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astraystayyh · 1 year ago

Text

Echoes of love

"to love someone is firstly to confess : i am prepared to be devastated by you."

Chapter i. to forget

genre : memory loss trope. angst. slow burn. unrequited love except you were in a loving relationship and everything changes overnight.

pairing : minho x reader.

summary : if given the choice would you love minho again? yes, you would've once said in a heartbeat. but now, you aren't sure of your response anymore.

cw : depiction of a car accident. mention of blood and physical wounds. depiction of a nightmare and anxiety attack. reader has she/her pronouns.

word count : 14.8k words.

song recs : the night we met/terrible love/black friday/cover me.

a.n: she's here, she's yours, i hope you'll enjoy reading one of the most challenging things I've ever wrote :') your feedback is highly appreciated <3

special thanks to @forlix for going through this journey with me, i love you thank you, seriously, you mean the world to me. and to @dorisnumber1fan for listening to my initial rants about this fic, and all the ones i ever write. i love you and appreciate you so much, more than i could explain <3

quotes series masterlist. next chapter.

Day 1.

You're floating in a dark void, save for the specks of light swirling around you. A peculiar serenity fills your being, a tranquility unlike any you’ve ever known. It’s as though your body isn’t your own; but rather an otherworldly vessel, calmly traversing the cosmos, dancing in constellations with the stars that encircle you.

A sudden electrifying warmth surges from your hand, traveling down the contours of your knuckles, melting into the lines of your palm. It pulsates within your being as if you’re holding the Earth's very core between your fingers. You stir from your ethereal orbit, longing to break apart from the celestial lights, to reunite with your body once again.

The warmth intensifies, causing your fingers to involuntarily clench. A deluge of radiance enfolds you, drawing you into a luminous hole. You squint your eyes, drinking in the light- your first breath.

Your eyes flutter open in a daze, your throat parched, rasping like sandpaper against your vocal cords. White encompasses you yet again, from the high ceilings to the pristine bed you’re lying on. It takes you a few blinks to grasp your new environment- an unfamiliar hospital room. You wearily close your eyes, hoping for the stillness to return, aching for the peace you felt within your bones mere moments ago.

But to no avail; only the tingling sensation remains.

You tilt your head, eyebrows shooting upwards as you notice a hand clasping yours. A figure lies their forehead beside your body, black disheveled locks tickling your palm.

The warmth, you understand where it comes from now.

You attempt to slip your hand out of theirs, prompting the man to awaken with a jolt, surprise dancing across his features as his gaze meets yours. Dark circles adorn his face- testimonies to days of fatigue imprinted upon every feature of his. Yet, all of it dissipates as he gazes at you, lips slightly parted, bunny teeth peeking out. His face transforms into a radiant smile, stirring a mysterious longing within your soul- it brushes against your fingertips before slipping beyond your reach.

"You're awake," he whispers in awe, and your tiredness renders you mute. You point to your throat, hoping that he'll understand what you need. "Water? Is- Is that what you want?" he asks, a touch too eager, fingers running through his hair in sheer disbelief. You nod and he rises swiftly, pouring you a glass of water and bringing it to your lips.

You sip diligently as his hand caresses the crown of your hair, the warmth now traveling to the top of your head. You feel lightheaded as if the blood in your veins has thickened, the very life in you slowed to a faint whisper. Yet, a timid relief emerges as your thirst is finally quenched.

"I'll- I'll go call the doctor," he tells you, his beaming smile unwavering. It’s too bright, everything around you is, and you feel a throbbing headache growing at your temple’s base.

It's a mere minute before the man returns, a doctor and two nurses on his trail. You float within a haze as the nurse shines a beam of light in your eyes. The response of your pupils seems to please her.

"Do you remember what happened?" the doctor inquires and you frown. You've been racking your brain for an explanation as to why you're here, but to no avail. You shake your head.

"What's your name," he proceeds, lips growing into a thin line.

"Y/n, Y/l/n," you respond, your voice sounding foreign to your ears, as though it hasn’t left the confines of your throat for ages. You miss the darkness; you want to sleep again.

"What date are we?"

Your eyebrows knit together as you try to think of an answer. "The 20th or maybe the 21st September."

"What year?"

"2022."

An eerie silence falls upon the room, a stillness resembling the one of your dreams; but it isn’t comforting, on the contrary, it fills your being with an unsettling dread, one that trickles inside you with each second spent in silence. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. You close your eyes to avoid the sorry ones of the nurse.

"We need to run you an MRI scan," the doctor finally speaks up, tone somber. "It appears you're suffering from retrograde amnesia. But we have to make sure."

It takes time for the words to permeate your consciousness, for the syllables to settle in and start to make sense. Amnesia.

What have you forgotten?

“What…” you chuckle warily, fingers reaching up to soothe your throbbing forehead. “What year is it?”

"It's the 24th of September 2023. You were in a severe car accident two days ago, a drunk truck driver rammed into your car on your way home. You have a fractured rib and extensive leg injury, but no broken bones thankfully. We'll get you to the scan shortly, okay?" he speaks easily as if announcing that you've missed the rain while asleep. As if it’s not a year’s worth of memories you’ve seemingly forgotten, erased in the span of a blink, akin to footprints on sand washed away by the waves. Nothing of importance.

"So, you don't... remember me?" a soft voice quivers, barely above a whisper, and your eyes meet those of the man who’s been at your side, temporarily forgotten in the conversation.

His question is laced with a grave fear, evident in his dilated pupils and trembling hands. A lump blooms in your throat, its thorns pricking at your voice. You aren’t sure you want to answer that question.

"I- I don't."

"Oh."

You’ve never known that a human could crumble in silence, in an imperceptible gasp, so small you almost did not hear it. A crestfallen expression materializes on his face in the span of a heartbeat, features coming together in the rawest expression of anguish you’ve ever seen. You bite your lip.

"Who- Who are you?" you implore, urgency inflecting your tone, hoping that he's no one of importance. Someone who helped you when you got into a car accident. Someone minor who you wouldn't fault your brain for forgetting.

"I was... I-I am your boyfriend. Minho," he utters his name like a broken plea, eyes slightly widening to gauge your reaction. As though those two syllables hold within them a myriad of memories, ones you simply cannot forget.

You don't remember.

The doctor was right in his diagnosis. The scan showed unusual activity within your brain, characteristic of post-traumatic amnesia. You listened numbly as he cited the precautions you should take to heal your physical wounds- to rest, not carry anything heavy, ice your lungs, and go on walks. But you did not care for the state of your body, you’ve bruised it before and it has healed in its own time. It will do it again; it is a familiar path you’ve already undergone. But what about your memory? Your mind that robbed you of a year of your life? How do you get it back?

“There is no guarantee you’d remember. There is also no treatment for amnesia. We advise that you focus on healing first. Do not strain your mind,” your doctor smiled, before leaving the room. His silver wedding band shined mockingly underneath your eye. He doesn’t know what it’s like to forget the lover awaiting you at home.

Minho dutifully sat by your side, nodding along to the doctor’s words. He signed your discharge papers and settled your bills before you could protest, and he was now pushing your wheelchair through the hospital's corridors. You didn’t know what to say to him- how do you talk to a stranger who uttered your name with love dripping between its letters?

In the hospital’s parking lot, Minho pauses, squatting before you. His eyes are puffy, red veins contrasting against the pristine whites, betraying the tears he must have shed when he excused himself to the toilet.

You suddenly want to beg for a reprieve; it is too much pain for one day, too much for one soul to bear. But it is only six p.m. and Minho's gaze holds you captive, a new emotion dancing in his brown irises- grief. He's looking at you as though you're a phantom, gone when you are still very much breathing.

“We've been together for eleven months, and we moved in together two months ago,” he licks his lips nervously. “You have a two-month medical leave, and I- I don’t want to leave you alone, while you recover. So, you can think of us as… as roommates.” The word felt heavy on his tongue, a fresh wave of tears brimming in his waterline. He swiftly blinks them away.

Your parents are in a faraway city, so is your best friend. You were the one who decided to move somewhere so far, to flee from the skeletons threatening to spill out of your closet. You don't want to burden anyone. You just want to rest.

You nod in agreement and Minho attempts to smile. It is a useless effort; one he quickly gives up. There was nothing to be joyous about.

Minho takes your hand, gently helping you to your feet. He opens the door to his car, and you settle into the passenger seat. It smells pleasant, an apple-scented diffuser dangling from the rearview mirror. Yet, as Minho closes the door, the scent suddenly suffocates you. Your lungs ignite, consuming your oxygen to douse their rising flames. You can no longer breathe inside, panic rippling in your heart violently, pushing at your ribs, begging for an escape. You open the door, collapsing to your knees as a violent coughing fit overtakes you. You blindly clutch at Minho’s arm and he tumbles to the ground with you.

The ugly sob that had been trapped within your throat finally escapes, and passersby pay you no mind. It must be usual to hear gut-wrenching cries in a hospital parking lot. But Minho seems to care, as his hands soothingly rub your back, undergoing a steadfast path from the nape of your neck down the base of your spine. He’s not panicking and his touch appears to instinctively know how to speak to your sadness, how to soothe your sorrow with unheard words.

You imagine it's not his first time comforting you, and the thought only forces another sob from the depths of your soul, as Minho pulls you up once again. He sits your shaky figure on the wheelchair, closing the car doors.

“We can walk,” he tells you gently, and despite the quietness of his voice, it manages to break through your raging storm. A singular sun ray parting the gloomy clouds.

“It’s okay, I’ll... I’ll suck it up”

"You've been through a terrible car accident, and I won't let you sit here and panic, especially when your wounds are still fresh and your mind is trying to protect you."

His tone is resolute, eyes blazing with determination as he looks at you. You can only nod in response. So, Minho pushes your wheelchair to his house. He doesn’t huff, nor complain about the autumn sun scorching his skin, the effort to push you for the entirety of the road, and then inside his building. He only smiles when his eyes meet yours in the elevator mirror.

He’s tentative as he opens the door to his apartment, hand tightly gripping the keys before turning them, as if preparing himself for a bigger heartbreak, one that lies within what was once his sanctuary- yours too, you suppose.

Minho pushes you inside, pausing near the entrance as your eyes drink in the interior. He seems to await something, perhaps for you to remember the place you’ve called home for the past months. A few seconds pass, and he clears his throat, holding your arm to guide you forward. He avoids your gaze as you both venture in.

“This is the kitchen,” he points to a small kitchenette, where a flower bouquet seems to have wilted, much like the man near you- his emotions now diluted, eyes dimmed as they glaze over the walls. You spot your favorite mug on the racks, one that resembles a fairy mushroom. The sight of it makes your heart clench in your chest. So, this is your home, after all.

You leave the kitchen and walk down a narrow hallway when you stumble on your feet. “Easy, honey,” Minho cautions, and your hold on his forearm falters. He blinks at you before gazing up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry, force of habit.”

“It’s okay,” you reply in a small voice.

Minho leads you to the living room, cream-colored sofas with a navy blanket on top, multiple fuzzy pillows scattered all around. A tulip field painting graces the accent blue wall- your favorite flower, two matching slippers rest by the couch, racks of your novels adjacent to his collection of cookbooks, you assume.

