#Million A Week Radiation

[mwphisto]

LaDs: How they’d propose

~ just some fluffy head canons!

~ all love interests included, reader’s gender not specified

A note from Soul: my friend just got engaged the other day and now I’m in the mood to brain storm how the lads men would do it! Gotta love fictional men because I can mold them however I want (jk) lol - I started drafting this before the wedding banner was announced so I'm not really going off of anything seen in the trailer!!

Xavier

He and Jeremiah spent months preparing this.

The back of Philos has been perfectly prepared for Xavier's grand proposal idea. He and Jeremiah had tediously grown and tended to some of your favorite plants for what felt like forever. Treating them as if they were real babies, nurturing them with only the best soil, water, and daily sunlight.

Now, they were all in glorious full bloom. The greenhouse smelt of the prettiest florals, decked out in warm fairy lights, and a table for two with a white table cloth and fancy dinnerware was set up in the middle of it all. It was perfect, exactly what Xavier had envisioned.

"Woah, Xavier..." you had been starstruck the moment he guided you back there. Your eyes twinkling as you took in all the flowers, the decorations, the soft melody playing from a speaker hidden somewhere among all of this. It was breathtaking.

"You did all of this for me?" Mentally, you were trying to recall if you had forgotten an anniversary or an important date. but you came up empty handed. "Yeah, with Jeremiah's help of course, but the ideas were all mine." There is a light blush on his face, the hand holding yours squeezes suddenly and you can't help but feel nervous.

"What's the special occasion?" You two stop right before the table, and Xavier turns to you, pulling your other hand into his and bringing both to his lips. "Do I need a special occasion to shower you in love?" Of course he didn't, but this felt so... special.

"I love you, my little star. More than you would ever be able to comprehend." He starts slowly, eyes lingering on your hands before traveling to your face. Your heart is pounding in your ears, you can feel the anticipation radiating off of his body.

"I cannot fathom spending another day without you by my side. I don't dare to dream of a future that doesn't have you in it. I don't want to wake up to bed without you snuggled beside me." And your heart jumps into your throat as Xavier slowly gets down on one knee.

"My starlight, my universe. I love you so much it hurts. Would you do me the gracious honor of being my wife?"

Your vision is blurred with tears, so blurred that the ring he presents you is nothing more than a sparkling blob in his grasp. You're nodding before the words can leave you, a babble of "yes" and "of course" and about ten million "I love you too"

Zayne

He didn't tell a soul what he was going to do, he had only told his parents of his intent to propose to you.

A week long trip to the Arctic in the middle of a grueling summer. A rented cabin just for the two of you, and a well thought out itinerary so you can see the aurora each night. It would be at its strongest, brightest, and most vibrant on your first night. That's when he'd do it.

"It should start any minute, right?" Your eyes were full of child-like wonder, staring excitedly up at the stars in the night sky. "Yes, any minute now." Zayne was a bundle of nerves, surprising himself when his voice came out steady and unwavering.

You two had just finished eating dinner. A comfort meal you prepped together in the cabin's kitchen. Sharing some wine, light music playing on an antique record player, the fireplace a blazing warmth. It had been so perfect, so cozy, that Zayne nearly popped the question as you two ate. But he held off, he had a vision in mind.

He sat back against the cushions, watching his breath puff out in front of him as you excitedly stood at the railings of the cabin porch. Your head unmoving in its upward tilt towards the cosmos.

The moment the aurora made itself known, Zayne would get down on one knee and pop the question that he's been dying to ask. The custom ring he designed sitting safely in a velvet box, just inside of his pant pocket, his fingers a little clammy as they held it.

Then he heard it, your gasp of wonder as the skies filled with greens and blues and even touches of purple. "Zayne! The aurora!"

You were bouncing on your heels, pointing as if he couldn't see the image filling the sky, and whirled around with a smile on your face. Except, Zayne wasn't sitting on the couch anymore. Your smile faltered - but not in a bad way - no, it turned into a look of awe.

Zayne's ears were red, his cheeks flushed all soft and rosy as he presented himself on one knee, a dazzlingly ring sitting in a navy blue velvet box just inches from you. "I had a whole speech written in my head, and now I'm finding that I've lost all my words..." He laughs a little before glancing down at your hands.

"You know me well enough to know I have never been great with expressing myself through words. But for something as special as this, I have been giving it my best practice for months to make it worth while." You can feel your throat tighten, staring at him in the same way you had stared at the aurora.

"I can't imagine going on with my life without you by my side. You have turned my dreary world into one full of color and wonder." He takes your hand, and you realize it is trembling just as badly as your own. "Meeting you changed the entire trajectory of my life. Meeting you gave me purpose, and I never thought I’d get so lucky.”

"Would you do me the greatest honor of spending the rest of your life with me?" And you can barely get the "yes" past your lips before you're falling into his arms and hugging him like he'd disappear if you didn't. "I love you so much." It's a gentle whisper as he takes your hand, slipping ring onto your finger.

Rafayel

Only Thomas and Talia knew vaguely of what Rafayel planned. For once, Thomas restrained himself with pushing deadlines - not that Raf would have cared either way. He appreciated the sentiment.

His goal was for you to be completely surprised, to not suspect a thing. So, he didn't plan anything grand leading up to the actual event. He just did things that you two loved doing together. Dinner at your favorite restaurant - the same one you had your first real date at. Then, the little desert shop just down the road for ice cream.

Only when you arrived back at Mo Art Studio did your suspicions raise. "What do you think?" The sun was setting, bouncing off of the ocean water and creative a pretty spectacle across all the art that Rafayel displayed for you to see. "Rafayel..."

You had a million and one questions on the tip of your tongue, eyes glossing over as you jumped from piece to piece. Each one was so distinctly you. Some detailed portraits, others abstract, some of just you, some with the both of you, you couldn't breathe.

Rafayel stood by the entrance and watched, watched as you circled each piece with bated breath. "Rafayel when in the world did you have the time for all of this?" You spun to look at him, noticing the smile on his lips as he unfolded his arms and pushed off the doorway. "Every time we were apart, every time I missed you, I got to work."

He took your hand in his, squeezing it gently before lifting it to his lips. "Painting, sketching, sculpting you, us, it helped the loneliness be a little more bearable." Only then did you notice the lit candles, the ambiance accompanied by waves crashing on the shore. The ocean breeze cascading through the open windows. Rafayel had used his evol to light the candles, they wouldn't do any harm.

"Speaking of loneliness." His throat cleared, drawing your attention back to his face. "I don't like being alone. I don't like waiting, either." And then? You were gasping, eyes wide as dinner plates as Rafayel got on one knee before you. "I intended on doing this down by the water, with the sunset as our backdrop. But now, right here in this moment, seems like the best time to ask you this."

"You have renewed my life with the most vibrant color palette. Not a day goes by that you don't bring a smile to my face." His hand is trembling as it squeezes yours, his other fishing for something in his suit jacket's pocket. "I never want to lose that vibrancy, nor the joy that you have colored my days with."

He pulls out a box, flicking it open with his thumb to present you with the most stunning ring you'd ever laid your eyes on.

"My beloved, my heart, my entire world... will you marry me?"

You're choking on a sob, "Of course I will, Raf. Yes." He can barely the slide the ring onto your finger before you're pulling him up and into your arms, crashing your lips together as tears leak down your cheeks. It's only when you part that you realize he is crying too.

Sylus

He didn't trust anyone with this information. Not even the twins.

Coming from him, you'd expect something larger than life. But, instead, Sylus had a much more intimate idea in mind. "Why won't you tell me where we're going?" But you're giggling, playing with the rings on his fingers as his private jet cruises the sky. "Because it will ruin the anticipation. You know how much I love seeing you squirm."

The destination was a sprawling flower field. The kind you'd never find in the N109 Zone, and one that would be a lot less grand a much more artificial in Linkon. He'd seen so many pictures of this place, and not a single one did it justice. Just as he had suspected, which is why he flew the two of you all the way out here.

"Oh my god, Sylus! It's gorgeous!" You were entranced, turning on your heels to stare at him with wide, glittering eyes. The sun was making its lazy decent, casting the field in a warm orange glow. The breeze was warm, rustling the flowers - which were as far as your eyes could see, disappearing into the distance.

"I knew you'd love it." With the rental bike parked and your helmets secured, Sylus entwined his fingers with yours. "A picnic?" You looked at the old-fashioned wicker basket hooked on his arm, a lopsided grin gracing his lips. "Yes, c'mon let's go."

He guided you through the rows of flowers, chuckling softly as dragonflies and bumblebees dances around the blossoms, making you jump and cling to him a little tighter. "Don't worry, there won't be this many where we are heading." And the destination in mind was one of the large trees spread out among the flower field.

By the time you got there and set up the picnic, the sun was ready to disappear beyond the horizon. As if on queue, fireflies began popping up among the flowers. The sight was mesmerizing, and the conversation flowed easily between the two of you. "So, are you going to tell me what the occasion is?" You brought a napkin to your lips, dabbing the strawberry juice - that Sylus desired to kiss - off.

"I wanted to make this as grand for you as possible, but in a way that it was still only you and me." He starts carefully, crimson eyes boring into your soul as you give him your full attention.

"I adore you, more than words can possibly convey. The love I feel for you is so strong it knocks the wind out of me sometimes." And he shifts, moving from his lounging position to one knee. And you swear the entire world begins to spin as he pulls a maroon leather box from his pant pocket. "You are the other half of my soul."

"Sylus-" but it's carried away on the wind, that same lopsided smile on his face as he lets you process before continuing.

"I want to keep building my life with you, I don't want to keep going on without you bound to me for the rest of eternity. Just as I am forever bound to you. I would be the happiest man alive if you promised to stay with me as my wife, until we both cease to exist."

You're nodding, eyes glossing over as stray tears leak down your cheeks. "Yes, Sylus. I'd want nothing more than to be your wife." And you can barely breathe as his trembling hand slides the ring onto your finger. Your knuckles graced by the warmth of his lips.

The soft whispering promise of "I love you, more than anything."

Caleb

Not a soul knows of his intentions, and he feels its better that way.

Everything was planned meticulously, you just had to come along. Caleb had set up an entire mental itinerary of everywhere he'd be taking you. The last stop being Skyhaven, aboard his personal aircraft. Then, he'd pop the question.

"Last stop on our adventure, pips. Almost there." He's smiling at you, noting the slightly tired look in your eyes as you stare mesmerized out the window of his aircraft. "We did so much today! How are you not tired yet?" But even as you spoke, your eyes were widening at the sight of cotton candy clouds. The sun had just set only moments prior, the last few rays gracing the world until morning.

"I could never be tired if I'm spending my time with you." And he could hear your eyes rolling without you having to say a word never mind look at him. "Trust me, pips. This last stop is worth it." But you could only chuckle. "I must be missing some sort of anniversary. How come we've done so many special things today?"

"I just enjoy doing things with you, isn't that a good enough reason?" But you could always see right through him. Yet, for some reason, something in the back of your mind told you to stop pressing and just let things be. "It is, I suppose. I like doing things with you too."

Luckily, your last stop was Caleb's backyard. He had set it up before leaving to get you in Linkon earlier that day. Blankets and pillows set up in the grass, lights adorning the large apple tree that resided in his yard, music playing softly thanks to Otto, and lastly two glasses and a bottle of wine. It was intimate, meaningful, and you could both crash right after. Because with all the tension in his body, he knew he'd be lucky if he didn't pass out after hearing you answer.

"There is a meteor shower tonight, I figured we could watch it together." Warmth filled your chest, a smile spreading from ear to ear as you took his hand and dragged him towards his own set up.

"I totally forgot about that, Caleb! This is perfect." The ring was already grasped in his other hand, letting you sit down first before getting on one knee. The look only your face was utterly priceless, worth every ounce of stress it took for him to get his timing right.

"I've beens struggling for over a year now to figure out what to say to you when I finally did this." And the ring was presented to you, no box, just between his fingers, and it was as if he held the whole world right there instead. "And even now, I still don't have a clue how to put everything you are to me into words."

"Though, I'm sure you know very well by now that you are my everything. You've always been my everything, since we were kids." The first meteor is streaking through the sky, but nothing can draw your attention from him. "I want you to stay with me, and I promise you that I will never leave you alone ever again."

Your throat is tightening, eyes brimming with tears as you're nodding before he even says the words. "Will you marry me? It would be my greatest achievement in life to be your husband." And your answer leaves your lips like a never ending prayer. Yes after yes, I love you after I love you. The ring is slid onto your finger, and you've never felt more whole in your entire life.

"I love you, with every fiber of my being, Caleb."

Hope you enjoyed!! - Soul

[paarksunghoon]

resignation (9)

SUMMARY: For the last six years, you’ve dedicated your career to ensuring Park Sunghoon never misses a day of work in his life. But you’re tired of endless days that seem to blend together, and seeing him living his fun, luxurious lifestyle makes you think about what else you might be missing out on. When Sunghoon finds your resignation letter on his desk, he does everything in his power to convince you to stay.

NOTES: life & summer got in the way, so enjoy this extensive chapter x

(unedited, so...typos)

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: oral (m/f receiving), unprotected sex, semi-public sex, 69, chest-obsessed hoon, fingering.

SERIES PLAYLIST + SERIES MASTERLIST

***

When you wake up, it takes you a minute to realize you’re sleeping next to Sunghoon. 

Much like the first night you awoke in his guest bedroom, your panic subsides when you remember where you are. You blink slowly to grow accustomed to the morning light and look beside you to see a sleeping, naked Sunghoon. 

Your mind replays memories of the night prior and you start to blush all over again. It feels right to describe it like a night of passion. For as cheesy as that is, years of pent up sexual tension finally exploded in this bedroom. 

You’ve never seen Sunghoon look so peaceful before. His eyelashes look unfairly long against his cheeks and he snores quietly. You sit up on your elbow and peer at him below, taking in his quiet demeanor amidst the stillness of the room. He doesn’t feel like your boss right now. He feels like a lover. 

His chest anchors against the mattress with his face turned towards you, and you try not to reach your hand out to touch him. Sunghoon radiates warmth, even from the distance you put between your bodies. You’re still naked and push the sheets over your chest to give you some sort of dignity, but something tells you that isn’t necessary. 

Is it normal to feel so…calm? 

There’s no sense of dread about going into work and inevitably facing a million emails from people you don’t care about. You move on autopilot most days, running through the same routine to the point where you grow tired of it. But here, in Sunghoon’s vacation home, you feel more relaxed than you have since working with him. 

It’s weird and unsettling. You don’t scramble for your phone—did you even charge it last night?—nor do you push yourself to do something with your day to avoid feeling the endless doom of the incoming week. Something about seeing Sunghoon breathing peacefully beside you puts you at ease, and that thought alone makes you a bit nervous. It’s hard enough that you aren’t the type of person to fall for everyone you meet. Even harder when you’re in love with someone who might not feel the same way. What a recipe for disaster. 

As if he hears your loud thoughts, Sunghoon opens his eyes and sees you looking down at him.

“You like watching me sleep?” You shove Sunghoon at his bicep but he merely chuckles and turns on his back to look at you. You try not to blush too much at his shirtless nature and sculpted body. 

“Nothing to look at.”

“Right.” 

You’re lying, clearly. His morning voice is deep and raspy, unlike anything you’ve ever heard before. He blinks at you with those sleepy eyes after putting your body through the mattress for hours on end. Sunghoon looks painfully normal like this. 

“How long have you been awake?” Sunghoon asks, reaching for your hand before putting it on his chest. You feel how warm his body is. 

“Not long.” Your fingers start to trace on his skin. “Forgot where I was for a second, though.” 

“Mm,” he hums. “You forgot how I fucked you so good you came screaming every time?”

“Sunghoon.” You bury your head in his chest and feel him laugh from your hiding spot. Sunghoon wraps an arm around you loosely and pulls you closer to him.

“Can’t handle the truth, can you? What happened to my headstrong girl?”

“You’re such an asshole, Park.” 

“Your asshole, no?”

Your heart flutters. 

“Keep teasing me and you won’t be,” you say, looking up at him. He smirks and closes the gap, pressing a short kiss to your lips.

“We’ll see about that. Although, you should know I haven’t had a good night’s sleep like that in weeks.” 

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah, baby. You have a magical pussy, or something.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.”

“I’m serious.” He lifts himself off of the bed until you’re lying back on his mattress, staring up at his deep brown eyes. Sunghoon’s lips quirk into a smirk when his hand disappears underneath the covers and lands on your bare core. “Fuck. Still as good as I remember.” 

You open your legs and welcome the intrusion. His fingertips dance along your folds and you look up at him with a somewhat mischievous grin on your face. Sunghoon brings his hand up to his mouth, sticks his tongue out to lick the pad of his fingers, then puts it back onto your cunt. 

Sunghoon inserts his middle finger and is pleasantly surprised to find you as wet as you are. He breathes heavily and supports his body on his elbow to get a better angle. He moves his hand at a slower pace, feeling every drag of your walls as he pushes himself in and out of you. 

“Pretty baby.” The compliment comes out of nowhere and he kisses you right after. It’s tender and warm, but hot and sensual at the same time. 

Somewhere along the way, you take initiative and reach out to his lap. He’s already half-hard by the time you touch him, and he groans into your mouth when you wrap your hand around his dick. Swiping your thumb against his slit brings out a deep moan within him, and Sunghoon plunges his finger into you even deeper. 

He grows harder in your hand by the minute. The two of you are barely kissing at this rate. Sunghoon’s added another finger into your wet cunt and you focus on hearing just how much you’re splashing against his palm while stroking him, using the precum that’s oozing out to make him wet too. Your lips are just touching. You can feel his uneven breaths when you tug on his cock and twist your wrist, and Sunghoon keeps a steady gaze on you when you squeeze his base. 

Sunghoon mutters a quiet fuck and your heart swells with pride. When it comes to your professional life, it seems difficult to get a positive reaction out of him unless you go above and beyond. But when it’s just the two of you in his bedroom, Sunghoon praises you like it gets him off too. 

His precum leaks from his tip and you use your hand to coat it around him. Your palm feels his warm, throbbing dick that pulsates every time you twist your wrist. Sunghoon’s fingers falter every now and then. It feels like a victory to have him let his guard down. Although your day job is to take care of him, you find that Sunghoon seldom allows you to actually do it. 

“Let me take care of you.” 

You whisper it against his lips so tenderly that Sunghoon pulls away and looks down at you like he’s trying to decipher a difficult riddle. His fingers pause inside of you. 

“Me? Don’t you do that enough?” 

You roll your eyes and pull your hips from his hand. Sunghoon watches you with a curious arch to his brow as you maneuver onto the bed and move yourself between his legs as he spreads them apart. You pull the sheets off him, not caring that you’re naked too, and drink him in like you’re seeing him for the first time. 

His dick stands tall and proud. It felt so big inside of you last night. The thought of putting it in your mouth and sucking the soul out of him makes you clench around absolutely nothing and you feel no shame for it. 

You don’t look at Sunghoon directly, but you know he’s looking at you. His gaze is somewhere between watchful and lazy. It’s a perfect combination of curiosity and expectation, especially when you lay your chest down onto his mattress and wrap both hands around his base. Sunghoon flexes his thighs and breathes like he’s willing himself to calm down. 

You kiss his tip first and savor the salty taste of his precum before moving your lips to put gentle kisses all over him. You don’t know what compels you to be as gentle as you are. Perhaps it’s the morning sunlight and the quiet of the neighborhood that’s making you feel this way. It’s unlike the loud, bustling city that Seoul is. There’s no expectation to hurry and get started on your day. There’s just Sunghoon. 

He hums when you wrap your lips around the head and suck on it. Sunghoon’s hands clench beside him like he’s trying to get a grasp on reality, especially when your tongue swirls around it. You let your spit collect until it’s nearly spilling out of your mouth before pushing another couple of inches into your mouth and suck. That elicits a gasp from Sunghoon, who pushes his hands deep into the mattress. 

Like he’s done with you before, you reach for his hand and pry his finger away from his palm. He opens his eyes and looks down at your hand as your mouth works on his cock and immediately laces his fingers with your own. You’re still surprised at how they’re so soft. Sunghoon must take good care of himself.

With your other free hand, you grab his balls and gently squeeze them as you rise to push yourself down on his dick. Your throat constricts around his girth and you don’t pay any attention to the spit that falls from the both corners of your mouth. It adds lubrication and you ignore every uncomfortable sensation to fit even more of him. 

Sunghoon makes the most gorgeous noises. His deep voice echo throughout the room and his chiseled chest makes him look like a supermodel who stepped out of a fashion magazine. He’s gorgeous in every sense of the word and the fact that he isn’t afraid to moan in front of you makes him that much hotter. Sunghoon lets his pleasure do the talking and doesn’t disrupt your ministrations to get him off faster. You like that he’s letting you take control. 

Eventually, you pull him out of your mouth to catch your breath and focus on pumping his cock while your mouth travels down to his balls. He moans even louder when  you massage them with your tongue and switch them in and out of your mouth. The noises he makes are unlike anything you’ve ever heard from him. Sunghoon sounds pained and pleasured at the same time, almost like he’s been waiting to feel this good his entire life. 

“Shit, baby,” he says finally after regaining his composure. The hand that isn’t holding yours grabs your hair into a messy ponytail and you put your mouth back around his cock. 

Sunghoon doesn’t have to say anything else. With the way his thighs clench and how he grits his teeth while grunting, you know he’s close to his orgasm. He doesn’t push your head until you move it up and down his shaft, and you feel him grip onto your hair tighter. It makes you moan around his dick and he rewards you by emitting the deepest, sexiest sound you’ve ever heard from him. He pulls and pushes you down on his cock until he’s spurting his come right down your throat. 

It’s a welcomed sensation, but only because it’s Sunghoon. You don’t fight his hot seed, nor do you try to pull your head away from him. His grip on your stills and keeps you right where he wants you. You do your best to swallow every drop without choking on it and breathe through your nose to avoid coughing it up. Some of it spills from your mouth and you desperately chase it when he lets go of your hair. You don’t even feel embarrassed to lick up all of him that escaped your throat and you don’t notice Sunghoon looking down at you like he can’t believe you let him do that. 

When you sit up, Sunghoon immediately pulls you to him and kisses you. He doesn’t seem to care that he can taste himself on your mouth, and that makes you that much wetter. His cock, still hard even after coming to an orgasm just a minute prior, prods at your bare hole when you situate yourself on his lap. 

“You’re perfect,” Sunghoon mutters through sloppy, wet kisses. “My perfect girl.” 

“I give pretty good head, don’t I?” 

He gently smacks the side of your thigh. “You like teasin’ me, baby?” 

“Maybe.” You giggle against his mouth and he grins, pecking you once. 

“Mm. Won’t argue with you because that mouth of yours just made me come.” 

Even after having his dick in your mouth, his boldness still makes you shy. You look at him and bite your lip before wrapping your arms around his shoulders and digging your head into the crook of his neck. He laughs and you feel that vibrate along his naked chest. Sunghoon merely pulls you away from him and strokes the side of your face to push the hair from your eyes. 

“You’re so cute,” he coos. “Such a shy little thing when I have you in my bed.” 

“Total bitch when I’m in the office though, am I right?”

His grin widens. “Oh, yeah. Wouldn’t have it any other way. You don’t want to know how many boners I’ve dealt when you rip me a new one.” 

“You’re so weird.” His hot cock rests under your slit and Sunghoon can feel you aching against him. He lifts your lap up to position his tip against your hole and allows you to slowly sink onto him at your own pace until you’re fully seated on his lap. 

“Fuck,” you moan while his fingers caress your back as you slowly ride him. “So big.” 

Sunghoon looks up at you with dazed eyes like he just might love you. That smile he gives you makes your heart flutter. 

“You have the most perfect pussy.” 

That makes your face hot. 

“Hoon…” 

“Hoon,” he moans, eyes closing shut for just a brief second while his mouth warps into a lazy smile. “Call me that again.”

“Hoon?”

“Again.”

He pushes you down on his cock and pushes into your lap until it reaches your depths. 

“Hoon!”  

You yelp when he pulls your body down to his chest and brace yourself by flattening your palms on his chest and the mattress. Sunghoon’s hips drill right into yours at lightning speed. His tip hits the very spot he’s been managing to find this entire weekend and you feel completely limp against him. Every time you try to position yourself upright, Sunghoon tightens his grip around you while bending his legs to push into you at a deeper angle. 

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the way he feels inside of you. His skin is warm and sticky from the friction and his muscles are so hard underneath your grip. With one hand on his chest and the other on his bicep, your nails dig into his skin and you hear Sunghoon hiss at the pain throughout his moans. He doesn’t say anything, though. In fact, knowing how hard you’re clinging onto him turns him on even more. 

The room might as well be the scene of a pornography video with the way the two of you are moaning. Nobody’s ever pulled these kinds of sounds out of you and when you think about all of the women Sunghoon has slept with, you wonder if he’s ever fucked them as hard as he’s fucking you. 

Temporary jealousy takes over and that little pang in your chest makes you grab his jaw between your hands to kiss him hard. Teeth and tongue clash everywhere as Sunghoon responds immediately, mouth pushing against yours in a heated fury. You orgasm around him when he hits your sweet spot and he feels you moan right into his mouth. Sunghoon drinks it right up and uses his hands to pull your chest right against him as he finishes inside of you too. 

You don’t know what you’re a fan of more: the long, drawn out bedroom sessions or quick morning sex. Sunghoon still manages to leave you satisfied in a fraction of the time compared to the night before. He basks in your glory, hair sticking to his forehead and the sheen of sweat covering his naked body. Sunghoon watches as you look at him all over before you bite your lip and bend down to kiss him tenderly. 

Unlike the fast pace from moments before, Sunghoon accepts the slow kiss and keeps his hold on you with a feather-like touch. He caresses your spine like he’s done it a million times before, his dick softening inside of you with your shared orgasm spilling out. The plushness of his lips feel like two soft pillows you want to kiss over and over again. 

“Good morning,” you say, bringing your hand to brush the hair from his face. He looks at you fondly. 

“Good morning, baby.” 

“You look so good right now.” Sunghoon brings your hand from his hair to kiss your palm. 

“You’re so cute when you’re soft.” You bite your lip and hide your face in his neck and feel him laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this. I learn something new about you everyday.” 

“Don’t get used to it,” you mumble. Sunghoon grips your ass and gives it a hard squeeze. 

“I love it when you get feisty with me. But I like seeing you when you’re soft like this. It lets me know you trust me.” 

You pull yourself upright. “Does it?” 

“I’ve learned that you’re not easily impressed and it takes a while for you to let your guard down completely. When we’re at work, that's one thing. But from hearing your dating stories, it sounds like these guys didn’t give you a reason to stick around.”

“Well…that’s true.” 

He kisses underneath your jaw. “I don’t care if you’re yelling at me to get my shit done or being gentle. I like everything about you.” 

“Careful. You might say something you regret.” 

He looks you in the eye. 

“I always say what I mean.” 

The tension in the room is palpable and you almost say those three little words that seem to come easily for Sunghoon and no one else. You keep your tongue to yourself, however. He doesn’t seem to notice the inner turmoil going on inside of you and pulls out of you slowly before leaving to get a clean rag. 

Sunghoon beckons your legs open and cleans you up with a warm, wet rag. He’s gentle with his hands and smoothes over your folds and inner thighs. He holds you with such a delicate touch that it makes you feel as if you must be made of glass or something of more important weight. 

When he’s done, Sunghoon holds the cloth in one hand and bends down to press a long kiss onto your slip with his lips pushed right against them. He slips his tongue out and licks a stripe up your slit like he’s a kitten licking milk. He’s so attractive between your legs, especially with his eyes closed like he’s enjoying the meal. 

It’s too much for you to look at. You push his face away and close your legs while Sunghoon laughs and helps you up onto your feet, handing you a spare sweater before kissing you goodbye with the promise of meeting you for breakfast in the living room once you’re decent.

