thrice...

"Riu and Maeve are going to be so confused when I tell them" you chuckle. Your friends might actually faint when you tell them you're going on a date with the Harry Styles.

"Let's just let them walk in while we kiss, easy way to announce it," he says with a wink. You smile and bend back down to lock lips... addicted to the way he feels.

"Or, you could write a song about how good kissing me is" you joke as you whip your hair backwards in an attempt to joke. Harry, however, takes your suggestion seriously.

"I've already got five written in my head, six if you kiss me again right now" And who are you to deny helping his creative juices?

You do end up shocking Maeve and Riu with your "very inappropriate spit swapping" Maeve's words, not yours.

[hwashotcheeto]

𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒕𝒉𝒚 𝑷𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈

Park Seonghwa X fem!reader

Summary: You're desperate for your husband, Seonghwa, so he rails you. Aggressively. That's all.

WC: 3.7k

Names used on reader: Slut, whore, sweetheart, (dumb) baby, love, good/bad girl

CW: Just smut, filthy smut, this is so fucking filthy, but fluffy aftercare (always)

Smut warnings: Mommy!Seonghwa (obv, you should know this about me by now. Or you can call him Daddy, idc), mild CNC (very mild), safeword is present (but not used), dacryphilia, degradation, hair pulling, light bondage, pussy slapping, orgasm denial, choking, fingering, biting, marking (all reader receiving), unprotected PIV sex (missionary, from behind, riding), breeding kink, spit play, clit play, oral sex (idol receiving), facefucking (reader receiving)

AN: This is the full version of this drabble (because y'all ate that shit UP).

My GOD this is so much more than I imagined it would be. Every time the warning list got longer, I was amazed by how much I actually put in. I thought it was tame until I realized how much there actually was.

With that being said, I hope you enjoy, lovelies. 💜

Tag List: @cherrycel @mxnsxngie @malldreamprincess

“Hwa?” You called softly, stepping into his office. You see a stressed Seonghwa, with his jaw clenched and his eyebrows drawn together. But at the sound of your voice, he looks up. 

And his eyes go wide as he looks you up and down. Wearing nothing but his large, expensive, iconic fur coat. 

You were desperate for him. That’s all there was to it. You’d been missing him for hours, and so, you decided to go visit him when the desire was too much for you to fix by yourself. 

You were about to explain yourself when Seonghwa scoffed, getting up from his chair. Your heart thundered against your ribs as he rounded the desk.

“Really now?” He asked, dragging his fingers across the glossy surface of the wood. He quickly crossed the room and used those same fingers to reach up and grab your jaw. “This is how you ask?” 

“Yes,” you said, smirking, getting exactly what you wanted from him. When he was stressed, angry, rough, it was a treat. You loved your gentleman husband, but you had your moments where you wanted to be treated like a cheap whore. 

And he was in the mood to do just that. 

“What happened to asking like a good girl?” 

“I’m not a good girl.” 

Seonghwa raised his brows and tilted his head, looking at you for a few more seconds, wondering if this was really what you wanted. 

When you didn’t say anything, he tightened his hold on your jaw and yanked you closer before he slid down to grip onto your throat. Your hands flew out to grip onto his shirt as he squeezed, forcing a squeak out of you. 

“Is that so? Then I guess I’ll have to treat you like a bad girl.” 

“Please,” you breathed, and Seonghwa was finally understanding the game you were bringing him into. 

He needed a break from work anyway. 

“Safeword?” He asked softly, loosening his grip on your neck. 

“Stars.” 

“Good girl.” 

You were on your back on the floor before you knew it. Nevermind the chairs or the desk, the floor was where Seonghwa decided you’d belonged. 

His face was already in your neck, biting and sucking marks into your skin while his hand was rubbing fast, aggressive circles into your clit. 

“Hwa, slow-” You cried out when he interrupted you with a harsh slap to your cunt, his other hand snaking up into your hair and gripping on at the roots. 

“You asked for this, don’t tell me it’s too much already,” he growled against your skin, going back to rub your clit. “And you know that’s not my name.” He bit down on your neck again, forcing another cry out of you. 

“Mommy!” 

“There you go.” 

Seonghwa’s fingers slid down to your slit, rubbing up against it to make you squirm and buck your hips up to push him inside. He clicked his tongue and slapped your cunt again. 

“Quit moving,” he spat, continuing to rub on your slit. You dropped your head back against the wooden floor and whimpered, clenching around nothing. Seonghwa couldn’t help but smirk as he pushed just the tips inside. “Aww, this is what you want, right? You wanna be stuffed full?” 

“Yes Mommy.” You gripped onto his shirt tighter, trying to pull him in more, moving your hips up again. “Please-” But you were cut off when he slapped you again. 

“When are you gonna learn to stay fucking still?” Seonghwa pulled away from your neck to stare down at you, his eyes narrowed and dark, a fire burning behind them. You could feel tears already forming in your eyes as you looked up at him. 

Seonghwa’s eyes flashed with concern for a moment, but when you made no move to stop him, he put his hand back on your cunt to tease your slit again. 

“Are you gonna behave this time? Or do I have to tell you again?” 

“I’ll behave.” 

“Then stay-” Seonghwa slowly pushed his fingers inside you, as deep as he could, and curled his fingers up into your spot. “-still.” 

It took everything in you to not fuck back up on his hand, but you did it. You made yourself stay still as Seonghwa slowly pumped his fingers inside, then quickly sped up to a fast and brutal pace, making sure to hit your spot over and over again. 

Your thighs were shaking as Seonghwa pounded your cunt, stretching you out for him. The sounds that came from it, the squelching from all your slick, it was fucking filthy. 

Seonghwa watched your face as he fucked you, making you look into his eyes, his other hand anchored in your hair. “Is this what you wanted, baby? You wanted my fingers knuckle deep inside you?” You nodded, but that wasn’t enough for him. He tugged on your hair, making you yelp in pain. “Answer me.”

“Yes!” You cried, throwing your arms around him and clinging onto him tightly, holding him close. Seonghwa let go of your hair to properly hold himself up so he could see watch your face. 

So he could still watch you crumble and scream from his fingers. 

All too quickly, you were already close, and he knew it. Your dear husband knew you were close, he’d been with you for all these years, of course he did. 

So Seonghwa intentionally brought you as close as he could to that edge, before he stopped and yanked his fingers away. A sob leaves your lips as his hand leaves you, and tears pour down your cheeks as your orgasm fades away. 

“No, Mommy,” you gasped as he pulled away from you. You sat up to try to grab onto him, but he batted your hands away. “Please, I was so close!” 

“That’s the point.” Seonghwa pushed your hands away as you kept trying to grab him while he was working on getting his belt off. 

When you wouldn’t stop, he ripped his belt off and pinned you down on your back to tie your hands above your head. You struggled, letting out pathetic desperate cries that fell on deaf ears. 

“Aww, you don’t wanna be tied up?” He asked as he undid his jeans and pulled his pants down, letting his cock spring free. Your mouth went dry as you stared, seeing the pre cum leak down from the slit. 

Seonghwa smacked your thigh to make you look up at him. “Are you so cock hungry you can’t answer me? How pathetic.” 

He pushed your legs back, giving him perfect access to your sopping cunt. He couldn’t help but admire you as he rubbed your slit with the head of his cock, seeing how your slick shined in the light, watching it cover his cock. 

But as much as Seonghwa enjoyed teasing you, he needed his release too. 

He slowly pushed inside you, taking his time filling you up, relishing in all your pretty cries and whimpers until his hips were pressed against yours. 

“Fuck yes,” Seonghwa muttered. He gripped onto the belt keeping your hands together with one hand and the other on your waist before he started slowly fucking into you. Your legs locked around his waist as he did, holding him as close as you could. 

Thankfully, he wastes no time in getting back up to the same brutal pace as before, holding you open, fucking you as deep and hard as he can, hitting your spot perfectly. 

“Naughty fucking slut,” he mumbled, leaning close to your face, looking into your eyes again. “Walking in wearing nothing but my coat, just wanting to be fucked full of my cock.” 

You can only nod as tears form in your eyes again, whimpering as your thighs begin to shake again, feeling the pleasure build up inside you and spread throughout your body. 

Seonghwa bit his lip as a particularly whiny moan bubbled up from his chest, trying to stifle it, but you heard it. You heard it, and it went straight to your cunt, making you clench down on him. The whiny moan shot from his lips, and it only made him fuck you harder and faster. 

“Take it, take it.” Seonghwa’s hands moved to your hips, pinning you to the floor harder as he fucked you. “Take my cock, take everything I give you.” 

A cry comes out of you as he hits your spot harder. You shake even harder than before, squirming in his hold, wishing you could be free of the goddamn belt. 

“More,” you squeaked out, already fucked out but not satisfied in the slightest. “More, please-” 

Seonghwa leaned over you and shoved his thumb past your lips, forcing your mouth open, holding your tongue down and spitting down your throat. He forced your mouth closed, and he didn’t even need to tell you to swallow. 

“You take what I fucking give you, whore,” he spat, smacking your thigh. “You came to me, you’re gonna listen to me, understand?” 

“Mommy, please!” 

His hand went around your throat and squeezed. You rolled your eyes back as your head pulsed and your eyes fluttered, just like your cunt. A groan comes from Seonghwa’s chest as he squeezes tighter, reveling in the feeling of your hole clinging onto him like it never wanted him to leave. 

Because you didn’t want him to leave. Ever. If he could be inside you all the time, you’d make it happen.

“You take what I give you and that’s final.” Seonghwa growled the words out, using it as a cover to hide how close he was. 

