#Celebratory Dining | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bloodcasket · 1 year ago

Text

“ EASY, BABY ”⋆ ﾟ☾

PAIRING: DI!Jill Valentine x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: Pure NSFW (descriptive smut), Age gap centered!! (Death Island! Jill), Female described reader, Dom!Jill, Sub!reader, mentions of alcohol consumption, reader described as more inexperienced than Jill (nothing too specified), innocence kink, fingering, finger sucking, tribbing, panty play, dirty talk, jill just loves to praise, teasing on Jill’s behalf, a lil bit of manhandling. LIGHTLY PROOF-READ!

WORD COUNT: 7.4K+

DESCRIPTION: The whole department and crew is out for celebration at a restaurant. As Jill sits amongst the table, she spots the new girl, young and timid, giving shy glimpses from across the table.

AUTHORS NOTE: SUPERR rusty after lack of writing for a couple of months now, really hoping this satisfies because Jilly bean doesn’t get enough fics written about her. Let me know if there’s any mistakes, please and thank you! (I’m so normal for her, i promise). Took me too long to finish, and i got lazy toward the end.

The last thing you wanted was to deal with any of the men sitting around you, feeling forced to pry out fake enjoyment and formulate fraudulent smiles at any of their cheesy comments.

They were all grown and lax, after all, middle-aged and experienced, their worries about leaving bad impressions left long ago after years of regulating bioterrorism. They just simply didnt care, and tonight was meant to be jubilant, after all. It was a way to congratulate the team for arriving back home in one piece. Clank glasses of iced bourbon and smile after the weeks of prolonged misery and uncertainty.

It had only been a few minutes that you sat, waiting at this table, the celebratory event making you feel like the black sheep.

A timid, young stranger, her shoulders hunched in discontent, and her expression nonchalant as she sat alongside the chairs of older individuals, ones who laughed and cheered, shook hands and grinned with their cheeks shaded crimson, wrinkles creasing around the shape of their eyes.

It was people who worked drastically to make the trip to Alcatraz bearable, and handled more experience within this field. Something you felt you lacked. Something you saw yourself unequal to, off putting. In other words, even undeserving.

Employment under “The Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance” was nearing a few months now for you, but your line of work strayed far from any defensive units, due to your familiarity with the information management department. You organized required files and handled technological tasks under supervisors order, you weren’t genuinely handling firearms and terminating undead like the others were within the BSAA. You were simple, and did your part, participation with higher-ups was foreign.

The invitation to come here was optional, of course, but your ripe desire to see a certain woman was hard to swallow. After several days of trying to deny yourself this opportunity, the denial became fruitless, and you finally succumbed; which leads you to sitting at this lengthy dining room table, shuffling in discomfort and trying best to bite back any resurfacing regret.

It’s a restaurant, aromas conjoining in the air, certain scents collecting that it perplexes you. The whisks of alcohol burn through your nostril hairs—your lip twitches in discontent, jaw soon slacking as fragrances of broth and caramelized delicacies fog around you. You scrunch your face and twist your cute nose, huffing in the perfumes of delight.

It was all so overwhelming, and yet you had barely done anything yet sit and spend a few minutes skimming the menu—fiddling with your hands on the table when you yearned for a distraction. And yet; another server hurries past your seat, wide platters in hand, a trail of aromatics left in his wake. Drool draws upon your impatient tongue, you wondered how much longer it would take.

“Jill, didn’t think you’d make it”, a male voice chimes, you're able to single it out amongst the banter of the public place, trying best to listen as other residents at the table mumble out tipsy-tainted sentences, snortling and getting themselves comfortable as they slosh down fancy cocktails.

The timid position in which you kept yourself in the moment you sat down at this table seems to have been disoriented, a stiffness residing down the arch of your neck as you lift your head and adjust your eyes to your surroundings.

Dimly lit, and silken curtains are drawn over windows for the evening, you blink a few times to observe across the table, eyes stretching past messy cutlery, and halfway bubbling glasses. You blink again, throat moving slowly as you swallow dryly.

Under tinted yellow light, she sits. She’s shaking her head, exaggerating a huff of exhaustion as she edges her seat closer to the table. Brunette hair is silken and syrupy brown, a few strands askew from where she let the hair descend down her face and tickle the middle of her neck, the vision filling you with exhilaration.

‘Jill Valentine’, you suddenly think, watching as she’s easing herself more comfortably into the seat, shaded heels of her boots sliding forward as she pushes her legs apart, elbows jutting against the hickory surface that you oh-so-admired for several minutes straight. She’s hunched over improperly, wrapped up in a gray woolen cardigan, not caring much for table manners. A heat brewed low in the pit of your stomach.

“Had to finish my report, it was a pain in the ass”, her adjacent partner seems to love this reaction—being that he chuckles shortly afterward, “would prefer if you took it off my shoulders next time”.

“Your responsibility”, he replies nonchalantly, Chris Redfield from what you remember, a known operator within the BSAA. He was respected largely by his peers, a man with his time spent sacrificing and protecting, all for the benefit of “greater good”. You couldn’t say much about him, you couldn’t say much about anyone to be quite frank, except for one person. His partner in crime.

Needless to say, you scrounged through your closet for hours one night to pull out piles of clothes in desperate search to find something presentable for this woman. Bouncing your eyes back and forth over different varieties of garments, torturing yourself over the delusional manifestation that you’ll attract Jill Valentine tonight.

Intimidating. Most would plaster that description over her if it was all for first impressions. A 41 year old military woman who can carry her guns just as wonderfully as she can carry her foul language. She’s blunt, and by no means patient due to certain circumstances, but with the small moments she’s managed to pass alongside you, the tiny things don’t go unnoticed.

Coincidentally, you bump into her in the lobby; she’d chuckle jovially, waving one hand toward you dismissively as you ramble out apologetic gibberish. Reassuringly telling you “it’s not a problem, don’t worry about it”.

You’re heading toward a file room? She’ll catch you in the halls, velvet lips upturned into a gentle grin as she greets you with your name slipping off her tongue, blue eyes narrowed down at you in an observant manner. She remembers the little details, remembers you.

To say it was innocent appreciation was incorrect. It was an attraction, and the more your female superior managed to cross paths with you, the more you felt the warmth in your stomach churn and twist. It embarrassed you, to say the least. Jill Valentine was probably an individual with her priorities straight, and here you were, grinding your thighs together as you squirm uncomfortably in your seat, front teeth gnawing on the swell flesh of your bottom lip. You looked ridiculous, you were ridiculous. Ogling an older woman as if she were some high school crush. Where were your priorities?

Heaps of chestnut hair suddenly color your vision, blocking your delicate view as a head leans forward to inch closer to the woman you admire, “Here Jill, saved your drink until you got here”, her voice is flowery and feminine, a tinge of nasal sweetness at the end of her chirping sentences. “Glad to see you”. You almost envy her in this moment.

“Thanks, Claire”, a pale palm wraps around the transparent glass, pearls of condensation glistening on Jill’s lengthy fingertips, her nails clumsily trimmed, and beaten hands calloused from her work. You feel your breath hitch at the sight, cotton mouthed as you watch.

Tonight was going to be long. Too long, if this was all you were going to think about.

Claire retreats to her original position in the chair, her conversation with the brunette ephemeral as she focuses her attention on another, leaving Jill solemn in her thoughts, curtly nodding to every general word Chris might possibly say. She’s taciturn, and trained on the voice of her adjacent companion.

Without the veil of ember strands shrouding over the woman’s face, you melted in your seat, lethargic and ditzy as you bored your beady eyes into the vision that was just blissfully her.

One sip, then another. Her lips curl around the lip of the glass, swallowing measured amounts of golden whiskey that smell like smoke and peaty.

“We should all get together and go on vacation after all this, think we deserve that much”, Chris suggests this as he wedges his fork into the collops of filet spread along his plate, in which the other hums, her eyes flickering from the pit of her glass and then forward, peering across the table.

Rings of cerulean catch your nosiness, and you feel the organ within your rib cage falter, and then within seconds accelerate, heart racing like a jack rabbit inside your chest. She caught you staring.

She keeps the contact for a few seconds; you’re the one who widens your eyes and cowers into yourself, suddenly pretending that the entree platter of pillowy bread rolls is of much more interest.

You think you’ve gone crazy, due to the slanted, open mouthed smirk she summons on her face, mumbling a few words in reply to the male beside her (which you don’t catch due to how much blood is rushing to your face, head swarmed with internal comments of how utterly humiliated you feel). Nevertheless, the intrigue she displays is clearly prevalent, more so in the way your young face ducked to hide yourself other than the subtle conversation Chris clearly tried to create.

Just as you had foreseen, the night was indeed long and mundane, and your quick glances at the nonchalant beauty sitting opposite of you was practically dangerous, due to how cautious she seemed of her surroundings and every object that crossed her. A habit she carried in her occupation, you supposed. She was by no means incognizant. (It would be a lie if you didn’t at least give one glimpse, though. Maybe two…maybe three).

You can’t recall if it had been an hour or more, but the facade of enjoyment seemed to lose its potency, and perhaps for others as well.

Little by little, the crew took their leave, furred winter coats slung over the slope of their shoulders as they waved and headed out for the night, giving you some trivial excuse to join alongside them. With the bill paid generously in reward for everyone, the crowd migrated out through the exit doors and into the parking lot, the wisps of frosty air breezing past in copious amounts.

You trembled, nails dipped into the lower fabric of your mini dress, trying best to ease it further down your thighs as you cursed yourself for wearing such attire.

‘All that work just to stare at her like a fucking idiot’, and now here you were, with gritted teeth and trembling flesh as you shuffled down the sidewalk in shame, purse hung over your shoulder whilst you made your way home. That is, until the crackling of gravel wound up behind you, tires rolling over cement and bright beams flashing over you as if you were a deer in the headlights. An unfamiliar car slowly approaches beside you, and you stumble in your heels as you halt.

“You waitin’ on someone or something?”, the subdued hum of the engine had synthesized with the husky chuckle that was rightfully Jill’s, “don’t tell me you were actually gonna walk home in that? No jacket?”

An arm is laid firm across the surface of her car door, her head peering out through the window as she leans forward, her expression is practically incredulous. As if she was disappointed in your choice-making, and your lack of self-awareness for the weather and time of night. She thrums her fingers across the door impatiently, other hand gripping her steering wheel as she expects an answer.

“I was just-“, and here’s the flaring heat of humiliation rising once more. Your lips are molded into a solemn line, her glare of ridicule made you feel guilty for not asking for her aid in the first place. “I’m not too far from here- I wouldn’t want to be a bother”. You’re lying through your teeth, and the brunette scoffs as if she already knows.

“Fucking hell, you were actually going to do it? You’re too young to be doing stuff like that”, she jests in a low manner, muttering more so to herself than to you. Her arm slithers back inside the vehicle, head motioning to the empty passenger seat with a quick nod. “Like hell I’m letting you walk home, it’s not safe. I’ll give you a ride. Get in”.

The authority of her tone makes your knees wobbly, and the way she sits back in her seat with her neck craned against the headrest commands urgency. She’s waiting. You feel a lump harden in your throat. She’s waiting for you.

You hasten your little steps, sheepishly opening the car door and sliding inside, whispering with pruned lips how thankful you are for the ride. You’re stiff in the seat next to her, hands folded in the center of your lap; they were numbed from the cold, goosebumps embroidered along your delicate flesh.

“Don’t mention it”, she brushes off the innocent gratitude with a witty shake of her head, vehicle rolling through the asphalt, leaving the parking lot with just a planate flick of the wrist, elongated fingers dipping into the rubberized padding of the steering wheel. You watch from your peripheral, nostrils flaring as you shakily inhale, splashes of soap and freshly cleaned laundry breeze over you, and you relish in it, stomach all filled with butterflies over something as simple as the older woman’s scent.

“Where to, then?”, she inquires with a throaty hum, vision focused on the road ahead of her. She sighs in frustration when you tell her, though she grins in utter amusement, laughing when you deluge her with stuttering apologies over a mere lie.

“Christ. Thought you said you were close?”. She makes a turn, dirt crackling under the wheels as she pulls onto another street.

“I know, I’m sorry”, you mumble in shame, hands folding tighter and tighter until your knuckles jut against your skin, your face all flushed. Lower lining of the dress you wore was hiked up your thighs, you felt so exposed and scrutinized alongside her, in her car.

“It’s alright, don’t take me too seriously. New girl, right? I remember. Explains why you’re always so quiet”, Jill continues with the conversation, glimpsing over just for a second to study you before she’s focused again. “You enjoy the place? They had some nice drinks, don’t you think? It wasn’t all too bad”, you frown at her words, a heaviness nested in your chest. You hadn’t really done much tonight at the celebration. Nothing other than ogle at her, eat some bread rolls, and then ogle at her some more.

“I didn’t drink anything really, unfortunately”, admitting this was rather awkward, due to how much desire you held to impress her. Now you just felt inadequate, lackluster. “Too many people I didn’t know, if that makes any sense. I must sound boring, don’t I?”.

“Not even one drink?”, she questions, lips curved up into an open-mouthed grimace as she flutters her eyelashes in teasing surprise. “Free to get whatever you want, and you’re telling me you were too shy to even drink anything?”, and she sneers when you nod, biting down laughter in hopes she could keep you comfortable in her presence. Smile lines deepen around the shape of her mouth, silky lips blessed with a tint of coral, apples of her cheeks glowing with every beguilement grin.

“It doesn’t hurt to celebrate, you know. You work hard, I’ve noticed”, she pauses, considering her next words carefully, not wanting to tread any risky lines, “I’m not that far from my apartment anyway, want to have a drink or two? Think I’ve got some lying around, wouldn’t hurt to get em’ used up”.

Green light hanging up ahead switches rapidly from yellow to red, crimson hue painted over the dashboard and along the height of your body. You’ve sunken a little in the passenger seat, all wide-eyed and panicked when she offers. You open your mouth to answer, but she cuts you off before you could turn the opportunity down.

“Just the two of us, okay? I don’t bite, I promise”, and you swear you’re melting, too convinced. You nod in response, a simple “sure” is all you can hiccup.

‘Maybe all that time ripping apart my wardrobe was worth it?’

Maybe so, because Jill fucking Valentine is moving her lengthy index finger to the left of her steering wheel, flicking on her turn signal without a single ounce of hesitation, and then making a u-turn that can only promise one thing.

The ride to her apartment.

Agreeing was most definitely easier than doing, that was for certain. With the door opening, and her leading the way inside, not only then does it really solidify into reality. One of your leading superiors—a trained operations agent—has driven you back to her apartment to “share drinks” and “celebrate without all the other chatter”. At least that’s what she bargained for in the car.

You’ve politely found purchase on the faux leather cushion of her couch, material beige and smoothened, and you curl into it as you keenly gape around the place.

The condo is fresh, and crisp, organized and minimalistic, but still with a trace that’s so understandably miss valentine.

After hearing about rumors of Jill’s horror in raccoon city, you can almost bet she’s much more at ease now, with her new place, and her new position. Eager to distance from her solemn past.

She’s a workaholic, that’s for sure, multiple rooms in her living space and she’s dedicated one for her research; the door slightly agape, and you can’t help but satiate your curiosity as you squint your eyes and look past the doorknob.

With what little you can see through the crevice, there’s a desk inside with files strewn along the top, corkboard furnished along the wall and vital information pinned to it with colored thumbtacks. Not able to help yourself, a tender smile cracks on your lips as you notice irrelevant stickers plastered along the granulated cork, designs of cats and succulents the older woman has happily put everywhere. Your heart pangs at the innocent gesture, imagining such a stern individual indulging herself with such small and adorable items.

“Do you have a preference? Want anything in particular?”, said woman calls from the kitchen, face astern and a hand pushing the fridge door open. Hastily, you retreat your beady eyes, suddenly feeling impertinent for your sense of wonder. She lists off what she has, but it’s all foreign to you, not making much sense from your lack of alcohol expertise.

“I’m not sure”, you shrug sheepishly, a bashful grin displayed, “anything is fine, really”. ‘Anything that you pick, I’ll drink’, sounds more correct, but you digress.

She reads you like you’re an open book, your naivety and youth all too transparent and sat right on her couch, eyebrows furrowed and hands respectfully folded in your lap. A position she’s noticed you in ever since you were rigid and unsettled in her vehicle. When were you ever going to relax? It filled her with incomprehensible mirth, the way you were.

“You’re quite young, aren’t you?”, Jill teases a little, poking at the spots that make you internally weak as she flashes a knowing smirk, “don’t drink a lot I take it? That’s alright”.

She retrieves two glasses from her cupboard and fills them with her pick as you so kindly advocated, closing the fridge and then sauntering over. She takes her place beside you, the leather sinking from the weight of two, her thigh resting along the couch and the shape of her kneecap brushing against you.

“All yours. Bottoms up”, a throaty chuckle resounds in her throat as she offers the drink, ushering for you to take it into your small hands, in which you oblige with unreadable panic. “Cheers”, she clinks her glass with yours, before she’s reclining into the cushion and swallowing, throat muscles contracting up and down.

You only manage to gulp down a small portion of the beverage, soured reaction shriveling your lips. It wasn’t the most enjoyable, but it was Jill’s, and you found it as well sought after as any nobel prize. This drink, this couch, this moment. This moment with her, even if every lick of the bitter whiskey was deathly, you would still sacrifice every lumpy taste bud just for a second with the woman.

Slowly, she sets the drink down on the coffee table, and you watch her movements carefully. Those hands of hers guide the cardigan off her shoulder blades, shrugging the gray fabric down and onto an armrest with a composed exhale.

What torture it is, your foolish reverence for her. Dirty incalescence ferments between the swell of your thighs, burning and burning once you catch sight of the dip between her chest, cleavage freckled with age and brown moles dotted along her sharpened collarbone. Her tight little blue tank top hiding underneath that damned cardigan this whole time. The fabric is stressed across the seaming of her bust, creased and curled until it dips down and hugs around the frame of her waist. There’s no fucking way you’ll be able to make it through tonight without slipping up.

“You’re brave for working under the organization, no matter what you do. Reminds me of when I first started training, I was around your age too. It’s risky, but I’m sure you already know that”, she bends downward to unlace her coal-shaded boots, tugging the zipper down without an ounce of patience in her.

“You gettin’ along with everybody? How is everything, with the new position and all? I mean, the way you were acting earlier, it makes me worried. If anyone’s screwing with you-”.

“No no no, it’s not like that, I promise”, you cut her off, shaking your head quickly in hopes you could help her understand your viewpoint, in which she glances at you and sits upright. She got you to talk, and if she wasn’t absolutely smug about it.

“Everything is fine, and the department is kind to me. You’ve been very generous too, and I’m thankful. I’m just…still trying to get used to everything”, she bobs her head with acumen, digesting every syllable and stumble of your words, listening maturely. She finds flattery in your compliment toward her, doing best not to grin.

“How is it with, um…you and Chris?”, you ask, and the moment the question slips past your lips, you’re filled with utter regret. What kind of question was that? Valentine raises her eyebrow in bewilderment, shocked by the sudden change in subject. She draws her arm along the head of the couch, manspreading whilst she sits as she pleases, eyes still narrowed with pique and pointed in your general direction.

“Me and Chris?”, the laughter she bellows out is vocal, giggling deeply without much restraint, “we’re partners, is all. We’ve been in this field for a while now.”

The way she carries herself around you is as if she’s known you for years, like this is just some humorous conversation that fills her with interest. She wasn’t this excited to speak at the restaurant, you’ve noted, and it’s heartwarming. You, of all people, have made her soft.

Despite all the liquor she’s consumed tonight, she is still impressively sober, quick to catch on to all your soft spoken words, and averting eyes. Although, her high tolerance, of all things, is not a particular trait of hers that surprises you. It only aids the turmoil that rumbles in your chest; it makes you feel weighed down and heavy, the scent of luxurious usquebaugh lingering on her tongue after every breath she releases.

“I see”, you mumble, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I shouldn’t have asked.”

Jill rolls her blue eyes, “you’re always apologizing, you have nothing to be sorry about”, the room falls silent, clock that’s hung on her wall ticking as seconds prolong into minutes. That is, until she speaks again.

“What about you? Got a boyfriend? Lay it on me”, and the room feels like it’s suddenly enclosing, the words strangely suffocating, and you refuse to admit your sheer infatuation you bore for her. You shake your head with silence, finding that your speechlessness was a better reply rather than your jumbled words of anxious gibberish. One slip up, and you knew it would be over.

Your fingers tease the constricting dress again, eyes exerting to the way your thighs expand and lay flat on her sofa. The way the material fits you like a glove was sweltering, especially with her obsidian pupils beating down on you, drinking up your every tentative counter.

“So that’s a no”, she snorts at your lack of volume, feeling filled with confidence. “You stare a lot, you know that? I noticed you looking at me all night. I don’t scare you, do I?.”

You shoot your attention toward her now, irises apprehensively rounded and wide, and you feel the world absolutely crumble as you're struck with distress over her admittance. She did notice, after all. How pathetic you must have looked the whole time, peering from the fucking entree platter to her every couple of minutes, so visibly envious whenever anyone uttered a single word to her.