***

Midday comes around and the weather has gotten hotter as the sun reaches its peak. Lunch is long forgotten on the kitchen island as you pack a bowl of fruit and grab a few bottles of water to bring outside to the pool area. Sunghoon fetches a few towels and sunscreen before removing the protective barrier covering the pool, revealing stunning tiling that makes it look like a blue lagoon. 

The bikini you’re wearing barely hides any part of your body. The cups accentuate your breasts and you might as well have ditched the bottoms you’re wearing because they barely cover your ass. You can tell Sunghoon likes them too, with the way he’s been ogling your body ever since you walked out. He stares at your legs and the curve of your ass before trailing his eyes to the valley of your breasts. He’s shameless about it, too. But nothing about this feels like objectification. In fact, you want Sunghoon to look at you like you’re something he wants to devour. 

“Can you put sunscreen on me?” you ask him, holding out a bottle for him to use. Sunghoon takes it from your grasp and stares at your chest before his eyes flicker up to your eyes. 

“Sure, baby. Where do you want it?” 

You turn around and his eyes immediately follow your ass. You tilt your head until you can see him, and Sunghoon averts his gaze when you catch him staring. 

“Can you start with my back? I can’t reach there.” 

“Mhm.”

He hums when you turn your head back around and you hear the sunscreen squirt from out the bottle and onto his hands. Sunghoon rubs the product between his hands and you feel him put his palms on your shoulder blades before working it down your back. 

“This bikini…”

“You like?” 

“Yeah,” he says in disbelief. “I like it a lot.” 

“Haven’t had an excuse to wear it. I don’t have a pool in my apartment building.” 

“Mm,” he mumbles. “We should fix that.” 

You giggle. “Yeah, I guess we should. More trips to this house?”

“Whatever you want.” 

He sounds so unfocused that it nearly makes you double over in laughter. Sunghoon’s fingers reach the hem of your bikini bottoms before he brings his hands to cup your asscheeks, temporarily removing himself from your body to grab more sunscreen. 

“Can’t forget about your ass, baby. They might get sunburnt too.”

You push yourself out to him and look behind you. He’s barely paying attention to anything but your ass. “You’re so right, Hoon. Do you think you can put sunscreen there, too?” 

Sunghoon pushes the fabric together until it resembles a thong, using both of his enormous hands to spread the sunscreen all over you. He pulls apart your ass as if to inspect it and massages the meaty flesh before him until the product disappears. Sunghoon pushes your bottoms back to the appropriate position. 

“All done,” he says, clearing his throat. “I should put sunscreen on you everywhere just to be on the safe side, right?” 

“Right,” you say with a certain nod. “How about my chest?” 

“Good thinking.” He twists your body until you’re facing him and tugs on your bikini strings until his fingers graze your skin. “I think we should put some sunscreen here.” 

Sunghoon pulls the fabric away from your breasts to expose your taught nipples and nearly drools at the right. He bends down to suck your left nipple and squeezes the other, flicking his tongue expertly while you grab his head and moan softly above him. He hums around your nipple and pinches the other one gently before switching, taking his sweet time exploring your body while you stand helplessly. 

He pulls away faster than you’d like, but you relish in the way he looks completely dazed and out of it, like he forgot he’s supposed to put sunscreen on you. Sunghoon, acting in a daze, puts sunscreen all over your chest and stomach before clearing his throat and turning away. It makes you laugh. 

Sunghoon jumps in the pool and it splashes against the bottom of your legs. When he emerges, you fight the urge to squish your legs together. He wipes the water from his eyes and somehow, Sunghoon likes twice as good with water dripping down his body. It accentuates his muscles and you’re dripping wet without having jumped in yet. 

“I don’t bite,” he says when he sees you staring. Damn Sunghoon and the uptick on his mouth. 

You roll your eyes and get into the pool by the steps instead of jumping in like Sunghoon did. He waits for you to approach him and watches the way your assets bounce against the small currents from your movements. He licks his lips shamelessly and reaches his hands out to squeeze your hips when you come to him.

“There she is,” Sunghoon says. “There’s my girl.” 

You swat his chest. “You only like me because my tits are out.” 

Sunghoon averts his eyes to your chest. “Can’t say that isn’t true.” You fix your bikini top until your nipples are nearly peeking out just to tease him.

“Better?” He squeezes your hips. 

“Much better. Though, I think they’d look better if you took the bikini off.”

Sunghoon turns your body around until your back is pressed against his chest. His lips attach to your neck and he peppers kisses along your hot skin while his hands trail up your body to cup your breasts. His thumbs pass over your hardened buds and you don’t shy away from his touch. 

In fact, you encourage it. There’s no mistaking the arch in your back to press yourself against Sunghoon’s crotch. He grunts against your neck and cups your breasts through your top, giving them a gentle and firm squeeze. It makes you whimper softly against the sound of the pool water moving against the two of you and you swear Sunghoon grows harder by the second.

“Sexy girl,” he mutters, pulling the fabric covering your chest to the side to completely expose you. He hooks his chin on your shoulders and peers down at your breasts. “Fuck, they’re so beautiful.” 

It exhilarates you like no other to have him touch you like this in public, even though his backyard isn’t accessible unless you come from the house. Still, the prospect is still the same. 

“Let’s say we take these off, hm?”

He doesn’t wait for your permission, but it’s not like you’d decline him anyway and he knows it. Sunghoon moves his fingers slowly to untie your bikini top until it’s floating in the water next to you. He groans when your chest is free and cups them in his palms as he thrusts his hard dick against your ass. 

“Need my dick between your tits.” Sunghoon squeezes you again and you match the way he’s rubbing against you by pushing on him too. “Wanna see my come all over them.”   

“Yeah?” 

“Oh yeah, baby. I’ll fuck your perfect tits until they’re nice and dirty for me.” He drops one hand to your bottoms and bypasses the fabric until his fingers graze your slit. “Jesus, darlin’. Making me so horny in this little number of yours.” 

“Fuck,” you moan out. Sunghoon plunges a finger inside of you hastily and groans against your ear. His breath makes your body shiver and you feel him smirk right against you when he feels it. 

“I want to taste you right now.” 

He moves the two of you closer to the shallow end where the steps are and nudges you to turn around. You whimper when he withdraws his finger but the way he looks at you makes up for it. 

Your body’s halfway out the water and you feel more exposed when he undoes your bottoms, letting that float away in the water too. Sunghoon’s is rock hard against his swimming trunks when he bends down to bring his face closer to your naked cunt and licks a wide stripe up your slit.

You don’t shy away from moaning loudly and that seems to please Sunghoon, who licks you again and again until you’re moaning in contentment. You feel unburdened by anything and his mouth takes the stress from your body, and turns it into something pleasurable. 

His hands grip your thighs to keep you in place while his mouth attaches to your folds, lips puckered while his tongue runs across the expanse of your cunt like he’s trying to memorize every bit of you from this experience alone. Sunghoon is so good with his mouth that it astounds you how turned on you are just from oral. 

He hums when he feels your feet touch his back and buries his head deeper in you. The water subtly splashes around and the cool droplets lessens the burn of the hot sun. 

You’ve never imagined yourself to be someone as bold as this. Seldom do men make you feel comfortable enough to let your guard down, much less eat you out in a semi-public area. Sunghoon’s tongue explores your inner walls with every pass and his hands keep you grounded, reminding you to enjoy the present and turn your brain off. 

The hard concrete underneath you starts to feel uncomfortable and Sunghoon strokes your skin with his thumb as if to say you’re doing a great job withstanding the subtle friction. He moves his face until his tongue is perfectly hitting your clit repeatedly, making you come right on his mouth with your legs spread impossibly wide. The thrill of it all makes your stomach coil and you don’t shy away from bucking your hips right into his face. 

Sunghoon pulls back and his face looks absolutely wild, from his lust-filled eyes to his hard dick standing upright in his trunks. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand while you push your legs back underneath the water and attempt to stand on your own. He takes a step forward when you falter and kisses your forehead like he didn’t just devour you in his pool. 

“So good for me,” he mutters, moving to kiss your lips next. “I knew I’d get you out of your shell.” 

“Can’t believe I let you do that in public.” 

“Not technically public.” 

“Anyone could’ve seen!” He rolls his eyes when you laugh at him. You try not to seem bashful when he pulls himself out of his swim shorts but his hard, leaking dick looks you right in the eye and you become some animalistic version of yourself. 

“Atta girl,” Sunghoon says when you prop yourself over the ledge of the pool. 

You part your legs to fit him in between and he rubs your ass with one hand while gliding the tip over your hole with the other. The feeling of Sunghoon against your cunt will never get old. The intrusion is welcomed and encouraged, and he senses your eagerness when you squeeze around the head. 

It’s hot, mid-morning, and today feels like the kind of day to relax and unwind. Unlike this morning, Sunghoon doesn’t rush to make either of you orgasm. He sets a moderate pace and holds your hips while pushing his pelvis against your body. You’re content hearing him grunt behind you and your tits hangs over the ledge as he pushes and pulls from you repeatedly. 

To you, sex could never be as casual as this. It’s amazing how Sunghoon makes you feel like you don’t have to be ashamed to feel pleasure. You don’t need an excuse to have somebody adorn your body with their mouth or fuck you like they’re desperate for it. Here you are, spreading your legs and ass for your boss, but it feels like you’re on your first vacation with your boyfriend. 

You try not to think about that too much. Instead, you let the feeling of pleasure and euphoria takeover until you’re both coming. Sunghoon finishes inside and mutters something about how he doesn’t want to make the pool all dirty, and so your pussy is the only logical place to come. That makes you horny again, and you make him fuck you on the pool chair out in the open.

***

After the pool, you and Sunghoon decide you’ve played too hard to do anything that requires a functioning brain cell. The two of you shower together. Sunghoon tries to start something while you wash your hair and pouts when you tell him you need to clean yourself in peace. He waits patiently and doesn’t rush you, and you reward him by deep throating his cock until he bursts. 

The two of you dry up and spend the rest of the afternoon lazily lounging in his bed with the TV on in the background. For an hour, the two of you talk about everything and nothing, sneaking in a few kisses until you inevitably fall asleep on his chest. Sunghoon falls asleep shortly after. 

When you come to, Sunghoon is awake and checking his phone. You blink the sleep out of your eyes and see that he’s looking at an email for a dinner reservation. Sunghoon, who notices you’re awake when you stir above him, glances down and kisses your nose.

“Good morning, princess.” 

“It’s four in the afternoon, Hoon.”

“Good morning, princess,” he repeats. You swat his chest and fall back against him. “There’s a restaurant nearby that I really love. Romantic, candle lit, and everything. We have a reservation at seven.” 

“It’s so weird to let you handle this stuff,” you mutter against his neck before kissing it once. “I feel useless.”

“Relax and let me do the work, yeah? You can go back to being my assistant when we’re at the office.”

“I guess…” He grins when he hears your playful tone. 

“I know you’re sleepy, but I think you should get up and start getting ready. We need to leave by six-thirty to make it on time.”

You groan. “Wanna sleep. Wanna have sex a little more too.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Sunghoon pulls his body until he’s hovering over yours and locks eyes with you. “I knew you couldn’t get enough of me.”

“Not you. Your dick.” You bring a hand over his shorts to cup his bulge before squeezing it. 

Sunghoon spreads both of your legs wider and presses his covered crotch along your own covered mound, pushing himself until you feel his body heat. You can’t help but gasp, especially when you feel that he’s already started to harden against you. Sunghoon slowly grinds himself and the friction feels a bit too good to admit. He lifts his hips up and down until his hard dick is slotting themselves against your pussy. Your slick is already pouring out and your panties are pasted to the shape of your folds. 

“Feels so good,” you whisper against his lips when Sunghoon bends down to kiss you.

“I’ll fuck you some more after.” You whine when he pulls away. “Go get ready, brat. Let me be good to you. Stop sabotaging me with those eyes of yours.” 

You pout when you realize your seductive gaze isn’t working on him, but get up nonetheless.

Sunghoon gives you space and breathing room to get ready. He says he wants to be surprised by what you’re wearing and steps out of the room before you can say anything else. You put on some music while you paint your face a bit more elegant than normal, and feel the excitement of a date creep upon you.

While the two of you have had dinner just the two of you before, this feels like a real date. The intention of impressing him is clearly there. Your lips are an incredible shade of red and the way you did your eye makeup makes you look like a seductive siren. You don’t overthink it too much. This is Sunghoon, the man you’ve known for six years. He’s seen you naked and has finished inside you. There’s no reason to feel nervous.

But the nerves are still there. The warm feelings you have towards him creep up like a sleeper spy. They hit you when you least expect it and when you’re not distracted by him. The weighted reality of going back to Seoul and the two of you never addressing this weekend is a fear you have, but it’s one that doesn’t need to be addressed at this very moment. 

The lingerie you packed makes your body look like a sinful temptation. It leaves very little to the imagination and emphasizes your assets in a way that makes you feel more confident than not. The dress you’ve chosen makes you might as well be the most beautiful person in the room. Every insecurity you have seems to have vanished when you look at yourself in the full length mirror, and your nerves stem from excitement rather than worry. For the first time, you get a feeling that tonight won’t end up in tears and drowning your sorrows in cheap wine and popcorn. 

“Holy shit,” Sunghoon curses when you come out of the room. You hold your sleek pair of heels in your hands—a tall peep toe shoe with a buckle around the ankle—while Sunghoon’s eyes roam all over your figure. “Fuck, baby. I think I might cum right now.”

“Don’t flatter me too much.” It’s hard to avoid his eyes. He’s staring at your legs and beckons you to give him your shoes.

You stare in utter shock when Sunghoon bends to his knees to help you put them on. One by one, you slip into the heel and feel his fingers brush against your ankle until he’s standing in front of you with parted lips. Sunghoon looks delectable when he’s on his knees for you.

“I want to kiss you, but I’ll ruin your lip gloss,” he mumbles, eyes gazing at your mouth while his hands touch your hips. Sunghoon slowly kisses both of your cheeks instead. The way he’s looking at you makes your heart race.

He loops his arm with yours and leads you out the door. 

As promised, the restaurant is as romantic as Sunghoon described it. There are small candles on every table and the lighting is just low enough to make you feel like you and Sunghoon are the only two people in the room. 

The host leads you to the reserved table right by the window and the combination of the natural moonlight and the live band makes you feel like you stepped into a cliche romance novel. Usually, you’d turn your nose up at romantic endeavors, but tonight you feel like you’re brave enough to bask in its glory. 

Sunghoon pulls your chair out for you and you let him. Tonight, you’re his date. Not his assistant. 

“You look amazing.” You laugh.

“You said that four times already.” 

He grabs your hand above the table and starts playing with your fingers. Sunghoon, too, looks breathtaking. He’s slicked his hair back and you can see the silver jewelry adorning his neck and fingers. Sunghoon is so stylish, even down to his shoes, that it makes you feel a bit embarrassed to remember all of the guys who’ve dressed so poorly when they took you out on a date. 

Maybe it’s mean to judge those men for not having the means that Sunghoon does. But he’s clearly secure in himself and doesn’t mind letting you take center stage without a moment's notice. You saw it when he let you walk in front of him from the valet to the restaurant, and you saw it in the way he kept his eyes on you the entire time. You know you look good. He knows it too. 

If there’s one thing you love about Sunghoon, it’s that he seems to know what you’re feeling before you do. It’s your job to know that when he’s at work, but you often forget that he’s learned a lot about you in the time you’ve been working alongside him. He expertly suggests appetizers and cocktails that he thinks you’ll like and you actually enjoy them. Men from your past puff their chest and talk big for people who don’t know what they’re doing. 

You feel taken care of. And, if you’re honest with yourself, it feels good to let someone else take the wheel for a change. Sunghoon understands you on a level that is beyond your imagination. Neither of you have to speak in order to be on the same wavelength. It’s as if the two of you are two foreign objects working in tandem, completing each other without intent. 

It’s scary to realize how fast you’ve fallen for him. But on the other hand, were these feelings already there, and did you only act upon it when Sunghoon started to show interest in you too? You thought you had squashed these feelings down years ago, chalking it up to loneliness when you developed a small crush on your boss. Viewing him like the authoritative figure who signed your paychecks worked for a little while. Now, that method has gone down the drain. 

You’d always been a bit envious of the beautiful women in Sunghoon’s life and those who wanted to rub elbows with him. You never believed you could measure up because of the wealth disparage, and most would ignore your presence for the sake of having a good time with him. Working alongside him the first two years of your career was a challenge and a half. Picking him up from far away locations at ungodly hours of the morning tested your patience, as did seeing him with post-sex hair at 2 A.M. 

It was like a breath of relief when Sunghoon stopped seeing women so frequently. No more envy of the rich and famous, and no more heartbreak over the fact that he’d been with women who weren’t you. It was you who he called to fix his messes and it was you who he “came home to” at the end of the day. Per the requirements of your contract, you were always there for him and Sunghoon knew you’d be a call away. 

People push you out of the way when they realize you’re his assistant and not his equal. You’ve had your fair share of women weasel their way into his life with bad intentions and mistreat you because of it. Some are polite while others are snarky. Some try to butter you up with gifts and sweet words of affirmations, while others turn their noses in your direction. 

Learning to develop a thick skin came with time. Part of growing up meant knowing when to shut feelings off. You’d grown comfortable leaving your morality and emotions at the door every morning you stepped into the office building. Only when you’d read the threshold of your apartment would you break down into a puddle of tears. It’s a dog-eat-dog world and your position did not make life easier for you. 

Somewhere along the way, Sunghoon started to feel like a colleague rather than your boss. He started asking for your input and entrusted you with a few of his projects. As time passed by, the two of you developed a way of working well together without stepping on each other’s toes. For some accounts, you were the coordinator and liaison while Sunghoon took the backseat. On others, you were his acting assistant and remained that way until the end of the project. 

It almost felt like you were an employee of his status, too. You felt like you could’ve made a great career out of it. But jumping through hoops and glass barriers in your way posed a great challenge that you were not able to meet. Perhaps the stagnation of your job and the repetitive nature was what started to burn your light. Traveling to far away places only seems fun when you take the work aspect out of the equation. 

There was never enough time for you, and the accumulation of boredom and routine was what drove you to resign. But even now, in the wake of abandonment, Sunghoon cares for you. The end of the meal is anything but a sobering thought after multiple glasses of wine and enough food to make you feel like a rich heiress. What’s left is your raw feelings and your relentless love for him.

“You’re so good to me.” Sunghoon tilts his head and looks at you. 

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re so…attentive.” 

“I’d like to think I know you pretty well.”

“It’s hard for me to trust people completely.” 

He smiles softly. “I know.”

“I’m not used to letting my guard down, is what I’m trying to say. It feels like we’ve been on vacation for weeks, even though it’s only been a day.” 

“I care about you a lot, you know?” Sunghoon says. He sips on his wine without breaking eye contact, your own glass on its second pour. “You know me better than anyone else does.”

“Sometimes, I feel like I’ll never get out of the cycle I’m in. I’m scared that I’ll always feel lonely.”

He strokes your hand. “Is the second glass getting to you?” 

“Maybe…”

“You’re really cute.” 

You pout. “You keep saying that, but I’m telling you some depressing shit about how my life is boring and I’m sad all the time.”

“So cute.” 

He bites his lip and looks at you for a moment. It makes you feel like you’re under inspection. Perhaps it’s the wine that’s making you feel vulnerable and light-headed, but Sunghoon looks at you like he wants you to believe him. 

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I could never be the man I am today without you.” 

“You…You’re giving me too much credit.”

“No, baby.” You melt at his deep voice. “I don’t think I knew how intertwined our lives are until you gave me your resignation letter. You’ve been a constant in my life for the past six years and I took that for granted every single day. I want you to stay, but I don’t want you to choose me if that means sacrificing your own happiness.” 

His words pierce your heart.

“I’m…drunk.” 

Sunghoon seems to know what you mean. Your mind is too loud and combined with the volume of your heart pounding in your chest, you feel like nothing could ever capture what you want to say. Your eyes feel wet and glossy from his words and the alcohol that’s just on the precipice of wearing off. You’re sure you must look like some hot mess with smudged lipstick and a dazed look. To Sunghoon, you look like the epitome of perfection. 

“Let me take care of the bill, yeah? Let’s go home.” 

He kisses the back of your hand before standing up to pay. The empty dessert plates, insistent by Sunghoon, who tells you a tiramisu won’t kill your savory taste buds, sit on the table like they’ve been licked clean. It’s nice to jump off the deep end and do things differently every now and then. You can still feel his lips where he kissed you. 

When Sunghoon comes back, he kisses your forehead quickly before leading you out of the restaurant with his hand in yours. You let him lead you to the valet and will your beating heart to slow down before you die of a heart attack. The only thing you can think about when you’re in the car is how it feels like you’re his wife coming home after a much needed date night. You’re not his employee. You’re his equal. 

Sunghoon parks his car inside of the garage when you unbuckle and grab his face with both hands. You push your lips upon him by surprise and he makes a sound from the sudden movement, but his hands find themselves on your waist when you kiss him. It’s somewhere between heavy and seductive, rushed and calculated. You throw all inhibitions out the window and let your body do all the talking for you. There are no reservations and hidden insecurities when you’re with Sunghoon, just love. 

He pushes his hands up your dress and you happily moan against his touch. Sunghoon rewards you by kissing you harder and pulls away when he needs to catch his breath. 

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he mutters. His big, brown eyes look up at you and you wear you could finish right there. 

“I want you,” you whisper in the quiet of the garage. The hum of the fluorescent lights is the only thing you register, aside from how fast your heart is beating. 

“You have me.” 

Sunghoon beckons you out of the car after a few more kisses and promises to have fun with you when you resist. You see him harden up when you whine about him not touching you and it makes Sunghoon more aroused than ever before. He sees and hears your sheer desperation. It makes him want to take you on every inch of this house. 

Eventually, the two of you make your way inside the house and you nearly stumble when Sunghoon drops to his knees. His hands fumble with the strap of the ankle and you feel his fingers gently undoing the buckle. Every pass of his skin feels electrifying and so does looking down at him. He, who plays the role of an authoritative figure, is on his knees for you.

He’s still in control, but it makes you feel like you have all the power. You’re putty in Sunghoon’s hands and you’re starting to assume he’s the same when it comes to you. His surprisingly soft hands caress your leg with every touch that wakes up some pent up sexual frustration from the pit of your stomach. The desire is there and Sunghoon’s the first person to bring it out of you to this extent. 

Sunghoon puts your heels aside and kisses up your leg. He pushes the hem of your dress towards your upper thigh when he alternates legs until his face is right by your stomach. He kisses you there keeps his chin there to look up at you as if to admire you from where he kneels. It’s too much for you. It makes you want to suck the soul out of him and never return it. 

“You looked beautiful tonight,” Sunghoon says while maintaining eye contact with you. His hands come to cup the back of your legs, caressing your skin with his thumbs. You feel his warmth radiating off of him and he looks at you like he’s somewhere in between starving and satiated. 

You don’t say anything. You can’t say anything. Sunghoon has you stopped in your tracks that you feel like you’re frozen on the ground with nothing but the sound of your heart pounding in your ear drums. 

“You always look so good when you get dressed up. Did you dress up for me?” 

You blush at that. 

“I…”

“It’s okay if you did.” 

Sunghoon starts to feel up your body underneath your dress and touches the lace lingerie you have on underneath. He hums in satisfaction and looks up at you again.

“You’re so strong, you know that? It’s what I like about you the most. You don’t need me to tell you anything.” He snaps the band of your panties and you subtly jolt in your stance. Sunghoon rises from his spot on the floor, and you look up at him once he’s at his full height. 

“But I’m selfish. I like it when you dress up for me.”

“Yeah?” you whisper.

“Yeah. It makes me feel special.” 

“Special?” 

You never thought you could make him feel that way too. You’ve been so caught up in your own life and distracting yourself from falling too hard that you never considered how you affect him. His dark brown eyes reach the depths of your soul when he looks at you like this. 

“You don’t do things because anyone asks you to. You do it for you. You’re quitting your job as my assistant because there’s more to life than that. My brave girl. I like it when you dress up for me because I know you must feel the same way I do.” 

“I don’t want to leave you forever,” you quietly confess.

“I don’t want that either. You have me, remember? I’m not going anywhere. 

Sunghoon makes you feel all kinds of uncanny things. He makes you feel like the star of your own romantic movie. Every cliche is not meant with resistance, like you would with other men. Instead, Sunghoon says all the right things and you find yourself falling for every word. 

Except, there’s something about this that makes you believe it’s real. He’s not saying it to get into your pants and leave you in the morning. Everything about him fighting for your employment to taking you on a whimsical weekend vacation makes you think he feels just as deeply as you do. He’s never done this with any of his past flings and short lived relationships before. You’ve seen it firsthand when he blames work for keeping him busy instead of confronting whatever truth he’s hiding from. 

With you, Sunghoon seems to have let all of that go. 

The two of you kiss messily and stumble in the hallway until you’re in the bedroom. Sunghoon throws his jacket on the floor and doesn’t have time to think when you kneel before him and pull your dress down to expose your chest. He stutters and nearly trips, if not for the edge of the bed directly behind his knees, and takes his shirt off when you unbuckle his pants to fish out his cock. 

You don’t say anything before you put your mouth on him. No warning. Nothing but pure greed and lust mixed together. Sunghoon watches you lick him up and down with your warm tongue and groans at the feeling of your wet saliva smearing all over his dick. You don’t care that your cheeks are starting to dampen up. That makes him even harder.

You force his pants and boxers down when you fit him inside of your mouth. You’re not thinking at all. Sunghoon moans loudly when you take as much of him as you can in a single shot. His hands find the back of your head to balance himself while you hook your hands onto his legs to push more of him deeper in your small throat. Watching you pull your head back only to push right back in makes Sunghoon thrust his hips towards you. 

The gagging sound makes you wetter and it makes him quicken his pace. You breathe through your nose and focus on how good it feels to know you’re the one making him act like this. Every grunt, every moan, and every orgasm is because of you. 

Humming around his dick makes Sunghoon moan too. The two of you sound like a pornography film when you moan in tandem. The noises he makes are beyond anything you’ve ever heard before. Men before you have been too afraid to make any sounds during sex, but it’s like Sunghoon needs to let them out in order to feel true pleasure. His baritone voice makes you impossibly wet. 

He holds your head in place and starts to fuck your mouth without abandon. The tip hits the back of your throat and you gag until spit is falling all over the place, but you don’t care at all. Sunghoon’s pelvis touches your nose with every thrust and you arch your back and the pace he sets, sticking your ass out for him to see. He moans and widens his stance for a better angle and shoves his dick deeper in your mouth. 

“Oh, fuck,” he moans. “I don’t want to cum yet.”

Sunghoon pushes your head away and holds you by the hair with a tight grip. You chase his dick after it slips out, but he holds you in your place instead of letting you suck him back in. Sunghoon’s cock twitches when you whine. He pivots and forces you onto the bed before he lies on top of it with his chest facing the ceiling. 

When he pulls your dress down your body, he curses upon seeing the red lace adorning your body. Your chest is pushed in all the right places and nearly spills over the cups. He throws the fabric somewhere behind him and spreads your legs for him to see, and feeling like an object he’s inspecting turns you on so much that you’re sure he can spot the wet patch by now. 

Sunghoon doesn’t comment on it, too focused on taking in the way you look underneath him. His hands reach to grip your breasts and stomach, his finger tracing the line of the lace hem above where you need him the most. 

“Can’t believe you wore this for me.” Sunghoon bends his head down between your chest and kisses the spot there before turning to lick your left nipple over the cloth. “You’re so fucking sexy, you know that? Do you know how hard it is to keep myself in check every time I see you? It doesn’t matter if you’re wearing a trash bag. I get so fucking hard every time you walk into a room.”