It is all the more evident to you that you’ve both lived here, lives intertwining so seamlessly into one another. The place radiates comfort and warmth, but it refuses to penetrate your being, as if you’re harboring a shield of oblivion, ricocheting off any touch of remembrance. You’re an intruder, standing in stark contrast to the inviting coziness that envelops you.

“I like that wall,” you say in an attempt to lighten the stuffy atmosphere.

“We painted it together,” Minho smiles sadly, and your remorse seems to liquify, blending in with the blood running through your veins.

From the corner of your eyes, you spot three furry masses bolting towards you, small paws clawing at your feet. You feel another dent add to your heart, so much you are sure it would blow away at the tiniest gust of wind. Just how much have you forgotten?

“We… We had cats?” you ask breathlessly, eyes widening as you take in the two orange felines, and the gray, much smaller one.

“These are mine, but you also adopted them, in a way,” he explains, crouching down to pet his cats, scratching the sensitive spot behind their ears. He is tender with them and they appear at ease in his presence. You realize you’ve felt the same since you’ve woken up.

“Hey, my babies,” he coos softly. “Mom- I mean y/n- is tired so let’s give her some space, okay?” he quickly corrects, before gently pushing the cats away from your feet.

Minho shows you the bathroom before leading you to the bedroom- it's a bit untidy, worn clothes thrown on the ground, some of your accessories tossed on top of the vanity. As if the room was also frozen in time, awaiting your return to resume its familiar course.

“You'll sleep here and I'll just take the couch,” Minho interrupts your thoughts as he gently sits you atop the bed.

"But-"

"I’ll make you dinner so you can take your medication, okay?” he ignores your objections, adjusting two pillows behind your back to help you sit up straight, just like the doctor cautioned. His necklace, adorned with your initial, brushes against your cheek. “Try to sleep meanwhile. You need to rest.”

“Minho this is too much-"

“It’s not. If you need anything just call me over, I’ll leave the door open,” he says, tucking you in beneath the blanket.

“I don’t want to burden you,” you finally admit, voice slightly raised so he’d finally listen.

“Y/n, I love you.” He speaks so suddenly, fists balled on either side of your body. “And this is what I do for the person I love. I… I don’t know how to not care for you, don’t take that away from me, please. Please,” he repeats, voice faltering under the weight of his plea.

"Okay," you concede.

You can't quite remember that first night, the morphine injected into your veins made you ebb and flow out of consciousness, only recollecting small fragments of the hours flowing by.

But you remember the dull pain settling into your bones, one you knew would accompany you for the following weeks. You remember the thoughts swirling in your mind like a tempest- your near brush with death, how she almost trapped you into her icy hold; the year of memories gone with the wind, as if they were never yours to begin with; and the stranger whose home you are in now, the very one who took care of you throughout the night.

And you can't perfectly recall it, but you swear Minho stayed by your side until the early hours of the morning, warm hand pressed to your forehead to check your temperature, cold tears falling on your arm as he laid his head next to your sleeping body.

Day 2.

You miss being asleep the second you wake up in.

Every fiber of your being aches, as though pain has latched itself into every muscle, its grip unrelenting now that the morphine's comforting veil has lifted. You drag a hand tiredly across your face, tears of frustration welling like dewdrops in your eyes. It's only 10 a.m. Far too early for one's spirit to crumble.

A bright post-it note on the bedside table catches your weary gaze. "I went to drop your medical leave at your work. I've made you breakfast it's in the kitchen. Don't forget to drink your medicine, I'll be home soon"

What home was Minho referring to, exactly? Because this one wasn’t yours, and neither was the one back in your hometown. Were you destined to be a passerby in temporary places, always lingering near the door, ready to put your shoes back on and leave at any moment?

10:03. Still too early.

You find solace in having two months off of your work. You couldn’t bear being somewhere where everybody knew you for months, while your memories of them span but mere weeks. The expectations they would have, the pressure to conform, to mirror the footsteps of your past self was an unbearable burden. What if she was better than you? Made better choices, spoke more eloquently? What if you couldn't live up to the image they had conjured? What if you couldn't face the repercussions of your past actions?

10:07. You need to shower.

You slowly ease yourself off the bed, careful not to put pressure on your injured leg, avoiding even the slightest exhalation. You pretend as if nothing’s happening as you pick up a pair of pajamas that you recognize from the closet – a familiar relic from the life you’ve always known.

It's a charade, you’re aware of it. You're but treading on fragile ice, your pain threatening to shatter the frozen façade beneath your feet, plunging you into the frigid truth at any given moment.

You walk into the shower, attempting to rinse the day's tiredness away. But moving your limbs is a strenuous task, and you can't reach over your head to wash your hair. You let out a dry chuckle as the water runs over your back, splattering across the white tiles.

Your heart swells in your chest, an uncomfortable weight pressing against your fractured ribs. Still, it beats, and you cling with all your might to this one silver lining.

Minho has made you pancakes, not the most nutritious meal but the only one you can stomach on your sick days. He's also brewed you tea, a singular sugar cube resting at the bottom of your cup, just the way you like it. Your grip on your fork tightens, knuckles paling. You wish he had put three sugar cubes, or that he made you anything but pancakes, something to reassure you that he didn’t know you so intimately. That your mind hasn’t stolen a love where every detail of you was known.

The door opens, keys clinking on a solid surface. The sound of it tugs at your heart ever so faintly, a distant bell ringing somewhere far- it quiets down before you even realize it is there.

“Good morning,” Minho greets, the corners of his mouth curving upward although his eyes remain downcast, redness tinging its outlines. You look down at your cup, unable to hold his wounded stare.

“Good morning. Thank you for the breakfast and for going to my work. I really appreciate it,” you say.

“It's nothing. Your coworkers wish you a speedy recovery.”

“Mm,” you murmur. “That's nice of them."

“Here,” he slides a phone across the table. “I bought you a new one since your phone’s screen was smashed in the car accident, but I took it to a repair shop. Maybe they’d manage to fix it.”

You go to protest when he shakes his head, silencing you. “Don’t say It’s too much.”

A surprised giggle escapes your lips at his accurate prediction, momentarily halting Minho in his tracks. You swallow the sound down as Minho clears his throat, dissipating your laughter into thin air. “I put my phone number there. Also, the ones of your family that I have. Always call me if you need anything, okay?” he pauses, locking your eyes with his. “Anything.”

“It's okay, I really don't want to bother you. You might be busy."

“I’ll still answer,” he quickly responds. “I’ll always answer you.”

There is a certain sincerity that coats Minho's words, one that softens the edges of his letters, making them easier to permeate your being, to sink into the seas of your soul.

“Minho,” you call out gently.

“Yes, hon- " He inhales deeply, eyes looking anywhere but at you. “Yes, Yn?”

“Thank you, for everything.”

“Of course.”

The ensuing hours blur into a hazy dance, in which you’re only awakened by Minho’s warm hand on your shoulder, as he brings you lunch, then dinner to your room, paired with the medicine you need to take. He doesn’t talk to you, only carrying out the tray outside when he deems you asleep- as if tiptoeing near your existence, afraid he’d slip into you again, knowing you won’t be there to catch him.

It's nearly midnight when you leave your room to use the bathroom. You pause near the door when you spot Minho petting his cats. You don’t even know their names, you haven’t dared to ask, still foolishly holding on to the hopes that this is but a horrible nightmare, one clawing at your tender skin even after you rose.

“You’re sad, aren’t you?” he coos softly, and the cats respond with plaintive mewls as if understanding his words. “Mm. I’m really sad too,” his voice is barely above a whisper, as though it’s a confession he isn’t ready to speak out loud. The pain in your ribs intensifies.

“But it’s okay, she’ll remember us. We are her family, she can’t forget us forever, right?” your breathing hitches. “Right,” he adds softly, as if to reassure himself; to inflate hope in a heart deserted by you.

Day 3.

Minho threw away the wilted flowers, leaving the vase bare at the center of the kitchen table.

You almost wish he hadn't- those lifeless blooms were the sole reflection of your faded spirit within this home. Now everything in the house seemed alive, grand windows ushering in daylight to cascade upon the living space, causing the ivory walls to glisten. Everything, except for you and Minho, two ghosts skirting along the existence of one another.

There is, was, love imprinted in this house. You could sense it though you couldn’t feel it anymore. By the two cat mugs that connect through their tails, your products intermingling with Minho's in the bathroom sink, the notes you found hung on the fridge- some with his handwriting, most with yours, reminding Minho how much you loved him.

Where did all that love go? Did it dissipate into thin air, gone as if it had never existed? Has it turned into something else, lurking beneath the surface of your skin, waiting for you to remember?

You can’t find the answers, and as Minho finishes up his breakfast, you find yourself longing to ask him about the past year. Who you were and what you’ve lived. But you know it’ll feel like salt on a wound, akin to bringing a mirror before his face, reminding him of all that's been lost.

So instead, you offer to wash the dishes. He refuses, not that you expected anything else given his attentiveness to you.

“It’s only two plates and two cups, I can do it,” you insist, but he just stares blankly at you, before motioning to your ribs, and your swollen ankle. “It’ll be quick, please. I-I want to do it.”

“Fine,” he concedes, gaze softening. “But if you feel pain you'll stop.”

“Okay,” you smile tentatively, eager for the sense of normalcy that this mundane act would bring. You haven't forgotten how to wash a cup, at least.

Five minutes pass, and you suddenly freeze, plates drying in your hands. You have no idea where the dishes go.

This was your home, yet you can't even remember which cupboard holds the plates.

Silent tears flow down your cheeks and you wipe them away angrily. You clutch the plate in your hands so tightly you’re surprised it hasn’t shattered. You selfishly wish it did- you were tired of being the sole broken entity in this house.

A small whimper escapes your lips, startling Minho who was mindlessly scrolling through his phone. He rushes to your side, brows furrowed, concern woven into his face.

“What’s wrong? Are you in pain? Should I call the doctor?” he questions; eyes raking through your figure anxiously.

You shake your head as your tears double over. You can feel your heart constricting in your chest, longing for comfort, for a missing piece that was snatched from you, the void it left behind pulsating achingly within your being.

“I-I don’t know where the dishes go, and yesterday I tried to w-wash my hair and I c-couldn’t do it,” you admit through hiccups, plate still in your hands. Minho gently takes it from your tight hold, and your pinky brushes against his palm. He flexes his hand at the touch.

“It’s okay, it’s my fault. I should've shown you,” his voice is gentle, reminding you of how one soothes a child during a tantrum. You're embarrassing yourself but you can't find it in you to care.

“I’m so sorry. I couldn’t p-put them back in their place,” you choke out, head turned down, tears ricocheting off sage tiles. You’ve always wanted a green kitchen. You’ve gotten it and you can’t remember.

“It’s okay, I’ll put them back. Shh, yn, please don’t cry.” He’s slightly panicking, hands tightly fisted near his body as if he’s afraid they’d act on their own accord, reaching out to touch you the way they’ve done the past few months. He sighs softly before taking a cautious step toward you.

