#I don’t have much to do yet but I still don’t feel like doing it

[astraystayyh]

to hold you close

hyunjin x reader. established relationship and fluff. this is a tribute to falling asleep next to your lover. it’s just sickeningly sweet and domestic because i miss being in love. enjoy reading x (not proofread)

autumn. you remember it as clearly as the sound of your name. it should have been your fourth date with hyunjin, but you were terribly sick. an unyielding cold caging your body in fits of coughing, and a faint, fluctuating fever. still, hyunjin insisted that he’d like to see you.

“i won’t be much fun,” you had told him over the phone, looking at the pile of used up Kleenex by your side.

“i’ll be fun enough for the both of us. plus, i miss you.” his voice was cheeky, teasing, and you remember chuckling despite yourself, warmth pooling in your chest like saccharine syrup dripping down your ribcage. you felt it even as sickness pressed heavy against your lungs, even as your skin felt like a burden to carry. you felt him.

“i miss you too, my personal jester,” you joked, and hyunjin did not reply for a while. quiet, save for the faint sound of his breathing. the truth is hyunjin has not felt like a sane man since he has known you. you’re rambling over how terrible the cold feels and yet, all he seems to think of is the simple word you used. absentmindedly. my, you said. hyunjin would sacrifice the sun if it means you’d keep calling him yours.

and so, hyunjin came over later that night. finding you in your “least prettiest state”, you argued, and yet, he still looked at you with that same shining glaze coating his eyes. like he was beholding the world’s eighth wonder. like he could pluck the stars out of the sky one by one just to give them to you, with a huge smile on his face too, no matter how tedious of a task, no matter how long it’d take.

you put on a horror movie, the scent of pumpkin spice wafting in the air, though you could not smell the candle hyunjin brought with him. you insisted he’d get sick and yet he refused to sit away from you. his shoulder pressed to yours, your head leaning against his forearm.

that’s when it happened— falling asleep together for the very first time.

you woke up to your chests pressed against one another. somewhere during the night he had pulled you atop him, his hands cradling your back so gently it made you wish to weep.

you understood then, when he tenderly kissed the tip of your nose and sniffled right after, that you’d love him a lot. that there is no other path for you but to love him. that there is a home for you to build in the empty pools of his collarbones, a place to rest against the ridges of his arms.

it terrified you. it thrilled you all the same.

—

winter. it is one of the coldest nights of the year. you’ve spent most of it hunched over on your desk, finishing up an urgent report for tomorrow. hyunjin tried to stay awake for as long as he could, humming and drawing, watching a show and flipping all over your mattress. still, sleep caught him, took him away from you before you could kiss him goodnight.

you are in your bed, you almost cry when your head hits the pillow. today has been tiring and excruciatingly long. silent tears slip down your cheeks. the covers do nothing to ease the cold.

then, hyunjin stirs.

your breath hitches. did you wake him?

slowly, blindly, his hand pats the empty space between you. then, he touches your arm—pulls you close, tucking your head beneath his chin. his breathing is slow, steady, his pulse faint beneath your ear. he sighs, almost in contentment, before melting into your hold.

he reached for you in his sleep. you don’t understand how someone can love you in their slumber. in their instincts. in their dreams. did your name write itself into his memory like it did in yours? “yes”. he’d tell you the next morning. “you are all i dreamt about.”

—

spring. the air is warm and light, and there are blooming lilies on top of your bed-drawer. but you can’t smell them. it is cruel for the breeze to be this soft and for you to be this hurt.

fights with hyunjin are very rare, so rare that when they happen it feels excruciating, like a punch to your gut, like a knife slipping right beneath your heart— not killing you. worse.

it wasn’t even a fight. just pent-up frustration from you guys’ respective jobs. still, there is a raft between your bodies. a wide space that stretches and stretches and stretches. you think it’d be easier to cross an ocean than to reach out for him.

but then, his cold feet touch yours. and your heart jumps in your chest, twirls and falls and soars once more.

hyunjin swallows, his throat dry, his tongue tied. you shift. and then, as if something snaps, you hug him. he doesn’t realize a broken sob has escaped his lips, soaking your neck with his tears. “i’m sorry angel,” he whispers, and you nod, over and over. “i’m sorry too baby,” you say, pulling him closer.

what a waste it would have been to sleep apart. to deprive your souls of the rest that is him. he’ll be here tomorrow too. you’ll wake up in his arms and you’ll be okay.

—

summer. the windows are wide open, the salt of the ocean seems to settle upon hyunjin’s skin. he smells like the waves and your sunscreen.

it is too hot. too humid. the breeze playing with your airbnb’s curtains does nothing to ease the scorching heat. but hyunjin insists on sleeping near you. so do you. it’s because you understand his need that you’ve been dating for five years now. that a huge diamond rests on your ring finger.

his arm drapes over your waist lazily, his skin is sticking to yours but you don’t mind. you’ve gone beyond minding these mortal nuisances with hyunjin. not when you feel like your souls are kneaded from one dough.

it’s a midday nap. a tradition in all your travels. your fingers touch one another gently. “sleepy?” he hums and you nod, pressing your lips to his collarbones.

“you feel nice,” he murmurs, his voice drowsy, “you feel like summer. you feel like myself. does that make sense?”

his nails graze your bare back, lazy, affectionate.

“it does,” you reassure. “to know me would be to know you.”

your words are the last thing he hears before dozing off. there is a safety in that, in knowing you’ll be there too when he wakes up. as you always are. he’ll tell you he loves you then. though you already know it. don’t you?

[leaderwonim]

THE WORLD NEVER ENDED | JACK HUGHES

pairing. jack hughes x fem!reader (ft. platonic quinn & luke hughes x fem!reader + male!oc x fem!reader)

genre. childhood best friends to lovers, ANGST, fluff, hurt to comfort, reader & jack are both 18-19 in this!

synopsis: Y/N and Jack Hughes have been inseparable since childhood, spending every summer at his family’s lake house—until his hockey career takes off and leaves her behind. As Jack’s life moves forward and Y/N tries to do the same, the distance between them grows in ways neither of them expected. But when their paths cross again at a breaking point, they’re forced to confront everything they never said and the feelings that never really went away.

The lake house never changes. It still smells like pine and sunscreen, the same old dock creaking under your feet, the same late summer breeze curling through the trees. But this time, you’re the only one here.

You let the beer bottle dangle from your fingers, the glass sweating against your palm as you stare at the still water. It’s late. Too late to be out here alone, and your mom would probably kill you if she found out you were underage drinking, but you’ve been doing this since you were kids—sneaking down to the dock past midnight, toes dipping into the water, whispering about everything and nothing at all.

Except this time, Jack isn’t here. Not really. Not anymore.

The last time you saw him was months ago, after another whirlwind season, after Team USA, after everything. He’d come back, same easy smile, same stupidly messy hair, same Jack. And yet, he wasn’t.

He moved too fast, talked too much about things you weren’t a part of, laughed at jokes from teammates you didn’t know. He had an entire life outside of this town, this lake, this dock. A life that didn’t include you.

It wasn’t his fault though, you couldn’t blame Jack for being excited about this whole new chapter in his life, not when he’s worked his ass off so he could secure a spot in the NHL in the future.

You took a shaky breath, watching as the wind blew the waters back and forth, your thought raced with Jack, Jack, Jack. It wasn’t anything new; you had been in love with him since you had learned what the word love even was, when Ellen and your mom teased you two endlessly after your eighth birthday, declaring that you’d two get married when you were older.

And then he left, at age fourteen to go train at some hockey camp over the summer and you started seeing him less and less. Then he left again for USA Hockey, and all that was left of him was the little times he’d pop up on your screen for a FaceTime, or a quick selfie.

You never told him that it felt like the world had ended whenever he left.

❥

The first time you met Jack Hughes, he was seven years old, standing knee-deep in the lake, grinning like he had owned the world.

“You scared to jump in?” he teases, squinting up at you from where he’s splashing around.

You cross your arms, standing barefoot on the dock, the sun burning hot against your skin. “I just don’t wanna get my hair wet.”

Jack laughs like you just said the funniest thing in the world, and before you can react, he launches a handful of water in your direction. It splashes against your legs, cool and shocking, and you gasp.

“You jerk!” you shriek, but Jack’s already laughing, already diving into the water, swimming just far enough out of reach that you can’t get him back.

You don’t know it then, but that’s how it starts.

The Hughes family’s lake house becomes your second home. Your parents are close friends with Ellen and Jim, and summers are spent tangled in sunburns, mosquito bites, and the smell of bonfires. Jack, being just a few months older, quickly becomes your shadow—or maybe you become his.

You race bikes down dirt paths, climb trees until your hands are covered in splinters, and stay up late whispering under blanket forts in the Hughes’ living room, trying not to wake Luke and Quinn.

“You think we’ll still be best friends when we’re older?” you ask one night, voice sleepy, cheek smushed against your arm.

Jack frowns at you, like you just said something ridiculous. “Duh. Who else am I supposed to hang out with? My brothers?”

You grin brightly, shoving him. “You promise?”

He holds out his pinky. “Promise.”

And that’s that.

As you both get older, things don’t really change. Not at first.

Winters are spent at the Hughes’ house in Michigan, watching Jack skate for hours at the rink, your fingers numb from gripping a hot chocolate too tight. Summers are still for the lake house, where the days blur together in a haze of sun, water, and laughter.

Jack is your best friend. The one who sneaks you extra s’mores when the adults say no. The one who ties your skates when your fingers are too cold. The one who always picks you first for street hockey, even when Luke complains about it. The one who knows everything about you.

And you know everything about him, too.

That he gets grumpy when he’s hungry. That he has to listen to music before every game, or else he feels off. That he’s already dreaming about the NHL, about Team USA, about everything that seems so far away but somehow already feels like it’s coming too fast.

You don’t realize when things do start changing.

Maybe it’s when Jack turns fourteen and starts spending more time away at tournaments. Maybe it’s when you turn fourteen and realize your heart speeds up whenever he looks at you a certain way.

Maybe it’s the summer you turn fifteen and see him talking to a girl from town, and something ugly coils in your stomach. You don’t say anything, though. You can’t.

Jack is your best friend. That’s all. Even if you wish it wasn’t.

When Jack is sixteen, everything does change.

It’s the Fourth of July. The lake house is packed, fireworks already popping in the distance. You and Jack sneak away from the party like you always do, climbing onto the dock and lying side by side, watching the sky.

“You excited for the USA team?” you ask, your voice light, like the thought of him leaving doesn’t make your chest ache.

Jack turns his head to look at you. “Yeah,” he says. “Kinda nervous, though.”

You smile a little, the same smile that had reassured Jack every time he saw it. “You’ll be fine.”

He shifts closer, his arm brushing yours. “You think so?”

“Of course,” you whisper. “You’re Jack Hughes.”

He laughs, but it’s softer this time, almost hesitant. The air between you feels different, thicker, heavier. His fingers twitch on the dock beside yours, and for a second, you swear he’s about to reach for your hand.

But then he exhales sharply, sits up. “We should get back.”

And just like that, the moment is gone.

You stare at the fireworks exploding in the sky, feeling like something inside you is breaking.

Jack leaves for Team USA at the end of the summer.

And you don’t know it yet, but nothing will ever be the same again.

❥

At first, you still talk all the time. He calls after practices, FaceTimes you from hotel rooms, sends you stupid selfies from road trips. And for a while, it almost feels normal. Almost.

But then the calls get shorter. The messages come slower.

You see his name on headlines, hear people at school talking about him like he’s some distant star instead of the boy you grew up with. And suddenly, he feels… far away.

Not just in distance. In everything.

And then one day, you realize you don’t remember the last time he called.

You don’t text him, either. You figured he was too busy anyways—too busy with hockey, with interviews, too busy for you.

His absence leaves a hollow space inside you, one you don’t know how to fill. So you try.

That’s how you end up with him.

Aiden West. Star quarterback. Tall, broad-shouldered, with an easy smile and dimples that should make your heart flutter.

You meet at a party—one you only went to because your friends dragged you out of your house, tired of you spending your nights holed up in your room, pretending you weren’t waiting for a text that never came.

Aidan’s nice. He’s funny. He buys you drinks and calls you baby and kisses you like he means it.

You tell yourself this is good. That this is what you need.

But when he holds your hand, it doesn’t feel the same. When he kisses you, you don’t melt the way you think you should. And when you close your eyes, it’s not Aidan you see.

It’s Jack. Always Jack.

Quinn comes home in December.

You’re not expecting to see him, not really. Ever since he was drafted, he spent all his time in Vancouver, busy with his own life, his own team. But one night, you walk into the Hughes’ house, and there he is, sprawled on the couch like he never left.

“Quinn?” you blink.

He smirks, sitting up. “Hey, kid.”

You roll your eyes but smile anyway. “You’re, like, a few years older than me. I’m not a kid.”

“You’ll always be a kid to me,” he teases, but then his expression softens. “How’ve you been?”

You shrug. “Good.”

He gives you a look, like he can see right through you. Because of course he can.

Quinn has always been quieter than Jack, more observant. He was the one who bandaged your scraped knees when you and Jack were too reckless, the one who ruffled your hair when you had a bad day, the one who watched you grow up and somehow always knew what you were feeling before you even said it.

And right now, you can tell he knows you’re lying.

“You still talk to Jack?” he asks casually.

You stiffen. “Not really.”

Quinn nods, like that’s what he expected. “He’s been busy.”

“I know,” you say quickly, too quickly. “It’s fine.”

He studies you for a moment. Then, his eyebrows furrow. “You dating that football guy?”

You hesitate. “Yeah. Kinda.”

Quinn tilts his head, his expression unreadable. “You like him?”

You swallow. “He’s… nice.”

Quinn leans back, crossing his arms. “You know, I’ve seen you happy before.”

You furrow your brows. “And?”

“And that’s not what you look like right now.”

The words hit deeper than you want them to. You look away, staring at your hands.

Quinn sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do. If you like the guy, great. But don’t force something that isn’t real just because—” He pauses.

You glance up. “Just because what?”

Quinn meets your eyes, and for the first time, his voice is gentle. “Just because Jack hurt you.”

Your throat tightens.

You don’t say anything. You don’t know what to say.

Because he’s right. And maybe that’s the worst part of all.

❥

Aidan is kind when he breaks up with you.

That almost makes it worse.

You can tell he’s been thinking about it for a while. The way he exhales before he starts speaking, the way his hands stay tucked into the pocket of his hoodie like he’s afraid if he moves too much, you’ll see how much this is bothering him.

“You’re not really here, Y/N,” he says, voice steady but laced with something bitter, something tired.

You don’t argue, because you know he’s right.

He sighs, shaking his head. “I like you. I really do. But I deserve someone who looks at me like I’m the only one they’re thinking about.”

Your stomach twists.

“Aidan—”

“It’s fine,” he cuts in, forcing a small smile. “I knew. I think I always did.” He swallows, glancing away before meeting your eyes again. “It was never gonna be me, was it?”

You want to tell him you tried. That you wanted to feel something more, something real. But the truth is, no matter how hard you tried, he was never Jack.

And that was never fair to him.

So instead, you whisper, “I’m sorry.”

He nods, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “Yeah. Me too.”

A few days pass, and you still feel hollow, like you’re floating through life without really being in it.

You don’t know why you still go to the Hughes’ house. Maybe it’s habit. Maybe it’s because it still feels like home, even when things don’t feel the same anymore.

Maybe it’s because, deep down, you just need someone who knows you.

Luke opens the door, and before you can even say anything, his face twists in concern.

“Okay, what’s wrong?”

You pause. “What?”

Luke steps aside to let you in, closing the door behind you. “You have your sad face on.”

You frown. “Luke Hughes, I do not have a—”

“You totally do,” he interrupts, flopping onto the couch. He gestures for you to sit next to him, and after a moment, you do.

There’s a beat of silence before he says, “Quinn told me everything.”

You freeze. “Everything?”

Luke gives you a knowing look. “Yeah. And I’m not an idiot, Y/N. I’ve seen the way you’ve looked at Jack since we were kids.”

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

Luke sighs, leaning back against the couch. “Look, I know he messed up. Jack is kind of known for that. And I know you’re hurt. But…” He hesitates. “You still love him, don’t you?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Luke—”

“Just be honest,” he says gently.

Your throat tightens. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I do.”

Luke nods like he already knew that was coming. Then he pulls something out of his pocket and holds it out to you.

You frown. “What’s this?”

“Tickets,” he says simply.

You blink. “Tickets?”

“To Jack’s game against Finland.” His voice is casual, but there’s something behind it—something careful, like he knows he’s walking a fine line. “I was gonna go, but I think you should instead.”

Your heart stops.

“Luke…”

“Don’t overthink it,” he says quickly. “Just go. See him. Talk to him.”

You stare at the tickets in his hand, your pulse pounding in your ears.

This is a choice. A chance.

And to be completely honest, you aren’t sure if you’re ready.

❥

You end up deciding not to go until the last minute.

The plane ticket burns in your hands, Luke’s voice echoing in your head: Just go. See him. Talk to him.

So you do. You land in Finland, stomach in knots, trying not to think about what you’ll even say to him. If he’ll even want to see you.

But then the game happens. And Jack loses.

The scoreboard tells you everything—3-2, Finland. A brutal, heartbreaking end.

Jack stays on the ice, shoulders hunched, wiping his face as the Finnish players celebrate around him. You can see the way he’s blinking rapidly, how hard he’s trying to hold it together.

It doesn’t work.

By the time he’s in the tunnel for postgame interviews, it’s like the weight of everything finally crashes over him. The cameras capture everything; his red-rimmed eyes, the way his lips tremble when he speaks, the way his voice wavers when he says, “I feel like I let everyone down.”

Your heart cracks wide open. You don’t think. You just go.

You push through the lingering crowd, through the halls of the arena, heart racing. And then—there he is.

Jack is leaning against the wall, head bowed, gripping a water bottle so tightly his knuckles are white. His shoulders shake slightly, like he’s trying to get a grip, but he’s losing the battle.

You inhale sharply, willing yourself forward.

“Jack.”

His head snaps up, eyes widening. And for a second, he just stares.

Like he doesn’t believe you’re real.

“Y/N?” His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

You nod, stepping closer. But before you can say anything else, Jack clears his throat and quickly swipes at his face, straightening up like he’s trying to compose himself.

Then he blurts out, “How’s Aidan?”

You freeze.

Jack lets out a broken laugh, looking down. “Quinn told me you had a boyfriend,” he mutters, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I—uh, I’m happy for you. You deserve that.”

You swallow hard, your chest tightening. “Jack—”

“I mean it,” he interrupts, still not looking at you. “I always wanted you to be happy.”

He sniffles, pressing his thumb and forefinger against his eyes. He looks exhausted. Worn down in a way you’ve never seen before.

And suddenly, it’s too much.

The space between you. The months of silence. The fact that he still doesn’t know the truth.

You move before you can stop yourself, closing the gap and wrapping your arms around him.

Jack stiffens, sucking in a sharp breath.

But then—slowly, so slowly—it’s like something inside him gives in.

His hands grip your back, his face pressing into your shoulder, and he melts.

You feel his shaky exhale against your neck. The way his fingers curl into the jersey you’re wearing with his name on the back, like he’s afraid if he lets go, you’ll disappear.

And for the first time in a long time, you feel whole again.

“I don’t—” Jack’s voice cracks. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

Your throat tightens. “Then don’t. Just just let me be here.”

Jack exhales shakily, nodding against you. “Okay.”

Despite your reassurance, he still feels like he’s falling.

The weight of the loss, the pressure, the expectations, it’s all crashing over him, relentless and suffocating. But in the middle of it all, there’s you.

And when you pull back slightly, just enough to look at him, he realizes you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

Your hands stay on his face, thumbs brushing against his damp skin, and there’s something in your expression, something soft and certain that makes his chest ache.

Then you move closer, tilting your head, and suddenly, suddenly—your lips press against his.

Jack stills.

Then, all at once, he melts into you.

His hands slide to your waist, gripping onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him standing. Your lips are soft, warm, familiar, but new at the same time, like something that was always supposed to happen but never did.

It feels like breathing again. Like finally getting it right.

But then, Jack realizes and he blinks, something clicking in his mind as he pulls back abruptly, still holding onto you but panting slightly.

“Wait,” he says, voice hoarse. “Aidan.”

You shake your head quickly. “We broke up.”

His brows furrow. “What?”

You exhale, your hands sliding from his face to his wrists, squeezing lightly. “Jack, I tried to move on. I tried so hard.” Your voice wavers. “But it was never him. It was always you.”

Jack’s lips part slightly, his breath hitching.

Then, suddenly, he laughs—a broken, disbelieving sound before his face crumples, his eyes shining again.

And just like that, he’s crying.

He presses his forehead against yours, squeezing his eyes shut as his grip on your waist tightens.

“You have no idea how bad I wanted you to say that,” he whispers, his voice shaking.

You smile softly, brushing his hair back. “I think I do.”

Jack lets out a shaky exhale, his hands fisting the fabric of your jersey, like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he lets go. But you don’t.

Because after everything—after the distance, the silence, the missed chances—you’re still here.

He sniffles, pulling you into another tight hug, burying his face in your shoulder.

❥

Later, when the chaos dies down and the arena empties, you end up in Jack’s car.

The heater hums softly, filling the silence, the city lights casting faint shadows across the dashboard.

Jack sits in the driver’s seat, head tilted against the headrest, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. You’re next to him, legs curled up on the seat, leaning against his shoulder.

It’s quiet.

Not awkward. Not heavy. Just comfortable.

Jack sighs, nudging his cheek against your hair. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

You smile faintly, reaching for his hand. “Me neither.”

He squeezes your fingers, his grip warm and sure. “I thought I lost you.”

You shake your head, squeezing back. “You never did.”

Jack exhales, his body relaxing against yours, and for the first time in a long time, hfeels whole again.

❥

The lake house feels the same the next summer.

The scent of pine and sunscreen still lingers in the air, the dock still creaks under your feet, and the water still glistens under the late afternoon sun. But this time, Jack is here. And this time, he’s yours.

He had turned freshly nineteen last month, but still was the same annoying boy you had known since you were seven.

You sit on the old wooden dock, legs stretched out, the warm breeze tangling your hair. Jack is lying beside you, one arm draped lazily over his forehead, his other hand resting on your knee, tracing absentminded patterns over your skin.

It’s quiet, just the sound of the water lapping against the shore and the occasional laughter from inside the house, where Quinn and Luke are probably chirping each other over something stupid.

Jack sighs, turning his head to look at you. “I missed this.”

You smile, threading your fingers through his. “Me too.”

He studies you for a moment, his eyes soft, warm, completely yours. Then, without a word, he tugs you down so you’re lying next to him, your head resting on his chest.

“You know,” he muses, fingers trailing up and down your back, “last summer, I thought I’d never get this back.”

You inhale slowly, letting his heartbeat ground you. “Me too.”

Jack tilts his head, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “But we made it.”

You lift your head, meeting his gaze. “Yeah,” you whisper, smiling. “We did.”

He grins, the kind that makes your heart skip a beat, then flips you onto your back, hovering over you with that look—the one that reminds you he’s still the same Jack, the same boy who used to splash you in the lake, who used to steal your s’mores when you weren’t looking, who used to be your best friend before he was everything.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Luke’s voice echoes from the house, and you both groan.

Jack turns his head, scowling. “Luke, I swear—”

Quinn’s voice cuts in. “Let them be, Luke. They suffered enough.”

You laugh as Jack rolls his eyes. “I hate that he’s right.”

You shake your head, pulling Jack back down. “Just kiss me already.”

He smirks. “Gladly.”

And as his lips meet yours, the sun dips below the horizon and the lake glistens around you, making you realize everything is exactly the way it’s meant to be.

It isn’t until Luke pretends to fake barf that Jack removes himself away from you, opting to chase down his little brother.

“Boys, am I right?” Quinn says, giving you a grin.

You wrap your arms around him, never feeling as whole as you did now.

[littlelamy]

I need a lawyer rafe smut BAD😭😭

Reader is his assistant and she can tell he is stressed out bad and wants to help him out.

Idkhelpme

lamy's note: i felt hot just writing this oml 😮‍💨

you can tell the moment he steps into his office. the way his jaw is set, the way he tosses his briefcase onto the desk with a little too much force. rafe doesn’t have to say a word for you to know—he’s had a hell of a day.

“long day?” you ask, voice soft, careful.

he drags a hand down his face, exhales slow. “you have no idea.”

you do, actually. you’ve seen the back-to-back meetings on his calendar, watched him down his third coffee before noon. his tie is still perfectly knotted, but his shoulders are tight, his patience thin.

“let me help,” you murmur, stepping closer, fingertips grazing his wrist.

his eyes flick to you, something dark, something needy flashing across his face. his breath is heavy, controlled, like he’s holding something back. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

you don’t wait for permission. you step between his legs, press your hands to his chest, feeling the solid weight of him beneath the fabric of his dress shirt. his pulse jumps under your touch. your fingers work the buttons, slow, deliberate, each one undone revealing more of his tanned skin.

“fuck,” he mutters, half under his breath, half into your hair when you lean up, lips brushing the sharp line of his jaw. “you know what you’re doing.”

“i do.”

you sink to your knees, the carpet burning against your skin, but you don’t care. all that matters is him, the way his breathing turns ragged, the way his fingers tangle in your hair. the way the tension finally melts from his body as you take care of him, just like you said you would.

his belt comes undone with a sharp clink, and his cock is already straining against his briefs. he groans when you palm him through the fabric, a needy, desperate sound that makes you ache between your thighs.

“fuck, baby,” he rasps. “you really wanna take care of me, huh?”

his words are a challenge, but you don’t hesitate. you tug his briefs down, freeing him, and your mouth waters at the sight. thick, heavy, already leaking for you. you drag your tongue along the head, savoring the taste of him before sinking down, taking him inch by inch until he’s pressing against the back of your throat.

“jesus—” he chokes out, head falling back against the chair, fingers tightening in your hair as you bob your head, sucking him down with filthy, wet sounds. his hips twitch, his control slipping as you hollow your cheeks, take him deeper, let him use you the way he needs.

his breath is ragged, his thighs trembling beneath your hands as you work him over, tongue teasing the sensitive underside, lips wrapping around him tight. he’s close, you can feel it in the way he throbs against your tongue, in the way his grip tightens, desperate, possessive.

“fuck, baby, i’m—”

he doesn’t get to finish before he’s spilling hot and thick down your throat, and you take it all, swallowing around him as he groans, his whole body shaking beneath you.

when you finally pull back, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, he looks down at you with dark, satisfied eyes.

“damn,” he breathes, pulling you up onto his lap. “you really do take care of me, don’t you?”

and when he kisses you, deep and dirty, you already know—he’s not nearly done with you yet.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx @drewsephrry

[theemporium]

in exchange for you not paying for my therapy bills after your last luke and cherry chapter i would like to request a luke blurb

the morning after your first time spending the night at luke and jacks apartment. you’re not quite sure what to do so anything you do for luke you do for jack so he’s not left out. jack is like “i like this one can you keep her” while luke is like “babe your my gf jacks a big boy he can do it himself”

thank you for requesting and sorry (not sorry) for the therapy bills!🫶🏽

.