As if to prove a point, Sunghoon pushes his cock over your covered pussy. He moans quietly and pulls the cups of your bra down to suck on your buds with a gentle hum, like he’s satisfied a craving of his. His tongue feels like some kind of gentle heaven and you can’t help but arch your back, which pushes your chest right into his face. 

You paw at his dick and grip it hard in your hand, attempting to tug on it at this angle. He chuckles against your chest when you struggle to grip all of him. 

“I love how eager you are,” he mutters against your chest before crawling on the bed himself. “You look so desperate trying to touch my dick. Is that what you want?” 

Sunghoon obliges. His hands grab your body and place you on top of him with your mouth pointed at his crotch. His cock looks so much bigger from this angle and you’re dripping right onto Sunghoon’s tongue. The feeling of the first pass makes you clench your hole and grip the base of his cock to balance yourself. 

He pulls your panties aside and moans against your pussy and licks you simultaneously. You feel his warm breath and the way his hands are prying your ass apart for him. Sunghoon groans when you push your lap onto his face, slapping your asscheek. 

You get the hint and wrap your lips around his dick, trying to fit all of it in your mouth. It’s slower than Sunghoon’s languid licks, but you must be doing a good job because you feel the vibration of his voice on your clit. It sends shivers up your spine and it makes your mouth water. 

Eventually, you find a steady pace as your hands squeeze Sunghoon’s balls between your fingers. You suck his tip like it’s a goddamn lollipop and you’re mouthing him like you have an oral fixation when it comes to him. He nearly bites you when you swallow his sack in your mouth and let your tongue lick through the seam. A swell of pride resides within you when you hear him. He’s so put together most of the time. It’s nice to feel him let his inhibitions go. 

You hollow your cheeks until it becomes a makeshift vacuum and suck on his dick as hard as you can. The moans coming from your throat make it hard for Sunghoon to stay still beneath you, but you welcome the intrusion every time his hips buck right into your mouth. Your saliva makes everything that much wetter and the sounds of his wettened cock and your slick core, egg both of you on. You’ve never felt so turned on sucking someone off before. 

Sunghoon’s tongue thrusts into you and you push back on his face, momentarily fearing that you might suffocate him if you continue. But his movements feel too good to care at this point. Sunghoon slurps up your juices and massages your ass while he eats you like a man on a mission, tongue rolling everywhere with no real method.

It makes you feel jealous that other women have experienced his magical mouth. You hate that he’s tasted women who aren’t you and you hate that you’ve had to watch him come home from a one night stand while pushing your own feelings below the surface. 

This motivates you to suck him with a death grip. Your mouth never relents and you force your head down until you’ve shoved all of him down your throat. Sunghoon moans against your core and you feel his grip on your ass tighten the more you constrict yourself around his cock. 

With a new sense of pride for making him moan the way he does, it propels you to use your head like that. You pull back and push down over and over again, letting his thick, mushroom head hit the back of your throat while your saliva spills everywhere. You refuse to take a break when Sunghoon’s suffocating himself on your pussy. 

One hand continues to touch his balls and aid his pleasure while the other grips his base to keep his dick right where you want him. God, you think. Where has this man been all my life? 

You cum when Sunghoon sucks on your clit. You push yourself off of him to arch your back, and grasp anything to make you feel sane. He moans when he tastes your orgasm and keeps licking while you process your high and come down from it. His cock is untouched and twitching with excitement upon tasting your release. 

“Need it,” Sunghoon nearly growls. 

He pushes your body off of him until the back of your head touches the plush pillows. He puts his mouth underneath your jaw and kisses you every place he can touch. Sunghoon drags his tongue all over and tastes the salty sheen of your sweat, grinning to himself. His canines graze your pulse point and you buck your hips until the underside of his wet cock is brushing against yours. 

“Do you want me as badly as I want you?” he whispers against your neck. 

“I need you more than you know.” 

“Fuck. I want all of you.” 

You spread your legs wide open and Sunghoon takes this opportunity to reach between your bodies to guide his tip to your entrance after pulling your panties to the side again. The push is slow and monstrous, unlike the times you’ve had sex with him before. He feels bigger somehow. More girth than earlier this morning. The stretch is deliciously painful and the sting burns no matter how wet you are. 

You both moan out into the open when he slips it in. Sunghoon looks like something devilish when he shuts his eyes while moaning. He’s so fucking hot that it’s not fair at all. His face becomes flushed and his forehead glistens with the sweat he’s built up eating you out. He buries himself to the hilt until you feel his warm sack on your ass. 

Your toes curl and you both feel the way your hole flutters around Sunghoon’s dick. His breaths are slow and deep. They make you more aroused, especially in the quiet of the night with nothing but the moonlight illumination through the uncovered windows. 

Sunghoon doesn’t snap his hips like you expect him to. He raises his hips and rolls them in slowly as if trying to savor every drag of your walls against his wet cock. He’s so slow that you hear your combined breaths trying to regain some kind of dignity and failing. The wet sounds add to your euphoria. Sunghoon starts to increase his speed, but not by much. 

“Perfect,” he mutters to himself. “So fucking perfect.” 

He braces both of his hands on either side of you. Sunghoon’s muscular bicep comes into view and makes you clench around him, to which he hissed and loses his composure, pushing his chest to yours. Your nipples squeeze under his skin. His body is so warm against you.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt like you lost your mind before this very moment. Sunghoon feels like he’s reached every untouched crevice in your body and it makes you feel like you're frozen in time. You don’t run from this pleasure either. You stay right where you are and tell yourself you deserve to have good sex and you deserve Sunghoon. 

You’ve enticed him. Sunghoon widens his own legs to better angle himself until he’s plunging his dick straight into you. The sheer force and depth at which he’s fucking you feels incredible. He doesn’t seem like he’s thinking at all. He acts like this is his primal instinct and he’s letting that version of himself takeover. 

Sunghoon groans with the sexual frustration he has within him and drills himself into you like he’s trying to make the two of you become one. His hips start to lose control the faster he thrusts into you, his cock warm and heavy even at the pace he’s setting. It’s all so hot. 

You think you might love him so much that walking away would shatter you. Your heart can’t help but choose him every time, and some part of you is desperate to know if Sunghoon feels the same way about you. 

Whimpers pour past your lips the faster Sunghoon fucks you. The gradual pace tells you he’s the absolute master of self indulgence and patience. You see elements of it when you see him in the office, and it’s always made you wonder just how patient he can be. Tonight, it seems like he’s trying to draw out your combined pleasure for as long as humanly possible. 

“Oh god,” Sunghoon chokes. He’s pounding into you with relentless force. “I’m cumming, shit shit shit.” 

He holds his breath, focusing on his orgasm. Sunghoon breaks you out of any thought that isn’t right here and right now. He arches his back so beautifully when he’s close and it drives his cock into you that much deeper. 

Sunghoon glances down at you before shutting his eyes and letting the first droplets of cum seep into you. You tighten your grip around his dick in preparation for what’s to come. Only, this time surprise you more than the time. 

“I love you.” 

He moans it without caring how loud he’s being. Sunghoon’s admission triggers your own orgasm and you thrash your body around while he chases your hips to settle you in your place beneath him. Your pussy clenched over and over again, collecting every drop from his leaning tip. Your shared orgasm leaks from the empty space between the two of you and you feel it drip between your legs. 

It’s like your heart is bursting with warmth and shock at the same time. Electricity flies off of your body and your mind runs so fast that you don’t know if you’ll ever come down from this particular high. Sunghoon finds your lips and kisses you with fervor and passion while he slows down his thrusts. He’s kissing you like he’s trying to make sure you’re real. He doesn’t pull away or pull out, even when he’s becoming soft. 

“You love me?” you ask.

“Yeah.” Sunghoon laughs incredulously and looks down at you. “Yes I fucking do.” 

“Sunghoon—”

“Don’t tell me you don’t feel the same, because I know you do. Your body tells me everything I need.”

“I didn’t think you’d feel the same.” Sunghoon soothes your lips over with a gentle kiss.

“I’ve loved you for a while now. I just started listening to my heart.” 

“That was so corny.” 

He grins against your mouth. “It was, wasn’t it?”

“Well…you’re lucky you’re cute.” 

“Are you not gonna say it back?” he teases. You look away and pretend to be confused. 

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Brat,” he says, pushing his half hard cock deeper in you to make you yelp. “Say you love me back, baby.” 

You don’t need that much convincing.

“I love you.

***

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[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚖𝚒𝚌’𝚍 𝚞𝚙 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which it’s just you, paige and a camera you forget is there

You’ve done this a hundred times—more, probably—but today feels different.

The studio is quiet except for the soft hum of LED panels and the occasional creak of your chair as you adjust your posture for the fifth time in ten minutes. Your assistant, Em, is in the editing bay making last-minute tweaks to the intro roll, but you can still feel her watching you through the glass with that knowing grin. She’s already teased you enough this morning.

“You’re fixing your hair again,” she says into your earpiece, voice crackling through the comm. “It looks fine. You look fine. Stop.”

You roll your eyes and shoot a sarcastic thumbs-up at the one-way glass, ignoring the slight heat in your cheeks.

Fine isn’t good enough today.

Because today, your guest isn’t just a guest. She’s the guest.

Paige Bueckers.

And yeah, sure, you’ve interviewed top tier athletes before—Megan Rapinoe, Candace Parker, even Serena Williams via video call once—but something about Paige is different. Maybe it’s the way she plays like poetry in motion. Maybe it’s how she carries herself��quiet, thoughtful, deadly on the court and disarmingly soft off of it. Maybe it’s just the damn smile you’ve seen in a hundred slow motion TikToks that fans lovingly post after every Dallas Wings game.

Or maybe, more realistically, it’s that you’ve had a crush on her since UConn, and you’re two hours away from sharing a couch and a mic with her for an hour straight.

“She Scores” has always been your passion project. What started as a niche podcast in your college dorm now pulls millions of listeners every week. You’re known for being sharp, knowledgeable, casually flirty without being pushy, and for asking questions no one else thinks to ask. But beneath all the polish and prep, you’re still just a massive women’s sports nerd who gets giddy when you get to sit down with the athletes who shaped the game.

You run through your notes again—childhood, UConn, transition to the W, off-day hobbies, rapid fire—but you already know you won’t stick to them perfectly. You never do. The best conversations happen when you let things drift. You’re just hoping you don’t drift too far into Oh my god she’s so pretty, stay normal territory.

Em buzzes back in.

“Just got word—she’s on her way up.”

You freeze for a beat, then rise from your chair and take a deep breath, brushing invisible dust off your vintage Lisa Leslie hoodie. You’re wearing sneakers that cost too much and jeans that hug just right, and your hair has been sitting at an intentional degree of messy for the past hour. Cool. Collected. Professional. Mostly.

The knock at the door is soft. You turn as your producer opens it, and there she is.

Paige Bueckers.

And she’s early.

You didn’t expect that.

She’s dressed in a simple grey zip-up and black sweatpants, no makeup, hair pulled back into a loose bun. Effortlessly beautiful. A little taller than you imagined—though that might be the sneakers. Her eyes meet yours, blue and steady, and she smiles.

“Hey,” she says, voice quieter than you thought it’d be. “I’m Paige.”

As if you didn’t know.

You step forward, trying not to radiate pure gay panic. “Hey! Welcome. I’m so glad you could make it. And you’re early, which automatically makes you my favorite guest.”

She laughs, short and real. “I was scared of LA traffic. Got lucky, I guess.”

You offer her water. She takes it. Her fingers brush yours for a second too long. Or maybe not long enough.

“You good to hang out in the green room for a bit?” you ask. “We don’t record for another half hour, but I figured it might be nice to talk first. Get comfortable.”

“I’d like that,” she says, and your heart taps out a Morse code you hope doesn’t show on your face.

You lead her to the smaller side room off the main studio, a cozy space with a worn leather couch, some plants that are somehow still alive, and shelves lined with sports memorabilia—signed basketballs, framed jerseys, candid photos with former guests. She walks past the wall and pauses when she sees the signed Sue Bird jersey.

“You’ve had Sue on here?” she asks, blinking.

You grin. “Yeah. She wore that jersey the first time we talked. She signed it after I beat her in a game of HORSE.”

Paige raises an eyebrow. “You beat Sue Bird in HORSE?”

“Well, technically, I distracted her by asking about her some dumbass question, but a win is a win.”

She smiles again—wider this time—and sinks into the couch, folding one leg under herself.

“So, do I get the same treatment?” she asks. “You gonna ambush me with personal questions?”

“Nope,” you reply, sitting across from her. “I already know pretty much a lot. Twitter’s been over that since the UConn days.”

She groans softly, tipping her head back. “God. Twitter knows too much.”

You watch her for a moment, just… existing. Relaxed. Present. And you realize she doesn’t seem like the kind of person who enjoys small talk for its own sake. But you also don’t want to jump right into deep questions.

“You nervous?” you ask instead. Simple. Honest.

She shrugs. “A little. I’ve seen your podcast before. You don’t really let people off the hook.”

You smirk. “That’s true. But you’re in good hands.”

She looks at you, and something flickers between you. Not full-blown tension yet, but something.

You glance down at your phone, pretending to check the time. You’re stalling, which is dumb. You never stall.

“You wanna run through the outline real quick?” you offer. “Just to know what’s coming.”

She tilts her head. “Or… we could wing it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Winging it with a podcaster is dangerous, Bueckers.”

“I like dangerous,” she says, then blinks like she didn’t mean to say it quite like that.

You catch it. You catch everything.

“Well,” you say, standing, “let’s give the people what they want.”

She follows you back into the studio, her presence magnetic even in silence. Your team starts final checks—lighting, mic levels, camera angles. You settle onto the couch next to her, not too close, not too far. You adjust your notes, but your hands aren’t shaking.

Not anymore.

She turns to you, just before you go live.

“You good?” she asks.

It’s simple, but the way she says it—grounded, like she sees you—settles something in your chest.

“Yeah,” you say, meeting her eyes. “You?”

She nods once. “Let’s do it.”

The red light is on, the music fades out, and you smile into the mic.

“Welcome back to She Scores, the podcast that unapologetically talks all things women’s sports—from buzzer beaters to backdoor cuts and everything in between. I’m your host, and today… listen. You already know. I don’t even need to hype this up but I’m gonna do it anyway.”

You turn your body slightly, just enough to face her.

“Joining me in the studio is a certified bucket. UConn royalty. NCAA Player of the Year, ESPY winner, national champion, and now… Dallas Wings rookie and all-around media mystery—Paige Bueckers. Paige, hi.”

She’s already smiling, eyes wide and slightly amused. She leans forward, adjusting the mic with practiced ease.

“Hey. Wow. That was… a lot.”

You smirk. “Too much?”

“No,” she says, laughing. “Just… you made me sound way cooler than I feel.”

“That’s kind of my thing,” you tease. “Making legends sound approachable.”

She lets out a little breath, like she’s trying not to smile harder than she should. Already, the chemistry crackles—not obvious to the untrained eye, but fans at home are going to pick up on this. Especially the ones with compilation and edit accounts.

“So how does it feel?” you ask. “The WNBA. First season. First media tour. Sitting across from me. Try not to be overwhelmed.”

She laughs again, easing into her seat. “It’s surreal. All of it. Some days I wake up and still feel like I’m on a college schedule. Like I’m supposed to be running sprints at 6AM.”

“Trauma.”

“Literal trauma,” she confirms, mock serious.

You nod. “We’ll get into UConn trauma in a second. But first, let’s take it back. Way, way back. Minnesota. Hopkins. Little Paigey. What’s your first basketball memory?”

She pauses thoughtfully. “I think I was maybe three? My dad had this mini hoop in our living room. The kind that’s too low for anyone over four feet tall.”

“Unfair advantage,” you interject.

“Exactly. But I remember shooting on that every day. He taught me how to pass. We’d play these one on one games—he’d let me score just enough to keep me hooked. And then when I finally beat him for real, I cried.”

“Wait, you cried?”

“Yeah,” she says, almost sheepish. “Like ugly cried. I didn’t know what to do with the win.”

“That’s deeply poetic,” you say. “Beating the person who taught you. The origin story of a future number one overall pick.”

She shrugs, but she’s glowing a little. “I just liked the sound of the ball going through the net. I still do.”

There’s a moment there—small, golden. You don’t rush it.

“You talk about that sound like it’s music.”

She glances at you. “It kinda is, right?”

Your smile deepens. “See, this is why I’m glad this isn’t a live podcast. People would already be tweeting unhinged things. Like we’re flirting.”

She laughs, but there’s something in her eyes—a flash of interest, maybe curiosity. “Are we?”

“Dunno,” you say, flipping a pen between your fingers. “We’ll let the comment section decide.”

She leans forward a bit more, playful. “Dangerous game.”

“I like dangerous,” you echo, and there it is again—like you’re circling something neither of you fully plan to name. You redirect, but only slightly. “So when did it get serious? Like, serious serious. When did Paige Bueckers go from ‘cute kid with a mini hoop’ to ‘national recruit and Gatorade Player of the Year’?”

Her smile fades into something more grounded, thoughtful.

“Probably middle school. I was playing up against older kids. My coaches were honest with me early—they told me I had potential, but I had to want it. Like, really want it.”

You nod, sipping from your water as you watch her speak. “And you did.”

“I did,” she says. “I still do. I don’t think that’s ever changed.”

You scribble something in your notebook, not because you need to, but because you need to look away for a second. The way she talks—low, deliberate, with that quiet confidence—makes it a little hard to keep your cool. You’ve interviewed charismatic people before. But Paige? She’s that rare mix of humble and magnetic. The kind that makes you forget you’re working.

“Talk to me about Hopkins,” you say. “You were a walking headline by, like, freshman year.”

Paige makes a face. “Ugh. I was also a walking awkward phase.”

“You and every lesbian born in the early 2000s,” you reply.

She laughs, covering her mouth for a second. “I didn’t even know back then—”

“Oh, sweetie,” you say, deadpan. “We all knew.”

She tilts her head, pretending to be scandalized. “Are you outing me on my own episode?”

“Absolutely not. But girl, be so for real right now.”

“Wow,” she says, laughing, “this is targeted.”

You shrug, feigning innocence. “Just doing my journalistic duty.”

The banter flows, faster now. She’s open, unguarded. You ask about pressure, expectations, media narratives. She gives measured but honest responses. You don’t grill—never do—but you go deep, and she meets you there.

You click your pen like it matters, but you’re not taking notes anymore. Not really. You’re just watching her speak—fluid, honest, careful in a way that doesn’t hide anything but still keeps a part of her close to the chest.

“So, let’s talk about it,” you say, leaning back in your chair, mic close to your mouth. “The elephant in the room.”

Paige raises an eyebrow, amused. “There’s an elephant?”

“There is,” you nod seriously. “Its name is Geno Auriemma.”

She laughs—light, warm, fond.

“Oh, God.”

“No, no, we’re gonna go there,” you grin. “Because we’ve talked about Minnesota, we’ve talked about middle school, we’ve talked about how you terrorized local basketball courts by age twelve. But I want to know—why UConn? Why Geno? You had offers from literally everyone.”

She exhales slowly, as if this is a question she’s answered before but never gets tired of answering.

“I think... deep down, I always knew.”

“Why though?”

“The legacy,” she says first. “The culture. The players who came before me. It wasn’t just about playing at a top program. It was about pressure. UConn has this... weight to it. You don’t go there unless you’re willing to be great.”

You tilt your head, lips curling.

“So you just wanted to be surrounded by greatness?”

She smirks back. “Yeah. Kind of like right now.”

You cough, trying to cover the grin that breaks out too fast.

“Wow,” you say, shaking your head. “Are you flirting with your host mid answer?”

“You started it.”

“Very unprofessional. I’m literally just doing my job.”

“And doing it very well,” she says, with zero hesitation.

You blink. The room feels warmer. Or maybe it’s just you. You pull it back together, even if it takes effort.

“Okay. Back on track before I combust,” you mutter. “UConn. Talk me through it. Year one. Year two. Everything.”

She exhales again, a little softer now.

“It changed me,” she says simply.

You let the pause settle. “How?”

She looks at the ceiling, then down at her hands, fingers lightly curled in her lap. “I think there’s this myth that when you get to a place like UConn, you arrive fully formed. Like, you’re already who you’re supposed to be. But I wasn’t. Not even close.”

You nod, gently. “None of us are at eighteen.”

“I was scared,” she admits. “I was confident on the court, yeah. But everything off it? The pressure. The expectations. The comparisons. It messed with my head.”

There’s no pity in your expression—just knowing. You’ve watched too many athletes burn out under the same spotlight.

“I got hurt, too,” she continues. “Sophomore year. That knee.”

Your voice softens. “I remember.”

“Everyone remembers. It’s weird, you know? Being reduced to a timeline. ‘Six weeks out. Six months. A year. Will she be back for March? Is she ever gonna be the same?’ I stopped being a person and started being... a question.”

You don’t rush in with sympathy. You just let her have the silence. She fills it naturally.

“But I had people,” she says, voice gentler now. “My teammates. The trainers. Geno.”

“What was he like through that?” you ask. “Because people love to paint him as this gruff, yelling machine.”

She grins. “He is. But also... he listens. When you let him. When I was quiet—too quiet—he noticed. And he pulled me aside one day after practice. Didn’t yell. Just said, ‘I know it sucks. But you’re still here. That matters.’”

You write that quote down before you realize you’re doing it.

You glance at her again, and she’s watching you with a kind of cautious ease, like she’s not used to people writing her words down without turning them into headlines.

You smile. “You grew up at UConn.”

She nods. “I really did.”

“Who was your rock while you were there?”

“Azzi,” she says immediately.

There’s a new kind of stillness in her voice. Familial, rooted, undeniable.

“Azzi was—she is—one of the most disciplined people I’ve ever met,” Paige continues. “Like, I’d be on the couch recovering and she’d come in from shooting for two hours and say, ‘Want to play Uno?’ Like it was nothing.”

You laugh. “What’s the Uno score between you two?”

“Oh, I stopped keeping track when I realized she cheats.”

“She what?”

“Allegedly,” Paige adds, eyes twinkling.

You grin. “I’m putting that in the episode title. ‘Paige Bueckers Accuses Azzi Fudd of Cheating at Uno.’”

“She’s gonna kill me,” Paige laughs.

“She’ll love it.” You hesitate. “It sounds like you really leaned on her.”

“I did,” she says. “But not just for the injuries or the hard stuff. For the little stuff too. Like, post-game takeout orders. Netflix recs. The stupid stuff that makes it all feel normal.”

“And what about team chemistry?” you ask. “Because from the outside, that UConn squad felt... locked in. Like you’d die for each other.”

“We would’ve,” she says softly.

You’re quiet for a beat. “That real, huh?”

“Yeah. I mean, we had our fights. We had our off days. But we always knew how to come back to center. I think that’s what made it work.”

You sit in that. The weight of it. The warmth.

“What was the moment you knew,” you ask slowly, “that you weren’t just good—you were built for this?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Her mouth moves around the air like she’s sifting through time.

“There was a game my junior year,” she says. “We were down at halftime. I’d missed, like, seven shots. Geno told me I looked like I forgot who I was.”

You smile at the phrasing. “Classic.”

“Yeah. But it hit me. Because he was right. I’d let doubt take over. So the second half, I didn’t think. I just played. And I think I had, like... seventeen points in the third quarter alone.”

You whistle. “That’s not just playing. That’s poetry.”

She shrugs. “That’s UConn.”

You glance down, heart still tight from the way she said all of it—like she left pieces of herself behind on that court.

“You ever miss it?” you ask gently.

She nods, quick. “All the time.”

“What do you miss most?”

There’s a pause. Then, “The routine. The locker room. The smell of old sweat and bad jokes. Running suicides and pretending not to cry. Group chats about who forgot to bring their shoes. You know—real team stuff.”

“God,” you murmur, laughing, “that’s weirdly specific and deeply nostalgic.”

She grins. “It’s the stuff no one sees that sticks.” You nod again, feeling it. You’ve never been a college athlete, but you’ve been on enough sidelines to understand how those echoes live in you long after the lights fade. “And I trusted my gut when I went there. I still do.” You lift your gaze. Her voice drops, just slightly. “It’s never let me down.”

Your breath hitches.

Something about the way she says it—low, unwavering, not for show—cracks open a tiny place in you. You mirror it without thinking.

“I know what you mean,” you say. Your voice isn’t loud. It doesn’t need to be.

There’s a beat. Neither of you look away. Neither of you speak. The silence stretches—not uncomfortable, not forced. Just... full.

If Em were in the room, she’d throw something at you. If your editor were watching live, they’d be marking timestamps for clips. You only break the stare because you have to. Not because you want to. You glance down at your notes, which might as well be written in a foreign language now. Nothing on the page matters as much as the thing still buzzing between you and her. When you look back up, Paige is watching you like she’s been doing it the whole time.

You clear your throat. “Well. That was a moment.”

She tilts her head. “Was it?”

“I think I blacked out.”

She laughs, soft and low. “You should trust your gut more.”

You smile, a little breathless. “I think I just did.”

The mics are still rolling. But it doesn’t feel like they’re there.

You ease into the next part of the conversation with practiced grace, but inside, your heart’s still caught on that last moment. The weight of her words. The look that didn’t blink. You’ve had sparks with guests before, but this… this isn’t a spark. It’s a slow burn, one you feel blooming low in your chest, rising like tidewater. Dangerous. Delicious. And entirely unprofessional. But you’re past the point of pretending you don’t enjoy it.

“So,” you say into the mic, voice steadied by muscle memory more than calm, “we’ve talked childhood. We’ve talked college. Let’s talk now. Dallas. Big city. New team. WNBA life. What’s that been like for you so far?”

Paige shifts in her seat. She’s a little more relaxed now—arm draped over the back of the couch, fingers absentmindedly spinning the cap of her water bottle. She smiles, slow and thoughtful.

“It’s... a lot,” she admits, almost laughing at herself. “There’s no other way to say it. It’s fast. Like, faster than I expected. Not just the game—though the speed of the league is insane—but everything. Schedules. Flights. Practices. Media. I feel like I live out of a suitcase now.”

You lean forward a little, eyes on her. “No more dorm room comfort zones.”

“Exactly. I miss knowing where everything is. My spots. The routine. But this—this is pushing me. It’s making me grow. I like that.”

“Tell me about the team,” you say, pen loosely tucked behind your ear, even though you’re not using it anymore. “Because that’s not just any locker room. You’ve got Arike. You’ve got DiJonai. That’s some serious personality to walk into.”

She laughs, head tilting back for a second. “It’s wild. In the best way. Arike’s got this energy that’s just... loud in the most joyful, chaotic way. She’ll walk into practice already roasting everyone. And DiJonai is the most stylish person I’ve ever met. She’ll show up in a full fit at 8 a.m. like it’s fashion week.”

You grin. “Do you feel like the rookie?”

“Oh, yeah,” she says, smiling again. “They keep me humble. Arike made me carry her bag once just because I beat her at a shooting drill.”

“That’s hazing.”

“She called it character building.”

“Same thing.”

“She’s lucky I like her.”

“You like them both?”

“I do,” she says, with warmth that feels earned. “It’s different from college. You don’t have that built-in family right away. You’ve gotta prove yourself. Earn their trust. But they’ve been really supportive. Even when I mess up. Especially when I mess up.”

“Do you mess up a lot?”

She shrugs. “I think everyone does. But I try to learn fast.”

“And leadership?” you ask. “You were the leader at UConn. Now you’re the rookie again. How’s that shift been?”

She hesitates—just enough for you to catch it.

“It’s humbling,” she says after a beat. “At UConn, people looked to me. Now I’m learning to speak less, listen more. It’s weird, finding your voice again. In a new system. A new city.”

You nod. “For what it’s worth? You’re doing a good job here.”