“No, I”-

Your pale lips tremble as they open, an absinthal taste wrought over your tongue and depleting any moisture from your mouth. You try to answer, meek and destroyed from your own clumsy dilemma. How different this could have been, if only you weren’t so gullible when it came to your yearning, now leading yourself into chagrin as you couldn’t keep your eyes away earlier.

“I’m sorry”, you pipe out, “I didn’t mean to”-, and she’s engulfing you, brain all smothered into mush and your body liquidizing to putty under the embrace she ensnares you in. Countless nights you’ve spent imagining how every curve of her lips feels pressed along yours, how they move, how they taste, but absolutely nothing can put into words how beautiful they feel as they swallow up your squeaks of dismay.

She’s crawling forward until she’s got you all laid out underneath her, squirming in your position as you submit to the palm she lays on your chest, a firm push she gives until you’ve gone flat amongst the leather cushion. With her legs now entangled with yours, she’s content, humming into the kiss she’s so rightfully initiated, sharp nose dipping into the velvet skin of your face, and skimming along your cheek with every tilt of her head.

Challenged by inexperience, you try best to keep up with the opening and closing of her mouth she’s laying upon you, her eyes sealed as her lips seemingly can’t control themselves, a hunger you’ve never expected from Jill. Flavors of malt she's got melting from her tongue, intoxicated saliva that’s mixed with yours and creating a slippery concoction between your lips with every thirsting lick she provokes.

“Need some attention? Am I right?”, the brunette separates from the bliss she had solicited, lips detaching with a wet smack so she can inhale sharply. “I’m much older than you, much”-, she huffs, airily snickering at the sight behold just right beneath her, “much fucking older.” She drags the wriggling muscle out from between her teeth and over her lips, collecting the moisture and spit you had so generously lathered over her. To die like this, it would be divine.

You lay dormant and vulnerable to her control, but she had warned you. Her words were not to be taken lightly, but rather, considered. To give up your innocence for such a filthy, wretched moment like this, Jill knew better. But those eyes of yours had begged, pleaded, were filled with desperation. Whatever she had done, or would do, you wouldn’t lament over it—but rather—savor it.

“I know”, you speak up, balancing the shakiness that wracks you. You’ve wanted a moment like this with her, and you refused to let it slip away from the cracks of your fingers when she was so, so close to granting you everything you’ve wished. “I know you are.”

“Yeah, I bet you do. Explains all the staring, that goddamn dress during winter for Christ’s sake, all on purpose, I take it, tryna get my attention”, the silver pendant of her necklace dangles above you, circling as if it’s meant to entrance you. “The hell am I going to do with you?.”

The authority that oozes off her foul tongue is like morphine, an opiate you’ve swallowed, it’s addictive and ruins your common sense completely. Innocent eyes flicker back and forth, your jaw now slack as you can’t focus between the heat swirling in her pupils, or the way her lips taunt you for another taste.

The delicate curve of her nose, like a deity the way she so naturally is, sculpted from the stars as you examine the dorsal bump that sits near the bridge between her eyes, and then arches down to her cupid's bow. You want to pepper kisses all over her, take a risk into her world, trace the fine lines that are embedded into her pale complexion. God, you wanted it, no matter how foolish you would become.

Not able to withstand another teasing comment, you bring your lips to hers with vehemence, your shaky hands drawn over the stretch of her back, nails bundling up fistfuls of blue cotton fervently and with lack of restraint.

“Easy, baby”, the older woman rasps out a discordant laugh as she eases apart from you, “I got it, sweetheart. Let’s take our time, no need to rush anything.”

But the way your fingers are threading up her spine, carding through the syrupy strands of her hair and burying the pads of your fingers into her darkened roots tell her everything. “Please”, you whisper, a whine of desire prolonging from your throat, “take me to bed.”

And who is she to deny such a request? Fallen at your feet from square one.

With groping hands and ragged breaths, Jill has led you to her room and shoved her calloused hands onto the square of your chest, watching you stumble your way backward until your knees wobble, feet losing balance and you surrender your footing. Now draped along her mattress, you’re sprawled amidst her disheveled sheets, unintentionally alluring at the edge of her bed. A present that needed to be unwrapped and reveled in. Undressed and ravaged.

Undoubtedly, the attraction was mutual. Too reticent to meet her eye, fledgling and modest you were, a stark contrast to the indecent and repugnant men that stuck around and partnered alongside Jill in multiple missions. She was abnormally engrossed in you, freshly employed, seeing a sliver of compassion in every beam you presented, how much you were blossoming compared to the others who groaned and wailed.

Of course, your age had been worrisome, and Jill felt guilt course within her at such salacious contemplations. But to have you laid out in this moment, so youthful, so precious, she knew it was alright. She was going to take such good care of you, that was certain, cherish you like no other. And from the way you propped your weight up onto your elbows to wait for her, in her bed—she knew you had waited a while for this too. The glimmering twinkle in your glossy eyes, an unspoken plea from the depths of your soul.

Jill pried your heels off your feet and threw the irrelevant shoes to the floor, long fingertips prodding along the protruding talus bone and further down to the curve of your calf, pulling your leg upward so she could chastely peck along the skin. Give you softness before she fucked you clueless, solicited vulnerable cries from that sweet mouth.

“God, you’re so perfect, sweet thing. Need you to be good and spread your legs for me”, she mumbles amongst unarticulated nibbles to your calf, two strong hands guiding your limbs apart with your permission. You comply, breath hitched in your throat, craning your neck back once she lowers a palm between your two thighs, index and middle finger circling into your sticky panties, meddling with the sodden gusset.

She grunts, your wet cunt fueling her ego. She knew it was worth examining how ruined you already were, but this quick? How precious.

“Fucking hell, you’re needy”, you flush viciously at her jesting observation, squirming so sensitively at the swirls and caresses of sensual friction, every plunge of her trimmed nails into the flimsy fabric were torturous. Panties are humid and tainted from your own very need, and you feel your body is just an ocean of desire, body overflowing with lecherous want.

You wantonly gripe and huff, dress now creased and hiked up to your navel as Jill holds you still and anchored, one hand clamped around your knee securely as the other is buried between your thighs, toying with you. Coaxing those gentle gasps out of you that make her heart swell, fill her with greedy pride.

“Just a couple of kisses, and your panties are already ruined”, she curls a finger into the band and drags the elastic up, the soiled undergarment loose and freed from your glistening labia, before Jill releases, the material slapping back down within mere seconds. Jolting and whimpering, you’re appalled from the igniting slap amongst your sensitive warmth, hips jittering and Jill flashes you a playful smile.

“Half my goddamn age and gettin’ all wet”, she tugs the panties up now, watching the cotton sink into the slick of your pussy, lips curled around the laced seam and cutely puffed out, glistening with your own pronounced arousal. “Pretty girl”, she muses, dark eyebrows creased and wrinkles of concentration forming along her forehead as she gawks at you coming apart, beseeching for mercy with little squeaks and airy sighs. She wonders when you’ll demand pleasure, but such a sweetheart you are, letting Jill have her way with you.

She’s too impatient for this little game, having enough of prolonging your reward of indescribable pleasure and ecstasy. She pushes the damp gusset to the side, a bridge of transparent slick breaking apart from the undergarment once she bares your cunt to her hungry eyes, lengthy fingers spreading your velvety lips apart, her mouth formulating into an impressed “o” at the vision.

“Jill”-, you pipe up with uncertainty, but she hushes you, another kiss she smothers to your calf. “I know”, she hums, “I know”. You feel all warm inside, sickened with endearment by the way she looks at you, clenching around thin air as you imagine how well she’ll fill you. You’re all hers tonight, she knows this.

A veil of brown tresses conceal half her face as she lowers her head to a calculated angle, sharp collarbone and shoulder blades pronounced once she bends closer to your clit. She collects tepid drool off the tip of her pink tongue, and hurls it down onto your turgescent pearl, watching her bubbling saliva sully your pretty little pussy and drip down to your pulsating hole, entrance begging to be split open as you clench once…then twice, and a third time. You shiver at the contrast of temperature, cool slick now warmed by the draw of her thermal spittle, and you attempt to keep your head up to watch with half-lidded eyes, desperate to see the woman you loved.

Despite her foul-mouthed tendency, and inclination for dirty talk, she was slow, and tender. Her hands were rough, marred from training and littered with blemishes and scarring. Though, she was so considerate the way she plopped her thumb along the swell of your clit, textured fingertips rubbing upward against the flesh, flicking the small, and hardened bud with precision that had you moaning brokenly into her pillows. Your nostrils flare, inhaling her musk that’s adorned the sheets, the scent enveloping you, in which you only moan louder.

“Yeah, feeling good, aren’t you. Like my fingers?”

“Mhm!”, you had no words to speak, clasping onto the bedding as she steadily draws circles of pleasure over your enlarging bud. She tests the waters, pointer finger nudging at your dripping entrance, and when you make no sound of denial, she buries herself inside, curling one finger into your cunt. She laughs flippantly as your body instinctively swallows her in, fleshy walls tightening and frenzied, clenching sporadically around her, and she adds another finger slowly, trying best to be careful with you; her precious girl.

“Jill- oh my god”, the sudden stretch of her fingers is surreal, sticky taint gushing from your weeping hole and defiling the pale, boney fingers that split you apart so remarkably, obscene sonorities that climb up the walls and ring into your ears. You were already soaked earlier after the push of her tongue along your teeth, a saturated flower between your shaking legs, luminous and gleaming after a rainfall of dominance the older woman harbored.

But the way she bullies her knuckles inside you, her spit sloven hands smearing her slobber all over your vulva—you've been undeniably ruined, sopping mess that’s smeared to the flesh of your inner thighs and down to the shape of your rear, and you sob.

“Can’t- can’t do it”, your body says otherwise, pleading for more, blood rich and adrenaline coursing through bluish veins like wildfire. Thrust after thrust, and push after push; transforming your mortal chassis into molten nothingness. You’ve surrendered willingly, fallen victim to a certain euphoria that wounds around you, ensnares you into a blanket of submission.

“You can”, Valentine coaxes, more of a demand than suggestion, inspecting you past her webbed eyelashes, “and you will.” Her two fingers are tight against one another, pummeling toward the spongy muscle inside you with a pump of her wrist, arm flexing as she opens you wide to her advantage, folds spread apart to her liking, flapping limply atop the tarnished knuckles that gets forced into your noisy pussy. You’re writhing desperately, an arm flailing down the arch of your stomach to catch her, and you’re teary eyed; two crystals gleaming and threatening fat tears.

You’ve begun to blubber riddles of nonsense, incoherent gasps that can only direct Jill toward one conclusion, and once your hips grind upward to meet the dry surface of her palm, she’s sucking her teeth. You’re close, she smirks in understanding.

“Hm!”, you shake your head, and what else can you say? Disheveled and torn away, once innocent and pure, now fragmented into a vision of a filth from the way you moan symphonies. Dress slithered up just below the cave of your ribs, and a trembling hand clamping down on the wrist that’s trapped between your lifted thighs, you’re the image of a prostitute.

Nonchalant from your intrusive hand desperate to stop her, Jill swats you away and flashes you an expression that reads ‘don’t do that again’, before she’s plunging once more, and your stomach lurches, hitched breath trapped within your esophagus.

“Listen to yourself”, she tantalizes, sultry remarks hissing from the gaps of her pearly whites, and you whimper delicately as you begin to lose yourself in the bliss. It’s only in that moment of fragility that you recognize what she finds so amusing, the squelching of your cunt, juices lewd and sloppy as they flow, and you’re clenching around the older woman’s joints within. Further and further, until the rope breaks, and you’re crumbling into oblivion, battered fingers ushering you into an orgasm of pristine heaven.

Her thumb lulls you from your sequencing spasms, rubbing your used little clit in tender circles as she marvels over such magnificence with blown pupils, still standing at the edge of the bed whilst she listens to the howls of elation that tumble from your cute lips. She’s got to stop herself from hounding you right now, control the erotic sparks that are boiling underneath the constriction of her pants. She did this, and if she didn’t feel so full of herself because of it. Thoroughly smitten with you.

“There you go”, she hushes you with rasping care, observing with worry as your soft hips remain twitching, “you okay?.”

She abandons the mess she made the moment she joins alongside you, crawling to fill the cold space amongst the bed, suckling marks of woo under the slant of your jaw once she’s beside you. Slender, protective arms are snared around your heaving figure, and you’re humming to reassure her, reaching to grasp onto the meat of her biceps for a sense of imploring comfort.

“You did good”, a husky murmur that rumbles from her, reverberates through you as she douses nurturing pecks along the crown of your swarming head, your brain filled with static and fuzz from such an experience. She thinks you’re finished for the night, wasted and frayed—the humble woman she was—figuring she’ll get you cleaned up and call it a night.

The conclusion is omitted, fortunately, from the moment your mouth falls agape, needy muscle thrashing inside and your libido pulsates. You lever her hand that was once caressing your waist, and bring it upon the seat of your bottom lip, peering past your nose at the wrinkled fingertips; pruned and soiled from the liquid you've drenched them in. Your release, glued and preserved amidst the pores of the brunette's skin.

A low sigh of approval erupts from Jill’s chest as you clean the cracks and crevices you’ve dirtied, your beady eyes now sealed tightly as you slurp on the digits hungrily.

“Can’t baby”, she drawls, cunt throbbing and irritated as it stays purchased amongst the seaming of her ripped jeans. “Might be too much for tonight.”

As if you’re adamant on her docility and compliance, you swirl your tongue over her nail beds, the addictive brewery of your cum, globs of spit, and her flesh had all become dewy and sloshed down the walls of your throat. You moan, bobbing your head until you sputter around her, and the two digits sit upon their tongue-like throne beside the swell of your tonsils, leaving you gagging stupidly by the sensations.

Fucks sake, she wants to pummel that honeyed mound into the sheets until you’re ripping her off, tear streaks racing down your cheekbones. You fucking asked for it? You’re gonna get it.

“Want you to feel good”, you gargle, batting your eyelashes, “please?”

Denial dawns heavily upon her for the second time tonight, the fear of mauling your body—her temple of worship—weighing heavy on her racing heart. But the stench of sex disarms her restraint, the prodding canines and writhing tongue deepthroating her fingers merely convincing her. “Wanna feel you”, you whimper, “wanna”- and there’s no more words that need to be said.

Constricting fabric and other layers of clothes are shredded apart within a matter of seconds, now askew and in disorganized piles amongst the older woman’s bedroom floor. She couldn’t care less, peeling off everything she, or you possibly owned, a chest of ample breasts swinging and soft, chocolate moles dotted from her collarbone to the curve of her rising tits. You feel them perk against your own, nipples coupled and stimulating one another. Her robust figure straddles your hips, strengthened thighs not allowing an escape as she wrestles her lips against yours, groaning in low carnality.

The night is crude, bawdy, and daring. Jill Valentine’s apartment molding into a pornographic masterpiece, with licentious kisses exchanged with swollen lips, and entwined legs that brush against one another. She’s slotted herself so perfectly against your cunt, raising her hips so she can grind her clit against yours, and it’s everything she’s wanted. Everything you've wanted. Hymns of pleasure conjoin, and she’s clamping your thighs as she meets you in the center, a sultry look through her hooded eyes. With nails digging crescents into your skin, she huffs out a hissing moan, string of curse words descending before she can communicate properly.

“So close babe, so fucking close”, Jill’s pelvis pushes upward, folds kissing one another and she connects with you like you’re both two puzzle pieces meant for one another. “Gotta wait for me baby, wait for me, okay?”. She’s already said that many times tonight, stilling her scissoring once she spots even a measly scrunch of enjoyment building up on your youthful features. Egging you on just to shatter any shroud of pleasure.

“Wanna fuck this sweet pussy all night”, she grunts, chuckling in mirth at your whines for release, beads of sweat drawn over her temples. “Be patient with me baby, be patient”. And she’s tugging the ropes again, leg drawn over yours as she rubs against you, over and fucking over again, until you’re a ruptured woman, humbled from your own begging.

#bloodcasket #resident evil smut #jill valentine smut #resident evil x reader #jill valentine x you #jill x reader #jill valentine fanfiction #jill valentine x reader #jill fanfic #lesbian

1K notes · View notes

soulofapatrick · 22 days ago

Text

I'm Not Watching You - Ridoc Gamlyn x Female Reader

Summary: Ridoc catches you staring at him

Warnings: fluff; flirting; implied smut to happen

Words: 2.7K

Notes: I can do a smutty part two hehehe

Y/N’s POV

The dining hall at Basgiath buzzes with the chaotic symphony of clinking goblets, hearty laughter, and the metallic scrape of knives against plates. The air smells of roasted meat and spiced ale, mingling with the smoky scent of the torches lining the walls. Our squad claims one end of a long wooden table near the center of the room. Despite the cacophony, our corner feels lighter than usual, celebratory even. We’ve made it through another week of training—still breathing, still together—and that alone feels like something worth toasting.

Ridoc Gamlyn sits across from me, lounging in his chair like the rules of gravity don’t apply to him. His brown skin glows in the warm light of the torches, and his floppy brown hair—forever unruly—falls into his face no matter how often he shoves it back. There’s a spark in his dark eyes, a mischief that matches the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He’s spinning a fork between his fingers, the casual rhythm oddly mesmerising, and I find myself staring.

Big mistake.

“You’ve been staring at me all night, love,” Ridoc drawls, his voice cutting through the din with effortless precision. He sets the fork down with a deliberate clink and leans forward, the gleam in his eyes making my stomach twist. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”

I stiffen, heat rising to my cheeks as I scramble for a response. “I’m not staring at you.”

His eyebrows shoot up, his expression dripping with faux innocence. “Oh? Then who were you looking at? Barlowe? Imogen?” He grins, leaning even closer, his head tilting just enough for that ridiculous mop of hair to flop sideways. “Or maybe you’ve finally realised how devastatingly handsome I look in candlelight.”

I snort, rolling my eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck. “Candlelight? What century do you think this is?”

“It’s called ambiance, darling,” Ridoc says, completely unfazed. He spreads his arms wide, gesturing to the flickering torches. “Something you clearly haven’t learned to appreciate.”

“You’re insufferable,” I mutter, shoving a piece of bread into my mouth to keep from smiling.

Ridoc notices anyway—because of course he does—and his smirk transforms into a triumphant grin. “Ah, there it is. You’re smiling. That counts as a win for me.”

“It doesn’t,” I shoot back, though the words lack conviction.

“Sure it does,” he says, sitting back again with the kind of casual confidence that sets my teeth on edge. His chair creaks dangerously under his weight, but he doesn’t seem to care. “I always win.”

Imogen, seated a few spots down, snickers and raises her goblet in our direction. “Ridoc, leave her alone before she stabs you with her dinner knife.”

Ridoc’s grin widens. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried,” he says, winking at me.

I groan and pick up my cup of water, draining it in one long sip to avoid saying something I’ll regret. He’s relentless, a constant thorn in my side—and yet, for reasons I can’t fully understand, I don’t hate it.

As the night wears on, the squad’s conversations shift to trading stories from the week. Close calls in training, spectacular failures during drills, and ridiculous mistakes that somehow didn’t get anyone killed. Ridoc’s quick wit earns plenty of laughs, but I can’t help noticing how his gaze keeps flickering back to me, as if checking to see if I’m still paying attention.

It’s maddening.

I hate how aware I am of him—the way his laughter sends a strange ache through my chest, the way his teasing feels oddly personal, like it’s meant for me and no one else.

Eventually, the others start drifting away, one by one, until it’s just Ridoc and me left at the table. The noise of the dining hall fades to a distant hum, leaving an almost intimate stillness between us.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” Ridoc says, his voice softer now, the usual teasing edge absent. He rests his elbows on the table, his fingers tapping a steady rhythm against the wood.

I shrug, unsure how to respond. “Just thinking about the squad. How lucky we’ve been.”

Ridoc nods, his expression unusually thoughtful. “Yeah. Not everyone’s got what we have. Iron Squad’s something special.”

He pauses, his fingers stilling as he meets my gaze. “And so are you, you know.”

I blink, caught completely off guard. “What?”

“You heard me,” he says, his tone lighter now, though his eyes stay serious. “You’re sharp. Fierce. And you keep me on my toes, which I appreciate more than I probably should.”

My stomach twists again, and this time I know it’s not from the wine. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult,” I manage, my voice quieter than I’d like.

Ridoc grins, but it’s softer now, lacking the usual bravado. “It’s a compliment. Trust me.”

For once, I think he might actually mean it.

He stands abruptly, pushing his chair back with a scrape that echoes through the nearly empty hall. “Get some rest, love,” he says, tipping an imaginary hat before turning to leave.

I should let him go—I really should—but the words spill out before I can stop them. “Wait.”

Ridoc pauses, glancing back over his shoulder with a curious tilt of his head. “What’s this? You actually want me to stay?”

I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the rapid thudding of my heart. “Don’t make it weird, Gamlyn.”

His smirk returns, slow and deliberate, as he steps closer. “Too late. But I’ll bite—what is it?”

I open my mouth to respond, but no words come. The tension between us feels electric, crackling in the air like a storm about to break.

Ridoc stops just in front of me, close enough that I can see the faint freckles dusting his nose and the way his dark eyes gleam in the low light. His gaze drops briefly to my lips before flicking back up to meet mine.

“Say the word, and I’ll leave,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “But if you don’t…”

I don’t let him finish.