“I’ll wash your hair for you,” he offers, smiling tenderly at you, knuckles brushing ever so gently against your cheeks. “Hm? You can sit in front of the sink and I’ll wash it.”

“You’d do it?”

“I’d do anything for you.”

There is a softness that emanates from every atom of Minho, flowing from his fingertips, molding everything he touches. You were sure of it as he stood beside you, pouring shampoo over your hair with you sitting on a stool, head tilted back to the sink, your favorite song playing in the background. As he dried your hair with a warm towel, and then settled behind you on the bed, gently lathering your hair with your familiar serum, brushing your strands with care, avoiding any tugs that might pain you.

Everything Minho does is not to hurt you.

You went to sleep with the ghost of his fingers lingering on your scalp, his warm breath still caressing the back of your neck. You found slumber came much easier to you that night. You account it to your hair finally being clean.

Day 4.

“Yn?” Minho calls out gently, his head peering through the bedroom door. “Should we go on a walk? Just around the block, the doctor said it’d be good.”

“Sure,” you nod, glancing at the bedside clock. 9:43 p.m. it reads.

“Dress warmly, it’s cold outside,” he advises softly before leaving.

A few minutes later, you're clad in a gray university hoodie that drapes slightly past your thighs and a pair of matching sweatpants. Minho halts in his tracks upon seeing you, his eyes racking furiously over your figure. He shakes his head, swallowing a growing lump of despair.

“Wait here,” he whispers, vanishing into his room, leaving you fidgeting in place. An orange cat sidles up to your feet and you slowly bend down to scratch its ears. “I’m sorry I don’t remember you,” you smile sadly and he purrs in response, as if forgiving you for forgetting.

You wished you could forgive yourself too, one day.

Minho comes back, a red scarf in his hands. He steps forward until only a few inches are separating your bodies. With attentive care, he wraps the scarf around your neck, securing it in place. His brows furrow as he loops the fabric through and you release a small, shaky exhale.

There is a fog dissipating before your eyes, a misty veil lifted off your irises. In the four days you've known Minho, you always willed yourself to not look at him for too long, afraid of the pain you'd discern brewing over his figure, the shadows cast across his face.

But now, he stands so near that you cannot help but look at him. Wispy black bangs fall on top of his forehead, framing his rich honey eyes. His long eyelashes flutter with each blink, pupils dilated like a constellation-laden night sky. The smooth bridge of his high nose, dotted with the smallest mole; a well-defined cupid's bow outlining rosy, plump lips. He’s beautiful, even in his sadness; with sunken cheekbones and darkened eye circles, the hunch of his back, and the shake in his hands as he gently frees your hair from underneath the scarf.

Was it wrong of you to find beauty in his pain?

His gaze softens when it finally meets yours, his hand still holding your scarf tightly, as if it's a lifeline tethering him to you, one with which he verifies your existence, suddenly so elusive now that it no longer entwines with his.

It must be strange, surely, to grieve the loss of someone who’s still alive, breathing in the room next to yours.

Minho smiles at you, his fingers hovering above your head, as though he wished to smooth down your hair. He retracts his hand back, burying it deep inside the pocket of his black sweatpants, physically trapping it, stopping it from reaching it out to you once again.

You’ve noticed his reticence to touch you, even when he wakes you in the morning to drink your medicine. His hand never fully rests upon your shoulder, it is only his fingertips that delicately graze your skin. It's as though he’s convinced you're but a figment of his imagination, and he fears that once he touches you, his hand will pass right through your body, shattering the illusion he foolishly held onto.

You blink and Minho’s already three steps away, grabbing his keys and opening the door.

Despite cautioning you against the cold, Minho doesn't say no when you ask for ice cream, paying for it before you can reach the counter. It's an unfamiliar brand, one that he advised you to try, and you don't regret following his choice. It’s a sweet mixture of vanilla and caramelized almonds, coated in rich milk chocolate- you can't stop the happy smile that graces your lips upon tasting it.

You glance at Minho to find an unprecedented softness coloring his expression, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. It isn't a smile directed at you, but rather an uncontrollable display of his feelings, splashing across his face like paint on a canvas.

You expect him to swallow this mark of affection down, to conceal it with a placid expression, but he doesn't. He only tilts his chin forward, gesturing to the ice cream.

"Do you like it?"

You hum in agreement, a grin stretching wider on your lips. "I do."

"You did too, back then, when I showed it to you," he says, almost casually, as if referring to a childhood memory that turned out to be more important to him than to you.

"You have good taste," you reply, scrunching your nose playfully at him. The smile slips away from his face, his voice somber when he speaks again. "I really do, don't I?"

Walking with Minho isn't as awkward as you had imagined it might be. He shows you the neighborhood- the nearby playground, the hidden flower shop tucked away in a corner and you make a mental note to visit it later. You point at closed shops inquiring about them- he answers each of your questions diligently.

Your accident is never brought up, and you both tiptoe around the topic, skirting the edge of a dark forest where the light no longer seeps through and dark vines cover the sun.

You both refuse to venture into the unknown.

"Just down the road, there is a bookstore. They have really great deals and I bought most-" Shouts erupt from somewhere nearby, loud slurred voices of two men under the influence. Your hand instinctively wraps around Minho's forearm, while his hand moves in front of your body, acting as a shield.

You freeze, letting out a shaky breath. "I- I hate yelling."

"I know," he responds simply, lowering his hand.

He knows you- it is a comforting thought, to realize that you exist beyond the confines of your own mind.

Day 5.

Minho’s staring blankly at his phone, your conversation shining dimly before his eyes. You’ve just sent him a text reassuring him that you indeed took your medicine since he wasn’t home today with you- his three days off work passing by in the blink of an eye.

In his mind, the past week felt like a mirage, a nightmare woven with intricate threads of his deepest fears- losing you, never getting to see the glimmer in your eyes again, and then looking at it and realizing it is no longer directed at him.

He exhales softly, tucking his phone into the pocket of his navy trousers. The salty breeze from the nearby lake grazes his senses, and he closes his eyes, yearning for a fleeting respite.

He purposely avoids watching the sun's descent into the water, which paints the sky in hues of yellow and orange. He no longer finds the sunset unfolding before him captivating, or any other scenery, for that matter, even those he once deemed beautiful. The world, in his eyes, has become lackluster and devoid of vibrancy, overshadowed by a profound sadness he never fathomed would reside in his heart.

He still doesn’t know how he managed to remain strong until now, tending to you, holding your gaze, and breathing near you when you don’t even remember him.

You’ve survived, he reminds himself, you were lucky enough to be able to draw these breaths. The thought of any other outcome sends uncomfortable shivers down his spine. You’re alive and you’ll be home, he clings to this truth as he starts making his way back to his apartment.

For how long will this knowledge offer him solace? How long will it push him to face a new day? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t think he wants to.

It is much deeper into the night, the sound of the TV playing softly in the background. Minho has given up on slumber since the day of your accident. He was used to the feel of your fingers playing with his hair, your goodnight kisses planted on his forehead, then his on yours.

He doesn't know how to sleep without burying his head in your neck, your chest, your stomach, wherever he saw fit that day. And he was used to your warmth- the warmth of your body as he pressed it tightly to his, the warmth of your love as you whispered goodnight to him. And the living room feels immensely cold in your absence.

He fixates his gaze on the ceiling, resolute in his effort to avoid scanning the room. Since every corner he dares to inspect serves as a poignant reminder of the life you both once shared, a life whose echoes still reverberate in the air around him. The sound of your laughter, the memory of your annoyed whines when he teased you a bit too fervently. Vivid recollections unfold before his eyes- your tender kisses exchanged under the fridge's light, warm hugs by the front door after a particularly long day, none of you willing to let go first.

He remembers your delighted giggles the first time you entered the house. It was still unfurnished, save for a floatable mattress and two empty cups of ramen beside it. But you were happy, immensely so, and your joy seemed to fill every room, painting it with shades of your love. Now the house feels empty- you're here and yet you aren't, and he is still on the sidewalk where he received that fateful call from your hospital.

The moonlight filters through the window, and Minho looks at the light without truly seeing it. It's as if darkness surrounds him entirely- a bottomless sky where the stars of your affection have fizzled out, so suddenly, leaving him alone to wander blind. He can't help but feel guilty- had he not given you a love worth remembering?

Minho sighs loudly once again, trying to coax the reluctant breaths to escape his body. He pulls himself to his feet to check on you, knowing that you had to sleep upright for the first few days so your ribs would heal properly, which is why he often found himself readjusting your body at night.

He peeks through the door, the light from the hallway casting an ethereal glow on your body. He frowns when he notices you fidgeting in your sleep, eyebrows knitted together. A soft gasp escapes your lips and Minho hurries to your side. He's witnessed your nightmares before and he knows that this one must be particularly terrifying to elicit such startled sounds from you.

“Y/n,” Minho coaxes gently, but you don’t respond. He presses his palm to your shoulder, shaking you slightly. “Y/n, wake up.” You writhe in your place, fear evident in your features, and Minho grabs both your shoulders, growing more urgent in his attempts to wake you. “Y/n, come on wake up!” he speaks louder, and you startle awake, pushing his arms away.

“I’m... Where am I?” you ask frantically, hand running through your hair. A sharp pain seems to surge through your ribs as you clutch your chest, slightly doubling over.

“Take it easy, Y/n. Deep breaths,” he wills gently and you raise your head, meeting his eyes. Recognition shines in them, but not love, not anymore. He never knew affection could alter someone’s gaze this much.

“Minho… I- I remember,” you gasp, tears trailing down your face at an alarming rate. He freezes in place, tongue thickening in his mouth, unable to move it.

“What... what do you remember?” he asks carefully, sitting on the edge of your bed.

“The accident. I remember driving and I… I was going in my lane, I- I didn’t… I wasn’t driving fast, but a truck came out of nowhere and its lights blinded me, and then… it rammed into the passenger seat side of the car and-" Your hands shake as you bring them to your face. “The blood, there was so much blood coming out of me, that’s- that’s the last thing I remember, it was in my hands and my arms and-" You’re wiping frantically at your skin as if erasing remnants of the red liquid only you can see. “I bled so much but I was… I- I don’t-"

“Can I hold your hands?” Minho cuts you off, needing the panic to dissipate from your being.

“Please,” you stutter, and he promptly grabs your hands in his warm ones, intertwining your fingers together, rubbing his thumb soothingly across your palm.

“You are safe now. You are alive and you are breathing and you are safe.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong, I drove safely, why… why was I hit?” you ask in a small, broken voice, overwhelmed by the unjust reality of the world. Minho swallows his own tears, throwing them down the pits of his pain. The one thing he wished you’d never remember was your accident, the sight of your unconscious body for those three days nearly driving him insane.

“He was drunk. And he’s in jail now. It wasn’t your fault you couldn’t have prevented it."

You remain silent, gaze lost on the wall. “Hm? It wasn’t your fault, right?" he presses, squeezing your hand lightly.

“Yeah.” You sigh, unconvinced. Minho reluctantly drops your hand to pour you a glass of water, and you diligently drink it, before curling around yourself in a ball.