Her eyes flick to you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’ve got presence. And you don’t dodge the real stuff.”

A pause. Not long, but full. Charged.

“I think that’s the best compliment I’ve gotten all week,” she says, voice low.

“Maybe I’ll try to beat it before we’re done.”

“Now that’s dangerous,” she says, echoing the phrase from earlier, lips twitching at the edges.

The air between you pulls tighter, warmer. You push forward before it swallows you whole.

“All right,” you say, clearing your throat like that’ll clear the heat in your chest. “Walk me through a day in the life of Paige Bueckers. Not game day. Just... a random off-day in Dallas.”

She exhales like it’s a relief to shift gears.

“I wake up late,” she admits, eyes flicking to yours like she’s confessing a crime. “I’m not a morning person unless I have to be. So maybe 9:30, 10?”

“A rebel,” you murmur.

She smiles. “I stretch. Journal sometimes. Depends on the mood. Then maybe a walk. I like walking. Especially in new places.”

“City walks? Nature? What’s the vibe?”

“City. I like the noise. Headphones in. No destination.”

You hum. “You people watch?”

“Always.”

“And the music?”

She smirks. “What do you think I listen to?”

You blink, caught off guard by the pivot. “Oh, we’re flipping the interview now?”

“Just curious,” she says, but there’s a glint in her eye. “What does your gut tell you?”

You lean back, arms crossed, mock-thinking.

“You strike me as an R&B girl,” you say. “Smooth, layered, a little introverted. You’ve definitely got some SZA in rotation. Maybe Summer Walker. Some old Alicia Keys when you’re feeling dramatic.”

She raises an eyebrow, impressed.

“But,” you continue, slowly, “I also think you secretly listen to sad Taylor Swift songs on planes.”

That does it. She laughs so hard she folds in on herself, hand over her mouth.

“I—how did you—”

“I knew it,” you say, victorious. “You’re a ‘Clean’ or ‘The Archer’ type, huh?”

She’s still laughing. “You don’t miss.”

“You are the archer,” you tease. “Careful aim. Hidden feelings. Lowkey brooding.”

“Oh my God,” she mutters, shaking her head. “You’re exposing me.”

“You exposed yourself, Bueckers.”

She grins. “You’ve been studying me.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Just doing my homework.”

“Dangerous,” she repeats again, softer this time.

You catch her gaze, and there it is—something wordless passing between you. Not scripted. Not planned. Just real.

Em’s voice crackles in your ear piece again, distant but amused, “Tell them to get a room.”

You cough. “Sorry, my producer says we’re flirting too hard.”

“Is she wrong?” Paige asks, still smiling.

“Isn’t that for the audience to decide?”

You both laugh. But it’s different now—layered. Knowing. You glance back down at your outline and realize, again, that you haven’t touched it in ten minutes.

“Any hobbies?” you ask, lighter now. “Other than walking with your headphones in and contemplating your entire emotional landscape through sad pop lyrics?”

She groans. “Stop.”

You grin. “Never.”

“I read,” she offers, regaining composure. “Mostly sports bios, but sometimes fiction. Stuff that lets me disappear a little.”

“And when you want to reappear?”

She looks at you, half-tilted smile, eyes softer. “I guess… I come back to things like this. Conversations. People who see me.”

You weren’t ready for that one. You blink, breath catching in your throat.

“Well,” you say, voice suddenly a little unsteady, “hi.”

She mirrors your tone. “Hi.”

And for the third time in less than an hour, you forget entirely that there are cameras on.

You lean back into your chair, fingers drumming lightly on the armrest, a subtle smile tugging at your lips.

“All right,” you say, tone shifting into something more playful, “you’ve survived the deep dive. You’ve given us poetry, heartbreak, growth arcs. But now it’s time for the real journalism.”

Paige raises a brow, lips twitching. “Oh no.”

“Rapid fire round,” you announce, adjusting your mic dramatically. “No overthinking. Just say the first thing that comes to mind. You ready?”

She nods slowly, suspicious but smiling. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Favorite cheat meal.”

“Chick-fil-A. Spicy deluxe.”

You fake a gasp. “Problematic and spicy. Bold choice.”

She snorts. “Gotta be honest.”

“Pre-game ritual?”

“Getting lost in the music. Right sock on before the left.”

“Superstitious or just vibing?”

“Superstitious. Like, irrationally.”

You make a note. “We’ll revisit that in therapy.”

She laughs, shaking her head.

“Biggest pet peeve?”

“People chewing with their mouths open.”

“That’s fair. What are you bad at?”

There’s a pause, a beat longer than expected. She licks her lips, almost shy.

“Texting back,” she admits.

“Oh?” You lean forward, faux serious. “We’ve found the flaw.”

“Hey,” she says, defensive but laughing. “I read them! I just… don’t reply. Or I do, like, in my head. It’s a problem.”

“You know,” you muse, “that’s dangerous behavior for someone flirting on a podcast.”

She meets your gaze, eyes gleaming. “Who says I won’t reply to you?”

The silence after that is louder than anything you’ve recorded today.

You raise your brows, smirk playing at the edge of your mouth. “We’ll circle back.”

She grins. “Looking forward to it.”

You break eye contact because if you don’t, you’ll fall face-first into it again. Instead, you shuffle your notes, breathe slowly, and shift the tone with practiced ease.

“So,” you say, quieter now, “can I tell you something?”

Paige blinks, surprised by the sudden turn, but nods. “Yeah.”

You rest your elbows on your knees, fingers laced loosely. The studio feels smaller now, intimate. Like the lights have dimmed without anyone touching a switch.

“I started this podcast in my college dorm,” you begin. “Borrowed mics. Blankets tacked on the walls for soundproofing. No sponsors. No following. Just… this need to make space for women’s sports. For athletes who were always doing the most and getting the least attention.”

Paige’s expression shifts—softer, listening in a different way.

“I was mad,” you continue. “That no one was talking about it. Mad that I had to dig through forums and niche blogs to find out when a W game was airing. Mad that girls were breaking records and getting two seconds of coverage between football updates.”

You glance at her, and she’s not smiling anymore. She’s just watching you, gaze warm and unwavering.

“So I built this,” you say. “One episode at a time. And now we’re here. You’re here. And it means a lot.”

She sits with that. Doesn’t rush to respond. Just lets it breathe.

Then she says, quiet and sincere, “Thank you.”

You look up. “For what?”

“For doing it,” she replies. “For caring. For showing up. For giving people like me space to be more than stats and soundbites.”

It hits you harder than you expect. You swallow, nod.

“Sometimes it feels like yelling into the void,” you admit.

“Well,” she says, voice steady, “I hear you.”

And God, the way she says it. Like it’s not just about this podcast. Like she sees more than you’re willing to show. Like she’s been listening to you, even before she stepped into the studio.

The moment lingers. Longer than it should. Neither of you moves. Neither of you speaks. You’re the first to shift, eyes flicking down to your notes. But your voice is soft when you ask the next question.

“All right. Last one. No pressure.”

She leans back a little, sensing the shift. “Hit me.”

“What’s something people always get wrong about you?”

There’s a pause. A long one. Paige’s gaze drops to her hands, fingers twisting the cap of her water bottle again. She breathes in slowly, then out.

“That I’m always put together,” she says finally.

You don’t speak. You just let her keep going.

“I think people look at the highlights and the press and assume I’ve got it all figured out. That I’m calm. Collected. That I don’t break down. But I do. A lot. I get nervous. I overthink. I put so much pressure on myself it sometimes feels like I can’t breathe.”

Her voice doesn’t shake, but it thins a little at the edges.

“I smile through it, because that’s what people expect. But inside? I’m scared all the time. That I’m not enough. That I’ll mess up. That they’ll stop believing in me.”

You nod, slow. “That’s real.”

She exhales. “Yeah.”

You glance at her, and your tone gentles even more.

“Me too,” you say.

She turns toward you.

“I get nervous before every interview,” you admit. “Even now. Especially now.”

Her brows lift slightly. “With me?”

You nod. “Yeah. You’re… more than I expected.” That makes her smile again. Small. Honest. “You’re doing great,” you tell her.

“So are you,” she replies, and something shifts again in the air—like a curtain pulled back, or a room getting quieter when someone important walks in.

The lights haven’t changed. The mics are still on. But everything feels different. You don’t need to say anything else. You just sit in it. Together.

You’ve never wanted an interview to end less.

It’s not just that the episode’s been good—though, objectively, it’s been one of your best. The pacing, the banter, the rhythm. The intimacy that crept in somewhere around the midpoint and never left. It’s all been magnetic. Electric. Like your favorite kind of story, the one you fall into so deeply you forget you’re holding the book.

But time’s up. You feel it before Em signals it in your ear. Before the last question fades into a silence thick with things unsaid.

You tap the edge of the mic once and clear your throat, voice calm but low.

“Well… that’s gonna do it for today’s episode of She Scores.”

Paige’s eyes are still on you, softer than they were an hour ago.

You glance at her, smile twitching at the corners of your mouth.

“Paige Bueckers, thank you for coming through, for sharing your story, and for ruining all other guests for me from this point forward.”

She laughs under her breath. “High praise.”

“I mean it,” you say, more serious now. “This was special.”

She doesn’t speak right away. When she does, her voice is quiet.

“I had fun,” she says.

You nod once, throat tightening for some reason you don’t have time to name.

“I’m your host,” you say into the mic, still looking at her, “and if you need me, I’ll be rewatching this episode on mute just to study eye contact.”

She lets out a full laugh—quiet, disbelieving, charmed. You don’t break the stare.

“And as always,” you finish, voice slow and warm, “thanks for listening. We’ll see you next time.”

The red light clicks off.

The studio doesn’t move right away. It rarely does. Your crew’s used to your pacing, your cadence. They let the moment breathe. But eventually, lights dim to neutral, camera arms swing away, and a few muted voices pick up as people begin unplugging cables and shutting down feeds.

You lean back in your seat, drawing a slow breath.

She stretches her legs slightly, then looks over at you. “That went fast.”

You nod. “That’s how you know it’s good.”

She stands first. You do the same. Neither of you rushes.

Em walks past the set, holding a half-rolled cable over her shoulder. She catches your eye and smirks. You ignore her.

Paige lingers by the couch, hands in her pockets, looking around the studio like she wants to memorize it.

You don’t say anything. You just watch her watching everything.

After a beat, you walk over and gesture toward the door.

“I’ll walk you out.”

She nods. “Cool.”

You step into the quiet hallway side by side. The air’s cooler here, and the low hum of fluorescent lights follows you down the corridor until you reach the side exit near the green room. You stop there, under a small overhead light. It's soft. Pale. Like a halo waiting to happen.

Paige turns slightly and leans back against the wall, her shoulder brushing the cool brick, arms crossed loosely.

“You’re really good at this,” she says.

You tilt your head, amused. “The podcast?”

She shrugs. “All of it. This space. The way you talk to people. It feels... safe.”

That takes the wind out of you a little. In the best way.

You take a small step closer.

“You made it easy,” you say, voice low.

She smiles again. Not wide. Just real. For a moment, neither of you moves. Then—without a word—she pulls out her phone and holds it toward you, screen lit up on the contact page.

“In case I need help prepping for interviews,” she says. You take the phone, eyebrows raised. “Or something like that,” she adds, teasing but quiet.

You type in your number, thumb hovering for a second before you hit save. You don’t add an emoji or anything extra. Just your name. Clean. Simple. But your heart’s not moving simple. It’s skipping. Tripping.

You hand the phone back and she looks at it for a second, nods once, then locks the screen and slips it back into her pocket.

“Well,” she says.

“Well,” you echo.

The silence stretches again, but it doesn’t feel awkward. Just unfinished.

You don’t hug. You don’t say too much. You don’t have to.

She opens the door and steps out into the early evening light. You watch her walk down the path toward the lot—hair catching gold from the sunset, one headphone already in.

She doesn’t look back.

But you stay there, standing in the doorway, your hands tucked into your pockets like maybe they’ll keep you from feeling too much.

A moment later, Em walks up behind you, pausing in the doorway.

She glances at Paige’s retreating figure. Then at you. “You are so down bad.”

You exhale. Slow. A smile cracks the corner of your mouth.

“I know.”

You don’t deny it. You just watch the door swing slowly shut, and try not to already miss her.

It’s just past 8:30 p.m. when a knock comes.

You’re on your couch, bare-faced, in sweats, hair tied up in a lopsided bun. The post-interview high has settled into a quiet hum in your chest, the kind that doesn’t want to fade but also can’t be sustained. You haven’t eaten yet. A half-empty glass of wine sits on the coffee table. The remote’s resting on your stomach. You were debating rewatching the episode clips Em already sent you—Paige’s soft laugh on loop, her eyes lingering on yours like there was more she wasn’t saying.

You haven’t even touched your phone. You’ve been too afraid to find out whether she texted or didn’t.

The knock happens again.

You freeze.

You weren’t expecting anyone. Not food delivery, not friends, not—

No.

No way.

You rise slowly, heartbeat suddenly loud in your ears, and pad barefoot toward the door.

When you open it, you forget how to breathe.

Paige Bueckers is standing on your doorstep, backlit by the hallway’s overhead glow, a bunch of wildflowers in one hand and two overfilled grocery bags in the other. She’s wearing joggers and a hoodie with the sleeves pushed up, hair down, glasses slightly crooked, like she threw the whole look together in a rush.

You stare.

She blinks, then offers a crooked smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you echo, dumbly.

She lifts the flowers a little. “So… I might’ve told Em I wanted to see you again and she might’ve given me your address.”

You narrow your eyes. “That little traitor.”

“She said, and I quote, ‘She’s down bad so don’t mess this up.’”

You groan into your hand.

“You’re not the only one,” Paige adds, laughing.

You step back and open the door wider. “Get in here before someone sees you and sells the story to DeuxMoi.”

She steps inside. You take the grocery bags from her hand, eyes scanning their contents—pasta, wine, garlic bread, salad mix, two pints of ice cream, and a suspiciously expensive-looking block of parmesan.

You blink. “This is… a lot of food.”

“I panicked,” she admits, cheeks pink. “I was going to ask you out for dinner tomorrow, but then I realized I didn’t want to wait.”

You look up at her.

She shrugs. “Is that weird?”

“No,” you say quickly. “It’s—God, it’s not weird. It’s really not weird.”

“Good.” She shifts the flowers in her arms. “Because I was kind of already halfway here when I realized I didn’t actually ask.”

You reach for the flowers. “Consider me asked. And saying yes.” You pause. “Like… yes, yes.”

“Yeah?” she asks, a little breathless.

You grin. “Yeah.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re both barefoot in your kitchen. She’s stirring the sauce while you try, and fail, to open the bottle of wine. Soft music plays from the speaker you usually reserve for sad Sunday cleaning sessions.

There’s flour on your cheek, red sauce on her hoodie sleeve, and an entire salad still untouched in a bowl because the two of you got distracted talking about pre-game pump up songs and you accidentally brought up her Rookie of the Month highlight reel with a little too much enthusiasm.

“I knew you watched that ten times,” she teases, hip bumping you lightly.

“I was doing research.”

“For what? Your dreams?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Too late.”

She sets the spoon down and turns to you, leaning her hip into the counter. “This is nice.”

You nod, heart thudding against your ribs. “It is.”

You’re quiet for a second. Not uncomfortable—just full again. The kind of silence where things settle without losing spark.

Then she tilts her head.

“I didn’t want the night to end,” she says, voice lower now. “After the podcast. I kept thinking about everything I didn’t say.”

“Like what?” you ask, careful not to move too fast.

She meets your gaze. “Like how I didn’t want it to be just one interview. Or one conversation. Or one night.”

Your breath catches.

She steps a little closer, the space between you narrowing to something charged.

“I know we’re both busy,” she murmurs. “Schedules. Travel. Different States. Media stuff. But I wanted you to know that I meant it—when I said you made me feel safe. Like I could be myself.”

You swallow. “You were yourself.”

“Because of you,” she says, no hesitation.

You’re close enough now to feel the warmth of her, the steadiness in her voice. Her hand brushes yours on the countertop.

“So,” she says softly, “if this is just dinner, that’s okay. But if it’s something more—if it could be more—I’d like that.”

You don’t speak. You just lean in and press your forehead against hers, eyes fluttering shut, everything inside you humming.

“I’d like that too,” you whisper.

Her fingers graze yours, then hold.

Outside, the city keeps moving—cars passing, lights blinking, lives rushing past. But in your kitchen, time slows down. The sauce simmers. The wine breathes. And for the first time in a long time, so do you.

[minlighted]

📖 Yours, Even If They Know

💌 Lee Know × Reader 📸 Genre: fluff, little angst 📎 Warnings: none 📏 Length: ~1.7k

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You knew what you were getting into.

That it had to remain a secret. That there would be looks. That Lee Know—Minho—was not just a boyfriend but someone’s bias. Someone’s ultimate dream. The Stray Kids dance leader with millions of eyes on him.

So you kept it small. Quiet. No public dates. No post on Instagram. Just… at home. In silence. Between walls that don’t tell anyone. Until today.

Your phone vibrates non-stop.

[“Is this really Minho's phone background?”] [“WHO is that girl on his lockscreen??”] [“Stray Kids' Lee Know spotted at the airport—fans zoom in on unexpected detail.”]

It starts with one photo.

Paparazzi, clearly taken from a distance, showing Minho just showing his boarding pass. His phone rests loosely in his hand. On the screen?

You.

A simple photo. You’re lying on the couch, hair messy, eyes closed and Soonie sleeping on your stomach. Minho had taken the photo a few weeks ago while you were sleeping and had set it as his background “so he wouldn’t forget how much peace you radiate.”

That was private. You were private.

Until now.

He calls you as soon as he lands. “Hey,” he says softly. No standard “I arrived safely.” No joke. No smile in his voice.

Just:

“I’m sorry.”

You swallow. “You don’t have to say sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But you did,” he grumbles softly. “You look too beautiful in that photo.”

You laugh – despite everything. “Min.”

He’s quiet. You hear the echo of suitcases at the airport, a distant announcer’s voice.

“I knew it was a risk,” he says. “But I didn’t want to hide you from myself.”

“I know.”

“I… didn’t think they’d be this sharp.” His voice sounds frustrated now. “Who zooms in that deeply on someone’s lock screen?”

“People with too much time” you try to joke.

But you feel it too. That restlessness, that fragility. It's like your life is suddenly being torn open without your permission. It's like the whole world is seeing something that should have been yours alone.

That night he texts you.

[“I don’t want to hide anything I’m proud of.”]

You know what he means. That he’s had enough. That he doesn’t want to hold you in the silence anymore.

But that’s not up to him alone. Not when it comes to the both of you.

Your answer is short, but sincere:

[“I don’t want to be a secret. But I do want to be protected.”]

Minho reads it right away. No typing. No response. A few minutes of silence.

And then he calls. No FaceTime. Just his voice. Real. Calm.

“I promise,” he says, “I won’t let anyone take anything from you. I’ll let them look if they have to, but what we have, that stays ours.”

You close your eyes.

And for the first time today, you believe it.

You smile, tears pricking behind your eyes. “I love you,” you say softly. “I know,” he says. “I love you too. And now they know too.”

[colonelarr0w]

oh god, i wanna feel again

pairing - joel miller x !female! reader

synopsis - i feel like y'all already know. but then again, no you don't.

warning(s) - mature themes, foul language, canon TLOU violence, descriptions of depression, main character death, suicide

please do not read if suicide or mentions of the topic will trigger you. your mental health matters more than a piece of fanfiction.

word count - 0.9k

it had been silent for weeks now.

the miller home, that was what was silent.

the big wooden house just on the corner of the street that connected the residences to the main parts of jackson. the house with the hand-painted mailbox with the inking of the word 'miller' messily drawn into its side.

a house that you couldn't bring yourself to look at. every time you found yourself walking that block, you made a detour. every time. without fail. you couldn't even bring yourself to tip your head in its direction.

you didn't want to see the wisps of what could've been. the life that you could have had, the love that you could have held onto if you had been faster. if you had been stronger. if you had been there like you said that you always would be.

but you were a liar.

"m'here for you," you had said, leaning into the flannel that was wrapped delicately around the tops of your shoulders. "even if y'don't want me t'be."

joel turned back to you, seeing the genuine truth glinting in your eyes like the stars that you were both occupied with watching. your lips curved into a smile when his gaze met yours - just as soft and loving as the millions of times that you'd smiled at him before.

he'd leaned closer to you, calloused hands cradling either side of your face like you were the one things his hands were made to hold. you nuzzled the warmth that radiated up from his skin, smiling as he pressed a kiss to your forhead. his lips lingered, his breath fanned out over your skin, and he'd muttered a quiet, "love you" against your skin.

you couldn't look ellie in the eyes either. you didn't want to see the sadness in her eyes, you didn't want to see the slump of her shoulders, you didn't want to be reminded of what she had lost that day.

because you didn't just lose the love of your life. she'd lost her dad that day. and it was your fault ... it had always been your fault.

you didn't even try. you just laid there underneath nora's legs, her knees pressing into the center of your spine, keeping you pinned down against the ground. you had screamed, sure, but what good would your voice do in the face of a vengeful daughter?

nothing. that was the answer.

it wouldn't do jackshit.

abby still hit the club against the side of his head. still killed him. it didn't matter to her that you had screamed. that you had begged. that you had cried and pleaded and whimpered and shouted. it didn't fucking matter.

joel's blank eyes had stared at you, the sight of them forever engrained into your memory. his bloodied body laid in front of you, his fingers already pale like he had been dead for weeks. his eyes were puffy, blood clung to his skin, his chest was still.

as much as you didn't want to believe it, he was dead.

and you'd been right there, the entire time.

your mind hadn't shut up since then. whispers in the shadows that followed you, echoes of his pain, echoes of your pain. you heard your own voice every night when your head hit the pillow. you heard him gurgling, choking on his own blood. you heard the impact of metal on skin.

it was like a cycle. never-ending. always continuing right from the beginning once it was finished.

you just wanted it to stop.

guilt followed you like a plague. it clung to your skin like a leech, sucking away whatever humanity still remained in your hollowed-out bones. it didn't leave you alone, didn't let you rest. always following, always there.

the gun looked friendly one night. it wasn't yours, it was his. a polished piece of metal that he'd cleaned a night or two before taking that patrol with dina.

you reached for it, not really thinking. you turned it over, seeing his initals that he'd carved into the handle. beside it was a tiny heart, that had been your little addition.

"to remind you of little ol' me," you'd told him lovingly. he'd kissed you after that.

dragging your feet, you found yourself on the porch of the wooden house on the corner. the first time in ... what? two weeks? three? four? hell, you didn't know.

the inside was the same as the day that he left. it was still cozy, still warm, still the remanants of a home. everything was right where he had left it last, clean and organized.

you exhale slowly, standing in the center of the living room. slowly you turn in a circle, taking in the surroundings that seemed to mock you. they remind you of what you could have had, of the domesticity that you had been chasing for years.

of the love that had slipped through your fingers like sand.

the muzzle presses cold against your temple. it makes you shiver.

your finger presses against the trigger, caressing it like the cheek of the lover that you had lost.

one...

two...

bang.

the gun hits the floor before you do. blood sprays the wall behind you, some of it paints the floor beneath you. the breath that leaves you is quick, fleeting.

your hand outstretches, your mind goes blank, and your world ends.

but it didn't matter.

you had been dead for a long time anyway.

you had died in that room with him. the only difference was that only one of you had stopped breathing.

things were quiet now.

the miller house was quiet.

fin.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

An end to the climate emergency is in our grasp

On June 20, I'm keynoting the LOCUS AWARDS in OAKLAND.

The problem with good news in the real world is that it's messy. Neat happy endings are for novels, not the real world, and that goes double for the climate emergency. But even though good climate news is complicated and nuanced, that doesn't mean it shouldn't buoy our spirits and fill our hearts with hope.

The big climate news this past week is the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration's clarion call about surging CO2 levels – the highest ever – amid a year that is on track to have the largest and most extreme series of weather events in human history:

https://www.noaa.gov/news-release/during-year-of-extremes-carbon-dioxide-levels-surge-faster-than-ever

This is genuinely alarming and you – like me – have probably experienced it as a kind of increase in your background radiation of climate anxiety. Perhaps you – like me – even experienced some acute, sit-bolt-upright-in-bed-at-2AM anxiety as a result. That's totally justifiable. This is very real, very bad news.

And yet…

The news isn't all bad, and even this terrible dispatch from the NOAA is best understood in context, which Bill McKibben provides in his latest newsletter post, "What You Want is an S Curve":

https://billmckibben.substack.com/p/what-you-want-is-an-s-curve

Financier and their critics should all be familiar with Stein's Law: "anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop." This is true outside of finance as well. One of the reasons that we're seeing such autophagic panic from the tech companies is that their period of explosive growth is at an end.

For years, they told themselves that they were experiencing double-digit annual growth because they were "creating value" and "innovating" but the majority of their growth was just a side-effect of the growth of the internet itself. When hundreds of millions of people get online every year, the dominant online services will, on average, gain hundreds of millions of new users.

But when you run out of people who don't have internet access, your growth is going to slow. How can it not? Indeed, at that point, the only ways to grow are to either poach users from your rivals (through the very expensive tactics of massive advertising and sales-support investments, on top of discounts and freebies as switching enticements), or to squeeze your own users for more.

That's why the number of laptops sold in America slowed down. It's why the number of cellphones sold in America slowed down. It's why the number of "smart home" gizmos slowed down.

Even the steepest hockey-stick-shaped exponential growth curve eventually levels off and becomes an S-curve, because anything that can't go on forever will eventually stop.

One way or another, the world's carbon emissions will eventually level off. Even if we drive ourselves to (or over) the brink of extinction and set up the conditions for wildfires that release all the carbon stored in all the Earth's plants, the amount of carbon we pump into the atmosphere has to level off.

Rendering the Earth incapable of sustaining human civilization (or life) is the ultimate carbon reduction method – but it's not my first choice.

That's where McKibben's latest newsletter comes in. He cites a new report from the Rocky Mountain Institute, which shows a major reversal in our energy sources, a shift that will see our energy primarily provided by renewables, with minimal dependence on fossil fuels:

https://rmi.org/insight/the-cleantech-revolution/

The RMI team says that in this year or next, we'll have hit peak demand for fossil fuels (a fact that is consistent with NOAA's finding that we're emitting more CO2 than ever). The reason for this is that so much renewable energy is about to come online, and it is so goddamned cheap, that we are about to undergo a huge shift in our energy consumption patterns.

This past decade saw a 12-fold increase in solar capacity, a 180-fold increase in battery storage, and a 100-fold increase in EV sales. China is leading the world in a cleantech transition, with the EU in close second. Cleantech is surging in places where energy demand is also still growing, like India and Vietnam. Fossil fuel use has already peaked in Thailand, South Africa and every country in Latin America.

We're on the verge of solar constituting an absolute majority of all the world's energy generation. This year, batteries will overtake pumped hydro for energy storage. Every cleantech metric is growing the way that fossil fuels did in previous centuries: investment, patents, energy density, wind turbine rotor size. The price of solar is on track to halve (again) in the next decade.

In short, cleantech growth looks like the growth of other technologies that were once rarities and then became ubiquitous overnight: TV, cellphones, etc. That growth isn't merely being driven by the urgency of the climate emergency: it's primarily a factor of how fucking great cleantech is:

https://rmi.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/05/the_incredible_inefficiency_of_fossils.pdf

Fossil fuels suck. It's not just that they wreck the planet, or that their extraction is both politically and environmentally disastrous. They just aren't a good way to make energy. About a third of fossil fuel energy is wasted in production and transportation. A third! Another third is wasted turning fossil fuels into energy. Two thirds! The net energy efficiency of fossil fuels is about 37%.

Compare that with cleantech. EVs convert electricity to movement with 80-90% efficiency. Heat pumps are 300% efficient (the main fuel for your heat pump is the heat in the atmosphere, not the electricity it draws).