Before I can second-guess myself, I grab the front of his jacket and pull him down. Our lips collide, and for a moment, the rest of the world ceases to exist. He’s warm and solid, his hands finding my waist as he kisses me back with a fierceness that takes my breath away.

When we finally break apart, I’m left gasping, my pulse pounding in my ears. Ridoc’s smirk is gone, replaced by something softer, something real.

“Well,” he says, his forehead resting lightly against mine. “That was unexpected.”

“Shut up, Ridoc,” I whisper, but there’s no bite to the words.

His grin returns, bright and genuine. “You know, I could get used to this.”

“Don’t push your luck,” I warn, though I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips.

Ridoc chuckles, his thumb brushing softly against my side. “Too late.”

And just like that, everything shifts. It’s still us—but better. Something new, something I’m not sure I want to let go of.

The dining hall feels distant now, the noise fading into a comforting hum as Ridoc’s hand lingers on my waist. His touch is warm, grounding in a way that makes me want to lean in, even as my brain screams at me to step back. I shouldn’t feel this way—not about him—but there’s something disarming about the way his eyes meet mine, steady and unguarded.

“You’re staring now,” I manage, my voice softer than intended, like I’m trying to break the tension without shattering it completely.

Ridoc chuckles, low and quiet, his thumb tracing idle circles against my side. “Can you blame me?”

“Yes,” I reply, though the word falters, betraying the conviction I wish I had.

His smirk softens, and for once, it’s free of his usual bravado. “You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he murmurs, and the way he says it feels less like teasing and more like truth.

“Ridoc…” I warn, though it comes out weak, almost breathless.

“Alright, alright.” He steps back slightly, giving me space but not entirely letting go. His hands hover, like he’s not quite ready to lose the connection. “I’ll behave. For now.”

I narrow my eyes, trying to reclaim some semblance of control. “That’s a first.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he fires back, the grin creeping back onto his face. “I make no promises.”

I roll my eyes, but the smile I’m fighting slips through anyway. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he says, tilting his head with mock innocence, “you kissed me. Funny how that works.”

Heat floods my face, and I shove lightly at his chest. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Ridoc laughs, his gaze bright and alive with something I can’t name. “Not a chance, love.”

The easy banter fades into a quiet moment, the kind that feels heavier than it should. Ridoc shifts, his confidence softening at the edges as he glances down at our hands, his fingers brushing against mine. “Dinner tomorrow?” he asks, the question casual but his tone anything but.

I blink, caught off guard. “You’re asking me on a date?”

His grin is still there, but it’s gentler now, almost shy. “I mean, we’ve already kissed. Might as well see where this goes.”

Something in his sincerity makes my chest tighten. Ridoc, insufferable flirt and relentless tease, is suddenly serious in a way that feels terrifying and exciting all at once. I hesitate, the weight of the moment pressing against me, before finally nodding.

“Fine,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “But if you bring up candlelight even once, I’m stabbing you with a dinner knife.”

Ridoc’s laugh is warm and unapologetic as he takes my hand, his thumb brushing against my knuckles. “Noted.”

Ridoc falls into step beside me, a teasing smirk playing on his lips as we make our way down the dimly lit hallway. The flickering torches on the walls cast long shadows, but his presence is anything but subtle. He walks so close that our arms brush every few steps, and the air between us seems to hum with a tension neither of us is quite ready to name.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he drawls, his tone lazy, like he’s savouring the moment. “Planning your next move? Or just imagining all the ways you’re going to stab me with a dinner knife?”

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, trying not to smile. “Maybe both.”

He chuckles, low and warm, and the sound sends a shiver down my spine. “You’ve got quite the imagination. Should I be flattered that I’ve taken up so much space in that pretty little head of yours?”

I roll my eyes, though the corners of my mouth betray me by twitching upward. “It’s less ‘taking up space’ and more ‘annoying squatter I can’t evict.’”

Ridoc places a hand over his heart, feigning a wounded expression. “Ouch. And here I thought we were making progress. Guess I’ll have to work harder.”

“Don’t strain yourself,” I retort, though the playful edge in my voice robs the words of any real sting.

He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “Oh, I won’t. You’re worth the effort.”

That makes me falter, my breath hitching just enough for him to notice. His grin widens, and I hate that he catches every little crack in my defences. It’s like he’s made a game out of unraveling me, and worse, he’s annoyingly good at it.

By the time we reach my door, the weight of the moment feels heavier, charged with something that wasn’t there before—or maybe it was, and I’d just been ignoring it. I stop in front of the wooden frame, my hand hovering over the doorknob as I try to decide if I’m ready to let this—whatever this is—go any further.

Ridoc leans casually against the doorframe, his body angled toward me, his hand braced above my head. He’s so close now that I can feel the heat radiating off him, and I have to fight the urge to step back—or closer. His gaze searches mine, the teasing glint in his eyes tempered by something softer, more sincere.

“You’re staring again,” I say quietly, trying to regain some semblance of control.

He doesn’t flinch. “Maybe I am. Can you blame me?”

I open my mouth to answer, but the words get stuck in my throat when his free hand comes up to brush a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger at my jaw, his touch warm and grounding, and suddenly the door at my back feels like the only thing keeping me upright.

“You should stop,” I manage to say, though my voice wavers.

His lips curve into a soft, knowing smile. “Do you really want me to?”

Damn him. Damn the way he looks at me, like he’s seeing something no one else does. Like he’s daring me to stop hiding and meet him halfway. My silence is answer enough, and his gaze flickers down to my lips for just a moment before returning to my eyes.

“I should probably say goodnight,” he murmurs, though he doesn’t move an inch. “But I don’t really want to.”

“Then don’t,” I whisper, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

That’s all the permission he needs. Ridoc closes the gap between us, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that’s as infuriatingly confident as he is. His hand slides to my waist, pulling me flush against him, and the intensity of it steals the breath from my lungs. There’s nothing tentative about the way he kisses me; it’s all heat and certainty, like he’s been waiting for this moment just as much as I have.

I fist my hands in the front of his shirt, anchoring myself as the world tilts beneath my feet. He kisses me like he has all the time in the world, his lips moving against mine with a maddening mixture of tenderness and hunger. When his tongue brushes against mine, I gasp softly, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his grip on my waist tightening.

By the time we break apart, we’re both breathing heavily, our foreheads resting together. Ridoc’s eyes are darker now, his smirk gone, replaced by something raw and unguarded.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “You know that?”

I let out a shaky laugh, trying to ignore the rapid pounding of my heart. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing about you.”

The corner of his mouth twitches upward, but there’s an earnestness in his expression that takes me off guard. He raises his hand, his thumb brushing softly along my jawline. “So… do I get to come inside, or are you going to make me sleep in the hallway after that?”

I arch a brow, reaching for the door handle behind me. “You’re awfully confident for someone who’s pushing their luck.”

“It’s part of my charm,” he says with a wink, though the way his eyes flicker down to my lips betrays just how much he’s hedging his bets.

Instead of answering, I twist the doorknob and push the door open, the wood creaking softly. His smirk falters for half a second, replaced by genuine surprise, but I don’t give him a chance to recover. I grab the front of his shirt and tug him inside, the door clicking shut behind us.

His hands are on me in an instant, his lips finding mine again with renewed fervour. This time, there’s no hesitation, no testing the waters. It’s all fire and heat, the kind of kiss that leaves no room for second-guessing. His hands slide down my back, pulling me even closer, and I let myself get lost in him, in the way he kisses me like I’m the only thing that matters.

“Shut up, Ridoc,” I whisper against his lips, and for once, he actually listens.

Part Two Here ⇒ You Can Watch Me

Fourth Wing Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

324 notes · View notes

pearl-nouveau · 6 months ago

Text

A Woman's Purpose - Cregan Stark x Reader [chapter three]

summary: After a sudden betrothal, you consider what a future in Winterfell may look like.

warnings: smut, oral (fem receiving durr), referenced baela x jace, slight timeline alterations

a/n: i feel weird writing smut even though i am an adult and i was writing UNGODLY things as a sixteen-year-old virgin half a decade ago. lmk if you enjoy because i don't have anything else written so if i'm going to keep writing i want to know that it's going to be read!

Cregan wasted no time trying to get me accustomed to Winterfell. As we entered the gates, he led me through with a protective hand on my back, steering me towards the stables first. He introduced me to his horse, Stormfighter, and I smiled at his excitement over the creature. It reminded me of my feelings about Vermithor.

"You shall have as many horses as you wish," he told me, "perhaps a cream-colored one would pair well with mine. But I suppose you already have a dragon."

"Yes, Vermithor is a good form of transportation. I find horses rather slow now."

He laughed. "I shall build a dragonpit for Vermithor, if you wish it."

I smiled gently. He was so eager to please me. "He is much too big, I'm afraid. He will have to find a nest outside like Aemond's dragon, Vhagar."

"Ah. Not as easy as having a small dragon like your brother's, but perhaps more impressive."

"Vermithor's wingspan creates shadows over entire towns." I knew I was boasting, but Cregan's eyes widened with approval nevertheless.

"Impressive indeed."

He took me within the palace walls, through warm hallways and into a communal dining hall where Stark bannermen laughed together merrily. One of them noticed Cregan enter, and the group regarded him with respectful My Lord's. I observed a few kitchen girls gossiping by the fire, unafraid of their Lord's presence. It pleased me to think that my future husband was a welcome presence to the people who worked beneath him. The tranquility of the scene put my mind at ease.

"I know Winterfell is less grand than you are used to," he admitted wearily, "but I will do anything to ensure your comfort here."

"You are Warden of the North and take care of your people with ease and no complaint," I turned to him, "there is no greater comfort to me than a Lord husband with a gentle heart."

"Lord husband?"

Jacaerys' voice startles you. He has crept up behind the two of you, and you are suddenly aware of the weight of Cregan's hand still on your lower back.

"Jace," I flushed, "we... I..."

The words were lost in my mouth, but before me stood my brother, and words were not necessary. He smiled at me and I returned the grin knowing that he understood what had come to pass. He brought me in for a hug.

"Congratulations," he told me, pulling back and kissing my head. He moved to Cregan and, to my surprise, brought him in for a hug as well. "Brother." he said happily.

"Thank you, my prince." Cregan stood tall in front of him, pride radiating from him. "We will have a celebratory dinner tonight in the great hall."

"I shall send a raven to my mother." Jace said this with a smile and walked off, but I watched Cregan's expression darken.

"What is it, qēlos?" I touched his face without thinking. He leaned into my fingertips.

"I realized I never asked your mother permission for your hand," he said, "I was so caught up in the thrill of being yours that..."

"It matters not, it was always my choice." I said firmly. I could tell it still bothered him. "What can I do to make it better?" He thought for a moment.

"Allow me to come with you to Dragonstone, at the appropriate time. Let me meet the queen and pledge myself to her and you in person. And then..." he trailed off, as if afraid to overstep.

"Yes?"

"I hoped we could have a ceremony in the traditions of House Targaryen. Bind ourselves to one another by blood. If it pleases you."

For him to think of my house and my culture and not only his own made me awash with emotion.

"It does please me." I whispered, placing a sweet kiss to his lips. He pulled back.

"What did that word mean?" My brows furrowed at his question.

"What word?"

"The one you said earlier, qua, queh..."

"Qēlos." I told him. "It means star."

He hummed and repeated the word under his breath.

I sought some alone time with Jace so we could talk before my betrothal to Cregan was announced at dinner. I found him in the library of Winterfell, flipping through an old history book. He looked up as I came in.

"Sister," he greeted, "the Maester suggested I read up on the history of our houses' relationships with one another. That is, the Targaryens and the Starks."

"I hope it's good."

He smiled. "Even if it wasn't, this marriage would surely do the trick." He stood up, removing his focus from the book below him. "Cregan is a powerful man, little dragon. In many ways. He commands a population that our ancestors have found very hard to control in the past. The North is loyal not to their Warden, but to their Lord Stark. His involvement could mean victory for mother."

I scoffed, suddenly annoyed. I was newly engaged and he could still only talk politics. "Well, what do you suggest I do? Suck his cock every time mother wants a thousand men? I won't be her pawn, I am going to be the Lady of Winterfell."

"I only mean that you now sit beside one of our most important fighters. I... I suppose I don't know what I meant telling you that. I just mean that it pleases me to see you with such an accomplished man. And... I like Cregan. He is good, and you deserve a good man."

"I did worry, at first, that he only asked for my hand because mother sought something from him. But he asked for my hand all those years ago, in a letter he sent me after his time in King's Landing."

"What? Why did you never respond?"

I flushed. "I never opened the letter."

Jace began to cackle. "You're a fool, sister."

"I know." I snapped at him, slapping his shoulder. I sat down in a chair across the table from him, prompting him to sit as well. "I don't think I would have said yes if I had, though."

"Why not?"

I sighed. "I was not ready, and I knew not what he wanted from me."

"What does he want from you?" Jace was prodding, and I was letting it happen. I looked down at my hands.

"Everything. My heart and soul. I haven't been ready to give it. I have been too afraid that I would give it to the wrong person, or they would capture it and I would never be free again. But I feel free with him. He wants nothing from me, but to love me. And I know if I ask for my soul back, he will give it to me. But I want him to have it. I trust him."

A tear shot down my cheek, taking me by surprise. I didn't realize I had started crying. Jace was still smiling at me. I loved when he smiled, and I had the feeling it would only become more rare. So I returned it, and we were happy together for a moment.

"When will you wed?" He asked curiously.

"I have no idea. But Cregan has asked to visit mother in Dragonstone and have a ceremony of her house there."

"That will please her greatly."

I nodded. "Part of me wants it to be slow, so that I can ease into being married. But part of me cannot wait another day. Part of me just wants to be near him, close to him, always." I blushed, realizing what I was insinuating. But Jacaerys was nodding in agreement.

"You know, you can wait as long as you want. You don't have to wait for the rest, not really."

"What?" I sputtered. He so casually and simply dismantled a norm that had been thrust at us our entire lives. More specifically, me.

"No one really knows what happens behind closed doors." He shrugged.

"Oh hush, Jace, you only say that because you are a man." I bit.

His face reddened. "Very well, but you have never heard me presume to say that a woman's virtue is ruined alongside her maidenhood."

"Only old men still believe that."

"Exactly. Look, I know how much of a change this is from what you convinced yourself you always wanted. Take a few moons to settle in before you marry him. If anything happens naturally between you two in that period... so be it. You are to be married anyhow."

I was amused by his candor. "My brother, the wildling." I teased. "Tell me, was this enlightened opinion developed when our depraved uncle took you to a brothel when you were ten and three?"

He rolled his eyes. "You know very well I was a child deathly frightened of women, and bedding brothel wenches is different than making love to your betrothed."

It clicked for me. "You mean to tell me that you and Baela..."

He looked at his lap, equally flustered and self-satisfied. As much as it irked me to think of my brother in bed with someone, I found his admission heartwarming. After our grandsire's death, Dragonstone had been dreary and tense. We all walked the halls knowing that our days were numbered. To be unwilling to wait to be with the one you love when each day could be your last - it was romantic.

"Jace," I grinned at him. I kicked him under the table. "How? I mean, when?"

"Before grandsire died," he admitted, "We just... got caught up in the moment. But I don't regret it. Life is too short."He reached out across the table and playfully pressed his knuckles against my cheek in a faux-punch. "If you are choosing to be free, be free. We may be called into battle on the morrow."

I left our conversation feeling validated in a way I hadn't realized I needed to be. It made me want only one thing: to find my husband-to-be.

I found Cregan in the highest room of a round tower to walk to dinner together. He answered the door and I could tell he had been working from the papers strewn upon his desk. The room was set up as an office, with a small straw mattress in the corner. I guessed that he found himself sleeping here when overwhelmed with work.

"My beautiful wife," he greeted me, "almost. Come in."

He brought me in, sitting me in a cushioned chair across from his desk and leaning against that to observe me. I spoke. "I wanted to discuss the wedding. I was not sure how long you wanted our engagement to last, and I wondered how soon before we are married."

"I had not thought to discuss the details without you," he said, "you are, after all, meant to be in attendance as well."

His words always comforted me, and were always accompanied by a soft smile that I had only seen him give to me. "If it is alright, my Lord, I hoped to wait a few moons before we are wed. I suppose I have not yet come to terms with the reality of saying the vows."

"We can wait as many moons as you like, little dove. Years, if it is your wish."

I smiled up at him. "You are so easy. You truly have no quarrels?"

"Not if it would go against my Lady's desires." I stood. Our chests were inches apart. I could feel his hot breath on my face.

"There is nothing that you cannot wait for?"

He shuddered. His jaw tightened as if he were in pain. Suddenly, the unbreakable man had a crack running through his thick skin. I ran my fingers up his furs and toyed with the clasp, which carried the Stark sigil. I unclipped it slowly and his cloak fell to the floor.

"You don't have to wait to touch me," I told him. His eyes were burning holes through mine, darting every other breath to my lips. He bit his lip.

"I will not sully you, my princess," he said in a low voice. "I am an honorable man."

"And I am an honorable woman," I said firmly. "Therefore we do not dishonor each other."

"Your arithmetic is very confusing, my love."

"But it is correct."

He kissed me with a heat that his kisses had never held before. It was as if now I had given him permission to want me, he could no longer pretend he didn't. His hands roamed up my back, unclasping my cloak and moving to tangle in my hair. Teeth clashed against each other in a dance that we were both leading. One of his large hands came to rest at the base of my throat, then ran lower through the column of my breasts and then he finally moved to cup one. I gasped at the feeling of his fingers kneading at my flesh, slowing down when grazing over my nipple. He stopped kissing me only to flip us and place me on the desk, slotting his hips between my legs. I squealed as he pressed them open, the fabric of my dress falling between my thighs, but he quickly bunched it and moved my dress up past my hips. He smiled at the sight of my smallclothes.

"I'll have you naked in my bed soon," he grumbled, "but for now, I won't ruin the surprise. I will just give you a taste of the pleasure you shall have for the rest of your life."

His words made me whimper. He kneeled down in front of me, and a surge of embarrassment made me close my eyes as he grasped my undergarments and slid them down my legs. He must have noticed, because no more touches came after I was bare. I opened my eyes to his gaze.

"I want you to watch me please you," he said gently, more a request than a command. He kissed the inside of my thigh. My hip bone. Slowly, he grew closer to my center, keeping eye contact with me until his mouth connected with my core.

Oh.

So this was why people could not wait until after their marriage vows.

I gasped so loudly that he stopped for a moment until I gently grasped his hair and guided him back to where he was. I could feel him smiling down there and I almost laughed with joy. His tongue danced beautiful choreography against my cunt, expertly drawing pleasure from my body in a way I could never have imagined.

"Cregan... fuck, oh, yes," I could no longer control words from spilling from my mouth. He slowly stroked a finger at my entrance, looking back up at me to ask for permission as he gently prodded at my hole. I nodded and then moaned as his finger intruded me, and if I wasn't mistaken I could have sworn I heard him let out a moan as if it were his own cock that had penetrated me.

He continued to eat me like a starved man and with the addition of his finger slowly curling inside of me, I knew that something was about to explode within me. My stomach was tightening, my legs shaking and trying to clamp shut against Cregan's head. He fought against them with ease, pressing me further open and leaning into his meal, lapping it up like a wolf feasting on prey. He could feel my peak approaching and his tongue began to focus on my pearl, suckling and kissing the bud with tender care.

It was too much. My moans had morphed into screams of pleasure, and my hands were yanking at his hair so hard I had no idea how he wasn't hurt. With a few more well-placed licks against my pussy, I could feel myself at the edge.

"Cregan..." I could barely breathe, barely speak. "I'm-I'm-so, so close," I keened.

"You're perfect," he mumbled against me, "can't believe this is all mine." He dove back in on a mission and I began to fall.

"Oh, oh, yes..." I could only sigh as the tension snapped and a jolt ran through my body. It was electric, and Cregan held my body tightly as it shuddered. He stood slowly, caressing my legs as he did, and removing a handkerchief from his pocket, which he gently ran through my folds. I gasped, sensitive from my orgasm, grasping at his forearm. He only hushed me and kissed my brow. He moved my dress back down to protect my modesty, and picked my undergarments off the floor.

"I'll keep these as a reminder of the first of many times I ate my wife's cunt," he said, shoving them into his pocket. He picked me up from the desk and set me down in front of him. "How was that? Are you alright?"

I put my arms around his neck. "I have literally never been better."

“I am glad.” He said. He kissed me slowly, his arms absentmindedly running across every plane of my back, mapping the new terrain. "You are..." He looked at me the way people usually looked at me before calling me beautiful. But he said nothing. He only placed a peck on my forehead and fetched our cloaks from the floor, reclasping mine first and then his own.

"I am what?" I asked, now curious.

Cregan shrugged, leading me towards the door. "There isn't a word to describe it."

The silent walk that we took to the great hall was not awkward, but pensive. I liked the feeling of my arm wrapped around his underneath the cloaks. He always pulled me to his side, so he could feel the fabric of our clothes brushing together as we walked. Every few steps I could see him look down at me out of my peripheral vision. At one such time, I caught his gaze and we smiled at each other. He licked his lips slightly, and it reminded me that those same lips had so recently between my legs, and I blushed, my gaze falling to my feet.

"Thinking of something, dove?" He smirked.

"Just those lips of yours," I reached up and brushed his bottom one with my fingertip. "You've been blessed with a talented mouth."