“No, you can’t sit like this,” he gently reprimands and you pout.

"My heart hurts. The pressure helps."

“I know it does,” he smiles in understanding, “but we have to make sure your ribs won’t hurt more, alright?” he explains as he pulls you upright, tucking pillows beneath your arms. He grabs a hoodie from the closet and rolls it into a ball, placing it gently on your chest.

“Here, you can hug this instead.” You giggle quietly at the makeshift plushie, but your laughter suddenly morphs into fresh tears, catching him off-guard.

“I’m so tired, Minho. And I’m so frustrated and mad and sad. Is it possible to f-feel all these things at once?" You hiccup, burying your face into his hoodie, soaking it in tears.

“It is,” he hums gently, “Do you think it’d help if you talked to a therapist?” He feels you tense up beneath the comforter. “Only if you want to, on your own terms.”

“I’ll think about it,” you whisper.

“Of course,” he says. “Try to sleep again, mm?”

“I don’t think I can,” you chuckle quietly, wiping your tears away with the sleeves of your cardigan. “Do you have work tomorrow?” you ask.

“I do.”

“What do you work as?”

“Computer programming. I’m also a dance teacher on the side,” he adds quietly, feeling a bit vulnerable at revealing this bit about himself again.

“How do you manage both?” you ask in awe and he shrugs.

“My IT job leaves me a lot of free time. And I’ve always loved dance, so it doesn’t really feel like a job, you know?”

“Mm, you must work very hard at it. That’s why your body’s so toned,” you say almost absentmindedly, as Minho lets out a surprised chuckle at your words.

“You think my body is toned?”

“I mean- I didn’t ogle you I just… you know, you wear these fitted shirts it’s hard not to notice your muscles and-"

"You are sick and yet you’re staring at my body?” he tsks. “I feel used.”

“Hey,” you hit him with the hoodie he gave you. “Forget I said anything,” you pout.

“It’s okay, I work very hard for these, thank you very much,” he flexes slightly, and genuine laughter bubbles up from you both. This might be the one thing he misses the most.

You both quiet down, silence filling the room once again, but it isn’t awkward, it’s comfortable, almost as if you're the same person he's always known.

“What’s your favorite color?” you suddenly ask.

“Purple.”

“Did my favorite color change over this past year?”

“No,” he chuckles, “it’s still that obnoxious orange.”

“It’s not obnoxious, it’s peculiar.”

“it’s weird and it hurts my poor eyes,” he whines, covering his face as if wounded by the mere thought of it.

“Hey, what if it can hear us and now you just hurt its feelings?”

“Colors have feelings now?” he asks, amused.

“Everything has feelings,” you nod matter-of-factly.

“Okay then think of the feelings of this bed we are both squishing with our weights.”

“Don’t say that. Now I’m sad for it,” you pat the comforter gently, a slight pout tugging at your lips.

“I think you should sleep,” he smiles and you fake a gasp. “Is my convo boring you?”

“Yes. Now sleep, Yn,” he brings the comforter up your body, sliding away from the bed. “You’ll be okay, right?”

“Can you… can you sleep here too? I saw the inflatable mattress in the storage room. If that’s not… too much to ask for.”

"Of course not. I'll be back."

"Thank you, Minho" you smile, lower lip slightly quivering. "Thank you for not being mad at me."

Just how many cracks can one heart bear before breaking beyond repair? Minho thinks he's close to finding out.

Day 6.

The lights of your dreams have returned, but they are no longer comforting, nor warm, they glare harshly, searing your eyes as they announce your impending doom. Each second draws out in slow-motion and you find yourself counting the breaths you inhale, fearing they may be your last. One in, one out, one in, one out. The moment you dreaded unfolds- the truck collides with your car, flipping it upside down.

However, this time, flames rage within. You know that your car wasn't burned, but they feel terrifyingly tangible as they latch onto your skin. The heat becomes unbearable, you are no longer sure that this is just a mere dream. You try to scream but smokey air fills your lungs instead, robbing you of your ability to speak.

You need to wake up. You need someone to rouse you from this nightmare. Minho. You try to utter his name, but it escapes your lips in a strangled whisper. The lights won.

A cool hand clasps your own, yanking you from the fiery dream, dissolving it like sugar in a hot cup of tea. You startle awake to find Minho hovering over you, brows knitted in concern, his hand tenderly cradling yours.

“Are you okay? Another bad dream?” he inquires and you sigh in response, nodding as your head falls back onto the pillow.

He brushes your hair back, some damp strands still clinging to your sweaty forehead. "You screamed my name. Was I in your nightmare?” he ventures carefully, afraid he was one of the sources of your fear.

“No, I… I thought of you, in my dream,” you reassure, although your words seem to have the opposing effect, making Minho pause in his tracks. You’ve noticed his habit of freezing around you as if needing time to process what you just said. You wonder if you’ve ever came to learn the meaning behind each of his silences, what his blinks convey in ways his tongue fails to.

“You are heating up,” he clears his throat, pressing his hand against your forehead. “Do you wanna shower? I’ll make you tea meanwhile.”

“Okay, yeah. I’d like that,” you nod, glancing at your phone- 3.47 a.m.

Twenty minutes later, you find Minho sitting on the inflatable bed, legs crossed, two steaming mugs of tea before him. He appears drowsy, eyes shutting and reopening as if fending off slumber. It’s almost an endearing sight- the way his bangs fall before his eyes, obstructing his vision, the sleeves of his pullover dangling over his hands, hiding them from your view. He brought the mattress without you asking him to. The attention brings a smile to your face.

“Hi,” you greet softly and Minho looks up, a tender smile on his face. “Hey. Here is your tea.”

“Thank you,” you beam at him, settling on the edge of your bed, legs crisscrossed to mirror his. “I’m sorry that I woke you up.”

“It’s okay. I wasn’t really asleep, just resting my eyes.”

“Isn't that what sleep is?” you snort and he chuckles, shaking his head.

“I was still conscious, you know. I can’t really sleep these days.”

“Is the couch uncomfortable?” you ask, worried, fidgeting with your lower lip.

“It’s not the couch,” he says as his eyes lock on yours, a stare so intense it forces you to look down at your cup. ‘it’s you’, you read in his gaze. You have no answer for that.

“What's your favorite food?” you suddenly wonder.

“Pudding.”

“But that’s dessert?”

“I really like the one you used to make me.”

“I cooked for you? and you liked it?” you giggle. “I’m not really good at it, usually.”

“I taught you some basic skills,” he smirks, raising his eyebrows proudly at you.

“Too bad your effort is now wasted.”

“It’s not a waste if it was done with love,” he pauses, licking his lips. “And I remember it.”

A bittersweet fog shrouds the air- he remembers that memory, but you don’t. Perhaps you will never bridge that gap, no matter how much you want to. The room in your heart may remain forever locked, the gateway to that chamber brimming with your stolen memories. Maybe you're condemned to merely stand before the closed door, straining to hear the echoes of the love that resonates behind, forever just out of reach.

You don’t fall asleep again that night. And as Minho’s quiet snores fill the room, you rummage your mind in search of a pudding recipe, hoping to retrieve the memory he spoke of so tenderly, shaky hands holding his mug tightly. Silent tears trail down your cheeks and you try your best to stifle the sound of your cries.

You want to make pudding. You want to make him pudding so badly.

Day 7.

It’s been a week since you woke up anew. Seven days adrift in a vast sea where waves of your memories lap at the shores of your mind, unable to breach the walls guarding your recollections of the past year.

Minho took you to the hospital for your weekly check-up. He sat by your side as the doctor reassured you that your ribs were healing relatively well, but you still needed time to recover, time for your body to mend, time for your memories to return. You loathed the waiting, the wasted days slipping through your fingers. You wanted a now.

But you kept all these thoughts to yourself, thanking the doctor as he exited the room.

Minho rented a bicycle to drive you around since the thought of being in a car made your anxiety spike. He installed a little seat for you, in that bright, obnoxious orange color you love very dearly. The sight of it nearly brought tears to your eyes this morning.

Minho idly pedaled around, choosing a scenic route, one he knew by heart from the looks of it. You closed your eyes, savoring the last sun rays of the year. Autumn was fading, winter clawing its way into the seasons slowly. You weren’t sure you could handle both the cold and the grief.

Miho took time off work for your doctor's appointment, and you both spent the day around one another, side by side on the couch, a new book in your hands, and an anime playing on the TV for Minho.

You could see him casting occasional, nervous glances in your direction, as you flipped the pages of the book. You didn’t understand why at first.

But then you did.

You only brought it up at night, when it was past 2 a.m. and you knew that Minho wasn’t sleeping either, the screen of his phone illuminating his face. He left the inflatable mattress in the room, no longer waiting for a nightmare to occur. You weren’t complaining. You desperately needed company.

“Minho,” you call out gently.

“Mm?”

“How did we meet?”

You can hear Minho suck in a deep breath at your question, before placing his phone down, the only light source in the room fizzling out. It made talking easier that way, when only your voices were heard, carried around, as if emitting from two entities that weren’t you both.

“We met… near your old apartment block. I was going to the kimbap place near yours, you remember that one, right?”

You hum in response.

“And I saw you crying, crouching near an injured cat. Some car had run over her leg, and she couldn’t walk anymore. And you didn’t know what to do, so I helped you. You insisted on coming with me to the vet where I take my cats. So, we caught a cab. And you were so worried, you didn’t stop crying, so the cab driver thought I did something to you,” he chuckles faintly.

“Then, the vet put a cast on her leg and reassured us that she’d be okay. And I told him I’d take her home and bring her for check-ups. But you were so worried, you begged me to send you updates about the cat. So, you gave me your number. And we talked.”

“What happened to the cat?”

“I took her to a rescue store I trusted since I couldn’t take her in. and we still visited her from time to time. And then, she found a good family.”

“And what happened to us?” you inquire softly, hoping that if your voice was quiet enough then your question wouldn't hurt Minho as much.

“We kept in touch," he said. "And it was… easy to talk to you, I felt as if I had known you for my entire life. When you found out I had three cats, we Facetimed a lot so you’d see them, but then we just kept on calling, every day, for nearly two weeks. Being with you felt natural, you know? I didn’t overthink it. I never did."

“And then three weeks later you came over to see Soonie, Dori, and Doongie. We ended up watching three movies in a row, and you were so tired you slept on my couch.”

“That’s embarrassing,” you chuckle.

"Yes," he laughs and you reach over to swat his shoulder playfully. "But it was also cute, and endearing. Then you came over a lot, and we just cooked together. Well, I cooked and you watched.”

“Right, that sounds more like me," you instantly agree.

“We hung outside too, whenever one of us had free time. We had a lot of common hobbies and interests so we never ran out of things to talk about. We made time for each other too.”

“How did we start dating?”

“You made the first move.”

“I did?” you shoot up from your place, hissing when the abrupt movement causes a twinge of pain in your ribs.

“Take it easy,” he giggles, as he illuminates your face with his flashlight. “You did.”

“Did you put a spell on me? I swore I’d never make a first move again after I was rejected in third grade. That was my most sacred oath."