Despite dating for almost nine months, this had been the first time you had ever stayed overnight at Luke’s apartment.

You had been in his apartment many times throughout the duration of your relationship, but you always left for your own place at the end of the night. Or Luke would leave with you, letting his brother have some privacy since you didn’t have a roommate. It always made sense, and seemed easier too.

But the boys had just come back from a long roadie and it had been almost two weeks since you saw Luke in person because of your own busy schedule. And as excited as Luke was to see you, he didn’t have the energy in him to handle another travel journey, as short as it was.

“Just stay the night,” Luke had all but mumbled as he laid on top of you on his bed, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck. “We can go to your place tomorrow.” 

And you didn’t have any reason to disagree with that agreement.

You just didn’t realise how out of your own element you were until you woke up the next morning. Luke was still fast asleep in his room and, considering how quiet the apartment was, you assumed Jack was too. It was stupid to feel so imposing but you couldn’t shake how weird it felt to be wandering around their place in the early hours of the day with neither awake yet.

You had decided to just follow the routine you usually followed at your place when Luke stayed over, scavenging whatever you could from their fridge and cupboards to make a decent breakfast with. Which, for two NHL players who should be eating more than the average person, was surprisingly not much, unless you wanted chicken and rice for breakfast (which no one in their right mind would want). 

You were lost in your own world, focused on the sizzling pan in front of you and the music playing from your phone on the counter beside you that you didn’t hear footsteps coming down the corridor.

“We own a spatula?” 

You turned, snorting when you found Jack glaring at the utensil in your hand like it had spawned out of nowhere. “I made Luke buy it when he tried to flip an egg with a fork.”

“Huh,” was all Jack managed to say. “He still asleep?” 

“Out like a light,” you nodded. 

“He’s gonna miss his breakfast,” Jack teased, rounding the counter so he could peek over your shoulder. 

“More French toast for us then,” you shrugged.

Jack paused, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. “You made me breakfast too?” 

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Yeah?” 

“Oh.” 

“I mean, if you have plans for breakfast, it’s fine,” you assured him, waving him off. 

“No, I—” Jack paused before shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t know, you’re Luke’s girlfriend.” 

Your confusion grew. “Yeah, and? You’re Luke’s brother. What’s that got to do with anything?” 

“You didn’t need to make me breakfast,” Jack said in a tone of voice that made it seem like his reply made any more sense than the previous ones. “But you did.” 

“What, you thought I would just make me and Luke breakfast and leave you to starve?” You questioned, the confusion slowly being replaced with amusement. “That would have been a dick move.”

Jack shrugged. “I would have understood.”

“Luke’s my boyfriend and you’re his brother but you’re also my friend, Jack,” you said to the boy with a soft smile. “Making extra breakfast is not the hardship you think it is.”

Jack laughed, nodding. “You’re my friend too.” 

Your smile widened.

“God, that smells so good,” Luke groaned as he shuffled into the room, messy curls tucked underneath the hood of his hoodie. He paused, glancing between the two of you with narrowed eyes. “Why do you both have that creepy smile? What are you planning?” 

“Confidential things,” Jack retorted, throwing his arm around your shoulder as he beamed at his younger brother. “Maybe when you’re old enough, we will tell you.” 

You snorted.

Luke frowned. “Ugh, can’t you go annoy Nico to feed you.” 

“Nuh uh, I was given an invite to join you both for breakfast here,” Jack said, still grinning widely. “You’re right, bro, it does smell so good.”

Luke let out a huff. “She is my girlfriend, go away and make your own breakfast.” 

“And she is my future sister-in-law,” Jack retorted, cackling at the way both you and Luke flushed at his words. “We are family now! Get used to it, Rusty!”

.

[dazevi]

CHAPTER THREE: CAN WE PRETEND?

heart to heart series | vi x fem!reader

synopsis: you're not sure what comes over you tonight, but caught up in the moment, you make a reckless choice—one that could change everything.

content warnings: MDNI. nsfw (18+ content), angst, fluff if you squint idk, rockstar!vi, bookshop owner/writer!reader, exes to lovers, friends with benefits (kinda), sexual tension, again—vi is down bad, smut; needy sex, oral (r rec.), vi cums untouched, little bit of overstimulation, idk what else !!!

wc: 12,183

notes: happy late late late valentine’s day! (i was supposed to post it on friday but got busy) and sorry for the wait on this chapter! here it is—glorious smut lmfao,, kind of ashamed to say that the next chapter is way more smutty—but ofc with feelings!!!)

navigation | series masterlist | previous chapter

The cold bites at your skin, but you barely even notice it. Not with the way your heart is hammering. Not with the way your nerves are tangled in your stomach. You stand outside Vander’s bar holding a small birthday gift in your hands, staring at the entrance like you haven’t walked through those doors countless times before.

But it’s been years. A lifetime ago, it feels like.

And standing here now, dressed in a pretty black dress you spent way too long debating over—god, what the hell were you thinking?

You tug your jacket tighter around you, like that will somehow make you feel less exposed, less like you’re making a mistake by being here. The leather is warm, but it doesn’t do much to muffle the voice in your head telling you that this was a bad idea.

That coming here, looking like this, feeling like this—it means something.

You used to love this place. Loved the way it always smelled of whiskey and smoke, of cheap beer but distinctly of home.

It’s different now.

Or maybe you’re the one that’s different.

Vi is probably already in there. Maybe she’s backstage, laughing with the band, tuning her guitar, oblivious to the fact that you’re standing out here like a fool, trying to gather the courage to step inside. Maybe she’s already seen you through the window, watching like she always used to—like she could read every thought in your head without you saying a word.

You close your eyes for a second, exhaling slowly. You could still turn around. You don’t have to go in. But then again, you didn’t have to dress up either, and yet… here you are.

The second you step inside, the warmth surrounds you. You hadn’t expected this many people, but clearly, word must have spread that Vi’s band was playing tonight.

Your eyes take a moment to adjust to the dim lighting over the packed room. It’s overwhelming at first—the volume of voices overlapping, the clinking of glasses, the scrape of barstools against worn wooden floors. But then, beneath all of it, you hear Benzo’s boisterous voice cutting through the noise, followed by Vander’s throaty laughter.

It’s been years since you’ve been here, but nothing has really changed. The same old neon signs flicker against the brick walls, the dartboard near Vander’s glowing jukebox is still crooked, the pool table in the corner still missing a chunk from one of its legs, and behind the bar, bottles of liquor line the shelves, arranged in the same way Vander has always kept them.

And Vi is somewhere in here.

Your stomach twists at the thought, your heartbeat quickening as you scan the crowd.

Just as you’re about to turn toward the small stage, the sound of your name cuts through the noise.

“Is that really you?”

You barely have a second to react before a blur of blue rushes toward you, and suddenly, Powder is there, beaming up at you with wide, disbelieving eyes.

She looks different—older, maybe a tad bit taller—but the same excitement, the same energy, radiates off of her like it always has. Her hair is longer now, pulled back into two twin buns with trimmed bangs covering her forehead.

She doesn’t wait for confirmation before throwing her arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug that nearly knocks the breath from your lungs.

“Oh my god, it is you!” she laughs against your shoulder, squeezing you tighter. “I can’t believe it! When Vi said you might come tonight, I didn’t think—I mean, I hoped—but holy shit!”

You let out a breathy laugh, arms instinctively wrapping around her. It’s been years since you’ve seen her—since she left for college, since everything with Vi fell apart—but somehow, it feels like no time has passed at all.

When she finally pulls back, she holds you at arm’s length, her hands gripping your shoulders as she looks you over, like she’s trying to make sure you’re actually standing there in front of her and not some trick of the lighting.

“You look amazing,” she gushes, her eyes shining, before huffing playfully, shaking her head. “I mean, seriously—wow. Vi didn’t tell me you still looked like this. She’s soooooo in trouble.”

You blink at her words, your breath hitching slightly, but before you can even begin to unpack what that means, Powder grabs your hand, tugging you towards the bar.

“Come on, you have to catch me up,” she insists, grinning ear to ear. “How have you been? What are you doing back here? Wait, how did Vi even convince you to show up tonight?”

Your lips part, but you hesitate, glancing toward the stage. You still haven’t seen Vi yet, but now, with Powder in front of you, talking a mile a minute, you realize just how much you’ve missed this—her.

“Powder, slow down,” you laugh, grinning from ear to ear as you shake your head. “It’s really good to see you too.”

She beams, squeezing your hand once before looping her arm through yours like she used to when you were all younger.

“Dad, look who’s here!” Powder calls out, cutting through the music and chatter as she drags you toward the bar.

Vander stands behind the counter, just like he always used to, one large hand resting on the counter, the other holding a glass he’s in the middle of drying. He looks up at Powder’s voice, eyes darting toward the two of you.

His lips curve into something between a smile and a look of pure surprise. He sets the glass down, wiping his hands on a bar towel as he steps around the counter.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Vander murmurs, taking you in. His voice is just as you remember it—gruff but warm. “Look who finally decided to show her face.”

“Hi, Vander,” you say, your voice softer than you mean it to be.

He huffs out a chuckle, shaking his head before pulling you into a firm hug.

“You don’t gotta be shy, kid,” he says, patting your back like he used to when you were just a teenager sitting at this very bar, waiting for Vi to finish whatever dumb stunt she was getting up to. “Hell, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too,” you murmur.

When he pulls back, he looks you over, eyes full of something fond.

“You look good,” he says, before glancing at Powder with a smirk. “She givin’ you trouble yet?”

You laugh, shaking your head as Powder scoffs, crossing her arms. “Me? Trouble? Never.”

Vander chuckles, ruffling her hair before looking back at you with that same fatherly warmth that makes your chest ache.

“Vi’s gonna lose her damn mind when she sees you.”

And just like that, your heart flutters all over again.

Vander studies you for a moment, his gaze settling on yours like he can hear every thought running through your head. But he doesn’t push, doesn’t pry. Instead, he gives you one last reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before nodding toward the bar.

“Well, since you’re here, let me get you a drink,” he says. “On the house. Benzo!”

Powder grins, practically bouncing on her boots as she gestures to the small, neatly wrapped gift in your hands.

“Come on, I’ll put that gift over with the others!” she chirps, already reaching for it before you can protest.

The chatter dies down slightly as movement stirs toward the stage, conversations dipping into hushed murmurs. People turn their attention forward, waiting patiently as the band gets into place.

Vi stands in the center of the stage, tuning her guitar beside an amp, fingers practiced as she twists the tuning pegs, testing each note. She’s glowing, that pink of her bright against the light, also outlining the sharp angles of her jaw, the curve of her cheekbones, the ink that winds down her arms and up the side of her neck.

She looks really fucking good. Dressed in a snug black shirt that clings just right, showing off the sculpted muscle in her arms, the broad set of her shoulders. The sleeves are pushed up slightly, just enough to expose the edge of her tattoos. Paired with a pair of baggy jeans that sit low on her hips, the waistband of her boxers showing every time her shirt shifts upward slightly as she moves—

—God, you have got to get yourself together.

But even despite how cool she looks up there, there’s a pout pressed against her lips, so slight that most people wouldn’t even notice.

But you do.

Because you’ve seen that pout before.

It’s the same one she used to wear when she was waiting for you after class and you took too long saying goodbye to your friends. The same one she had when you were late to meet her for a movie, arms crossed as she huffed dramatically before breaking into a grin the second she saw you. The same one she’d wear when you teased her by refusing to kiss her.

And now, up on stage, she’s wearing it again.

Because she hasn’t seen you yet.

You swallow, suddenly hyper-aware of yourself. Of how you look, of how this dress looks on you, of the way your heartbeat has picked up.

You shouldn’t be this affected—you shouldn’t.

And then—just as she adjusts the strap of her guitar, rolling her shoulders back, her eyes sweeping slowly over the room, over the crowd, then towards the bar—

She finds you.

Her fingers still against the strings, her whole body tensing just slightly. Her lips part, eyes locking onto yours.

And then, just like that, her pout is gone, smoothed over with the faintest, laziest smirk.

You feel your stomach flutter.

Before you can fully process it, Ekko steps up to the mic, patting Vi on the shoulder, grinning out at the crowd.

Behind them, Steb is adjusting his drum stool and Loris, stands off to the side, his bass slung low, a cigarette tucked behind his ear as he watches the crowd with that same unreadable look he always has, like none of this phases him in the slightest.

Ekko leans into the mic, flashing a charming smirk towards the crowd smirk.

“Alright, alright, settle down,” he teases, though he’s clearly reveling in the attention, in the love the crowd is throwing at them. He lets the cheers die down just a little before continuing, “First off, gotta give a huge shoutout to the man who means the absolute world to me. Happy birthday, old man!”

The bar erupts into another round of cheers, laughter echoing through the room as Benzo raises his glass.

“I love you, Benzo!” Ekko adds, placing a hand over his chest in mock sincerity.

Vi chuckles beside him, shaking her head as she ducks slightly, her pink hair falling forward as she looks down for a second.

Your stomach twists as you watch her, taking in the way her fingers flex against the neck of her guitar, the way she glances at Ekko with that lopsided smirk before finally lifting her head again, pink strands shifting as she looks back out at the crowd.

And just for a second—so brief you almost miss it—her eyes fall back to you.

Ekko claps his hands together. “Alright, enough of the mushy shit. Let’s get this started, yeah?”

And the crowd cheers again.

The music begins, the first chords ringing out as Vi’s fingers find the strings of her guitar. The sound of the crowd fades into the background as she leans into the mic.

Every time her gaze sweeps over the bar, her heart skips a beat when she catches sight of you. You’re there, standing at the edge of the crowd, watching. Watching her. And god, it makes her feel alive. She can feel the heat rising in her chest, spreading down her arms, making her fingertips tingle as she strums the next chord. She can’t stop glancing at you, her smile widening every time your gaze meets hers.

She wants to impress.

She really fucking does.

And every time Vi steals a glance your way, her heart beats faster. It’s almost like the music fades and the room shrinks down until all she can focus on is you.

You look so damn good. Your dress is simple but it fits you perfectly, so prettily. The soft glow of the stage lights catches the curve of your neck, the way your hair falls just perfectly, and god—god—she’s getting distracted.

The thought crosses her mind before she can stop it—did you dress up for her? It’s silly, of course, but it flares in her chest anyway.

But then, before she can let herself spiral too far into that thought, she sees you again.

You came. You actually came.

I mean, you told her you would, but right now, she can’t stop smiling. She’s so fucking happy you’re here.

The set ends after an hour.

It wasn’t too long, but the crowd erupts into applause anyway, cheers and shouts and whistles echoing throughout room, although Vi didn’t really think much of it. She’s still buzzing, the tips of her fingers still tingling from the friction of the strings, but she didn’t care about it.

She doesn’t wait for the others. Ekko and Loris are already heading backstage, Steb cracking his knuckles as he follows, but Vi’s eyes are locked on you.

She doesn’t even care about the after show rituals—the sweaty gear, the backroom chatter—because right now, all she can think about is how badly she wants to get to you.

It doesn’t take long to find you. You’re sitting with Powder, a bright smile on your face, talking to Vander and Benzo at the counter.

And then, when she’s just a few feet away, you look up.

She opens her mouth, trying to say something—anything—but the words won’t come. She’s not sure why she’s so nervous now.

“Hey,” she says softly as she looks down at the counter, then back up at you. “You made it.”

Her smile is soft, almost shy, and she watches you carefully, her heart is pounding in her chest.

“I told you I would,” you reply warmly.

Vi nods softly and just stands there, her heart pounding in her chest, suddenly unsure of herself, the words slipping out of her mouth before she can fully think them through.

“You look… you look really good.”

It’s quieter than she meant it to be, but it’s honest. She can’t help it. She’s been trying not to let herself be completely consumed by the way you look tonight, but there’s really no stopping it. You do look amazing.

And she watches you closely, trying not to let her nervousness show too much, but it’s hard to hide the slight tremor in her voice.

Before you can even respond, Powder bursts in, her voice high and teasing as she slides up beside Vi and throws an arm around her shoulders, nearly knocking her off balance.

“Vi!” she says, her grin practically splitting her face, as she begins to tease her in hushed whispers, something about you coming tonight, maybe how nervous she was.

But Vi doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break her gaze from you. Her attention stays completely on you, even as Powder hugs her excitedly, laughing. Her focus is elsewhere. It’s on you. It’s always been on you.

For a moment, she almost wishes it was just the two of you in this room—no distractions, no people, no laughter, no teasing from an overly excited litle sister, just you and her.

Before either of you can speak, Powder pulls away from Vi, spinning on her heel as she looks around the bar.

“Say, where’s Ekko?” she asks. “I’ve got to go give him a talk about giving Isha the wrong cat food earlier.”

Without waiting for anyone to respond, she darts off into the crowd, running on pure energy that never seems to run out. You watch her blue hair disappear into the mix of people, the playful laugh she lets out fading as she vanishes.

Vi stands there, staring at you. There’s so much she wants to say, so much she’s been holding back for what feels like forever, but the words just don’t come.

“You guys sounded really great up there,” you say gently.

Her heart skips. She blinks, almost startled, and before she can stop herself, her lips curve into a wide, genuine grin, the pride swelling in her chest. She straightens slightly, shoulders relaxing just a little as her eyes soften.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, eyes glued to the way your tongue smooths over your bottom lip. “It, uh… feels good to be playing again… Here, I mean. At home.”

You smile again, and for a second, Vi forgets how to breathe.

“I bet it does,” you say, keeping your voice light. “I mean, I would have been disappointed if you weren’t any good.”

Vi chuckles at that. “Well, I couldn’t let you down. I’ve got a reputation to maintain, after all.”

“You’re being cocky,” you raise an eyebrow at her.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she says quietly.

Vi swallows hard, trying her best to stay calm, but being with you like this, well, it catches her off guard.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” she smiles softly. “I really am.”

And she’s grateful. Very grateful that she gets to see you, to be with you like this, even though you weren’t really hers anymore.

She spent the rest of the night glued to your side like she’s afraid to let you slip away, her body leaning just a little too close whenever you’re talking to someone else.

It’s a subtle thing, the way she gravitates toward you, like there’s an invisible thread pulling her in, towards you each and every time.

Vander, Benzo, Powder, and the rest of the band surround you, laughing and teasing, recounting old stories from their countless gigs, but Vi isn’t really paying attention to any of that. Not when you’re sitting next to her, not when you’re wearing that dress.

The fabric fits your curves so perfectly, but it’s your legs that keep pulling her attention.

Every time you move slightly, every time you cross or uncross them, the way your thighs peek out, just enough to tease—Vi can’t tear her eyes away. It feels almost too much—like she’s seeing you in a way she hasn’t allowed herself to in a long time. She tries to focus on the conversations, on the laughter and the jokes being tossed around, but it’s impossible to ignore the way her body reacts every time you move right next to her, every time she catches a glimpse of your skin.

Her gaze moves back to you again, almost instinctively, and her breath catches just for a second when your eyes meet hers, that soft smile of yours playing at your lips.

“Vi,” Powder says, nudging her with an elbow. “Earth to Vi? You’ve been dozing out over there for a while.”

Vi blinks, shaking her head and forcing herself to focus on the others. She smiles, though, a little embarrassed, and laughs it off, trying to shrug it off as a joke.

“Sorry, just got distracted for a second,” she says, but her eyes dart back to you before the words are even fully out.

She can’t help it. You’ve always had that effect on her—always able to pull her in, even when you don’t mean to.

And when you laugh, when you lean forward to talk to Powder, it sends a shiver down her spine. She can’t stop herself from thinking about how much she’s missed this. How much she’s missed being with her family. How much she’s missed being with you.

Her heart beats faster in her chest.

She wants to reach out and touch you. To kiss you. To touch you in places people aren’t allowed to see. She wants to say something, but every word gets stuck in her throat.

And throughout the rest of the night, you could feel her eyes on you.

It’s not just her glances you notice, but the way her posture shifts when you move, the tension in her shoulders when she’s close to you, like she’s trying to keep herself in check, but her body betrays her every time.

It makes your heart race. You can feel her eyes on you, even when you’re not looking at her. It’s impossible to ignore. The way her attention feels so intense, the way she’s so obviously drawn to you, despite all the people around you.

And you start to wonder if coming here tonight was a good idea after all.

It’s silly, isn’t it? You came because Vi had asked you to. Because you couldn’t say no to her.

You force yourself to look away, focusing on Powder and Vander’s laughter, on Benzo’s loud voice cutting through the noise, but you can still feel it. And every time your eyes meet, she looks away just a little too quickly, like she’s afraid of being caught.

You glance at her again, and this time, she doesn’t look away quickly enough. Her eyes catch yours, and you see it clearly. Vi hasn’t really changed that much. She was still Vi. Still the girl you once loved, and maybe, in some strange way, still the girl you might love again—

God, what are you talking about?

Is that what this is?

Is that what she wants too?

You force yourself to look away, focusing back on the chatter around you.

Was this a mistake? You didn’t know that answer to that.

All you knew was that it was clear Vi wanted you.

And you’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want her, too.

It gets pretty late into the night when the drinks, as light as they were, started to settle in, a warm flush spreading across your cheeks.

It’s not enough to make you drunk—nothing like that—but enough to make your limbs feel a little heavier, your eyelids a little more droopy than they were earlier in the evening.

You glance around the table, taking in the chatter of old friends, the lighthearted teasing and laughter, the way Powder is leaning into Ekko’s side while Benzo and Vander talk shop at the counter. It was soothing to be here and spending time with them.

But your body is tired, and as much as you don’t want to leave, you know it’s probably time.

You stand up slowly, feeling the slight unsteadiness in your legs, the gentle sway of the room, but you brush it off. You pull your jacket on, the cool leather against your skin reminding you of the chilly air waiting for you outside. You catch Powder’s eye, giving her a soft smile as she looks over at you, but she’s too wrapped up in a conversation with Ekko to notice how tired you’ve become.

“I should probably get going,” you say softly.

Your words are met with a series of warm and friendly goodbyes, but there’s something in the air now that you can’t ignore.

Maybe it’s the way you’ve been trying not to meet Vi’s eyes, the way you’ve felt her gaze on you all night.

But you turn to her finally and say, “Bye, Vi.”

She freezes. She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, her lips parting as if she wants to say something—anything—but the words get stuck somewhere inside her all over again.

She doesn’t get anything out before you turn on your heel to walk out of the door.

Then, out of nowhere, Ekko elbows Vi lightly.

“Seriously?” he murmurs under his breath, though it’s loud enough for her to hear.

Vi blinks rapidly, snapping out of her trance, and before she can even register what’s happening, she looks up. She turns to the rest of the group, and to her surprise, the entire crew is watching her. Powder, Benzo, Vander—they’re all grinning, urging her with their eyes.

“Go!” Powder mouths.

And just like that, she just moves.

She grabs her jacket and practically runs, pushing past the tables and chairs, her heart pounding louder and louder.

But just as she reaches the door, her foot catches awkwardly on the edge something, and soon, she’s stumbling, the world tipping sideways before she crashes forward. Her head hits the doorframe with a sharp thud, and for a second, everything is disorienting.

And you hear it—the sound of Vi groaning behind you. You freeze, your heart leaping into your throat.

“Violet?!” you call out.

Vi’s still on the ground, her hand pressed against her forehead, trying to push herself up. Her face scrunches in mild discomfort, but as her eyes meet yours, she lets out a small, breathy laugh, shaking her head.

“I’m fine,” she says softly as she rubs her forehead where it collided with the doorframe.

Her eyes dart up to you, and she offers a sheepish smile. You can’t stop the small laugh that bubbles up in your throat. Your heart is still racing as you move toward her.

“Are you sure—”

“I’m okay, really,” she says again.

She reaches up, brushing her hair from her face, trying to play off the moment. You offer her your hand, your fingers brushing hers as you help her to her feet. She doesn’t let go immediately, her fingers lingering against yours for a moment longer than necessary.

“I… I wanted to catch you before you left,” Vi catches her breath. “Are you walking home?”

“Y-Yeah,” you finally say quietly. “It’s not too far.”

You motion vaguely toward the street, but it’s clear that the idea of walking back alone, in the late hour, with the chill creeping in, doesn’t sit quite right with you either.

“My truck’s at the back,” she says. “I’ll drive you.”

You blink, caught off guard for a moment. And before you can stop yourself, you start to protest, a gentle laugh slipping from your lips as you take a small step back.

“Oh, it’s fine, Vi. I don’t mind the walk. It’s not that far, really.” You try to brush it off, not wanting to be any more of a burden than you already feel like you are.

But she doesn’t let you get far.

“I’m driving you,” she repeats.

It’s not a suggestion. It’s not a question. It’s just fact.

You could argue, but there’s something about the way she looks at you, the way her eyes are so steady, so intent, that makes your inner protests feel futile.

So for once, you don’t argue.

“Fine,” you say softly, a smile tugging at the edges of your words.

Vi leads you toward the back lot where her old truck is parked, the cool night air settling over your skin as you follow a few steps behind her.

When you reach the truck, she moves ahead without hesitation, reaching for the handle and pulling the door open for you. It’s a small thing, but it catches you off guard—she does it like it’s second nature, like she’s done it a million times before. Well, she probably has.

You hesitate for a second, looking at her. Her pink hair is a little messy, strands falling over her forehead, but she doesn’t push them back. She just stands there, her hand still on the door, waiting for you.

“Thanks,” you murmur softly.

Vi just nods, not saying anything as you step up into the seat. She closes the door gently behind you, and a second later, she’s rounding the front of the truck, pulling herself into the driver’s side.

The engine stars, and Vi adjusts the rearview mirror before glancing over at you. You can tell that she has more that she wants to say, but instead, she just puts the truck into drive, her fingers flexing around the wheel before she finally pulls out of the lot.

The drive is quiet.

Not awkward, not tense—just quiet.

The road stretches ahead, the glow of streetlights passing in a blur, fleeting shadows across Vi’s face. Her jaw is set, a hand steady on the wheel, but inside the truck, everything feels so quiet.

You watch her from the corner of your eye, the way her fingers tap lightly against the wheel, the way she lets out a slow breath, like she’s thinking about something she won’t say out loud.

You shift slightly in your seat, your hands resting in your lap, feeling the warmth of the heater kicking in against your legs. You should say something—maybe thank her again, maybe fill the silence with small talk, maybe ask her again how long she’s staying in town, how long her break is, when she’s leaving again—but for some reason, you don’t.

You just sit there.

Eventually, the truck slows to a stop in front of your apartment building, the engine humming for a moment before Vi shifts into park and shutting the engine off. The street is quiet at this hour, the street lamps casting long shadows across the sidewalk, everything outside the window felt frozen.

She doesn’t say anything at first, just grips the wheel, her fingers flexing slightly before she finally moves, unbuckling her seatbelt.