He released your throat to rub your clit instead, knowing he had to make you come before he did. He leaned over you again as he did, fucking you as deep as he possibly could. 

And because of your stolen orgasm earlier, you were racing towards that edge faster than ever, babbling out half formed cries of “close.” 

But you needed more. A little bit more of a push to finally get you there. 

“From behind,” you gasped out, looking up at Seonghwa with tear filled, pleading eyes. He didn’t even think about it, he stopped and flipped you over immediately, grabbing onto your hips and getting straight back to fucking your brains out. 

Electricity shot through your body as the screams flowed from your lips. You were sobbing out his name as Seonghwa pounded into you, one hand still on your clit, your husband sweating with determination to make you come for him. 

“Come on, slut,” he breathed, leaning close to your ear. “Come on my cock, fucking drench me in cream.”

“Fuck me full of your babies,” you weakly cried in answer. Seonghwa choked at your demand. 

“You know I always do.” 

And you did, it was only seconds later that you came around him. Screaming his name, shaking, with your face pressed against the floor. Seonghwa came right after, whimpering out your name as he came inside you, pumping you full of his release. 

Seonghwa pulled out a few seconds later to let his cum spill out of you. He let out a whiny noise as he watched it spill out of you and down your folds, 

“You’re so fucking pretty, sweetheart,” he panted. You smiled weakly as you sat up on your knees. Seonghwa reached around you to undo the belt on your wrists, pulling you against his chest. 

And the hug felt nice. But you wanted more. 

“Can we go again?” You asked softly. Seonghwa scoffed softly, leaning his head on your shoulder. You were half expecting to hear no, which was fine. But what came out was: 

“Then you’re gonna do the work this time.” 

Alright then. 

Seonghwa moved you both back to the desk, sitting in his chair and putting you on his lap. He didn’t even have to tell you to do anything. 

You were already grinding on his softened cock to get him hard again, while also kissing up and down his neck. All over that goddamned MATZ tattoo that made you gush all over his cock. 

“God, baby, that wasn’t enough for you?” Seonghwa groaned, tilting his head back, stretching out the tattoo. You whined as you shook your head, still feverishly kissing and licking all over, desperately grinding yourself against his cock. 

He couldn’t deny it, your desperation was incredibly hot, he was hard again in no time. But how could he not be? His wife was all over him, begging for him, wanting him to be inside you. 

You pulled back and sat up properly, and Seonghwa watched as you adjusted yourself to sink down onto his cock. And even though he was trying to keep up his rough persona that you both enjoyed, he couldn’t help but admire you for a second with nothing but love. 

But Seonghwa snapped himself back as you slid down onto him, throwing his head back and groaning deeply as he filled you up. “That’s it, slut, just like that,” he ground out. “Greedy little bitch, even after I fuck you dumb, it’s not enough for you.” 

His words go straight to your cunt, making you clench down harder as you finally took him all. You whimper as his head presses against your spot, perfectly fitting inside you. Seonghwa’s throat bobbed as he gulped. 

“Go on, fuck yourself, since you want it so bad.” 

And that you did. 

You leaned back, holding onto the desk, using it as leverage to bounce yourself on his cock. Seonghwa’s eyes went straight to your cunt, watching as you fucked him, the way you split yourself open every time, cream pouring from your hole. 

“God, you’re never satisfied, are you?” Seonghwa’s eyes flicked up to your face as he spoke, seeing the tears run down your cheeks, the desperation in your eyes as you cried out over and over. “So fucking greedy, you can never get enough of my cock, can you?” 

You shake your head, his words making your thighs shake. You let out a desperate cry as you try to keep your rhythm consistent. You threw your head back, so you couldn’t see the sadistic smirk on your husband’s lips as he relished in your struggle. 

And you were indeed struggling. You wanted him so bad, you wanted to come again, but you were already weak from the first round, and his constant taunts were not helping. 

So Seonghwa, the ever loving gentleman he was, put his thumb on your clit and rubbed it in quick, little circles. Fire shot through your thighs as you cried out louder, your hips jerking and your cunt crying from overstimulation. 

“Aww, dumb baby can’t even fuck herself properly. You can’t even think straight because you wanna come so bad, isn’t that right?” 

You heard him, but your brain couldn’t make a response. Your brain had turned to mush. Your thighs were shaking like leaves. Your chest was heaving. You’d fallen out of rhythm completely. 

“Too much, baby?” Seonghwa wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his chest. The gentleness surprised you, but you gratefully wrapped your arms around his neck and clung onto him. 

But he wasn’t holding you for comfort. 

You were brutally reminded of what you’d both agreed on before hand when he started fucking up into you again. 

You cried out in surprise as Seonghwa had one arm locked around your hips, keeping you as close as he could while he fucked into your cunt, the other hand in your hair. 

“Don’t you dare tell me you can’t handle it.” He tugged on your hair as you sobbed again, burying your face in his neck, crying all over his tattoo. “Cry all you want, you wanted this, so you’re getting it.” 

You did want this, you did ask for this. Despite the tears running down your face and the sobs coming out of you, this is what you asked for. 

You were getting exactly what you asked for. 

It wasn’t much longer before you were already close again. You felt you orgasm creeping up your thighs, twisting inside you, getting closer and closer with every thrust to your spot. 

Seonghwa could feel it too, the way you clenched down tighter and the way you were gasping and choking on your cries. 

“Go on, baby, come for me,” he whispered. “Come on my cock again, just for me, be a good girl and come again.” 

And you did, at his command, screaming and sobbing his name, shaking violently and hugging him as tightly as you could.

Seonghwa fucked you through it, rolling his eyes back in delight as your cunt locked him in a vice like grip again, not letting him go. 

As you pulled back, your brain was starting to make sense of things again, and you realized he hadn’t come with you. 

“You didn’t come,” you mumbled, sitting up properly, your eyes feeling heavy. You pushed the tired away and woke yourself up as Seonghwa nodded, his siren eyes staring through you. 

“No, I didn’t.” His eyes flicked down to your lips before they went back up to your eyes. “And you’re gonna take care of it.” 

You were fully willing to help him. Despite your tiredness, you knew you could suck him off and make him come. You’d gladly do it. 

But you decided to have a little bit more fun with this. 

“No I’m not,” you said as you shook your head, pulling off his cock and going to get up from his lap. 

But Seonghwa grabbed onto you and shoved you to the floor, holding you down with his hand in your hair again. Despite your struggles and protests, he pulled you between his thighs and lined his cock up with your lips. 

“Yes you will, you made the problem, and now-” He used his free hand to force your mouth open and pulled you onto his cock “-you’re gonna fix it.” 

You choked as he hit the back of your throat in one go, filling you up all over again. You tasted a combination of your and his cum, and you swallow instinctively. 

Seonghwa groaned at the squeeze as he let his hand run down to your neck. “Now suck, come on,” he growled, urging you along. And at first, you resisted and tried to pull back, but Seonghwa pulled you back and slapped your cheek. “Don’t start with me, you can take it.” 

And when you looked up at him, he was looking at you with his dark eyes, staring into your soul expectantly. It made you shiver. 

You breathed through your nose as you moved your head, sucking gently at first, putting your hands on his thighs for support. Seonghwa sighed as you did, tightening his grip on your hair. It didn’t take long before he was pulling you along, pushing you to go faster. 

You resisted against him for a few seconds before he held you still and jerked his hips forward, making you choke again. Tears sprung from your eyes as you pulled back and coughed. To your relief, Seonghwa let you catch your breath. 

“Mommy,” you gasped, looking up at him. “Please, be gentle.” 

“You want gentle?” He asked, in fake sympathy. He pouted as he pulled you back on, pushing himself as deep as he could, squeezing your throat with his hand. “You can handle it, don’t lie to me, whore.” 

The tears ran down your face, trying to control your throat as best you could so you weren’t constantly choking, letting Seonghwa fuck your throat. 

Looking up and watching his face contort in pleasure, seeing the MATZ tattoo stretch as he tilted his head back, hearing all the breathy moans and whines made it all more than worth it. 

Obviously, you were enjoying it to begin with. But seeing your husband lose himself in the pleasure and fuck into your throat in pursuit of his own orgasm just made it heavenly. 

Seonghwa noticed it too when he looked down at you, at your half closed eyes, the dazed look in your eyes, he fucking loved it. His thighs began shaking the closer he got, his moans grew more choked and breathy. 

You squeezed his thighs as you focused on him, on keeping your throat tight for him, listening to the prettiest, whiniest moans your intimidating, strong, dominant husband let out. 

“So close, love, so close,” he panted out. “Give you all my babies, all down your throat!”

And he pulled you down as far as he could and came, crying out your name, whimpering and whining as he held onto you tightly. Your eyes rolled back as he filled your mouth with his release, swallowing it all, gladly taking every drop. 

You pulled away as he let go of your hair, panting heavily, the tiredness finally taking over you. Your eyelids felt heavy, your whole entire body felt heavy. The fur of the coat only made you feel even more tired. 

Thankfully, Seonghwa was tired too. He was leaning back in his chair, panting heavily, his eyes closed, letting the feeling run through him until it was over. He looked down at you and smiled weakly, at his lovely wife. 

He reached down and helped you up, leaning you on his chest, with his arm around your shoulders. “I got you, nae sarang,” he said softly, helping you walk to the bathroom. You clung onto him like a small kitten, nearly being dragged along because of how tired you were. 

Seonghwa took the fur coat off your shoulders and set it aside as he was filling the bathtub. The room filled with wonderful sweet smells from the drops he’d put into the water. You sighed happily as he helped you into the water. Seonghwa stripped himself down as well to get in with you, holding you close to his chest. 