“Well… you were ranting about this book. The one you were reading today,” he adds, and your excitement fizzles out, as the pieces of the puzzle finally fall into place. “You were sad because you had no one to talk to about it. So, I bought the book and read it. I gave you my copy, complete with highlighted passages and notes. And when I did… you kissed me, without warning,” his voice is softer now, as he fiddles with the tip of his blushing ears. "You said it was the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for you.”

“It was. It is,” you whisper, heart caught in your throat. “I saw the photograph of us both lodged between the pages of the book. Did we take it that day?”

“Yes, we weren’t dating, not yet. Because I told you I wanted to take you out on a proper date. But you wanted us to take a picture holding the book… So you’d remember.”

“So I'd remember,” you repeat, voice quivering. What good was it for in the end?

“I looked so happy in the photograph,” you whisper, tears welling up your eyes. “I looked so happy with you,” your voice breaks as you utter that last part. "Did I love you, Minho?"

"You did," he nods softly, blinking away his own tears.

“And did you love me?”

“I did. I still do, very much.”

“Thank you, for loving me. It sounds like I’ve lived a happy year with you.”

Minho's pain is akin to a polite guest; it lingers by the corner, speaking in whispers, hardly ever raising its voice. You'd never really notice it, unless you strain your ears, as you're doing now. Only then would you discern the tremors of his quiet sobs- broken, stifled, determined not to make themselves known, only escaping his lips when he thinks you've fallen asleep.

Day 8.

Whenever an overwhelming emotion ran freely along the corridors of your soul, you'd often find yourself curled in a fetal position, knees drawn to your chest, like a fragile leaf.

Your teacher once explained that it reminds us of safer times in the wombs of our mothers, when the cruelty of life hasn’t yet reached us.

It is the way you’re resting now, upon the cold, hardwood floor, dozens of books surrounding you. You decided to go through each book in Minho’s library, the need to satiate your curiosity overtaking you. You didn’t know what you were looking for, exactly. Other photographs, surely, in the hopes that one of them would spark up your memory, ignite the flame of remembrance.

What you didn’t expect was to find Minho talking to you through books. Within the pages, amid the words, scribbled in small, dainty handwriting, threads of his thoughts all relating to you. Quotes he thought you’d appreciate, highlighted segments that reminded him of you. And dedications, so many dedicated lines you felt like you could drown in them. It felt as if Minho was on a quest to find love within every line, only to inscribe your name beside it.

Putting down the last book, you were left with a huge void, akin to a black hole eating away at your heart. So, you laid on the floor, one arm underneath your head, knees held tightly to your chest- as if trying to create borders for your sadness, to stop it from spilling out of your body, drowning the house in even more sorrow. Those four walls have had enough, more than they could contain. And so did you.

You suddenly longed for the very beginning of your life, when time was but a tranquil stream, when you were unaware of the hurtful years it would carve into your existence. Back to when your spine was still curled around itself; for it was never meant to be straightened. Your spine was never strong enough to bear your pain.

You wanted to talk to someone, but you didn’t know who you could turn to. You didn’t know how to articulate these emotions into words, tangible enough for someone to understand them. And you couldn’t talk to Minho about it, not when he was hurting on his own.

Because he smiled down at his cats, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. His laughter echoed around the room when he talked to his friends on the phone. And sometimes, he even hummed under his breath while making you breakfast. But this happiness never reached his eyes, behind his pupils the sadness seared itself into his veins, casting a gloomy shadow that followed him everywhere he went. It was a palpable ache, one that filled the very atmosphere with the metallic taste of grief. Making it almost impossible for you to breathe in. Even more so when you remember it was all your fault.

These are the thoughts that haunted you all day, as they have been doing for the past week. Minho must have noticed that you were feeling gloomier than usual, a silent storm raging by his side, since he put up a romcom for you. “It made you laugh a lot when you watched it months ago.”

“How do you remember all of these things about me?” you ponder, scratching the fragile skin near your nails, easily torn, just like you.

“Does it make you uncomfortable? Should I stop?” he asks quietly, deflecting your question.

“No,” you say the truth. “It'd be weird if you were an actual stranger, but… you knew me. And I knew you. and I still feel safe around you.”

He nods silently, but something in his gaze compels you to keep talking.

“I mean, I never felt uncomfortable around you these days, which surprised me too. I just… I suppose that even if my mind doesn’t remember, my heart does, in a way?”

“My heart will always remember you,” he whispers, gaze adrift in a faraway memory.

A gear shifts in your mind, a sudden light flooding your vision. You find yourself within a grand canopy bed, its pure white curtains swaying to the rhythm of a whimsical breeze, their delicate fabric brushing lightly against your cheek. It’s slightly cold from the wide-open windows, but then it’s warm, as a gentle hand finds its place on your thigh, kindling an ember deep within, setting your very soul ablaze.

The curtains sway with the wind, obscuring your view, but you can still discern the sound of your laughter, echoing like distant chimes. And a tenderness, so delicate it seemed almost otherworldly, trailing along your skin, as warmth caresses your cheek and gently traverses the curve of your collarbones, peppering it with the softest kisses. You can't quite behold it, but it is unmistakably there, an ineffable presence that threatens to burst your heart at the seams—a memory of your love for Minho.

It is a blurry sight, like peering into a worn-out photograph, its details softened by the sands of time. But you clutch to it- to your fading laughter and hushed conversation, and then your voice ringing clearly in your mind, the promise you made to Minho.

'My heart will always remember you'.

You startle back in a jolt; the light and warmth have extinguished. They are now dull, withered down, sitting next to you with their head hung low.

It takes you an inhumane effort to swallow down the lump in your throat.

Day 16.

This week has been particularly cold. Not temperature-wise, October has always harbored these same frigid temperatures and you've gotten used to them, to the relentless winds brushing against your skin. Only this time they pierced right through your soul instead.

You knew what had changed. You had felt the sadness, the frustration, the guilt- all blending into one sorrowful symphony, pulling at your heartstrings the way one does to a harp. Yet, amid these familiar emotions, a new feeling loomed large this past week- anxiety.

It arrived in sudden, icy bursts, cold beads of perspiration cascading down your spine, feet suddenly freezing no matter how fuzzy your socks were- the physical telltales, then came the emotional ones. The shadows of dread, for we fear the unseen more than that which we can touch. The growing panic gnawing at your heart, hinting that something profoundly disastrous lurked on the horizon.

Anxiety held you suspended in the air, bound by invisible ropes that compelled you to watch from above as the days drifted past you. You were a ghost haunting an empty shell, hollow and resonant with anxiety's clang, akin to an empty can's descent to the ground.

Your appetite had fled, leaving you alone to grapple with the chore of feeding yourself, mechanically ingesting food only to pacify Minho’s concerned gaze. The TV’s volume blared, since you desperately needed the voices of other people to invade your mind, to render your thoughts merciless, forcing them to put their sword-like tongues down.

And the exhaustion, not accounted to your broken ribs, for Minho had meticulously overseen their recovery. It was an emotional fatigue, a weariness that clung to your every breath, trapping them within your ribcage, far beyond their time, until they tethered on the brink of exploding in your lungs- a supernova of darkness devouring your essence. Only then did the breaths release their hold on you.

So, you patiently awaited the inevitable unraveling, because you knew this wasn’t an ordinary anxiety. Your soul whispered to you in a language your mind could no longer translate, throbbing with a message you couldn’t quite recollect, striving urgently to jog your memory of a monumental truth.

But you didn’t remember– you should have.

You should've known it was Minho’s birthday.

It is near midnight when you venture out of your room, the inflatable bed by your side unusually vacant. A dim glow draws you to the kitchen, and as you stand by its entrance, an intensified cold grips you. It chills the blood in your veins, transforming it into splintered shards that prick uncomfortably beneath your skin.

Minho is sitting by the table, a small, muted cake before him, a shoebox by his side. A solitary candle flickers in front of his face, casting elongating shadows on his chiseled features. The flame is about to fizzle out- you feel like your heart will closely follow suit.

"Minho..." you call out gently, careful not to startle him from the trance ensnaring him. He doesn't react to the sound of your voice.

"Minho, I…"

"Today was my birthday."

His tone is cold, like the darkening clouds before a stormy night. His words feel like lightning bolts piercing your core.

"It would be stupid to blow this candle out, wouldn't it? Because you and I both know my wish won't come true. Maybe it never will. And it's killing me, yn." His voice quivers as it utters your name, a slight shake taking over his lips. His cheeks are tear stained- glimmering reflections under the golden flame. You've never seen him this sad. You don't know how to comfort him in his sadness.

A rush of nausea overwhelms your being, a yearning to expel every emotion, methodically, until your heart transforms into a tranquil organ, solely pulsing life's crimson essence through your frame. Nothing more, nothing less.

"This shoe box is yours. You kept it under the bed, filled it with everything that reminded you of me. You told me..." he pauses, taking in a deep breath. "You told me that you wanted to remember everything about us, every single detail. But I... I don't care if you don't remember every date we went to. I just-" his forehead rests on his palm, as he squeezes his eyes shut. "I just want you to remember that you love me."

Hot tears are rolling across his cheeks, splattering across the table like a broken mosaic. He doesn't try to hide them or wipe them away. He's had enough.

"Minho, I’m-"

"I mean- that's not too much to ask for, right?" he finally lifts his head, locking his eyes with yours. A black abyss, a dark void. You are the one who sucked out all the light.

"You- you said you loved me. And I- I felt it, y/n, when you looked at me, when you touched me. I felt it, it wasn't- it wasn't just words, I-" he pauses, running a hand through his hair, tugging at his black locks furiously. "You loved me," his voice breaks. "Why- why can't you remember that you loved me?"

Your tongue bursts to flame in your mouth, its grey ashes choking you from within. What could you even say? How do you stop the bleeding of a heart when you carry knives for fingers?

Minho abruptly stands up, his chair scraping loudly across the floor. "We talked about marriage, a-about kids, you said- you said you'd choose me to be the father of your children, you said you wanted a big house w-with me and you-” he points at you, chest heaving, eyes rimmed red. “You said you wanted us to sit at the patio when we're eighty and you wanted us to hold hands still," he chuckles bitterly, his arms falling limp by his side incredulously. "And now you don't even remember me."

He grabs the box, rummaging through its contents furiously. "You see this?" he waves dried flowers before your eyes, their petals falling to the floor from the force of his agitation. "These are the flowers I got you for our first date. You dried them and put them here because you- you said you wanted to preserve it, to remember."

"And this, the cinema tickets from our first movie date. You were so tired you just slept on my shoulder all the time and then I- I carried you home and you kissed me." He's growing more frantic, rifling through the shoe box in a frenzy. You remain rooted by the kitchen's entrance, a sense of powerlessness holding you captive, an unbreakable vice around your being.

"This is the napkin from our favorite cat café, and look," he grabs your hand, clammy palm pressed to yours, pulling you toward the table." This is the receipt of the first time we went grocery shopping together and-" he waves it in the air, before slamming it onto the table. "And, you e-even kept this stupid rock I gave you right before I told you I love you for the first time, because you said it was the happiest day of your life, my god Yn how can you not remember?"