"I am at your service, forever." He said seriously.

Forever. It seemed an easy enough thing to imagine with Cregan. He felt safe, he was devoted to me. He said he loved me. Could it be that easy? Just to give in to his love? It was tempting, but I sought clarity. What made him love, and why had he found it with me? What if I suddenly stopped doing the thing he loved? The darkest part of my heart told me that as we aged and my beauty faded, his interest in me would falter.

"Now you surely aren't thinking of me between your legs," he observed, "because you are frowning."

"Just wondering."

"About?"

I sighed. "Do you believe that love fades?"

"Sometimes." He said. His definitive answer stumped me and I could feel a flare of anger arise from it.

"Well, then," I hummed passive-aggressively. It was unbecoming, I knew, especially since I was trying to ascertain that he would not grow tired of my antics and regret our union. Instead of arguing, he chuckled.

"Why do you speak in riddles? Ask me what I know you have been wondering. I may be a dull Northerner but I am not dimwitted."

Even in humbling me he was gentle, his voice laced with amusement, as if any complaint I may have could be fixed as simply as commanding him.

"Why do you love me? I... I am afraid that whatever it is will fade, and you will grow tired of me. And..."

"And?"

"Forgive me."

"What?"

I felt hot tears behind my eyes but I clenched my teeth until they retreated. "Will I forever be your second wife? Not the mother of your children, either, only a... replacement? I'm sorry, my Lord, I should not target your late wife with my own insecurities."

He had stopped us in the hallway, boxing me against the wall and listening intently. Cregan drank every word I said up like honey. After I finished, his palm found my face and I saw the emotions swimming behind his eyes. I regretted terribly the possibility that I may have reopened past wounds.

"I believe love can fade sometimes, in the way that it has for my late wife." He sighed. "Her name was Arra. We were friends in childhood. When my parents suggested our union, her familiarity comforted me. I think that is what I loved about her. She was like home, like being a boy again. But I am no longer a boy." He took my hands. "I will miss Arra until the day I die because she was my friend and bore me a babe. But I did not choose her, and you have been my only thought since the moment I met you. In years of not hearing from you, not knowing if you would ever allow me to become close to you, I still loved you. Every night memories of your wit and bravery haunted me. Fuck, girl, you ruined me for any other woman. The thought of anyone else, for all those moons, was unthinkable. You could not fade from my heart if I tried to pluck you out with a knife."

I hadn't anything to say.

So I said, "I love you."

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #got imagine #got fanfiction #got fanfic #got #cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark fanfiction #cregan stark smut #cregan x reader

386 notes · View notes

supernovafics · 1 year ago

Text

•*⁀➷ ❝ 𝐈’𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔. ❞✧∘ ✭・.✫・゜·。.

supernovafics!

✭•*⁀➷ a bestfriend!steve harrington roommate au slightly inspired by the tv show “friends” ·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

a year in the lives of you and your best friend steve harrington. you never thought that you would be living with this guy you’ve known since you were ten— although it was a hypothetical topic that was discussed at length during the many sleepovers you had over the years. but somehow on a hectic day in august, the stars managed to align, and the next thing you know a lease is being signed and the two of you are moving into a two-bedroom apartment. so far it’s been two months of countless late nights and too many really early mornings where you’re running late to class or steve’s rushing to get to his shift at family video. for the most part, though, it’s a perfect situation. until the lines that felt as if they were clearly drawn in the sand— and had been there from perhaps the moment you and him met— start getting blurrier and blurrier

warnings: bestfriend!steve, roommate!steve, childhood best friends to (eventual) lovers, two idiots in love (but neither wanna admit it), Big Big slow burn, besties being besties, minimal angst, mainly just a lot of fun vibes, eventual smut (minors dni!), many familiar faces (robin, eddie, sometimes the kids), no use of y/n, specific warnings will be tagged per chapter

important note! this will be a very “low stakes” series (there’s not really a super specific storyline happening in this), and i’m really just gonna post for it whenever i’m in the mood/feel inspired for it. i already have a bunch of random ideas for this universe that i wanna eventually do, but requests are open for anything you wanna see with these roommates/besties<333 (also oneshots/blurbs will be posted non-chronologically but will be listed chronologically, so you can pretty much read in any order you want to!)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

fall 1985

love is a game (the one where you and steve have a “housewarming party”)

let’s forget it (the one where steve sees you naked)

third street (the one at the diner in the middle of the night)

silly promises (the one at dairy queen)

take a picture (the one with batman & robin)

from the dining table (the one with the early thanksgiving dinner)

never talk about it (the one where you see steve naked)

just a feeling (the one with steve’s date)

winter 1985/1986

the first fall of snow (the one where the kids spend the night)

care for you (the one where you’re both sick)

maybe this year (the one with the bet)

closing time (the one at family video)

while you were sleeping (the one with steve’s epiphany)

only for you (the one where you and steve play basketball)

in the middle of the night (the one with the ski trip)

worth waiting for (the one after the ski trip) (18+)

spring 1986

between you and me (the one where you and steve are secretly dating)

tell me a secret (the one where everyone finds out)

take my hand (the one where you and steve are chaperones at a school dance)

stay with me (the one where you come home drunk and steve takes care of you)

much better (the one with the "celebratory dinner")

summer 1986

one more second (the one with the barbecue)

out for the night (the one with the party at the lake)

for better or worse (the one with the wedding) (18+)

#steve harrington series #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things fluff #steve harrington #stranger things imagine #stranger things series #stranger things smut

2K notes · View notes

sommerregenjuniluft · 11 months ago

Text

@croptopjames submission for mr james fleamont potter's birthday<3

2598 words - NSFW - cw: spanking, squirting, dirty talk, lil bit of degradation theyre being nasty idk it escalated

aka feral fucking your husband after seeing him in a shirt that doesn't quite fit like it used to~

“Baby, I’m home,” Regulus shouts after entering the front door, kicking it closed behind him with his foot as he balances the huge ice cream cake precariously on both his hands.

They’ve invited the whole family as per usual, what with their first year with Harry out of the house coming back from uni for his dad’s special day, Sirius and Remus driving down and picking up Effie and Monty on the way. All their friends will come later this week for brunch.

Today it’s just the few of them though and Regulus finds himself with a spring in his step at the thought of all of them together today.

James has taken the day off and Regulus was able to weasel his way into only half a shift today which he nearly missed entirely after the way James had sat down in his lap first thing in the morning and ridden him until he was shaking, cursing and babbling incoherently, all the while his husband was seated on his throne, smiling brightly, happiest man in the world, practically taking the matter of his birthday gift into his own hands.

“Hi love!” comes from somewhere on the higher level of the house.

Regulus brings the cake into the kitchen, shrugging off his jacket and quickly dispensing the celebratory sweet in the freezer before James sees it.

Not a moment after Regulus closes the drawer to grab a bowl of blueberries from the fridge James comes into the kitchen, huffing and cheeks flushed, a presumably heavy box of just…stuff in his arms that he must have gotten from the attic.

“James,” Regulus starts, blinking, “You were supposed to take the day off.”

His husband smacks a content kiss onto his cheek, grinning brightly. His glasses are smudged and sitting crookedly over his nose and Regulus is pretty sure he spotted a bit of spiderwebs in the mess of his hair.

“Ehh,” James makes dismissively, “I still felt restless after I hit the gym this morning once you left.”

He places the box down with a heavy thunk, petting its side like a horse—he’s such a dad, “And we’ve been wanting to get started on these babies after spring cleaning anyway, remember?”

Regulus rolls his eyes, fondness betraying him when the corners of his mouth tug upwards, “Mm, that might be true. Still it’s your birthd—”

Regulus halts.

“Love?” James looks at him inquiringly, hands propped on his hips.

On his very much naked hips. A palm length sliver of skin exposed between the indecently thin and short gym shorts and the—

“James, baby, what are you wearing?”

Oh, Regulus’ mouth is so, so dry.

“Huh?” James looks down at himself, shuffling in place before his head snaps back up to Regulus, “Oh! Yeah I found one of my old shirts from uni.” His husband snickers, giving a little twirl and shaking his hips from side to side like he isn’t currently taking five years off Regulus’ life expectancy.

“You–” Regulus stops again, eyes glued to the small swell of his stomach over the band of the white shorts, the dark hair splattered all over and coiling at the center, carving a path up and downwards. It’s downright indecent. His arms fill out the shirt just how they used to back in uni but with the difference that it’s more fat than muscle now—though Regulus knows well enough from personal experience how strong his husband still is. His pecs are visibly straining the material, the washed out, maroon letters spelling HOGWARTS cracking from the stretch.

Even more so when James leans back on his palms against the dining table, draping himself all prettily against the edge and smiling coyly, blinking doe brown eyes from under long lashes at Regulus as if he didn’t already have him warpped around his finger hook, line and sinker.

“Baby,” Regulus rasps and he barely recognises his own voice.

“Yeah, Reg?” James purrs, tilting his head and exposing the expanse of his neck.

“How long until Harry arrives?”

“An hour or two, depending on traffic,” James responds, voice all husky. Regulus is going to wreck him. Reduce him to a stuttering, squirting mess in the matter of half an hour, take his fucking word for it.

“Good enough,” Regulus grits out and then he crosses the distance in two long strides, already yanking at his tie.

They meet in a mess of parted lips, clicking teeth and tongues nudging, eager as ever, trying to lick into each other’s mouths and taste. Greedy for it, happily swallowing moans and tugging their bodies close. They slot into each other easily, practiced after all these years, decades and Regulus reckons that’s how they somewhat safely find their way onto the couch.

Regulus’ back hits the cushions with a soft oompf, barely time to gasp another breath and reach for his husband before James is straddling his lap, clasping Regulus’ stubbly jaw in warm, calloused palms and pulling him right back into their kiss. They don’t stay there for long with the way James is restlessly shifting on top of him, grinding his crotch right against the bulge in Regulus’ slacks, making them both groan.

At some point Regulus abandons James’ mouth in favor of kissing over the stubble of his cheek and jaw and latch onto his throat while simultaneously trying to get his stupid shirt buttons open. When the takes too long however James seems to grow impatient, batting his hands away and fumbling with them himself while they pant and grunt into each other’s mouths.

Regulus is nipping at James’ lower lip, already swollen and an obscene kiss bitten red and his husband makes a sound. Downright needy and he’s sitting there on top of Regulus, flushed and with that dazed look in his eyes, moaning like a little slut, so Regulus can’t quite help himself when he pulls one hand around and smacks James’ firmly on the bum.

It elicits a gasp, high pitched and followed by a long, drawn out moan and James sinking deeper into his lap, recapturing his mouth and desperately rutting down against where Regulus is hard and already throbbing. It’s a medical miracle, truly, that no matter how many times they’ve had sex, Regulus’ erection is always at its best form for James.

“Mnh,” James makes, their lips parting with a wet smacking noise, “Need you, baby.”

Regulus grunts, fingers digging harshly into the meat of James’ arse, “Slut.”

Just like expected, James whimpers, and so prettily at that. Eyebrows scrunching pitifully and he grinds once more, helplessly, “Please, please.”

“But of course, sweety,” Regulus relents easily, licking a hot stripe up his neck, along his jawbone and then right across his slack mouth, “Anything for the birthday boy.”

James moans in response, nodding his head frantically.

Regulus nods his head towards the end of the couch where the pillows are piled, “Scoot up.”

His husband does so dutifully and it doesn’t take longer than a second for Regulus to make James lift his hips and rip the sheer piece of nylon off and throw it over his shoulder, not quite surprised yet still horribly taken off guard by the lack of boxer briefs underneath.

Regulus is left with nothing to do but stare at the mess of wet, thick curls and pink fold glistening with James’ slick, spit pooling under his tongue in an instant. He grabs James’ ankles, settling them over his shoulders, trainers still on and letting his hands drive over white tennis socks, hairy shins and strong calves. Digging his thumb in there and relishing in the gasp he elicits from his husband that way, hips twitching with the suspense. Regulus strokes up his boney knees, massages the big muscle of his thighs, the hair tickling his palms softly, all the while letting himself pitch forward, making sure to spill warm breath over where James wants him most right now.

He goes further, letting his hands rake up and over his stomach, rucking the shirt up as he goes and tucking it over the swell of his pecks, exposing him for Regulus to play with.

James is panting, short little puffs of breath, brimming with excitement and barely refraining from whimpering on the way out each time.

Predictably, he breaks once Regulus lazily swirls a tongue around his exposed nipple, holding the eye contact and watching with satisfaction as James’ eyelids flutter. He can’t help but grin, nipping at the hardened nub before he retreats, settling himself comfortably between James’ thighs and without warning diving right in.

James positively screams the moment Regulus closes his lips around his cock, sucking him into his mouth and rolling him around between his lips until the bucking of his hips throws him off. Regulus hoists an arm over James’ hips, belting him down, and wastes no time inserting one finger into James’ searing wetness, sinfully hot inside.

“Ahh yesyes, please more, love, please m-hah—” James babbles, throwing his head back when Regulus drives into him with another finger, crooking them upwards and watching shamelessly as his husband’s precum pools all over his digits before diving back in to lick at his little cock.

He works them steadily up to each finger until he is four in deep, repeatedly hitting that spot inside of James and sucking and mouthing at the bundle of nerves until James’ noises grow an edge.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” Regulus asks, muffled between licks, jaw aching slightly.

“Yeah, yeah, gonna– hnng,” James breaks off, screwing his eyes shut when Regulus gives a particularly harsh suck, noises obscenely loud.

He’s fisting the cushions like his life depends on it, white knuckling them in his grip, and it only takes a handful more thrusts and licks before James is shuddering through his first orgasm. Breaths coming quicker until he eventually breaks off into a keen, thighs quivering around Regulus’ head, squeezing at his skull and riding it out, grinding his cunt uncoordinatedly forward into Regulus’ face all the while convulsing around his fingers.

He squeezes in waves of pleasure and it makes Regulus so delirious that he blinks and the next thing he knows is him kneeling against James’ ass, belt undone, slacks shoved down just enough and prodding at his slick, puffy entrance with the head of his cock.

James is staring unblinkingly at the ceiling, mouth agape and pupils so dilated they’ve swallowed most of the beautiful, dark chocolate brown.

“Baby,” Regulus prompts, bending James’ knees towards his ears with a grunt, “Jamie, be a good boy and hold these there for me.” His husband slowly blinks him back into focus, silently obliging and hooking his fingers into the bend of his knees—thank the higher powers James still does yoga once a week.

Regulus leans in, one hand holding him up off the couch, the other fisting around the length of him and smearing it through James’ wetness, “Now are you going to be able to be good and keep yourself wide open for me or are you already fucked too stupid, huh? An old man? Maybe we should postpone it for next year, ay papi, what do you say?”

James whines pathetically, rubbing his head into one of the throw pillows, knotting his black hair up even more before he swallows frantically, “No, Reg, pleaseplease, I can take it. Please, love, I’m gonna be good for you, I prom–Aah—”

Regulus bottoms out in one smooth thrust, vision dotting with black spots at the mind bending heat and vice grip James has on him, already pulsing around him shallowly.

He grants James a moment to get used to being full, slowly rocking his hips back and forth and listening for when his whimpers turn into soft moans, turning needy again, and then he reaches up to grip his chin, “Then take it, slut.”

The pace he picks up into is hard, not too fast but unforgiving and steady, a sure way to drive James crazy. Regulus nips his way along his husband’s chest, nuzzling his nose through chest hair and biting and licking at his dark nipples, tasting salt and sweat, feeling his cock twitch at the taste deep inside his husband.

When Regulus feels himself lose rhythm he hikes James’ legs impossibly higher, draping one of them over his shoulder before he starts spanking him again. The angle is awkward but it’s working, going off of the way James keeps jerking at the stinging contact, clenching around the length of Regulus and working himself into a frenzy, gasping and whimpering and groaning like he’s getting the best cock of his entire life.

“Touch yourself, baby,” Regulus demands, breath stuttering as he watches a fat tear roll down the side of James’ face, disappearing into the shorter hair at his temple.

Regulus keeps James’ thighs wide and open, rolling his hips with abandon, groaning and panting with every thrust, feeling sweat bead on his forehead and desperately trying not to lose control when James snakes a hand between his legs, frantically circling his cock while Regulus keeps pumping in and out of him.

“If you could only see yourself, baby,” Regulus grits out, “Fucking masterpiece, splayed out for me like this. Obliging my every demand, so fucking good, baby.”

James moans happily, tongue lolling out and without thinking Regulus sticks two of his fingers into his mouth, rubbing over his tongue and feeling the saliva coat them thickly.

“Can you go ahead and cum for me again, Jamie?”

James whines an affirmative around his digits, slurping messily, a trickle of drool trailing down the corner off his mouth.

“Think you’ll be a good boy and squirt all over me, baby? You know how much I love when you cum like that, hm?”

James breath hitches impossibly, eyes threatening to flutter shut as he nods deliriously.

Regulus quickly grabs him by the jaw, “Keep looking at me, James. I know you can do that for me, baby.”

And so he does.

On the next thrust James starts quivering again, fingers working furiously over his cock, mouth falling open around a silent scream and gazing Regulus right in the eyes as he pounds into him and James squirts around him. Spraying everywhere, absolutely in all directions and fucking messy, wetting Regulus’ torso and the couch—Regulus wouldn’t be surprised if the carpet wasn’t unscathed either.

That’s really all Regulus can take before his hips stutter in their pace and he buries himself deep inside James, letting the pulsing of his husband’s orgasm milk him dry as he spills and spills his cum into James for what feels like minutes on end.

At some point James lets his trembling legs back down, crossing his ankles tightly under Regulus’ bum as this one keeps jerking into his husband’s hole.

Once they’re both done Regulus is too exhausted to do anything else but collapse forward into James’ chest which he accepts with a happy hum.

They take a few minutes like this, James slowly coming to and starting to play with the curls at Regulus’ nape and Regulus breathing in the comforting scent of James, raking his short nails up and down the side of his ribcage.

After a while James presses a feebly kiss into the side of Regulus’ head, huffing out a big breath that makes Regulus rise with the motion of his chest before he snickers, “Well, happy fucking birthday to me.”

Regulus chuckles into the crook of James’ neck, dropping a kiss there before lifting and staring into his husband’s droopy eyes, “Yeah, happy fucking birthday to you, baby.”

#sirius arrives and is like: huh since when do you have a blanket draped over ur couch like that? that wasn't here two weeks ag-#jegulus #*gets forcefully elbowed by regulus*#jegulus microfic #jegulus oneshot #starchaser #sunseeker #james potter #regulus black #marauders #lune writes #lune’s tiny fic #trans james potter #ftm james potter #sub james potter #dom regulus black

516 notes · View notes

hoesoflamentation · 2 months ago

Text

𝖒𝖆𝕶𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖊 | 𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖜𝖔𝖑𝖋!𝖇𝖊𝖊𝖑 𝖝 𝖋!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗 (MINORS DNI)

// PART ONE !! // dead or alive | vampire!mammon x f!reader

// WARNINGS !! // werewolf!beel x f!reader, royalty/fantasy au, dubcon, furry elements, omegaverse themes, knotting, breeding/mating kink, scenting, marking, p-in-v penetration, no prep, pussy slapping

The duke’s bite marks on your neck had barely healed before your host, Lord Diavolo, summoned you to a celebratory feast. The kingdom was welcoming warriors from a far-off clan as an act of diplomacy, and each member of the prince’s court was expected to greet the guests.

The Demon Prince always trotted you out on occasions like these, believing that the presence of a half-human in his court was a testament to his father’s ‘benevolent’ nature. Grating as they were, you always accepted these invitations without complaint. Childhood friends or not, you understood that Lord Diavolo’s father only allowed you to stay in the royal court under certain conditions. But you didn’t blame the prince: because you were his longest friend, you also knew that he was just as much a pawn of the Demon King as you were.

And so, you kept your mouth shut. You put on your finest evening gown - a strapless mermaid silhouette made from wine-red demon moth silk. You spritzed yourself with a tincture of night-blooming flowers, the one Lord Diavolo had brought for you as a present from a business trip to Siren’s Island. For one night, you would survive.

At all of Lord Diavolo’s events, you were always the last to arrive (and the first to leave). Tonight was no different. By the time you arrived in the dining hall, the rest of the prince’s guests were already seated. Usually, the room would fall silent; Lord Diavolo would flash an apologetic smile as the room’s eyes turned to you, hustling to your seat at the last possible moment. But today, the hum of lively conversation didn’t cease, and you managed to slip in unnoticed.

The guests of honor were a hulking bunch - so broad and boyish that even in your tallest shoes, you still felt small. Everything about them was larger than life, from the way they laughed to the way they devoured their appetizers. They dressed strangely, too, strapped into ceremonial leather armor and draped in fur pelts. Surrounded by these foreigners, you felt like you were being held hostage on a Viking ship.

As usual, Lord Diavolo had sat you on the end of the table farthest from him, the seat typically reserved for the lowest-ranking guest. The clansmen didn’t even lift their heads as you slid into your dining chair… except for the one sitting next to you.

“What’s that smell?”

The deep voice rippled through your seat like a small earthquake. You turned to investigate its source: a gargantuan pair of muscular shoulders, hunched to conceal the wrinkle of his nose; copper hair fluffing out in all directions like a lion’s mane. His spine was curved so far forward; you could barely make out the sharp angle of his chin beneath the fur cape slung across his shoulders.