The warm water lulled you even deeper into sleep, cuddling into your husband’s chest. He smiled as he gazed down at you, gently petting your hair, rubbing your back. 

His wife. His amazing wife. His heart thumped a little faster as he admired the gold band on his finger. 

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m here. I’ll watch over you. I love you.” 

“I love you too,” you whispered, just before you passed out. 

Seonghwa squeezed you tighter. Despite all the shit, how stressful his life was, the life path he’d chosen, seeing you made it all worth it . 

It was all for you.

Thank you for reading! Please reblog if you enjoyed! 💜

This is a work of fiction written by me. This does not represent the idol(s) in any way. Any re-upload is not allowed and will be reported.

[0mg-bird]

Sister’s Mister ~ B. Bradshaw x Seresin Sister Reader

Summary: When Jake’s little sister pays a visit, Bradley gets himself into a sneaky situation where he might want to be the sister’s mister.

Warning: 18+ content ahead, language.

A/n: Very Nickelback coded, argue with the wall.

There was a feeling of uncertainty among the men in the locker room as they showered and cleaned up. Jake left early to pick up a package, that package being his dearest little sister. You.

“He’s bringing her to Payback’s birthday party.” Fanboy states and he pulls a clean shirt on.

The rest groan, asking Payback why he’s allowing it. He just shrugs. “Dude, I felt bad, alright? She’s coming to stay for a month, I don’t want to start off on a bad foot.”

Bob, who was currently pulling his civilian shoes on, shook his head. “Hangman’s enough, what are we gonna do when a second him is going to be hangin’ around?”

They moan about that, all making claims about what you must be like. Things like spoiled, arrogant, and self centered all came up.

Bradley runs his hands through his hair a few times. “Which sister is this anyway? He’s got about five of them.” He asks.

“Big families are common in the south.” Bob reminds.

Coyote is there to answer his question. “I think it’s the one born after him? They’re the closest ones out of the seven kids.”

“Seven!” They all exclaim, cursing with wide eyes.

Bradley shuts his locker. “Six siblings might be the reason Hangman’s a head case.” He claims, making the others laugh.

“Yeah, let’s just hope the sisters not the same way.” Omaha chuckles.

~~

At the airport, you look for the tall head of blonde hair that is your brother. Suitcase rolling along behind you, you pass security and immediately see him.

Jake leans against a pillar, looking rather bored until he sees you approaching. Then, he’s walking to you with a smile.

“I was hoping you’d accidentally board a flight to Mexico instead.” He teases as you hug him.

“Oh c’mon now, don’t act like you haven’t missed me.” You smile, air getting squeezed out of your lungs as his strong arms grip you.

He pulls away and takes your suitcase and backpack. “Hard to miss someone whose face is plastered on magazine issues. But it’s good to see ‘ya, sis.”

The two of you leave to get a bite to eat, then Jake drops you off at the small house you rented.

“We’re going to my buddies birthday party tomorrow night.” He tells you as he checks the place.

You roll your eyes at his effort to make sure no crazy people are hiding behind the curtains, then open up your backpack to unpack some things.

“Which buddy is this?” You question.

“Just someone on my squad.” Jake explains.

You let out a heavy sigh. “Yay, a barbecue in the park.”

Jake glares at your fake enthusiasm. “It’s not a barbecue, and I feel personally victimized by that stereotypical statement.”

“Ooh, Jakey’s using big words.” You fake gasp.

He isn’t amused.

“We’re going to a club, okay? You know all about those, huh?” He teases, making your brows furrow.

“Is that what you think I do all day? Go to clubs with rich people?” You ask, to which he shrugs and nods. You scoff. “I do have an actual job, I just happen to know how to party.”

Jake sits at the kitchen counter. “So do we. Look, it’ll be fun and you can meet the crew.” He says, making you give in.

“Fine, I’ll go.”

He hums. “You never had a choice but I appreciate your cooperation.”

You roll your eyes. “Get out of my house, Seresin.”

~~

“Where’s Hangman?” Phoenix asks as she greets everyone in the parking lot.

They all wait to go inside the club, ready to get drinks down and watch Payback get wasted, but the only problem was they were waiting for the last two to join.

“Fashionably late.” Bradley huffs, checking the time. They agreed to meet at ten, but the minutes continue to tick by.

“Hey, what’s this chick’s name?” Phoenix asks, looking down at her phone with a face of confusion.

They all rattle off names until one clicks.

“Yeah! That’s it.” Coyote agrees, looking at the faces of surprise. “Why?”

She shrugs. “I’m Facebook stalking her.”

Though they want to call her crazy, they huddle around the phone as she scrolls through the profile. Bradley rolls his eyes at the antics.

“You guys are being ridiculous.” He states.

“Holy shit…” Fanboy exclaims.

“She’s gorgeous…like insanely gorgeous.” Payback finishes the thought.

Just as Bradley turns to look, Jake’s truck rolls into a parking spot. Phoenix scrambles to put her phone away, trying to act natural as Jake gets out. He walks around the truck and opens the passenger side door.

Two long legs step out, they all watch with anticipation. The door is shut to reveal you in full.

Long, curled hair, a short black dress. You smile as you approach, it reflects in your blue eyes.

Bradley stands in a daze as you get introduced to everyone. He’s trying to think of a time when he’s seen someone more beautiful than you but he just can’t.

“This is Rooster.” Jake finally gets to him.

Bradley snaps out of it and smiles, shaking your perfectly soft hand.

You let your eyes rise from his shoes, all the way up his jeans and white tank top under his unbuttoned shirt. When they meet his eye, you take in a small breath at the way he gazes at you.

“Hi, Rooster.” You speak with a subtle southern accent, introducing yourself.

Then, you’re pulling away from him, his hand falls back at his side and he sees you turn to Payback.

“Happy birthday.” You say and hand him a small gift bag. “Jake helped me pick it out.”

He reaches into the bag, thanking you and saying that you really didn’t need to get him anything. He takes out a velvet box and opens it to reveal an expensive looking watch. The crew lowly whistles at it.

“Damn…my birthday’s next month by the way.” Coyote tells you, making you laugh.

Inside the club, the group of you gather in the reserved booth with a first round of drinks. Bradley sits directly across from you, watching you intently as you answer different questions.

“What do you do for work?” Phoenix asks, making Jake cut in.

“Stripping.” He says with a serious face, making you slap his arm.

“Stop telling people that.” You scold before looking back at Phoenix. “I model.”

That sparks a roar of interest, the whole time Bradley just watches your movements. Your fingers toy with the skinny straw in your glass as you tell a story about being in a rock music video or of doing an issue for Vogue two months ago. He sees your pouty bottom lip get caught between your pearly teeth when you laugh at something and his mind is flooded with thoughts he cannot speak out loud.

Here he was, worried you’d be a stone cold bitch when he should have been worried that you were gonna make him grip the table to ground himself. All you were doing was sitting there and he was already getting pulled in.

You’re Jake’s sister.

He has to remind himself of that as you are dragged into the swarm of clubbers by Phoenix and Halo.

“So…we’re just going to ignore the fact that she was a bunny?” Coyote mentions, making Jake cringe.

“Hey, asshole, let’s not talk about that when I’m sitting right here. Besides, it was like one issue, and she wasn’t buck naked.” He corrects, chugging his beer at the odd topic this has come to.

“You seen it?” Fanboy cringes.

“Our mom sent it to the family group chat! I was horrified.” Jake gags.

Bradley laughs at his reaction, then shifts his eyes to Coyote who finishes his drink. He sees the smirk he has and knows that there’s gonna be a comment to follow.

“She was hot, dude. I feel a little star struck, actually.” Coyote chuckles.

Jake points an angry finger at his friend. “I love you man, but say anything like that again and I’m putting you through this table. Got it?” He spits.

Bradley looks at his glass.

He better just keep his mouth shut, because if Jake hears the things he’s thinking, he’s as good as dead.

“What do you mean she was a bunny?” Bob questions, defusing the tension. “I thought she was Jake’s sister?”

The guys let out a sigh, Jake races off as it has to be explained to the pilot.

Lights and music pulse and as you dance along, Bradley’s jaw is ticking back and forth. You appear like a phantom, arms up as you laugh with Phoenix.

“I’ll be back.” He tells the guys before heading for the bathroom.

He locks the door behind him and leans on the sink, trying to get himself together. Then, he pulls out his phone and Googles your name.

Hundreds and hundreds of photos appear on the screen, all in which you look sinfully good.

How could he not know of you before? He feels like he’s lived in darkness this whole time.

Bradley splashes water on his face and tells his reflection to get it together. With a deep breath, he goes to the bar, trying to get his head straight.

Things with Jake were finally fine, there was a truce made. The last thing that Bradley needs is to start another war by getting too close to the miniature Seresin.

Leaning on the bar, waiting for the bartender to get to him, he’s suddenly joined.

“You weren’t gonna offer me a drink?” You ask with a playful smile.

He turns his head, looking down at you and he internally curses. Of course you’d find him, life was never easy for him.

“I figured you were a big girl and could get yourself something if you were thirsty.” He states, swallowing hard.

You let out a small chuckle, then wave the bartender over.

“Whatcha’ need sweetheart?” The bartender asks, leaning forward with a wink.

“Vodka with a diet redbull, if you wouldn’t mind.” You order, then turn to Rooster with an expectant look.

“Oh, uh, just whiskey on the rocks.” He mutters.

The bartender gets right on it, leaving the two of you alone once more.

You run a manicured hand through your hair and look up at him. “So, Rooster, you got a real name?” You ask.

He nods, avoiding eye contact. His fingers flex into fists and back out again because you smell like cherry and vanilla, it makes him feel woozy.

You laugh. “Yeah? What is it?”