A broken, sob-laden chuckle escapes his lips, a sound so heart wrenchingly human, so painfully poignant that for an instant, it fills you with a bitter aversion to your own humanity- it was never meant to inflict this much pain upon someone else.

Your thoughts shatter as Minho tenderly cups your face, urging you to confront his turbulent gaze. He seeks something within your eyes, and you desperately hope he'd find it, whatever it may be, anything to stop the tremor in his hands as they anchor you in place.

"Why did you- why did you keep all of this if not to remember me.” He asks, unblinking, lip quivering. “Please, please, remember me, just- just try, okay?"

"I’m so sorry-"

"No. No. Don't- don't apologize like it's final like you could never love me again," his hands glide to your shoulders, shaking you slightly in place. "Don't you understand? I-I don't want an apology I want you to remember me."

"Minho..."

"Just look through this, it's our happiest memories y/n, okay?" he let goes of you, circling the table before shoving the box into your hands. He smiles- attempts to, it is an unnatural presence amidst his tears, so out of place it sends shivers down your spine. "Look at it, yn, please," he pleads as your hold on the box falters. "I can’t remember us alone. I’m crushing under the weight of everything we lived it’s exhausting me!"

His voice ascends pitch, the end of his words hanging into the air, searing themselves into the particles you breathe. His voice leaves a painful echo on his trail. You’re exhausting him.

You put the box down, taking three cautious step forwards.

And then you hug Minho.

He can't even hold you back, body trembling with the sobs rippling through him as soon as your chest presses to his. He sinks to the floor and you follow suit, arms enfolding his concaved shoulders tightly, his face buried in the crook of your neck. "Im sorry, I'm so sorry Minho. I- I wish I could remember."

You want the kitchen to collapse upon itself. There is too much grief in such a small room- it stains the walls like blood droplets, absorbs his cries like a saturated sponge.

You don’t think you could ever sit at this table again.

He finally clasps your back, drawing you even nearer to him. "Can- can you pretend, just today, please? For my birthday. Pretend you still love me."

"Of course. It's okay, I’m here, honey. I'm here."

"I love you. I love you so much," he whispers, lips pressed against your neck. "And it hurts to love you, so much." He brings your hand to his heart. "It hurts so much right here."

He doesn't let go of your hand, softly caressing your knuckles. His breath hitches as his thumb hovers over your ring finger. "I... I was going to propose, you know? I even bought the ring, stored it away for when the time is right. Do you think you would have remembered if you woke up wearing it?"

He knows your answer would've been yes. You know that too, in the matching cat mugs and the book annotations and the way Minho gently held your face, even in the depths of his despair. Everywhere you look, your answer echoes back- yes, the home chants in unison, that's what you would've said. Yes, yes, yes.

Day 17.

In the cracks of concrete sidewalks, tenacious flowers manage to sprout. Just how in the depths of Minho’s pain, small joys bloomed, nestled in the vacant spaces between you and him.

You'd greet him each time he opened the door, your voice resonating through the apartment like the sweetest sonnet. And he would always pause by the doorknob, basking in the sound of your voice that hadn’t changed in the slightest. Your tone still held that same dulcet timber, a golden honey that once dripped freely upon his soul.

But today, Minho swung open the door and an eerie hush greeted him instead. He ventured in, calling after you, only to be met with utter silence. He anxiously checked the rooms, opening the doors hastily one by one. But you weren't there. You weren't home.

Minho felt the familiar tendrils of worry coiling around his heart, constricting it with each passing moment. He quickly grabbed his phone, dialing your number, only to fall into your voicemail, the robotic voice chilling him to the core.

In the past two weeks, you had made sure to text Minho each time you went outside- a precaution you took due to your fractured ribs which came with frequent fits of dizziness. It was a safety measure for one person, at least, to know where you are.

But you didn't text him today. And he had no idea where you might’ve gone to.

Minho tried to suck in a deep breath, willing the fear to relinquish its icy grip on his body so he could think properly. Maybe you had simply forgotten, he reasoned. Yet, he knew that you never back out on your promises. They were sacred for you since they were once senselessly broken.

For the second time in a mere three weeks, Minho’s deepest fears unfurl like a nightmare before him, ensnaring him in a tapestry woven with the bloody threads of everything that went wrong yesterday.

He carried his shame akin to heavy bricks on his shoulders, causing them to hunch forward- a coward, leaving the house before you even rose, and on his trail, your breakfast and a hastily written note. He couldn’t fathom eating at that kitchen table with you, not when his sobs still echoed around those sage walls, as did your quiet voice as you tried to soothe his cries, holding him between your tender arms.

Minho was scared. He was terrified you’d never come back home after everything that had happened, the words he said and the way he pleaded, nearly at your feet, consumed by a sadness grander than anything he’s ever known.

So, he storms out of the apartment in a hurry, scouring the nearby playground. But you aren’t there. The grocery store is next, the library, the flower shop, the cat café tucked in a corner that you may have stumbled on.

You were still nowhere to be found.

A dreadful sense of foreboding overcame him, akin to how he felt when his phone rang two weeks prior- the unfamiliar number of the hospital shining before his eyes. What if something happened to you, a fit of dizziness but no one was around to help? Life doesn’t grant you a second chance. No one has ever brushed against death’s shoulder twice and lived to tell the tale. What if he receives another call?

He couldn’t survive another call.

Minho stands in the midst of the road, clutching his head with a tight grip, desperately searching his memory for the places that once brought you solace during the months he spent knowing you. However, he quickly remembers that you no longer know of those places.

So where could you have gone?

An epiphany dawns upon Minho- the bridge you had pointed out to him from a distance on one of your walks, the first place you claimed as your own in the city. It towered above the ocean, suspended several meters in the air. He couldn't accompany you there that day, bound by a paralyzing fear of heights.

He prays with all his might that he's right.

He dashes towards the bridge akin to a madman, the desperate rhythm of his pounding feet mirroring the urgency in his heart. It looms tantalizingly close, a mere 15 minutes away, and Minho, in a state of disarray, knows he's not fit to drive right now. He was never fond of running, he didn't enjoy the searing ache in his lungs, robbing him of his ability to breathe. But he welcomes the pain today- it means that he's running fast enough to reach you. He hopes, he prays.

Minho spots you from a distance, a mere silhouette standing at the bridge's edge, your figure unmistakable with the red scarf tightly wound around your neck. Relief nearly brings him to his knees - you're alive.

Minho doesn't think as he sprints to you, eyes solely focused on you and not the void beneath his feet.

"Yn!" he calls out from afar, and you startle, snapping your head back to look at him. He wonders what he must look at you, disheveled hair, the wind knocking down his jean jacket. But he doesn't care.

Minho stands before you without pause, instantly pulling you into the shelter of his chest, his hand cradling the back of your head. He buries his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling the familiar smell of your shampoo, a constant through the months of knowing you. He clings to it, to the familiarity of your scent and the way your heartbeat seems to pour from your body to his, speaking in a language only your souls can comprehend. His arms clutch at you tightly, rugged breaths escaping his body, dew tears gathering in his eyes and dropping down your shoulders.

Your arms hang limp by your side, confusion etched across your face at the urgency, the frenzy in which he pulled you to his chest, an emotion you hadn’t known in him in these past weeks.

You tentatively raise your hands, patting his back slowly. "Minho, what’s wrong?" you whisper, and he shakes his head.

"You weren't home. I- I thought something happened to you."

"No, I just went on a walk and lost track of time," you reassure him and he pulls away, warm hands cradling your cheeks.

"You're okay, right? Tell me you're okay," he pleads and you smile, nodding your head. “I'm okay, don’t worry.”

Minho drops your face, embarrassment flooding his being at his outburst. It morphs to panic as he realizes the expanse beneath—nothing but the vast ocean, the wind slamming into his body, making him lose his footing.

"Are... you okay?" you ask cautiously. "Minho, you're shaking," you point out, a frown tugging at your lips. "Are you cold?"

He stays silent, unable to place a word beyond the stutter of his lips.

"Here," you hurriedly unwrap your red scarf, enclosing it around his neck. "You're shivering, Minho," you grab his hands, rubbing his fingers, blowing warmth into them, an attempt to kindle fire into him.

"I'm not- not cold. I- I’m scared of heights," he admits through a stutter, eyes tightly closed.

"Then why are you here?" You ask, surprised.

"Because you are."

His confession comes out quietly, softened by the blow of his fear. His eyes remain closed, missing the tears gathering in your eyes, the ones you swiftly try to blink away.

"Let's go, just keep your eyes closed. Hold my hand," you entwine your fingers with his, squeezing it lightly to signal you're there, as you walk across the bridge.

You don't let go until you finally regain solid ground.

"You're safe. you can open your eyes," you say quietly.

"You're okay, right?" he inquires again, stepping closer.

"Why are you asking me this when you're the one shaking?" you chuckle, almost exasperated, nothing funny in the sound.

"I was worried about you, and I thought you left… after yesterday."

"Why would you- My god Minho why would you even come running across this bridge? Why would you do something like that when you're afraid?"

"Because I love you," his voice is resolute, soft as a whisper, as he states a simple truth. It only makes yours reach new heights.

"But why- why do you love me? Why would you still love me after everything I put you through?"

"You didn't put me through anything," he shakes his head, and you take a step back, facing away from him. He can see your body heaving up and down, the weight of unspoken words making your heartbeat race. And then you snap.

"You broke down yesterday," you pivot back, pointing at his chest. "You broke down in my arms because of me. Why would you still love me after all this Minho I don't- I don't understand."

"I shouldn't have done that, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, I know I probably made you uncomfortable and I shouldn't have asked something like that out of you-"

"No, no, Minho, you don't understand, you shouldn't apologize, I should. I’m the one who hurt you-"

"You didn't hurt me. It's something out of your control, you didn't choose this."

“Stop- just stop being so nice and understanding for a minute. I don’t deserve it!" you shout exasperated, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. "You can't look me in the eyes half of the time you can't even fucking breathe in your own home. It's now a- a cemetery for our memories and it'll soon become yours too because I suck the life out of you, can't you see that?"

"I'm not asking you to remember me,” he holds his hands up, in surrender, “I was wrong yesterday, you don't have to remember us."

"There is no us!” you yell, hands thrown in the air, “Not anymore, Minho, maybe never."

You suck in a deep breath, shutting your eyes, willing your voice to ebb and flow into calmness.

"I thought about it. It'll hurt less if you don't see me, time will pass and you'll get used to it, I'm not worth this."

"You are,” he interjects. “You don't get to pick for me, Yn."

"Stop- stop talking like this is normal, stop being so complacent with your pain, Minho you shouldn't love someone who hurts you!"

"Then make me stop loving you. Spare me. Tear open my heart and bleed it dry at your feet or else it won't stop beating for you. Don't you understand? If you are near or if you are far, I will still love you. The only difference is that I'd worry more about you. I'd worry if you're eating, I'd worry if you're taking your medicine, I'd worry if you're drinking out of your favorite cup or if you have a spare shampoo in your drawer because you hate running out of it. I'd worry out of my fucking mind, Yn don't leave."