Before you can protest—before you can even tell her that she doesn’t have to—she’s already stepping out, rounding the front of the truck with long strides. She opens your door for you again, and when you step down, you can feel how warm she is, close enough that you have to force yourself not to lean into it.

Then, she walks you up to your apartment door, taking the elevator, her steps slower now, like she’s drawing out the last few moments before she has to leave.

You fish your keys out of your bag, fingers brushing over the familiar metal as you try to ignore the way your heart is beating too fast.

But Vi… she just watches.

She’s standing a step behind you, hands shoved into the pockets of her jacket, her body tense like she’s holding herself back from something.

And she is.

Because she doesn’t want to leave.

Not when she’s spent the entire night thinking about you, stealing glances at you across the bar, admiring how the lighting made your skin glow, how your lips curled into that gorgeous smile she fell in love with—that she’s still in love with. Not when you looked so damn good in that dress, when all she’s wanted, since the second she saw you tonight, was to touch you, to press her lips against yours and see if you’d melt into her the way you used to.

Not when she still wants you.

But she doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move.

She just stares, her jaw clenched slightly, her pink hair falling into her face as she tilts her head down, eyes darting between your face and your hands as you struggle with the keys.

She should say something. She should tell you goodnight, make some stupid joke to break the tension, turn and walk away before she does something reckless. Because every single part of her is screaming at her to stay, to close the space between you, to reach out and touch you the way she’s been dying to all night. To press you against that door and kiss you until she forgets where she ends and you begin.

She just bites the inside of her cheek, waiting—hoping—you’ll give her a reason not to go.

You finally find the right key, fingers brushing over the familiar grooves, you slot it into the door but you don’t turn it just yet.

Vi hasn’t moved, hasn’t said anything, and when you glance up at her, she’s still staring—not in an absentminded way… No, she’s simply watching you, like she’s trying to memorize every single detail.

Your throat feels tight, but you push through it, offering her a soft smile, one that feels a little shy.

“Thank you for inviting me out tonight,” you say quietly.

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” she murmurs, almost hushed. “I—”

She stops, exhales through her nose, rubs a hand against the back of her neck before shaking her head, like she’s sorting through whatever thoughts are running wild in her head.

“I wanted you to come.”

You don’t know what to say to that, not when she’s looking at you like this, like she means it, like tonight actually mattered to her.

You swallow, gripping your keys a little tighter, trying to ignore the way your fingers tremble slightly.

“Still,” you say softly, meeting her gaze. “It was… nice.”

She looks at you like she wants to say more, like there’s so much more left to be said between you two, but she doesn’t say it.

Instead, she just nods, stepping just a fraction closer, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off her, close enough that if you tilted your chin just slightly, you’d be right there—right within reach.

And for the first time tonight, you realize you don’t want to step away.

Vi moves slightly, her hands still buried in the pockets of her jacket, like she’s physically stopping herself from reaching out. But her eyes tell a different story. They flicker over your face, down to your lips for the briefest second before settling back on yours.

“I… I wanna see you again,” she says quietly, almost desperately.

You freeze, the key still in your hand, but now the door feels so far away. Vi’s voice rings in your ears, and as you stand there, your mind spins.

You know what she means by those words.

You’ve already been seeing her as the weeks go by. As a friend—she came in to help with your bookshop, invited you out tonight. And now—now she’s expecting something more with you.

And you’re scared of that. Terrified, actually.

You can’t do this again. You won’t survive it.

You’ve lived through her absence, through the silence, through the distance. You’ve been holding your breath for years. You’ll expect her to leave the same way she did, promising you she’ll never forget you, that she’ll come home soon, she’ll call. You’ve already lived through it.

And soon, she’ll be leaving again. Once her break is over, she’ll be gone.

And whatever she wanted build with you now, you expect all of that to be gone the moment she is.

“Vi… I’ve been thinking about it for a while now… and I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you say, almost as if you’re talking to yourself, trying to convince yourself that this is the right decision. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t look at her as you speak, afraid that if you do, you’ll see the hope in her eyes, and it will break you.

Vi’s heart sinks at your words. But she doesn’t look away. She doesn’t argue.

Instead, she stands there, eyes locked onto the side of your face, refusing to let the space between you become any bigger than it already is.

She wants to say something—wants to convince you, to make you see that this time could be different, that she can be different.

But the words won’t come. They’re stuck somewhere inside her, tangled up with the fear of losing you again, with the ache of wanting you close, even knowing that you might not feel the same.

So instead of speaking, she just stands there, her hands still in her pockets, her chest rising and falling with every shallow breath she takes. Her gaze never wavers from yours, even as it breaks her inside to see the hesitation in your eyes. She doesn’t want to push. She doesn’t want to make it harder for you.

But god, she wants to be near you.

She wants you so fucking bad.

She wants you to say yes.

The lump in your throat feels like it’s made of stone as you swallow. Your hands tremble slightly as you stand there, staring at the door, tears already threatening to roll down your cheeks.

You can feel her eyes on you, searching, waiting for something, and you know—you know that she’s holding onto the edge of whatever this is.

But you can’t do this.

So, you say it quickly, almost too quickly.

“Goodnight, Vi.”

You can hear the hesitation in your own voice, the way it cracks just a little, as if you’re trying to make the decision for both of you.

You don’t wait for her to reply. You don’t give her the chance to stop you, to pull you back into her. You push the door open just a little more and step inside, slamming it behind you.

On the other side of the door, Vi stands completely still. She doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, just stares at the space where you were. Her heart is pounding, your words still burning in her chest, but she doesn’t turn away. She doesn’t walk away. She stays in place, her eyes glued to the spot where you had been standing, as if she’s waiting for you to come back.

The sound of your footsteps on the other side of the door is faint, but it might as well be a symphony in her ears. Her hand reaches up slowly to knock, almost without thinking, like she’s trying to hold onto the last of the warmth that came from being so close to you, from having you near her again.

But it’s only cold now.

She doesn’t know how long she stands there, doesn’t know how much time passes as she waits, hoping—just for a moment—that you might open the door again, that you might step back out and say that it wasn’t over, that it was just a misunderstanding.

But the longer she stands there, the more she realizes how hopeless that hope is, how much she’s already lost.

She almost turns on her heel to leave, the cold night air pressing in on her, but then—then—the sound of the door opening again stops her in her tracks.

You’re standing in the doorway.

For a split second, she doesn’t know what to expect. Her heart skips, and the breath she was holding catches in her throat.

“H-Hey,” Vi breathes out, her eyes widening. “Are you—”

Then, you move quickly, almost. You step up to her, and before Vi can make sense of it all, your hands are on her shoulders, and you’re standing on your tiptoes, and before she can breathe, before she can even think, your lips are on hers.

And holy fuck. Holy. Fuck. Holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck holy— Is she dreaming? Are you really kissing her right now? Or did she really hit her head that hard?

Vi’s whole body freezes at first. It’s quick, but it’s enough to make her world tilt on its axis. She’s barely aware of what’s happening, of how she instinctively wraps her arms around you, pulling you closer. Her hands find their way to your waist, holding you gently.

She doesn’t want to pull away. She doesn’t want to let go of of you, not when it feels like you’ve come back to her. Her arms tighten around you, and she groans into your mouth, feeling the warmth of your body press against hers like she’s trying to make sure you’re really here.

Vi doesn’t think—she doesn’t have time to.

The second your lips press back into hers, everything else fades and she cant see anything else but you. She deepens the kiss, her hands squeezing roughly at your waist, pulling you impossibly close like she’s afraid you might slip through her fingers again if she lets even an inch of space come between you.

You respond just as eagerly, softly moaning into against her lips, your fingers fisting into the fabric of her jacket, pulling her forward like you can’t stand the distance either. Your body presses into hers, soft where she’s firm, delicate where she’s rough, and it only makes her want you more.

The kiss turns messy—more tongue, more teeth, like neither of you can get enough.

Vi doesn’t realize she’s walking forward until she feels you stumble slightly, your hands gripping onto her arms for balance. She guides you backwards, step by step, her lips never leaving yours as she pushes you back into your apartment. And with one firm kick of her foot, the door swings shut behind you both.

The moment the door clicks into place, she moves quickly—gripping your hips as she turns you, pressing you firmly against the solid wood making you gasp against her mouth, a quiet, breathless sound that sends a rush of heat straight through her.

Vi exhales sharply, pulling away from your lips only slightly to breathe, pressing her palms flat against the door on either side of your head, caging you in without a single inch of space between you. She can feel your breath against her lips, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you both try to catch up with what’s happening.

But then, as she leans in again, ready to kiss you breathless, she sees you.

Your eyes, wide and glistening, your lips swollen from the kiss, your breaths coming out in soft little gasps. And the trail of tears… still visible on your cheeks.

Vi’s stomach clenches.

Her chest tightens as she reaches up without thinking, brushing the pad of her thumb against your cheek, just beneath where the tears had dried. You don’t pull away, but you don’t meet her gaze either. You just stand there, still breathing hard, your hands still clinging to her jacket like you need something to hold onto.

Vi swallows hard, her fingers still lingering on your cheek, and she lets herself look at you—really look at you.

And it feels like a fucking punch to her stomach, a hard one, because you are still so beautiful, even like this.

And, she doesn’t know if she’s supposed to be here. If she’s supposed to be kissing you like this, touching you like this.

But when your eyes finally meet hers again, she knows one thing for sure.

She doesn’t want to let you go.

Vi opens her mouth, barely forming the words before you beat her to it.

“Vi,” you whisper softly. “I-If we do this… if we do this, we can’t commit.”

She blinks, once, twice, her breath still uneven from the way she’d just had you pressed against the door, her lips still tingling from kissing you like she had been starving for it. Her hands are still on you, one hand against your cheek, and another on your waist, her thumb ghosting over the curve of your hip.

“What?” Vi’s voice is barely more than breath.

You look up at her and she sees the hesitation in your eyes, the way you swallow thickly before you even attempt to explain.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe. Because out of everything she expected you to say, this wasn’t it.

No commitment.

The words press into Vi’s chest like something sharp, something cruel, something that shouldn’t hurt as much as it does—but god, it does.

Her mind races, trying to make sense of what you mean, of why you’d say that after everything. After the way you kissed her, after the way you ran back out that door.

No commitment.

Did you think she’d leave again? Did you really think she’d break your heart a second time?

Vi swallows, her throat tight, her fingers twitching against you.

“What do you mean?” she whispers, careful, like she’s afraid if she says it too loud, you’ll pull away completely.

But she already knows.

She knows what you mean. She knows exactly what you’re saying without even having to hear the rest of it.

You don’t trust her. Not with your heart.

And fuck, she wants to argue again, she wants to tell you she’s different, that she wouldn’t leave you alone this time, that she would stay, that she wants to stay.

But you’re looking at her like you’re waiting for her to fight it, and she suddenly realizes—maybe you need this.

Maybe you need to believe that thi won’t be anything more than what it is tonight.

Maybe you need to protect yourself from what loving her again might do to you.

Vi’s jaw clenches, her hands tightening ever so slightly where they rest against your waist. She should say something. She wants to fucking say something.

You hold Vi’s gaze, your breath still uneven, your heart pounding so loudly it feels like it might drown out your own words. You don’t want to say it—you really don’t—but you force yourself to. Because if you don’t, if you let her look at you like that for a second longer, you might break.

“We just… we can’t do it,” you say, barely above a whisper. “We can’t pretend like we can just pick up where we left off, Vi. You’re still you—you have your whole life out there that you have to get back to, your career, your band, and I…”

You pause, exhaling slowly, pressing yourself back against the door.

“I can’t go through it again.”

Vi’s breath hitches in her throat.

But you see it—the way your words hit her, the way her fingers tighten slightly at your waist before she forces them to loosen, like she’s reminding herself to be gentle with you. Like she’s reminding herself that she did this.

That she gave you a reason not to trust her.

She wets her lips, blinking once, twice, all over again as if she was trying to process what you’re saying. But you can see the protest in her eyes. You can see how much she wants to protest, to tell you that you’re wrong.

“So… what?” she asks roughly. “You just want this to be… casual?”

You hesitate. You don’t want to call it that. It feels wrong, too small, too insignificant to name what’s happening between you.

Because it’s not insignificant. It never has been.

But you can’t give her what she wants.

So you force yourself to nod.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

Vi stares at you, and it’s hard to read her face now, but you know her well enough to see the way her jaw tenses, the way she presses her tongue against the inside of her cheek like she’s trying to hold something back.

She looks down for a second, her hands still resting at your waist, and when she speaks again, her voice is quieter.

“You… you want me to pretend that this—” she exhales, shaking her head just slightly, like she can’t believe she’s even saying it, “—that you don’t mean anything to me?”

Your chest tightens, and for a second, you almost cave.

“Vi…” You say her name softly, and it’s enough to make her close her eyes, her head tipping forward like she’s bracing herself for impact.

You bite your lip, shifting under her gaze, but you don’t deny it.

“I want something safe,” you say instead.

Vi stares at you longingly.

She runs a hand through her hair, exhaling a bitter laugh, shaking her head as she looks at you.

“Safe,” she echoes, like she’s tasting the word on her tongue, trying to decide how it makes her feel.

She knows exactly how it makes her feel.

It fucking hurts.

Because when it comes to you, Vi has never wanted safe.

She’s only ever wanted everything.

But she looks at you now and she can see the hesitation in your eyes, the way you’re holding yourself like you’re waiting for her to fight you, to push, to promise something she might not be able to keep.

And, Vi realizes that you probably need this boundary.

That this is the only way you know how to let her in without risking losing yourself in her all over again.

So she takes a slow breath, lets it settle in her chest before she speaks.

“Okay.”

You blink, like you weren’t expecting her to agree so easily.

“Okay?”

Vi nods, keeping her face straight and stoic.

“Okay,” she repeats, quieter this time.

She watches the way your lips part slightly, the way your breath catches, and fuck, she could kiss you again right now. Could prove to you that whatever this is—whatever it’s turning into—isn’t just something temporary for her.

That it never was.

But instead, she just looks at you, nods once more, and says, “I can do that.”

And she knows for sure if it’s a lie.

You can feel her breathing against you, warm and uneven, her body still so close. Your breath shudders, your fingers twitching at your sides.

You don’t know how to tell her that you’re just as scared, that this—whatever it is—is already starting to feel like something dangerous, something that might swallow you whole.

So instead, you do the only thing you can do.

You lift your hands, slowly, hesitantly, and brush your fingers over the sides of her face, over the sharp line of her jaw, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your touch. Vi lets out a breath, and when you tilt your head slightly, your lips barely a breath away from hers, she doesn’t pull back.

She doesn’t run.

Neither do you.

And before she can say another word, before she can question it, you kiss her again.

Vi doesn’t hesitate this time.

The moment your lips crash against hers, she melts into it, melts into you. Her fingers tighten at your waist, pulling you impossibly close, like she needs to feel every inch of you against her. She’s warm, burning, her body radiating heat as she kisses you deeper, rougher, her teeth grazing your bottom lip before she soothes the sting with her tongue. A quiet moan escapes your throat, and that’s all it takes for Vi to lose whatever restraint she had left.

She cages you in again, her palms flat against the wood on either side of your head, her breath uneven as she pulls back just slightly. Not enough to create distance—just enough to look at you again.

She studies you, the way your fingers clutch at her jacket like you don’t want her to go anywhere, and for a brief moment, she wonders—is this what you need?

Because Vi doesn’t think she can just pretend.

She doesn’t think she can hold you like this, kiss you like this, and not want all of you.

But maybe… maybe right now, this is enough.

So instead of saying something that will ruin it, instead of pushing for something you aren’t ready to give, Vi does what she knows best.

She leans in again, slower this time, her lips brushing. Her hands move to your waist, then up your sides, fingers ghosting over your ribs before sliding down the the hem of your dress, slipping under the fabric to grasp at your thighs. She doesn’t rush—she takes her time, savoring the way your body reacts to her touch, how you shiver slightly beneath her hands.

“You sure about this?” she asks.

You nod, barely a whisper of movement, your hands sliding up her chest, over her strong shoulders, fingers curling into the soft fabric of her shirt.

“Yeah,” you whisper back.

One moment, you’re standing there, breathless, and the next, Vi is crashing into you, her lips slanting against yours.

You gasp against her mouth, and Vi grips you tighter, her strong hands sliding down, catching the backs of your thighs before lifting you up. You gasp, but your body reacts on instinct, your legs wrapping around her waist, arms winding around her shoulders as she holds you up with ease.

And, the way she holds you—firm, steady, possessive—makes the heat coil in your stomach.

She doesn’t stop kissing you, not even for a second, her tongue your mouth, tasting you. Vi carries you through deeper into your apartment, like she knows exactly where she’s going even though she’s only ever been here once for several minutes.

Your fingers slide into her hair, tugging slightly, and she groans against your lips, low and needy, sending a shiver down your spine. You can feel the tension in her muscles, the way her grip tightens around your waist.

She stumbles slightly as she reaches your bedroom door, blindly pushing it open with her foot before stepping inside. The moment she steps in, she presses you against the nearest wall, just for a second, just to feel you pinned against something, her body flush against yours, her breath hot against your lips.

“Fuck,” Vi mutters, her forehead pressing against yours.

Her breath is uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly, and when she looks at you—lips swollen, eyes dark with want—you swear you’ve never seen her like this.

You don’t give yourself time to overthink. You don’t want to think.

You just pull her back into you, your lips crashing into hers once more, and she groans against your mouth as she finally moves again, finally carries you those last few steps toward the bed.

And when she lays you down—Vi stares.

Her body hovers over yours, her hands braced on either side of your head, her breath still uneven as she takes you in—really takes you in. And fuck, you look so pretty like this, sprawled out beneath her, lips swollen and your lipstick smudged slightly from kissing her. Your chest rises and falls with each breath, the thin fabric of your dress shifting slightly, and Vi can’t stop staring, can’t stop drinking you in like she’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and she exhales sharply through her nose, her hands curling into fists against the mattress as she forces herself to pause, to breathe. She feels like she’s standing at the edge of something dangerous, something she’s wanted for so long but never let herself have, and now that you’re here—now that you’re letting her have you—she feels like she might lose her fucking mind.

Her gaze trails down your body, heat pooling low in her stomach as she watches the way your thighs press together, the way your fingers twitch against the sheets, waiting for her to do something.

She wants you. Wants to make you forget everything except the way she touches you, the way she makes you feel, the way she’s about to have you.

Vi exhales again, slower this time, and when her eyes flicker back up to yours, she smiles bitterly—low, lazy, cocky.

“Oh, fuck,” she murmurs, shaking her head slightly, her pink hair falling into her eyes as she licks her lips.

She leans in then, pressing her lips against the soft skin of your neck, her teeth grazing just slightly as she whispers against you teasingly.

“Vi, hurry, please—”

“I’m on it, baby,” she says.

Vi doesn’t waste another second.

She shrugs off her jacket in a rush, the leather hitting the floor, and her fingers already working at the hem of her shirt. She pulls her shirt over her head, leaving her in her jeans and her sports bra, barely noticing where it lands—because you’re right there.

Vi moves above you, her body pressing closer, and that’s when you see it.

The small glint of silver catches your eye, swaying gently as she hovers over you, her breath warm against your skin. Your lips part slightly, because you know that necklace—

And now, it’s still there.

Vi doesn’t seem to notice at first. She’s too lost in you, in the way your body moves beneath hers, in the way she’s been desperate to have you again. But when she feels you stiffen slightly beneath her, when she pulls back just enough to really look at you, she follows your gaze—and freezes.

Her breath falters, chest rising and falling just a little too quickly, her entire body suddenly too still.

She realizes what you’re looking at.

You don’t say anything, but you don’t have to.

And Vi—Vi feels like she’s been caught.

The necklace still rests against her skin every single day, always hidden beneath layers of fabric, unseen by anyone else.

But now, you see it. You know.

She doesn’t just want you tonight.

She wants you always.

Right in front of her, staring up with wide eyes, breath coming in soft, uneven gasps, your lips still swollen, and your dress still clinging to you.

And holy fuck, she needs you out of it.

Her hands find the fabric at your sides, her fingertips pressing into your skin as she tugs, as she urges your dress higher, bunching it up until she can pull it over your head.

You lift your arms for her, letting her take it off, letting her strip you down just like she wants, and Vi swears her brain short circuits the second she sees you like this.

Her breath catches, her pupils blown wide as her gaze drags down, raking over every inch of your skin exposed to her.

She groans softly, deeply and almost pained, before she lunges forward, her lips finding the soft skin of your collarbone, your shoulder, anywhere she can reach. She kisses you so messily, open-mouthed and desperate, her tongue flicking out between kisses, her teeth grazing just enough to make you moan.

She wants to taste every inch of you, mark you up so that you remember exactly where she’s been.

“V-Violet—”

Your voice—soft, breathy, breaking just slightly on her name—hits Vi harder than anything else has tonight. It goes straight to her chest, down to the part of her that remembers, that aches for every time you used to say her name like that, every time you used to fall apart for her.

And fuck, she’s missed it. She’s missed you.

A soft whimper rumbles from Vi’s throat, her teeth scraping gently along the delicate skin of your chest before she pulls back just enough to look at you. Your bra is pushed up, her hands eagerly roaming your tits, swueezing and pulling just like she always did whenever she was in a rush to make you feel good. Its not long before she reaches behind you, one hand undoing your bra and throwing it on the floor with the rest of your clothes.

And you’re already so wrecked, your lips parted, your breaths uneven, your body arching beneath her as she touched you.

God, she wants you—wants to ruin you, wants to hear you beg, wants to make you forget everything but the way she feels against you, around you… inside you.

Vi’s hands tremble slightly as she hooks her fingers into the waistband of your panties, tugging at the fabric slowly down your legs. She watches the way you react—the way your breath catches, the way your thighs tense, the way your fingers clutch at the sheets like you’re bracing yourself. Like you’re nervous.

She pauses, her thumbs rubbing small, absentminded circles against your hips, trying to soothe the tension in your body.

She’s thought about this.

Fuck, she’s thought about this almost every night—about you, about having you like this again, spread out beneath her, breathless and wanting an be needing her.

It’s been so long. Too long.

And as much as Vi wants to devour you as soon as possible—she also wants to savor this. She wants to feel it.

You make a small noise—soft, hesitant—and when Vi finally drags the last piece of clothing down your thighs, when she finally sees you, all of you, she lets out a breath she didnt even know she was holding.

You shift slightly, instinctively moving to close your legs, to hide yourself, but Vi is already there—her hands gripping your thighs, spreading you open for her.

And then she sees the hesitation in your eyes. The way you bite your lip and glance away. Shy.

Something in Vi’s chest tightens.

She knows.

She knows.

You haven’t done this in a long time.

She wants to say something, but can’t find the right words. So instead, she does the only thing she can—she leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the inside of your thigh, her lips soft and wet.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” she murmurs against your skin. “Always been so pretty, baby.”

She kisses you again, this time closer.

But when your breath hitches, when you finally look at her, when your fingers twitch like you want to reach for her but don’t know if you should—Vi knows.

She knows you want this.

You need her.

So Vi immediately gets to work.

The second she spreads you open, the second she sees how wet you are, she groans low in her throat, the sound vibrating against your skin as she leans in without hesitation, before finally dragging her tongue through your wet folds.

Your body jerks as get tongue presses flat and firm against your clit, and your fingers immediately reach for her, tangling into her hair—longer now than it used to be, your fingertips curling around the strands, gripping on it, pulling on it.

Vi feels you everywhere—the way your thighs twitch slightly against her hands, the way your hips shift up as if you were chasing the warmth of her mouth, the way your fingers tighten in her hair the second she flicks her tongue just right.

She hums against you, reveling in the way you respond to her so easily, like no time has passed at all, like your body still remembers her, still wants her just as much as she’s always wanted you.

She licks into you again, her tongue delving deeper into your pussy, messily and slurping loudly while her hands grip your thighs as she pulls you closer, like she can’t get enough—like she wants to devour you whole.

“Fuck,” Vi breathes against you. “You taste so good. Missed this pretty pussy so much.”

You let out a soft, broken sound as your hips buck slightly, your fingers still tangled in her hair.

Vi whimpers against your cunt, at the way your body gives to her so naturally, so easily. She tightens her grip, pressing you down into the mattress as she speeds up, her tongue dragging through your folds with faster strokes before circling your clit.

And when you whimper, Vi fucking smirks against you, because this is what she’s missed. The taste of you. The sound of you. The way you fall apart so easily for her, like you were made for this, like you were made for her.

“Hah, mmph—F-Fuck, Violet—”

Vi rolls her eyes back in bliss, moaning into your messy cunt as she slurps and sucks on your swollen clit. She loves hearing you moan her name like that—absolutely lives for it. Craves it. And god, she could fuck you all day just so that she could hear the heavenly sounds that fall from your lips.

She feels it before you even say anything—the way your thighs tremble beneath her palms, the way you close her in between your legs, the way you pant quicker and wuicker by the second, the way your body starts to tighten.

She knows you’re close already.

She knew you would be—knew from the second she laid you out in front of her, from the moment she tasted you, from the way you gasped and clung to her, fingers tangled in her hair, pulling, tugging, harder and harder, your body arching.

And that only makes her hungrier.

Vi doesn’t let up.

If anything, she doubles down, her grip tightening on your thighs, her tongue moving faster, more precise, lapping up everything you give her like she needs it, like she’s starving for it. She slurps at your wetness desperately, her tongue flicking, curling, pressing your pussy just right—just perfectly—and it sends you spiraling.

You don’t stand a chance.

Your entire body tenses as the orgasm crashes into you, ripping through you so fast, so hard, that your back arches off the bed, your thighs squeezing around Vi’s head as your fingers pull at her hair, and you cry out.

“V-Violet!”

Vi doesn’t stop.

She doesn’t slow down, doesn’t pull away, doesn’t even pause—she just keeps going, her tongue still moving against you, inside you, her hands still gripping you tight, holding you down, keeping you there, like she’s refusing to let you come down from it, like she wants to drag you through it again and again and again.

And it’s too much.

Your breath stutters, your body twitching beneath her, overstimulated and shaking, but she’s relentless.

She moans against you, the vibration making you shudder, her tongue never stopping, pulling another wave of pleasure out of you before you can even recover from the first.

“V-Vi—” you gasp, broken and trembling.

But Vi just groans in response, like she loves how fucked out you sound, like it only spurs her on. She presses herself closer, tongue flicking faster, sucking have on got clit, drinking you down, devouring you, like she doesn’t plan on stopping until she’s satisfied—until you’re a mess beneath her, until you can’t think of anything else but her.

And fuck, with the way she’s going, you’re not sure she ever plans to stop.

Vi growls against you. Your body twitches beneath her, still trembling from your other orgasms, your breath ragged, uneven, and yet she doesn’t stop. Her tongue is still working you over and over, her hands still holding you down, still keeping you open for her, like she needs this just as much as she needs to breathe.

You gasp, your fingers tightening in her hair, tugging, pulling, trying to push her away, but Vi just moans at the feeling, her nails digging into your thighs as she keeps going, trying to drown you in the pleasure she’s giving you.