Blowing out a breath, he tells himself he’s stronger than this and looks to you.

“Bradley.” He says, aching as you hum and try the name out for yourself.

“Bradley. I like that.” You nod, taking your drink as it is given to you.

Your lips wrap around the straw and slowly sip as he drinks his whiskey, focusing on the taste of it washing down his throat.

You watch the veins in his arms and the way his adams apple bobs. He’s the perfect picture of fine, the wheels are turning in your head as you establish that he’s what you want.

“You want to dance with me, Bradley?” You ask as he finishes the drink in silence.

He shoots his brown eyes down at you, but doesn’t answer. Your straw slurps as you reach the bottom of your glass. “It’s a simple question.” You state.

“No.” He shutters.

“No?” You clarify.

“I do but no, I won’t.” He says weakly.

“And why is that?” You question, lips pursing.

The way you squint your eyes makes him want to drop dead. He clears his throat. “You’re off limits, sweetheart. The last thing I need is your brother ripping my head off.”

You smile. “I’m a big girl, I can make my own decisions.”

He turns to fully face you now. “I don’t think that matters to Hangman.”

You let out a dramatic sigh. “Well, I’m standing here talking to you and he hasn’t come found me. I don’t know about you but to me, that seems like it’s okay for you to continue talking to me.”

You were being extremely difficult.

He sits on the chair behind him, motioning for you to do the same. Slowly, you sit, crossing one leg over the other. Your thumb nail gets caught between your teeth for a moment before he reaches out to pull it away. You lightly gasp at the action, then fold your hands together in your lap. “Wanna talk? Let’s talk.”

The two of you exchange friendly chatter, both very aware of the space shrinking between you. The sound of your voice is addicting, the longer you talk, the longer he adores it. All those silly things they guys assumed about you were entirely false. You were smart and kind, you were actually hilarious.

“You still don’t want to dance with me?” You ask after a breath, your fingers running over his thigh.

He sucks in a breath. “You just want me to be killed, don’t you?”

You look at the mass of people. “If I know one thing, it’s that my brother is probably all over some little blonde right now and way too distracted to worry about me.” You state, moving your fingers now to the back of his hand, slowly tracing shapes on his skin.

“What about the others?” He asks.

You shrug. “There’s a swarm of people, I doubt they’ll notice.”

He fights his inhibitions, then decides he’s aching to feel the silk of your dress under his hands way more than he is scared of getting caught.

Bradley grabs your hand, it’s strong as it guides you off the seat. You smirk to yourself as you follow behind him. He strategically places the two of you in the crowd, the lack of space makes you press yourself to him. Your arms hook around his neck, you feel the warmth of his palms on your lower back.

The different colored lights make the silhouette of you sharp and enticing. Though the two of you start out calm, your movements aren’t subtle. One hand in his hair, the other smooths up his chest. You’re hot, blame it on the people around you but the way he’s looking at you isn’t helping. The size of his hands on you, the way his hair gets messy, it has your knees feeling wobbly.

One movement forward, you’re pressed right against him, giving a delicious contact to the crotch of his jeans. His fingers grip your hips tightly, he leans down to press his lips to your ear. Your eyes widen as the heat of his breath washes down your neck.

“Don’t.” Is the only word he utters.

And you aren’t used to being told no.

You do it again, creating that aching friction as you rub against him. “Why not?” You whisper back.

Bradley shuts his eyes, trying to stay strong in the war he is not winning. “Don’t start something, sweetheart.”

You reach down to grab both his hands and slide them behind you. He grabs your ass instinctively.

“What if I want to?” You ask, anything but innocent.

He pulls away from your ear, shaking his head at you like it’ll change the situation. He’s saying no because it’s the smart thing, but really all he wants to do is slide his hand under your dress.

Your hand braces one side of his neck while you lean to the other. Slowly, like you aren’t sure if he’ll push you off or not, your lips press to his skin.

Bradley wants to curse, the way your tongue tastes the salt on his skin has him grinding you against him on his own accord. You make your way up to his jaw, then pull back. His eyes are entirely dark, you open your mouth to speak but he’s kissing you roughly.

You sigh contently as you start to feel like you’re buzzing on more than just alcohol. It only lasts a few seconds, like he just needed a taste. Bradley pulls away with a huff, you feel like you’re going to fall over.

“Still scared of Jake?” You ask him.

He shakes his head. “This isn’t smart.”

“But you want it.” You say, hand sliding up his chest.

He wants it, fuck he wants it. You can see it in his eyes, that’s why you take his hand and pull him out of the crowd.

In the secluded hallway of the bathrooms, in the low red lighting, you’re grinning as you’re backing him into the wall. You inhale deeply, fighting with his lips as he holds your waist. It’s feverish as you kiss, the way you gently press against his waist has Bradley biting back moans. Suddenly, he’s pushing you back, walking you until you hit the opposite wall.

“Don’t be a tease.” He warns lowly, hand gently squeezing your jaw.

Your smirk is victorious. “I won’t be a tease if you take me back to your place.”

He tightens his grip slightly before swooping down and devouring your lips. His strained jeans rub against you. “That’s what you want?” He asks, pulling away again.

You bite your bottom lip, nodding. “I’m up for anything you want to do, actually.”

His thumb pulls that lip down. He looks at it in awe as he makes his final decision.

“Text your brother, tell him that you called an Uber home.” He says.

“Jake already said he was taking a girl home and sent me the cash for a ride.” You breathe.

It’s all a sudden blur, the way Bradley’s dragging you out to the parking lot, helping you into the passenger seat of his Bronco. He’s definitely breaking traffic laws as he races to his one bedroom house.

He struggles to get the door open as you suck at his neck. Once he does get it open, he’s tugging you inside and slamming it shut.

Down the hall, you’re shredding his layers. His button shirt is thrown over the couch in the living room, his belt lands on the coffee table. As you pull his white tank off, your breath catches.

“Fuck.” Is all you can say, looking at how toned his upper body is. His biceps make you want to wrap your hands around them and squeeze.

Bradley smirks, feeling good about himself. “This is what gets you to shut that mouth of yours?” He asks.

You run your eyes over his abs. “You’re like…insanely hot.”

He grips your waist, then backs you up into the kitchen counter. “Says the one with the million dollar body.”

Your fingers dance over his bare skin. “Art appreciates art.” You shrug before devouring his kiss again.

At this point your lipstick is gone, Bradley wears some of it on his skin like you’ve branded him. His hands brace under your thighs, easily lifting you to sit on the smooth kitchen counter. You sit with a huff, spreading your legs wide enough for him to slot between them. The smooth material of your dress bunches on your hips, giving him a perfect view of the pretty pink thong you wear.

He breathes heavy in excitement, gazing down at the lace like it’s a prize. That’s before he’s tilting your head back and kissing down the column of your throat. You mewl softly at the feeling, how he dances down the tops of your breasts that threaten to spill out of the dress.

Then he’s sinking further down, you watch him slowly lower himself to become eye level with your core. You gasp softly as he grips your thighs and places warm kisses to them. It stimulates you, the way his lips feel. His hot breath fans over your aching center, he’s kissing the lace fabric like he’s praising it before he grips the top of it.

“You still sure you want this?” He checks one last time. “Because I don’t know if I can stop after I start.”

You grow impatient, flexing your hips to move your heat closer to him. “Bradley, I don’t want you to stop.”

That was enough for him to yank the panties down your legs, letting them hang on one ankle. He keeps your heels on, enjoying the way they press against his upper back as your legs drape over his shoulders.

His tongue comes to run up your center, you take in a sharp breath. He tastes your arousal, immediately becoming intoxicated off of it. Fingers pressing into the flesh of your thighs, he keeps you spread open for him as he dives in, eating you out in a way you haven’t experienced before.

Your head falls back, hand wringing in his hair, holding him close to you. A moan tumbles free from your throat. “Oh fuck, you’re good at this. Fuck! Like that.”

He can’t help but grin wildly, stimulating your erected clit before stretching two fingers inside of you. Your hips buck at the feeling, you’re humming out, panting at the feeling. He eats it so good, you don’t even think to muffle the sounds you make.

“Ah, Bradley.” You breathe, making his cock twitch in his jeans.

“You like it, pretty girl?” He vibrates against you, making you cry out.

His eyes lift to look up at you writhe. You’re perfect, open mouthed and grinding against his tongue, reacting when he curls his fingers.

“Yes.” You encourage.

The sound is wet and lewd as he sucks on your sensitive skin, your eyes widen as you feel your finish coming on.

“Rooster, I’m close.” You whine slightly, it only makes him focus more and get you closer.

“You want to cum? Do it, finish for me.” He encourages.

Your chest heaves, you tighten your grip in his hair as you clench around his fingers. You curse loudly, feeling the orgasm build and build until you finally snap. You shudder, your thighs clench around Bradley’s head as you feel the wave wash over you. He’s there through it, cleaning you up with his tongue, sucking his fingers clean.

You lick his lips, tasting yourself on him before kissing him.

“Come on, pretty girl.” He coos, helping you off the counter, chuckling at your uneasy legs as he guides you to his bedroom.

The door is clicked shut behind you and Bradley’s pulling you against him, cradling your face in his hands as he clashes his tongue with yours. His pants are pushed off by your greedy hands, then he’s watching you crawl onto his perfectly made bed. Your eyelashes fan perfectly as you stare at him, slowly pulling your dress off and dropping it to the floor.

Fuck.

You’re perfect.

Sitting pretty for him, he lets his eyes roam over your perfect skin, how great you look in his bed.

He’s in trouble.