You sighed and prepared yourself for the inevitable conversation about your humanness. “I’m only half-”

“No, not that,” he cut you off. “Smells like… flowers.”

“Oh.” You blinked hard. “You must mean my perfume.”

Thoughtfully, he nodded.

“Yeah. Smells… good.”

The young man smiled, then shifted awkwardly in his seat, his ears turning the same burnt color as his hair.

“Where I come from,” he rambled, “they say the person who smells best to you is destined to become your mate for life.”

Your cheeks warmed as he straightened to examine your face. As your companion drank you in, you noticed his eyes were an inhuman shade of violet... the mark of a shapeshifter.

Life as a guest in the palace hadn’t taught you much about shifters. Most of them hailed from the clans that inhabited the far-off wildernesses of the Devildom, and didn’t interact much with the Demon King’s court. But you knew enough to recognize that your mortal side should be afraid of them.

To your fragile skin and breakable bones, the fangs and claws on a shifter were no different from those on a vampire. Yet you were quickly finding yourself with a deadly habit; a taste for the supernatural.

The longer you lingered on them, the deeper you sank into his amaranthine eyes. He held your gaze for only the briefest of moments before his shoulders rounded again, his gaze turning bashfully to the ground.

“What’s your name?” you blurted.

Without looking up from his plate, he replied, “Beel.”

His name echoed in your head for the rest of the night: Beel, Beel, Beel. Even as you excused yourself from the dining room early, that evening, your mind was consumed by thoughts of him.

However, you had learned from years of experience that the merriment of after-dinner drinks brought out the danger in even the gentlest of monsters. With a castle full of shapeshifters, you knew that the safest thing you could do was close your eyes and wait for morning... no matter how much your heart begged you to do otherwise.

Back in your guests’ quarters, you stripped off your gown and wrapped yourself in a black satin robe. The chest was embroidered in gold thread with the Demon King’s royal seal - a gift from Lord Diavolo, bestowed on your first night at the palace.

That night, your eyelids fluttered shut as soon as your head hit the pillow. Instead of images, you dreamed in delicious sensations: broad shoulders encircling your soft breasts; rough finger pads tracing your stomach rolls; muscular thighs draped over your own. You couldn’t place a face or a name to these sensual vignettes, but they captivated your sleep nonetheless.

Whatever filthy nonsense had gotten into your mind, you didn’t want it to stop. From far away, you heard yourself moan in your sleep: “Feels so good.”

You were startled awake by a pathetic canine whimper ghosting over your ear: “Awoo!”

Disoriented, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and eyed the wall clock; the time was past 2:00 AM. Just enough moonlight crept in from between the curtains to illuminate a few tufts of ginger - was that fur? - in your bed.

You rubbed your eyes again, certain you were hallucinating.

No, you weren’t mistaken: two fluffy ears wiggled playfully as the presence behind you squeezed closer, crying out like an injured dog as he humped you over your clothes. Frozen, you peered over your shoulder. Two violet eyes glowed in the dark, heady with lust. A ruddy tail flicked teasingly in the air, then grazed against your leg.

Beel.

“You… you’re in my bed.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled into your shoulder. “Couldn’t sleep. Your scent kept drifting down the hall…” His fangs grazed your neck seductively. “I couldn’t think about anything else.”

You knew that you should feel furious; violated, even. You knew that you should scream in shock and horror. But against your better judgment, the feeling of his erection sliding against your thin robe left your heart beating erratically.

“Sorry.” Beel hugged you closer and whined, his furry tail weaving between your ankles. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me. You just smell so good…”

A light breeze blew through the window, the velvet curtains rippling to reveal a navy sky littered with stars. A full moon. You had heard rumors of the heinous acts shapeshifters committed under the influence of a new moon.

Could this be why Beel was acting so... forward?

Light danced across his copper tresses. You turned to face him, twirling a strand around your finger. He closed his eyes, his ears twitching, as if your slightest touch was too much to bear.

"Please," Beel whispered. “Just want to feel you… want to smell you…”

Unconsciously, Beel leaned toward you, his mouth so close that you could taste his breath, warm and sweet on your tongue. You unraveled, your body melting into his eager kisses. You moaned into his open mouth before your lips could even touch, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to bristle. You ran your hand over them, making him whimper.

“Don’t know how much longer I can control myself if you keep touching me like that,” Beel groaned. “Please, tell me I can…”

He rutted hungrily into your thighs with a moan, forgetting the rest of his sentence. But you understood what he was asking permission to do. As much as you knew Beel wanted you, he also seemed afraid of hurting you, in a way most supernatural creatures weren’t.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and tugged him closer.

“Beel. Take me.”

Beel’s ears perked up as he nuzzled into your neck.

“Mmm... you really shouldn’t have said that…”

You pressed your forehead against his.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

Something in him snapped.

“...You probably should be.”

Beel rolled on top of you and pinned your wrists to the bed - two electric purple eyes hovering over you in the dark. His lips crashed into yours, haphazard and wet and sloppy.

“You taste so sweet… like candy,” he breathed. “It’s addictive.”

Beel bent to kiss you again, tangling his tongue with yours in a mess of slobber and lust.

“Can’t wait,” he breathed into your mouth. “Need more of you, now.”

Moaning in frustration, you arched upward into nothing as Beel rose to his knees and reached for your robe. Instead of coming untied, the satin ripped with a single tug.

Your breasts easily sprung free from the torn garment, the robe reduced to a pile of soft fabric beneath you. Beel growled in satisfaction as he bent to suckle on your tit. His sharp teeth grazed your nipple as you untied his jacket, eager to feel his bare skin on yours. He shrugged out of his sleeves without unlatching from your breast, tossing the top carelessly to the floor.

Chin covered in drool, Beel kissed his way up your neck until he came back to your lips. Your hand slid down his toned stomach, down the trail of orange fuzz above his v-line, dipping into his waistband just slightly; ghosting over his monstrous bulge.

Beel shuddered as you palmed at his cock. Even through his pants, you could feel how hard he was for you. As your lips moved in tandem, his soft ginger tail feathered its way up your inner thigh, teasing at the slick spot between your legs.

“Enough teasing,” he growled, pinning you in place with his leg between your thighs. “I want her.”

He gave your bare pussy a wet slap that you weren’t expecting. You cried out louder than you meant to, until Beel clapped his palm over your lips.

“Shh,” he hummed, pushing down his waistband. “Don't speak... wanna hear this pretty pussy talk t’me.”

You moaned against his hand, tears welling in your eyes, as you eyed his girthy cock. In this world full of monsters and magic, you had seen some unbelievable things, but the most unbelievable of all was Beel’s sheer size. No one had told you that shapeshifters would be so broad; that his cock would flare at the base and swell at the tip in ways that promised to bruise your hole before he even pushed past its entrance.

“It’s not gon’ fit-” you tried to mumble into his fingers, but it was useless.

Beel was already bullying his fat tip against your dripping folds, panting like a dog, as your toes curled into the satin sheets. He slowly pushed past your entrance, letting you feel every ridge and curve of his shaft with his first stroke.

You felt your walls stretch, deliciously and painfully, around him, ultimately accommodating his gargantuan size. Wet pools trailed out of your pussy, onto your entangled limbs; spit dripped out of your mouth, onto the pillowcase.

“So good f’me, baby,” Beel huffed, his head dipping between your breasts as he deepened his thrusts. “Just a bit more-”

Both of you moaned aloud in a messy harmony as Beel bottomed out inside of you. His ears drooped and his face contorted with the effort, sweat beading on his brow. You pressed your forehead against his, planting a sloppy kiss on his lips. He groaned into your mouth; you raked your nails down his back.

Beel’s pelvis slapped your stomach with loud thwacks! as he fucked you faster and faster, humping you with all the enthusiasm of a desperate teenager.

“Ah-” he huffed, “-can’t hold back much longer… ready to fill you up… ready to give you my pups-”

Before you could even think about asking him to pull out, Beel crushed his hips into yours with a pathetic whimper. His knees started to tremble beneath him. Meanwhile, you were so cockdrunk that if he had tried to jump out, you had half a mind to lock your legs around him until he spilled his seed inside you, anyways.

“Please,” Beel whined, his voice thick with agony, “let me make you mine.”

Tears welled in your eyes as his fat head pounded against your g-spot over and over again, rendering you speechless. But your nod was enough for him: Beel released his hand from your mouth, bracing himself against the headboard as he pounded relentlessly into your tortured cunt. You clenched your walls around him, preparing for the release you could already feel swelling inside of him.

“Oh- Beel!”

You cried out his name as he drilled one final thrust into your abused hole.

“Hah- cumming- hah,” Beel huffed, burying his face in your collarbone with a groan.

His face flushed bright red as spurts of seed shot from his tip, hot liquid pooling around your cervix. You could feel every cell of your pussy walls spreading to accommodate his bulbous base. An explosion of stars burst into your line of sight as you felt him expand even further inside of you, tugging at your insides in a way that made your walls gush.

As the high washed over him, Beel pushed your thighs into the bed in a fierce mating press, biting down on every bare inch of skin he could find: below your ear, on the side of your neck, just above your collarbone. His hands firmly grasped your ass cheeks, pulling you up and into him as he continued to mindlessly rut against you. Instinctively, your sensitive cunt tried to jump back - but you found that you were unable to move, his cock molding to perfectly fit the shape of your walls like lock-and-key.

What... what did he do? Is this some kind of shapeshifter magic?

Your skin was littered with marks from his fangs by the time Beel lifted his head. When his gaze met yours once more, you found that the glow behind his violet eyes had softened slightly, their color fading into a soft royal purple. But the warmth between you had not yet faded, nor had the knot binding you two together. You figured that as long as you were both stuck here, you might as well give him a scratch behind his fuzzy ears...

Beel hummed contentedly as you stroked him, nuzzling into your shoulder.

"You know," he murmured, "I think you smell even better mixed with me."

a/n: the highly requested part two to my vampire(& now werewolf)/royalty obey me! au has finally arrived. if you want a part three, make sure to show some love <3 and let me know whether you ship reader with mammon or beel!

#lavender haze🪻#ebony night🗝️#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me swd #obey me x reader #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #beelzebub x reader #beel x reader #obey me beelzebub x reader #obey me beel x reader

87 notes · View notes

my-debauchery · 2 months ago

Text

Visit.

idol!jaemin × gn!reader

g`fluff

cw`kissing, some happy tears

wc`1.1k

A/N:jaemin got 3 votes so i hope no one is upset. i know it's not extremely festive and for that i apologies. i hope you like it anyway and have happy and peaceful christmas, if you celebrate. as always, constructive criticism is more than welcome. if you see mistakes in cw tagging, please, let me know.

you could feel it in the air. be it the festive spirit or 6 shots of espresso, that you had an hour ago, you can not decide.

somehow this christmas morning feels different, as you sit and watch the morning news in your pajamas. eating leftovers from the yesterday's celebratory dinner at your parents house.

you feelt slightly sad that your boyfriend couldn't join, but then again you knew what it's gonna be like dating an idol. you talked on the phone for a bit and he had to go back to the rehearsal for sbs's gayodaejeon. you probably won't be able to see each other till after the new years celebration.

as you get up to clean up your plate, there is a chime of the lock from the front door. you think it must be your sister's coming to pick you up for your walk, so you continue on to the kitchen.

'i just finished breakfast. let me change and we can go' you call out to them and load the dishes in the dishwasher.

suddenly you are engulfed by something cold and rustling.

'where i are you going?' you can hear a smile in jaemin's voice, even though he is speaking in to your neck 'can you delay your plans for a bit?' there is a playful intonation in his question.

you turn around in his arms and look up astonished 'what are you doing here? aren't you supposed to be practicing or doing million other things in preparation for your performance? or resting?' you say worriedly, noticing slight dark circles and a sleepy gaze.

'maybe' he says and lowers his head on your left shoulder, mumbling 'or i can snuggle with you for an hour' you don't need to be told twice, so you move back to the couch and drop down with him.

you settle down and wrap yourself around jaemin. he takes a deep breath in 'you smell like ch-' you look up with a mischievous smile 'home?' he gives a quiet laugh and pinches your nose lightly 'no, love. you smell like christmas'

you pout and look away 'i bought a new body wash and i smell delicious' you say triumphantly and poke his chest 'i know. i can just bite your hands of for breakfast' he says and try to catch your hands and do just that.

jaemin tackles you on the ground and traps your underneath him. you try to break free, but he is stronger 'maybe you shouldn't have used it, you know i already can gobbel you up on any given day' he grins down on you.

you puff out your chest and lift your chin up 'first you should take your jacket off, show some manners. this is an establishment of fine dining and a certain class. not just anyone can eat here' you finish off with a lifted brow.

he takes off his jacket and tosses it to the side 'not anyone you say?' you nod and cross your arms 'of course not, only the most special people, in the most dignified positions' you say with an air of self-imposed importance.

he smiles an almost manic smile 'what about fiancé's? and futer husband's? are they special and dignified enough?' jaemin reaches in to his pocket and you feel you heart skip a couple beats. he outstretches his hand with an open palm on which lays a ring.

you skoot out from underneath him and sit on your knees in front of jaemin. you take the ring with shaky hands and look at it. it a simple silver band with sprinkling of small crystals and ingraving of yours and jaemin's initials on the inside. you feel dumbfounded and lost for words, so you just look at it.

you don't know for how long you sit like that 'will you take it? it's a promise ring. i know we can't marry right now, but one day. when things quite down a little we can' you feel tears drip down your face and your vision gets a little bit blurry.

jaemin nudges you lightly 'are you okay? is it a no and you just thinking how to tell me? you know i can always book a table later. i know your fine establishment is very popular' you snort and launch yourself forward to bear hug him.

'i love you so much. you don't need no booking. i'm afraid our establishment is closing for private service for the foreseeable future. you are our most honorable guest after all' you whisper in to his ear.

jaemin hugs you back 'the honor is all mine' you feel the sobs shake his body and run your hands along his back and sides.

you peel away from each other and he takes the ring from your hands. jaemin gently holds your hand and puts the ring on 'please, never leave me. i will do anything and everything to make you happy. i will learn and grow with you till tax collectors and fire department close you down'

you laugh and give him a short kiss. you both turn towards his discarded jacket, from which his phone is ringing and buzzing 'i'm afraid you need to go' you tell him and move to your feet.

jaemin follows suit and gets up. he holds your face, slightly squishing your cheeks 'i love you. i'll call you later, then i get to the show and before we go up. i love you. please don't forget to dress warmly if you go out. i love you. i'll try to get couple hours free to celebrate with our families and friends, before the new year. i love you. please watch our performance, but look only at me. i love you'

you squish his face back 'i love you. i'll be waiting for you here, if you can, stay the night today. i love you. i'll stay warm and won't get sick, i promise. i love you. i would love to celebrate with everyone, but don't stress about it. i love you. i'll watch it and you know i only have eyes for you. i love you' you pinch his cheeks 'you should go or the others will chew you out'

he lets go of you and picks up his jacket. jaemin fishes out his phone and answers it 'yes, hyung i'm going down. sorry for not answering. i'll be out in a minute' he moves towards the front door and you follow him.

jaemin puts his jacket and shoes on and looks at you. you move to stand in front of him and kiss him again. he turns to exit and you hold on to his right hand. just as he is about to step out of your apartment, you cheerily say 'thank you for your visit. please, come again!'

the last thing you hear is jaemin's bright laugh echoing in the corridor.

79 notes · View notes

thedensworld · 9 months ago

Text

Bucket of Happiness | J.Ww

Pairing: Businessman! Wonwoo x reader ft. Mingyu

Genre: Angst, fluff, friends to lovers

Summary: After the divorce settled, you immediately moved to Canada for your treatment. Meanwhile, Wonwoo has to run away from his parents who couldn't stop forcing him to get married.

Here's the part 1 | part 2 (Falling Flowers Series)

Wonwoo couldn't believe his own eyes when he saw a familiar figure step into the elevator. Both of them froze, realizing they could meet each other even after traveling thousands of miles. Awkwardly, Wonwoo bowed his head in greeting as you entered the elevator, the tension palpable between them.

Neither dared to say a word, letting only the jazz music fill the silence. When the elevator stopped at the 8th floor, you bowed your head before stepping out, revealing that you lived right behind his floor. Wonwoo sighed with the revelation, realizing you were in Canada, the same country as him.

It had only been two months since Wonwoo drank with Mingyu, his friend, right after Mingyu's divorce with you was settled. It wasn't a celebratory drink, Wonwoo assumed, but Mingyu didn't say anything about why he was drinking like a madman after his divorce request was accepted. Wonwoo didn't dare to ask, but he always sensed that something was up.

Meeting you in this country was a surprising revelation for him. He hadn't expected to encounter anyone he knew from Korea after deciding to leave the country for a few months following a huge fight with his parents. Leaving his business to his workers wasn't the same as being there himself. His trust had decreased, with too much monitoring, and he felt alone. He craved solace but not solitude.

Mingyu and Seungcheol had been calling him since he landed two days ago. He wanted to tell them he had safely arrived in Ottawa, the capital city of Canada. However, he didn't want anyone to know his whereabouts after the controversy his parents caused at their charity ball two weeks ago. They announced a future wedding for Wonwoo with a woman he had never met, without his consent.

Now, he was taking a risk by leaving everything behind in South Korea, choosing to live his life in peace here.

As the doorbell rang at 8 p.m., Wonwoo, engrossed in monitoring files sent by his secretary, stood up and opened the door. His eyes widened in shock as he saw you standing there with plastic bags filled with vegetables and a portable stove in your other hand.

"Hi..." you said, and Wonwoo nodded in response, his gaze shifting from you to the items in your hands, then back to you.

"I remembered Mingyu mentioned you like hot pot, want to have some?" you asked, raising your hands higher to show him what you brought.

Wonwoo, surprised but curious, accepted the offer, taking everything from your hands and inviting you inside. He stepped aside to let you in, and you followed, heading straight to the dining table and starting to prepare the ingredients for the hot pot.

Wonwoo assisted with the portable stove, marveling at your deft hands as you worked quickly. No words were exchanged beyond simple requests for utensils or ingredients.

Feeling the silence stretch, Wonwoo finally asked how you knew his unit. "The elevator," you explained simply, and Wonwoo nodded in acknowledgment, realizing you must have seen it stop at the floor above yours earlier that day.

"Enjoy the meal," Wonwoo said as you both sat down to eat, and you nodded, smiling.

The two of you enjoyed the food in a calm and quiet atmosphere, and once it was finished, you tidied up together before leaving his apartment, no words exchanged between you.

Wonwoo saw you again after a week. He was reading by the window when he saw you walking on the other side of the street with a few bags in your hands. Wonwoo's lips lifted at the sight; for a petite figure like yours, you were indeed strong. It reminded him of Mingyu's words about how you were physically and emotionally strong.

However, Wonwoo noticed something different about you that he couldn't quite tell. He watched you until your figure was out of his sight. "Did you cut your hair?" he thought. He was sure your hair was pretty long the last time you met. What he saw earlier was you with shoulder-length hair covered with a cap, making you appear younger. "A little appearance change might be good after a divorce," Wonwoo thought.

When Wonwoo decided to go for a run, he noticed another bag hooked onto his doorknob, just like the other day. Today, it was filled with fruits, the same ones you had in your hands earlier. Last time, you had given him a homecooked meal with a note to warm it before eating, which he found kind and thoughtful. Perhaps you had heard about what happened to him back in South Korea.

The other day, it was a salad bowl. Wonwoo intended to reciprocate the gesture. On his way back home, he picked up some sour bread and left it on your doorknob with a note of thanks, hoping you would know it was from him. This exchange continued, each giving to the other, until Wonwoo found himself constantly thinking about what he should get for you, even while he was away in another city.

It had been a month since he moved to Ottawa. He explored most of the city by running and taking public transportation, using stops at coffee shops to make calls and emails for his business. Despite the change in scenery, he remained a diligent businessman, ensuring every investment was worthwhile.

Now, standing in front of the liquor store, Wonwoo pondered whether to get you a bottle of whiskey or wine. He couldn't recall Mingyu ever mentioning your drinking habits. In fact, Mingyu rarely brought you up in conversation unless it reminded him of Nari, their best friend who was now married to Seungcheol.

This reflection brought Wonwoo back to the time when Mingyu mentioned that you reminded him of Nari. Indeed, as Wonwoo got to know you when you and Mingyu were still married, he noticed the physical similarities and the same calm and peaceful vibe you both emanated. You and Nari shared a protective nature towards others, seeming to care deeply about everyone else above yourselves.

Despite the exchange of gifts, you and Wonwoo hadn't met or exchanged words since the hot pot that night.

Wonwoo was just about to place a box of wine in front of your door when it swung open, revealing your figure, which shockingly appeared thinner than before. He momentarily mistook you for someone else, taken aback by your hollow cheeks and thin frame. Quickly dismissing his thoughts, Wonwoo retrieved the box and handed it to you personally.

"I just got back from Quebec for business. They said this is their best," Wonwoo explained.

You accepted the wine with a nod of thanks. "You don't have to," you said softly.

Wonwoo shook his head, insisting, "How could I not? You've been so thoughtful to me. Thank you so much, by the way."