“V-Vi, I can’t—”

But Vi only smiles against you. Her fingers squeeze at your thighs, firm, steady, keeping you right there. And then, she finally pulls back—just barely, just enough to let her breath kiss over your wet, sensitive cunt as she tilts her head up to look at you.

Her lips are glossy with you, her pink hair disheveled from where your fingers have been pulling, and her pupils are blown, dark and hungry, her mouth curling into something dangerously smug, something so unbearably cocky.

“Can’t?” she echoes, raspy, teasing.

She presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss against the inside of your thigh, her teeth scraping just slightly before she smirks up at you.

And then she’s right back on you, tongue slipping inside, sucking at your clit, pulling another moan from your lips before you can even think to stop it.

You don’t know how many more times you came on her tongue.

It was so much.

And soon, you could hear Vi whimpering, louder and louder, her hands gripping your thighs tighter as she grinds her hips down onto your bed while she ate you out.

Vi was close. Untouched.

“V-Vi…” you breathe, your body trembling.

“Just a little more, baby, please…”

And you couldn’t say no to her. She always asked so nicely, even before—you loved it when she’d beg.

So she kept going and going and going.

Her whimpers grow louder, turning into moans, as she continuted to work her tongue against you. Fuck, she was so close. So fucking close. She could feel it tight in her cunt, waiting. All she needed was one more out of you. Just one.

She could feel you, almost there.

And when you jerk, trying to pull away from her mouth only for just a moment, Vi pulls you against her, wrapping her mouth around your clit and sucking. Hard.

You scream, the sound sending a wave over Vi’s body and that just about does it for her.

“M-Mmmph—Nn-ah, f-fuuuuck—” Vi whispers, gasping for air, her face still against your cunt.

She rests there for a moment, her cheek pressed againdt your inner thigh as she tries to catch her breath, her body shivering from cumming hard. She could feel her boxers, wet and sticky, and she swears you just sent her to heaven.

It doesnt take long for her to regain her energy, before crawling back up, leaving gentle kisses over your skin, before claiming your mouth with hers once more. You could taste yourself on her tongue, in her mouth. And you knew for a fact that Vi was cocky about it. She smiles against your lips before trailing back down to your jaw and neck, kissing the small bruises she left on them earlier.

Her hands are still resting lightly on your body, her fingers gentle now, as if she’s afraid you might shatter if she’s not careful. She pulls away a moment later, just enough to look at you.

She stares at you for a while, like she’s trying to memorize every inch of you—your flushed face, your lips swollen from the kiss, your eyes still half-lidded.

There’s a flutter in her chest. Vi can’t explain it—not really—not when every part of her is overwhelmed with the need to keep you close, to have you.

But she doesn’t say anything.

She just looks at you, her thumb gently brushing along the side of your cheek, her eyes soft as they lock onto yours. Her mind is running a mile a minute, every thought tangled up in the same three words that she wants to say but knows she can’t.

She says them to herself over and over.

I love you.

She says it in her head, again and again, her lips barely moving with the words as she stares at you. She wants to say them aloud, wants to let you know how much she means it, how deeply those words run for her, how she’s only ever felt like this for you.

But she holds herself back. She’s afraid of what might happen if she does.

Vi’s not sure if you feel the same way—if you even could, after everything that’s happened.

So instead of saying the words, she just leans down again, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, letting her lips linger there for a moment, breathing you in. She pulls away slowly and moves to lay down next to you, her gaze still locked onto yours.

The room is quiet now. Vi watches you closely, her eyes tracing the rise and fall of your chest, the way your face softens as you drift off to sleep beside her. You’re curled against her, one of your hands still resting lightly on her chest.

The soft glow of the light outside the window makes your skin glow. She can’t stop staring.

Her fingers, still warm from where they rested on your skin, twitch at her sides, but she doesn’t dare move. She can’t tear herself away from you, from the way your hair spills across the pillow, the way your lips are still parted slightly. She reaches out slowlyc just to brush a few strands of hair from your face, her fingertips grazing your cheek gently.

You stir slightly, your lips parting in a soft sigh, and Vi feels her heart lurch again. She knows she should sleep—knows she should rest too, but the thought of closing her eyes and missing even a second of you like this seems impossible.

Vi can feel herself drawn to you, drawn to every subtle movement, every breath you take. Her mind spins with thoughts—of the past, of what could’ve been, of what might still be. She thinks of the way you kissed her earlier, the way you touched her, the way she was so sure of you before, and then everything fell apart. The distance between you both became something too big to cross, and now, after everything, she’s here again, watching you as you sleep beside her.

It’s not just being close to you—though, fuck, she wants to hold you, wants to feel you pressed against her until there’s no space left between you. But it’s the fact that she’s here with you. After all the years apart from you, she finally has you again. Right next to her. And she doesn’t know what it means or where it’s going, but right now, she feels whole in a way she hasn’t in years.

Her hand hovers for a moment, just over yours, but she doesn’t touch you. She just watches you, watches the way your chest rises and falls, the way your face looks so relaxed, so safe, like you’ve finally found peace in her presence.

Vi stays there all night, her eyes never leaving you. She watches the clock tick by, watches the light change, watches you sleep, and for the first time in so long, she doesn’t feel so alone.

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[elikajinnie]

Hi!!! Can you do the enhypen promo 2 and 5 with jungwon?? Down bad bff and oblivious reader? Thank youu!💙

P: Bff!Jungwon X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Minor Angst, Confessions, you are oblivious, won is desperate, some jealousy.

Synopsis: Jungwon has always been content being your best friend—at least, that’s what he tells himself. In reality, he’s been hopelessly in love with you for years, too afraid to risk what you have. But with Valentine's Day around the corner and whispers of other guys planning to ask you out, he decides it’s now or never. Instead of a direct confession, he drops small hints that should make it obvious. Should. Because somehow, you remain utterly oblivious.

a/n: I was supposed to post this on Valentine’s Day… but surprise, surprise—I ended up working all day. So here’s a (very) late Valentine’s Day fic! Sorry for the delay! special thanks to @cafekitsune for the divider! <3

2. "You’re dangerous, you know that? Every time you smile, I forget how to breathe." 5. "You don’t even realize what you do to me, do you?"

Jungwon had always loved being around friends—there was nothing he enjoyed more than having fun with the people he trusted and cared for. But as much as he liked it, there was one thing he loved beyond all else: being with his best friend.

Being with you.

You were everything he was grateful to have in his life. Smart, kind, and effortlessly fun. But also completely, hopelessly oblivious.

Oblivious to the way his gaze lingered a little too long when you laughed. Oblivious to the way his heart raced when you leaned against him, completely unaware of the effect you had on him. Oblivious to the fact that, out of everyone in a crowded room, his world only seemed to orbit around you.

He wasn’t sure when it started. Maybe it was the late-night study sessions when you fell asleep on his shoulder, or the way you always remembered the little things about him—his favorite drink, the songs he hummed absentmindedly, the way he tapped his fingers when he was nervous. Or maybe it had always been there, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for him to realize.

And now, here he was, trapped in a cycle of wanting more but never daring to ruin what he already had. Because you—his best friend—were the one thing he could never risk losing.

So, he stayed quiet. Kept his feelings tucked away behind playful smiles and casual touches that meant everything to him but nothing to you.

Because if you never noticed, then maybe he’d never have to face the truth.

The truth that his heart ached in ways he couldn’t explain. That every moment with you felt like a dream he was terrified to wake up from. That he had memorized the way you spoke, the way you smiled, the way you existed so effortlessly in his world, completely unaware of how deeply he had fallen.

And yet, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, the truth had a way of creeping in. In the quiet moments when his name left your lips too softly, in the fleeting touches that sent sparks through his veins, in the nights he lay awake replaying every interaction, wondering if—just maybe—you felt it too.

But you didn’t, did you?

You still looked at him the same way you always had, like he was your best friend, your safe place, your person. But never anything more. And maybe that should’ve been enough.

Maybe it had to be.

Because the alternative? The risk of losing you altogether? That was a fate he wasn’t sure he could handle.

So he swallowed the words threatening to spill from his lips. He buried the longing deep within his chest. He convinced himself that being your best friend was enough.

Even if it meant breaking his own heart a little more each day.

But now, with Valentine’s Day coming up so soon, it had become a problem for him.

Jungwon had always been good at keeping his feelings in check, at pretending that being just friends was enough. But Valentine’s Day was different. It wasn’t just another day—it was a reminder. A reminder that he wasn’t the one you were looking at with hearts in your eyes. That someone else could sweep in, buy you flowers, and call you theirs while he sat on the sidelines, pretending it didn’t hurt.

And the worst part? You weren’t even thinking about him.

You had been talking about Valentine’s Day for days now—who might ask you out, what kind of date you’d like, what flowers you preferred. Every time you spoke about it, excitement lacing your voice, Jungwon could only smile and nod, pushing down the ugly twist of jealousy in his chest.

“Maybe I won’t get anything this year,” you had joked one afternoon, twirling a pen between your fingers. “Guess I should start preparing myself for a lonely Valentine’s Day.”

Jungwon had almost laughed at how absurd that sounded. You, alone? Impossible. If anything, there were probably a handful of people already planning to confess to you.

And yet, for a brief second, he let himself imagine what it would be like if you were his. If he could be the one to show up at your doorstep with flowers, the one you looked at like he was your whole world.

But that wasn’t reality.

Reality was him sitting here, dreading the day, wondering if this was the year you’d finally fall for someone.

And then it happened.

It started with a name. A name Jungwon hadn’t expected to hear from your lips in that way, with that softness, that quiet curiosity.

“So… do you think it’d be weird if I said yes?” you asked, tapping your fingers against your notebook as you glanced at him. “I mean, he’s really sweet, and I never really thought about it before, but… maybe I should give him a chance?”

Jungwon didn’t know what hurt more—the fact that you were considering saying yes to someone else, or the fact that you were asking him about it, like his opinion mattered, like he wasn’t the one who had been hopelessly, helplessly in love with you this whole time.

His heart sank. But his face? His face stayed the same, the perfect mask he had spent years perfecting.

“Yeah,” he forced out, offering you a lopsided smile. “I mean… if you think he’s sweet, then why not?”

You smiled, nudging his arm. “See? That’s why I asked you. You always give the best advice.”

And just like that, it was decided.

Jungwon should have been used to it by now—watching you get excited over someone else, watching as you completely missed the way he looked at you, the way his hands twitched at his sides, itching to reach for you but never daring to.

But he wasn’t used to it.

And this time, it hurt more than ever.

Because this time, he was starting to wonder if he’d lost his chance completely.

Jungwon didn’t do anything.

Not really.

But somehow, he was still the problem.

It started small—your new “almost” boyfriend growing stiff whenever Jungwon was around, the way his laughter faded whenever you leaned into Jungwon’s space like you always did. The subtle looks, the hesitation, the way he never really joined in on the jokes you and Jungwon shared so effortlessly.

Jungwon wasn’t blind. He could see the tension in the way the guy held himself whenever he was near. The way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes whenever you mentioned Jungwon’s name.

And it only got worse.

“You guys are close,” the guy had said one day, casual, but not really. “Like… really close.”

You had laughed, oblivious as always. “Well, yeah. Jungwon’s my best friend.”

And just like that, Jungwon had known.

It wouldn’t last.

Because no matter how much the guy liked you, he hated Jungwon more.

And Jungwon? He didn’t even have to try.

He just kept being himself. Kept being the person who knew you better than anyone else, who could read your moods with a glance, who you ran to first with every little thing. He didn’t have to say anything, didn’t have to do anything.

The cracks in your almost-relationship formed all on their own.

Small disagreements. Awkward silences. The way the guy started pulling away, his insecurity gnawing at him until it consumed whatever chance he had with you.

And then, one day, it was over.

You barely looked upset when you told Jungwon. More confused than anything.

“I don’t get it,” you admitted, pulling your knees to your chest as you sat beside him. “He just… said he didn’t think it would work.”

Jungwon stayed quiet.

He could’ve told you the truth. Could’ve told you that the guy had been jealous, that it had always been doomed from the start because no one would ever be okay with how much you leaned on Jungwon.

But instead, he just shrugged.

“Guess he wasn’t the right one, then.”

And you nodded, sighing before resting your head against his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jungwon closed his eyes for a brief second, allowing himself to soak in the moment. Because even if he didn’t have you the way he wanted, at least, for now, he still had you.

And that was enough.

Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

But as the days passed, Jungwon started to realize something—maybe "enough" wasn’t really enough anymore.

Because even though you were still here, still laughing with him, still resting your head on his shoulder like you always had, something had changed. Not between you, but within him.

For so long, he had told himself that being your best friend was enough, that having you in his life in any way was better than risking losing you altogether. But now? Now, he wasn’t so sure.

Because watching someone else try to love you—watching them fall short because they weren’t him—had planted a dangerous thought in his mind.

What if he stopped holding back?

What if he stopped pretending?

What if he told you the truth?

The thought terrified him. Because if you didn’t feel the same way, if you laughed it off, if you looked at him like he was crazy, then everything he cherished between you could shatter in an instant.

But at the same time, wasn’t he already breaking a little more each day by staying silent?

The doubt clawed at him, restless and demanding. It lingered in the moments he caught himself staring at you for too long, in the way his heart skipped a beat every time you said his name, in the way jealousy twisted in his chest when someone else looked at you the way he wanted to.

And with Valentine’s Day nearing more and more, and you still feeling down after the whole situation with that guy, Jungwon felt conflicted.

Part of him wanted to use this as an opportunity—to finally say something, to be the one to make you smile again. But another part of him, the part that had spent so long holding back, told him it wasn’t the right time.

You were sad. Not heartbroken, not devastated, but still hurt. He could see it in the way you sighed more than usual, in the way your usual excitement about the upcoming holiday had faded into indifference.

“I don’t even know why I care so much,” you muttered one evening as the two of you sat on the bleachers, watching the empty field stretch out before you. “It’s not like we were even dating, not really. But still… it sucks, you know?”

Jungwon nodded, even though he didn’t fully understand. Not in the way you did, at least. Because to him, the pain wasn’t in almost having someone and losing them—it was in never having you at all.

“I just thought, maybe this year would be different,” you admitted, pulling your jacket tighter around you. “Maybe I’d actually get to experience one of those cute Valentine’s Days you see in movies.”

Jungwon swallowed. His hands clenched into fists in his lap, itching to reach for yours.

He could do it.

He could say it.

He could tell you that you weren’t alone, that someone had been looking at you that way all along. That if you let him, he’d make sure you never had to feel unwanted again.

But then you sighed and leaned against him, your head finding his shoulder in that familiar, comfortable way that told him you still saw him as your best friend.

Just your best friend.

So he did what he always did.

He stayed quiet.

And maybe that was his biggest mistake.

Because as Valentine’s Day crept closer, and as you started smiling again—started acting more like yourself—Jungwon couldn’t shake the feeling that he was running out of time.

And if he didn’t do something soon… someone else would.

So he planned to start small—show you, in quiet, genuine ways, that he liked you as more than a best friend.

But it was easier said than done.

Because you were oblivious as fuck.

Normally, Jungwon found that trait of yours adorable. The way you never seemed to pick up on people’s feelings, how you always assumed the best in every situation, how completely unaware you were of the effect you had on others.

But now? Now, it felt like torture.

Because how was he supposed to show you he loved you when he had such a hard time saying it?

He tried little things first. Thoughtful gestures, things he had always done but with more meaning behind them now. Walking you home even when it was out of his way, holding doors open for you even when his hands were full, remembering your coffee order down to the smallest detail and getting it for you before you could even ask.

But none of it clicked for you.

"You're such a good friend, Won," you'd say, smiling up at him like his heart wasn’t unraveling in his chest.

Friend.

Jungwon bit back a sigh, pushing down the frustration. He told himself to be patient.

So he tried again.

He started being more obvious—giving you his jacket when it was barely cold, brushing his fingers against yours just to see if you'd notice, complimenting you in a way that should’ve meant more than just friendship.

"You always know how to make me feel better," you had told him after one of his compliments, nudging him playfully. "What would I do without you?"

Jungwon had forced a smile, ignoring the way his heart twisted painfully.

Because none of it was working.

You still weren’t getting it.

And maybe… maybe you never would.

Because maybe, deep down, you had never even considered him as an option.

That thought scared him more than anything.

So with Valentine’s Day only days away, Jungwon realized something.

If he wanted you to know—if he wanted any chance at all—he couldn’t keep waiting for you to figure it out on your own.

He had to do something bigger. Something you couldn’t possibly ignore.

Something that would make you finally, finally see him.

So, he did something bigger.

With Valentine’s Day here, he made sure you wouldn’t come home too soon. He got some of your mutual friends to keep you company—texting them to stall you, make up excuses, anything to buy him enough time. And while they distracted you, he let himself into your house with the spare key you had given him long ago, “just in case of emergencies.”

And in his case, this was an emergency.

Because if he didn’t do this now, he might never have the courage again.

Carrying the bags inside, he wasted no time.

First, the decorations.

Red heart-shaped balloons filled your bedroom, some floating against the ceiling, others scattered on your bed. On the wall, carefully arranged, were balloons that spelled out "Be My Valentine?"—a question he never thought he'd be brave enough to ask.

Then, the gifts.

A teddy bear sat on your bed, soft and plush, with a box of your favorite chocolates nestled in its lap. Next to it, a bouquet of your favorite flowers—fresh, vibrant, just like you. And a basket filled with everything he knew you loved. Your favorite snacks, little trinkets, things you had casually mentioned wanting in passing—things he had remembered, even when you had forgotten you said them.

And finally, the finishing touch.

Rose petals, carefully placed, leading from your front door all the way to your bedroom. Alongside them, fake candles flickered softly, casting a warm, intimate glow around the space.

By the time he was done, his heart was pounding in his chest.

It was now or never.

So he took a deep breath, sat on the edge of your bed, and waited.

Waited for you to come home.

Waited to see if this would finally, finally make you see him the way he had always seen you.

And for the first time in his life, Jungwon was terrified.

When you finally got home, you were tired.

You had spent hours with your friends, confused as to why they were suddenly so insistent on keeping you out so late. They had dragged you to cafés, stores, even a last-minute movie, all while exchanging suspicious glances. But now, finally, you were home.

And the moment you stepped inside, you froze.

Rose petals.

They stretched out before you, leading down the hall, soft and delicate against the floor. And lining the path were small flickering lights—fake candles, glowing warmly in the dimness of your house.

Your heart skipped.

“What the—” you whispered, slowly stepping forward, following the trail.

Each step felt surreal, like you were stepping into something straight out of a romance movie. Your fingers brushed against your chest as you tried to steady your breathing.

By the time you reached your bedroom door, your heart was hammering.

And then you saw it.

Balloons—so many of them—floating and scattered all around your room.

And then, there was him.

Jungwon.

Sitting on the edge of your bed, looking nervous but determined.

The moment your eyes met, you felt your breath catch.

“Jungwon…” You blinked, glancing around. “Did you…?”

He swallowed, standing up slowly. “Yeah. It was me.”

Your gaze darted to the teddy bear on your bed, the chocolates, the bouquet, the basket of all the things you loved.

Your chest tightened.

“This is… I mean, you…” You trailed off, shaking your head in disbelief. “Why?”

Jungwon took a step closer, hands clenching at his sides. “Because I had to.” His voice was quiet, but firm. “Because if I didn’t, you’d never notice.”

Your brows furrowed. “Notice what?”

He let out a soft, almost breathless laugh, shaking his head. “See? That’s what I mean. You’re so—” He stopped himself, exhaling deeply. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

Jungwon took another step forward, closing the space between you. His eyes held something deeper now—something vulnerable.

“I love you.”

Silence.

Your breath hitched.

Jungwon swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep going.

“I’ve been in love with you for so long,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve tried to show you, in every way I could, but you never noticed. So I figured… maybe this time, you would.”

Your mind was racing, heart pounding.

Jungwon? In love with you?

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You didn’t even know what to say.

And Jungwon—seeing your silence, your wide eyes, your stunned expression—felt his heart sink.

Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe you really never had considered him that way. Maybe he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

So before you could say anything, before you could reject him and break him completely, he let out a shaky breath and whispered, “Say something. Please.”

You kept looking around the room, your mind struggling to process everything, every single detail Jungwon had put together, just for you.

Your chest felt tight, your throat dry. Your lips parted, but the only thing that came out was a shaky breath before you finally asked, “For how long?”

Jungwon took a deep breath, his eyes focused on you as if he were summoning all the courage he had kept buried for so long. He wasn’t sure what he had expected—maybe for you to stop him, or maybe for you to just… understand. But this was real now. There was no going back. “For so long,” he murmured. Then, like a dam breaking, the words just spilled out.

“I’ve been falling for you. Not just once, but over and over again.” He shifted, his hands twitching by his sides as if he didn’t know where to put them. “It wasn’t some instant, magical thing. It was a million little moments. Like the way you scrunch your nose when you’re confused or frustrated, like when you’re so focused and you don’t even realize how cute you look. Or how every time I’m with you, I feel like the world is just… better. The way you always give me the first sip of your drink without me asking. I never wanted to take it, but I always did, just because you were offering. You’re just…”

He shook his head, unable to fully explain, but his eyes locked onto yours. “And your laugh…” He laughed softly, almost to himself. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever heard. I can’t even describe it. Every time you laugh, it’s like everything in my world falls into place. Like nothing else matters, just you and that sound. It’s like… nothing else could make me feel more alive than hearing you laugh.”

His voice faltered slightly, but he pressed on, his emotions pouring out faster now.

“And every time I’m around you,” Jungwon said, his eyes darting to the floor for a moment before meeting yours again, “my heart races. It feels like it’s beating so hard, like I can’t breathe. And I’ve tried to hide it, to play it cool, but I can’t. I can’t stop it. Every time you’re near me, it’s like everything else disappears, and all I can think about is you.”

You could see the longing in his eyes as he continued.

“I memorize everything about you,” he added, his voice trembling. “Your favorite food, the songs you hum under your breath when you’re in a good mood, the way you scrunch your eyes when you’re laughing so hard you can’t control it. I know all the little things because I’m always paying attention to you. Always.”

He took a step closer, his eyes searching yours desperately, his words tumbling out even faster now.

“And when someone else shows interest in you… when they look at you the way I want to, it just… it suffocates me. I feel like I’m drowning, like you’re slipping away from me. But I’ve never told you. I’ve never said anything because I didn’t want to ruin this, ruin us—whatever we are. But I couldn’t keep pretending anymore.”

Jungwon’s hands trembled as he reached for yours, his voice softer, almost a whisper now.

“I love you,” he said, his heart on his sleeve. “I’ve loved you for so long. I didn’t know what to do with it, but I can’t keep it in anymore. Please… don’t turn away from me.”

Jungwon had done it. He had confessed.

He had done the very thing that had terrified him for years.

And now… you weren’t saying anything.

The silence stretched between you, unbearable and deafening. His breaths came out uneven, his chest rising and falling as he looked at you, waiting, begging for a response.

But you just stood there, staring at him—wide-eyed, shell-shocked, silent.

And that silence broke him.

Jungwon let out a shaky exhale before his legs gave out beneath him. He collapsed onto his knees, his head hanging as his shoulders trembled. The weight of everything—the nerves, the fear, the exhaustion—finally crushed him.

Tears slid down his cheeks, slow and quiet.

This is it, he thought bitterly.

He had been so scared of confessing. But now, he realized, this was what he should have been scared of.

Not rejection. Not heartbreak.

But this.

This horrible, gut-wrenching silence.

This feeling of being completely exposed, completely vulnerable, waiting for the one person he loved the most to either take him in or turn him away.

He squeezed his eyes shut, already preparing for the worst—

And then suddenly, you were on your knees in front of him.

Jungwon barely had time to react before your hands cupped his tear-streaked cheeks, tilting his face up toward you.

And then—

You kissed him.

His breath caught, his entire body freezing in place. His mind couldn’t keep up, couldn’t process that this was actually happening.

You—his best friend, the person he had spent years hopelessly in love with—were kissing him.

But he was so stunned, so overwhelmed, that he didn’t even kiss you back.

The seconds stretched, and you hesitated. Slowly, you started to pull away, your hands loosening their hold on his face—

And that’s what finally snapped him out of it.

Before you could fully retreat, Jungwon grabbed you—one hand curling around the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist. And in a heartbeat, he slammed his lips against yours again.

This time, he kissed you back.

Desperately.

Fiercely.

Like he had been starving for this.

Like he had been waiting his entire life for this moment.

His fingers curled tighter around you, pulling you impossibly close as his lips moved against yours—messy, feverish, full of all the emotions he had buried for so long.

And for the first time in years, Jungwon wasn’t afraid anymore.

Because now, he knew.

He wasn’t losing you.

He had you.

And he wasn’t going to let you go.

As the kiss broke apart, both of you breathless, Jungwon’s hands still gently cupping your face, he couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh—a mix of disbelief and relief.

And then, you smiled at him.

That smile.

The one that made his heart race every time.

Jungwon stared at you for a moment, his chest tightening again, his breath hitching in his throat.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” he murmured, his voice low, full of admiration. “Every time you smile, I forget how to breathe.”

Your smile only grew wider, and a warmth spread through him, almost overwhelming. He had never wanted something more than to see that smile, to feel the way it made his heart flutter and ache all at once.

You swallowed, your heart thundering in your chest. This felt like a dream, and yet, you knew it was real.

With a deep breath, you found the courage to speak, the weight of everything finally coming out in the words you’d been holding back for months.

“I love you too Jungwon,” you confessed, your voice shaking just slightly. “I’ve loved you for months now… but I didn’t want to tell you, in case… in case you didn’t feel the same.”

The words hung between you, and for a moment, everything was still.

Then, Jungwon’s expression softened, his eyes bright with something you could only describe as pure relief and adoration. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead before pulling back slightly, his fingers still lightly resting on your face as he looked at you with such intensity.

His voice was barely above a whisper as he reached for your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your skin. “So, you… love me, too?”

You nodded, your eyes soft but filled with determination. “Yes. I always have.”

Jungwon’s heart swelled with relief and joy, the weight lifting from his chest. A soft smile spread across his face, and before he could think too much about it, the words tumbled out of him, filled with hope.

“Do you want to be my Valentine?” he asked, his voice low but full of sincerity.

“Yes,” you replied, without hesitation, your heart pounding as the world seemed to settle into place around you.

Jungwon took a deep breath, still holding your hand as his gaze locked with yours. He had taken the plunge before, but this moment felt different—bigger.

“Then,” he began, voice soft but steady, “do you also want to be my girlfriend?”

You blinked, your heart fluttering wildly as your chest filled with warmth. This was the moment, wasn’t it? The moment you had both been waiting for, yet too afraid to ask for.

Without hesitation, you nodded. “Yes. I’d love to.”

Jungwon couldn’t hide his smile, the relief flooding through him as he leaned in, his eyes soft but filled with adoration. And then, he whispered the words that had been on his mind for so long.

“You don’t even realize what you do to me, do you?”

You blinked, your heart pounding as you tried to process what he meant.