Your leg extends out, lifting your foot up expectantly. With a pleased smile, he comes forward to the foot of the bed, unbuckling the heel, then the other. He tosses them carelessly behind him, they hit the floor with a clatter.

“Those are expensive.” You warn as he tugs at your ankles, making you gasp and fall onto your back.

“Yeah? I’m sure you have five more pairs just like them.” He states, crawling up the bed to hover over you.

Slowly, the two of you share the same air. You lay, looking up at him. “Come on, Bradley, I won’t tell if you won’t.” You tease.

He could devour you.

“You do this often? Target your brother’s friends?” He jokes back.

Your nails run down his scalp. “I can’t stand my brother’s friends. You on the other hand, you’re different.”

Tongue in your mouth, he’s moaning, sitting up to pull open his nightstand drawer. The foil of the condom is cool in his fingers, he pulls back to sit on his knees as you sit up. You pull his boxer briefs down his toned legs, breathing heavy as his full erection is freed. It aches against his stomach, the tip dripping with precum. You swipe your thumb over it, making him groan.

Completely infatuated, you pump your hand over his length as he rips open the condom package.

“I’ll cum if you keep doing that.” He grunts out, pulling your hand away so he can roll the rubber on. “Get on your stomach.”

The direct tone of his voice has you a mess between your legs, you roll over, legs spread, yelping in surprise as he tugs your hips, positioning your ass in the air.

“Is this okay?” He asks, warmly rubbing your back.

Hair falls in your eyes, he moves it away. You look back at him and nod. “It’s more than okay.”

His dark eyes gleam, then he’s positioning himself at your entrance. You feel the tip of him run down your folds, nudging your clit, making you mewl lowly and grab the pillow.

He pushes halfway in before you gasp, he slowly enters your walls to make sure you’re relaxed enough for him. The pressure his size gives you has you breathing hard already.

“I’m almost there, sweetheart.” He says lowly, letting his head fall back as he finally bottoms out.

Adjusting, you can feel how good he fills you. “Oh god.” You pant, squeezing your eyes shut as he slowly pulls back and pushes into you again.

“You sound so perfect.” Bradley says, slack jawed.

He kneads your ass, gripping it as he sets a pace. The way you lay out on front of him, arched back and taking him so good, he wants to cum inside of you in that moment.

“Mm, like that.” You guid. “You’re so fucking deep.”

Hearing those dirty words from your perfect lips, his vision threatens to go blurry.

“Yeah? Is this what you wanted the whole night, my cock buried inside you. Fuck, you’re so tight, it’s amazing.” He says through gritted teeth.

Pulling your hips, he fucks you back into him. As you meet his thrusts, broken sounds are coming from your throat.

You’re picture perfect, he’s going to be getting off to this image for weeks.

Mind completely cloudy, you mutter your words, they slur together. His fingers snake down to rub your clit and it has you choking on a sob, burying your face into the pillow at the build up inside of you.

“There you go, baby.” He breathes, picking up his pace. His hand stretches to gently tangle in your hair, his thrusts are hard, jolting you.

His name is muffled as you chant it, warning him that you’re oh-so close. You can’t even turn your head to look back at him, you just lean your head back and cry out as you clench around him.

“Holy shit- I’m almost there, hang on.” He grunts, edging himself closer and closer.

Your body shakes. “Bradley.” You whimper out, then you’re coming all over him.

The shout of him is what makes him push fully inside of you one last time and release. He bucks against you, riding his high out.

You’re collapsed onto the mattress now as he pulls out of you, mouth open as you pant, face and hair a mess.

“Holy fuck…” He runs a hand over his face, moving to lean back against his headboard.

He looks down at you, thinking you’re utterly spent. His gentle hands pull you up to him, slowly kissing you, trying to comb your hair down.

You learn how affectionate he can be. Especially after another round, where you’re watching him fuck up into you as you ride him, and genuine tiredness overcomes the two of you. You both clean up, then you try to decide what your next move is.

Hookups weren’t something you were too familiar with, you’ve only ever slept with your previous boyfriends.

Were you supposed to go back to your house? Did he expect you to leave?

The answer is decided when he shifts to his worn side of the bed.

“Come back to bed.” He says, watching you stand in the doorway, looking at your shoes.

Your eyes lift back up to him and his heart stops for a moment, you’re wearing a genuine grin.

Tangled in his sheets, not bothering to get dressed, the two of you talk until you eventually are lulled to sleep. You tried to fight it, but he’s so warm as he holds you, his voice is such a perfect tone, he’s rubbing your head and doing everything a hookup doesn’t do.

He’s well aware of this.

And when you’re snoozing peacefully, tucked against his chest, he curses and looks up at the ceiling.

He was already in too deep.

Part 2 here

[gpcwsl]

@wosoloves-world requested this

Alessia Russo!College x Reader!College

Step ahead

WC: 1040

Alessia Russo MasterList

MasterList

Warnings: Mild sexual content (implied, not graphic), strong language, (minor swearing).

-

At 17, college was a chaotic mix of late-night study sessions, cheap takeaway, and friendship that felt like forever. For Alessia Russo, it also meant trying not to completely embarrass herself every time she was within a ten-foot radius of you.

You were part of the group — five of you who met on the very first day of college and instantly clicked. You, Alessia, Lotte Wubben-Moy, Ella Toone, and Georgia Stanway. A little chaotic, a little loud (mostly thanks to Ella), and always together.

The group had a ritual: each week, you’d rotate whose dorm everyone would crash in. This week, it was yours.

Alessia swore she’d be cool about it. She had rehearsed it. Just act normal. Don’t trip. Don’t say anything weird.

-

So naturally, the first thing she did when she walked into your room was trip over your rug.

“Cool rug,” she blurted, lying on the floor.

You giggled, holding out a hand to help her up. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled, going a little red, “the rug attacked me.”

From the bed, Ella snorted. “You’re always so graceful, Less.”

Georgia exchanged a smirk with Lotte. They all knew. They’d known for months now.

Alessia Russo was head over heels for you. The kind of crush that made her forget how doors worked when you were nearby.

-

It was a couple of days later, during a lazy lunch on campus, that Georgia pulled Ella and Lotte aside.

“She’s hopeless,” Georgia said, nodding toward Alessia, who was across the quad pretending not to stare at you as you laughed with someone from your class.

“She nearly choked on a carrot when they looked at her yesterday,” Lotte added.

Ella leaned in like they were planning a heist. “Okay. So. We help her.”

“You mean like… coach her?” Georgia asked.

“Exactly. We’re gonna get that girl to ask out her crush if it’s the last thing we do.”

Unbeknownst to them, you were already a step ahead.

-

You’d been practicing your speech in the mirror all morning. Every scenario. Every possible reaction.

But now you were standing outside Alessia’s dorm room, nerves tying knots in your stomach. You weren’t confident like people thought. Around Alessia, your brain short-circuited in a way that made your words come out weird and your heart beat like a drumline.

You knocked.

The door opened, and Alessia’s eyes went wide. “Oh! Uh, hi! You okay? I mean, not that you look not okay, you look great—I mean, good. Not that I was—”

“Ilikeyou,” you blurted.

She froze. “Sorry?”

You swallowed. “I like you. And I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go out sometime? With me? On, like… a date?”

Alessia blinked. Then blinked again. She was waiting for the punchline, the twist — but it wasn’t coming.

“You’re asking me out?”

You nodded, eyes fixed on the floor. “If you don’t want to, that’s okay. I probably messed this up. I practiced it a lot but I—”

“Yes.”

You looked up.

“Yes?” you repeated.

“Yes,” Alessia said again, softer this time. Her eyes lit up. “I really like you too. I’ve just been… bad at acting normal about it.”

You smiled shyly. “Same.”

She stepped forward and hugged you — tight and warm and a little bit shaky. “You’ve just made my whole week.”

You pulled back. “Okay, I’ll go before I combust. I’ll text you, yeah?”

“Please do,” she said, watching you with a dazed smile.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, you ran down the hallway, practically skipping, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt.

Back in the room, Alessia stared at the door.

Then muttered, “Did that actually just happen?”

-

It had been months.

Months of sneaking glances when the others weren’t looking. Months of hidden smiles, brushing hands under the table, kisses stolen behind closed doors. You and Alessia had somehow managed to keep your relationship a secret — which, considering Ella’s nose for drama, was basically a miracle.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want the others to know. It was just… yours. Special. And kind of fun, in a reckless, adrenaline-rush kind of way.

But secrets don’t last forever.

-

It was late spring when it happened. The group had planned another one of their traditional hangouts — this time, back at Alessia’s dorm. Everyone had agreed on 7:30. Ella, Georgia, and Lotte were running late, stopping by the café on campus to grab snacks and argue about who had forgotten to bring Uno.

They didn’t think to knock when they finally arrived.

They didn’t have to knock. It was always a safe space — snacks, bad music, laughter. No secrets.

Until the door opened.

And there you were. Straddling Alessia on her bed. Her shirt unbuttoned. Your lips locked in a kiss so intense that neither of you heard the door swing open or the three gasps behind it.

Ella dropped her popcorn.

Georgia blinked. “Are they—”

“Oh my god,” Lotte whispered.

Alessia pulled back, her eyes wide with panic as she spotted them. You scrambled off her, tugging your shirt down and fumbling for words.

“Okay,” Ella said, raising both hands, “so I was not expecting to walk in on full-on lesbian lovefest in here, but hey—go off.”

Georgia looked between the two of you, stunned. “You’ve been together? This whole time?”

You and Alessia exchanged guilty looks.

“We… yeah,” you said, cheeks burning. “Since the beginning of the year.”

Lotte sat on the floor dramatically. “I feel betrayed. I made a whole plan to get you two together. We had meetings. There were group chats.”