It had been an encompassing sadness that made his true feelings surge yesterday, breaching the myriad of cracks in his heart. But today, it was fear that cast a revealing light upon his feelings, hidden in the recesses of his being. They surged forth in a transparency you were still not used to, the way the ocean throws on its shores the debris of sunken ships, allowing the grieving families of sailors to finally discover the terrible truth.

Still, his honesty, his soul bare at your mercy isn’t enough to make you stay.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I just... I can't- I'm sorry."

You take three steps back, before turning your back to him and walking away. A numbness, like icy talons, seizes his limbs, his gaze fixated on your diminishing figure—carrying away everything he's ever loved. Paralysis envelopes his very essence, a haunting realization that the distance between you is more than a mere physical space. You're vanishing beyond the horizon of his reach, slipping through his desperate grasp. The fear of never seeing you again fractures the stillness, snapping Minho out of his trance.

"To love someone is firstly to confess, I'm prepared to be devastated by you." He shouts, making you pause in your tracks. "Isn't that your favorite quote, Yn? You told me this is what love is about. To place your heart in the palm of the person you love. And your hands are soft, Yn. I don't mind if I'm bruised by them."

"I lied then!” You yell back, tears cascading down your cheeks akin to a waterfall, “Belcourt lied and I lied when I told you this and when I promised that I'd always remember you in that canopy bed-"

"What did you just say?” Minho quickly walks to you, chest heaving. “What canopy bed?"

“It doesn't matter now,” you speak in a small voice, avoiding his eyes, seeking refuge in the ground beneath. Yet, Minho, gentle and determined, cups your face, guiding your gaze to meet his.

“It matters to me, Yn, please. What do you mean?"

“We were in that white canopy bed, when I told you that my heart would always remember you.”

“We were,” he whispers, eyes glazed over as the memory washes over him too. “Did you remember?”

“Not clearly, it was really hazy in my mind. But I remember that the windows were open, I was supposed to feel cold but… your hands on me, and they were warm. And I…” you suck in a deep breath and Minho smiles encouragingly, running his thumb in a tender caress across your cheek.

“I remember feeling that I loved you,” you finally confess. “Even though I couldn’t see you. That's why I said that I'd always remember you. Because you filled every chamber in my heart, so much that it'd still hold your name even if you left it…that's how I felt.” You pause, as Minho forcibly swallows the lump down his throat.

“But it didn't unlock any new memories and I-”

“It's okay, it’s okay. You still remembered,” he smiles and the gesture brings you to his lips, rosy, plump. Were they still as warm? Still as soft?

“I did…” you trail off. “You also kissed me, in my memory. Your lips were everywhere and… they were soft.” You add quietly, eyes fixated on his mouth, the smile that once adorned it slipping away.

A tentative warmth courses through your being, a subtle blaze that ignites your cheeks in a shade of crimson. In this moment, a need unfurls within you, a yearning that eclipses the delicate boundaries of restraint. The memory of his lips on your skin becomes a beacon, standing tall amidst the tumultuous winds of uncertainty. You want to taste the warmth again. You want to kiss Minho.

“I kissed you.” His hands, once gentle on your cheeks, now slip down with purpose, cradling your jaw in a gesture that speaks of both reassurance and longing.

“You did.”

“And my lips were soft,” he repeats, his red scarf brushing against your throat.

"They were," you respond, breathless. His mouth stands electrifyingly close, a mere hairbreadth away, as you contemplate the simple act of tilting your head, closing the tantalizing gap. All that stands between you and the echoes of the love that was is the lift of your head, a movement that could breathe life into the dormant embers of your heart.

"Yn," Minho speaks softly, his words a gentle brush against the canvas of your shared vulnerability. His minty breath tickles your nose, as you hum, a wordless acknowledgment that hangs in the air. Your eyes remain closed, your heart beating loudly in your ears, drowning out the sound of the waves nearby.

“Use me. Use me to remember.”

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dwaekkicidal · 5 months ago

Text

First-Time-Subbing!Reader[Maknae Line]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ word count: 2.2k (in total)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ warnings are under each pic. just keep in mind its fem reader and generally rough sex

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ notes: maknae line with a little twist at the end hehe

Hyung Line

𝙷𝚊𝚗

reader is compliant, overstim mentions

"Fuck.. You look so pretty below me, my baby. You like that? Huh? 'S Hannie fucking you good?" Your eyes are too busy rolling to the back of your head for you to focus on anything he’s saying. With the way he ruts into you frantically, but still manages to hit every spot, you can’t even think straight. Eventually desperate for your voice, he pulls back and tests the waters with a sharp, rough thrust. It only makes your fingers clutch his arms, creating crescents from where your nails dig in.

He chuckles at the reaction and does it a few more times, laughing at the surprised squeaks it pulls from you each time he bottoms out. Once your eyes manage to open and look up at him he leans forward, breathing heavily he rests his forehead against yours. His hips slow and he holds eye contact, placing a kiss on your drooly lips before speaking up again.

“I asked you a question, baby. You should know better than to not answer.” You finally attempt to respond, only to choke on your spit and stutter, eventually giving up and letting your head fall back into the sheets. He smirks madly and picks up his previous pace. His hips start to slam against yours again and your mouth opens in a silent scream.

“Mmm, my baby’s being fucked too good. I think I fucked her nice and stupid.. haha..”

“You’re doing so well for me, Jagi. ‘Gonna let me overstim you too?” You whine loudly in response, voice cracking from hoarseness. If you saw his face, you would have seen the way his eyes sparkled. “Yeah? Gonna let me fuck this pretty pussy until you’re cryin’?”

You only cry out more in response, tilting your head back to look up at him from under your eyelashes. He smiles and kisses the edge of your lips then sits up straight, holding your legs up as he fucks you with new fervor.

“Hahaha.. don’t worry, baby. Hannie’ll take good care of you.”

𝙵𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚡

reader is compliant, orgasm control, squirting

"Feels good?" His voice is low and deep in your ear. You're currently lying beside him on the bed, legs spread out as he pushes a vibrator in and out of you. The veins in his arm bulge each time he pushes it inwards. and he watches with his bottom between his teeth as the bunny ears on the vibrator land perfectly around your clit with each thrust, making your legs shake beautifully. Right as the knot in your stomach is about to snap, he pulls it out of you completely. Your bottom lip wobbles and you look up at him with teary eyes. His heart would have normally broken at the sight, but when you're so deliciously fucked out for him he can't help but feel greedy.

"Lixie.." Your saliva was pooling in your mouth, and a few drops managed to slip out each time he forced your orgasm to delay. He only shushes you, showering kisses on your temple and cheek as he watches your breathing calm. Once he's sure that you're not gonna cum right away, he eases the vibrator back into you.

His free hand rests under your neck, your head laying against his bicep as his hand teases featherlight touches along your upper arm and shoulder. Each brush of his fingertips has you squirming in his hold, losing your mind just a little more with each orgasm denial. Eventually, the caresses and vibrations are too much. Your high has built up faster and faster each time, to the point where you almost cum in mere seconds. You tilt your head to him and whine out his name again, pleading with every wobbly bone in your body for him to let you cum already. He smiles sweetly and giggles, leaning forward to place a kiss on your forehead.

"You did so well. Be good now and cum for me." He ends the sentence with a rough thrust of his arm, starting a fast pace to build you up. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and slam shut as you feel your stomach tense. Your hands that held your legs open squeeze the flesh of your thighs tightly as you start to cum.

A series of high-pitched whines leave your throat as you squirt around the toy. Your arms quickly give out and your legs close around his arm, but he acts fast and removes his arm from under your head to pry your legs open. You watch the back of his head as he moves down to kneel near your hips, his hand never letting up on the toy. It's not until you're tapping his arm rapidly that he pulls the vibrator away, teasing the tip of it along your folds as the final spurts come out.

He laughs like a maniac and turns to you fully, laying beside you again and pulling you against him. "I told you that you could baby! The sheets are fucking soaked-" He spends the next few minutes after the fact kissing you sweetly, loving on you until he's sure your mind is back in your body. Once he's sure of it, he's back on top of you, hovering over you and slotting himself between your legs.

"My turn, baby. 'S not fair that toy gets to be in that pretty pussy and I dont."

𝚂𝚎𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚖𝚒𝚗

reader was a brat about it, meandom min but gets a little soft at the end, pet play? (reader gets called pup and calls herself puppy), (1) pvssy slap, handcuffs + vibrator use, overstimulation

The handcuffs that hold your wrists in place behind your back make loud jiggling noises and the vibrator that is against your clit is pushed harder as his free hand rests on your hip, holding you in place as you start to thrash in his lap. Your knees try their damndest to slam shut around his hips but to no avail. He's forcing you through yet another orgasm while making you ride him, essentially having you cockwarming him as the vibrator stays connected to your clit. It was 'only' your fourth, so it wasn't that bad. Or.. at least that's what he told you when you cried about 3 being too much.

You didn't even realize that the vibrator was pulled off of you until a hand comes does against your clit to grab your attention, immediately soothing the area with small circles after. Your eyes shoot open and stare down at him, tears prickling them as he smiles up at you.

"You ready to apologize yet, pup?" Your nods combat those of a bobblehead as you shake your head frantically, your lips parting only to be half choked by the thick saliva on your tongue. You force yourself to swallow it down and respond, desperate for the painful pleasure to stop, yet also keep going.

"P-Please Minnie, I'm sorry. I won't talk back again- I've.. I've been a good puppy.." Tears prickle your eyes and he chuckles, shushing you and kissing away your tears as he helps you off of him. He removes the handcuffs and helps you to the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed while having you kneel between his legs. You look up at him and lean forward already knowing all too well what he wants.

He sighs happily as he slides into your mouth, moaning loudly when you take him deeper than he expected. A hand snakes around your head and rests at your nape, using it as leverage to slowly fuck your mouth onto him. It doesn't take him very long to finish like this. After having you cum around his dick 4 times, he's extremely pent up and already on edge.

He holds you against him when he cums, throwing his head back and groaning out your name. His hips buck a few times for good measure as you swallow, even going as far as to suck his tip to make sure you got every last drop. He eases you off of him and watches you with narrowed eyes. As you catch your breath, a hand grabs onto your chin. He angles you up just enough to look him in the eyes and stares; his mouth is parted and his breaths are heavy as his eyes rake over your sweaty, fucked-out face.

"You look so beautiful like this... Should let me do this again."

𝙸.𝙽

reader was a brat about it, he's a little shit & mean, big dick!innie agenda hehe, spit kink (it gets a little messy), overstimulation, dubcon?

"What would my hyungs think of us now, baby? All that smack you talked earlier? And all for what? All just to end up below me, fucked out like a whore? haha.." The hand on your jaw pushes its pointer and middle finger past your lips and onto your tongue, pushing down when he hears you try to reply. He watches with an evil smile as you drool all over yourself and his fingers, your moans come out in a gargle as he fucks you even harder.

He watches as your eyes roll to the back of your head before your body shudders and comes apart under him, again. He's forced x orgasms out of you already, and he doesn't seem to be anywhere near finished. He's only cum once so far and it was through fucking your throat open.