Cleantech is just getting started – it's still in the hockey-stick phase. That means those efficiency numbers are only going up. Rivian just figured out how to remove 1.6 miles of copper wire from each vehicle. That's just one rev – there's doubtless lots of room for more redesigns that will further dematerialize EVs:

https://insideevs.com/news/722265/rivian-r1s-r1t-wiring/

As McKibben points out, there's been a lot of justifiable concern that electrification will eventually use up all our available copper, but copper demand has remained flat even as electrification has soared – and this is why. We keep figuring out new ways to electrify with fewer materials:

https://www.chemanalyst.com/NewsAndDeals/NewsDetails/copper-wire-price-remains-stable-amidst-surplus-supply-and-expanding-mining-25416#:~:text=Global%20Copper%20wire%20Price%20Remains%20Stable%20Amidst%20Surplus%20Supply%20and%20Expanding%20Mining%20Activities

This is exactly what happened with previous iterations of tech. The material, energy and labor budgets of cars, buildings, furniture, etc all fell precipitously every time there was a new technique for manufacturing them. Renewables are at the start of that process. There's going to be a lot of this dematerialization in cleantech. Calculating the bill of materials for a planetary energy transition isn't a matter of multiplying the materials in current tech by the amount of new systems we'll need – as we create those new systems, we will constantly whittle down their materials.

What's more, global instability drives cleantech uptake. The Russian invasion of Ukraine caused a surge in European renewables. The story that energy prices are rising due to renewables (or carbon taxes) is a total lie. Fossil fuels are getting much more expensive, thanks to both war and rampant, illegal price-fixing:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/an-oil-price-fixing-conspiracy-caused

If not for renewables, the incredible energy shocks of the recent years would be far more severe.

The renewables story is very good and it should bring you some comfort. But as McKibben points out, it's still not enough – yet. The examples of rapid tech uptake had big business on their side. America's living rooms filled with TV because America's largest businesses pulled out all the stops to convince everyone to buy a TV. By contrast, today's largest businesses – banks, oil companies and car companies – are working around the clock to stop cleantech adoption.

We're on track to double our use of renewables before the decade is over. But to hold to the (already recklessly high) targets from the Paris Accord, we need to triple our renewables usage. As McKibben says, the difference between doubling and tripling our renewables by 2030 is the difference between "survivable trouble" and something much scarier.

The US is experiencing a welcome surge in utility scale solar, but residential solar is stalling out as governments withdraw subsidies or even begin policies that actively restrict rooftop solar:

https://twitter.com/curious_founder/status/1798049929082097842?s=51

McKibben says the difference between where we are now and bringing back the push for home solar generation is the difference between "fast" and "faster" – that is the difference between tripling renewables by 2030 (survivable) and doubling (eek).

Capitalism stans who argue that we can survive the climate emergency with market tools will point to the good news on renewable and say that the market is the only way to transition to renewables. It's true that market forces are partly responsible for this fast transition. But the market is also the barrier to a faster (and thus survivable) transition. The oil companies, the banks who are so invested in fossil fuels, the petrostates who distort the world's politics – they're why we're not much farther along.

The climate emergency was never going to be neatly solved. We weren't going to get a neat novelistic climax that saw our problems sorted out in a single fell swoop. We're going to be fighting all the way to net zero, and after that, we'll still have decades of climate debt to pay down: fires, floods, habitat loss, zoonotic plagues, refugee crises.

But we should take our wins. Even if we're far from where we need to be on renewables, we're much farther along on renewables than we had any business hoping for, just a few years ago. The momentum is on our side. It's up to us to use that momentum and grow it. We're riding the hockey-stick, they're on that long, flat, static top of the S-curve. Their curve is leveling off and will start falling, ours will grow like crazy for the rest of our lives.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/12/s-curve/#anything-that-cant-go-on-forever-eventually-stops

[passionwillow]

Frank telling you that the 3 am dancing in the kitchen is practice for your wedding

'Cause there we are again in the middle of the night

We're dancing 'round the kitchen in the refrigerator light

Neither of you can remember how the kitchen dancing started.

But at least once a week, sometimes more, you’ll find yourself waking up to Langdon slipping out of bed, trying not to wake you up.

He always apologizes, even though it’s pretty much routine to get up with him, your hair messy and eyes bright as you grin. “We getting snacks?”

And he grins at you before taking your hand and pulling you up, pressing a kiss to your head before taking you downstairs.

He gets a running start and slides across the tile in his socks, which never fails to make you giggle quietly before sitting on the counter, watching him pull out ice cream and candy for the two of you.

You both take spoons and dig right in, Langdon holding the container for you both as he stands between your legs. It’s usually at this point his phone comes out of his sweatpants pocket, and he turns on the music.

He’ll play anything you ask, but his go to is usually Benson Boone (which is fine with you). His favorite go to is Mystical Magical, and you halt your assault on the ice cream to hop off the counter, laughing as he pulls you in and starts dancing.

Are either of you good? Not really, but it doesn’t matter. Neither of you can take your eyes off each other, or stop the smiles of pure joy and happiness that radiate.

One night you lean up and kiss his jaw, a hand sliding into his hair as you finally gather the breath to speak after a laughing fit with him.

“Why do we do this? Did it just become habit, part of our little routine?”

His answering grin made your cheeks heat, and you pulled you in before dipping you, pulling you back up and whispering in your ear. “I’m practicing for our wedding, darling.”

You looked back into those blue eyes in surprise, unable to hide the wide smile that split your face. “Really? You’d marry me?”

“Honey, I’d marry you in a heartbeat. In this kitchen right now, if you asked me.”

These butterflies lived a million lives to say

I swear I’ve known you longer than forever and a day

[ghost-proofbaby]

september love (e.m.)

eddie finds you awake on the first night he's home from the hospital, and wonders what you're thinking.

pairing: eddie munson x reader

warnings: mentions of canon ending of season 4, except eddie didn't die. mentions of hospital and medical procedures (in passing). sort of sad, sort of not. a little bit of angst? hurt/comfort. religious imagery (specific mentions of heaven).

wc: 1.7k+

an: this was just some sort of weird rambling upon seeing the poem mentioned above at like 11 pm? 1 am? who knows. time is a construct. also, reader is compared to a 'violent' dog/animal during eddie's recovery, and if you like this metaphor/vibe, then i strongly suggest and urge you to go read @myosotisa's fic Half Life. she does it far more beautifully than i ever could, and it is one of my favorite fics. ever.

Your head is on his chest. 

Your temple and your ear are flush with the soft cotton of his wrinkled t-shirt, the one he insisted upon sleeping on his first night home, and it’s all you can think about. The smell of week old laundry, the stubborn linger of a cologne gifted too long ago to remember the worn name of. A steady heartbeat that still pumps along a little too slow for your liking. The rise and fall of each promised breath that you force your lungs to pace themselves with. Just enough heat radiating off of him to keep you warm, here in bed, here in the dim light of twilight as he rests.

No tubes and no IVs to worry about. No nurses barging in every ten minutes. No beeping of a dozen machines to be your symphony tonight. 

No, you don’t need a machine now to keep track of his heart rate. You’ve learned to do that entirely on your own; your heart has learned how to match his with each dulled thump against the skin you cling to through this dingy old t-shirt.

It can’t be long after 3 AM, the moonlight almost as bright as a rising sun as it peeks itself in through the curtains of the window, as if whispering to check if you might still be awake.

And you are. And all you can think about, is your head on his chest. 

It’s been over a month since you’ve had this type of moment with Eddie. A moment where you’re truly, sincerely, utterly alone with him. Privacy had become a delicacy that you weren’t aware of the fragility of. You hadn’t understood its importance until you had to bask in its absence, always on edge for the next body to walk into the room and take the air out of your lungs. Always anxious for the next sound of news, always worried for the next shoe to drop. 

You’d forgotten what it had felt like for Eddie to twitch his fingers along your spine in his sleep, and for you to be the only witness to his quiet worship, even unconscious. 

Your lips part, and you almost consider whispering hard truths into the trembling night air. There’s a million and one dying words cementing your tongue to the roof of your mouth, and you know that every single one you could even manage to utter would only make you sound like a broken record. 

I’m sorry this happened to you.

I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.

I’m sorry I couldn’t prevent it. 

All things already said to him when he had been drifting in and out of consciousness in that hospital bed. All apologies already buried between muted sobs as you’d clutched his knuckles a little tighter than you should have, a little too selfish in the moment to wonder if it might be hurting him. The only thing on your mind had been keeping him, holding him, feeling him. He was alive – he was alive. And for the first seven nights of his endless rest, all you could wonder is for just how much longer that desperate prayer could ring true.

Would he leave you again? Would he lose the fight? 

You can’t recall without bias which one of you had been the true wounded animal in that little room, scented with burning bleach and cacophonies of nearby patients just beyond the curtains. 

Eddie, looking up at the police who had finally come once he woke, eyes big and teary as he’d tried to wrap his head around his new reality.

You, baring teeth and claws at them in the end, ready to bite hard at anyone who got too close.

It wasn’t just the police. It was everyone. 

It was the same juxtaposition between the two of you at those nurses who would interrupt the nights, always frowning so dutifully at the sight of your carefully curled figure at Eddie’s side. When friends and family came to visit, and they all had the same look of disbelief. As if they were about to tell you that you had imagined it all; he hadn’t survived, he hadn’t come back to you, you were imagining it. You’d been all bark and awaiting bite towards Steve Harrington and the newly revived Jim Hopper, all the same. Their figures bore no difference to you when it came to protecting what was so holy to you. Him, Eddie, here and alive. Eddie, who slept enough for the both of you those nights. The pain in your back from all the uncomfortable hours spent in that little chair at his bedside was insignificant, all the headaches you’d endured from the smell of iodine that still clung to the air after every surgery were pitiful attempts at the Universe removing you from him. 

If you could, you might try to recall your reaction when Dustin Henderson had babbled on through tears as to what had happened to Eddie when the two were left alone. His final act of heroism, or so he thought. 

But you can’t. Right here, right now, you aren’t capable of living in the past. You’ve been haunted enough these last few weeks, and all your numb mind can handle is counting the beats of his heart. Like the rhythm of a song – 1, 2, 3, 4. 1, 2, 3, 4. Staccato verses that you sometimes whisper in time, getting worried when they don’t follow the infallible metronome you’ve set for him. 

“You’re still awake.”

The murmur of his voice is a drink of cold water, startling in the dark greys and blues wrapping the two of you up. 

You lift your head ever so slightly against your better judgment, “Go back to sleep, love.” 

“Touche.” 

You can see his grin even through the shadows. It’s weak, not yet quite as vibrant as it once had been, but it’s there. He’s still alive. He’s still grinning. 

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” The pads of his fingertips are more intentional against your spine now, longer strokes and mindless shapes, “I’ve got a penny in my pocket if you tell me.”

His words are only slightly slurred. Probably residual of the pain medication they’d prescribed him.

“I wasn’t thinking about anything,” you say, and you mean it.

You hadn’t been thinking. You had just been listening to his heart and his breaths, feeling the weight of him beneath you. 

Little things you had taken for granted once upon a time. Never again, your soul aches as you let your head drop back to his chest carefully. Never again.

“You’re just laying awake, not thinking about anything, at…” he trails off, turning his cheek and squinting in the direction of the alarm clock across the room. The glow is dim, and you know you’ll have to change the batteries soon, “Four in the morning?”

4 AM. Last you had checked, it had been 3 AM. You hadn’t even noticed an hour had passed. 

“Is that really so hard to believe?” you smile up at him, and it’s just as sincere as your words had been. When his honey brown eyes meet yours, warmth drizzles down your entire being. Across your brain, down your spine, wrapping around your limbs. You could spend an eternity here, simmering in his warmth, content to your heart’s fullest capability. 

You’d almost lost him. You’d almost lost this warmth. 

You take a second to memorize his features. Studying him as if you didn’t already know every curvature, every freckle, every winkle better than you knew your own soul. You’re looking at him as if you may never look at him again, and he can tell. 

He doesn’t have to say that he gets it. His hand simply wanders up to cup your face, basking in you as you were him. Two souls, intertwining over overlapping legs and synchronized heartbeats, and he doesn’t have to say a word. 

The moment his fingers card into your baby hairs, you’re turning your mouth quickly to that warm palm. One, two, three kisses. Quick pecks, rapid succession. A secret language that you know he, and only ever he, can begin to understand. 

I love you.

I love you.

I love you. 

It drowns out all sorrow, all guilt, all hauntings. Your cracked lips, and the feeling of those lines across his palms. If there is a Heaven, it’s not somewhere in a pearly gated kingdom above. There are no hark angels and there is no bearded man awaiting. 

It’s here. It’s now. It’s 4 AM, in bed with your lover, getting to experience moments you’d come so close to losing for eternity. 

Do the poets know? They must. All the love, all the adoration, in both your bodies is too abundant for them to not feel it. To not write about it. 

“Go back to bed, love,” you repeat almost a perfect imitation of your first command when he had awakened, and this time, his eyelids flutter with your words, “I’m not gonna disappear between now and sunrise. I promise.” 

“No,” he quickly whispers back as his eyes fully shut, and your palms smooth out the wrinkles of the shirt to feel the ridges of scars hidden for now. Scars he’s ashamed of, for now. Scars you’d one day show all the love in the world to, sacred proof that he came back to you, only once he was ready. One day. “But you’re looking at me like I might.”

His words are heavy in the shades of violet now sinking into the room. But the moon is high in her sky, and the crickets are chirping to the East, and he’s right.

You’re terrified the daylight will steal him from you. You’re terrified the new day might tear away all that you’ve sunk your teeth into. 

“I’m not going to,” he mumbles around a yawn, arms slowly encasing you, pulling you in closer, “I’m not going anywhere. Yeah?” 

He’s back with that warmth, coaxing you right back into heavenly notions with him. You let him; he baits you, and you follow. 

“Yeah.”

It’s a sigh. Of hopefulness, of relief, of belief. 

This time, the I love you is more than a prayer repeated in your mind. And he somehow manages to say it back, just as he begins to slip back under. Still holding you and hands still twitching where they rest against your back. 

Let daylight come. You aren’t capable of worrying about it, or stressing about all that has happened. You aren’t capable of thinking about anything right now, because only one thing matters as your temple and ear find his heartbeat once more. 

Your head is on his chest.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @mediocredreams @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin

@ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87

@thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea@kellsck

@cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking

@witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore

@mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog

@vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria@loveryanax@stylexrepp

@princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

@writinginthetwilight @trixyvixx @kittydeadbones @munson-addict @bluejeangenies

@cryingglightningg @joannamuns9n @missmarch-99 @rhirojo@findmeincorneliastreet

[harryslittlefreakk]

just between us

summary: when y/ns life starts to fall apart, her boss is there to pick up the pieces… behind his wife’s back. nanny reader x ceorry

warnings: cheating, smut (foreplay, soft dom, sex, daddy kink), angst

wordcount: 5.2k

a/n: the plot of this is so loose lol, please don’t read if you want a masterpiece 😭 it was a really fun one to write enjoy <3

*not proofread because i stayed up until 2.30am to write and post this*

thank you so much for reading 🤍 MASTERLIST

You curled your legs up to your chest, the evening breeze doing little to soothe the ache in your chest. The last of the day’s sunshine lingered in pale pinks and oranges amongst the clouds, blurring together as you stared out into the night.

The drink in your hand, a mix of something strong and sweet, was meant to numb the feeling, but it only seemed to deepen your sense of isolation. You raised the glass to your lips, letting your head roll back as the burn slid down your throat, your thoughts going a million miles an hour.

It had been sudden, unexpected. The words still echoed in your mind, as if they were stuck on repeat. How could something that once felt so sure, so safe, suddenly fall apart? You clenched the glass a little tighter, the cool condensation dampening your hand.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the sliding door open or the soft footsteps approaching. It wasn’t until you caught a familiar scent - a mix of woody cologne and something uniquely him - that you realised you weren’t alone.

You turned slightly, rushing to pull the blanket higher over your chest to cover your bikini top. Harry was standing there, hands in his pockets, watching you with the same furrowed brow wore when he knew something was wrong.

“Sorry, Harry. I didn’t think anyone would be home tonight,” you whispered, placing your drink down on the table. The whole family was meant to be away for the week, a trip that not only gave you some time off, but something that was now timed quite well since you had the week to mend your broken heart.

“I had to come back early for a meeting, Anna was meant to call. Mind if I join you?” he asked, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

You shook your head, a forced smile playing on your lips. “No, of course not.”

Harry sat down beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, but not so close that it felt intrusive. He didn’t say anything at first, just sat there in silence, staring out at the fading light. There was something comforting in his presence, in the way he didn’t rush you to talk or try to fill the silence with empty words.

After a moment, he glanced over at your drink and then back at your face. “Rough day?”

Your lips curled into a bitter smirk, your fingers pushing through your hair. “You could say that.”

He nodded, as if he understood exactly what you meant, and maybe he did. Harry had always been good at reading between the lines, at knowing when someone was hurting even when they didn’t want to show it.

You looked over at him, his slacks perfectly creased down the centre, his shirt buttons loosened. You couldn’t deny that he was attractive, with his chiseled body and messy brown curls. But he was your boss. You were his son’s nanny, and you’d built a close relationship with his wife. You never allowed yourself to see him that way.

But when he showed so much love and care for you, it became borderline impossible not to blur the lines.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” he offered, pulling you out of your thoughts. “But if you do, I’m here.”

He scooted closer, leaning his elbows on his knees as if he was incredibly interested in what you had to say. Harry always had a way of making you feel seen, recognising your needs faster than you recognised them in yourself. As a boss and a friend, he was a whole lot more than you bargained for.

Under his gaze, the weight of the day suddenly felt too heavy to carry alone. “Sam broke up with me,” you muttered, not wanting to admit it.

Sam had been the final piece of the puzzle, the last thing that needed to slot into place for your life to be full and worthwhile. The day that he’d proposed to you was the single most important day of your life. He was your everything. Until he’d phoned you earlier that day to tell you that he wasn’t sure that he loved you, and he wasn’t sure he ever would.

Harry didn’t react immediately. He just nodded again, taking in your words. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, his voice sincere.

You shrugged, though the motion felt hollow. “It’s probably for the best,” you whispered, though the pain in your chest told you that you didn’t fully believe that yet.

You finished the rest of your drink, the burn of the alcohol replacing the sting of heartbreak and failure. Your eyes closed, the reality starting to wash over you.

Harry reached out, placing his hand gently over yours on the table. The warmth of his touch was grounding, pulling you out of your thoughts. “You don’t have to be strong,” he said quietly.

That simple reassurance, the permission to not have it all together, was enough to crack the fragile composure you’d been clinging to. You laced your fingers through his as if you needed the stability, your eyes filling with tears before you could stop yourself. Harry didn’t say anything, just held your hand and let you cry, something steady and comforting in his presence.

When the tears finally slowed, you wiped her eyes with the blanket, feeling a little embarrassed but also lighter, as if a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. “Sorry,” you murmured, your voice still thick with emotion.

Harry squeezed your hand gently. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he replied.

You sat there for a while longer, the silence between you both now filled with some sort of understanding. The sky had darkened, the first stars beginning to twinkle above your heads. You took the last sip of your drink, this time letting the sweetness linger on your tongue, and for the first time that evening, you felt a small spark of hope flicker inside you.

“Another one?” Harry asked, nudging his head towards your empty glass.

You nodded, easing yourself out of the chair on unsteady legs. Whiskey on an empty stomach had your head spinning, but you weren’t sure that was the only reason. You were evil. Despicable, even. Turning your heartbreak into lust for a man that had showed you nothing but kindness, allowed you into his life as more than an employee, a man who’s family was special to you.

But his hand on your knee, the way he brushed away your tears with that gentle touch. You couldn’t think straight, let alone walk straight as you tiptoed into the kitchen.

You opened the whiskey with a pop as Harry’s body came up behind you. His abs rock hard against your skin, his bulge pressing into the small of your back. His arm came beside you, placing your glass on the marble countertop.

“Forgot your glass,” he murmured, making no attempt to step away. You turned against him, his jaw tight as he stared down at you.

You were frozen, doe-eyed and open mouthed as you looked up at him, the dark concern on his face morphed into something more.

“You need to learn how you’re supposed to be treated,” Harry drawled, his forearm slipping behind you and lifting you onto the countertop in one swift motion.

His knee nudged between your legs, opening them up for his body to fit inside. Your head fell back against the cupboard door as he bucked his hips into your core, the fabric between you both just thin enough for you to feel almost everything.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” Harry whispered, his thumb dragging over your bottom lip. “Like you’ve wanted this all along.”

The whimper you let out was almost pitiful, a sure sign to Harry that you were losing the battle with your morality. When you wrapped your calf around his waist, tugging him closer to you, he just about lost it.

“Your wi-”, you started, your voice barely a whisper, like you didn’t actually want Harry to hear you. You didn’t want him to think about her, to come back to his senses and realise what he was about to do. But he didn’t even let you finish.

He tugged at the straps of your bikini top, the sudden chill as he exposed you enough to make you fall into silence.

“Doesn’t need to know anything,” Harry finished for you. “If this is want you want.”

You wrapped your fingers around his wrist, pulling his hand to cover the curve of your breast. “It is, Harry.”

A small smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth as he rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes still fixed on yours. “Do you need to feel better, princess?”

“Please,” you panted, slipping a finger through his belt buckle, desperate for some relief from the pleasure that was already building up inside you.

“Please what?” Harry whispered, leaning down to press his lips to your nipple, the soft bud immediately warmed by his mouth.

“Please Daddy,” you corrected, the last syllable turning into a long, deep whine when he finally gave you what you wanted.

He pulled your legs tight around his waist, your arms snapping over his shoulders as he lifted you from the counter and carried you upstairs to your bedroom.

Your core was rubbing against the fabric of his shirt with every step, your panties becoming more and more uncomfortable the closer you got to your room.

Harry eased you down to your feet when he reached your bedroom door, your core sliding over his erection.

He pulled his bottom lip into his mouth at the contact, his hands fumbling with the door handle. You pushed it open, letting him guide you to the edge of the bed where Harry nudged you to sit.

He sank to his knees in front of you, his hands immediately finding your knees, tracing circles and patterns up your thighs, a trail of goosebumps left in their wake. You leaned back on your hands, panting even before he made an attempt to give you any real pleasure.

His thumb dragged over the wet spot on your bikini bottoms, pressing the fabric against your entrance. The contact made you writhe, your clit aching for more.

When he slipped two fingers under the fabric and pushed them into you, you were completely at his mercy, whining loudly as he immediately found your sweet spot.

You looked down at him through clouded eyes, and that recognised that same, torn look you’d seen flash across his face before. But now you recognised it as a hunger, borderline desperation to have you in a way that would destroy everything he’d worked for.

But you didn’t have time to question it, to fall apart over the way his gaze trailed over your body, the sparkle against the deep green of his irises, because suddenly he was everywhere, his lips warm and insistent against your skin, his free hand groping and roaming anywhere he could reach, his fingers fucking in and out of you with pure determination.

You were his, all his, as Harry leaned down to lick a circle around your clit, before pulling his fingers from you and kissing and licking at you with persistence. His mouth was fast and firm against your core, his moans vibrating around you as he let your juices pool on his tongue.

His nose was nudging against your clit, his hands cupping the curve of your ass to open you up for him. The pleasure had built to a deep ache, spilling out of you in the form of whines and moans, but Harry was unrelenting in his pursuit of your high. He kept licking and sucking, grabbing and groping until you came apart on his tongue, your body going rigid under the strain of such an intense orgasm.

“You need to learn how you’re supposed to be treated, kitten,” Harry murmured, his voice muffled as he kissed over your mound, his lips warm and wet.

You pulled yourself to sit up straight, reaching for his belt buckle with desperation. “Show me, daddy,” you whined, pouting as he pushed your hands away and got to work undressing himself.

He nodded his head towards your pillows, a silent command for you to get yourself ready for him as he pushed his slacks down.

You could see the outline of his erection through his boxers, the material stretched tight over the monster he’d been hiding. You’d expected him to be big, but you weren’t even sure that he would fit inside of you.

You kept your eyes locked on his body as you scooted back, your mouth hanging slightly open. You’d seen him like this before, in his shorts in the pool or topless as he barbecued, but knowing he was undressing for you, to fuck you into complete and utter bliss, you were spiralling.

You wanted him to fuck you everywhere, in every way. Bent over the kitchen counter, in the pool, his cock hitting the back of your throat until you were begging for relief, his mouth and hands touching you until they became one with your flesh.

At some point during your daydream, Harry had fully undressed, his cock dangerously hard as he knelt between your legs.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he drawled, swiping a finger through your slick before bringing it to your lips, his free hand stroking at his length.

You opened your mouth a little wider to let him in, your lips immediately wrapping around his knuckle as your tongue swirled around his fingertip, your nectar sweet on your tastebuds.

The movement elicited a low groan from Harry, his hips bucking into his hand, and without any warning, he was pushing into you with a sharp ache in your walls, his hands planted either side of your head.

Your arms immediately snapped to his shoulders, steadying yourself against him with a gasp, your pussy throbbing as his cock stretched you.

“More, Harry, please,” you whimpered, wrapping your calf around his hips, tugging him impossibly closer to you.

He brushed a stray hair from your face, pulling out of you slightly before easing his way back in, your walls rippling around his tip.

“Say my name again,” he commanded, his voice low and gravelly.

You opened your mouth as he slammed back into you, his skin slapping against yours as his name left your mouth in a strangled cry.

His hand came around your throat, squeezing just enough to give you that rush of excitement and risk, the pain melding with your pleasure. He was pulling out faster, fucking into you with relentless determination, setting a pace that you had no hope of following. You were putty in his hands, submissive and yielding as he thrust into you.

Your walls were getting tighter, clamping around the strain of his girth as the beginnings of an orgasm started rolling through your core. “I can feel you struggling, princess,” Harry warned, his grip on your throat tightening slightly. He could see in your eyes how much you liked it, how you wanted to lay there and take whatever he gave you. You knocked your hips into his, unable to speak through whimpers and whines, starting to lose control as the tingles spread through your centre, your inner muscles pulsing around his cock.

“Cum for me, milk me like the little cum slut you are,” Harry groaned, leaning down to pull your nipple into his mouth, his tongue warm and desperate as it rolled over the bud.

His cock hitting every inch of you, nudging your g-spot and every other part of your core, your nipple hard between his lips, his hand wrapped around your neck, his body dwarfing you - it was too much to handle, too much to cope with even without his filthy words. You were cumming before you could even think twice, the pleasure rolling over you in waves, reaching every part of your body. Your fingers curled into his hair, fingertips pressing into his scalp, collecting his curls in their grasp. Your legs were tight and rigid against his skin, your back arching off of the mattress. You were crying out his name, every inch of you throbbing as your vision blurred into stars and static.

But Harry was still fucking into you, still licking and sucking at your breast, still restricting your air with that big, strong hand, until you felt his cock jerking, twitching against your walls and the ribbons of hot cum painting you, marking you as his. He didn’t slow down until he was empty, everything he had to give dripping from you as he pulled out slowly, until he finally collapsed beside you.

You lay in silence for a while, chests heaving as you panted in sync, before Harry sat up to collect his clothes. It felt dirty, wretched, having him fuck you like that in a room that shared a wall with his sons, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything other than pure bliss.

Even as he picked up his clothes and left the room without saying another word to you, you were on another planet, totally lost in the comedown of the most intense orgasm you’d ever had.

—

You woke the next morning with a sinking feeling in your stomach, the memory of the previous evening replaying over and over and over. You stared at the ceiling, the weight of what had happened settling in. Harry had kissed her, and she had kissed him back—without hesitation, without thinking about anything else but the moment. Your sheets still smelled like him, your body still aching from the way he’d fucked you.