Alessia rubbed the back of her neck. “Sorry. We just… wanted it to be ours for a while.”

Ella looked positively gleeful now. “So how long until we get wedding invites?”

“Ella—” you groaned.

“No, no, I’m serious. I need to emotionally prepare. I cry at weddings.”

Georgia just shook her head with a grin. “Well, guess we’re not playing Uno tonight.”

Ella winked. “Speak for yourself. I brought drinks. Let the post-kiss reveal party begin.”

And just like that, the room filled with laughter and chaos once again — except now, it felt even more like home. No more secrets. Just you, Alessia, and the people who’d somehow known all along.

[snowfieldstories]

a new kind of subject (ii)

kim dokja x childhood friend!reader

warnings: damn horny teens, touch of angst--mentions of suicide/death

w.c: 2.6k

a.n: lmao this might give you emotional whiplash. my deepest apologies. it picks up right where the "seventeen" section left off in part i. part iv will be set during the apocalypse again, as part of an ask from my mailbox! *coming soon*

summary: you and kim dokja can't keep your hands off each other, and your mother is very pleased (wtf mom?). then you have a much needed heart to heart

<- chronology of love pt. i ⏱ your husband's husband pt. iii ->

seventeen

As soon as the final bell dismissed everyone for the day, you couldn't drag Kim Dokja to your house fast enough. He went along willingly, and his cheeks were pink when your eyes flicked back to meet his every so often. Your own were probably the same.

It finally happened—you had confessed to Dokja, he returned it, and then you kissed.

The euphoria tingled throughout your body and pumped an energy into your legs that had you practically racing to get home now.

Your family lived in a modest, two-story house in a neighborhood not too far from the school. It was annoyingly far from where Dokja lived with his aunt, but that didn't matter much since he always spent time at yours (so much so that your father jokingly called the guest bedroom "Kim Dokja's room," even when actual guests stayed over).

"Hey, I'm home!"

You kicked off your shoes in the entryway, and Dokja barely had time to slip off his own as you tugged him deeper into the house. Your mother was reading in the living room as you passed by.

"We'regoingupstairssodon'tbotherus, okay??"

Then you whisked Dokja up the stairs and into your room.

You failed to notice the sharp, knowing gaze that caught your interlaced fingers, the blush on your face, and the dopey smile on Kim Dokja's as he looked at you lovingly from behind.

The door clicked shut behind you.

And suddenly, you were nervous. Your backpack slid off your shoulder as you both fidgeted.

"What..." you swallowed thickly. "What should we do?"

Dokja's eyes were wide on you, as if shocked that you had thought to ask such a sensible question.

"We could..." He made a vague gesture. "Schoolwork?"

"Yeah."

Neither of you moved to open your backpacks.

But Dokja dared to move closer. He was so close. You gave a soft yelp as the back of your legs hit your bed, and something—pride?—gleamed in Dokja's eyes.

"Um, I guess we usually do work on my bed," you said.

"Yeah..." He was directly in front of you now. Though an unusual confidence had taken over his actions, you still spotted the nervous tremble in his hands. The air was becoming noticeably warm.

"What should we study?" you asked, distracted by the rise and fall of his chest. Then the planes of his neck. Then his lips, slightly parted.

Dokja looked at you, inscrutable. "A brand new subject."

And he kissed you.

You gasped, melting against him, and his arms came around to hold you tight to his body. At first, his mouth landed a bit awkwardly on the corner of yours, but then he shifted. And devoured you.

His lips were hot, addicting, and it was almost startling how quickly you both found a tempo; then again, you had known each other intimately most of your life. So really it made perfect sense.

Dokja's mouth explored yours, making careful bites with his teeth every so often, with wet sounds that made your head spin deliriously.

He's good at this. You were surprised, because neither of you had any experience in this area (unless he did...and you had no idea...then you were going to have to kill whoever it was, and then destroy him for not telling you).

Not to be shown up, you moved your hands from his neck to his chest, smoothing them underneath the blazer of his uniform, gripping along his narrow waistline.

Dokja groaned your name into your mouth and your hands became more insistent. He helped you sit on your bed as your fingers untucked his shirt and skimmed the revealed skin.

Your kisses became hurried, messier, and Dokja used one hand behind your head to slot your lips more firmly together. Needing more, you wrapped your legs around his backside and yanked him closer. His hips met you with a light thump.

At the sudden, hard contact there, you both froze.

"Oh," breathed Dokja, pulling away from you. His pupils were blown wide. You both watched a string of saliva trail between your lips.

He pressed forwards, into you, and you whimpered. His heated breaths were coming out heavier now. You reached up to bring his mouth back onto yours, muffling his moan when your squeezing thighs added more pressure down there.

Then the door opened.

You shrieked, only having enough sense to rip away from the kiss, before your mother poked her head in.

"From now on, you'll leave the door open," she said, oddly cheerful.

"Mother," you whined, and stuffed your face into Dokja's chest in embarrassment. "Go away!"

You felt Dokja swallow. "I—I'm sorry."

Your mother only laughed. "Nothing to be sorry for, dear. I expected this eventually."

She called your name sternly, and you slowly peeked your head around your poor, petrified...boyfriend? Yeah, boyfriend (who happened to be your best friend, too). You saw her eyes flick down to your legs, still wrapped around Dokja, and your joined hips. You quickly released him and scooted back. "As much as I'm looking forward to having grandchildren, at least wait until you've finished high school," your mother said thoughtfully. "University is fine."

"MOTHER!" You chucked a pillow at her head, but she retreated before it could hit its target.

"We're clothed," said Dokja weakly. His face was dark red with flush.

"Door wide open!" your mother yelled out one last time.

The intrusion had killed the mood, so you both attempted to concentrate on your studies—real studies, this time. Even so, you both couldn't help but press your legs together as you sat against the wall with textbooks in your laps.

Over dinner that night, your feet were tangled with Dokja's under the table.

"Oh, and another thing," said your mother to you, interrupting the mumblings of your father about stock market prices. "Dokja-ya will be staying in his room tonight, alone, and every time after from now on. Or no more sleepovers."

"Huh?"

It was your father. He seemed to turn over the words in his mind, scrunching his face. And then the implication struck him. He looked first at Dokja, who was clearly dying inside of mortification, and then you, pink-faced and sputtering. Your father grunted and stuffed his mouth with curry rice, as if not wishing to dwell on his daughter's love life for too long.

Then his head shot up. His eyes narrowed, back and forth between you and Dokja. "Hold on—were you two sleeping in the same room before?!"

Dokja buried his face in his hands as you screeched objections. What you were objecting to, you had no idea. Anything to get the attention off of your dirty little secret being aired.

Not that it was actually that dirty...but you didn't realize that your mother knew you two traded off sleeping in the other's bed when Dokja spent the night. It was harmless back then, oftentimes a product of falling asleep talking too late into the early hours, but now things were different.

And you had been so looking forward to it tonight.

Your father continued to grumble and kept a close eye on the both of you for the rest of the meal.

The next morning was a bright and beautiful Saturday. But you and Kim Dokja were drowsy, grouchy even, at being forced to sleep apart in your house for the first time in years; you both found better rest and comfort when the other was nearby.

"This sucks," you griped as you filled two mugs with hot water and passed one to Dokja.

Dokja nodded sleepily, swirling the tea bag by the string. "But I don't want to make your mother mad."

"Don't be ridiculous, she adores you," you said. "More than me, I'm pretty sure—I'm the one she would get mad at."

"...Your father came in last night." Dokja cringed. "I think to make sure I was there and you weren't."

You tried your tea and jerked back when it scalded the tip of your tongue. You sighed. "He came by my room too. Threatened to lock me in there."

At that, Dokja snorted into his tea. "Like that would stop you."

He was well-aware of your skill at picking locks. It had gotten you two into trouble more times than you could count, finding access to teachers' closets and storerooms and the like. It was a skill that would come in handy in the future at school, for finding a quiet space alone...together...

"Where are they now?" Dokja asked casually, but his eyes on you were suddenly as bright as the sunlight streaming through the curtains.

You called out for your parents, and then shrugged at the silence. "Not home, I guess."

"Hm."

Then Dokja was pushing aside his tea to slide closer to you. You honestly couldn't tell if he was more pleased to corner you into the kitchen counter, or if you were more eager for him to do it.

"Is there something you want with them? I can call to see when they'll be home."

"Yes, because I come over here practically every day to spend time with your parents," said Dokja in a dry tone.

You pouted. "I'm going to be jealous if that's true."

"Maybe I want to see you jealous."

"Kim Dokja!" You slung your arms around his neck as he leaned in slightly. "You'll have to make it up to me then."

Dokja's eyes dropped to your lips. "Okay. But I need to borrow something to do it."

You raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Can you lend me a kiss? I promise I'll give it back," he said, with a self-satisfied grin.

"What are you, the king of cheesy lines?"

He made a noise in his throat, like you hadn't given him the response he wanted, and tried again, this time a bit sulky. "Will you give me a kiss if I am?"

"Ha. You're funny," you said, rolling your eyes.

You gave Dokja a kiss anyways.

By the time you both decided to come up for air, the tea had become a nice refresher to cool back down.

"You're surprisingly bold," you finally said what had been on your mind since yesterday.

"I've got years and years of making up to do," he said with a slight scowl. "We could have been doing this for much longer if I wasn't so afraid before."

You slid a hand up his chest, feeling a thrill at being able to do something like that so openly now. Your tone was reminding as you said, "We have all the time in the future now, too."

Dokja hummed and leaned back in. He hovered, his nose not quite close enough to touch. "How can I not be bold when you said you love me?"