You offered him a polite smile, and Wonwoo noticed two large trash bags filled to the brim sitting in front of your door. Without hesitation, he asked, "Are you going to recycle? Want me to help?"

"No, no, it's okay!" you refused, but Wonwoo insisted on helping.

Walking side by side with you, Wonwoo lifted both trash bags, not allowing you to carry them. "Have you had dinner?" you asked him, and Wonwoo shook his head. You then kindly offered him a meal as gratitude, and Wonwoo nodded, glad that you were starting to engage in conversation.

While waiting for the budae-jjigae to cook, you locked eyes with Wonwoo, causing him to bite his lip nervously. After a moment of silence, he finally mustered the courage to ask, "How are you?"

You took a moment to respond before saying, "better than before?" Wonwoo couldn't help but wonder what Mingyu had done to elicit such a response from you.

"And how about you, Mr. Jeon?" you asked in return.

Wonwoo shook his head. "Please call me Wonwoo. You're not Seungcheol hyung's secretary anymore," he said, smiling. "I'm great. I feel comfortable here, despite being far from home."

You mentioned that Nari had told you about his disappearance and how everyone was searching for him. Wonwoo's smile turned bitter. "So you heard about that," he said, nodding as you bit your lip.

"I'm sorry for what happened to you. Your parents... They were in the wrong, and I understand your decision to seek peace," you said softly.

Wonwoo took a deep breath before exhaling. "Are you doing the same thing here? Seeking peace?" he asked.

"I don't know. I came here for another reason, but I have found some peace," you replied with a smile, noticing that the meal was ready.

"Please, help yourself," you offered.

Wonwoo smiled and lifted his spoon and bowl of rice. "Thanks for the meal," he said warmly.

Wonwoo found relief after talking with you that night. He called his mother and informed her that he was doing well in Canada. Following your suggestion, he calmly explained his feelings about the marriage agenda his parents had been pushing, expressing his disappointment about the last event. After that call, he never felt so light-hearted.

He continued to get you things, whether it was food, cake, or books. Sometimes he saw you bringing home stacks of books, so he assumed you liked reading just like him. Tonight, he had just returned from meeting an old friend. As he walked to the elevator, a crew of medics rushed in. When they pressed the button for your floor, his heart sank.

"Is something happening to someone in that unit?" Wonwoo asked one of them.

"Do you know her? She was dialing an emergency call before she collapsed," one of the medics replied.

Wonwoo's brows furrowed in concern. He immediately followed them after they gave him permission, explaining that he was a friend of yours. With the help of the building's staff, they opened your door and entered your apartment. There you were, collapsed on the floor with your phone lying beside you. He felt a wave of relief knowing that you had managed to dial the emergency number.

As you arrived at the nearest hospital, Wonwoo offered himself to be your guardian. Holding his phone tightly, he felt an urge to call Mingyu, but he hesitated, wanting to respect your privacy. He couldn't help but notice the loss of your radiance after your sudden weight loss, and he couldn't shake the thought that it might be a result of the divorce.

When Mingyu informed him of his intention to divorce you, Wonwoo wasn't surprised. There had been signs that something was amiss in your marriage with Mingyu. It was a Friday night when Mingyu decided to stay at Wonwoo's house.

"You don't want to come home?" Wonwoo asked, puzzled by Mingyu's decision to stay the night.

"I'm divorcing Y/n," Mingyu blurted out.

Wonwoo stopped in his tracks. "Why?" he asked, unable to comprehend Mingyu's reasoning. "Is it because of the rumors?" he continued, pressing Mingyu for an answer.

Mingyu shook his head. "I intended to divorce her long before the rumors," he confessed.

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow. "Is it because of her miscarriage?" he asked.

Mingyu was silent for a moment before exhaling heavily. "It wasn't a miscarriage," he began. "She aborted them."

Wonwoo remembered how Mingyu had cried after confessing his intention to divorce you. However, months later, after the divorce was finalized, Mingyu called him for a drink, and Wonwoo could see regret in his friend's eyes. Many questions remained unanswered. Did Mingyu still love you? Was Mingyu happy during your marriage? How did you feel about the divorce?

"Y/n Ji's guardian?" Wonwoo was called, prompting him to swiftly make his way to the nurse station. He listened attentively as they briefed him on your condition.

"Ms. Ji's condition is stable, but she'll need to stay in the hospital for a few days. Please fill out this form and send it to the administration station," the nurse instructed.

Wonwoo nodded, but before taking the form, he inquired, "May I know what happened to her?"

"Nothing serious. She collapsed due to exhaustion and is undergoing medical treatment. It appears she may have taken the wrong dose of medication. The doctor will explain in detail," the nurse replied.

After handling the administrative tasks, Wonwoo accompanied you to your room. The doctor informed him that you had taken an incorrect dose of medication, causing you to lose consciousness. The doctor also mentioned that you would need to remain in the hospital until your chemotherapy appointment, which caught Wonwoo off guard. Chemotherapy? Were you ill? Did Mingyu know about this?

"I'm sorry to have caused you trouble," you said weakly, but still grateful.

Wonwoo shook his head. "No need to apologize. I'm just glad you're okay. You did well to dial the emergency number."

Handing you back your phone, he said, "I've put my number in as your emergency contact. Please call me if anything happens."

You accepted the phone with a weak smile. "Thank you."

There was a pause before Wonwoo cautiously asked, "Are you sick?" He didn't want to offend you with his question.

You smiled, not directly answering, but Wonwoo understood. Yes, you were sick, and it seemed serious.

"Are you here for treatment?" he asked, and you confirmed it.

"Have you told Mingyu?" Wonwoo inquired, and you nodded.

"So you're still in communication?" he assumed, but you shook your head.

"Mingyu knew. He knew before we were officially divorced," you revealed.

Wonwoo scowled. Mingyu knew about your illness and still went through with the divorce?

"Is it serious, your illness?" he asked with concern.

You thought for a moment. "I don't know, but it could be life-threatening. I've worked hard to get to this point," you explained, mentioning that this hospital was the only one with the procedure for your cancer.

"If you're wondering why Mingyu still divorced me despite knowing this, it's because I asked him not to stop the divorce process," you added, answering another question in his mind.

Wonwoo shook his head, his worry evident. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

You smiled. "No need to apologize. You're Mingyu's friend, so it's natural for you to wonder. I understand."

"It was the best decision for both of us. In fact, it wasn't difficult to divorce," you said calmly.

Wonwoo sighed, feeling a pang of sadness. You had no idea how much Mingyu had loved you when you were still carrying his child.

Wonwoo took a moment to absorb Mingyu's flurry of questions and colorful language, a mixture of relief and amusement washing over him at his friend's outburst. After two months of silence, he couldn't blame Mingyu for being a tad dramatic.

"I'm in Ottawa, enjoying my life here," Wonwoo finally replied, a smile evident in his voice despite the distance.

There was a brief pause before Mingyu dropped the unexpected bombshell. "Y/n is in Ottawa as well."

Wonwoo's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Actually, I live right above her apartment," he admitted, his tone tinged with intrigue.

Mingyu's chuckle resonated through the phone. "What a small world, right?"

The conversation lulled into silence before Wonwoo decided to break it. "Hey, would you like to know how she's doing? I see her around quite often."

Mingyu's response was immediate, tinged with a mix of concern and uncertainty. "Yeah, please... Is she alright?"

The conversation shifted, and Wonwoo could feel Mingyu's apprehension when he broached the topic of your well-being. It was clear that you held a special place in Mingyu's heart, even if you were no longer together.

Mingyu's next question caught him off guard, stumbling over his words in typical Mingyu fashion. "Um, is she... still the same? I mean, does she still look the same? Gosh, I know this is a stupid question—"

"Yeah, she's doing great," Wonwoo reassured him, sensing Mingyu's relief on the other end of the line.

"She's improving, Mingyu," Wonwoo answered, understanding Mingyu's concern.

"She looks thinner, but her health is improving. She cut her hair. It falls easily after a month of chemo," Wonwoo informed Mingyu, his voice gentle yet tinged with concern.

Mingyu's response was subdued, his words trailing off as if lost in thought. "So, you know..."

"Yes," Wonwoo replied softly, choosing not to divulge the full extent of your recent struggles, not wanting to burden Mingyu further.

"Thanks... Please take care of her for me," Mingyu requested, his tone heavy with a mix of gratitude and resignation.

"Why don't you come here and do it yourself if you really care about her?" Wonwoo wondered, unable to suppress the hint of reproach in his voice.

"I... I don't deserve her," Mingyu confessed, his admission laden with regret and self-doubt.

"What do you mean?" Wonwoo's eyebrows furrowed in surprise, puzzled by Mingyu's sudden self-deprecation.

"Hyung..." Mingyu's voice cracked, and to Wonwoo's shock, he could hear the sound of Mingyu sobbing through the phone, his heart sinking at the raw emotion in Mingyu's voice.

"Hey, don't cry... Are you at the office? Home?" Wonwoo asked, concern flooding his tone as he worried about Mingyu breaking down in public. The revelation of Mingyu's vulnerability added another layer to their conversation, deepening Wonwoo's sense of responsibility towards both Mingyu and you.

"Home, I took the day off," Mingyu admitted.

Wonwoo sighed heavily, his heart aching as he realized the depth of Mingyu's inner turmoil. He knew all too well that Mingyu rarely took days off, throwing himself tirelessly into work as a way to distract himself from the pain of loding Qp your unborn child.

"I just don't deserve her. I'm an asshole! So please... Take care of her for me," Mingyu pleaded, his voice cracking with emotion.

Wonwoo shook his head in disbelief, struggling to comprehend Mingyu's self-condemnation. "Mingyu..."

"She did indeed have a miscarriage. She kept our baby, but she miscarried because of cervical cancer," Mingyu revealed, his words weighted with sorrow and regret.

Wonwoo's eyes widened in shock at Mingyu's revelation, his mind struggling to process the gravity of the situation. "What?"

"I was about to cancel the divorce request, but she insisted." Mingyu confessed, his voice heavy with guilt and remorse.

As the truth sank in, Wonwoo felt a surge of empathy for both Mingyu and you, realizing the complexity of the emotions swirling beneath the surface. The weight of Mingyu's confession added another layer of complexity to their friendship, leaving Wonwoo grappling with the tangled web of love, loss, and regret that bound them all together.

Wonwoo closed his eyes, his hand unconsciously going to his heart, feeling a sharp pain in his chest as if something inside him was being torn apart by Mingyu's confession. The weight of Mingyu's words hung heavily in the air, suffocating Wonwoo with a mixture of sorrow and disbelief.

"I'm sorry I told you this. I couldn't think straight after the divorce. I can't stop thinking about how much I hurted her," Mingyu admitted, his voice laden with remorse.

Wonwoo didn't say a word. He couldn't find the right words to express the turmoil raging inside him. With a heavy heart, he ended the call, tears streaming down his cheeks unchecked. His chest felt like it was being crushed under the weight of Mingyu's confession, his heart shattered into a million pieces.

As he sat alone in the silence that followed, Wonwoo couldn't shake the feeling of overwhelming sadness that engulfed him. He had thought you didn't deserve Mingyu, but now he realized that it was Mingyu who didn't deserve you. The depth of your love and the pain you had endured only served to highlight your strength and resilience in the face of adversity. Wonwoo couldn't help but feel a profound sense of admiration for you, realizing that you deserved nothing less than the world.

Seungcheol introduced a woman he brought to Wonwoo's birthday as his new secretary before Wonwoo could jump to any assumptions about her relationship with Seungcheol. Having just broken up with Nari before she went abroad to continue her studies, Seungcheol was keen on avoiding any misunderstandings. So, when Wonwoo saw a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Nari accompanying Seungcheol, he almost blurted out, "You have a type, hyung."

"This is Jeon Wonwoo, a friend of mine," Seungcheol introduced Wonwoo to you, offering his hand for a shake.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Jeon," you said, your voice resembling Nari's, causing Wonwoo's eyes to widen as he shot a glance at Seungcheol.

Seungcheol then left you to enjoy the party while he engaged in conversation with Wonwoo. "How did you find her?" Wonwoo inquired.

"She applied. She used to be an intern at JIS Corp," Seungcheol replied, knowing that Wonwoo's mother had connections to JIS.

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow. "Did she graduate from JIS as well?"

"I can't recall, but she did attend JIS Senior High School. She's a Seoul University graduate, though," Seungcheol recalled.

Wonwoo chuckled. "You've found yourself quite a catch, hyung."

Seungcheol nodded in agreement. "She's exceptional, and it's only her first month."

As Wonwoo scanned the room, his eyes sought out your figure once more. He observed you engaging in conversation with an older guest, wearing a smile that seemed all too familiar. Suddenly, a face from his high school days flashed in his mind—his long-time crush.

Wonwoo never knew her name; she was just a girl he had noticed during his final year of high school, the year he was preparing to apply for college. In truth, Wonwoo had never spoken to her, never heard her voice. It was simply her beauty that captivated him, locking his gaze onto her whenever she came into view.

She was a quiet girl, content to smile and nod in the company of her friends. Wonwoo's first real interaction with her occurred during a volunteering event at the Foster Home. There, he saw her engrossed in a book, surrounded by children hanging onto her every word. Her pretty eyes sparkled with each motion she made while reading to them, and in that moment, Wonwoo couldn't help but fall for her.

He wished love were that easy, that it wouldn't be as complicated as his parents' strained relationship, held together by financial ties. He wished it wouldn't be as tangled as Mingyu's feelings for Nari, who loved Seungcheol instead. He longed for love to be as effortless as breathing, as simple as yawning.

Yet, as he grew older, Wonwoo watched those around him experience divorce, breakups, and constant quarrels. He began to lose hope, yearning for nothing more than peace. All he wanted was tranquility amidst the chaos of love's complexities.

Mingyu often sought Wonwoo's counsel regarding your rights within your former father's company, a topic that shed light on your background. Wonwoo was surprised to learn that your father was Ji Sunggi, the former president and founder of JIS Corp. Despite the shock, Wonwoo couldn't deny a sense of expectation; your association with such a prominent figure hinted at a background far from ordinary.

At another one of his birthday parties, doubling as the launch for his label JW Entertainment, Seungcheol brought you as his plus one. After years of dedicated service as Seungcheol's secretary, Wonwoo witnessed your brilliance firsthand as you seamlessly assisted Seungcheol throughout the event. With your quick and comprehensive briefings, you ensured that Seungcheol was always well-informed, making him the center of attention and admiration.

From his vantage point, Wonwoo observed you gracefully mingling with the other guests, your presence exuding a natural elegance that could rival even the most seasoned conglomerates. However, amidst your confident demeanor, Wonwoo couldn't help but notice moments of discomfort, subtle signs betraying a vulnerability beneath the facade of confidence.

As he watched you navigate the social landscape with poise and tact, Wonwoo couldn't shake the feeling of admiration that stirred within him. Despite any insecurities you may have harbored, your ability to shine in the spotlight was undeniable, leaving Wonwoo marveling at the depth of your talent and resilience.

As Wonwoo exited the restroom, he inadvertently overheard two women engaged in a hushed conversation about Mingyu and another person, presumably you. Their expressions were tense, and their whispers carried hints of disdain and resentment.

"How could she talk to us like that?!"

"She thinks she's better than us?"

Wonwoo, with a soft smile on his face, politely approached the two women. "Good evening, ladies..."

Startled by the unexpected presence of the party's host, the two women grew flustered, their demeanor shifting uncomfortably under Wonwoo's gaze.

"I'm so sorry for disturbing, but the person that you're talking about," Wonwoo motioned towards Mingyu and you, "are my friends. So I would appreciate it if you refrained from discussing them in such a manner."

The women scowled, clearly displeased by Wonwoo's intervention.

"Who is she?" one of them dared to ask, emboldened by Wonwoo's calm demeanor.

Wonwoo let out a soft chuckle, his hands slipping into his pockets as he considered his response. "She's related to Choi Seungcheol from Choi Corp. Didn't you receive an invitation as a plus one from their company?"

With that, Wonwoo left the women behind, his steps quick as he made his way towards you. However, before he could reach you, he noticed Mingyu approaching, his hand reaching out to pull you closer to him from Lee Jaewook. The intimate gesture caught Wonwoo's attention, sparking a flicker of concern in his mind.

Did he just see Mingyu pull you into his embrace?

Wonwoo sighed, a mix of disappointment and apprehension clouding his thoughts. Whatever intentions Mingyu harbored towards you, Wonwoo couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of his stomach.

As Wonwoo glanced around the room, his eyes fell upon a picture hanging on the wall, drawing his attention with a sudden pang of curiosity.

"Who's this?" he asked, pointing to the photograph.

You turned towards him, your movements graceful as you approached, a soft smile playing on your lips. "That's me and my high school friends," you replied, your voice a gentle melody that seemed to stir something within Wonwoo.

"Which one is you?" Wonwoo inquired, his voice barely above a whisper as he leaned in, his heart racing with anticipation.

Your finger delicately landed on a girl with a ponytail, her smile radiant as she was hugged by a friend. Wonwoo's breath caught in his throat as he turned to look at you, seeing a resemblance between the girl in the photograph and the person standing before him.

A sudden realization washed over Wonwoo, and he couldn't help but chuckle softly. You tilted your head in confusion, unable to comprehend the amusement dancing in Wonwoo's eyes. Little did you know, Wonwoo had just uncovered the reason behind his inexplicable attraction to you since the moment you first crossed paths. In you, he saw echoes of his first love, a connection that had been unknowingly tugging at his heartstrings all along. It was you after all.

"Let's go, I'm ready," you said, flashing a bright smile at Wonwoo, who couldn't help but admire the resilience and courage shining in your eyes. It had been your wish to have your picture taken before losing all your hair due to chemotherapy, and Wonwoo was more than willing to accompany you, grateful for the opportunity to spend time together outside of their usual routine.

As Wonwoo watched you pose for the photographer, his smile grew wider, his heart swelling with admiration for your strength and positivity in the face of adversity. He couldn't resist capturing the moment himself, pulling out his phone to snap a picture of you, a small gesture of appreciation for the beauty he saw in you.

Unexpectedly, the photographer suggested taking a picture together, catching Wonwoo off guard. It wasn't part of the plan, but when you nodded and motioned for him to join you, Wonwoo couldn't bring himself to refuse. There was a spark in your eyes and a genuine warmth in your smile that melted his defenses, reminding him of the feelings he harbored for you since high school.

As the photographer snapped a few shots of the two of you together, Wonwoo couldn't shake the surreal feeling of standing beside his long-time crush, realizing just how much you meant to him.

After the photoshoot, as you approached to review the results, Wonwoo stepped aside, feeling a pang of sadness tugging at his heart when you joked about wanting a good memorial picture. The weight of your words hung heavy in the air, reminding Wonwoo of the fragility of life and the preciousness of every moment spent with you.

Wonwoo and you stopped at a cozy coffee shop before heading home. You sipped your hot coffee while gazing out the window, lost in thought. Wonwoo watched you intently, noticing how you seemed to grow thinner day by day.

"How's the treatment going?" Wonwoo asked gently, breaking the silence and for the first time broaching the subject of your cancer treatment.

You put down your cup, a faint smile playing on your lips. "It’s just started. The doctor said I might start losing a lot of hair after the next chemo session. She suggested I cut it shorter to make it easier."

Wonwoo nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "It’s just started?" he repeated softly, trying to gauge how you were truly feeling.

"Yes," you replied, your voice tinged with a mix of resignation and courage. "The hurting phase is about to happen." You smiled bitterly, your eyes drifting away from his to the pedestrians passing by outside. The vibrant life beyond the window contrasted sharply with the quiet battle you faced, making Wonwoo's heart ache for you.

Wonwoo bit his lips, lowering his head as he gathered his thoughts. "You shouldn't pass away," he murmured, his voice filled with emotion.

You turned to him, puzzled. "What?"

Wonwoo sighed deeply. "I heard your conversation with the photographer earlier. You should live for a long time," he said softly but with conviction. "A lot of people care about you. Seungcheol hyung, Nari, Mingyu... I care about you too. So, please, don’t give up."

A soft chuckle escaped your lips. "Wonwoo, if I had given up, I wouldn't be here," you joked lightly. "Getting treated was my decision. When Mingyu asked for a divorce, I realized the only person I could rely on was myself. That's why I'm working hard to get healthy again."

You paused for a moment, the weight of your thoughts heavy on your mind. "But," you continued, your voice trembling slightly, "I don't know, Wonwoo. I might die tomorrow."

Your gaze dropped to your fingers resting on your lap, tracing the lines absentmindedly. "I just want to spend my life doing the things I want," you said softly.

Wonwoo cleared his throat and immediately straightened his posture. "What do you want? Let's do it," he declared with enthusiasm, prompting a soft laugh from you.

"I want a baby," you said, your eyes twinkling mischievously.

Wonwoo blinked, taken aback. "I can't help with that one," he responded, stepping back slightly and giving you a startled look.

You laughed at his reaction, shaking your head. "Adopting. I was thinking about adopting a child."

Wonwoo sighed in relief, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "That sounds great. But are you sure though? I mean, with all the treatment and... taking care of a child..."

You blew out a breath, nodding thoughtfully. "Right, I didn’t think about that."