But the reality hit like a wave, devastation washing over you. Harry was married. You were single, heartbroken, and you’d come close to getting yourself fired and kicked out of your home on top of that. You sat up, pressing your hands to your temples, trying to push away the guilt that had crept in overnight.

You forced yourself out of bed, moving through your morning routine on autopilot. The house was quiet, too quiet, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. You had no idea if Harry was still around or if he’d left early, but you knew you weren’t ready to face him yet. At least no one else would be home, leaving you the chance to figure things out in your own time.

You padded downstairs, the kitchen feeling too bright, too normal for the reality you’d found yourself in. Every sound seemed magnified - the clink of your mug against the counter, the hum of the fridge - while your thoughts raced, a tangle of emotions you couldn’t quite sort out.

Was the night before a way for Harry to cheer you up - just a mistake, a lapse in judgment? Or was it something more, something neither of them could admit out loud? You shook your head, trying to push the thoughts away, but they clung like the humidity in the air.

You were pouring a cup of coffee when the sound of keys in the front door made your stomach drop. You froze, your heart hammering violently against your ribs. Turning slowly, you found Harry standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. He hesitated, and for a moment, neither of you spoke, eyes locked on each other.

“Morning,” he finally said, his voice softer than usual.

“Hi, Harry,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to cut through.

Harry stepped further into the kitchen, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “About last night…” he began, trailing off as if he wasn’t sure how to continue.

You felt your chest tighten. You wanted to say something, to ease the awkwardness between you both, but the words caught in the back of your throat. Instead, you just nodded, fingers gripping the edge of the very counter where this had all started.

“It was-”, Harry paused, running a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. I shouldn’t have…” His voice faltered, guilt flickering across his features.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “Harry, you’re married,” you said quietly, the truth of it hanging in the air between them.

“I know,” he replied, his tone heavy with regret. “I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You nodded again, feeling like you needed to be anywhere but there. The awkwardness between you felt like a chasm now, one they couldn’t easily bridge. “It’s not just on you,” you admitted. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Harry edged a little closer, only his footsteps and the hum of the coffee machine cutting through the silence. You could tell that the weight of what had happened was pressing down on him. At the realisation, you felt a pang of sadness, a dull ache in her chest that told you things would never be the same between you both. They couldn’t be.

“I think it’s best if we just-” Harry started, then stopped, struggling to find the right words. “If we can try to move past it. Go back to how things were before. But I understand if you’d rather find something else. I have contacts, I can-”

“No, Harry,” you interrupted. “I’d prefer to stay here if I can. If that’s okay.”

You knew he was right, but the idea of pretending nothing had happened felt impossible. Still, your job was important to you, and you didn’t actually have to spend that much time with Harry.

He offered a weak smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ll be okay,” he said, more as a reassurance to himself than to you.

But as he left the kitchen, you weren’t so sure. Last night had changed something between you both, something that couldn’t be undone. And as much as you both wanted to pretend otherwise, you both had agreed to continue as you always had, the truth of it would always be there, lingering in the space between you.

—

You were curled up on the sofa, a soft blanket draped over her legs as you half-watched the movie playing on the TV. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the flickering screen and a nearby lamp. You’d picked a rom-com, hoping it would distract you from the turmoil swirling in your mind.

The whole day had been weird, with Harry working from home but spending significantly more time locked in his office than he usually did. You’d wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to avoid you, but you didn’t even know if he was. Any time you’d crossed paths had lead to strained silences and forced politeness, the easy rapport you once shared miles away.

You sighed, trying to focus on the movie, but the memory of your night together kept intruding. He’d shown you more care and respect than Sam ever had, his hands and that mouth trailing over every part of your body, worshipping you as if you’d been crafted by the Gods.

You pulled your knees closer to your chest, half wishing you could just disappear as Harry appeared in the doorway. His presence filled the room, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

“Hi,” you smiled, your heart quickening. You shifted slightly on the sofa, trying to make room, though you weren’t sure if you were ready for another encounter.

“Can I?” Harry asked, gesturing to the spot next to you.

You hesitated, but only for a second, before nodding and patting the sofa to your right.

Harry sat down, leaving a careful distance between them. You both turned your attention to the screen, though the tension in the room was palpable. You could feel the awkwardness settling in, making it hard to concentrate on anything but the fact that Harry was inches away from you for the first time that day, and you’d just been fully engrossed in a mental re-enactment of the night before.

After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, you couldn’t take it anymore. You turned to him, your voice low. “This is weird, isn’t it?”

Harry let out a soft laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, it is. I’ve been trying to figure out how to make it less weird, but I’m not sure how.”

You nodded, your eyes drifting over his face.

“I value our working relationship, y/n, the things you do for our family,” Harry told you, reaching out to pause the movie.

You appreciated his honesty, but the reality of the situation still weighed heavily on you. “I can’t just pretend it didn’t happen, Harry. You’re my boss, and your family-” you sighed. “It’s just complicated things.”

“I crossed a line, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop being sorry for that. But I don’t regret anything,” Harry confessed, something conflicted in his eyes.

You swallowed hard, your words caught in your throat. You couldn’t reply, couldn’t tell him that you didn’t regret it either.

Harry turned back to the movie after a moment, the tension between you both easing up. It wasn’t gone, but the room suddenly felt warmer. He leaned back into the sofa, and after a moment’s hesitation, you did the same.

He shifted slightly closer, closing some of the distance between you. You noticed, but you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. You let herself relax, resting her head against the back of the sofa as you watched the movie together, side by side. There was an undercurrent between them that neither could ignore, reminiscent of some kind of world where he wasn’t your boss, wasn’t happily married, and could be yours.

You’d felt it even before, every time you were alone in the same room, a tension that simmered just beneath the surface, waiting to spill over. You could see it in the way Harry looked at you sometimes, his gaze lingering just a bit too long, his voice dropping a little softer whenever he spoke your name. It was there in the moments when your hands would accidentally brush, sending a jolt of electricity through you that you struggled to hide.

You were lost in your thoughts when Harry’s arm brushed against yours. You could feel the heat of him, the familiar scent of his cologne wrapping around you, clouding your mind.

Your breath caught in your throat, and when you glanced over, you found Harry looking at you, his face closer than you’d expected. His eyes were intense, searching yours for something you weren’t sure you could give. The moment stretched, the silence between you both heavy with unspoken words.

“Y/n,” he said softly, his voice rough around the edges, as if he were struggling to hold something back.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “We said-”

“I know,” he interrupted, his brow furrowed, voice barely above a whisper.

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was anything but hesitant. This time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty. The kiss was hungry, desperate, as if you were both trying to make up for the time lost denying what you wanted.

You melted into him, any resolve crumbling under the weight of your own desire. You’d told yourself it couldn’t happen again - wouldn’t happen again - that it was too complicated, too messy, but now, with Harry’s hand cupping your face, his lips moving against yours with an intensity that left her breathless, all those reasons seemed to vanish.

He pulled you closer, deepening the kiss as if he couldn’t get enough, and you responded in kind, your fingers tangling in his curls as you gave in to everything you had been trying to push away. It was reckless, dangerous even, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was how right it felt, how much you had needed it, and needed him.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathing hard, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch your breath. Harry’s hands were still on you, his touch lingering, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go.

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmured, his voice small. “I know we said we wouldn’t. I don’t know why I-”

“None of this is fair on anyone, Harry,” you whispered, your hand dropping to his shoulder. Your gaze fell to the wall behind you, covered in beautiful family photos. His wedding, nights out, his arms cradling a newborn baby. The reality of the situation loomed over you, a stark reminder that this wasn’t just about what they wanted. “We can’t keep acting like we’re the victims here.”

“I know,” he said, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. “But it doesn’t feel like a mistake.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of his words sink in. You were both standing on the edge of something that could change everything, and once you crossed that line again, there would be no going back.

When you opened your eyes, you found Harry looking at you, his expression a mix of hope and nervousness. It was a look that mirrored your own conflicted feelings, torn between what was right and what you wanted.

“It doesn’t,” you admitted, hating even hearing the words coming out of your mouth. “But where does that leave us?”

Harry was silent for a moment, his gaze steady as he pulled you closer to him. “I don’t know,” he finally said, his voice barely a whisper. “That’s something we have to figure out.”

The room was still and silent, the gravity of everything you had done settling in. But despite the uncertainty, a small sense of relief bubbled below the surface. You’d crossed a line, yes, but you had done it together. And you were happy to kid yourself that you’d find a way forward, even if it wasn’t clear yet what that path would look like.

For now, you let yourself be held by Harry, allowing yourself to savour the feeling of his strong arms around you, the warmth of his breath against your skin, and the undeniable truth that something about him felt right.

eeek thank you for reading!!!

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[batsandbirdbrains]

The one where Dick is secretly Kryptonian and Zod is the only one who recognizes him

I want a fic set in the yj cartoon universe but I want to absolutely fuck with the timeline, as one does. I want Zod to show up way earlier, like just after the end of season 2. I want my usual set up where Dick is actually only like 15-17ish bc I think the younger he is the angst-ier it gets and I love that for him. Love making him suffer. I want Artemis to have refused to come back as Tigress to help Kaldur, so Dick ends up spending the entirety of season 2 with a million responsibilities: he has to sub in as Batman at least a couple times a week in Gotham and whenever the JL needs him so the world doesn’t get suspicious, he has to run the Team as Nightwing, he has to patrol as Nightwing, he has to train Tim to be Robin bc he’s only been Robin for a couple months before Bruce fucked off to Rimbor, he acted as Kaldur’s handler while he’s undercover, and then he convinces Deathstroke to let him be Renegade so he can provide Kaldur with some sort of backup. Oh and also he’s still in high school. Taking extra credits so he can graduate sooner.

And while all of this is happening, he’s also actively hiding the fact that he’s Kryptonian. That he’s actually Superman’s older brother. That he was stuck in the Phantom Zone for years because he was scared to leave his parents and go in the pod, so the explosion set his pod off course. That he was terrified when he landed on Earth and found out that Kal and Kara grew up without him. That he was the only one with the prototype bracelet his father had made to prevent the radiation from the yellow sun giving Dick powers.

So after the invasion, after everything calms down, the heroes around him start questioning his need to keep the undercover op a secret. They question is ability as a leader, as a hero. And Dick, who’s exhausted and overwhelmed and just so so tired, basically gives them all the middle finger and fucks off the Blüdhaven. Screw them all. He doesn’t need them. He doesn’t need anyone. He’s lost two families already, he can lose his makeshift third. Kara’s never even been in the same room as him since Dick has been on Earth. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. He’s totally fine.

Then General Zod shows up four months later, and the JL reluctantly calls in nightwing because they need all the help they can get. And Dick helps. Because he’s good like that. Because even though he barely remembers Zod, he does remember that he was an ass and he didn’t like him, no matter how respectful his parents always told him he should be to his elders, especially one with the rank of General. But that was before Zod got thrown in the Phantom Zone, so Dick likes to think it wouldn’t count now.

Dick is on the Watchtower, lingering in the back, waiting for the debrief to start so he can just go home already. He’s missed a shift at the bar he works at for this. He’s probably going to get fired.

While Dick is brooding to himself, Superman and Supergirl arrive, each holding an arm of the shackled Zod, who’s looking around the room like they’re all dirt beneath his boots. But when Dick looks up, he and Zod look at each other. Even with the mask, Dick can tell he’s been recognized. And it makes his stomach drop.

Because Zod starts laughing, and it makes everyone pause. Everyone is watching him, and it only makes Zod’s smirk widen.

“I haven’t seen you in quite some time,” Zod says, his voice smooth. “Given your youth, it must’ve been you we heard crying in the Phantom Zone all those years. Remind me of your name again, boy?”

Dick stays frozen, even as everyone turns to him after realizing he’s the one Zod is staring down. The further Dick tries to hunch in on himself, the more Zod laughs.

“What was it? Ree-El? Rae-El? Rid-El?”

“Rah-El,” Dick eventually hisses, glaring at Zod. Zod just continues smirking at him, and Dick help but bite at him in Kryptonian, “Traitor.”

Kara is gasping, her hold on Zod going slack, but Kal-El just looks confused. As does everyone else around them.

“Ah, yes,” Zod says, his voice smooth. “Rah-El, firstborn of Jor-El and Lara. I’d thought you’d perished on Krypton when I hadn’t seen you fighting with your family. But look at you, hiding in the shadows. Tell me, it was you we heard in the Phantom Zone, wasn’t it? Your screams were so delightful.”

And just knowing that Zod and the others heard him while he was terrified, alone, locked in the pod with no way out, it makes his blood boil. Because they could have helped him. They should have helped him. He was a child, he was one of their own, and they left him to rot.

“Nightwing,” Kal’s voice is shaking, “what is he talking about?”

“Nightwing?” Zod laughs. “Oh, you really have been hiding in plain sight, haven’t you? Very clever.”

Dick can feel his hands shaking and his breathing get shallower, so he pushes himself off the wall and stomps up to Zod, hissing at him, “I hope they send you to rot in the Phantom Zone for the rest of eternity, you pathetic excuse for a general.”

He leaves before anyone can say anything. He doesn’t know how to answer any of their questions anyway. He doesn’t want to.

[writting-stuff-sometimes]

Night in Vegas- Lando x fem reader

Summary: Y/N had been Lando's PR, it had been messy and she moved to Red Bull, but maybe things were not as bad as she thought.

Warnings: Abusive Max (Sorry someone had to be the bad guy) smutty ending.

Notes: No hate to anyone this story just needed a villain.

___________________________________________

The moment the job offer came from Red Bull you didn't think it twice. You had been Lando's PR for the last 2 years, which was kind of a nightmare. He had the worst cases of verbal diarrhea, not that Max didn't but the paycheck was worth the extra work. Also, the interactions with Lando had always been weird and uncomfortable.

He was so nice and funny around everyone else but you, whenever it was just you two, you could hear the grass grow. In the beginning, you tried to get to know him, create somewhat of a bond so you could understand him better and work around that info, but every time you tried to get him to tell you something about him he would shut you out, keeping his answers short and dry.

And here you were, your first six months as Max PR agent were...interesting, he was a master in driving but thanks to his dad and the people around him, his public image was a challenge, a challenge you loved to work, at least you did until he started showing his real self. It began with small tantrums, mood swings when an interview had been scheduled when he had agreed to go play paddle, or that one time on a bad day when a reporter asked him about his dad's history with the law even when you had precisely warned them not to ask about any of that.

But that was all fun and games until tonight's event for the Vegas GP. Usually, the US GP's parties were a nightmare. Tons and tons of media people and influencers with little idea about F1. Yet they were important to attend because of the amount of rich people the teams craved as their lawful sponsors, so all the drivers were requested to go. This meant an awful fight with Max who hated these events where he had to "prostitute" himself for a couple of millions, it was particularly tricky now that some pictures and supposed messages showing Kelly might have been cheating, surfaced. You promised him to warn everybody that any questions about his personal life were off the table for any of the interviews, but American media cared little about that.

"Are you stupid or something?" His angry voice was so much like his dad's. Dry, hurtful, and insulting even when he wasn't using big curse words.

"Max, I told everyone personal questions were off the table. I sent a memo last week and a reminder this morning" You walked following him closely as he exited the event venue. Your heels making it difficult for you to keep his pace.

"I don't care!" He stopped and turned towards you abruptly, making you crash against his body. "If Christian gives me any shit about not being here I will make sure he knows this was all your fault" His voice loud and angry felt even more intimidating as he was towering over you, his red face so close to yours you could feel the heat radiate from it.

"But-"

"Shut it, I don't want to hear it" He spat.

"Hey, mate, easy" You both turned to look at the curled hair driver approaching at a firm pace.

"Lando, this has nothing to do with you"

"It does when you're talking like that to Y/N" He gently held your arm pulling you back, placing himself between you and Max.

"How did you deal with this shit for two years? she's the worst"

"I disagree, she's the best"

"What? Why are you defending her?" Max looked in shock from Lando's intervention, and to be honest, so were you.

"Because I know the mess you are and you talking to her like that is unacceptable and most likely uncalled for. We should've never let her go, I've begging Zak to get her back and after this, there's no way I'm letting her stay at RB"

"What the fuck? I don't...Wait, did you two ...? She must be a good fuck if you want her back so bad" A bitter laugh left his chest.

There it was, the angry verbal diarrhea.

You wanted to jump in and tell him you had never even crossed two complete phrases with Lando, how the hell were you going to fuck him? But no sound left your body, you were just a passenger in this trainwreck.

"Max, come on, It's not her fault your life's a fucking mess and that you have no idea how to deal with it. And take it from me, mate, you don't need a PR manager, you need a therapist."

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Max took a couple of steps forward and faced Lando menacingly. He wasn't much taller than the Brit but seemed angry enough to cause damage.

"This is enough" You finally spoke, your voice shaky as you grabbed Lando's arm trying to pull him back. But he didn't move an inch.

"I'm not afraid of you mate" Lando hissed.

"Ok enough" You said in the most motherly voice ever and stepped in between them. "Lando, thanks but that's enough. You two don't want to do or say anything you'll regret later"

"See you on the track, mate" Said Lando as he took your hand and pulled you toward the parking lot.

You walked with him still in shock from the situation, expecting for him to let go of your hand as soon as you were out of sight from Max, but he kept going until he reached the Valet and gave him his ticket.

"Thanks fo that" You tried breaking the uncomfortable silence. "I think I need to go back there tho, I might not have a job tomorrow, but I don't need them to fire me because of not complying with my duties, Maybe I can find Max and convince him-"

"If they don't fire you, you're quitting" He said as he typed on his phone.

"What?! No, I can't do that, I can't afford to lose my job"

"You'll have a job"His voice was confident as he kept typing.

"Lando, I really-"

"Your car, Mr.Norris" The valet cut you off opening the passenger door for you.

"Get in" Lando walked toward the door to hold it himself.

"Lan-"

"Get in... please" He finally looked at you, something in his eyes telling you to do it. Not wanting to perform another scene now in front of the valet, you got inside the fancy McLaren. Your feet thanked you for the much-needed rest after the little sprint.

He removed his suit jacket, got in the driver's side, and drove off.

"I swear, you're not going to be jobless, you can stop with the bouncy leg" A hint of a laugh in his voice. Of course, he could laugh about it, he was worth millions, if he lost his job that same night, he'd have enough money to live comfortably for two lives.

Your phone started ringing in your bag. Chirstian's face on your screen made your heart beat a thousand miles. You could almost hear him, his calm yet angry voice made your skin crawl.

"Don't answer him, there's no need"

"Lando, you don't get it, it's not that simple"

A ding on his phone and a pop-up notification on his console screen called your attention.

Zak: Fine, I'm ok with it, we can talk details tomorrow.

"See?" He said smiling at the notification. You stared at him confused.

"I promised him I would behave my best for the rest of my contract if they took you back. Welcome back to Mclaren" A big smile on his face. It was odd being on the receiving end of that smile.

"Sadly, you won't be working with me. You will be part of the team's PR, I think that's an even bigger paycheck, tho"

"Ok, stop stop stop" Your voice filled with slight panic. "What the fuck's happening?"

"Wow, your first bad word" He was way too entertained with the situation.

"That you know of" Your facade was off, screw being professional, this moment was a moment for panic.

Christian's number shined on your screen again.

"Hello" You finally answered.

"Y/N, I just got a thousand messages from Max, and from the team at the event, what's going on?"

"Christian, Max lost it after some journalist asked him about Kelly, I had clearly said no questions about that were allowed"

"You should not have left Max to leave the party, we need him back there"

"I tried to stop him but-"

"No buts, Y/n, that's your job"

"No"

"What?"

"No, that's not my job, I'm not a babysitter, I'm a PR agent, I should not be dealing with tantrums and the equivalent of being spit in the face by an angry baby just because he's Max Verstappen"

You took a deep breath as the man on the other side of the phone kept quiet. Netflix would kill to have footage of this situation.

"I quit" You finally said

"What?" His high-pitched voice told you he was as surprised as you by the words leaving your mouth. You turned to look a Lando, he had the biggest smile on his face.

"I quit, Christian. I can stop by to sign my resignation tomorrow."

"But-"

"I'm sorry but I have to go now. I will stop by your office tomorrow to sign whatever is needed and to return my credentials. Have a good night" You hung up with shaky hands. As much as you sounded confident you were screaming inside.

"Nice" Lando's accent so thick.

"Oh my God" You placed your head between your legs and took deep breaths, trying not to faint.

"It's ok, it will all be ok" You felt his hand run softly up and down your back which felt weirdly soothing and calming.

You finally felt calm enough to lift your head, realizing he had pulled over at a truck stop next to the highway.

"What the fuck just happened?" You closed your eyes, the world felt as if it was spinning out of orbit.

"It will be ok, you were amazing"

"I will regret this tomorrow"

"I could help you with that" he said under his breath, you barely catching his words.

"What?"

"Never mind. Listen, you'll be fine, you'll join the team for the next season, and you can take this time as a well-deserved vacation"

"What are you talking about? Maybe Zak only told you that so you would stop bothering him. I can't wait until the next season. Oh my God, I need to call Christian back, if I apologize and explain that I was drunk or something he might not fire me" you said as you fumbled with your phone trying to get your shaky hands to get your calls.

"Stop, no, Y/n" In a swift move, Lando took your phone from your hand.

"Give it back! This is all your fault!"

"What?!"

"If you had stayed out of this I might have convinced Max to go back to the party and none of this had happened" You said as you almost jumped over him to get your phone back as he moved his hand around keeping you away from it.

"Oh c'mon, you wouldn't have lasted two more weeks with his annoying ass, I love Max but he's a pain" He sounded way too entertained by all this.

"Lando, stop it! Give me back my phone!"

"No, you have to calm down"

"No, give it back" you were almost kneeling over the seat.

"Y/n, stop"

"No"

"Y/n!"

"NO, GIVE IT-" Before you could finish your sentence his free hand grabbed you from your neck and pulled you toward him, his lips crashed into yours, finally getting you to stop moving. You even stopped breathing.

After a couple of seconds or hours, you weren't sure anymore, he let go of the fist he had formed around your hair and pulled back. His cheeks flushed as if he had been the one who had gotten kissed out of nowhere.

"Have I been drugged? Am I hallucinating? This has to be a weird trip"

His particular laugh sent chills down your spine.

"C'mon, it wasn't my best job but I'm not used to kissing people as they're having a panic attack, I needed you to calm down"

"And kissing me was the best you could come up with?"

"You're not thinking about your phone or Christian anymore, are you?"

"You're sick"

"Listen, I'm sorry I did it like that, ok? I stepped over a boundary and I apologize, but I know that after this you might hate me for the rest of your life and this seemed like the only moment I was going to be able to do it, so I'm sorry but not really"

"You can't go around kissing people just because"

"I didn't do it just because"

"What?"

"Y/N, I'm fucking in love with you!" He screamed.

"What?" Your voice is barely a whisper

"I'm sorry, I was dumb ok?"

"I'm not getting any of this"

"Ok, I'll explain. It took me about 2 months to fall head over heels for you, ok? You're smart, incredibly beautiful, funny, and so good at your job, it was hard not to fall in love with you. But I know I can be an asshole, so trying to stay away from you and not ruin everything I behaved like an even bigger asshole, pushing you away and into Red Bull's arms. So as an apology, I've been having talks with Zak. this has been going on for months. So no this just didn't come up, Max just made it easier for me to set the plan in motion"

You stared at his proud face in awe.

"Are you breathing?" He asked when not. single sound had left your body for a long time.

"You're in love with me?"

"Um yeah" He blushed and almost looked away but he didn't.

"For the two years we worked together, you were in love with me?"

"Yeah, basically"

"You have a shitty way of showing love"

"Sorry" he laughed under his breath

"You're nuts"

"I know" As soon as he saw you had calmed down he stretched his hand softly caressing your cheek. "I'm nuts for you"

"Ew, don't"

He laughed, the sound making you feel something new.

"I don't know"

"What?"

"What's going on"

"Maybe another kiss might help? I'm actually asking this time"

"Ok" You answered in a low whisper.

"Ok" He softly whispered as he took you by the neck, and pulled you toward him. It was a mutual kiss now, your lips dancing with his. His tongue traced your lips and they parted allowing your tongue to start a fight with his.

The kiss heated up as his other hand grabbed your hips and pulled you over him. Your ass pressed on the horn startling both of you and making you laugh, but quickly you returned to your make-out session.

His hand shily traveled down your spine and stopped over the soft satin fabric covering your ass. You knew exactly what he was trying to test, so you moved yours down his chest, feeling his racing heart, and traveled down all the way to his pants. You could feel his growing bulge and gave it a squeeze. He moaned deeply and gave a slap to your ass, making you moan too.

You were about to unbuckle his belt but his hand landed over yours.

"Wait, do you actually want to do this?" he asked out of breath.

"Yes" Your voice shaky from the excitement.

"Are you sure? I don't want to force you or-"

"Lando, I want you to fuck me"

Your words sent an electric shock through his body, you could even feel his dick twitch under your hand.

"I'm all yours" He smiled and moved his lips to your neck, you threw your head back giving him space to explore it and its sensitive areas. He gave soft bites around it, as he stretched to the glove compartment getting a condom out of it.

"You're a manwhore"

"I was just manifesting this"

"Sure" you answered squinting your eyes.

"I promise, You can ask Oscar, I've not had sex for months"

"I don't need to know that"

"Yeah you do, I swear I wasn't going to use this with anyone else, I promise"

He was most likely lying, but you decided to believe him, at least for tonight.

"Fine" You said as you took the condom from his hand and opened it as your lips went back to his.

He helped you by pulling down his pants and his boxers enough for his throbbing cock to spring out and slap his stomach.

"Hello Mr. Norris" You said with a cheeky smile

"Don't act so surprised"

"Sorry"

He now took the hem of your dark blue dress and pulled it over your hips, softly caressing the soft flesh of your thighs and ass. He moaned at the feeling of no underwear under it.

"You're naughty"

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me"

"I love it" He said and bit your lower lip as he placed you over his hard cock. You took the condom and without breaking the kiss you rolled it over his dick, enjoying the feeling of the heat and the veins that ran through it.

He couldn't wait any longer and as soon as he felt the condom in place he lifted his hips entering you in one deep thrust making you moan loudly from the incredible feeling of being so full.

"Fuck, Lando" you said as he started thrusting. A slow yet hard pace made your eyes roll to the back of your head, as he held you one hand by the neck the other one caressing your ass.

"Fuck, you're so fucking perfect" He moaned against your tits that were spilling out your dress.

He took one of your nipples in his mouth, pushing you closer to your release.

You had forgotten when was the last time you had sex, but none of your previous experiences could compare to this one. Lando being a manwhore was quite a benefit.

His hips hitting against yours at such a perfect pace was driving you crazy. He could tell by the way you were pulsing around him that you were close. This was probably a record and he was going to savor it.

He brought one of his hands down to your clit and just a couple of circles helped by how wet you were pushed you over the edge, loudly moaning his name in his ear. That sweet sound looped in his brain, making him reach his climax shortly after.

"Fuck" he finally said after you two had reached a decent breathing pace.

"Shit"

"Fourth curse word of the night"

"Shut it" You said as you pushed yourself off his chest and kissed him.

"I'm going to love having you around again"

"Me too"

"Well, Max was right about one thing" A cheeky grin on his face.

"What?"

"You're such a good fuck"

"You're a dick" You slapped his chest as he pulled you back to kiss him.

This was probably going to be a mess, but at least for a couple of months you were unemployed and free to date whoever you wanted, that included F1 drivers who would probably be off limits once your contract started, but that was a problem for your versions of the future.

Tag List: @wtrmlnsgr94, @ricsaigaslec, @ironmaiden1313, @formulas-bitch,

[gilverrwrites]

Im back on my supernatural shit, can you please do TFW + Gabe and anyone else you wanna do reacting to finding out the reader had a dirty dream about them?