"I should take it back so you become shy and awkward."

He smiled, teasing. "If you took it back, I would simply die."

Your own smile dropped and you shoved him back like he'd burned you. Your sudden, rapid breathing had nothing to do with the affectionate banter of before. "Don't fucking say that," you said, voice fragile.

Dokja was frozen, unsure of whether to hold you in comfort or retreat. "I'm sorry—?"

"If you died, then so would I," you said fiercely.

"Hold on," said Dokja, alarmed. His eyes were wide. "It was...a joke..."

It was the confusion you saw there that caused you to finally reveal the depth of your feelings about his past.

The words spilled out of your mouth too quickly. "Do you have any idea how scared I was of you not being here when I returned? Of a possibility that almost came true? How guilty I feel for leaving you, like, what if I had just been here instead of fucking Japan, then maybe you wouldn't have—" A dry sob choked the rest of the words from your throat.

Your heart ached and trembled. It was easy to keep this fear contained most days, but that meant your pain was vast when provoked.

"I didn't realize," he whispered.

No, he wouldn't have known. It had a been a chilly, overcast day your second year of high school when Kim Dokja had told you what had happened back in middle school, how he almost—you had barely been able to contain it all until he'd left your house for his. Your mother cradled you like a baby as you broke entirely. It was an agonizing, wretched heartbreak that had festered, his death becoming your primary fear.

The next day at school, you had told him you were sick to explain your puffy face and haggard appearance.

You snagged his shirt now, dragging him so that your ear was pressed against his chest to reassure yourself of his heartbeat. His arms tentatively slid around your still-shaking form.

"Dokja, I'm terrified of you dying."

It was such a raw and vulnerable admission, that the two of you let it ring in the silence that followed. His hands began stroking your back, your hair.

"You have to know it's not your fault. You didn't choose to leave. And I—you know what my family situation is like. The book, the bullies...you were never at fault," Dokja spoke urgently. "I'm really only still here because of you."

And that web novel, you thought distantly. You squeezed Dokja tighter instead of speaking.

"I wouldn't do—That was once, long ago. I wouldn't do something like that again. I'm not in that headspace anymore," said Dokja quietly. "Not when I have everything to live for."

You felt him press his lips into the crown of your head.

"I'm not going anywhere," Dokja murmured.

"You'd better not," you said with a sniffle.

For a time, you both stood there like that, holding each other. A motorcycle revved in the distance. The late morning birds began chirping.

You had calmed down, and now started to feel the growling of your stomach.

"I heard that," said Dokja, poking your side.

You both grabbed some food and settled on the couch, deciding on a lighthearted kid's movie to pass the time. You snuggled into his side, clinging to him like a koala. The animated characters sang and danced on screen, but you took to watching Dokja instead; his little smiles at the lame jokes in the script; the slope of his nose and curved lips of his side profile; the lively sparkle in his eyes from the flickering screen. This is how you loved him best—full of life and happiness.

He caught you staring, and looped his arm tighter around your waist.

Eventually, your eyes shut, lulled by the steady comfort of his warmth and pulse. His head dropped down onto yours not long after.

Your parents returned home to find you two passed out on the couch, still clutching each other like it was the only thing tethering you to this Earth. They tiptoed around you, letting you both rest.

But...your mother did snap quite a few photos first.

When she showed you, you pretended to be annoyed with her—it was embarrassing!—but really you stole her phone later to send them all to yourself. For safe keeping, of course.

You went back to look at those photos often.

a.n: i'll be honest--thinking about little dokja at age six makes me want to bawl, so i don't think i will go back to that age as part of this mini series. i might just stick with the older ages if i decide to write any more beyond part iv

[b1eedthefreak]

Daryl but with cute little girlfriend/boyfriend thats on other team, so when he gets caught one time by readers group, reader has to tie him up and in the process makes little bows in the knots of the ropes.

Or something like that.

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Lovers Enemies

⌇daryl dixon x reader

⌇summary: daryl is from alexandria, you’re from a enemy group nearby. your group runs into him on a supply run

⌇warnings: light violence

⌇word count: 1.3k

a/n i absolutely LOVED this request!! thank you anon! should i make this a series people lowkey i really like this guys :3

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The truck was a lucky find.

Daryl almost passed it by, just another rusting carcass on the side of the road—but the faint glint of something metallic in the bed caught his eye. He pushed aside the overgrowth and yanked open the back. Jackpot. Inside, there were cans stacked like treasure, batteries wrapped in old socks to muffle their rattle, a full box of ammo, and for once, soap that didn’t smell like pure chemical burn. His crossbow swung across his back as he leaned in and started packing everything into his bag, moving quick but careful. This wasn’t just a lucky run. This was enough to make the bruises on his ribs and the ache in his joints feel worth it. Enough to feel like he could walk back to camp with his head a little higher.

And then he heard it. That telltale click, loud and cold and close enough to stop his blood in its tracks.

“What the hell you doin’ with our stuff?” a voice demanded behind him, rough and cocky.

Daryl turned slowly, calm and deliberate, like a wolf sizing up its prey. Two men blocked the truck’s entrance, rifles up and fingers ready. They looked like the type that used to wear biker cuts and brag about the people they’d hurt. Daryl didn’t blink. “Ain’t yours no more,” he muttered, and before the sentence finished falling out of his mouth, he fired.

The bolt slammed into the taller one’s shoulder, and everything went sideways. The other ducked, firing back wild, and Daryl dove out the back of the truck, boots hitting dirt in a rough, sliding sprint as he cursed under his breath, ducking for cover. That’s when he saw her.

You.

The world narrowed like the end of a scope. You were halfway behind a stack of crates, dust on your cheeks and blood dried on your temple like a jagged little crown, but your eyes, shit, your eyes were wide and bright and locked on his. For a half second, nothing else existed. The gunfire faded. The wind stilled. The sound of his own breath was the only thing louder than his heartbeat. And then, against all logic and reason, you smiled.

That big, blinding, stupidly sweet smile that lit up your whole face like the apocalypse wasn’t happening all around you. Like you weren’t on opposite sides. Like you weren’t supposed to shoot him.

“Damn it Y/N!” one of the men barked. “Shoot him!”

You blinked like you’d forgotten where you were. “Oh—right!”

The moment snapped. You moved at the same time he did, him lunging forward, ready to grab you, pull you out of there, anything, and you pivoted, spinning with your gun raised. For one wild moment he thought you might actually do it. Might shoot him. But instead, you ducked under his arm, spun around behind him with all the ease of someone who knew every inch of him, and whispered, soft and apologetic against the shell of his ear, “Sorry, love.”

Then everything went black.

He woke to the sound of fabric brushing against rope and the distant, lazy drone of cicadas whispering through the heat soaked trees.

Pain pulsed through the left side of his skull in time with his heartbeat, and his vision blurred before it slowly began to clear. His back was pressed to something solid—wood, maybe a post, and his arms were pulled tight in front of him, bound at the wrists. He blinked against the light filtering in through a cracked barn wall, and then…pink?

Little pink bows.

His brain stuttered.

There you were, crouched in front of him, tongue poking out between your teeth in focused concentration as you tied another rope into a loop around his arm. But not just tied, decorated. The knot curved into a perfect, frilly bow, dainty like it belonged on a birthday gift, and you tugged the ends to fluff it with the care of someone wrapping something precious.

“Daryl!” you chirped, face lighting up the second you saw his eyes open. “You’re awake!”

He groaned, jaw tightening as a sharp wave of pain lanced through his temple. “Shit girl… y’hit me hard.”

Your smile turned sheepish, a little guilt creeping in even though your eyes still sparkled. “I had to. They were watching. Had to make it look real.”

“Didn’t know knockin’ me out was your idea of flirtin’,” he grumbled, glancing down at the bows. “And wha’s all this?”

“Oh!” you perked up again like this was the most fun you’d had in weeks. “Got bored. Thought I’d pretty you up.”

You said it so nonchalantly, so breezy and sweet, like tying your boyfriend to a wooden post with pastel ribbon in the middle of enemy territory was just a casual way to spend your afternoon. Like there was nothing at all strange about decorating a Dixon like he was your apocalyptic prom date.

He let his head fall back against the post with a long, low groan. “Jesus, I missed you.”

You leaned in, brushing your nose softly against his cheek before placing the gentlest kiss right below the bruise blooming near his jaw. “Missed you more.”

Before he could say anything else, the sound of boots crunching across the wooden floor echoed from down the hall. Your eyes sharpened in an instant. You were on your feet, gun raised, the sugary warmth in your face replaced by a fierce edge that still looked heartbreakingly pretty.

“Time to act,” you murmured, and he gave a barely perceptible nod.

The door banged open, and the two men from earlier walked in like they owned the place. One looked suspicious. The other just looked pissed.

They stopped in front of you both, Daryl bound and bruised, you holding a pistol to his temple with a convincingly annoyed expression.

“Tell us where your people are,” you demanded, doing your best impression of a cold blooded interrogator. But even then, your voice held that telltale softness, like every threat was dipped in honey.

“Piss off,” Daryl spat, perfectly playing the stubborn bastard they expected.

The men stepped closer, tension crackling in the air like lightning before a storm. “We’ll make this real easy,” one of them threatened. “Tell us, or we break every bone in your—”

“He’s not talking,” you snapped, cutting him off. “But I’ll handle it.”

They hesitated. Then one gave a grunt of approval. “We’ll give you some time. Don’t go soft on him.”

You rolled your eyes like you were deeply offended. “Please. I knocked him out once already.”

They didn’t argue. The door swung closed behind them, and as soon as it latched, you spun back around and crouched beside him with a muffled laugh bubbling out of your throat.