"Actually," Wonwoo began, his tone shifting to a more hopeful note, "my mother has been fundraising for a foster home in Seoul. We could pay them a visit if you want." He pulled out his phone, scrolling to find the pictures, and showed you an image of the foster home he was referring to.

Your eyes lit up as you looked at the photos. "That sounds wonderful, Wonwoo. I’d love to visit."

Wonwoo’s heart warmed at your response. "Great! We can plan a trip soon. It’ll be a nice break for both of us," he said, already thinking about how to make the visit special for you.

However, he noticed the color of your face change. He raised his brows, questioning your condition just in case you felt under the weather. He had mentioned that you should wear something warmer.

"Are you okay though? I saw the news," you asked him carefully, bringing up Wonwoo's situation that had brought him to Ottawa in the first place. Where media has been focused to Wonwoo since he left Seoul.

Wonwoo nodded in acknowledgement. "You saw it," he mumbled. "You might have heard about my parents. They're pretty particular about everything, including my love life. They kind of crossed the line," he explained in a subtle manner, not wanting to overshare his sudden engagement announcement that made by his parent months ago.

You could sense the weight of his words, the tension behind his calm exterior. "I'm sorry to hear that. It must be tough dealing with so much pressure from family."

He sighed softly, appreciating your empathy. "It is, but it's something I've gotten used to. Still, it helps to have someone who understands."

There was a silence from you before you stated, "It's better than having no family at all, right?" You pointed to yourself, eliciting a smile from Wonwoo.

Wonwoo knew about your family situation. He knew how you were adopted, how you lost your father, and how your stepmother had abandoned you.

He nodded thoughtfully, the smile lingering on his face. "You're right," he said softly. "I guess we both have our own struggles with family, just in different ways."

You gave him a small, understanding smile. "Yeah, but it makes us who we are. Stronger, I suppose."

Wonwoo's eyes softened. "Exactly. And it's good to have friends who get it."

Then Wonwoo raised an eyebrow. "Are we friends, though?" he asked playfully.

You rolled your eyes and dramatically gasped, placing your hand on your chest. "I can't believe what you've just said. You're paying!" You motioned to the coffee and desserts on the table.

Wonwoo smiled widely and stood up. "Alright, alright." He grabbed his wallet and walked to the cashier. As he did, he felt a sense of relief and happiness wash over him, knowing you were a true friend now—not just a crush like it used to be.

In two weeks, both you and Wonwoo flew to Seoul with a clear decision to visit the foster home Wonwoo had mentioned. Your decision to adopt a child had been wavering, but you knew you were mentally ready, and Wonwoo had been an incredible support system for you. Wonwoo mentioned that Mingyu missed you and wanted to meet, but you decided to visit your mother first after going to the foster home.

Upon arrival, Wonwoo greeted everyone warmly and politely. The staff remembered him fondly, mentioning that he often visited the foster home from high school through college. It was heartwarming to see how much he was loved and respected there.

"Why?" you asked him, wanting to know the reason.

Wonwoo shrugged, a nostalgic smile playing on his lips. "I had good memories visiting here when I was a kid. I remember always thinking it was fun to play with the kids," he explained, before running off to join a group of children, his laughter blending with theirs.

Walking through the halls of the foster home, you could feel a mixture of anticipation and nervousness. The children's laughter echoed through the building, filling it with a sense of hope and innocence. You exchanged a glance with Wonwoo, who squeezed your hand reassuringly, reminding you that you were not alone in this journey.

As you met the children, your heart swelled with emotion. Their bright eyes and genuine smiles touched you deeply, and you felt a connection you hadn't expected. The idea of adopting one of these wonderful children began to feel less daunting and more like a calling.

"Do you remember how you were as a kid?" Wonwoo asked as the two of you waited for the director.

You thought for a moment. "I don't really remember much, but I think I was pretty cheerful. My father used to say he loved hearing my cheerful voice whenever he came home from work."

Wonwoo chuckled, his eyes softening. "I can tell. You do have that cheerful side sometimes," he retorted, and you raised your brows in confusion.

"Really? When?" you asked, genuinely curious.

However, Wonwoo didn't pay attention to your curiosity, as his focus shifted to an elderly woman, seemingly in her 70s, approaching both of you.

"Long time no see, ma'am," Wonwoo said, bowing politely to the director of the foster home.

"This is Ji Y/N. She's from Canada and has been wanting to visit here," Wonwoo introduced you to the director.

You smiled and bowed at the director, but what you gained from her was something unexpected.

"Y/N? Is it really you?" she asked, her eyes widening in surprise and recognition.

You blinked, taken aback. "Have we met before?" Your eyes shifted to Wonwoo, silently asking for help. However, Wonwoo looked as clueless as you felt.

The director, named Kim Jaewha, approached you, holding your arms with eyes that showed disbelief. "Are you really Y/N? The girl who was adopted by the Ji family?"

Wonwoo's eyes widened at the revelation, questions flying through his mind. "Were you raised here?" he asked, his voice tinged with shock.

Ms. Kim's eyes softened as she continued, "Do you remember me? I'm Ms. Kim, your nanny!"

You shook your head, struggling to recall any memories from before you were adopted. "I barely remember anything from that time," you admitted.

Ms. Kim's expression grew tender. "You were so young when you left. It's understandable that you don't remember much."

A flood of mixed emotions washed over you—surprise, confusion, and an unexpected sense of connection. You glanced at Wonwoo, who offered a supportive smile.

"How's your mother?"

Wonwoo had insisted on driving you to your mother's house, but you preferred to take a cab. It had been an emotional roller coaster earlier, and you didn't want to burden him any further with your tears and disappointment. Not toward your stepmother, but your real mother.

Kim Jaewha, who used to be your nanny, had dropped a bombshell that you had never heard before, and you were ready to confront your mother about it. All the revelations from the two-hour visit to the foster home had brought back the childhood memories you had lost due to a car accident.

On your way to your mother's house, the cab driver occasionally glanced at you through the rearview mirror as you sobbed in the back seat. You stepped out of the car and immediately walked up to the house.

"I'm sorry, but Mrs. Ji has requested no guests today," the maid said firmly.

You sighed, trying to steady your voice. "I'm no guest. I'm her daughter."

A quarrel ensued between you and the maid, your raised voices echoing through the hallway. The commotion caused your mother to step out, her expression stern as she took in the chaos.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I warned her about no guests today," the maid apologized, bowing deeply.

Your mother ordered her to leave with a sharp glance. As she approached you, her eyes scanned you from head to toe, a mixture of curiosity and irritation on her face..

"It's been half a year since your divorce, and only now do you decide to visit me?" your mother said, her tone laced with the usual disdain, as if your presence disgusted her.

You gulped, trying to steady yourself. "It's not your business," you replied, hearing her laugh—a cold, hollow sound.

"It is my business because your ex-husband, Mr. Kim, got involved in my business to secure your rights in the company," your mother retorted. She walked to her desk, grabbing the phone to call her secretary. "I need Mr. Yang for Y/N's rights administration. It's past the due date, so make sure he handles everything."

You looked at her in confusion. "What do you mean?"

She rolled her eyes. "Your ex-husband saved my business on the condition that I grant you your rights after a year."

You blinked, processing this information. You thought it was supposed to be two years. What had Mingyu done behind your back?

"He was an amazing man. I don't understand why you two divorced," your mother mumbled.

"Anyway... I heard about your condition," she said, sitting on the couch and watching you from three meters away.

"Which condition?" you asked, your tone more defiant than you felt. She seemed surprised by your courage to talk back, but you noticed her face almost softened as she observed your changed appearance.

"Your health," she said after clearing her throat..

You took a deep breath before deciding to sit in front of her. "I also heard something about your condition," you started. "That you abandoned me at the foster home."

Your mother’s eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing.

"Was that why you tried to kill me after finding out the girl your husband had adopted is the daughter you had abandoned?" you asked, finally letting out the revelation you had just discovered.

You watched her tense up at your confession. "I always disgust you, right?" you asked, your voice trembling.

"As a woman, I pity you," you continued, your tone steady but filled with emotion. "Having to raise a daughter that you got from a man you couldn't marry before you abandoned her. Fate is so mean to you."

You paused, swallowing the lump in your throat. "However, as a child... I hate that you had to ruin mine just because yours was ruined."

You stood up from your seat. "I refuse the rights," you declared firmly.

"Let's not meet each other after this. Let's act like strangers, like you always wanted. Let's act like we have died to each other," you said, your voice breaking slightly as you turned and walked out of the house.

As you stepped outside, the weight of your words hung heavily in the air. The confrontation, painful and necessary, marked the end of a chapter that had caused you so much pain. You felt a strange sense of liberation, knowing that you had finally stood up for yourself and set the boundaries you needed.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you walked towards the gate. You saw your mother's figure standing at the door, her eyes filled with a mix of regret and resignation. She had started to chase after you but stopped, knowing it was too late. She had abandoned you long ago. Letting you go now wouldn't be difficult for her.

As you neared the gate, you spotted a familiar car parked by the side of the road. Wonwoo stepped out and immediately came to you, his eyes widening in concern when he saw you crying. He knew he should have been there to support you from the beginning.

He walked to you slowly, his eyes softening as he took in your condition. You looked into his eyes before leaning into his embrace, finally letting yourself cry harder on his chest.

"I'm so sorry for what happened to you," Wonwoo whispered, his voice filled with empathy and regret. "I'm so sorry..."

His arms tightened around you, providing the comfort and support you so desperately needed. In his embrace, you found a moment of solace, knowing that despite the pain and revelations, you weren't alone.

Wonwoo sat on one of the couches in Mingyu's office, guilt weighing heavily on his chest. Mingyu had greeted him excitedly earlier, offering him drinks and meals, and had even canceled his plans for the day to spend time with Wonwoo. Wonwoo felt restless; Mingyu shouldn’t be going out of his way like this.

"How are you? Is Ottawa nice?" Mingyu asked, his tone warm and curious.

Wonwoo nodded casually. "The lifestyle there fits mine. No difficulty in adapting," he explained simply, and Mingyu nodded in acknowledgment.

There was a pregnant pause before Mingyu asked about your condition. "She's fine, right?"

Wonwoo raised his brows and immediately nodded. "Yes, she's great. She visited her mother yesterday. She said she's going to meet Seungcheol hyung and Nari today."

Mingyu smiled weakly. "How's her treatment? Has she ever shared anything about that?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

Wonwoo sighed. "Why don't you ask her yourself?" he suggested, but Mingyu took a deep breath and shook his head.

"I told you, hyung. I couldn't face her after what I found out," Mingyu explained, referring to the miscarriage you had suffered while married to him. "I miss her, though."

Wonwoo's mind wandered to your confession about knowing Mingyu's feelings for Nari, Seungcheol's wife and Mingyu's first love. How much guilt would Mingyu bear if Wonwoo revealed that fact?

"Trust me, she's doing great. Treatment, life—she's even taking a writing course," Wonwoo informed Mingyu, which lifted a slight smile on Mingyu's lips.

"She always loved writing," Mingyu murmured, his eyes distant as he thought about the past.

Wonwoo watched Mingyu, feeling the weight of unspoken truths between them. He wished he could ease Mingyu's guilt, but he knew that some wounds had to be dealt with in their own time. "She really is doing well," he reassured softly, hoping it would bring Mingyu some peace.

Mingyu nodded, but the sadness in his eyes remained. "Thanks, hyung. It means a lot to hear that from you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Wonwoo watched the younger man, a mix of emotions swirling within him. "You loved her, didn't you?" he asked playfully, trying to lighten the mood.

Mingyu chuckled softly. "Of course, I married her because I loved her."

Wonwoo leaned closer, searching Mingyu's eyes. "Did she know it?" he asked.

Mingyu nodded. "I told her every day. That I loved her."

Wonwoo took a deep breath, his mind replaying your confession about knowing Mingyu's feelings for another woman. His head spun with the complexity of the situation. "She's really like Nari, isn't she?" Mingyu asked, his voice tinged with wistfulness.

Wonwoo could only nod in response, feeling the weight of the comparison. While Mingyu always thought that you resembled Nari, Wonwoo couldn’t see it that way. When he saw Nari in the past, she reminded him of his first love, the girl with the ponytail from high school—who turned out to be you. But when he looked at you, he saw no trace of Nari.

Was Mingyu experiencing the same confusion? Was it right to compare?

Wonwoo couldn't answer that. The lines between past and present, love and memory, were too blurred. He sighed deeply, feeling the burden of secrets and unresolved feelings between them. "It's complicated," he finally said, his voice heavy with meaning.

When you were still married to Mingyu, Wonwoo couldn't shake the jealousy that simmered in his chest at the thought of Mingyu being the one to have you. Your graceful movements, your soft-spoken tone, the beauty that radiated from your face—it all stirred a tumultuous mix of emotions within him.

Wonwoo could only watch you from afar whenever you attended events with Mingyu. His heart broke when he caught sight of the baby bump under Mingyu's hand as he walked you around, introducing you to his friends.

He couldn't explain the depth of his worry when he saw you running around in heels while pregnant during his visit for Seungcheol's wedding preparation. He remembered calling Seungcheol, pleading for him to involve you less, knowing the strain it could put on your health.

"I was surprised to hear you were the one who asked, not Mingyu," Seungcheol had remarked.

Wonwoo chuckled at Seungcheol's words. If only he knew the truth. "Mingyu asked me to ask you. Do you think he would have the guts to ask himself?" Wonwoo had replied, trying to be diplomatic.

If Mingyu weren't his best friend, Wonwoo would have been tempted to confront him when he visited to discuss your rights at your father's company. He had seen the baby items being moved from Mingyu's house, followed by your tearful attempts to stop them. It was then that Mingyu had confessed about your abortion plan.

"So your feelings are the only ones that are valid?" Wonwoo froze when he overheard your conversation with Mingyu that night. He knew he should let Mingyu know he was there, but he couldn't bring himself to interrupt.

"You don't know the kind of sorrow I've been hiding until they turned into anger," he heard you say to Mingyu, your voice rising for the first time.

Feeling like an intruder, Wonwoo discreetly retreated, watching as you stormed out of Mingyu's office. He heard you speak to one of the staff, requesting to have your bed prepared separately from Mingyu's.

As he stood there, grappling with the weight of the emotions he had witnessed, Wonwoo couldn't help but feel a surge of protectiveness towards you. He knew that despite the complexities of your relationship with Mingyu, he would always be there to support you, even if it meant standing silently in the shadows.

Wonwoo sighed heavily, the weight of his unspoken feelings pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. He loved you so much that it hurt him to see you suffer, especially while Mingyu lived his life seemingly unaffected.

"If Seungcheol hyung and Nari suddenly separated, would you marry her?" Wonwoo asked Mingyu, the question seemingly coming out of nowhere.

Mingyu frowned, taken aback by the unexpected inquiry. "Don't talk like that," he warned, but Wonwoo persisted, assuring him it was just a hypothetical scenario.

"If Seungcheol hyung and Nari, for whatever reason, had to separate, would you ask to marry Nari?" Wonwoo pressed again.

After a few moments of contemplation, Mingyu nodded with determination. "I'll marry her," he affirmed.

Wonwoo nodded in acknowledgment, his mind swirling with questions. 'If I marry Y/n, will it be okay?' The thought lingered in his mind, unspoken yet ever-present.

Unable to contain his impulsivity any longer, Wonwoo blurted out, "Can I take care of Y/n?"

Mingyu's eyes widened in surprise at the sudden request. "What do you mean?" he asked, trying to comprehend Wonwoo's intentions.

Wonwoo swallowed nervously, feeling exposed and vulnerable. "I mean... things didn't work out between you and Y/n... I want to be there for her. I want to take care of her," he explained, his voice filled with sincerity and longing.

Mingyu studied him for a moment, sensing the depth of his emotions. "Are you sure about this, hyung?" he asked, concern etched on his face.

Wonwoo nodded, his heart pounding with determination. "I've never been more sure about anything in my life," he confessed.

As the weight of his confession settled between them, Wonwoo braced himself for Mingyu's response, hoping against hope that he would understand and support his decision.

After marrying Mingyu, you never purchased a house or an apartment. So, Wonwoo generously offered you a room in his penthouse while you were staying in Seoul. To ensure your comfort, he even gave his staff time off so you wouldn't feel uneasy about your presence, especially when you were in the kitchen preparing a meal for dinner tonight.

As you were setting the table, the sound of someone stepping into the penthouse caught your attention. Assuming it was Wonwoo, you softly called out, "Dinner's ready," while meticulously arranging the silverware. However, when you looked up, your heart skipped a beat. It wasn't Wonwoo standing there, but his mother.

You froze and almost dropped the pot in your hands. Wonwoo's mother looked as surprised as you. Her eyes widened, and her steps halted as she saw a familiar woman wandering around her son's house.

"You! You're Mingyu's ex-wife, aren't you?" Mrs. Jeon exclaimed, her finger pointing directly at you. The rings on her finger sparkled under the chandelier's light, and her clothes exuded an air of wealth and sophistication. Her presence made you feel small and vulnerable.

"Yes," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You bowed your head respectfully, hoping to convey deference to the older woman.

A tense silence filled the room as you stood there, feeling the weight of her gaze. The memories of your past with Mingyu and the uncertainty of your current situation with Wonwoo surged within you. You could sense Mrs. Jeon's scrutiny, as if she were measuring every aspect of your being.

You watched her face closely, unable to discern whether it was disgust or confusion that twisted her features. Perhaps it was a mix of both.

"What are you doing in my son's house?!" Her voice was loud, startling you. Before you could respond, the sound of the elevator arriving filled the room. Moments later, Wonwoo appeared, breathless as he approached both you and his mother in the kitchen.

"Mother, I told you not to visit," Wonwoo exclaimed, quickly moving to pull his mother away.

She shrugged off his hand and chuckled bitterly. "What is this woman doing in your house? She's your friend's ex-wife."

Her voice faded as Wonwoo forcefully guided her towards the living room, their words growing muffled with distance.

Left alone in the kitchen, you felt a wave of emotions crash over you—embarrassment, confusion, and a tinge of sadness. The warmth of the meal you had prepared seemed to dissipate, replaced by a cold knot of uncertainty in your stomach. You sank into a chair, trying to process what had just happened, wondering if your presence here was more of a burden than a gesture of kindness.

The muffled argument between Wonwoo and his mother continued in the living room, the tension palpable even from the kitchen. After what felt like an eternity, you heard the front door open and then close with a decisive thud. The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating.

Wonwoo returned to the kitchen, his expression a mix of frustration and remorse. "I'm so sorry about that," he said, his voice laden with sincerity. "I didn't expect her to show up unannounced."

You looked up at him, trying to muster a reassuring smile despite the turmoil inside you. "It's alright, Wonwoo. You don't have to apologize for your mother."

"But I do," he insisted, taking a seat across from you. "I never wanted you to feel uncomfortable here. This was supposed to be a safe space for you."

You sighed, glancing at the meal you had prepared, now feeling like a symbol of the awkward situation you had inadvertently caused. "I appreciate everything you've done for me, Wonwoo. But I can't help feeling that my presence here is only causing trouble for you."

Wonwoo shook his head, his eyes earnest. "You're not a burden. You've been through a lot, and you deserve a place where you can feel at ease. My mother's reaction was out of line, and I'll make sure she understands that."

You appreciated his words, but doubt still lingered in your mind. "I don't want to come between you and your family. Maybe it’s better if I find somewhere else to stay."

Wonwoo reached across the table, gently placing his hand over yours. "Don't make any decisions based on one uncomfortable encounter. Please, stay. Let me handle my family. You have a place here for as long as you need it."

You looked down at his hand resting on yours, feeling a comforting warmth that you hadn’t felt in a long time. Slowly, you pulled your hand back, your heart heavy with a mix of gratitude and hesitation.

"I appreciate your kindness, Wonwoo," you said softly, avoiding his gaze. "But I'm not ready for this. I've just faced a divorce, and I'm still dealing with my treatment. Everything feels so overwhelming right now."

Wonwoo nodded, understanding flickering in his eyes. "I get it. You’ve been through so much. I just want you to know that you don’t have to go through it alone."

You gave him a small, appreciative smile. "Your presence has been a spark of hope for me, but I need time to heal and to figure things out for myself. I don't want to lean on you too much or become a source of conflict in your life."

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "You’re not a conflict. You’re a friend who needs support, and I'm here to offer it. But I respect your feelings and your need for space."

The sincerity in his voice was undeniable, and it touched you deeply. "Thank you, Wonwoo. For everything. I’ll stay, but I need to take things one day at a time."

He nodded again, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "That's all I ask. We'll take it one day at a time, together."

"Now," Wonwoo said, glancing at the table, "let's not let this dinner go to waste. It smells too good to ignore."

You chuckled softly, feeling a bit more at ease. "Alright, let's eat."

As you both sat down to share the meal, the conversation flowed more naturally, the earlier discomfort slowly fading into the background.

Mingyu’s secretary almost tripped over himself when he saw you walking toward his desk that afternoon. The last time he had seen you was almost half a year ago, when you and Mingyu were officially divorced, and he had assisted with the administration alongside Mingyu's lawyer. You didn’t appear as vibrant as you used to, but he didn’t want to speculate on the reasons. Not that his boss looked any better; he often thought about how you two had seemed so happily married.

"Good afternoon," he began hesitantly, "Ms. Ji."