“You’ve got me falling for you harder than I ever thought possible.” And then he kissed you again—this time slow, gentle, full of everything that had been left unsaid for months.

Jungwon finally had you, finally knew you felt the same, and for the first time in a long while, he didn’t have to wonder.

Because you were his.

And he was yours.

a/n: well this sucked ass... i havent been feeling romantical since boyfriend troubles.

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[rollingeevee]

Wait if we have the Beasts bites what about Anciens?

Maybe in AU where they also corrupted or smth like that, how would their bites be like? (Ofc u don’t have to answer that im just dumping my ideas here xd)

I actually think I have an ask about Ancients somewhere else in my ask box that I plan to answer soon (they don’t have a bite but they do have smth similar in a way) but you specifically mentioned corrupted Ancients. And that inspired me… SO HAVE A TRUTHLESS RECLUSE X READER ONESHOT! MUAHAHAHA

Warnings: A lil suggestive?

“Pure Vanilla, please!” You begged your lover. “Our friends need our help! I don’t understand how you can just sit here and refuse to acknowledge that!”

Pure Vanilla, or Truthless Recluse as he’d renamed himself, remained silent. He stared intently at you, a gaze that used to be so warm and filled with care and life, now reduced to tired, intimidating darkness.

As you pleaded with the one you adored so dearly, fallen to Deceit, his mind swam with thoughts. Shadow Milk had allowed your stay in the Spire with him for a reason yet unknown to you. But the reason was becoming apparent to Pure Vanilla. Shadow Milk knew of the relationship between the two of you, and he knew that with corruption now plaguing the Truthless Recluse’s heart, it would only be a matter of time before the once compassionate Cookie found himself overcome with that Beastly urge to bite. And Shadow Milk, ever the lover of theatrics, wanted to see the once so pure Cookie give into his new, corrupted urges. To embrace the inner Beast that he knew lay dormant within.

He was taken out of his thoughts when you announced that, if he wouldn’t help you, you would find and help the young Cookies on your own. He seemed to snap to life at that declaration.

His arms were around you before you could reach the door, pulling, almost yanking, you back into the depths of the room Shadow Milk had provided for him. You turned to face him with a scowl. “Pure Vanilla, let me go!”

“Stay.” Was his only response, though it was more of a command than anything. His tone had lost the warmth you’d come to know and love from it, replaced by a cool, possessive rumble from deep within his chest that seemed to vibrate your entire body.

Your expression became desperate. “Please, my love…” your voice was quiet and despairing. “Please… let me go… or come with me… I cannot allow Shadow Milk to torment those poor children who have done so much to help you… to help us…”

His grip tightened. “You’re not going anywhere.” He asserted.

“Pure Vanilla-”

“Don’t leave me…” His voice was but a whisper this time, far less oppressive and dominating than his previously issued orders. Almost… vulnerable. You felt a spark of longing familiarity in your heart. You raised your eyes to look into his own. Those tired, beaten eyes shimmered with anguish and a helpless need for your presence. Pure Vanilla was still in there… somewhere… buried deep, surely, but he was there.

With soft eyes, you turned your body to face his and wrapped your arms around him in a hug. He nuzzled his face against the top of your head, nose buried in your hair. He sat down upon his bed, dragging you down to straddle his lap so that he could hide his face in the crook of your neck. As he breathed in your scent, the muscles of his body seemed to relax. It was another glimpse of the Pure Vanilla you knew and loved, further solidifying your belief that the Cookie you adored still existed amongst the corruption. But your focus on this caused you to fail to catch the feeling of his lips twitching against your dough.

What little was left of Pure Vanilla in the corrupted cookie urged him to stay calm. To resist. But Truthless Recluse could no longer fight the urge to bare his new fangs…

You heard your lover suck in a breath through his parting teeth. His body was tense again, now feeling akin to a predator poised to strike. Before you could figure out what was about to happen, he sank them into your soft dough with a hiss. You cried out as the area was flooded with a chilling cold that quickly spread throughout your body like a potent venom. You felt him exhale through his nose in what seemed like relief, the urge that had been gnawing at him since he fell into Deceit finally sated. You weakly whined as he swiped his tongue across the fresh mark that seemed to pulse with magic, unable to move as he pulled you so close that there was no longer any space between your bodies.

“All mine…”

[mintwithchoco]

Slow Down

Oh My Girl Yooa x Male Reader + Male OC

Word Count: 8883 words

Categories: smut, threesome, oral, spitroasting, rough sex(?), double penetration, subbygirlfriend!yooa honestly, commission

Commission Details: one quaint sized of mint choco ice cream (8k-10k words)

Inspired from:

Breathe in, breathe out. Control it. Just for a little bit more. You can hold it in, you can definitely hold it— 

“Fuck, Yooa… slow it, down, a little—”

She’s far from gone. You can’t stop her anymore. Relentlessly thrusting herself onto your cock is the only way for her to feed off this sinful pleasure. Being a few weeks away from her beloved significant other is quite the punishment, and with it comes an unquenchable desire to give you the best ride of your life, milking everything that your balls have saved.

This situation was within your expectation however, so you were prepared to pull an all-nighter. What wasn’t in it though was how you would have four orgasms, fully filling up her cock hungry soul in a span of three hours. To say that you were exhausted was an understatement—you felt like you were on the borderline of passing out as the constant streams of euphoria registers into your whole body. 

Both of your crotches were in complete mess. Your cum was literally leaking out of the horny girl, who just couldn't keep her mouth shut, resonating the room with her moans. With a piercing screech, she makes one last powerful thrust and sprays her climax juice all over your cock. 

Now that she’s laying almost lifeless on your torso, surely this enthralling scene would come to an end right?

Before you could even think about sleeping with your cock still inside her dripping cunt, she rises up once again after whispering into your ear these three sinful words, “Cum for me.” This instantly sparked something inside your brain to force everything you have left to tend to your lover’s demand. You hold her by the waist, steadily supporting her body moving against you. The friction proved to be effective as you were driving closer and closer to your peak.

 “Yes, yes, yes, fucking cum for me!”

 “Fuuuuck, Yooa!”

You let Yooa sink deep into your lap as you violently let out everything that you had—two thick shots of cum smearing her insides, adding towards the already unreasonable amount. Her head falls backwards, letting herself fully enjoy the feeling of being stuffed with your semen until she finally collapses onto you due to exhaustion. Meanwhile, it was a challenge for you to regain your composure after that intense session, especially with Yooa hugging you so tightly. Yet, you didn’t utter any complaints. A satisfied smile from your beautiful girlfriend is all you need to feel better.

“That was so good, oppa. You came so much for me.” Yooa said, in between breaths.

You giggle softly. “Anything to make my dearest happy. I hope you feel satisfied now.”

Yooa nods cutely, and you reply back with a kiss on her forehead. No other words were needed to end the night off as Yooa snuggles into your embrace, making you drape the sheets over your sweaty bodies before drifting off to sleep.

─◍──────

“...I just feel like, last night, we didn't do very much. Like, I need more.”

“You… want more?” She nods. “So, all we did last night was not enough?”

“No! No, oppa, I-I don’t mean it like that! It’s just that…” Yooa trails off, getting distracted by the ice cream stand by the street you both are going to before continuing, “It’s just that I wanna, you know, try something new when we do it again!”

The two of you are currently basking in the serenity of a much-needed getaway, a perfect retreat after Yooa’s performances at the recent Waterbomb festival. As both a congratulatory gift for her success plus an apology gift for being away on a business trip, you decided to bring her to the resort that she’s been dying to visit for months. Unsurprisingly, she was more than ecstatic to thoroughly experience this trip, savoring each second as if it was the most precious thing to her.

“Don't we always do that? I mean, last night, I came so much inside of you—”

Yooa puts a finger on your lips to stop you, as more people are appearing on the sidewalk. “Shhh, not so loud!” She sighs, before continuing, “I know it was, but it was me who wanted it. How about we switch it up this time, with you picking what we do next?”

But we’ve done everything though?

The intention of shopping at a mall near the resort is put on hold for a while with a stop for some ice cream. While you both munch down on your cold snack, you begin to wonder what your girlfriend really wants—what else haven't you done with her? 

For the last year you’ve been together, you’ve experienced a lot of new things with Yooa. Memories of the first date are still fresh in your mind, like it just happened yesterday. You remember being so nervous to even meet eyes with her, especially knowing the fact that a well-known idol you’ve seen on music shows countless times is now right in front of your eyes. You’d have to thank the hands of fate somehow, as Yooa was attracted to your charms from the very beginning, and how genuine you are going into this relationship after being tested with the cons of her busy idol life. 

Yooa suddenly whines at your tense expression. “Don’t think about it too much, oppa! I’m still very happy, and that's all that matters. Let's just enjoy this trip to the fullest, okay?”

She's right. Your focus should be on this trip that you have thoughtfully planned out purely for both of you. You then grab her hand swiftly and lead her through your next agenda. Before you know it, you both are already walking around the mall, your eyes left to scatter around for some interesting place to shop at. Eventually, Yooa stops by a dress store. 

She quickly gets to one of the clothes racks. “Look oppa, this dress is so cute! This one too! And this one!” 

You smile. “Why don't you try it on?” 

Yooa then excitedly grabbed three of the dresses that she likes and brought them to the dressing room. It only took her a few minutes to put on her first choice—a white floral patterned dress which flaunts her curves really well and more on the revealing side. When she comes out to show it off to you, you’re nothing but starstruck by her look.

“How does it look, oppa?” 

You snap out of your little trance. “Uhh, looks great to me! How do you feel about it?”

“It’s a little tight, but it's comfy!” Yooa spins around while checking out all the details of the dress. “Hmm. I’ll put on the next one.”

She returns to the small cubicle to change into her second option—a plain dark blue maxi dress, flowy and conservative that reaches by her ankles. It definitely looks much cuter than the first one, due to its simple nature. The door opens, and you are immediately greeted by a much brighter look from your girlfriend.

“Oppa look! This is sooooo cute! What do you think?” Yooa says while fluttering her dress cutely.

“Yeah, it does look cute babe! Wait, just stand there and look pretty.” You quickly pull out your phone and open your camera. Taking a few steps backwards to aim your phone properly, you began to capture a few pictures of your gorgeous girlfriend. 

“Hey—”

Suddenly, you accidentally hit something—or rather someone while you were backing up. You jerk in surprise and immediately look behind.

“Oh, shit—s-sorry! I didn't see you there,” Hold on, this guy looks familiar…

“It's cool, bro—eh?” The man’s neutral expression turns into a puzzled one once both of you meet eyes, as he also recognizes you. It didn't take that long for you both to find the answer.

“Mingi?!” Yooa exclaims.

Take another look at his face, and your eyes widen. “No way! What's up bro?”

Mingi isn't just an acquaintance; more accurately, he's your former rival. Before you became close with Yooa, he was the one taking her on dates, spoiling her with gifts, and, for all the obvious reasons, shaping her into the woman you’re now with. In some ways, you could admit that they made a great couple, given how happy they seemed together. But in the end, it wasn’t meant to be. Their careers clashed too much, pulling them in different directions. Thankfully, they ended things on good terms, as shown by how well they still maintain their friendship over the years.

You give Mingi a firm handshake. “Good, good. Are you two on a holiday?” 

“Yeah, I’ve been away because of work and she's been busy as well, so we decided to just take a little detour here. What about you, what are you doing here?”

Mingi beams, “Oh, this is actually my store! Well—not exactly mine, but my sister’s store. I’m just helping with a few things here.” 

Yooa butts in, “No wonder the store felt familiar! Hey, can we get a discount on these?” 

“An idol asking for a discount? That’s rare.” 

“Hey, idols still need to save some money if given the chance!”

Mingi and Yooa continue to tease each other, going back and forth with each other like back in their days. Surprisingly, you were unfazed by their shenanigans at all. Jealousy has never even crossed your mind. It's all due to the fact that Mingi has been nothing but genuinely nice to the both of you, even going as far as advising you on some things about Yooa in your early days. And like he mentioned to Yooa, he is also not interested in looking for another partner yet, which means a scheme of getting back together is definitely not in his books. Hopefully.

“Alright, alright, I’ll give you these three dresses for the price of one. Happy?” Mingi offers, and Yooa excitedly agrees.

You shake your head in response, feeling the secondhand embarrassment from your girlfriend’s playful behavior. As Mingi sends both her and a staff member to the receptionist for some final adjustments and the payment of the dresses, you thank him for the generous offer.

“It's nothing really. Hey, we should totally hang out sometime. Been a while since we had a drink.”

“Yeah, dude! I’ll see if we can make the time.”

Mingi snickers. “No, no, no, I mean, just us. Boys talk, you know what I mean?”

You thought about it for a while until you caught his message. “Gotcha, gotcha.” Within minutes, Yooa returns to you with a bag on hand containing the dresses. A big smile is plastered on her face. “All done, babe?”

Yooa nods. “Thanks again Mingi! I’ll be sure to promote your store on my Insta!”

“You better be, or else I'm getting killed by Minju. You two keep enjoying your day, alright?”

You both bid Mingi a goodbye and went on to check out some other stores around. Amidst the shopping spree and the almost excessive spending done by your girlfriend, one thing is still stuck in your mind throughout your day. 

“Boys talk, you know what I mean?”

It wouldn't hurt to bring it up to him, right?

───◍────

Afternoon soon came around, and you are now lying lifelessly across the bed in your hotel room. Your legs are at the point of breaking apart (probably an exaggeration on your end) due to the whole shopping spree in the morning. You blankly stare at the white ceiling, wondering when your next few events will unfold. But it quickly diminishes itself as the fatigue finally settles in your body, your eyelids growing heavier the more you sink into the ever so comfortable mattress.

Just as you are about to fall deeper into your state of resting, a face suddenly appears in your vision.

“Oppa!” Yooa’s loud voice rings in your ear, making you jolt awake. “Let's go for a swim!”

“A swim? That does sound nice. But—” You stretch out your limbs, before continuing, “I’m all drained out. Maybe later.”

Yooa flattens her lips, looking slightly dissatisfied with your answer. “Alright then, but I’m going first. Feel free to join in whenever you want!”

You flip your body over, sinking yourself into the bed with your face flat and give her a thumbs up. Yooa quickly finishes preparing herself for the pool, wearing a two piece swimsuit that perfectly accentuates her tantalizing figure and bringing along a couple of towels to cover up and dry herself right after. 

Before she reaches for the door, Yooa screams out, “I’m going now!” 

You weakly utter, “Mmm, have fun.”

The door closes, and you are now left alone in the room, being free with your own thoughts and to do whatever you want. Maybe you will join your girlfriend downstairs. Though to be fairly honest, you’re not a big fan of public swimming pools, so the only reason why you would go to the pool is to just admire Yooa in her skimpy swimsuit. So basically, there's not much use for you to go there anyways other than to accompany your girlfriend. But looking at her enthusiasm even if you—her beloved one who she sticks with all the time like glue—are not there shows that she can take care of herself well enough for the moment.

Eventually, your thoughts come across your encounter with Mingi once more, leading you to remember your concerns about Yooa. You don't know whether you should bring this topic up to him at all, despite Mingi’s open mind and carefree nature. Sure, he has helped you out in deciphering your girlfriend’s riddles since he went through it all with her. Though, this is more of a “personal” case rather than your typical puzzling interactions. 

But in your head, there's a voice that tells you to take this chance. Maybe there’s still a few things that Mingi hasn't told you, and this could be the right opportunity to do so. Soon enough, you got a hold of your phone and quickly got in contact with him.

[4:26 PM] You: yo, you free?

[4:28 PM] Mingi: in about a few mins

[4:28 PM] Mingi: why?

[4:29 PM] You: lets hang out, i have smth to talk about

[4:31 PM] Mingi: ight, where?

[4:32 PM] You: at the resort’s cafe, i’ll send you the location

[4:35 PM] Mingi: cool, be there in 10

It took you two minutes to get dressed and be headed downstairs to the cafe. Luckily, the swimming pool is on the top floor, so chances of being noticed by Yooa would be pretty low. Once inside the cafe, you are greeted by the calming scent of coffee beans, the buzzing sounds made from the espresso machine, brewing a fresh shot of that liquid gold caffeine.

A waiter soon comes up to you when you finally find a seat by the window. “Americano, cold.”

“Alright. Anything else, sir?”

“Uhh, my buddy is coming soon, but I’m not sure what he wants—”

“A hot caramel macchiato, please.” A voice suddenly appears behind the waiter, startling the both of you. “Oh, sorry.” Mingi then sits down in front of you while the waiter confirms your order before leaving you both to your matters. “Didn’t think we’d hang out this soon. You must have something on your mind.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “But it’s a little different this time. This might get a little uhh… vulgar.” Mingi’s eyebrows moved and a small smirk began to appear on his lips, already having an interest in the topic you’re about to cover. “We just gotta keep it lowkey.”

Mingi adjusts his clothes, all ears for the conversation. “Alright, hit me with it.” 

With every word you let out, you try your best to carefully explain what you’re dealing with while keeping it in sentences that won't make anyone bat an eye even if they heard it. The further you talk, the further Mingi looks amused and keeps asking you more details about your lovemaking life. One after another, his questions grow to become more direct and specific which makes you a bit worried since the number of people coming into the cafe were also increasing. You try to give him a sign to lower his voice, but he brushes it off by saying, “Don’t worry man, no one’s really near us anyways.”

After gathering everything that you have said, Mingi began to give you a few suggestions, some of which are quite concerning and rather questionable. You rejected most of them, given that they were either out of your comfort zone or too much for you and probably Yooa to consume. I mean like, why would you constrict your girlfriend with ropes and tapes just to heighten her pleasures? Your vanilla-esque mind can only handle so much that you couldn’t even bear to watch your girlfriend being in pain even if she enjoys it. A few customers around are starting to give your pair a weird look because of your constant recoils of embarrassment after hearing such sinful words coming out of Mingi which were only bedroom appropriate. Eventually after even more refusal from you, Mingi finally lands on something that piques your interest.

“What about… adding another guy in one of your sessions?” 

“You mean a threesome?” 

“Yeah, but don’t get like a random guy. At least bring someone that is familiar to you, like a friend. It depends on her as well.”

“D-Did you ever do it?” 

Mingi snickers. "Yeah, I asked one of my staff to join in while we’re doing it in the office.”

Your eyes widen, almost spilling out the drink in your mouth before swallowing it quickly. “You serious?” Mingi shrugs his shoulders with a smirk on his face. “H-How did it go?”

“Oh, she loved it. Even asked the guy to come by the house after that.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Of course! He’s a youngster after all. Just giving him some fun, you know. But Minju doesn't like it whenever I bring someone over.” 

“Wait, when you said ‘we’, does that mean—”

“Oh, no no no! It was with another girl. Don’t worry, Yooa is not as much of a freak as you think.” 

“Of course it's an understatement, coming from you.”

You began to find the benefits in the option Mingi gave to you this time. It's something that you and Yooa have never tried; check. If done in the right way, you won’t feel uncomfortable doing it; check. All parties—Yooa, yourself and the other guy—will feel satisfied by the end; check. No more double takes, this is probably the perfect breakthrough that your relationship could take. 

“Seems like I just hit the bullseye.” Mingi says after noticing your nodding head in agreement. “So, is that the answer?”

You inhale a sharp breath. “M-Maybe. It's the only thing I could imagine myself doing. But, who should I bring tho—” Your eyes then lock itself on the man right in front of you, who was enjoying his drink and the scenery unfolding outside the window. In a glance, Mingi emits a cold yet flirtatious aura, clearly letting you know how much experience he has in these kinds of situations. Your brain overloads itself with various depictions of how you want to fulfill your girlfriend’s wish.

Mingi notices that you were looking at him for a bit too long. “What?” 

A hesitant look in your eyes was certain, but your lips were quick enough to utter, “Do you wanna join us tonight?”

Mingi chokes on his drink. His cool demeanor begins to crumble apart as he coughs away the pain in his throat, never expecting the sudden invitation. “Wa-Wa-Wait a minute, are you saying what I think you're saying?”

“I think I said it,” you wear an uncertain look on your face. “Can't think of anyone else that's more perfect for this than you. We’re already pretty close and since we're here, why not try it now? Plus, you can teach me a few things too, I guess.”

Mingi’s eyes blinked a few times, still processing what you had said. “Are y—Are you sure, bro? Like, reaaaaally sure?” He stops for a while, licks his lips, before continuing, “You do realize that I’m literally her last ex?”

“I know dude. But honestly, you’re the only guy that I’d trust with her if I wanna do this.” As Mingi calmly lines his thoughts together, you watch his actions intently, waiting for his answer. “T-That is, if you're free tonight. No pressure.”

“Oh my god.” Mingi rubs his temple, managing to let out a little chuckle, baffled by your assertion. His eyes are quick to scan the surroundings, hoping to find a camera of some sort, holding a belief that this is some sort of cursed prank. “Dude, tell me I’m dreaming right now. Ain’t no way you’re letting me clap your girl just like that.”

“You’re right. This does sound very wrong, but like—” The more you think about it, the more you feel that this is totally an absurd request. Although, the drive to uncover the unknown has been implanted in your head, with the motivation to please your girlfriend’s wants seeding it to full growth. “One time doesn’t hurt, right?” 

Mingi sighs, “Fuck, man.” 

For a moment, you felt like time is slowing down, eagerly making you nervous for Mingi's reply when actually, you shouldn't need to. His mind has already been poisoned with the sinful thoughts of Yooa taking on both of them at once, how loud she will be when they both enter her insides, burying her face in the crook of his neck when that beautiful body of hers is bent over, begging for more as her fingers grip onto the bed sheets because of how full she feels— 

“You know what, I could scrap the idea, we can find someth—”

“Fuck it. Just… don’t tell Minju about this. Please.” 

“I-I guess that's a yes?” 

Mingi replies with a slow nod. “I’ll say this flat out, I’m just doing this because of you. I’m not gonna let Yooa focus on me too much. You’re the main guy for tonight.”

A sense of relief washes over your body. At last, your mind can rest easy after finding the potential solution to your girlfriend’s request. All that's left is for you to cross your fingers and hope that Yooa will enjoy the thought of having Mingi joining in the bed. Based on her mood today, she might take the chance for a different view. You are also ready for anything else if things go south—you’re used to last minute decisions anyways.

“Thanks man, I really appreciate it. I know how she is, so we have nothing to worry about. Finish up your drink. I’ll take you to our room.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

Soon enough, you both are on your way to the said hotel room upstairs. Check the time on your phone, 6:03 P.M. You expected that Yooa would already be back in the room, but the trail grows cold as the room was still in the same way before you left. It's a better outcome for you at least, letting you to prepare yourself for the potentially life changing experience.

Meanwhile, Mingi quickly gets comfortable as he takes off his jacket and sits down on the edge of the bed. “She’s still at the pool?”

“Yeah, but she said that she's gonna be back soon,” you say while replying to Yooa’s message on your phone. “How about Minju? Is she okay with you being late?”

“Don't worry about it. I can make shit up. Worst I’ll get is a pinch on my chest,” As Mingi moves himself into the bed more, he asks, “Hey, what if she doesn't wanna do it? What do we do?”

You scrunch your face, not knowing the answer. “I hope that won't happen, because I got nothing else.”

Mingi puckers his lips, “Mmm, I don’t know man, I’m still on the fence here to be honest. And if I was her, I probably wouldn't do it.”

Two minutes later, a faint beep was heard and the door opened itself. Yooa enters the room swiftly, her lower half covered with a towel and her hair still looking pretty damp, a sign that she really did go for a dip in the swimming pool. She immediately stops in her tracks when she spots the other guest on the bed.

“Mingi? What are you doing here?” 

You walk over to Yooa who is still standing in front of the door. “Hey babe. Listen, uh…” You look over to Mingi, who gives you a reassuring nod. You began again, now bringing her in closer to you by the waist. “Remember when you told me that you wanna try out something new?”

Like magic, Yooa reads your mind. “Is that why he's here?”

“Kinda. We both met up just now and talked about it. And uh, Mingi suggests that we try out a threesome. Since he's already close with us, I thought to just—you know, invite him for it,” you explained. “So, what do you think about Mingi joining us for the night?” You applaud yourself silently in your head for successfully asking her without a lot of stuttering.

Mingi suddenly gets off the bed and comes up closer to the two of you. “Come on, Yooa. I know you miss a piece of me,” His fingers move to caress Yooa’s chin gently. “Princess.” 

Her eyes widen instantly upon remembering her term of endearment with Mingi, specifically used whenever he feels aroused. She obviously loved the nickname as well, as it is certain to make her blush even until now, along with the recollections of it being used in their special moments. 

Amidst her desire building up, the feeling of self-consciousness lands first in her heart. She knew that she wanted a change, but this is definitely a risky step to take, especially considering that Mingi, her last ex, is involved. His amorous personality is what scares her the most, as it might induce anger within you and worst case scenario, a reckless brawl. 

“Have you thought this through? I just—” She sighs, “I don't want the both of you to fight.”

“Babe, I’ve thought about it, and I’m sure of it. If you're not interested, that’s fine by us. Though I really hope you would consider it.” You then hold both of her hands. “I know you're worried about me being jealous or angry with Mingi, but I promise I won't feel that way. I know that I’m the one who wanted this, and I know what I’m getting into, so you have my whole word for it, dear.”

She met eyes to the two tall men standing right in front of her. Her boyfriend has a fixed gaze on her, showing hints of nervousness, possibly because of the unusually long time she's taking to answer his question. While her ex has a calm yet eager look, though deep inside, it probably could be described as hunger at this point, just waiting for the right moment to devour its prey to fully satisfy his desires.

There is no amount of pressure that can match what Yooa is currently facing. She would literally be playing with fire, risking her relationship all for her own sexual desires. As she looks upon their eyes once again, it seems that they’re confident enough to invite her to do the act, especially her own lover, showing how much trust he has on both Mingi and Yooa, even if they are both facing a potential change of heart.

Mingi immediately breaks the few seconds of silence, “Look, I’m not gonna seduce you. I just want you to know that he's my bro, and bros won't hurt each other, mentally and physically. I’m just gonna be your uh, ‘Cock Number 2’ for tonight. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The line of restrictions starts to fade away, as lust begins to take over with trust and devotion coming into play.

She takes a deep breath, and exhales slowly, before her lips part to speak, “Alright, let's have some fun, boys.”

Without wasting any time, you bring her in for a passionate kiss. Her body feels a little cold due from her time in the pool, but you love it nonetheless—she feels fresh in your arms, ready to be ravaged by the two of you. You found yourself falling further into her lips, and the tenderness of it led to an addiction that compelled your arms to hold her more securely. There is no doubt that you are already used to making out with your girlfriend; nonetheless, the feelings that you have are so intense that they could never leave your mind, a craving that is endless.

“Hey, don't leave me out now.” Mingi teases, feeling a little lonely looking at the couple.

After chuckling at his remark, Yooa invites him in to make out with her as well. Mingi shows no sign of hesitation, immediately latching onto her lips before she could even prepare for it. It is certainly odd to see a literal replay of how these two were back then, but you don’t let jealousy creep up into your head—you did agree to all of this unfolding anyways. All you can do now is to reach over to remove the towel covering Yooa’s legs and gently began caressing her beautiful figure from behind.