Author note: Me too Boo, me too. I added lucifer, just cause I wanted too. Hope you enjoy! I also switched things up with gifs for each instead of one image for everyone. Lemme know which one you guys prefer.

Rating: M/18+

Please remember: that it is enough to exist as you are.

Dean

You’ve never seen a bigger shit-eating grin in all your life; he looks like he hit the jackpot.

No matter how much or how little you tell him, he won’t stop making jokes or bragging how bad you want it.

Dean I need you t- “Yeah you do.” Stop it! “Bet you weren’t saying that in your dreams last night.” *Gesturing at something even remotely suggestive* “Hey hey hey, did we do that?”

He promises to stop if you give him the full run down.

And when you do, he’s like Christmas came early.

All wide eyes and dopy smiles, occasional blushing.

He’s got a million and one questions throughout, but the final and most is obviously: “You wanna go at the real thing?”

Sam

Immediate shuts down for like 5 minutes. His brain has to comprehend and then reboot.

He won’t joke or make fun of you, at least not in front of other people.

But as soon as you’re alone, he’s got questions, lots of detail-oriented questions.

He’s not outright asking what your dream was, just teasing you with meticulously detailed fantasies of his own posed as questions.

“Did I make you beg for it? Did you make me beg?” “Were you completely naked, stretched out underneath me? Were my hands around your throat?” “What did I say? Did I tell you I would ruin you? That you deserved it? Did you want me to?”

Castiel

Angels don’t dream. Primarily because they don’t sleep.

So, he’s not really sure what to make of this confession at first.

Queue the signature furrowed brow and head tilt.

“Why?” I don’t know, I didn’t do it on purpose! “That’s true. I suppose this is your mind’s subconscious way of informing you that you are sexually attracted to me."

Boy, he doesn’t beat around bushes.

He would need time to stew on it from there.

It could be hours, days, maybe weeks before he brings it up again.

“I am curious about your dream.” What dr- oh right. “I am flattered. Should you be willing, I would like to discuss this more. For example, which of us…”  

Gabriel

You can sense the raised brows and the satisfied smirk before he even does it.

“Reeeeeally?”

Gabe’s reaction is very similar to Deans, just like a Trickster in a candy store.

Only he’ll wait to get you alone before he starts bombarding you.

If you won’t tell him outright, he’ll keep guessing.

And every new guess is accompanied by a costume and/or scenery change.

“Maybe we filmed the newest instalment of casa erotica?” “No? Maybe you paid Dr Sexy a visit?” “Mile high club?” “No? Kinkier? You into a little BDSM?”

I’ll let you fill in the visual blanks. 😉

Lucifer

His reaction is a lot more subdued. 

That doesn’t make it any less dubious. You can feel the smugness radiating off of him.

He’ll ask earnestly enough to start out.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

When you refuse, he doesn’t push. Doesn’t joke, or tease.

But the smile he keeps giving you.

The way he watches you, totally engrossed but poised, is enough to drive you crazy.

When he finally asks again, later on, in that low, relaxed tone:

“Are you sure you don’t want to tell me all about your dirty little fantasies?”

Temptation really is his game.

[woso-story]

Meeting The Ex

Alexia Putellas x Reader

The morning sun streamed through the windows of the cozy little café, casting a warm glow over the small table where you and Alexia sat. Her golden-brown eyes sparkled with laughter as she sipped her coffee, the easy joy of the morning filling the air. She reached across the table, her fingers brushing against yours as she teased, “So, are you ready for the ultimate day of relaxation?”

“Absolutely,” you replied with a smile. “Breakfast and then a spa day with you? Sounds like heaven.”

Alexia grinned, clearly pleased with herself for planning such a perfect day. The café’s soft hum of conversation and the aroma of freshly baked pastries created a serene start to what promised to be a beautiful day together. She told you a funny story about her teammate during the last training session, and you couldn’t help but laugh. Being with Alexia always felt so easy, so natural. Her voice was soothing, and her presence made everything feel brighter.

---

After finishing your breakfast—an assortment of flaky croissants, fresh fruit, and perfectly brewed coffee—the two of you made your way to the spa. The moment you stepped inside, the tranquil ambiance enveloped you. The soothing scent of lavender, the gentle music, and the promise of indulgent relaxation were almost intoxicating.

The first part of your spa experience was a couple’s massage. Lying side by side, you exchanged relaxed smiles as the therapists worked their magic, easing every knot and worry from your bodies. It felt like time had slowed down, and all that existed was the comfort of being together. Alexia turned her head slightly, her eyes meeting yours, and gave you a small, peaceful smile that made your heart melt.

“How are you feeling?” she asked softly as the massage ended.

“Like I’m floating,” you said, reaching out to touch her hand briefly. She chuckled, her laugh as light as the spa’s music.

Next came the whirlpool. The bubbling, warm water enveloped you as you leaned back against the edge. Alexia floated over to you, her damp hair framing her face as she placed a soft kiss on your shoulder. “This is perfect,” she murmured, resting her head against you.

“It really is,” you agreed, leaning into her touch. The whirlpool’s jets worked wonders on your muscles, and being so close to Alexia only made the experience better. You talked about your plans for the week, shared little jokes, and basked in the simplicity of being together. The world outside felt a million miles away.

---

After the whirlpool, you found two loungers in a quiet corner of the spa. Wrapped in plush robes, you reclined side by side, content in each other’s company. The peaceful silence was interrupted when you heard a voice say your name.

Startled, you turned to see Paula, your ex-girlfriend, sitting on a lounger a few feet away. She smiled warmly and waved. “Hey, it’s been a while,” she said.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Paula. Hi. Wow, it’s been...almost a year.”

“Yeah, since...” Paula trailed off, the memory of your breakup hanging briefly in the air. She quickly shifted to a lighter tone. “How have you been?”

You exchanged polite words, catching up in a way that felt distant but respectful. As you chatted, you felt Alexia’s presence beside you shift. She sat down next to you, her posture unmistakably protective. When Paula’s gaze flicked to her, Alexia introduced herself, her voice calm but firm. “I’m Alexia, Y/N’s girlfriend.”

Paula’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Oh, nice to meet you,” she said, smiling. “Y/N and I were together for about two years.”

You could feel Alexia tense beside you. Her arm slid around your shoulders, and you had to fight to keep the corners of your mouth from curling into a grin. Alexia Putellas, the calm, composed star adored by so many, was jealous. It was almost endearing.

After a few more polite exchanges, Paula excused herself, saying she was headed to the sauna. You watched her go, feeling the tension radiating from Alexia. Once Paula was out of sight, you turned to her and poked her cheek with your finger. “Are you jealous?” you teased.

Alexia’s expression was stoic as she replied, “No. I have no reason to be.”

You laughed softly. “I think you are. But you’re right, you really don’t have a reason to be.”

Alexia relaxed slightly, but as the two of you returned to your loungers, you could see she wasn’t entirely at ease. Her eyes occasionally flicked toward the direction Paula had gone, and her usually serene demeanor was subtly off.

---

When you got home later that evening, Alexia immediately moved to the kitchen to start dinner. You offered to help, but she waved you off. “I’ve got it,” she insisted.

After a while, you couldn’t resist joining her. Sitting on the counter next to where she was chopping vegetables, you studied her profile. Something was still bothering her.

“Lex,” you said gently. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied too quickly.

You raised an eyebrow. “Be honest with me.”

She sighed, setting down the knife and turning to face you. “I didn’t like seeing you with your ex. It’s silly, I know, but...it made me feel...” She trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Jealous?” you supplied with a soft smile.

“Maybe,” she admitted, her cheeks tinged with pink. “I know I don’t have a reason to be, but I just didn’t like it.”

Sliding off the counter, you wrapped your arms around her waist. “Lex, I’m not interested in anyone else. You’re the only one for me. I love you.”

Her arms encircled you, holding you close. “I love you too,” she murmured, her voice soft but steady.

You pulled back slightly to look into her eyes. “Now, stop frowning and finish making dinner. Your girlfriend is hungry.”

Alexia laughed, her smile finally breaking through the lingering tension. “Alright, alright. Sit down and relax. Dinner will be ready soon.”

Later, as the two of you sat at the table enjoying the delicious meal she’d prepared, the earlier encounter felt like a distant memory. Afterward, you curled up together on the couch, watching a movie. Alexia’s arm was draped around you, her fingers idly tracing patterns on your arm.

At one point, she leaned over and kissed your temple. “Thank you for being mine,” she said softly.

“Always,” you replied, snuggling closer to her.

The warmth of her love and the comfort of her presence made everything else fade away. It had been the perfect day—because it was spent with her.

[cerisereids]

𝘄𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝗻’𝘁 𝗯𝗲 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀 (𝘄𝗮𝗶𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲)- 𝗮.𝗵. [𝗽𝘁. 𝟰]

masterlist, part one, part two, part three

wc- 5.2k

pairing- aaron hotchner x fem!rossi!reader

summary- down on your luck after a huge betrayal, you return to live at your father's house with your tail between your legs. you're humiliated, thoroughly convinced nothing good could come from returning home. then you meet aaron hotchner.

warnings- swearing, mentions of nudity, we finally find out what happened in new york, one thing about me is my ass loves a simile, make ups all around!!!

a/n- the last part of this series is finally here!! thank you all for the endless support for this series, it means the world to me. enjoy!

The overhead light of your father's kitchen beats down in the middle of the table, the rays acting as a golden barrier between you two. He's just across the table from you, but he may as well be a million miles away. Guilt seeps through your every pore as your father's disappointment radiates through you. It's been a week since he caught you with Aaron, a case taking him away soon after that gloomy morning in the kitchen. You pick at your food, sliding it around your plate with your fork until your father speaks first.

"How long was it going to take?" he mumbles, and your head shoots up. He continues at your furrowed brow, "how long was it going to take to tell me you were sleeping with Aaron?"

The confrontation of your actions shock your nervous system, panic seizing each organ in your body. Your forehead falls into the crook of your neck, your cheeks heating at an ungodly temperature. "I'm so sorry, Papà-"

"Nuh-uh," he cuts you off, waving his fork at you, eyes dark and stormy, "don't 'Papà' me, do you have any idea that your actions have consequences, young lady?"

A pit of guilt sinks deep in your stomach, like you're 16 again and got busted sneaking in after a kegger. Only this time, you're grown, no teenage angst to fall back on as a result of your actions.

"Dad-" you try, but he's not having it.

"Did you tell him what ran you out of New York City? Why not a single publishing company will work with you?" he accuses.

Your heart stops, cheeks heating to an insane degree. Acid gurgles in your stomach as you go over the events that led you back to Virginia, your heart anxiously pounding.

"That's a no," he huffs out in annoyance, and frustration constricts your throat as he stands up to put his plate in the sink.

"Dad, I'm-"

He whips around to face you. "You're what? Sorry? You're my daughter, which means that I'm here to support you no matter what, but not when you lie to me. Not about this," he shakes his head as he makes his way to the stairs.

Soon, you're abandoned in the kitchen, your baggage your only company. You sit there in tense silence, mind flashing back to that detrimental morning one week ago. The way your father stood there, briefcase in hand, staring down Aaron like they're in a Texas Standoff.

The kitchen felt like a war zone that day, and has every day since. Tension rose thick like mud, dirtying you all over, exposing your lies. You remember the way your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach, sitting heavy as a rock as you watched your father figure it out. The way his eyes flitted between you two, his brows furrowed, one raised every so slightly as to say, 'really?'

Aaron's face flashes through your mind, the pale of his cheeks contrasting his dark features, looking like he'd seen a ghost. His hand was still partially inside a bag of Nespresso pods, frozen in place. You were sure you didn't look much better as you shot a panicked look at the raven haired man you'd been...liaising with behind your father's back.

"Don't look at him," your father said, in that stern Italian cadence that meant you were about two seconds away from swimming with the fishes. "Look at me, and tell me the truth. What's going on here?"

He knew, of course he knew, though he's making you tell him yourself. Ever the agent.

"Dad-"

"David," Aaron had cut you off immediately, and you remember the sting of acid that punched your throat, your eyes widening as he took a small step towards your dad. "It's my fault, completely. I initiated this, please don't take your anger out on her. It's on me, and I'm sorry."

You were breathless at the fact that even after all of this, Aaron was still taking care of you. You knew it was inappropriate, but you couldn't have slowed the racing patter of your heart if you tried.

"Don't tell me how to feel about you sleeping with my daughter, Aaron," your father snapped, voice booming off the marble walls. "Aaron, I've always respected you. You're a good man, and an even better agent. But right now? I've never wanted to kill somebody more. Get out of my house."

Your fork clatters against your plate as the memory surges through you, seizing every part of you with otherworldly guilt. You see yourself vaguely in the reflection of your plate, and you don't recognize yourself. The distortion of your reflection in the glass paints a better picture of you than a mirror could right now.

Shame follows the guilt soon after, twisting around your heart like a lasso and pulling until it's so tight, you're bursting out the front door for some air. The cool evening air bites gently at your cheeks, dew already beginning to moisturize the nature around you. When you'd moved back here, you wished to be like the daisies blooming in your father's yard this spring. Born again, renewed.

Angry tears prick hot in your eyes as you stroll, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout. You're in disbelief with yourself, making the same mistakes over and over again. Even in your emotional daze, though, you can't seem to count Aaron as a mistake. You're fully aware of the ways in which you hurt your father, but you can't help but wonder if you had gone about things differently, more honestly, could you still be with him?

The question nearly paralyzes you, shock unzipping down your spine at the thought of being with Aaron, inhibitions stripped away. Your feet make quick work in the direction of his apartment, your subconscious stampeding over the logical voice in your head telling you that visiting him would only be disastrous.

Emotion wins this battle, since you're knocking at his door no more than 10 minutes later. You pick at your nails as you wait for him to open the door and anxiety pools in your gut, tart and bitter. His door finally swings open and he's speechless at the sight of you. His eyes wide and chest heaving up and down, he wordlessly steps aside to let you in.

You cross the threshold and stand awkwardly in the entryway. You wring your hands together, eyes darting everywhere but the man before you. He stands with his hands on his hips, clad in a dark suit, go-bag sat by the front door.

"I'm sorry," you breathe out as you take in your surroundings. "Do you have a minute?"

He nods slightly, and your breath hitches on an inhale.

"Aaron..." you start, but the words get lost in your throat. "What do we do?" You want him to maybe, just maybe, try and salvage what you have.

"I don't think we should continue seeing each other. At all," his voice is small, but firm and low. Your hope fizzles like a sparkler fading into the night.

"What?" you breathe out. You weren't sure what other possibilities were there for you, but you weren't expecting him to shut you down so immediately.

"What?" he asks, tone bordering on sarcastic, "is that not what you came here to do?"

"N-not necessarily!" you choke out, tears immediately springing to your eyes. Your throat constricts with frustration, how easily you fold in front of him is nearly embarrassing.

He looks shocked at your response, and it's like a hammer to a nail in the middle of your heart, splitting it right down the middle. His hands still rest on his hips, but he brings a large palm to his face, running it from his forehead to his chin. When he looks back at you, his own eyes are glossy.

"I-" he starts, unsure of how to finish, "I'm sure you can imagine how difficult it has been for your father and I at work."

Water floods in your ears, white hot anger burning in your core at his words. You truly thought you heard him wrong, that there's no world in which he could be making this about himself.

"How difficult it has been for you?!" you screech, and he flinches at your tone. "My own father won't even look at me!"

He avoids your gaze, brows furrowed and sad eyes trained on the floor. You continue.

"He won't talk to me unless it's to berate me for lying to him, and you think it's hard for you?!" your voice rings louder through the

Your logical mind is once more at war with your fiery emotions. You weren't alone in your deceit, and you know that Aaron has been facing his own consequences, too. That doesn't matter much to you, though, as you stand there in front of him, shaking and in tears. All the while he stands there, still as a statue.

"I've always prided myself on being respectable. To myself and others. The way your father looked at me that day..." he shakes his head and takes a few steps in the opposite direction, regaining some composure. "I never want to feel that guilt again. I'm sure you don't either."

You nod slowly, your brain finally wrapping itself around his decision. Before you can respond, though, his phone pings with a new message. He sighs before running five fingers through his lightly gelled hair.

"I think we should talk more about this later," he says, reaching for his go-bag and meeting you by the door.

"No," you turn to him, heaving chests now inches apart, "there's nothing more to talk about. You said we need to call things off, and clearly whatever you say, goes. Have a good case Aaron," you pierce him with one last scrutinizing gaze before slamming his door.

It begins to rain lightly on your walk home, picking up in speed the further you go. Mother Nature is falling right in line with your mood, you see. You wish you could take your time, mosey in your misery. The rain does unfavorable things for your hair, though, and you'd rather not suffer the frizzy consequences.

A familiar figure waits on your porch as you arrive home, brows furrowing as you trudge up the pathway to the house. Your heart stops once you realize who it is, blood rushing through your head and pounding in your ears.

"Kate?" you nearly whisper, paralyzed with disbelief.

Her long blonde hair whips around her shoulder as she turns to face you.

"There you are! I was waiting for you!" she chirps, fake niceties rolling off her tongue with the same ease they did in New York. Good thing nothing's changed.

"Why are you here?" is all you can get out, uncaring of your nasally monotone.

She scoffs, as if it's ridiculous of you to even ask. "Well...let's go inside and talk about it! I don't want to sit in the rain! It seems it hasn't done you any favors." She scrunches her nose in a fake giggle that almost causes steam to rise from your ears. Rage bubbles up inside you as you pass her by, not looking at her as you unlock the front door.

You're not entirely sure why you're letting her in, maybe it's the itch of curiosity you haven't been able to scratch since leaving the city. Why she did what she did. Some people say closure isn’t real. You're not one of them.

"Okay," you huff out in annoyance, "what is it? Why are you here?" you lean against the entryway table, a hand on your hip.

"Geez! We haven't seen each other in almost a year. I thought there'd be at least a little courtesy!" her nonchalance bites at your heart like a mosquito, frustration and hurt swelling inside you. "I just wanted to check in on you. Is that so wrong?"

You scoff, unsure if she's putting on an act or is genuinely this vapid. You shake your head in disbelief, how were you friends with this awful woman for years?

"You never bothered to check in when I was being shamed out of every single publishing office in New York. You seemed just fine then," you cross your arms over your chest, raising a brow at her.

"I think you're being overdramatic," she responds, and your jaw drops open at her gall.

"Oh, you think?" you sneer nastily. She picked the wrong day for this. "That's really rich coming from someone who couldn't get a single piece published until you stole my manuscript!" the accusation hangs heavy in the air, explosive like a bomb.

"You know," you barrel through any bullshit response she would have had for you, "I've had a lot of time to think since I've arrived home, and something I've come to realize is that the people we surrounded ourselves with..." you shake your head, laughing in frustrated disbelief, "all they care about is status. Money. Who has the 'next best idea'. So what are you going to do once this high wears off? When you don't have a story of mine to refigure as your own?"

You struck a nerve, her stunned silence tells you so.

"Well..." she sputters out, "forgive me for never being able to live up to the Great David Rossi's daughter! Nobody ever paid any mind to me, I had to do something!"

There it is. Your answer. Somehow, it’s not as satisfying as you anticipated. You’re still out for blood with this woman.

"So you framed me for plagiarism and ruined my career because of my father? Awesome solution to your problem there, Kate!" your sarcasm rings clear as a bell through the foyer. "You never considered putting in the work to become a better writer? Nobody paid any mind to you because you didn't have it."

You surprise yourself with your bark and bite, and you thought it'd be much more satisfying to see the tears well up in Kate's eyes. All you feel though, is more guilt, piling itself on top of the endless amount that's accumulated in the past few weeks. The doorbell pierces through the tension, and you whip yourself around to face the door and groan. You swing it open to reveal a wet, sorrowful Aaron, standing on your porch steps in the rain.

You didn't need to ask how long he's been standing there, the pained look in his eye tells you he'd heard most of what you said. You feel like you're digging your own grave in real time, like Ebenezer Scrooge watching his grim future from the tomb.

"Aaron..." you trail off, eyes scanning his face for any sign that he doesn't think you're an awful person, but you come up empty.

"Now who's this?" Kate chirps up from behind you, quickly regaining her attitude with this new arrival.

You whip your head behind you and pierce her with a deathly gaze. "Don't even think about it," you grit through clenched teeth, and her brow raises in curiosity.

"What do you want?" you ask, trying to sound unbothered as you face Aaron once again, "I thought you had a case."

"We do, we don't take off for another 15. I wanted to give you this," he holds out a gold chain with an angel pendant hanging from it. "I wanted to give it to you before I left." The clear reason why hangs between the two of you, and you shakily bring your hands to take the gold necklace from his fingers.

It was your grandmother's, and your mind races back to the night you'd shown it to him. Cuddled on the couch, a blanket draped over your sweaty, naked frames. He'd placed a finger on the pendant sticking to your chest, and you'd taken it off to show him. You hadn't even realized you left it there, another boulder of shame nestling itself on the large pile tearing apart your stomach.

"Thanks," you breathe, eyes snapping up to meet his. His lips roll into a closed lip smile, and he nods stiffly. You sit in the tension, nearly swimming in it as you stare into his dark, sorrowful eyes. Your spine straightens at the snicker that echos from behind you, the reality of the situation crashing down on you like a meteor.

"So this is why you haven't come back to New York..." she mutters slyly, pushing you to the side with her shoulder so she can get a better look at him.

Bile rises in your throat at the way her wicked eyes scan up and down his frame. You swallow the lump forming there and flit your eyes back to Aaron. He's still looking at you, which melts your heart and also makes you want to punch him at the same time.

You tear your eyes away from him, a herculean feat as your gaze drags back over to the nuisance now standing next to you. "Kate," you breathe out, "you have no idea what you're talking about." Your eyes shoot her a pleading look, but she has you right where she wants you.

"No, no, no, so let me get this straight,” she holds a hand up in your face, “we all thought you were having some sort of mental break when you up and left New York, quitting on your ‘dream’ of being a writer," she has a scheming smile on her face, and you're still waiting for the other shoe to drop, "I thought you would have lasted a week in Virginia, tops. But almost three months? Hell, I'd stay too if I had someone like this-"

"Stop! Stop, stop, stop!" you nearly screech, holding both palms out, trying to keep both people in front of you at arm's length. "Everyone here needs to leave, I mean it."

Aaron spins on his heel without hesitation, and you wonder how long he'd been standing there, and if he'd be late for his plane. You let the thought pass, unable to dedicate another ounce of worry to this man who's just now discovering he doesn't know you at all. Kate, on the other hand, takes her sweet time sauntering over the threshold onto the porch.

"Fine," she holds her hands up in surrender, clearly satisfied she got the last punch, "what I really wanted to tell you is that the book tour is going great," she rests a faux-sympathetic hand on your forearm and it's like you're being branded, "I thought you'd wanna know your book is a hit. Thanks for the script, I owe ya!”

She blows a fake kiss just as you slam the door, hot tears welling up in your eyes as you rest against it. How did things go so wrong? You came back to your father's house to find yourself, to shed yourself of the burden of being in New York. All you've found, though, is that running away from your worries has made them exponentially bigger. It seems obvious looking back on it, like a slap in the face. You know you can't make things right until you confront what's wrong. You race to your room, grab a suitcase, and open your laptop. You type in 'one way flights to New York City' and purchase the first ticket you find.

Aaron Hotchner is having a bad week. The understatement of the year, truly. David hasn't looked at him all week, barely talking to him unless it has to do with the case. Even then, it's still sparse. His team grace him with pitying smiles that only make the pit in his stomach grow bigger, acid singeing his organs.

He stares down at crime scene photos for what felt like the millionth time that day, desperate to crack the M.O. of their current offender. He frustratedly gives the photo a small shove, sliding it away from his prying eyes. It's no use, not when his mind is entirely preoccupied.

He can't remember the last time he's acted so recklessly, sleeping with his coworker's daughter. Not just any coworker, but David Rossi's daughter. Guilt twists in his stomach, like he's being eaten alive from the inside out. He's been dragging his feet throughout the entirety of this case, he feels it. It's why he's been marooned to the conference room of the local police station, sent to look over photos and witness statements.

Every piece of him, though, is with her. There's been a pull in his chest since the day they last spoke, a painful yearning that's taking over every part of him. He feels like he's going crazy, the moment he called things off replaying on a loop in his brain. The soft downward pull of her eyebrows, the pained gloss coating her eyes. He knew, logically, that he made the right decision. So why does it feel so wrong?

He then thinks back to the woman who was at the house when he visited earlier this week. He knew so little of her life in New York, and the way she spoke to her was unlike anything he'd seen or heard from her before. It concerned him at first, but once that door swung open, and he saw the way the unnamed woman scanned him, clearly trying to get under her skin, he felt that maybe she was justified in the harsh words she threw at the mystery woman. He needs to speak to her again, that much is for certain.

The case wraps up later that evening, and Aaron takes advantage of the empty seat opposite Dave on the jet. He slides into the leather chair dubiously, Dave's dark brow raising at the sight of him. He quickly looks back to his crossword. Aaron lets out a defeated sigh, and this gets his attention. Dave closes his puzzle and crosses his arms.

"You initiated?" he asks, and all Aaron can do is nod sheepishly.

"David, I'm sorry for lying to you, but I'm not sorry for my feelings," he begins.

"Which are...?" Dave encourages, and he prepares to say something he never thought would be possible.

"I'm in love with your daughter. Keeping our relationship a secret from you was awful, and I am so, so sorry I betrayed your trust. I love her, though. I want to be with her," adrenaline rushes through Aaron as he breathes out the last sentence. To his surprise, the tiniest smile tugs at Dave's lips.

"Don't screw it up," he points an intimidating finger at him, and Aaron huffs out a small laugh.

"You got it," he smiles, thankful to have taken the first step in earning Dave's forgiveness.

Aaron's the first one off the plane when they touch down in Quantico, opting out of team drinks at the bar and going straight to his apartment. He's in desperate need of a shower, and then he's heading straight to see her. He slows, though, when he sees an envelope taped to his door. He knows it's from her before he opens it, the scratchy Aaron on the center of the envelope giving her away immediately.

Aaron,

I feel like I owe you an explanation for the shit show you had to witness, and the full truth of what happened in New York. I had completed a manuscript just after graduating from NYU. It was my best work yet, and my ex-best friend, the woman you saw at my father's house, completely abused my trust. She had found her way on my computer one day, forwarded herself a copy, deleted any trace of it from my laptop, and gave it to the biggest publishing company in the whole city. She claimed it was hers originally, that she found it on my computer in my attempt to 'steal' her work. I tried to fight back, but she accused me of plagiarism, effectively ending my writing career. I've spent the last couple months nursing my broken heart, and I'm sorry you were caught in my mess. I'm back in the city, and I wish you well, truly.

XOXO

Aaron feels as if the air has been stolen from his lungs as he shoves the front door open. He loosens the tie around his neck and has never been more thankful for Jessica having Jack than he is right now. He fumbles with his phone, trying to find the next flight to New York. He knows it's irresponsible, rash, but she's completely turned his life upside down. What's a little more fuel to the fire?

The sun rises on your seventh day in the Manhattan Hotel in Times Square, and the liveliness of the city that would once annoy you, is now a welcomed chaos. You have no idea how long you're going to stay in room 203, whether you'll return back to Virginia or find another place here, but you've found that returning to New York has only done you good.

You're confronting the beast that's loomed over you for months, and it has not only unlocked an array of emotions- many of them Aaron related- but also unleashed your creativity. You've written three chapters so far, a semi-autobiographical tale of reclaiming your power in times of hardship. You're not sure how you're going to work around the plagiarism accusations, how you'll gain any publisher's trust again, but you figure that's an issue for a later date.