You smiled faintly and asked if Mingyu was available. Unfortunately, he was in a meeting with the directors that would take another hour to finish. You told him you would wait, and he offered you a drink or snack, which you politely refused. He escorted you to Mingyu's office and left you alone, immediately running to the meeting room to inform his boss that his ex-wife was here.

Mingyu abruptly concluded the meeting upon hearing the news. He stood up and walked quickly to his office, not bothering to knock before stepping in unannounced, startling you.

He observed you in silence for a moment, his expression a mix of surprise and concern. After a deep sigh, he bit his lip, seeing you standing a couple of meters away from him.

"Please, sit," he said, his voice strained.

You chuckled softly, the sound tinged with a hint of nostalgia and sadness. "Don't speak to me as if I'm your client or something," you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Mingyu managed a small smile, though his eyes betrayed the turmoil inside him. "Old habits," he said, gesturing to the chair. "What brings you here?"

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the past months pressing down on you. "I needed to talk to you, Mingyu. There are things we never resolved, and... I need closure."

He nodded, taking a seat across from you, his demeanor shifting to one of earnest attention. "I understand. I've been thinking about our last conversation too."

For a moment, the office seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you and the unspoken words that had lingered since your divorce. You felt a lump in your throat but pushed through, determined to find some semblance of peace.

"I’ve been struggling, Mingyu," you confessed, your voice trembling. "Not just with the divorce, but with my health. I’m still undergoing cancer treatment, and it’s been... difficult."

Mingyu's expression softened, his eyes filling with regret and concern. "I'm so sorry to hear that. I wish I had known sooner."

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill. "It's not your fault. I just... I needed to tell you. To clear the air between us."

He reached out, his hand hovering uncertainly before finally resting on the table between you. "I'm here now. Whatever you need to say, I'm listening."

"I'm refusing my rights to my father's company," you confessed.

"Why? We fought so hard for that," Mingyu said, disbelief evident in his voice. Refusing your rights?

You nodded. "It's complicated. I want to say thank you for everything you did. You fought for me, but I took it for granted by refusing it. So, I'm sorry."

Mingyu was silent, deep in thought, before finally speaking. "There's nothing to apologize for. I believe you have your reasons. But what about your future? Is the divorce allowance enough for living abroad and for your treatment?" His concern was evident as he tried to be realistic.

You sighed. "That's also what I wanted to discuss. I don't think I can take it, Mingyu. It's too much for me, and there's no need to provide for me... We don't have a child together." The last sentence hung heavy in the air, still breaking your heart every time you thought about it.

Mingyu shook his head, unable to believe what he was hearing. "No, you deserve it. It was written in our prenup that I'm going to provide for you until you find someone else."

"I won't stop the allowance," he continued, his voice firm yet considerate. "But if you're overwhelmed by the amount, I'll decrease it."

His consideration touched you deeply. "Thank you, Mingyu. I appreciate your understanding."

"Y/n," Mingyu called your name softly. "I've been thinking about the reason why you insisted on divorcing, even after I wanted to cancel it." He let out his thoughts, gulping as he faced the harsh reality.

He cleared his throat, recalling a conversation he had with Wonwoo the other day. Nari... you... Mingyu couldn't shake the feeling that you knew about his feelings for Nari. It was obvious, Wonwoo had said. But deep in his heart, Mingyu wanted to deny it. He was certain his feelings for you were sincere. However, he couldn’t escape the thought that you would always remind him of Nari, his first love.

"You..." Mingyu hesitated, "you knew about my feelings for Nari, didn't you?" He guessed, but you remained silent.

Mingyu felt a wave of nervousness wash over him. He prayed you had no idea, hoping it would ease his conscience. But then you smiled—a bittersweet smile that told him everything.

"I couldn't act like I didn't know, Mingyu," you finally said.

"I'm sorry, Y/n."

"Don't be..."

"No, I’m so sorry that you had to think our relationship wasn't worth fighting for because I loved someone else."

You smiled bitterly and said, "You always loved her." Your words broke Mingyu's heart.

"You deserve someone better, Y/n," he whispered, his voice filled with regret.

"I know," you replied, your voice steady despite the pain.

For a moment, the air between you was thick with unspoken emotions. Mingyu's regret and your quiet acceptance mingled in the silence. It was a painful truth, but acknowledging it brought a sense of closure.

"Thank you for your honesty," you said softly, breaking the silence. "It hurts, but it's something I needed to hear."

Mingyu nodded, his eyes filled with sadness. "I hope you find happiness, Y/n. Real, genuine happiness."

"And I hope you do too, Mingyu," you replied, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. "We both deserve it."

As you turned to leave, there was a sense of finality in the air. This conversation had been long overdue, and while it was painful, it also brought a sense of release. Both of you could now move forward, carrying the lessons of the past but no longer burdened by it.

As you both stood up, there was a moment of shared understanding and mutual respect. It wasn't just about the financial arrangements or the company—it was about acknowledging the past, making amends, and moving forward with as much grace as possible.

Mingyu walked you to the door, his hand lingering on the handle for a moment. "Take care of yourself. And if you ever need anything, you know where to find me."

"I will. Thank you, Mingyu. For everything."

As you left his office, you felt a bittersweet mix of emotions, but also a sense of relief. The conversation had been difficult, but necessary. It was a step towards healing and a chance to look forward to the future with a bit more hope and strength.

You arrived at Wonwoo's place late at night, the streets of Seoul still bustling with life even in the darkness. Throughout the evening, you had roamed the city alone, visiting familiar spots from your past, meeting old colleagues, and reminiscing about the times you spent working with Seungcheol. Wonwoo was still awake when you arrived, sitting alone at the bar and sipping on what looked like wine, patiently waiting for you. You realized your phone had died, leaving him unable to reach you.

"Want to join?" he asked, gesturing to the glass in his hand. You shook your head, reminding him that you were on prescribed medication. "But I'll keep you company," you added, taking a seat beside him and undoing your coat and bag.

"Where have you been today? Seems like quite the journey," he remarked, noticing the bookstore bag you had placed on the counter.

"I met Mingyu," you replied quietly.

Wonwoo nodded in understanding. "How was the meeting?" he inquired, genuine curiosity in his voice.

You hesitated, searching for the right words. "It went well... But I wish I hadn't said anything stupid."

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow. "You? Say something stupid? That doesn't sound like you."

You chuckled at his remark. "I did say something unnecessary. But overall, I'm relieved the meeting went well. We found a closure that we both needed," you explained, recalling Mingyu's heartfelt wish for you.

'I hope you find happiness, Y/n. Real, genuine happiness.'

"That's great, then. I'm proud of you," Wonwoo said sincerely, reaching for a cranberry juice box on the counter and handing it to you. He motioned for you to cheer with him, and you chuckled, following his lead.

As you clinked your juice boxes together, a sense of gratitude washed over you. In Wonwoo's company, you found comfort and understanding, a reminder that even in the midst of uncertainty and closure, there were still moments of warmth and connection to cherish.

"How about you and your family? Is everything settled?" you asked him, genuine concern in your voice.

"It'll take time, I believe. But I'm patient enough to make sure that everything will be fine in the future. My family is important to me, but myself is my priority at the moment. So... I gotta prioritize my wants and my needs," Wonwoo replied, his tone tinged with a hint of resignation.

You smiled softly. "You're doing a good thing. I'm glad that I became your friend, Wonwoo."

"And I'm glad I became your friend too, Y/n," Wonwoo confessed, the alcohol in his system encouraging him to speak his mind. "It's better than lingering on the first love term."

You looked at him, confusion evident in your expression. "What's the first love term? Am I your first love?" you chuckled, not fully understanding his words.

Wonwoo nodded, a vulnerable smile playing on his lips. "Yes."

His admission hung in the air, a moment of raw honesty that caught you off guard. You felt a surge of emotions, a mixture of surprise, disbelief, and a hint of warmth at the thought that you had held such a significant place in Wonwoo's heart.

"I... I didn't know," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

You met his gaze, seeing the sincerity and affection in his eyes. In that moment, the barriers between you seemed to melt away, leaving only the shared connection and understanding that had grown between you over time.

"When we were at the foster home, director Kim showed us your old stuff, right?" Wonwoo began, his voice soft with reminiscence. "There was a photo when my family visited for the first time, and I remembered having a bad day. But there was this little girl who came to me and asked what was going on. I ended up sharing my day with her—failing tests, parents nagging at me, getting bruised after falling from my bike. And she said she wished I could be happier that day."

You listened intently, feeling a sense of familiarity creeping in as Wonwoo's story unfolded.

"And the girl I met was you," Wonwoo continued, his smile warm yet tinged with sadness. "We met again on my last year at JIS Senior High School."

"You had just entered high school, and I was planning on studying at State. I had no chance to talk to you, but we met again at the foster home for volunteering. Do you remember?"

Your heart skipped a beat as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, realizing the significance of those chance encounters.

"Is that why you asked about my high school photo back at my house?" you asked him, the revelation sinking in.

Wonwoo nodded, his gaze earnest. "Even after Seungcheol hyung introduced you, I still liked you. If loving my best friend's wife is a sin, then I must be a sinner for a long time. But... I love you, Y/n... What should I do?"

His confession hung in the air, heavy with emotion and uncertainty. You felt a whirlwind of emotions—surprise, confusion, and a hint of warmth at the realization of Wonwoo's feelings.

Taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you reached out and gently placed a hand on his. "Wonwoo, I... I don't know what to say."

He looked at you with pleading eyes, his vulnerability laid bare. "I understand if you can't reciprocate my feelings. I just needed to tell you the truth."

You met his gaze, feeling a surge of compassion and understanding. "Thank you for being honest with me, Wonwoo. Give me some time to process everything."

Wonwoo nodded, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "Of course. Take all the time you need."

As you sat together in silence, the weight of Wonwoo's confession lingered, but so did a sense of possibility—a chance for both of you to navigate the complexities of love and friendship with honesty and care.

Wonwoo was visibly stressed as he tried to get Sora to sit still and eat her lunch. You had stepped away for a brief break with Minseo just two hours ago, leaving Wonwoo to handle the lunchtime routine on his own. However, Sora, their spirited four-year-old daughter, seemed more interested in playing with the toy house Wonwoo had bought for her the night before than in eating her meal.

Four years ago, after you had completed your treatment, you and Wonwoo had made the decision to start dating and settle down together. It had been a tumultuous journey, marked by highs and lows, but through it all, you had remained steadfast in your commitment to each other. When the time came to expand your family, you both knew adoption was the right path for you. Wonwoo had eagerly embraced the role of husband and father, supporting you every step of the way.

Sora had come into your lives when she was just six months old, a bright light in the midst of uncertainty. As she approached her second birthday, you and Wonwoo had faced numerous challenges as parents, but your love for each other had only grown stronger. As a mother, you had made it your mission to give Sora the love and care you had longed for as a child, and in doing so, you had helped to heal Wonwoo's own inner child.

Watching Wonwoo spend time with Sora—playing, talking, tucking her into bed—had always brought tears of joy to your eyes. His unwavering love and devotion to both you and Sora had filled your heart with gratitude and pride. And whenever you found yourself overcome with emotion, Wonwoo was always there to wipe away your tears, his presence a constant source of comfort and reassurance.

On Sora's fourth birthday, she surprised you and Wonwoo by asking for a sibling, a request you hadn't anticipated. While you and Wonwoo had discussed the possibility of expanding your family, his response was unexpectedly cautious. He expressed contentment with just you and Sora, masking his deeper desires. You knew he longed for a child of his own, one with your eyes and smile, but he was too considerate to voice his true feelings.

Deep down, you shared his yearning for another child, but the prospect of pregnancy brought with it a sense of unease. The doctor had warned you of the risks, hinting at potential complications that made Wonwoo worry for your health.

Five months ago, your fears were realized when you collapsed while waiting to pick up Sora from daycare. It was a terrifying moment for Wonwoo, his concern palpable as he hovered over you in the hospital. Despite your reassurances, he couldn't shake the fear that something was seriously wrong.

Then came the unexpected news—the doctor's confirmation that you were eight weeks pregnant. It was a moment of shock and disbelief, followed by overwhelming joy and relief. Wonwoo's face lit up with a mixture of emotions, his worries momentarily forgotten in the excitement of impending parenthood once again.

As you and Wonwoo sat in the hospital room, the news of your pregnancy still sinking in, a whirlwind of emotions washed over both of you. Wonwoo's initial joy was quickly overshadowed by worry and uncertainty, his brow furrowing with concern as he looked at you.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with anxiety.

You nodded, trying to muster a reassuring smile despite the lingering fear in your heart. "I'm okay, Wonwoo. Really."

But Wonwoo wasn't convinced. "But what about the risks the doctor mentioned? What if something goes wrong?"

His questions echoed your own fears, the uncertainty of the future looming large in your minds. Yet, amidst the worry, there was also a sense of certainty—a belief that together, you could weather any storm that came your way.

"We'll take it one step at a time," you said, reaching out to take his hand in yours. "We'll face whatever comes our way together, as a team."

Wonwoo looked at you, his eyes reflecting a mixture of fear and determination. "I just want you and the baby to be safe," he said softly.

"I know, Wonwoo. And we will be," you reassured him, squeezing his hand gently. "We'll make sure to take all the necessary precautions, and we'll lean on each other for support every step of the way."

As the weight of the news settled upon you both, you found strength in each other's presence, a reminder that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you were in this together. And as you sat there, hand in hand, a sense of peace washed over you, knowing that with Wonwoo by your side, you could face anything that the future held.

As the news of the pregnancy settled in, Sora's reaction was nothing short of ecstatic. The thought of having a sibling filled her with joy, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she listened intently to her mother's words about the new addition to the family. With each passing day, she seemed to hang onto your every word, eager to learn all about what it meant to be a big sister.

However, as much as Sora embraced the idea of becoming a sister, her attitude toward Wonwoo didn't quite resonate with the same enthusiasm. Despite his attempts to share in her excitement and involve himself in her daily activities, she seemed to distance herself from him, preferring instead to cling to you, her soon-to-be mother of two.

Wonwoo couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment at Sora's behavior. He had dreamed of sharing this special moment with his daughter, of watching her excitement grow as she prepared to welcome her new sibling into the world. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to break through the barrier that had formed between them.

"Sora, let's eat your lunch. You need a lot of energy to take care of your little brother later," Wonwoo said, trying to coax his daughter into eating as he sat beside her.

"Sora," he called her again, his tone serious. For a brief moment, she paused, her fingers hesitating before she continued to ignore him.

Feeling stressed and unable to watch his daughter starve herself, Wonwoo reached out to you for help. You immediately rushed home with her favorite food, and he watched with relief as she eagerly savored every bite.

"I'll talk to her about this," you reassured him, your words a balm to his worried heart.

The next day, after a long and busy day, Wonwoo finally returned home to you and Sora. As you greeted him, he couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at the sight of your growing belly, a visible sign of the new life you were both eagerly anticipating.

After changing into more comfortable clothes, Wonwoo settled in beside you and Sora, feeling a sense of contentment wash over him. When you asked Sora to show him her drawing from school, he eagerly accepted, a smile playing on his lips as he admired her artwork.

But as he examined the drawing more closely, a sense of confusion washed over him. It was a drawing of him and Sora, but you were conspicuously absent. Aren't you her favorite? The question lingered in his mind, casting a shadow over what should have been a joyful moment.

As he struggled to make sense of his daughter's actions, Wonwoo couldn't help but wonder what had caused this sudden change in her behavior toward him. And as he looked to you for answers, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of his stomach.

"Sora, tell dad what you told me earlier on our way home," you whispered to your daughter as she approached you affectionately.

Sora shook her head vehemently, her little hands clinging to you as she refused to meet her father's gaze.

"You tell dad," she mumbled, her pout adorable even in her sadness.

You smiled at her innocence before turning to Wonwoo, who looked on with curiosity. "She's sad," you began, your voice gentle.

Wonwoo's attention sharpened as he listened intently, his heart already bracing for what was to come.

"She's sad because she thinks you might love her brother more since he's going to be your child," you explained, your words heavy with emotion.

The weight of your revelation hit Wonwoo like a ton of bricks, shattering his heart into a million pieces. How could his precious daughter ever think such a thing? What had she heard or observed that led her to believe that her father's love could be divided?

As he looked at Sora, his heart ached with guilt and regret. He had never meant to make her feel this way, to doubt the depth of his love for her. And yet, here she was, bearing the burden of her own insecurities at such a tender age.

As both you and Wonwoo opened up to Sora about her adoption, you wanted her to understand that love could transcend blood ties. You emphasized that family was about the love and bond shared, not just biological connections. Sora seemed to grasp this concept well, embracing the idea that love could be varied and strong, extending to both her adoptive and biological family members alike.

However, despite her understanding, Sora couldn't shake the nagging doubt that had been planted in her mind by her friend's mother. The idea that the baby inside her mom would be her father's "real" child troubled her deeply. Was she not "real" enough for her dad? Without realizing it, she began to distance herself from Wonwoo, fearing that his love for her would diminish once her brother was born.

Seeing the pain in his daughter's eyes, Wonwoo approached Sora with a heavy heart. "Baby, I'm sorry that you had to feel that way," he whispered, his voice filled with regret.

"You know that I love you and your brother equally. We talked about this," he added, his words a gentle reminder of the conversations they had shared about love and family.

The touch on Sora's back prompted her to voice her deepest fears. "But people said I'm not your real child," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion.

You exchanged a tearful glance with Wonwoo, both of you sharing the same pain and frustration at the hurtful words that had wounded your daughter's heart.

"No, baby. That's wrong," Wonwoo said firmly, his voice trembling with emotion. "You're my daughter, and you will always be my daughter."

With a gentle tug, Wonwoo pulled Sora close to him, his arms wrapping around her trembling form as tears streamed down her chubby cheeks. Sora buried her face in her father's chest, seeking solace in his comforting embrace.

"You'll always be my oldest daughter, baby," Wonwoo whispered, his voice filled with love and reassurance. "You're my first child, and nothing will ever change that."

Desperate for reassurance, Sora looked up at her father with tear-filled eyes. "Promise me that you'll never treat me differently?" she pleaded.

Wonwoo's heart ached at his daughter's plea, and without hesitation, he vowed, "You know that I would never do that, even without a promise."

In that moment, as father and daughter held each other close, the bond between them grew stronger than ever. And as you looked on, tears of gratitude and love filled your eyes, grateful for the unwavering love and support that surrounded your family.

As the day of the delivery approached, tension hung heavy in the air, a palpable mix of excitement and apprehension swirling around you and Wonwoo. Despite the joyous anticipation of welcoming their son into the world, there was an underlying sense of worry that gnawed at Wonwoo's heart.

With each passing hour, his anxiety grew, his mind plagued by fears of the unknown. He paced the hospital corridors, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallways as he anxiously awaited news of your condition.

Hours stretched into eternity as the labor progressed, each moment feeling like an eternity as Wonwoo's worry deepened. He felt helpless, unable to do anything but wait and pray for a safe delivery.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the moment arrived. The sound of a newborn's cry filled the air, and Wonwoo's heart leaped with joy and relief as he caught sight of his son for the first time.

But his relief was short-lived as he watched the medical team spring into action, their urgent movements betraying the gravity of the situation. You were in unstable condition, and the room was filled with an air of urgency as the medical team worked tirelessly to stabilize you.

In those agonizing moments, Wonwoo felt his heart constrict with fear, his mind racing with a thousand worries. But as he stood by your side, holding your hand tightly, he found strength in your unwavering resilience.

With your delivery behind you, Wonwoo's focus shifted entirely to your recovery. He hovered anxiously by your bedside, his eyes never leaving your face as he waited for any sign of improvement.

Days blurred into nights as Wonwoo remained steadfast by your side, his presence a constant source of comfort and support. He held your hand gently, offering words of encouragement and reassurance as you fought to regain your strength.

Each small improvement filled Wonwoo's heart with hope, a glimmer of light in the darkness of uncertainty. He celebrated every milestone, no matter how small, knowing that each step forward brought you closer to full recovery.

But as the days stretched on, Wonwoo's patience wore thin, his worry mounting with each passing moment. He longed to see you healthy and strong, to hold you in his arms once again without the specter of illness looming over you.

After what felt like an eternity of uncertainty, your recovery from the delivery was a slow but steady journey. Each day brought small victories, from sitting up in bed to taking a few steps around the room with Wonwoo's supportive arm around you.

Wonwoo remained by your side throughout it all, his unwavering presence a source of strength and comfort. He tended to your every need with care and devotion, never once faltering in his commitment to your well-being.

As the days passed, your strength returned, and with it, a renewed sense of hope and gratitude. You marveled at the resilience of your body and the love that surrounded you, knowing that you had weathered the storm together with Wonwoo by your side.

And when the day finally came for you to leave the hospital and return home, it felt like a triumph. With Wonwoo's hand firmly clasped in yours, you stepped out into the world, ready to embrace the new chapter of parenthood with gratitude and joy. And as you looked ahead to the future, you knew that with Wonwoo by your side, there was nothing you couldn't overcome.

"Are you happy?"

"Like always, i'm happy."

Then, it's the end.

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen angst #densworld🌼#seventeen scenarios #seventeen series #seventeen drabbles #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen imagine #mingyu imagines #wonwoo imagines #seventeen wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo angst #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo fanfic

382 notes · View notes