“Don’t forget your man behind you. Give him some love as well.” 

There’s not a single bit of resistance left—Yooa submits herself to the four hands that roam around her body as lust begins filling up her mind in every passing second. Mingi attacks her neck with soft pecks and bites, careful not to leave a mark. You, on the other hand, struggle to find the hem of her top while leaving kisses on her shoulders. After guiding your hand to it, Yooa reaches down to your crotch and cups the growing bulge in between your legs. 

“Fuck—” you gasp as her fingers massages your clothed cock, delicate yet agonizing. Although her touch is shooting copious amounts of pleasure into you, you manage to slip a hand under her top to reach her mounds. They fit perfectly in your palm, and you couldn't help but to just knead her breasts and tweak her nipples, making her jerk pleasurably.

Mingi puts a halt on his kisses. “I think it’s time we get more comfortable.”

You agreed almost immediately, making both of them giggle as you complain about your legs getting sore. You lift Yooa right into your arms, carrying her in a bridal style to bring her over to the much more pleasant bed. As soon as you lay her down on the soft mattress, she wraps her arms by your neck and pulls you into her lips once again. Mingi scoots over to the other side, takes off his shirt and joins in with your intertwining bodies on the bed.

He stares stupidly at the full view of Yooa’s figure reflected from the dim lights of the room. As his hands slowly creep upon her waist, he blurts out, “Damn, your body still looks fine as hell, just the way as I remember it.”

“Go on then, take off her clothes. You’ll get a better view that way,” you respond before going back to Yooa’s lips.

“Stole the words right out of my mouth.” 

Yooa's top is gone within seconds, and her bare breasts are finally fully exposed to your eyes. Perfectly round and perky with a set of brown protruding nipples, her tits are never disappointing, never failing to make you drool for it every time. Although before you could satisfy your own hunger, Mingi lands his lips onto them first while squeezing each boob gently in his palms. Her body starts to jerk at the pleasing touch, and the way your kisses trails across her neck and shoulders brings shivers down her spine. 

“Oh god, this feels, amazing…” Yooa breathlessly moans.

Intoxicated by her seductive tone, you and Mingi continue your teasing, or in one way to put it, worship her captivating body. A connection is made in both of your brains when the two of you dive mouth first on her erect nipples at the same time. Yooa throws her head back the more their tongues swirl around and suck on her areola, with each whimper driving both men nuts and hungry for more. 

Your idling hand then lands itself on her midriff, caressing each visible tone of her abs muscle that she worked on for years to maintain. It’s one of your favorite parts about her, though arguably, everything about her is perfect in your eyes. And obviously, the second man in the room shares the same thought, as his hands drift towards the heat between her legs, the main dish for the night. 

He slips it under her bottoms, and it is met with slickness on his fingers. A smirk is evident on his face. “Enjoying it so far, hun?”

“You— fuck— mmmh—” Yooa struggles to let out coherent words, her feelings still mixed around by the inconclusive thought that her past and present are on the verge of fighting for her pleasure, morals are being thrown away for the sake of discovering a new side.

Mingi makes contact with her vagina, his index and middle fingers help it to open up slightly, causing more of her juices to leak out. In the meantime, you continue to give love on her upper body, let it be her breasts, arms, pits, waist, stomach, anything deemed to be a part of Yooa is not leaving untouched by your kisses. Eventually, Mingi takes a big step by taking off the last article that’s left on her body. 

She moans at the feeling of being vulnerable and sensitive to the two men beside her, with the cold ambience of the room adding up to the cause of her shivering. After throwing the undergarment somewhere in the room, Mingi then moves himself in between of Yooa’s legs, but stops himself before going closer. 

“Dude, go for it. No need to ask me.”

Your mind immediately did a double take on what you said spontaneously. The words of affirmation goes straight out of your mouth with no hesitation whatsoever, and it baffles you how a few minutes ago, you are also unsure whether this was a good idea or not. It’s safe to say that you are now driven by only lust in this new experience, and you want to hope that it will get much better, because there are still a few doubts left in your mind. 

Mingi licks his lips in anticipation. Both of his hands hold onto her thighs, letting her to spread them apart as he descends his head lower towards her glistening pussy. He breathes out an impressed gasp, and his eyes are now locked upon his mouth-watering meal. Warm air grazes over her damp labia, and his fingers return to tease the opening to her walls. Yooa continues to squirm under your body due to Mingi’s immaculate touch, and desperation is imminent in her eyes. 

Yooa manages to reach over to the hem of your shirt to give it a little tug. You catch the message in an instant, so you take some time stripping down, leaving only your boxers to be your cover.

You groan deeply as Yooa fondles your confined erection for the second time. “So fucking hard, and full…”

Suddenly, she yelps in surprise and throws her head back in pleasure. Look to your right, and you’re greeted by the sight of Mingi devouring her pussy, lapping up all of her juices flowing out while gently penetrating her slit with his tongue. It freezes you in place for a second—this is a whole new appeal that strikes both arousal and fear inside you, but to be fair, it was all going in the way that you wanted it to be.

“I need— mmh, your cock, p-please?” Such a filthy request, coming from a goddess-like voice. 

Naturally, shyness overwhelms you. But why would you resist any further? It would be a big waste for you to dip out now. With a deep breath, you release your member from its confines, and it springs out hard and fairly warm. Salivating at the impressive length, she instinctively grabs it by the base, and strokes it gently with all that she can. More precum leaks out of your slit, an occurrence that has been happening since the beginning of the act, and it only grows better when it is finally shown to your girlfriend’s eyes.

The moment when Mingi sucks wholeheartedly on her pussy is when you begin inching your shaft closer to her face. As Yooa moans profusely with her mouth open, your tip makes contact with her plump lips and automatically, like a vacuum, it enters the wet cavern. The three of you are now connected in some way, and it is definitely a feastful sight to witness for those who are into it.

“She tastes so fucking good.” Mingi moans. “This never gets old.” 

Yooa is clearly getting accustomed with Mingi’s company in such a wicked act, and the same could be said to you, as your erection throbs over each lick to its underside and tip. It’s not a surprise that the view of Yooa’s gorgeous eyes locking upon yours as she takes you in more would drive your libido into overdrive.

“Just like that, princess. Good girl,” you groan.

Your hand having a firm grip on her head is something you rarely do, especially when you’re the one moving it further into your crotch. You’ve never gotten this rough with Yooa before, even your voice has dropped deep, filled with eagerness and dominance. As a copious amount of spit seeps out of her sealed mouth, so too does her vagina leak more, and it’s all thanks to the newly added two fingers thrusting in and out of her. 

Mingi is locked in, never leaving any parts of her pussy untouched and unstimulated. Be it with his lips or his fingers, he’s not showing any signs of halting his progress, amidst the suffocating clamp of her thighs around his head and the constant harsh jerks of her figure. The flame of passion continues to burn brighter, fueled by the girl’s wordless wails, intensifying with each of his rapid motions, all to gratify Yooa’s sensations. 

A thought comes across your mind, as you notice a small space on her crotch that’s left unattended—a perfect spot for another hand to lay upon. You slowly sneak your way to it, and the middle finger is immediately acquainted with her clitoris as it begins rubbing the flesh delicately. Alongside the vibrations from her mouth as she vocally expresses herself around you, a perfect cycle of pleasure is somehow made.

Disappointingly, the cycle is about to break after a while, as she is reaching her limits. Your shaft suddenly appears out of Yooa’s mouth, her back then arched itself perfectly while having both hands on Mingi’s head, holding on for dear life. Never uttering any complaints about the pain however, Mingi continues his feast like a hungry animal, gripping onto her thighs to make her stay put. 

“Oh my god, oh my god, I’m cumming! Fuck—”

Give her head a gentle rub. A little comfort is the final stretch she needs to reach her orgasm, and she cums hard. Her head falls back, as she sprays love juices all over Mingi’s face and drenching the bed sheets. You’re even more impressed by the fact that he didn't falter from the pressure of her squirting, and instead diving right back into it, all in order to lap up everything that she had to offer.

The high comes to an end when Yooa raises herself up to lean by the bed frame, her chest heaving to gather some air. “Goodness, that was amazing.”

“Wasn’t that bad huh, princess?” Mingi teases while wiping his face with his own shirt. 

Yooa nudges him on the chest. “Shut up.”

“So, what's next?” you ask.

The man in front of you smirks as he gently caresses Yooa’s chin. “Gotta say, I quite miss the feeling of these lips being around me.”

You couldn’t agree more. “Guess it’s my turn on the other side then.”

Yooa didn’t even get a single word in, and yet her body is already being turned around by the waist, forcing her to be on both knees. The tip grazes over her pussy, still freshly wet from her orgasm, and it easily receives the first inch of your shaft. While you begin pushing yourself into her more, Mingi finally relieves the pressure of his own, revealing his member to the girl's eyes.

His heart races intensely when Yooa looks up, her mesmerizing yet lustful gaze upon his pride is a view that would make any man fall. Focus on her plump lips, and he lines himself right in front of them. It then opens slightly, which gives him a chance to insert his length into her orifice. Though he twitches before he could move any further, her hot breaths grazing over his shaft forces him to leak more.

“Oh god, yes. That’s it, baby. Good girl.” Mingi breathes out.

Yooa’s body arches once both men successfully insert themselves from both of her ends. Dopamine rushes through her immediately, as her boyfriend goes in deeper while Mingi holds her head in place, not wanting her mouth to leave unexpectedly. She’s helpless—there’s almost nothing that she could do by herself as these two men had a chokehold on her entire being. 

Without you realizing it, the switch has finally been turned on, as you began thrusting into your love. 

You're a changed man. All of your worries have been swept away, obviously by the way you're making Yooa’s body tremble and jiggle with each move of your hips. You crave for her moans, but it was muffled up due to the second cock that's filling up all of the space in her mouth. A slight jealousy invades your thoughts, courtesy of how Mingi is enjoying the warmth of your girlfriend’s mouth, and it instinctively drives you to progressively extend your reach inside of her. You quickly shake it off your mind however—the trust you have for the both of them is strong.

Mingi strokes Yooa’s head gently. “That’s it baby. Look at me. Look at me while he’s stretching you out. Bet she feels so tight huh?”

“Oh, so fucking tight. Our princess is doing so well.”

Mingi gathers a bunch of Yooa’s hair to make a ponytail of some sort, turning it as his handle to begin fucking her mouth. She gags repeatedly as he goes in deep down her throat, drool forming on either side of her lips. With the way things are going, the pet name “Princess” wouldn’t really line up with how much filth there is plastered on her image—lips messy with saliva and precum, body fully sheen with sweat and teary eyes begging for more. For this night alone, she is the perfect fuckdoll for the both of you, her mind has been reprogrammed only to fulfill lust and submit to pleasure. 

Thrust after thrust, and she ascends to her climax once again, the vigorous vibrations felt on Mingi’s shaft becomes the sign of her pussy gushing out juices all over you. The two of you express praises for your princess by not halting the pace, motivating her to leak out more. 

“Aww, our princess is leaking out so much for us! Do you want us to go faster?” Mingi teases. 

You don’t need her confirmation. Your hands are already digging into her waist, gripping them as tight as you can while relentlessly driving your hips. Yooa's body goes numb—she couldn’t catch a break for even a second, as the two hungry beasts are going rampant, using every bit of what she has to offer physically. 

Mingi loves this scene. You may not realize it, but other than being the second cock inside of your girlfriend, he has successfully turned you into the complete opposite of what you are in bed before. From being the submissive one, who lets all the work done by the girl, you’ve become the dominant one that takes control over everything, driven only by desire. In addition to that, the possessive side of yours was really starting to show its fangs, constantly asking Yooa who’s her real owner is.

She manages to release herself from her ex’s cock, before blurting out, “I’m yours, I’m yours! Only you oppa—” 

You cut her off by yanking her hair, pulling her closer to you. “Did I tell you to stop sucking him off?” 

Yooa moans profusely as your thrusts are put into a halt, the whole shaft sealing up her holes, forcing the walls to contract in. Though, you brush it off like it was nothing and manage to turn her body around to face you once more.

Almost immediately after you left her pussy, the neediness overpowers her as she gets all whiny, pushing her crotch against yours repeatedly. “Fuck, please please please, I need more, I need more—”

You calm her down and reach close to her right ear, “I’m about to show you, baby. Slow down.”

“God, that’s so fucking hot.” Mingi speaks out, his gaze locked towards the two of you while he idly strokes his member.

A smirk lands across your face. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Mingi moves himself behind Yooa and wraps his hands on her waist. “You don’t need to tell me twice. I know what our princess really wants.”

The girl giggles as Mingi brings her into his lap, her back resting against his muscular frame. His shaft appears right in between her thighs, and he guides it to the other hole that hasn’t been invaded by anything yet. Her legs shake when the man behind her slaps his cock over the puckering hole, but you hold them in place before the tip finally begins penetrating it. Thanks to him facefucking Yooa earlier, her saliva acts as some sort of lube to ease the friction when entering her extremely tight ass.

“Holy shit, you’re so fucking tight.” Mingi moans. 

While Mingi struggles to penetrate your girlfriend’s back door deeper, you move yourself right in front of the two, letting your cock to rest against her midriff. You witness the way Yooa’s face contorts as Mingi brings her down more, biting her lips as response to the painful yet pleasuring act—she’s still so gorgeous amidst everything, and you crave for more. 

“I’m going in now, princess. Now, be a good girl for us and don’t cum until I say so, okay?”

You smile at her small nod of approval, her wanting eyes looking upon yours as you line yourself up to enter her once again. It feels a lot more tighter now somehow, due to the fact that her walls are convulsing even more with the addition of Mingi from behind. Nonetheless, you both push through the obstacle, filling up her insides like snuffing a pillow into its own sleeve.

This feeling of being this full was too much for her, and Yooa definitely knows that this is her limit. But she wants to keep going, the pleasure is too addicting for her, even if she knows that she will be completely drained by the end of this. As the two men drive even further into her guts, the exchange of guttural exhales are the signs of her euphoria, peaking at levels that she didn’t know existed.

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod, fuuuuuuck!” Her head falls back as your whole shaft is finally inside her, and ironically, you try your best not to cum first, the sudden constriction of her walls puts you instantly on cloud nine.

All three of you go stiff for a moment, trying to regain some sense before proceeding with this new experience. You leaned down to share a few kisses with your princess, “Does it feel good, baby?”

“It f-feels so good! I feel so full, oppa!”

Mingi adds fuel to the fire. “Are you ready for more, princess?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, pleasepleaseplease, I need it so bad!”

God, she looks so fucking cute being all needy and whiny like that, you thought. With a deep breath, your hips began to move in and out between her legs, disappearing your shaft inside of her slick cunt. At the same time, Mingi thrusts up into your girlfriend’s ass, and her body recoils with each of his harsh movements.

Yooa realizes the difficulty of the task that she had been given. How can she hold herself from orgasming when there’s two fully erect cocks all up in her guts? Simple answer; she can’t. She’s trembling so much that it’s getting harder for the both of you to hold her in place. 

Feeling compassionate, you motivate her, “Hold it in, princess. You can do it.” 

“Yes, princess. You’re a good girl for us, aren’t you?” Mingi continues.

She nods profusely. The thrusts now grow even stronger on both ends, as a perfect alternating rhythm is achieved between the two men. Struggling to contain the pressure building inside her, you gave her a little distraction by letting her suck on two of your fingers. It’s evident that her patience is running out as she glares at you with pleading eyes. 

“Tell me what you really want, princess. I’ll let you cum if I hear what I want.”

“I— I want— both of you— cum inside—”

“Aww, our princess wants to be filled up! Surely we won’t disappoint her huh, Mingi?”

Mingi snickers, before replying, “Fuck yeah, let’s give her what she deserves.”

The two of you go off on her, chasing the imminent climax that all of you desire the most. It’s getting closer than ever; the astonishing view of Yooa’s holes being full of white, and the extreme waterfall of her delectable juices gushing out. A few more thrusts later, and it finally comes to fruition. Your grip on her waist tightens, holding her in place as you fill her pussy to the brim with your hot load. The manly groans in the room doubles as Mingi also reaches his own peak, cumming deep inside of your girlfriend’s ass, completing the vision that you never even thought of dreaming about before.

Amidst the overload of euphoria and shortness of breath, you manage to break Yooa’s short curfew, “Cum for us, princess.”

In an instant, the pressure inside her snaps. With a gut wrenching moan, you witness her third climax—the most you have ever seen. It went exactly as you have pictured, the way her squirt covers your entire crotch in an instant, pouring out an immense amount nonstop until it soaks up the bedsheets and the pure ecstasy reflected in her eyes, finally being fulfilled of her wish. 

“Holy fuck,” you first utter, after a few seconds of just heavy breathing. “That was insane.”

Yooa’s body falls weak on top of Mingi’s, her head resting by his shoulder. He flinches for a second, “You okay there, princess?”

“Fuck, you guys,” she says, as you pull out of her slowly. “I feel so full.” As Mingi also retreats from her ass, it immediately stuns you with a view of both of your thick loads escaping the freshly fucked holes.

You let out a satisfied sigh at her response. The night was a complete success! “You deserved it, baby.”

The mess all over the room was the wake up call to reality for all of you. As laughter starts to erupt when Mingi makes a joke about the hotel service, you realize that it was an eye opening experience, considering the amount of comfort you felt after sharing an intimate experience together. Exhaustion then starts to settle in, but not for the guest of the night.

“Where the heck is— oh, here it is.” Mingi finds his phone beneath the bedside table, and is soon shocked as soon as he opens it. “Oh, fuck.”

You ask, “What's wrong?” Mingi shows the screen to you, making you gasp. “Holy fu—19 missed calls?!!”

Mingi hisses, knowing how much he’s getting scolded in a few more minutes by Minju. “Yeeeeah, I gotta go.” He immediately springs out of bed and dresses up. “It was great by the way, I enjoyed it.”

“Yeah, we did too. Thanks a lot man. You take care now,” you reply.

Yooa pops out of the blanket, “Bye Mingi!”

After you witness Mingi swiftly leaving your hotel room, the focus is now back to your lover. With a strong yank of the blanket, Yooa’s naked figure is revealed to you once again. 

You’re not slowing down just yet.

“Huh? B-Babe? What’s wrong?” she reacts.

“We’re not done yet, princess,” you say as your hand trails over her waist. “I haven’t fucked you thoroughly.”

“W-Wait babe, at least let me cle—”

“That can wait. Besides,” you whispered close to her ear, “I’m gonna fill you up again.”

“Ahh! Babe! S-Slow down!”

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note; thank you so much for the commission anon, and thank you so much for your unwavering patience! this was definitely one of the hardest fics that i’ve worked on, but i hope that it was worth waiting for a year! 💀 

i still have some doubts about the concept of this story, and i know that there will definitely be some peeps that will not enjoy it because of the dynamic, but it's built itself that way just because i wanna make it entertaining in a way, so i hope i’ve done exactly that :)

special thanks to @ggidolsmuts for helping out with proofreading! as he’s the resident oh my girl stan, i had to ask for his touch and this fic would not be alive without his guidance 😔✊🏻

anyways, thank you so much for reading and have a beautiful day up ahead! <33

[nineteenninety-six]

I Don’t Like You

REQUEST: enemies to lovers requested by @virtuapicklequirkreader

AN: I’m not fan of this but I did struggle with it but here it is.

You watch Alucard interact with the group, recalling the story that led him here, saving their asses.

Oh how you didn’t like him.

Did he save you when you were sure you were going to die a certain death? Sure.

Did he bring invaluable information to the group that could help up? Also sure.

Did that mean you had to like him? Absolutely not.

Despite how much you didn’t like him you had to admit that he was knowledgeable and strong, so you kept your mouth shut since but your body language and facial expressions told another story.

────

You crept away from the group, seeking a moment of peace and privacy before you set off across France looking for Sekhmet’s soul but it wasn’t long until you heard footsteps heading your way.

They were light but determined, they knew exactly where she was and soon enough, Alucard approached her, his face unreadable.

“Is it time to leave?” You ask, confused at his presence.

“No, not yet” Alucard spares a glance at the group a distance away from them, “I was just curious about something.”

“Hm?” 

“You don’t like me very much do you?”

There was a faint smirk on his lips, and annoyance struck through you.

“I’m not sure what you mean?” You huff as you turn your attention to your bag, double checking you had everything.

“I’ve been alive for centuries, I can tell when someone doesn’t like me” 

There is a teasing tone in his voice which again, irritates you.

“I don’t see how it matters” You mutter, “Like, dislike, we all have the same goal here.”

“Hm” Alucard’s lips twitch into an almost smile before he turns around and returns to the group and you huff and glare at his back.

────

You glanced over at Annette who was still in her trance with Richter fast asleep beside her before you returned back to your book. You had tried to sleep as this was the best opportunity but all you could do is sneak in little naps here and there.

“You should be resting”

You look up at Alucard who took a seat next to you.

The two of you had gotten closer during the duration of your travels, a far cry from when you first met.

“I’ve tried, all I’ve managed to do is nap.” You sigh, “I feel useless. I can’t do anything to help you guys, not really.”

“That’s not true”

You scoff, “Isn’t it? You’re a 300 year vampire with a bloody magic sword, Richter, Annette and Mariah all have magic and I’m just a plain old human, hardly helpful”

“You are far more helpful then you realise” Alucard picks up the book you cast aside, “You’re like a travel encyclopedia, so much knowledge in your brain and you used that to help us. More than once”

You flash him a soft yet thankful smile, “Thank you”

Alucard returns the smile, “Does this mean you like me now?”

You huff a laugh at him, “Don’t get ahead of yourself”

[00valentina-writes00]

please please put the self harm fic back up, it was really good, and as someone who’s struggled before, it brought me some comfort. i really wish people just didn’t interact with things they don’t like, it’s appropriately tagged, and it’s not hurting anyone. i genuinely didn’t see anything wrong with it

You know what. Yeah I will. Here you go mamas <3

♡♥︎Grayson and Sevika catching you in a self harm relapse♥︎♡ (reuploaded)

Warnings: self-harm, mental health struggles, depression, angst, cutting, blood, sensitive topics

Disclaimer: This post isn’t meant to offend anyone (I already deleted it once), and I don’t recommend reading it if you’re not in a good place/can’t handle it. I wrote this because some people find comfort in reading things like this, and just because you don’t want to read it doesn’t mean you have to ruin it for everyone. Please just don’t interact/read the post if you don’t like it. For those who do read it and find comfort in it, I hope things get better for you. It sucks being in a place where you mind is your worst enemy, and my heart goes out to all of you.

♡Grayson♡

The weight of the silence in the house feels like a tangible thing—thick and suffocating. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor, not really seeing anything. The quiet hum of the air purifier and the faint creaking of the old floorboards are the only sounds breaking the stillness.

It’s hard to pinpoint when the darkness started creeping back in, but it’s here, and it feels heavier than ever. There’s a weight on your chest, as if something is sitting there, pressing you down until you can’t breathe.

You feel it—how the world looks like it’s slipping through your fingers, how you can’t keep your head above water. The struggle is so exhausting. You can feel the tears building, the tightness in your throat as they fight to spill over, but you swallow them down. You can’t burden her with it.

Not now. Not when she’s already dealing with so much.

Grayson’s voice echoes in your mind, the soft yet firm way she always tells you, “If you need anything, you just ask. Don’t shut me out.” But asking for help feels impossible when it feels like you’re crumbling from the inside out. You know she means it when she says it, and you know that deep down, she’ll always be there for you. She has been.

But she’s been working late recently. You know the weight of her job—how demanding it is. How much responsibility she carries on her shoulders, always so composed, so calm. She’s always the one who carries others, the one who stays steady when everything else feels like it’s about to fall apart.

And yet, here you are, falling apart in the silence of your own mind.

You press your hand to your arm, feeling the familiar pull of that dark urge. It’s like a quiet whisper, promising you release, promising relief. You know it won’t fix anything—it never does. But for just a moment, the thought of it feels comforting. Control, a semblance of control, over a mind that is spiraling.

The sharp sting of a blade against skin is an old friend, one that promises to quiet the storm in your head, if only for a little while.

You grab the razor blade from the drawer by the bedside table, your hand shaking as you press the cool metal against your skin.

The moment it cuts into you, it’s like the world finally exhales. The pain is sharp, but it’s also grounding. It’s familiar. The blood wells up beneath the surface, the warmth of it seeping through your fingers as you press harder. The relief is fleeting but enough to keep you from drowning, at least for a little while.

You exhale shakily, closing your eyes as the tears finally come, hot and uncontrollable.

It doesn’t matter how many times you tell yourself you’re better than this. It doesn’t matter how many promises you’ve made to Grayson that you’re okay. You’re not. You never are, and right now, the world is too loud, too chaotic, and all you want is for it to stop.

When you hear the door creak open, your heart skips a beat. Grayson’s home.

You panic for a moment, suddenly aware of the blood on your fingers, the rawness of your own skin. You want to hide it, to pull away from her, to bury it and pretend that everything is fine.

But it’s too late. She’s already stepped into the room.

Her gaze locks onto you immediately, and you see the shift in her expression—a flicker of concern, followed by something else, something darker. Her eyes move to your hand, still clutched around the razor, then slowly trail up to your face, where the tears are still streaming down.

“Baby…” Her voice is low, filled with a quiet kind of devastation. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. The words are trapped somewhere deep inside, stuck behind the lump in your throat. Grayson is across the room in an instant, her long strides making quick work of the distance.

She kneels down in front of you, gently taking your hand with the blade in it, pulling it away from your skin, and tossing it onto the bedside table. She holds you, and it feels like the weight of the world has shifted, the tension in your chest finally starting to ease. Her arms wrap around you, pulling you to her, as she presses her face into your hair, murmuring soft words of comfort that you can barely hear over the rush of blood in your ears.

You close your eyes and let yourself sink into her, the warmth of her body and the scent of her cologne grounding you in a way nothing else does. Her arms tighten around you as she pulls you closer, as if trying to protect you from the storm inside your own mind.

“You don’t have to hide this from me,” Grayson says, her voice a mixture of pain and resolve. “I can’t help you if you don’t let me in.”

You can hear the underlying frustration in her tone, the helplessness that has started to creep in. She’s used to being in control, used to being the one who takes care of everyone else. But right now, she can’t fix this. She can’t make it go away. And that hurts her, you can see it in the way her brow furrows, in the way her hand gently caresses your arm as she inspects the damage.

Her fingertips brush against the cuts on your skin, and you flinch, not from pain, but from the guilt that rises in your chest. You can see it in her eyes—she’s not angry. She’s not disappointed. But she’s scared, and that’s almost worse than anything else.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “I just… I didn’t want to bother you with this. You have enough on your plate.”

Grayson’s grip tightens around you, pulling you closer, her voice soft but unwavering. “You’re never a bother. You’re my wife, and I love you. You’re never a burden.”