Your phone buzzes on the desk of the hotel, and you reach to flip it over. Your heart drops when you see your father's face in your caller ID. He knew you were in New York, but there hasn't been an attempt at communication until now. A trembling finger presses 'accept' and you bring the phone to your ear.

"Hello?" you answer shakily, "Dad?"

"I'm sorry I was such a jerk, Principesa," his familiar warmth floods you with relief.

"Oh Papà," you nearly exclaim, emotion flooding over you as tears spring to your eyes, "I should be the one apologizing, I'm so, so sorry for keeping my relationship with Aaron from you. It was wrong, and I never should have done it. I'm sorry," your voice wells up at the last sentence, and you hear your father coo.

"Hey, don't cry. It's okay, I had some extreme convincing from a certain grouch at work," he jokes, but you hear his voice start to shake, too.

The mention of Aaron is like a gut punch, and you can't help yourself, "How is he? Aaron?"

"He was grouchier than normal for a while, but he came to me and we talked. Things are better," he states.

"I'm so glad to hear it," you respond, though you feel there's something he's not telling you.

"Listen, I wanted to tell you something. Aaron mentioned that he dropped by to see you and there was a woman there, and that it didn't look good. I'm assuming Kate?" He asks. Your eyes fall closed, your lashes kissing your cheeks as you recall the moments of her berating you in your father's home.

"Yeah, yeah it was Kate," you whisper out.

"Good to know, because the Ring camera caught some very interesting information on her way out of the door. Something about how your book is a hit?" he mentions slyly, and you're picking up on his tone.

You'd filled him in soon after you returned home, unable to keep secrets from him for very long. He'd told you if there was anything you had to prove that she was truly the one who plagiarized, he'd help you in an instant. It seems the instance has arrived.

"You're kidding," you gasp, covering your mouth with an open palm.

"Not one bit. Sent it in to Good Morning America this morning. She's scheduled to be on tomorrow, y'know?" you can hear the smile in his voice, and it's contagious.

"Papà, oh my God!" you exclaim, the anxiety that's plagued you for months dissipating in a blur.

"Keep working hard over there, and don't be afraid to come back to me, alright?" he asks.

"Alright," you respond, and hang up. You ponder what it would be like to go back to Virginia, to write there. You don't think you'd mind it, whether Aaron is there or not. He'd be a nice bonus, for certain, but you enjoyed fostering a new relationship with your dad, cherished the real friendships you made in his coworkers. You could see a life there.

There's a knock on the door a moment later, and your brows furrow. Nobody knows you're here besides your father and Aaron, and the idea of the latter being behind that door shakes you to your very core. Your stomach drops when you realize that's exactly who's standing on the other side of the threshold.

"Aaron..." you breathe out, nearly speechless.

"Hi," he says back, breathing heavily.

You're not used to seeing him dressed so casually, a Georgetown University t-shirt hanging from his shoulders, jeans snug on his hips. His hair is mussed like he's just gotten off back-to-back flights.

"Your father said I'd find you here," he says, and you wordlessly move to let him in.

"What are you doing here, Aaron?" you ask once the door is shut.

"I'm miserable without you," he confesses, and your eyebrows shoot into your forehead, "I've barely made it through the past couple weeks, the whole time I was just waiting for you. I know it was my idea to call things off, and I don't think I've ever been so stupid."

"So why did you do it?" you question, not so ready to forgive him right away.

"The guilt- your father- it was all too much, I thought the only way past it was out," he admits, and you can understand that. You're not one to judge another for running away. "I'm sorry," he breathes, "I should have fought for you. This wasn't just a hook-up to me, was it for you?" he's breathing heavily, and you waste no time in your response.

"No, it wasn't," you breathe, and he steps closer to you slowly.

"Tell me no," he gives you an out as his hands reach up to cup your cheeks, and you respond by bringing his lips down to yours.

Kissing him again is like the first sip of water after being stranded in the desert, refreshing, renewing, all encompassing. His lips part against yours as he presses himself further into you, causing you to sigh into the kiss.

You reluctantly break away from him before you can no longer control yourself. You're both breathing heavily, your palms flat against his shoulders as you say, "Let's go back to Virginia," a cheeky smile spreading across his face.

"What?" he sputters out, a disbelieving chuckle escaping his lips.

"We're going to take this slow, we're going to do it right. I like you, but I also really like the life I began to create while I was staying with my dad. I can write from Virginia," you nudge his shoulder with yours, moving to pack up your belongings.

"If you don't mind, I'm going to nap while you do this," he lays back on the couch, kicking his shoes off, "after we return home, I'm not getting on another plane for 5 years."

You chuckle as you watch his eyes close, snuggling into the couch. You like the way that word sounded when it came out of his lips, home. You could get used to that.

[writhyv]

⋆｡°✩ coming home to your pouty bf

unsorted | park jongseong x male!reader

pairing: jay x male reader genre: fluff ffdsfsdfgdsg notes: one note - pouty jay

“Jaaaayy~” you cooed, trying to figure out what the small fuss was about.

“Mmh…” your lover pouted as he sat on your comfortable leather couch. He looked a bit conflicted, but also really mad. But not really? You’d know if he was truly mad, but this felt very strange.

Walking to his side, you tried to hug him. Even though he was starting to gain some muscle, you could still hug him tight like a sloth. Leaning your head into the empty space between his shoulders and neck, Jay sighed, attempting to look away from you.

“Jaaaayy~” you continued to try your best, watching him pout even harder. His lips were pursed, clearly upset about something.

“Mmh…” he kept giving you those tiny hums. Maybe something had set him off? But it was really hard to tell…

Thinking of what might’ve upset him, you took one last look at him before sitting properly on the couch. Gently holding his hand as you made your way through his arms, you prepared your voice so he could hear you clearly.

“Are you mad I got home early?” you asked, thinking this might be one reason for his unusual tantrum.

Jay shot a glance at you, almost breaking his own neck with the speed. You nearly had to hide your giggle, but a snort came out instead.

“Mad?” Jay raised his brow, clearly concerned.

“Y-yeah?” you replied. “Like… do you—”

“I’m not mad!” he insisted, trying to speak clearly. Understanding the certainty in his answer, you nodded back.

“Uh-huh…” you agreed, albeit reluctantly.

“I just…” another pout appeared on his lips, this time directed toward you. At least, that’s how it looked.

“Just?”

“Ughhh…” he groaned, lying back against the couch as dramatically as he could. Clearly, he wanted to say something, but there was a hiccup, and he felt stuck.

Rubbing his leg for comfort, Jay looked at you with an apologetic gaze. You smiled, knowing you were there for him, no matter what he was feeling at that moment.

“I…” Jay sighed before sitting up again.

“You?”

“I wanted to…” he gulped, holding back one last time. “I wanted to pick you up, and you didn’t call me.”

“Pfft!” You almost burst out laughing at that. Jay looked at you, donning that pout once more.

“Hey!”

“BAHAHAH!!” You laughed, rolling off the couch and landing on your rugged carpet from the sudden dose of comedy. “Oh my god…”

“You could’ve told me?” Jay continued, crossing his arms like a frustrated mother.

And rightfully so, he felt devastated (to a point). Listen, you’d never really done surprises around him, okay? Actually, that was his thing. He gives you flowers, a comfy chair, a famous painting, and maybe a couple of tickets to a nice game of Japanese baseball. TLDR, that was a HIM thing.

Knowing the date when your flight home lands was important to him, too. He didn’t care what time of day it was or whether he was tired from practice sessions or midnight meetings—he was going to get you home safe and sound.

And now, in his mind, his plan was ruined. He wanted to cook a nice dinner for a cozy night in, perfect a new song he’d just worked on to share the demo with you, buy candlelight, and cover your whole apartment in rose petals just to welcome you back from your stressful overseas seminar trip this week.

But none of that mattered anymore because it all came crashing down when he saw you behind your apartment door.

You wore a golden smile he truly missed seeing in person, looking so refreshed from your trip almost 4 million miles away from him. You radiated a particular shine, and Jay felt overwhelmed by it.

He couldn’t properly welcome someone so surreal that he called his own boyfriend. His lover.

Suddenly, all those emotions were washed away into nothingness. Without the sorrow of what should’ve happened, and the guilt of being outnumbered in your own game, Jay fell back on the couch with you on top of him.

With great force, you grabbed his face and kissed him as much as you could. It felt like running out of air while sprinting uphill, taking in all the oxygen around you and breathing it in as fast as possible.

That was what broke Jay, and it always would. A lasting kiss turned into a playful battle for dominance, which then transformed into a sweet release of dopamine and the scent of love between the two of you.

Jay could only touch his lips in awe, still stunned that you kissed him that much.

With a cute giggle, you looked at him and lightly tapped his nose repeatedly, laying your weight on his broad chest.

“So, still mad?” you asked.

“I-I’m sorry.” Jay looked away, trying not to cringe at himself for being so childish.

But with one gentle gesture, you took a finger to his jaw and turned him slowly to face you.

“Never be sorry,” you smiled. “I love you, always.”

Kissing him again felt like too much, yet you did it without hesitation. You loved overwhelming Jay with your romance because deep down, you knew this man needed all of it. And you were the only one qualified to administer this special procedure.

You were his better half, for better and forever.

jay is clearly the cutest member of enhypen. now smother him in kisses HAAHAHDJAHDJFSAF

hope you guys enjoyed it! please like, comment, or reblog~

my masterlist!

made by writhyv 💘

[h8ani]

Sasuke Uchiha x Reader

Word Count - 4k

Warnings - smut, angry sex, public sex, fear of getting caught, hair pulling, angst, slight paranoia, kinda non-canon structures (its been a long time since i watched naruto tbh so disregard the village not being exactly how the anime is), oral - male receiving, face fucking, gagging, degradation, penetrative sex, fem!reader, choking, reader is described to be wearing a dress in this chapter, there’s a voyeur

A/N - Just a reminder that if you have joined my taglist and change your username please let me know! If you haven't joined I put the link down below :) But holy hell you guys I can't believe I actually finished this after almost 5 months in my drafts, but I hope you enjoy it!

taglist! - @bloodsiren @blackfire2013 @benkeibear @suyacho @kodzukein

join my taglist → here

Part One → Part Two → Part Three → Part Four

It’s been a few days since the last time Sasuke was over. You’re used to the silence in between his visits; it’s become second nature to go days, even weeks, without seeing him, and the radio silence between each time he visits has become more common than the last. 

It doesn’t bother you. It does. You could really care less. Sasuke has been the only thing that’s been on your mind. You absolutely hate him. You feel…conflicted.

~~

Limbs tangled with one another, all you could hear were the heavy breaths that escaped both of your lips, your body rising and falling every time Sasuke took in a deep breath as you laid on top of him, his hands dancing along the skin of your back so featherlight it almost tickled. 

Neither of you had uttered a word, just basking in the feeling of touching the other’s skin; the warmth radiating off each other’s body heat brought a sense of familiarity that you couldn’t quite pinpoint just why you felt most comfortable in his arms. You mentally shook the thought away; there was no need to focus on that. Your mind had already cleared up from the sex fog he had put you under and had started to race with a million different things that you wanted to bring up to him. Why did he do what he did? When was he going to leave again? He’s going to leave right away, don’t be stupid. When were you going to see him again? Why did he leave in the first place? You wanted to bring up so much, but you couldn’t brush off this feeling that something was about to happen, as if the rainstorm you were caught up in earlier today was a warning of a disaster brewing and about to happen. 

“What’s wrong,” Sasuke spoke up, his words sounding more like a statement than a question. His eyes were trained on you, making your stomach involuntarily tighten with their intensity. He had been focusing on the multitude of expressions that had graced your face within the last minute; you were completely oblivious to his stare; somehow, he wanted to blame the sex for your lack of inattentiveness and not the fact that you may feel safe around him, no it couldn’t be that. Being distracted has nothing to do with him and everything to do with you being incompetent. Yeah, that’s it.  

Your eyes met his, and before he knew it, your eyes lit up, a small smile appeared, and a simple shake of the head erased any form of contemplation he had previously seen. “Nothing.” You quickly say, “Just thinking.” Bullshit

“About what?” He interjects, his hands that were once dancing lightly across your back were now holding your hips, gripping ever so slightly. 

“Just thinking, random thoughts, it doesn’t matter.” 

“If it doesn’t matter, then you can tell me.”

Huffing a sigh, you stare back at him, his emotionless pools of black not letting you get a read on him, yours: uncertainty. “You won’t answer me even if I ask.”

He raises and sits up, causing you to reposition yourself in an upright position as well; your eyes stay trained on him as his stare hardens, almost as if what you just said offended him somehow. His eyes glance into yours as if he needs to be wary now. “I’m not answering anything about why I’m back in the village or why I left.” He blurts out quickly, a scoff following soon after. “You know you can’t say anything about seeing me. Don’t go blabbing about it to any of your little friends, or I won’t be coming back.” His stare solidifies as your jaw drops ever so slightly; the hardened look he’s giving you makes your chest tighten, and your body rises in temperature. 

Sasuke sees your expression fall ever so slightly before you catch yourself and, in turn, sends the signature scowl he’s grown accustomed to back in his direction. Your eyes narrow while you sit up straighter, the discarded sheet on the bed now pulled tightly to your chest, and he curses at the way that made his stomach clench. He doesn’t care if you’re mad at him, but he can’t lie and say he didn’t want to ruin your two’s good momentum today. The sex was great, and he wanted to leave on what would be considered a good note for the both of you.

“I think you should go,” you say simply. You avert your glare and decide to stare at the wall instead, avoiding his eyes. “You know where the door is.” Ouch.

He rubs his face and sighs. “Look, you don’t get-”

“I don’t care, Sasuke. Like I said, it didn’t matter. So why don’t you just leave? I never saw you, and I’m not going to tell any of my “little friends.” 

You sigh and throw the blankets off you, quickly grabbing your clothes and slamming your bathroom door shut. 

Your throat tightened from the moment you got up, wanting to get away from him from the very moment he opened his stupid mouth. You take a slow, deep breath and let it out; the tightness in your throat drops to your stomach. Why would he even snap like that? What gives him the right to think he could speak like that to you? You miff another sigh out as the conflict in you bubbles up even more with the thoughts running rampant. How stupid could you be for thinking he actually could’ve been somewhat of a nice human being after today?

Your thoughts were quickly silenced by the sound of your front door opening and closing, the door shutting louder than necessary. Fucking asshole.

~~

You shake your head to rid yourself of your thoughts as you look at yourself in the mirror, you fix your hair and check over your outfit in the mirror, quickly doing a little 360 in your mirror. Everyone had decided that tonight was a good night to hang out and have some drinks as no one had any missions for tomorrow, so there was no need to worry about any impending hangovers. 

You changed into a nice dress that fell mid-thigh; it was form-fitting and casual enough that you didn’t overdress or underdress with it. You pulled your hair into a high ponytail and just enough makeup to cover any eye bags that were more prominent than usual, no less from your sleepless nights thinking about he-who-shall-not-be-named-or-thought-of. You looked yourself over in the mirror and smiled. You felt pretty tonight, and it was nice not constantly to be in work mode for once.

The stressors from work and the expectations you always got from everyone took a toll on your body more than you would have liked. You were expected to never make any mistakes and always be three steps ahead, and it was simply a lot. Was it fair? Probably not, but it was also what you got for being a perfectionist at such a young age. You gave everyone expectations where you could only rise instead of fall. If you fell, everyone would know, and you just couldn’t have that. 

You leave your apartment and make your way down to meet your friends. The air had a slight chill to it as the sun was finally setting, but something along with the chill was bothering you. You couldn’t brush off the feeling that someone was watching you. 

Your feet skid to a halt as you spin, eyes cascading along the rooftops of the buildings around you. Your breathing picks up as your heart begins beating, and you feel every thump as your anxiety spikes. You internally curse yourself for being so stupid as not to even bring a single shuriken with you. For god’s sake, you could’ve popped one in your purse just for safekeeping. The anxiety you feel is derived from being paranoid, and you have to remind yourself no one is watching you and that it’s just your own mind playing tricks on you. You take a deep breath as you hear a name call out to you; turning back around, you see Shikamaru and Choji waving you over. You speed walk over to them, swallowing down the feeling of someone’s eyes on you. Was Sasuke here again? You wouldn’t expect him to be over so soon after the fight you two had just days ago. He’s never over this soon after he leaves anyway. Usually, it takes weeks for him to come over, sometimes even months. Although his eyes being the ones you’ve felt had to have been it, there’s no other explanation.

~~

The buzz of the alcohol was finally settling in; once you got inside, you decided you needed a tiny little shot to calm your nerves and anxieties, then another once all your friends arrived and wanted to take a group shot, and now here you are ordering your third. You’re a lightweight, no shock about that, and feeling a bit dazed as you stare at the shot of alcohol sitting in front of you. You’re so zoned out, not even realizing the presence of someone taking the seat next to you at the bar table.

“You look nice tonight.” A familiar voice catches your ear, and you turn, seeing Shikamaru next to you. A sudden rush of heat hits you as you stare back at him. “Oh, T-Thank you.” You stutter out and mentally smack yourself. You divert your attention back to your shot glass, suddenly remembering how intriguing it was just two seconds ago. 

Suddenly, hearing the sound of glass scraping against the bar table, you look up and see a similar shot in Shikamaru’s hand. “Cheers?” He holds up his shot glass, waiting for you to do the same. A small chuckle leaves you as you hold yours up and clink your glass with his. “Cheers.” 

You knock back the shot, grimacing over the familiar burn down your throat and the fuzzy feeling deep in your stomach. You sigh and slump back against your seat as you look at Shikamaru. “You look nice too, I think I forgot to compliment you back.” 

He chuckles, “Thanks, I didn’t really know what to wear. I wanted to come in sweats and a hoodie, but Ino just about had a conniption when I mentioned that.”

“Oh, don’t lie, you didn’t even want to come to this.”

“And you did?”

“Well, you got me there, didn’t you?” 

Laughter fills the air around you two as you continue to talk about past missions, the latest drama you’ve heard around the village, and even as mundane as the midnight snacks you two have had, you were actually…enjoying yourself; the thought of Sasuke had been dissipated like the rain that had come and gone from the prior days. Listening to Shikamaru talk was something you found yourself rather enjoying. Still, maybe that’s just the alcohol in your veins talking. Yeah, that was definitely it. “So, what’s new with you?” Shikamaru asks, his eyes finding yours, and the sudden tightness is once again back, whether that being because the only thing that seems to be ‘new’ in your life was Sasuke and every little defiling and obscene moment between you two replayed again in your head or because you actually might be liking the attention Shikamaru is giving you the world will never know. 

“Ah, you know. Lots of training, lots of missions, lots of-”

“Staying in your apartment all day and night?”

You quirk an eyebrow up at him, lips slowly following suit. “Shikamaru Nara, are you stalking me?” An indiscernible giggle leaves your lips, which shocks not only you but also him. You can see the pink rising to his cheeks at your minor faux accusation; his eyes widen, and his hands immediately come up to defend himself. “No, I just hear Ino constantly nagging at me to hang out with her, that’s how I know. I don’t stand out of your window or anything like that. Do you know how much time and energy that takes? Do you know-”

“Shikamaru?” 

“What?”

“I was joking.”

“Oh.”

“You know, for someone with an IQ higher than a tree, you’re kinda dumb.”

“You know what…Shut up.”

~~

The air around you as you step outside drops a few degrees, causing you to shiver despite the multiple shots you had earlier. Glancing around, you notice how barren the pathways are and how barren the town seems. You glance back over your shoulder to see that Shikamaru is already on his way with his teammates, all drunk themselves, as you see them stumbling against each other. 

Your apartment isn’t far from where you are, so you, in turn, make your way down the path. Bad idea. The more you walk, the more you regret that last shot you took and every single life choice you seem to have made tonight because the line you had been walking in had slowly turned into a wave, making you plant your hand on the building beside you. “Just a little more, and I’m almost home.” You blow out a sigh before taking another step forward. Looking up, your body freezes as you see a rock fly past you and fall to the floor to your right. Your senses come to realize that someone is near as you stare at the rock. The alcohol has slowed your reflexes because you’re yanked backward, a scream bubbling up in your throat. Still, before you can release it, a hand is clasped over your mouth, and you get dragged in between the two buildings down the small alleyway.

You begin kicking back and screaming into the hand, fighting as you’re dragged back further into the small space between the two buildings, your front pressed against the wall and the chills finding their way back up your spine once you hear his voice. “How stupid could you be?” His voice is loud in your ear, hand still firm against your mouth, not allowing you to utter a word. “Walking home drunk is one thing, but what the fuck��are you wearing?” He seethes. Your dress is already riding up higher on your thighs, just below your ass, due to being pressed between the wall and the man himself. It took all of one big gust of wind to blow it up or one perverted old man to ‘drop’ something of his to catch a look up your dress. The anger that welled up in his chest was undeniable as he pushed off of you and spun you around to slam you harder into the wall itself. Your eyes caught him scanning over you; his already dark eyes seemed even darker tonight. The dress you wore hugged every inch of you perfectly, and it drove him madder seeing it hiked up higher than intended, all thanks to him. One more inch, and he could see the little lace thong he knew you were wearing. He finds your eyes and tsks at the dumbfounded look you gave him; just how stupid were you? 

“Sasuke-”

“Shut up and get on your knees.” He cuts you off, hands gripping your arms and tugging you down until you plop down on your knees. The dirt underneath you digs uncomfortably into your skin. You look up, pupils dilated as you stare up at the ravenette. “Unless you want us to be caught, I suggest you not utter a single noise.” Without warning, Sasuke pushes two fingers past your lips and into your mouth, pumping the digits like they were his cock until they were soaked with your own spit. “I suggest you act right, given your circumstances.” He speaks, and your eyes narrow up at him; the urge to clamp your teeth on his fingers threatens to come to fruition, but you can’t ignore the subtle throb in between your legs. “Suck.” He says while pushing his fingers deeper and tugging his pants down with his other hand, pulling down the material along with his underwear, allowing his cock to spring out. You could feel yourself salivate just looking at him, wanting to trade his fingers for his cock against your better judgment. He presses his fingers down harder against your tongue, causing you to gag and choke on saliva; you can hear the snicker that comes from him as he watches you trying to quieten your coughing spout. 

His hand threads into your hair, messing up your almost perfect ponytail, the grip burning your scalp as he pulls you forward, knees dragging against the ground while the tip of his cock presses against your wet lips, his precum smearing across them in an almost erotic way that Sasuke doesn’t think he could last by just looking at you. 

You drop your jaw open while he pushes his cock past your lips, enveloping himself in the warmth that is your mouth. The grip on your hair grants you nothing but pain as his hips begin to move to their own rhythm, his cock hitting farther back than the last thrust. You try your best to breathe through your nose as he fucks your face to his liking; maybe if your mind weren’t so focused on Sasuke being here, cock down your throat and his eyes watching you so meticulously, you’d have the nerve to push back, make him slow down, maybe even explain why he knew you were out with your friends in the first place and not at home. 

Tugging you even tighter, Sasuke pushes your head until your nose is brushing against his stomach; your throat tightens as he effectively pushes each inch into your throat. “You feel me? Do you think that Shikamaru could ever stretch your throat out like I do? He might as well try something with you seeing how fucking drunk you were tonight.” His hips rock forward until his dick hits further back into your throat. You choke around him, drool effectually spilling past your lips and down your chin. 

Eyes squeezing shut, you sputter another cough, which turns into a gag around his length. A disapproving noise is heard from him as he pulls away, allowing you to take in deep breaths. As you open your eyes, you see him crouched down in front of you, a look one can only describe as displeasure. “How stupid could you be?” he says, slightly shaking his head before he speaks again. You’re supposed to be better than them.” 

“Better than-”

Crack!

“Naruto! You idiot!” You gasp as you hear the rest of your friends walking down and getting closer to the alleyway you were in. They must’ve just now left the bar you all were at; this isn’t good; you need to leave; they can’t see you like this. You pull farther away from Sasuke as you see them pass the opening between the two buildings, all of them stumbling and unknowingly passing you as they walk. 

Another tsk leaves his mouth as he shoves you forward; you catch yourself on your hands while grimacing at the sting that travels through the skin of your knees. You feel his hands positioning himself behind you, all while pushing your dress up to your hips and pulling your thong to the side. Suddenly feeling every bit of alcohol drain from your system, you become hyper-aware of what is really happening; you jolt forward, and before you can spin around to ask him what he thinks he’s doing, you’re yanked back by your hair, back arching to the point where you’re staring straight into his eyes. “Make sure to be quiet, or else everyone is going to see how much you love taking my cock.” A deep chuckle vibrates through him. “What would they think when seeing you on all fours in an alley? Perfect little (y/n) crying from how good my cock makes her feel; how would you ever live that down? You think Shikamaru would ever give you the slightest bit of attention after that?” 

Letting go of your hair, a knee between your thighs pushed them further apart while you balanced yourself on your hands. The itching feeling that someone could see or be watching from a distance burns brighter than the pain in your knees. The swollen tip of his cock prods your already glistening entrance; you bite down on your lip to stop any form of a whine from slipping out. You swallow down the nerves as his hand leaves your hair to slip around your throat; the silent plea that he wouldn’t make this difficult left the moment his hips slammed into yours, his hand tightening on your throat, restraining the scream that threatened to bubble out. He gave you no time to adjust, his hand leaving your throat and falling to your waist, fingers digging into your flesh so tight as he slammed into you that you knew bruises would be there by morning. 

You can’t help but glance up, fearing that any of your friends could leave the bar at any time and pass by, seeing you in the most compromising position you feel like you’ve been in. The subtle feeling that there’s a pair of eyes on the two of you grows larger while you scan around. No one has passed by the entrance, and this feeling could only be explained by you being scared of getting caught. 

Sasuke’s breathy grunts found your ears, and a pang of alarm shot right through you as he was the one making noise. The subtle sound of skin slapping skin makes you even more fearful. The coil in your stomach is already winding tight; the quieter you have to become, the more your pussy grips him. You clench around him, pussy squeezing for dear life. Your nails dig into the ground beneath you, knuckles turning white. 

“Oh, God…” You pant, dropping your head down between your shoulders. The sounds of everyone’s voices can be heard in the distance, and you try desperately to focus on anything other than the impending orgasm that’s slowly building up. 

Sasuke shifts, bringing his hand in between your legs and fingers quickly to find your clit, rubbing quick little circles. You bite down hard on your lip, the silvery taste of metallic dancing on your tongue from allowing the moan that threatened to escape. No, You won’t give him the satisfaction of making you cum, especially this fast. You grab his hand to stop his fingers and feel his hand that was once placed on your waist slide across your skin and reach back up to your throat, drawing your back flush to his chest, knees digging deeper into the gravel on the ground and seemingly reaching deeper within you, a desperate whine left your lips as your eyes faintly rolled back. “Stop me from making you cum, and I swear to god, you’re going to regret it.” He growls while tightening his grip on your throat and bringing his other hand back to your clit. His hips snapped into you even deeper while he assaulted your clit. You struggle to gasp as the coil in you snaps; your body shakes as you lean back into him more, pushing him even deeper that you swear you see stars. You spasmed as you dug your nails into the hand that held your throat while he continued to pound into you. 

He was chasing his own release, and the way he felt like you two would be caught at any moment spurred him on even more. He knew tonight was a lot, even on his standards of fucking you, but the way your pussy was fluttering around him, the deeper he got, and the rougher he became, he couldn’t stop. Your walls clenched around him, climax dragging out as your pleasure was heightened as he fucked into you; your name tumbled off of his lips before he bit into your shoulder, muffling the sinful moan he released as he came. You both fell forward, barely catching yourselves before hitting the ground, with heavy breaths syncing with one another while you catch your wit on what you two just did. 

The feeling of someone watching you never did go away. 

The angry pair of eyes attached to the redhead at the back end of the alleyway never left you two, either. 

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