“They totally bought it.”

Daryl narrowed his eyes. “Ain’t funny, sweet girl. Got a damn concussion.”

You smirked but offered a little shrug. “Could’ve been worse. I almost used the glitter rope.”

He gave a long, tired exhale. “You’re killin’ me baby.”

“Not today,” you whispered, and pulled a knife from your belt.

As you cut through the bindings, Daryl couldn’t help watching you, really watching. The way your hands moved fast and sure. The way your hair bounced in its high ponytail, streaked with dust and held up by three different clips shaped like flowers. The way you were so soft even here, in a place like this, surrounded by men who wouldn’t hesitate to kill you if they knew. Even now, with your chipped nail polish and the dirt on your knees, you looked like something out of a dream.

“There,” you murmured, slipping his crossbow back into his hands. “You’re free!”

He didn’t move at first. He just stared at you like you were a miracle he couldn’t believe had come back.

“You should go,” you said softly, barely audible.

Daryl rose, muscles stiff and sore, his head still pounding. He looked down at you, his girl, his impossible, radiant girl—and reached up to cup your cheek. You leaned into it instinctively, eyes fluttering closed like it had been weeks since you’d felt anything warm.

“Gonna get you outta here someday,” he whispered, thumb stroking your cheek.

You opened your eyes, voice trembling but sure. “I know.”

Then he kissed you.

Hard. Fast. Messy. Sweet. It wasn’t the perfect kiss, but it was everything you needed. You melted into it, one hand fisting in his vest, the other curling at the nape of his neck. He kissed you like he couldn’t stand the thought of letting go, and you kissed him like you’d been starving for him since the last time he disappeared into the woods.

When he finally pulled back, he kept his forehead pressed to yours.

“Love you, sweet girl,” he murmured.

You smiled with wet eyes and kissed his bruised cheek, right over the spot you’d nailed him earlier, and left behind the faintest pink smudge from your lip balm.

“Run,” you said, voice shaking. “I’ll cover you.”

He didn’t argue. He didn’t look back. And you didn’t let yourself watch too long, just long enough to see him vanish into the trees with his crossbow slung across his back and pink bows still dangling from his wrists like ribbons of rebellion.

Dating someone from the enemy team should’ve been impossible.

But not when it was Daryl.

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[talenlee]

The Parallel Universes of Entry Hazards in Pokemon

Stealth rock.

For the invested competitive Pokemon player, there are two reactions to this name. One group recognise the word as indicative of one of the most powerful things in the game, a single power that represents, unaddressed, something like a whole Pokemon’s worth of actual health for one button click. One group recognises it as a power that exists, and ruins the format the other group play.

It is a philosophical seam between two groups of people who consider themselves to be, as a group, competitive Pokemon players. Two houses, alike only in difference, and I am going to try, to try to be nice to Smogon in this article, I promise.

Alright, the power itself. First of all, Stealth Rock is a move introduced to Pokemon in Generation IV, back in 2007. That is, right now, Stealth Rock is old enough to vote in the United States. This move creates what’s called an ‘entry’ hazard; it’s reasonably easy to grasp, in turn-based game turns; it’s stuff on the ground, so any time a pokemon that touches the ground enters, it gets hit by those rocks. It’s scattering thumbtacks on the ground where you’re supposed to stand and fight. In purely mechanical game-action-make-sensey kind of way, it’s a great power. You have pokemon made of rocks, they can chuck rocks over there, and rely on the long game effecting your opponents.

The amount of damage it does is a ‘fixed’ value – 12.5% at base, but it’s a rock type move, so it’s been set to do ‘rock’ damage, and that means in Pokemon, with the type chart you may remember from previous conversations on the same, anything that is weak to rock damage takes more damage from those rocks. That means that for the types weak to rock, they take 25% damage, which is a pretty significant chunk of your health, especially if you ever have to swap in a second time. And Arceus help you if you’re two types weak to rock, because then you’re taking 50% of your health on the trade-in and definitionally, unless something extraordinary happens, you can’t trade in again.

Now, this is pretty abnormal; there aren’t that many powers that are capable of this kind of impact. But you can weight this value based on how many times someone is going to trade out in a fight, and how important a single turn is going to be spent taking time to throw the rocks on the ground. If, for example, almost nothing is weak to rock moves, then this is an interesting curiosity. Similarly, if this is a move almost no monster that’s any good has access to, then it doesn’t matter how great the move is, you won’t be able to get it onto a team.

In the four categories of ‘weak to Rock’ Pokemon, there are 349 Pokemon, or about a third of all Pokemon. There are some false positives there; after all, in the list of flying types, there are no doubt some flying-grass types, which means they don’t take double damage from Stealth Rock. Similarly, there are a lot of Pokemon in that list that aren’t very good; if you’re super-effective at beating up stupid babies, it doesn’t really mean that much for competitive performance, where you will rarely have a stupid baby matchup. As far as how many Pokemon have access to Stealth Rock, it is a move available to 207 Pokemon, which is to say, about 1/5th of all Pokemon.

It’s widely distributed, and it’s good against a lot of stuff and it’s amazing against a pretty significant fraction of the stuff it’s good against.

How does that take us to our two groups?

First of all, there’s Smogon, the more pertinent of this group. Smogon is an online-based community-driven Pokemon competitive format that has a…

Let’s say complicated history and relationship to legality and formats. Like, for its virtues or its vices, I think it’s reasonable to say that Smogon is complicated. For a start, if you want to, you can go to Smogon’s play spaces and start playing competitive Gen1 Pokemon. That’s Red-Blue-Yellow, and it’ll be divided up into a variety of play environments to, generously, try and maximise the number of Pokemon you can play with. There’s a deliberately archival view of play environments, too, where you can play the game the way it worked all those years ago, and you can keep playing it and changes to it are done slowly and through consensus of the player base.

Smogon plays (typically) matches that are teams of six Pokemon, fighting one-on-one. It is how competitive Pokemon used to be played, back in the day when Hulk Hogan was the referee, and the way the game honestly represents it to be played. Like, in any given Pokemon game, you’re going to fight trainers that show up with some Pokemon in their pocket, and they can have, at most, six, and you can have at most six, and you play back and forth until you win or lose. Smogon can be compared to a sort of pure, real expression of the way the game teaches you to play.

In Smogon, Stealth Rock is the most powerful move in the game. Stealth Rock is important to, central even, every environment it’s in. It is too widely distributed to be conveniently banned except by its actual banning; there is no tier you can go to where stealth rock is not present because there’s always a Pokemon that can use it, and that means there are whole categories of Pokemon, including franchise mascot Charizard that just don’t have a meaningfully good place to exist because of how there’s this one move that’s going to cut their health in half in almost all games. Smogon is so defined by Stealth Rock that an item that makes you immune to Stealth Rock briefly approached 50% usage in the current generation, and this led to claims the item was probably overpowered because everyone was using it.

See, here’s another thing about Smogon. Smogon had to institute a timer that said games can’t go more than 1,000 turns.

That is, there was a time when the timer could go longer than 1,000 turns, and they compromised to 1,000 turns to stop the games going too ridiculously long.

VGC is the alternative format, which is run and maintained by the Pokemon company. It’s the ‘official’ format, and that’s where there are things like regionals and championships and trophies and coverage where you’ll see people at tournaments with overseeing judges and stuff like that. VGC is a comparatively simple format, but it’s also rotating and changing. Any team you made for VGC last year isn’t going to be good any more, because not only are other players more aware of what they’re doing, but also, the Pokemon that were legal for the format then are – well, okay, they’re probably fine, but there are a bunch of Pokemon that you can’t take to the next tournament. These Pokemon aren’t spot bans, they’re not negotiated or responsive to play environments, they’re just wholesale format choices: Pokemon of a particular category aren’t allowed right now, with terms like ‘legendary’ or ‘mythical.’

VGC is a format where games are played with a team of six; but to each fight, you bring four, and they play two-on-two. So you have two on your side of the field and I have two on my side of the field. This format is standard and has been since the year 2008, so one year after the release of Stealth Rock. Two Pokemon on a team can’t share a Pokemon Number (so you can’t, for example, field two Gengars, for double gengar action), no Pokemon on your team can hold the same held item, and they’re all levelled to 50, to sort out the math.

In VGC, Stealth Rock has never been meaningful or relevant.

These two game formats are structurally different. For good or ill, whatever you want to say about how they should work or not, and whether or not you prefer them, these two formats can be considered in terms of how they relate to this one specific move.

VGC matches are faster and shorter. They aren’t timed by a number of rounds necessarily but they are just assigned an actual clock timer, complete with time spent thinking. VGC swaps are less common but also matches are just plain out shorter. If you trade, there are two Pokemon in position to punch you in the face, and you get this thing called being ‘doubled into’ where two Pokemon attack one Pokemon and probably do too much damage for it to handle. You don’t swap Pokemon in and out as much, and Stealth Rock necessarily just doesn’t get to do that much damage.

Smogon is a format where games are longer and more grindy and that means that Pokemon swap in and out way more often. Abilities that make trading out better or refresh your endurance are more important and there are a number of teams where players spend about half the time not using moves, but instead swapping out. I am not trying to make fun here, I am not trying to exaggerate for effect, I trying to be clear and fair about this: Smogon is a place where everything Stealth Rock effects is important, and that means ‘weak to Stealth Rock’ is an almighty hurdle for a Pokemon to overcome to be able to do anything competitively.

Now, whether or not this is good is not important. What’s interesting here is how these two choices create different incentives and different values for the same pieces. Smogon is a format where games can run very long, VGC where they can be forced to a real-world timer for a large tournament.

But don’t worry, Charizard isn’t very good in either.

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