You bury your face into her shoulder, the tears coming faster now, as everything you’ve been holding inside comes crashing to the surface. The guilt, the shame, the weight of it all—everything that you’ve kept hidden from her, from yourself, spills out in a flood of emotion that feels impossible to stop.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you choke out, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I can’t stop. I can’t stop it. It’s too much, Grayson.”

“I know,” she murmurs, her hands gently smoothing over your back, offering comfort in the only way she knows how. “I know, baby. I’m here. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Her words are like a balm to the rawness inside you, but the emptiness lingers. You feel lost, adrift in the dark waters of your own mind, and nothing seems to anchor you. Not even Grayson, though you know she’d do anything to keep you safe.

But you don’t know how to be safe anymore. You don’t know how to feel okay when everything inside you feels broken.

Grayson doesn’t say anything for a while, just holding you tightly, letting you cry, letting the storm rage inside you until there’s nothing left to say.

You eventually feel her fingers gently tracing over your arms, inspecting the cuts more carefully now. The gentle touch sends a shiver through your body, and you can’t help but wince, both from the pain of your wounds and the fear that she’ll look at you with disgust.

But when you look up, her face is soft, her eyes filled with nothing but love and concern. There’s no judgment in her gaze, only a quiet understanding that cuts through the fog in your mind.

“You’re not broken,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re not broken. You’re just hurting. And I’m here. We’re going to get through this together.”

Her words sink in, the weight of them settling on your heart like a gentle, steadying force.

You don’t have to fix yourself. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.

Grayson will help you piece yourself back together, just as she always has.

♡Sevika♡

The quiet hum of the city’s underbelly surrounds you, but all you can hear is the pulse of your own heartbeat, the rhythmic rush of blood beneath your skin. Your breathing is shallow, erratic, barely keeping pace with the thoughts that whirl through your head, drowning everything in a familiar numbness. Every inch of you feels heavy—like the weight of the world is bearing down on your chest, leaving you gasping for air.

You’ve been here before. Staring down at your own hands, watching them tremble as they hold a blade. The same blade you’ve used countless times to try to carve out the pain, to silence the screams in your head. You think you’re past this—think that maybe you’ve come far enough, healed enough, but the reality is… you never really can outrun the shadows that lurk behind you.

Sevika’s voice still lingers in your mind, distant yet comforting. The low, gravelly tone that usually manages to settle your nerves is nowhere to be found. She’s been busy, off with Silco’s business. There’s always something. Something that pulls her away from you, and each time, the void in your chest grows a little larger. The silence between you two stretches thinner, and you start to wonder if you’re just another weight—something she has to carry, but doesn’t truly need. Maybe you were just a brief moment of comfort for her, something to fill the empty space in her own broken heart.

It’s pathetic, you think.

Your gaze flickers to the blade in your hand—sharp, gleaming, a perfect reflection of everything you’ve been trying to avoid. With a shaky breath, you press it to the skin of your arm, not sure what to expect, but desperate for release.

The first slice is almost too easy, like the blade already knows where to go, knows exactly how to break you. You hiss, biting back a gasp. The rush of blood that spills out is both soothing and terrifying, pooling around your wrist and dripping onto the floor. It feels like you’ve just cracked open a dam, and there’s no stopping the flood.

But you can’t stop. You need to feel it. The rush. The pain. The way it takes everything away, leaves you empty but somehow full at the same time. It’s familiar, comforting, like a twisted lover.

But this time, it’s different.

The bleeding doesn’t stop.

Your breath catches, the room beginning to spin as the crimson liquid flows freely, quicker than you can manage. Your vision blurs as the pulse of panic rushes through you. You try to hold pressure, but it doesn’t work. You try to stop it, but it’s like the blood has a mind of its own, pouring faster than you can keep up.

Why won’t it stop?

The panic sets in, clawing at your chest, a grip of cold fear tightening around your ribs. You try to move, to find something to hold against the wound, but your hands are trembling too violently, your fingers slick with blood. The room feels smaller, darker, and all at once, you feel the walls closing in. Every breath is a struggle, and every thought feels like a weight you can’t bear.

And then—footsteps.

Sevika.

Her voice, low and dangerous, cuts through the haze of panic. “What the hell is going on here?”

You don’t have time to answer before she’s in front of you, her eyes narrowing as she takes in the sight of you, the blood dripping from your arm, the panic in your eyes. You want to say something, to apologize, but the words are tangled in your throat, a mass of guilt and shame. Her presence, usually so reassuring, now feels like an inescapable force, suffocating you with its intensity.

She doesn’t need to speak, her gaze enough to make you shrink back. But she doesn’t leave. She’s here. And that alone is enough to send a wave of emotion crashing over you—relief mixed with guilt, pain, and that overwhelming, gnawing feeling of needing something you can’t quite define.

You open your mouth to say something—anything—but it’s like your body betrays you, unable to form a coherent thought.

Sevika’s gaze shifts to the blade in your hand, and for a moment, there’s nothing but silence between you two. Her jaw tightens, and her lips press into a thin line. But then her hands move, strong and steady, like the storm in her eyes isn’t enough to tear her apart. She takes your wrist with a force that makes you flinch, her fingers like iron bands around your arm, yet there’s no malice in her touch. Only a quiet fury—one that’s familiar to her, but so unlike you.

She doesn’t shout. She doesn’t ask you why. Instead, she moves quickly, her voice calm but filled with that hard edge of discipline. “Give me the fucking blade.”

You hesitate, feeling the cold, sharp steel pressing against your skin. For a moment, you wonder if this is it—if she’s finally tired of you. If this is where the weight of your brokenness makes her snap.

But instead of anger, you see something different in her eyes. Something sharp and raw. Something that looks like pain.

You don’t argue as she pries the blade from your trembling fingers. Her gaze never leaves you as she takes it, her lips pressed into a hard line. You can’t tell if she’s angry or worried, but you feel like you’re drowning in her gaze. In the silence between you two, the blood that still flows from your arm, the tightness in your chest, the burning shame—you feel it all. The weight of your struggle is too much for one person to bear, even if that person is Sevika.

She’s too quiet, too still, for too long. And you can’t take it.

“I—I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice cracked and fragile. “I didn’t mean to… to make you worry. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Sevika doesn’t respond right away, her face unreadable as she carefully presses a cloth against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. The way her fingers move so methodically, the precision of her touch—it makes you feel like you’re falling apart even more.

“You didn’t want to make me worry?” she says, her voice quieter than usual, a soft growl of frustration in her words. “Then why the hell are you doing this to yourself?”

You shake your head, biting back the tears that threaten to spill over. You don’t have an answer. You never really did. It’s always been a struggle, hasn’t it? One that you fight alone, because nobody could possibly understand. Not her. Not anyone.

But Sevika doesn’t need answers. She doesn’t need you to explain yourself, not right now. All she needs is to fix this. To stop you from bleeding out.

When she’s sure the bleeding has slowed, Sevika pulls you close, her strong arms wrapping around you. It’s the first time in what feels like forever that she’s not pushing you away. She holds you tightly, her breath steady against your ear, and for a moment, you forget about the cuts on your skin, the mess you’ve made of yourself, the guilt that weighs you down.

She doesn’t say anything for a long time. Her grip tightens around you, the warmth of her body seeping into yours. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she speaks, her voice low and rough.

“Don’t do this again.”

You nod, feeling a sob rise in your chest. You want to tell her you’ll be okay, that you won’t fall back into the darkness. But you don’t know if you can promise that. And for the first time in a long while, you let the tears fall, not because you’re weak, but because you don’t have to hide from her anymore.

Sevika’s not going anywhere. She never has been, not really. Even if she can’t fix everything, even if she doesn’t have all the answers—she’s here.

[insidekatmind]

The other woman~Jude Bellingham

Wearning: +18,smut, angst,cheating.

Request: yes!

It all started as a game, a way to have fun without complications. Jude had been your friend for years, but for a few months, your friendship had taken a different turn. No promises, no strings attached. Just the pleasure of being together when you both felt like it.

Yet, things were no longer that simple.

You’re sitting on a black leather couch in an exclusive club in Madrid, a glass of wine between your fingers. The place is crowded, the music vibrating in the air, but your attention is fixed on them. Jude and Ashlyn.

She laughs, leaning on his arm, her sparkling eyes fixed only on him. Jude smiles at her, whispers something in her ear, and you feel an inexplicable pang in your stomach.

"You’re torturing yourself," Maya, your best friend, says, casting you an inquisitive look.

"I’m not doing anything," you reply, bringing the glass to your lips.

"Yeah, except staring at him like you’re about to rip him from her arms with just the force of your thoughts."

You grimace. "He’s free to be with whoever he wants."

Maya sighs. "And you? You’re free to be with whoever you want, but you’re not. Have you ever wondered why?"

You avoid her question and look away from Jude, but it’s too late. His eyes meet yours. His smile fades for a moment, as if he’s sensed your discomfort. Then Ashlyn pulls him back to her, and he turns, leaving you with a sense of emptiness.

Later, as you’re heading home, you feel your phone vibrate. It’s a message from Jude.

"Wait for me outside. I’m coming."

Your heart races, but you pretend not to care. It doesn’t take long for him to arrive in his black car, the window rolled down.

"Get in," he says, with that voice that makes you tremble inside.

You bite your lip, then obey. There’s a heavy silence in the car.

"What happened earlier?" you ask, crossing your arms.

He clenches his jaw. "You should tell me. You seemed... different."

You huff. "Why? Because you were looking at me while you were with her?"

Jude parks the car on the side of the road, then turns to you. "Because I can’t help but look at you."

Your breath catches in your throat. "Jude, you shouldn’t say these things."

He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Then tell me it doesn’t mean anything. Tell me we can keep doing what we’re doing without anyone getting hurt."

You feel a lump tighten in your throat. "I can’t say that."

His gaze softens. "I knew it."

Weeks pass, and every moment with him becomes more intense, harder to ignore. But he’s still with Ashlyn, and you’re stuck in limbo.

One evening, while you’re in his apartment, you confront him.

"Jude, tell me the truth. What do you want from me?"

He looks at you for a long moment, then moves closer, brushing your face with his fingers. "I want you. I’ve always wanted you. But I’m afraid of ruining everything."

You hold your breath. "And what about Ashlyn?"

He lowers his gaze. "It’s not right for her. I know. But I’m afraid to admit what I feel for you."

You pull away, shaking your head. "You have to choose, Jude. Because I don’t want to be the hidden option in the shadows anymore."

Silence. Then, finally, a whisper.

"I choose you."

And this time, when he kisses you, it’s no longer a game. It’s real.

You return the kiss passionately, straddling him. Jude moans into the kiss, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

"God, I've wanted you for so long..." he murmurs, his lips moving to your neck.

You feel a shiver down your spine as his tongue trails over your skin, his touch igniting a fire within you. You kiss him hungrily, your hands exploring his abs over his shirt.

"Jude..." you gasp, your body pressed against his, "I want you so much."He groans, pulling you even closer, his body pressed against yours.

"You have no idea how badly I want you," he murmurs, his voice hoarse with desire. "I've been trying to resist, but it's impossible when you're like this."

He kisses you again, his lips hot and demanding, his tongue teasing yours.With trembling hands, you begin to unbutton his shirt, wanting to feel his skin against yours. Jude helps you, eagerly discarding the fabric and revealing his toned chest. You run your fingers over his abs, relishing in the way his muscles flex beneath your touch.

His hands grip your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as he pulls you even closer. He kisses your jawline, then your earlobe, his breath hot against your ear.

"I can't get enough of you," he whispers, his voice ragged with desire. "I've tried to deny it, but I can't anymore. I need you."You tangle your fingers in his hair as he kisses your collarbone, his lips leaving a trail of fire on your skin. You arch your back, pressing yourself against him, your body trembling with need.

"Jude, please," you gasp, "Take me."

You and Jude quickly undressed and then let him enter you while you held on to the car seat behind him. Jude groans and buries his head in the middle of your breast. “Always so tight,” he moaned.

You started riding him while moaning. "So big" you muttered and Jude squeezed your ass as he helped you ride him. "That's right, take it like this" Jude moaned. With every movement, waves of pleasure wash over you, making your body tingle all over. You look at him, seeing the desire in his eyes, how he bites his lip as he watches you ride him.

You look at him with pure desire and kiss him. His fingers dig into your hips, guiding your movements, as he kisses you back hungrily. He breaks the kiss and looks at you, his gaze full of intensity.

"You drive me crazy," he says, his voice low and rough. "No one else has ever made me feel like this."

“Mine” you moaned riding him while sucking his lip.

"All yours" he agrees, his hands gripping your waist tightly. "Only yours."

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin as you move against him.

"I don't want anyone else," he growls, his tone possessive. "You're mine."It's as if a fire is burning within you, each touch and movement bringing you closer to the edge. Your moans fill the car, blending with Jude's deep, guttural sounds.You move frantically, seeking release. You're so close, your body quivering with anticipation. "Don't stop" you pant, your forehead pressed against his.

He growls in response, his grip on you tightening. "I won't," he promises, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'm right here with you."Your breath hitches as you feel the heat building, your body on the brink of exploding. "That's it, let go" he coaxes, his voice a rough whisper. "Come for me."

And then it hits you, a wave of pleasure more intense than anything you've ever experienced washes over you, stars exploding behind your closed eyes. You cling to him more.Jude holds you close, his own release following close behind. His arms tighten around you, his face buried in your shoulder. For a moment, everything feels so real, so perfect. But as the echoes of pleasure fade, reality comes crashing back in.After catching your breath, you disentangle yourselves, pulling on clothes in silence. Jude looks out the window, avoiding your gaze. The silence is heavy, laden with unspoken words and uncertain feelings.

You break the silence first. "What now?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jude runs a hand through his hair, still not looking at you. "I don't know," he mutters."Is this just a fling for you?" you press on, needing to know where you stand.

He hesitates, his expression conflicted. "It's more than that," he admits. "But... I can't just leave Ashlyn."

A weight settles in your chest, the familiar ache of being someone's secret.“You said you chose me,” you whispered hurt.

Jude's shoulders sag, the guilt evident in his face. "I did choose you," he reiterates, his voice heavy with conflicting emotions. "But it's not as simple as just walking away from her. There's history, there's loyalty... and... I don't want to hurt her."You get up from him and get dressed quickly. "So you hurt me" you said and unlock the car. "I don't deserve this" you say getting out of the car.

Jude follows you, his face a mix of remorse and desperation. "Wait, please." He grabs your arm, holding you back. "You know I don't want to hurt you. It's just... complicated."

"No, I'm tired. You don't want to choose and I'm done being second choice," you muttered and walked away.

[causenessus]

foggy days . . . | chuuya + dazai

chuuya x gn!reader + dazai x gn!reader (seperate scenarios!)

"...god loves you, but not enough to save you. so good luck taking care of yourself." (sun bleached flies / ethel cain)

↑ you don’t have to take care of yourself alone. people come into your life and you enter those of others' so that everyone helps take care of each other. to be human is to love more than god can. more than god ever intended. - ness <3

3.2k words

notes: my og title was super long for this work so i’ve split it up into three parts each with their own song lyrics bc i’m in my yearning era. hopefully everything makes sense :> there is no longer any continuity between the formats of any of my posts and idrc. a little suggestive in chuuya's, a little bit of tongue action, once again i'm a whore for manga-chuuya so don't be offput by his eyes being described as brown LMAO. lots and lots of comfort, basically scenarios of chuuya/dazai + you on a foggy day,,, enjoy <3

thank you to @osamucide for helping me w/ dazai's choice of song <3 this ones for u <3 smooching u <3 ily <3 my life is dedicated to u <3 what a coincidence the lyrics you associated him linked directly back to the ending line i wrote for his scenario before i had even asked you for suggestions <3 we're just soulmates like that <3 mwah <3

. . . kisses on the tip of your nose (chuuya)

“hey, do you wanna see the west with me? ‘cause love’s out there and i can’t let it be." "...love’s never meant that much to me, but i’ll come with you if you’re sure it’s what you need.” (thoroughfare  / ethel cain)

on foggy days, chuuya finds you on a bench underneath the warm flood of light from a lamp post above. air is transparent; it has no color, the phenomenon behind fog is simply that the air has become denser, increasing its visibility while lowering the sight lines of others. yet the humid air eagerly reflects and intensifies any color that shines through it, which allows for the sight in front of him now: like a flickering candle in the middle of a dark room, the throw of the single beacon of light on what must be yokohama’s foggiest day frames and spills atop the crown of your head, making you look more angelic than you already always do. if he had a camera on him, maybe he’d try to take a picture, assuming that the fog wouldn't harbor the clarity of the lens.

you think he looks cute, standing there lost in his own thoughts for a moment, hands stuffed into the pockets of a coat lined with that prickly, stiff, woolen fabric no one like but, regardless, cannot complain about because it keeps them warm. he’s finally abandoned his normal attire for something that's still classy, of course, but more appropriate for the weather.

a scarf is tied around his neck, the way you taught him to so that he wouldn't complain about how itchy or tight it felt, and he’s buried the lower half of his face deep inside the warm fabric, trying to keep his nose from freezing off.

you want to hold his face between your hands, nuzzle the tip of your nose against him, kiss the tip of his nose, then maybe the bridge of it, then the space between his brows, then over each of his eyes, then his cheeks, and then finally, his warm, warm lips.

but you'll do that after he stops scowling at you, shoulders hunched up to try and shield his ears from the nipping cold as best as he can.

he's also, of course, wearing that hat of his. you almost tell him to go back inside in case the moisture of the humid air affects the worn leather it's made of.

but he's braved the cold and stepped out of the house to find you, and you know it's useless to try to suggest the idea to him unless you're following him back in.

"what're ya doing out here in this weather?" he's not scolding you or upset with you, just utterly confused. he steps closer, removing his gloved hands from his pockets to pick up your bare hands that you had resting in your lap, holding them between his warm ones. "shit, i can feel how cold you are through my gloves, doll. you okay?" even if he happened to be irked by something you did, he could never stay mad at you for very long before he was overwhelmed with how much he loved you. now his eyes are warm and soft, focused on your own, brows laced with concern and the scowl gone from his face.

this is where you kiss him all over his face.

and that's exactly what you do, humming a small "yes" to his question before escaping the grip of his hands, locking your arms around his neck and using all the strength you have to pull him on top of the bench you're on.

it's harder than you expect, although maybe that's on you for thinking it'd be easy. he's an executive of the port mafia and most certainly their strongest; no matter how much he typically lets his guard down around you, it's only natural that he tenses up at your sudden attack.

but it's an attack of kisses, to his surprise, and he exclaims as he comes toppling onto you, your back hitting the spindly worn wood of the bench below you. his legs are tangled with your own, and he's placed his arms on either side of you on the bench to support himself, but you don't let him move another inch away from you, running your hands (warming by the second thanks to all the heat your stealing from him) up his neck to caress the side of his cheeks, pulling him close.

whatever he's been chiding you about now dies in his throat when you pull him close. when only your noses touch, and you look into his pretty brown eyes with those flecks of amber and blue, the prettiest eyes you've ever seen, his breath is warm against your lips, his own curling into smile as he huffs. "don't tease me now, sweetheart," whatever consequence he was going to threaten you with falls silent again when you ignore the jeer, shifting his face down slightly so that the tip of his nose meets your lips, and then you're kissing him all over, small murmurs of "i love you"s whispered between every other kiss. his eyes are squeezed shut, cheeks warming by the second despite your freezing hands, unable to keep himself from getting flushed from your overwhelming amount of love he swears he’ll never get used to.

he’ll always get worked up just from the sight of you, overcome with his uncontrollable amount of desire to kiss you and hold you in his arms, and he’ll never be able to stop his eyes from always tearing up the slightest bit along with the stir of his heart in his chest every time you tell him you love him. he'll never get used to your love, he swears, but he doesn't want to.

when you finally place your lips to his, he hums in pleasant surprise, pressing against your lips with just as much fevor, shifting one of his arms to rest himself on his forearm so that he can run his fingers through your hair.

the fog and cold weather pricking your skin through your layers of clothes fade away when you feel his tongue swipe against your lips, asking to be let in. and when you part your lips and his warmth pulls you inexplicably closer, you don't think even the coldest of temperatures could freeze you to death.

not when you're with him, virtually and inexplicably the sun of your life. melting away any ice in your heart and mind with the warmth that comes from the brightest star that's always giving to others; all in the form of the single man who's in your arms right now.

the slight push of his knee against your legs, nudging them farther apart as he finally parts from you, leaving your mouth empty once again, your chest heaving while he takes to trailing burning kisses down your neck, acting completely unaffected, has you running your hands through his strawberry blonde hair, tugging him ever so gently up so that your faces are mere inches apart again.

"chuuya, we're in public," you rasp, and it seems it's your turn to scold him.

"are we now?" he's only grinning at you, fingers grazing the side of your cheek as he brushes a strand of your hair away from your face. "should've thought about that before ya kissed me like that, then. since we’re 'in public.'" he mocks your words and you can't exactly argue back. you’re racking your head for a comeback but he doesn't give you the time to reply before going on, "there's not even anyone around. that's why you came out here anyway, is it not?"

he knows you too well, and all you can do is give a small smile back, bringing a hand up to caress the side of his face. he leans into your touch letting your warming hands mold to the shape of his heated cheek. 

"it is," you murmur, feeling the need to explain yourself as if he doesn't already know you. but you keep talking anyway, and he doesn't stop you. he likes hearing you talk. "i just recently started to like this weather, around the same time i met you. i like how this weather makes everyone disappear. i like how I can't even see two feet in front of me, i think it's beautiful in its own way— like i’m stepping into the unknown, but i'm not scared. and maybe that’s because i know you’ll find me in it no matter what. you’ll be with me, and i’ll be with you. i like being with you. the only reason i left this morning was just to enjoy the silence... but i'm ready to go back in."

his face is nestled back into the crook of your neck, placing light butterfly kisses over your pulsating temple ever so often as he listens to you speak, feels the rumble of your voice through your throat with how closely he's pressed to your skin.

"we can stay out here, i don't mind. i like that it makes everyone go away, too. everyone but you. i like coming out here to find only you; the only one i want to see, anyway," he whispers back, letting his lips place a longer, more firm kiss than before on your neck, sending shivers down your skin. "wherever you want to go, baby. like you said, i'll always be right behind you. no matter how heavy the fog, i swear i’ll find you." 

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♡

. . . and muddied knees. (dazai)

“...don’t wait too long. i don’t want you to get tired of me. am i just that damn hard to love?” (golden age / ethel cain)

sleeping with dazai is always an experience.

every night, you both cuddle under the same futon and yet his hands and feet are ungodly freezing. he whines and blames it on poor blood circulation (but not because of his bandages! they aren't that tight, he made sure to add the first night you shared a blanket and fell asleep in each other's arms) leaving the responsibility to fall into your hands–or, more realistically—you’re the lucky one whose been chosen to be his personal heater, cold hands sneaking up your shirt to rest on your navel, his long legs coming to tangle with yours.

usually, he warms up after getting to hold you so closely, and that's why waking up to a cold spot beside you is all the more shocking.

a little bit of light is spilling in from the nearby curtain of his dorm and you're willing yourself to slip out from underneath the warmth of the futon, in search of something–someone more important than the heat. you shiver as you look outside, trying to assess what time it is.

the sky is a light hazy gray, there's no sun in sight, and the trees and ground are darker than usual, soaking wet with the drizzle of rain that had pattered down on the roof above the two of you last night as you fell asleep.

there had been two beating hearts underneath that futon when you closed your eyes.

but when you opened them, you could only hear the pulse of your own life in your ears. and after a little bit of tip-toeing around his small dorm, you were fairly sure it seemed that he wasn't hiding anywhere in the dorm, either.

slipping on the nearest pair of shoes you can find, wrapping one of dazai's heavier jackets tightly around you, you brace the nipping cold as you open the door of his dorm, peeking your head out.

he’s not out taking in the view of the ground below him, leaning dangerously far over that old, worn, metal railing of the dorm’s building as you sometimes find him doing, so you start your usual trail of places you're bound to find him. it's not surprising that he's wandered off alone, lost in his thoughts. in fact, it's at least a weekly occurrence and by this point maybe anyone else would have gotten used to his sudden disappearances, knowing he was bound to show up back on the doorstep at some point, but you cann't help chasing out after him. you don’t want him to be alone, you don’t want there to be a time that comes where he never returns, and maybe it’s all because you weren’t there with him when he needed you.

you’re his partner; the one he wraps his arms around when he finally, after an entire day being the strong one, relaxes and just becomes osamu again. your osamu. you're the one osamu lets undress him sometimes, let's kiss over his skin, and help him wrap his bandages if he needs. if they exist, you're fairly certain osamu's your soulmate. and if they don't exist, he's surely the closest he can be to one. and maybe he doesn’t see you the same way back, but how could you not go out looking for your soulmate, the one you love, every time he wanders off alone? is always being by your boyfriend's side not what it means to love him? how could your heart not be eating away at you, knowing how far apart your other half, crying out to you to find him?

there’s no need to justify why you’re wandering through the humid mist of the early morning. if dazai asked why you always came after him, you’re not sure you could say all of that to his face. all you could probably say is, “because i love you.” and that’s what it all really boils down to in the end, isn't it? doesn't everything you do for him stem from a place of insatiable love? one that you’re not sure he’s always ready to accept, but one you are always willing to give him more of whenever his mind allows himself to let you love him as you want to. fully.

he's not near the bridge he's often teetering off the edge of and sometimes falling into. he's not found on the boardwalks of yokohama either. the shore is especially ghostly today, absent of any people, and the heavy fog that lays over the rippling blue water doesn't help with the eerie atmosphere.

but you find him at the third spot, which on a day like this, you felt was where you would find him from the start, anyway. 

you climb up the concrete steps quietly, seeing that familiar head of tousled brown hair leaning against a headstone. the engraving of a name that's been etched into it, the grooves aged and soiled with time, faces towards you.

you bow, placing your hands together and paying your respects as always to osamu's friend. the one you’ve never met, but by this point perhaps know just as well as osamu with all the stories he's fondly spoken of, lulling you to sleep on countless nights. after a moment of silence, you pass by the gravestone to join osamu on the dewy grass.

"[y/n]," he says your name, lolling his head against the curve of the top of the gravestone to look towards you.

his eyes are bright and wide, and you almost go as far to say he seems especially energetic today, but you know that no amount of light in his eyes can promise that he's doing well.

your eyes flick down to his hands, bandages just barely peeking out of the beige coat he's wearing, and you kneel next to him, not minding the way the soil sinks against your knees when you do, slightly leaning over him as you take his hands into your own.

"are you not cold? it's freezing out here and you're not even wearing an extra jacket. i should have brought a scarf or something—" you're half speaking to yourself, half speaking to him, and he only continues to watch you as if in admiration of something, which you come to understand with his next words.

"don't you ever get tired of warming me up? do you get tired of having to come find me? are you tried of getting your hands dirty because of me?" his words are gentle, still spoken lightly as if he’s simply telling you about the exciting day he’s had, not asking you questions that have you pausing for a second. in this moment, his tone only speaks volumes to you about how much of his true feelings he's hiding, but none of that works on you anymore.

"no, osamu," you look up at him from where you've been focused on his hands, clamped between your own as you try your best to give him everything you have, willing the warmth of your hands to transfer to him. it's not exactly how science works, but you'd bare the cold for him, freeze your very hands off and give him all of your warmth down to your beating heart if it meant he was warm and well taken care of.

"i'm never tired of you, or anything you do. i'll never get tired of you. i'm happy i get to warm up your hands every night. i'm happy i'm the one that gets to do that and wander around looking for you. you make me so happy, osamu, i don't care about these clothes, or how dirty i get, as long as i get to be by your side. as long as i get to be the one to hold your hands tonight." the curved smile he greeted you with is slowly dropping by the second, but that doesn't mean your words are upsetting him. it's the opposite; his facade is slowly peeling away. "do you see, osamu? you make me so happy. i'll dress warmly and take care of myself just to make sure that i'm always able to warm your hands because i love you. all i hope is that i can make you happy, too."

one of his hands, now slightly warmer, reaches up to slide against the side of your face, brushing the upper ridges of your cheekbone with a thumb. "you do make me happy, angel. sometimes i just have to get out, like my love for you is too much. i don't deserve so much happiness, so i have to return to places that once depressed me in order to force everything to settle down. i don't want to overwhelm you with how i feel, whether that be an emotion good or bad."

"don't hold yourself back or water yourself down for me, osamu. i want to love you through the good and the bad. i want to be there for all of it. i want to warm you up every night, not just on the ones where you feel deserving of it. you're always deserving of love, in my eyes. i don't want just the good parts of you, i want all of you. and if you still have to wander out and return to old places, then i'll come along with you, if you'll let me. i'll keep you warm wherever you go. i love you."

he lets out a breath that sounds like he's been holding it in for hours before he's smiling softly. it's genuine this time when his lips turn upward while he's pulling you onto his lap, your muddied knees straddling his own. "i love you, pretty. i'll do my best to keep you warm, too. with happiness, love, and whatever else you need. i hope you never get tired of me. because i will surely never tire of you." 

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♡

[utilitycaster]

I've been a pretty harsh critic of Dr. Friedman and Polygon's general Critical Role coverage in the past, and while I think her latest article for them critiquing Campaign 3 is a fairly good one, it does in many ways cast an even harsher light on her kid-gloves handling of D20 and WBN. However, I want to talk about these two excerpts, because I think she hits on something I've increasingly noticed in Actual Play:

"This is where Critical Role’s strength — that Exandria often feels like a real, complex world — collided with the needs of a D&D campaign (a clear adversary, clear plans of action, forward momentum)."

and

"But the confused way D&D handles religion and divinity — polytheism as imagined by midwestern American Protestants — turned the question of how to handle this particular cosmic horror into a glue trap, paralyzing the players for dozens of hours of circular existential debates. Gods once mechanized (or digestible) become just another power bloc, and for players used to a system where in the end you are “basically gods,” the line gets blurrier still. And as D&D’s messy cosmology added friction to much of the campaign, D&D’s mechanics also don’t have the necessary friction for the interpersonal beats that make Critical Role compelling."

I agree with both these statements, as someone who, to be clear, enjoys D&D 5e. D&D supports a range of narratives, but all are ultimately a story of gaining power and fighting off or through a series of adversaries; if your characters are not doing that, it raises the question of why you picked a system that gives you few other options. (This is also, I should note, an increasingly loud question when it comes to Worlds Beyond Number; I fell behind for personal reasons after the Coven arc, but Brennan's initial statements about D&D as scaffolding were perhaps too true; almost every interesting mechanic, in a game with minimal combat that has thus far felt primarily focused on how the three protagonists have fundamentally different adversaries, has been homebrewed, to the point where the cosmology and baggage of D&D has felt like a liability rather than an asset).

D&D also has, in part due to such programs as D20, developed a reputation for being world-agnostic, and that ultimately isn't true. D&D does struggle to make the lines between "real divinity", an archfey or similarly powerful entity, and a L20 character feel sharply defined on a mechanical level; once you give a god a stat block, it can be killed (and on a metanarrative level, revealing the gods' statblocks in Downfall serves to make them both immense, yet also more fragile. The hit points are many, but still finite.) There are a number of questions most D&D worlds simply fail to address - and to be clear, this is not a flaw provided you have buy in. A level 2 warlock in D&D is, in most societies, an one-person lethal force unless the entire town swarms them at once, knowing that many of them will lose their lives in the effort; a level 2 warlock PC, however, is almost never, in-world, treated this way, and indeed is framed as an underdog in a harsh world despite usually having the ability to destroy the entire tavern.

D&D has also developed a (not undeserved) reputation as being The Dominant TTRPG put out by a massive corporation, and has developed a (not deserved) reputation as being itself uniquely problematic as a power fantasy, particularly by people who conveniently forget where Pathfinder came from. I've previously covered that, for all people demand non-D&D actual play, the viewership drops precipitously whenever a big AP show that made its name with D&D dares to branch out, and, related to that, I've seen an uptick in people who are excited for D&D to subvert itself. They wanted Campaign 3 to subvert these norms of divinity and heroic fantasy, cheered for it...and ultimately it was unable to do so. I don't think it's accurate to say that D&D's lack of interpersonal mechanics was the problem here, given that Campaigns 1 and 2 (and again, D20) have no such issue; but rather that since D&D's lack of interpersonal/RP mechanics require more effort from the players to initiate, the debates on the nature of divinity in a world and system that could not sustain them sapped any energy for the late-night watch conversations D&D can support when you're not fighting against it.

I think one of the many lessons we can learn from Critical Role Campaign 3 is that if you go up against D&D with an attempt to destroy it from within, your story will instead find itself conforming to the shape of its container, often to its detriment.

[gnohomotho]

heyyy this is really specific and kinda silly buuuuut I'm really sick and feeling down.. could I request some Inho fluff? 🥺🥺🥺🥺

maybe some like ~caring for you~ & looking after you with a femreader? 👀😍 thank youuuuu and love your fics!!

Aw, Anon, I'm sorry you're feeling awful. :c Please have some kind In-ho fluffy TLC (I hope that still stands for "tender loving care").

Focused on the love and care! ♥♥♥

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I'll Look After You

Pairing: Hwang In-ho // The Front Man x wife!fem!reader Summary: As the prompt says. ♥ But you aren't feeling well at all, and your husband, through anything from tea, to baths, to a massage, is going to keep the sickness away. Warnings: None at all. Just fluff. So much fluff. Word count: 2.4

If you like my works, I truly appreciate every like // reblog // follow! <3

A little stir in in the night.

As if you were having a bad dream. Without you knowing, In-ho’s eyes open in a fleeting second, the man doesn’t seem to sleep – only wait with hands intertwined laid across his chest as his breathing gets more level. You’ve tried to catch him several times, being ever-so-quiet, barely shifting the blanket – just to see him dreaming or peacefully at rest, yet that man could sense a spider’s step at the other end of the building and react accordingly.

But this time, you sat up, abruptly, after many tries at keeping your state to yourself and forcing a mental hammer to your temples just to remain at least half asleep. Your breath was fast, your head pounding, you put one hand against your face with a sigh.

“My heart?”

You hear a quiet, yet very alert voice next to you. The covers shift, and he is sitting upright next to you, in the exact same position as you are, seemingly immediately. Dark eyes fixed on you even in the semi-dark wherein you blink to adjust. You can make out your husband’s unassuming form, sitting in the comforting, quiet stillness; so very bare, so very…endearing.

Before you say anything, an arm is softly wrapping around you and pulling you closer. In-ho seemed at war with every millimetre of distance between you, especially in the night. Even in his stoic sleeping position, heaven help the blanket that got between your skin and his.

“I’m sorry, I just…I don’t feel too good. I didn’t wish to wake you, darling, truly. It’s probably nothing.”

You smile at him and your head pounds. The naked arm around your waist, forearm against the cold skin of your stomach and his hand firmly rested against you with fingers outstretched, remains in place. You feel a slight tightening of his grip, though it is protective, rather than forceful. His other hand moves to your chest with utmost care. It is a slow, noticeable movement – In-ho was purposefully showing you what he’s doing so that you don’t get stressed nor surprised.

The gesture melts your shivering heart a tad – that was always a point of contention between you two.

Using his dominant arm to half let you, half force you to rest against him and be upheld in place, In-ho was now free to assess. Somehow, your breath felt more at ease each time your chest bumped into his steady hand. You relax a little, glad for the support. Even in the darkness, his skin smells so familiar and safe, his almost naked body still exuding quiet authority, yet his arms and his…entirety shared with you…is so very human.

It’s just…your In-ho. No dark fabric or twisted words to cloud the very human skin now firmly rested against you. Even your legs are connected as he sits beside you.

At war with every molecule that would linger between you.

“Your heart rate is elevated, your breathing is…laboured.”

“In-ho, I feel fine just---”

“Don’t talk,” he humms, rubbing the top of your chest as he speaks, resting a palm against your sternum and across the nape of your neck, where his hand remains, “I can feel it must hurt to do so,” he adds, in a softer tone. You only shoot him a look in the darkness, knowing he is likely wearing that same caring, troubled, yet serene expression he always does when he is slightly worried or being obtuse.

In-ho moves to check further, resting a hand upon your pulsating head, cupping your cheek then resting a palm on your forehead.

“You’re burning up, my dear.”

Your eyebrows furrow, and you pull away, only to be caught by the arm around your waist and pulled back. There better not be a raised eyebrow in the dark, In-ho.

“If I’m running a fever, I don’t want you to get sick, I should get away from you immediately---”

“Oh, no.” A soft murmur and kiss on your shoulder. A brush of hair upon your skin underlines the gentleness of his lips.

“Oh, no. No. No.” With each “no” there is another kiss. Soft. Calm. Reassuring. So very gentle.

Eyes adjusting to the dark, you can make him out in the contrast and those eyes, almost unblinking, focusing their entirety on you with such…restrained tenderness.

Were you not feeling this way, you’d slowly move into his arms and hold him, hear his heartbeat and let him run his fingers through your hair as you rested against his chest. You valued the closeness, the intimacy, the still careful yet true love you felt for him, and he, in his unspoken way, in the way he nudged your bodies to connect to become one, the way he unwittingly wrapped around you, the way he would rest you in the crane of his neck or under his chin whispering things no one would believe him to say, could express more than words ever could.

And you knew the feeling of your sleepy head and soft strands of hair resting on his skin calmed him down, though he would never admit it. You knew by the way his breathing always seemed to slow and grow calm, letting his chest lift more rhythmically; by the way his fingers drew small ellipses through your hair, and by the way he twitched and immediately tightened his arm around you from shoulder wherein you rested all the way down to his wrist, should you try to even remotely adjust your position.

Now he was looking directly at you, any remains of sleep firmly gone from his voice.

“After securing Y/N within this exact position. Into this exact place. After so very long and after such effort – I am to simply let my wife walk away? When she is feeling ill, no less?”

You really aren’t in the mood for this In-ho. Perhaps the one who is busy with other matters and returns when you are feeling healthy again. That In-ho. That In-ho doesn’t exist, and you know it. You sigh, but there is an understanding smile lurking behind the breath.

“…In the middle of night? On the day of my daughter’s wedding? While I’m still holding my keys?” Your sarcastic yet sweet attempts to soften the blow did not work as intended, though you did hear a small chuckle. No, you just get yourself wrapped up in a blanket before you realise his arm is gone (the man really has surprising talent in the oddest of places) and a kiss on the forehead solidifies the deal you didn’t even get a chance to bargain about.

“Stay here,” he humms as he begins to get out of bed, smoothing the blanket behind him.

“Because I’m obviously going places, so very free to spread my wings.”

“Oh, my heart.” He looks at you with such adoration, head slightly leaning to one side. You’re not sure if he’s still playing or simply letting his guard down so very far. You allow yourself to smile into the darkness, closing your eyes. The tiredness and feeling of weakness draw your heavy head into the pillow and you drift off.

A small click beside your head stirs you half awake.

“In-ho?” You mumble and get ready to get up, forgetting your blanket enclosure.

“Shh. Don’t talk.”

In-ho gently caresses you through the blanket, then slides his hand inside, cupping your warmth for a while. He then softly takes your arm out and slides his fingers over yours, intertwining them with his, then closing his hand over your palm.

“Tea with medicine to your left, sweetheart.”

You’re very thankful and begin to say so, before a single look into those dark eyes firmly reminds you of the previous suggestion. Perhaps you don’t need the medicine after all, the fever will go down if he throws more ice in that stoic expression your way.

You lift the arm out of his grip, which he allows as patiently as he does slowly, and you lift the hot cup to your lips. It quivers in your grip, and he immediately steadies it, catching your hand on the hot surface.

“Drink.”

“In-ho, I can manage---

“Drink.”

There are times you forget who really rests beside you, and the nonchalant yet firm suggestion does its due diligence to remind you. You lift the cup to your lips and drink the comforting tea, with In-ho guiding the empty cup back to the bedstand with your hand in tow. He then slowly guides it back, still intertwined with his, and holds it to himself, massaging your palm with both his hands.

“I’m drawing you a bath,” he states, simply, and you know it’s going to be full of herbs and means of making you better, the towels as soft as snow, the floor warm. In-ho did not relish words, as they could be misconstrued and twisted, sounding flimsy and signifying nothing – but his actions could speak sonnets.

You sit up a bit, able to see him far better now – your In-ho, now only half naked, eyes calm yet piercing, mouth harbouring a small unnoticeable smile, demeanour calm yet alert. His shoulders ostensibly fall as you look longer, as if he’s trying to calm you down by looking calmer himself. Softly reaching a hand across your shoulders, he pulls your hair away from your neck and lets it rest across your chest to one side. His fingers trail around your neck at the very same time, as if he could not miss an opportunity for a caress and reassuring touch.

“Turn around, darling.”

And you do, still very much woozy. In-ho, now with your back to him, removes the rest of your hair from the nape of your neck and plants a tender kiss just between the bottom of your head and beginning of your shoulders.

“Dear, you’re tense.”

As he says so, you feel an arm softly pull at the blanket, brushing it against the skin of your upper arms and down, down, until it is resting against your forearms and around your waist. A shiver runs through you, trembling all in its wake like a small wave of ice. In-ho immediately catches it with both deliberate hands – firmly rubbing your shoulders and laying his chest against your back. The naked, hot skin, the rubbing motion creating heat, and the mere fact that it is him does help warm you a little, though he makes a mental note to adjust the heating once your attention is elsewhere.

Soft, intricate, yet firm hands, like those of a piano player, begin to move upwards and massage your neck, moving to the muscles around the very top of your spine. Circling, rubbing, and kneading all under their touch.

After a little while, they move to your shoulders. As if he was going through mounds and ossified waves of stress, heaviness, worry, sickness – and simply letting them dissolve in his fingers and slip through, leaving you be.

A grateful, alleviated sigh leaves your lips – and In-ho can hear the wide, if tired, smile upon them, kissing the sensitive place between your shoulder blades in response and remaining there for just a second longer than necessary. How does heat emanate from a single kiss and how does it cover your quivering body in the equivalent of warm honey from cold tip of the toe to the very place he kissed and up?

Once In-ho has touched, cherished, and unwrapped all of your upper body muscles from their layers of blocked pain and distress, he turns you around and lays you back down, laying with you. His arm is around your shoulders nudging your neck in its crane, his head is so close to yours you could kiss the tip of his nose, your bodies are as close as they can be without intertwining. Your eyes are softly closing on their own, feeling so blissfully tired and calm, as if a weight was lifted from every centimetre of your body. In-ho can see it, and watches it with very masked delight – your trust, your bliss, your comfort…your tranquillity in his arms.

Your peacefulness and loving eyes now closing in a slow, restful motion and a body at such ease that time seems to slip slower around the both of you – all under his watch, under his body, under his direct action and control. He slips errant strands of hair from your face, kissing your cheek where they rested. You smile into the kiss, eyes closing, and nudge your forehead against his. You remain like that, for a few seconds, just enjoying the closeness and the open pathways of your body that melted under his touch. His forehead does an ever-so-slight, almost unnoticeable side to side motion, and you cannot help but smile wide at the hidden adoration the man holds for you.

“I think your bath is almost ready,” a soft rumble from his enters your chest as he speaks, softly, into you more than to you, “but I find it hard to let you go.” As if to underline the words, In-ho’s leg nudges towards yours, caressing you through the blanket.

“Would you mind company?”

Now it was your turn to lift both eyebrows and attempt to disconnect from him just enough to be audible.

“I’m not sure.” You lower your head slightly to kiss his neck, an advantage you’ve learned to use every time he places you in such a loving yet firm embrace.

“Will the company be half as sweet as the company I hold now?” The hint of innocence and genuinely curious inflection did stir something in your companion, and you felt the grip tighten – then turn into a caress.

“Oh, I’ll make sure to leave them thoroughly yearning to wish they were.”

In-ho was a man of truly odd hidden talents. At one moment, you were wrapped up like a labyrinth of blankets, limbs, and kisses – the next, you were somehow firmly in his lifted embrace, holding onto his neck and shoulders with each arm, while his arms held you under your knees (which you instinctively squeezed half for stability, half for the snuggle) and around your back under your arms, making ample use of the space created by you having to cling upwards.

You blink, and without looking around, nestle in the small of his neck, laying your head in the comforting warmth as he adjusts you to himself with one motion and smiles into your hair. With another kiss, he carries you to the bath...

And does not leave.

[luvvictoria]

I've seen so many ghost x reader fics where the reader is younger than him, almost significantly so here an older!f!reader x our dear ghost <3

You're a few ranks above him, and he respects that—begrudgingly. Ghost isn’t the type to blindly follow authority, but you? You’ve earned it. You were in the field when he was still finding his footing, and that experience shows. He might not admit it, but there’s a weight in your voice that makes him listen.

The squad finds your dynamic hilarious. Price is used to being the eldest, but now there's you—someone who’s been through just as much, if not more, and yet just a few years younger than Price. Soap teases Ghost about it relentlessly.

“Damn, Lt., you’re really getting bossed around twice, huh?” “She’s my superior, Johnny.” “Aye, and she’s superior in general, yeah?”

You’ve seen more death than him—and you make sure he knows it. You carry your past like a badge of honor, not as a burden. It’s why, during a mission debrief, when someone asks how you managed to survive something that should’ve killed you, you just smirk and say:

“I’ve experienced death many times… but never my own.” And Ghost just stares. That’s his thing. The man who walks between life and death, the legend. But you? You say it like it’s a flex. He doesn’t know whether to be impressed or concerned. Probably both.

He hates how much you get under his skin. You know exactly what you’re doing. A little smirk here, a passing comment there. He’s not used to being the one thrown off-balance. It’s maddening. You call him “Simon” just to watch his reaction, because you know no one else does.

Fights between you two are rare but intense. Not in an aggressive way, but the tension? Palpable. Arguments usually happen when he thinks you’re taking unnecessary risks, and you remind him—

“I’ve been doing this longer than you, Ghost. Don’t forget that.” And that should shut him up. But instead, he grits his teeth and mutters, “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

He hates seeing you hurt. He knows you can handle yourself, knows you’ve seen worse, but it doesn’t stop the tight feeling in his chest when you get injured. The first time he sees you push through a wound like it’s nothing, he’s both impressed and furious.

“Christ, woman, you’re bleedin’.” “And?” “And I’d rather not watch you experience death again today, yeah?”

He falls for you without meaning to. It starts with admiration—your skill, your leadership, your confidence. Then it turns into something deeper. The way you can match his intensity, challenge him, command respect without asking for it. He never saw himself as the type to be into older women, but it’s not about the age—it’s about you.

When he does confess, it’s not smooth at all. It’s after a mission, maybe after you’ve both been through hell, and he just—

“Y’know, if you died, I’d be pissed.” “Good thing I won’t, then.” “…Noticed that.” And then, after a beat, he mutters, almost grudgingly: “Think I like you too much for my own good.” You just grin. “Took you long enough, Ghost.”

[sevsbunny]

decode | sevika x reader

i was listening to decode and just had an angsty moment that needed to be turned to smut soz!

no word count, smut! fingering! (r receiving) sevika just being vulnerable and soft for you

“how did we get here? i used to know you so well…” you say softly as you look up at sevika, the look on her face traced with pain, and anguish. something you’ve never seen on her face before.

she more or less didn’t have an answer. she had so much to say yet so little in fear of having you walk away from her for good.

she couldn’t handle that happening.

she stretches out an arm, her flesh palm up towards you. she takes as step as she does, which makes you take one step back. she faltered, her step pausing mid move, eyes flickering hurt as she looked away.

“look i..” she huffed, dropping her arm as her palm slapped her thigh softly.

“you left…for months. then you come back here, acting like you own the place.” you ball your fists at your sides, furrowing your brow as you feel anger pool into your throat. you were so pissed at her for thinking she can just leave, without telling you where she was going. who she was seeing.

what she was doing.

“like you own me.” you stated, eyes flickering up to her with hurt in your gaze, tears threatening to spill from your waterline. you were stronger than this, she didn’t deserve to have your tears wasted on her.

“i know that. i know i screwed up.” she started but you shook your head, feeling your heart hammer in your chest. you weren’t one for confrontation, let alone small arguments over menial things

you and sevika rarely had fights. yeah, you bickered over small things like how her hair looked out of place before going to work, or how she still mixes her colors and whites in laundry.

“do you?” you asked, knowing the answer already. she looks up at you, nodding.

“the truth is hiding in your eyes,” you comment, and it’s hanging on her tongue, but she can’t bare to let the words slip past her lips.

“of course i do. fuck, i can’t tell you where ive been…” she sighs heavily before slumping over to the dining room table, the low dim light from the one light on under the microwave and the streetlights were the only things illuminating her frame.

she was still big, that hadn’t changed. she might’ve even gotten bigger while away. you couldn’t remember.

you screwed your eyes shut for a moment, trying to not think of how big she was, what she looked like over you.

“why?” you fiddle with your thumbs, shuffling on your feet as you look over at her. you hear her sigh, before leaning back into the kitchen chair and and spreading her legs. “don’t you trust me?”

her sweatpants were hanging loosely on her hips, a crop top under neath with a red flannel over top., something she’d sport regularly in lounge ware.

“of course i do, doll.” she says gently, her tone low and firm. she looks up at you, your frame leaning against the entry of the kitchen. her eyes raked over your frame, a thin satin baby doll slip over your body.

she could see your nipples poking through the fabric. flimsy shit, she thought.

“i just, it’s silco…” she trails off, running her flesh hand through her short bobbed hair. her piercing glints in the low light and for a second you remember what it felt like against your cunt while she ate you out.

“well is there any way i can at least talk to you? can you tell me when you have to leave?” you ask, coming over to where she was sitting. she sits up a little bit, outstretching her hands once again — both palms facing up.

your finger tips press into the palms of her hands, the contrast of metal and flesh making you shiver. you smooth them over her palm and she lets out a soft sigh at the tough of your fingers on her.

she looks up at you with a nod, as you make your way in between her legs. “i can do that for you. sweetheart.” you smile at her gently, sadness still laced through your expression and she can see that.

she knows that you’ve been affected by her, and she knows it’s not fair to leave with no notice. she’ll try harder, if it means you don’t leave her.

her hands run up your own hands, to your arms and around your thighs, squeezing the skin softly as she pulls you closer to her. she takes one of your thighs and pulls it over hers, letting you straddle her thigh.

“i love you.” she admits, and your cheeks heat up. it wasn’t every day you had sevika vulnerable and soft in your hands. the look she gave you affirmed that she meant that she would keep her word.

“i love you, sev,” you say softly in return, your hands coming up to grip her shoulders. she sits up a bit, her flesh hand coming to the small of your back. her metal hand comes to grip your thigh, and you can’t ignore the feeling of your cunt throbbing against her thick thigh

you let out a small whimper, a knowing glance on her expression. she smiles softly, pulling you closer to her body as she starts to slowly move your hips over her thigh. your clit pressed firmly against her thigh, making you shudder in pleasure

“that feel good, sweetheart?” she asks softly, eyes never raving your face as you scrunch your eyebrows in pleasure, soft whines falling from your lips as she moves your hips against her.

you could feel yourself soaking the fabric of her sweats, making you blush darkly. she coos, her flesh hand coming to cup your cheek. “what is it, sweet girl?” you feel your head fall into her palm, her warm touch against your skin. your hips were moving at an agonizingly slow pace, your clit brushing against her thigh every so often

“more, please..” you begged quietly, looking down at her with half lidded expression. she grunts softly at your request, her eyes darkening as she swiftly takes your other thigh, and hikes it over her other

your spread out for her, her metal arm holding your weight so you don’t fall. your arms are wrapped around her neck, looking down at where your cunt was on display for her

she chuckled as she felt the wet patch on her thigh, tskng gently. “oh, baby. you’re leaking…” she takes her right hand, looking up at you as the pad of her pointer finger presses teasingly over your wet hole.

you let out a bated breath, pulling your hips closer to her touch. she laughs softly, pressing her forehead against yours and noses brushing

“needy girl.” she mutters before pushing her pointer finger into your cunt, groaning out softly along with the whimpers falling from your lips. “so fucking wet.” her brain is filing with desire and lust, swimming with the only thought of how you’d feel around her cock.

another time, though. this is about you.

she moves her finger slowly in and out of your cunt, her mouth falling open slowly to watch the sheen of slick over her index finger. her thumb presses against your clit and you shudder at the sensation.

“vika..” you moan softly. she grunts at that, pushing another finger into your cunt before curling them slowly, making sure to feel all of you.

“what is it, doll?” she asks sweetly, moving her nose to judge your jaw, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. you let your head fall to the side to give her better access before letting soft moan spill from your lips as she picks up the speed of her fingers

“faster, please…oh please…” you babble, your eyes closed as you feel her fingers pick up. soft moans fill the quiet room, the sounds of her fingers squelching with each thrust. it only made you more wet

“anything for you, my love.” she growls as she picks up the pace, her thumb making quick circles around your clit. you felt your hips stutter with each stroke, your cunt dripping every time she fucks you

“taking my fingers like my cock so well, baby.” she mutters against your skin and you let out a moan as she speaks, your body shivering and stomach tensing. you knew you were close to cumming, and you couldn’t hold it back

“‘m close, sev please,” you moan out, matching her thrusts with your hips as she quickens her pace on your clit. you’re clenching around her fingers, feeling her deep inside your cunt. you let out a moan as you feel your orgasm wash over you

“that’s it, baby. so fucking pretty for me. cumming all over my fingers like this, fuck,” she moans out, her eyes never missing how her fingers plunge deep into you and how wet and warm you feel. she felt her own pussy throb with desire, needing nothing more than release

you felt your body shaking after you came down, her fingers slowing inside of you before you cling to her body like a koala. “never leave me, ever again.” you mumble into her neck. she takes her fingers from your cunt before wrapping her arms around you tightly.

“never again. sweetheart.”