"Awww look at you. Poor thing. 'S your little Innie fucking you nice and deep?" You squeeze around him harder and mumble out nonsense against his fingers in response, making him full-on cackle. "How does it feel to be the one fucked stupid? Hmmm?" His free hand pushes your thighs farther into your chest and holds them there, allowing him to bottom out fully and let his balls smack against the skin of your ass.

The fingers in your mouth move to squeeze your cheeks, holding your mouth open in the shape of an 0 and he halts his thrusts. He takes advantage of the way he towers you and leans farther in, spitting crudely into your mouth. Some of it lands on your cheek and he rubs it in with his already-soaked hand, laughing at the obscene moans it pulls from you. You watch through blurry, unfocused eyes as he smirks down at you with lidded eyes.

You feel so full and overwhelmed and he's giving you no chance to breathe as his hips pull back once again to force his dick back against your sensitive walls. His damp fingers drag the spit down your face and neck, stopping at your nipples before pinching them. He bottoms out fully one more time and holds you down as you jerk and cry under him, nails raking down his arm and back as you cum yet again.

He doesn't move for a while and it sends you into a false sense of security. You're hopeful that he will give you a second to screw your head back on or pull out to let you breathe. Especially when he leans down and pecks your lips then moves down to your neck where he bites and leaves hickeys.

But immediately after that thought crosses your mind, his hips start up again. They pound into you quickly and you try to scramble up the bed, desperately gasping for air. A hand wraps around your neck and holds you in place on the bed as he chases your hips.

"Hahaha. Where do you think you're going?"

OK, now that they're all done... hear me out..

𝙾𝚃8

poly ot8 x reader, mentions of: manhandling, recording, reader being forced into submission, & overstimulation, munch jisung agenda

Hear me out.. poly OT8 who you usually dom. They somehow convinced you to allow all of them to take control for one night to see how much you guys enjoy it. So now, instead of them helping you keep the others in submission, it's you being forcibly kept compliant for them <3 & I'd see them taking different roles here.

Like,, Chris, Changbin, and Jeongin are the ones I would see being in charge of holding you down. If you squirm too much or convulse too aggressively for somebodies liking, they're the ones holding you down and manhandling you: making you take everything while they whisper in your ear >< They definitely dirty talk you through every orgasm too. On a scale of "sweet(praise) → mean(degradation)" it's Changbin → Chris → Jeongin (in that order)

Felix and Hyunjin would be the ones sitting to the side, jerking off as their free hand points a camera towards the pile around you. They share the video in a group chat with everyone and sometimes they will make you watch it next time one of them doms you 1 on 1. They also are the ones who will tie you up if one of the stronger guys (^) isn't available. Hyunjin has different ropes of all their favorite colors to use depending on who he's tying you up for :3

Minho and Seungmin would be in charge of your attitude. You try to brat out, talk back, or make a face at somebody? They're on your ass. This goes for both in the bedroom and outside of the bedroom as well. They're the meanest out of the bunch and not afraid to break your mind in order to get you to be obedient. & when they're done doing so, it'll be like a switch is flipped as they caress you and praise how good you were for them <33

Han would be the one who gets sent on you like a rabid dog. When they want to overstimulate your pretty pussy for whatever reason (punishment or reward), more often than not Han is the one who will happily sit between your legs and eat you out for hours. Usually ends with Chris/Bin/Jeongin holding your legs in place and/or Hyunjin/Felix tying you up so Han can pounce without any interruptions.

Taglist:

@jiminssluttyminx @changisworld @juskz @linohumina @rylea08

@grandma143 @caught-in-the-afterglow @yaorzu-blog @jabmastersupriseee

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bi-writes · 8 months ago

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they want the best. and they need to eliminate the recruits that can't stomach reality. (18+, sniper!fem!reader x ghost)

you have met them all save for one. pretty boy gaz, with a nice smile, and you wonder momentarily how many barracks bunnies make bets on how they'll get him in their bed.

he's too pretty not to be a slut.

and then there's johnny. big, snarky, with a potty mouth, and he always sounds right stupid when he talks, but when you see him in the field, you are in awe. he has nimble fingers, and it scares you how well he can use them.

their captain is kind. he exudes something fatherly, a keen sense of responsibility. it is obvious that chaos rolls off his back--he is calm, collected, easy to think and fast to act.

but the last one, the lieutenant--he has never been seen. he's a ghost, in name and in physicality. he was there, once, when it was the first day of your arrival. you stepped out of a car with five others, and when you stood in formation, he was standing by the door, arms crossed over his big chest as he surveyed the room.

he hasn't reappeared for six weeks.

six, grueling, terrible weeks. crawling through mud, through snow, in rain. breaking your nails as you climb walls of brick or wood, throw yourself over obstacles lined with barbwire, scrape your knees on hard sand as you hit your targets from a distance. you wake up before the sun is out, and you sleep once its long gone, and by the time the six weeks have passed, there are only three of you left.

you want this. you want it so bad, you feel it in your bones. you were bred for this, born for this, and you have everything to lose if you do not succeed. the girl beside you? she has a college degree. the cocky frat boy in the next tent? he's white, blond, and well-spoken--he will have it easy.

but you are you, and nothing is that simple, and you will not fail.

you cannot fail.

you stand shoulder to shoulder, your eyes trained on the wall as they size you up. you see a shadow at the door; you recognize it. you're asked to pick an opponent, and since you finished first during drills this morning, you are allowed to pick.

your head turns, and you eye the skull mask that glares a few yards away. you don't say anything, just meet his eyes, and the captain follows your line of sight before hooking his fingers into the straps of his vest and chuckling low.

"ye sure about that, sweetheart?" johnny asks, and you only blink.

"that one," you say softly. "that's the one."

that's the one.

it rings in his ears. the one. he's the one. you've chosen him. he hides, and yet you have seen him, and you choose him, and he is the one.

he stalks into the room, and his steps are heavy. his boots can crush skulls, and yet he walks easy, fluid as he makes his way over to you and looks down at you.

you have not seen him so close. he is huge. a bear of a man, wide and tall and hulking, and you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes.

your lips part, and his gaze lowers as he watches your tongue slide over your teeth just that much, a telltale sign that you are not afraid.

ghost straightens, turns, and he gives the captain an unreadable, parting look before he leaves. you stare after him, and then back, and you swallow, wondering if you had done something wrong.

but johnny grins. and gaz raises a brow. and your captain sniffs, masking a chuckle, and you watch the three of them settle in front of you.

you realize later, when ghost has you bent over, knees spread so he can put his face between your thighs, that their reaction was simply acceptance.

you choose him. and he chooses you.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost x you #simon thoughts #ghost mwii #ghost call of duty #simon ghost smut #simon ghost riley smut #ghost smut

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darlingsfandom · 5 months ago

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I have an idea, it's a bit strange. Tommy buys a girl for breeding kink? Innocent!readerxDark!Tommy?

No such thing as strange around here !

TW: breeding, p in v unwrapped , pet names, smacking, rough sex! Vaginal bleeding!

“This is the best ya could do?” Thomas rubbed his eyes as he looked at the line of women standing in front of him. “There’s a million whore houses around here and ya only came home with these ?” He huffed dragging his cigarette through his teeth.

You stood outside the door listening as he complained about the rest of the women standing before him. They were either too boring to look at, too tall, too thin , hips not wide enough! Tommy knew what he wanted and none of them could do it for him.

“If ya don’t like them then ya shoulda went yerself Tommy !” Arthur snapped back at his brother. You chewed on your lip pacing the hall before the door to his office flew open and the girls came running out and out the front door. The lump is your throat grew as foot steps approached. “You! Get in here!” Arthur yelled making you run towards him as quickly as you could.

“Last one Thomas.” He grunted as he shut the door and left you alone with Tommy. Tommy leaned back in his chair while puffing the smoke out of his lips. He stood up, made his way over to you and circled you like a shark about to attack its prey.

“Mr. Shelby …” He raised his finger to your lips to which your brain made you wrap your lips around his finger. His eyebrow shot up in amusement as you looked at him innocently. He lips curved into a sinister smirk before pulling his finger out and wiping your drool onto your exposed cleavage. Thomas stood behind you and examined every inch of your body.

“Answer honestly , are you a virgin or not?” His voice sounded cold yet lustful.

“Only once Mr.Shelby.” You looked down at your feet before he lifted your head back up with his hand under your chin. His fingers gently squeezed your throat while he pressed his chest into your back.

“You’re the one.” Tommy whispered into ear before coming back to face you. His fingers trailed along your jaw line slowly before stopping at your breasts.

“The one for what sir? No one ever told me why I was coming here…”

“Oh?” He raised his eyebrow at you as you nodded slowly.

“Young, innocent , wide hips, big breasts… you’re going to be my little breeding bunny.” Thomas kissed your cheek before gripping your cheeks in his hands and kissing your lips hard. He pulled away with a loud pop before looking into your eyes.

“I’m sorry sir, you’re making me your what??” You couldn’t believe it. He didn’t actually say what you had thought you heard. Thomas let out a small chuckle while putting his cigarette unto the ash tray.

“Little… breeding… bunny!” He popped each word with the flick of his tongue making you whine softly. “Don’t be scared, you should feel honored that I picked you.” His hands rested on your shoulders before they slowly ran down your arms. Thomas smiled at you, he actually smiled at you! His hands moved to your stomach and he rubbed it gently. “You’re going to look much more beautiful when my child is growing in there.”

“Sir, I don’t mean to be a downer , but what if it doesn’t take on the first try?”

Thomas let out a chuckle. “Oh don’t worry your pretty little head, I’m going to keep trying with you until there is a baby in there.” He grabbed your hand and took you out of his office, down the hall and into his bedroom. You gasped at how nice it was which made him laugh.

“I take it you don’t come from money?” He asked.

“No sir, mother fixed dresses and father worked land.”

“And you gave your body to strangers…”

“No no! Just teased… I wasn’t of age until recently.”

Thomas sat on the edge of his bed with his hands on his lap before he looked up at you.

“Well let’s see ya!” He snapped his fingers making you jump a little. Your hands reached around and undid the lacing to your dress. The fabric slid down your skin slowly making you nervous as your nipples appeared to him. Tommy licked his lips as the fabric pooled at your ankles.

“No bra?”

“Can’t afford one sir.” You hung your head before the sound of his snapping made you look back up.

“Don’t worry, you wouldn’t need one around me anyway…” He stood up and circled you once more. “It would be in the way.” Tommy stood in front of you with a wicked grin before his fingers were pulling on your nipples slowly causing a small moan to escape your lips. He raised an eyebrow at how you reacted. His fingers twisted your nipples slowly, watching as you cried out. Tommy was a simple man once he seen what he wanted , he got it and it this moment you are his desire.

Both of you stood in silence for a brief moment before he ordered you on the bed . You laid against the soft sheets as Tommy stripped down to nothing to match your exposed body. He was built like how you had imagined. Truth be told, you’ve always fancied the whole family but mostly Tommy since you had seen him around town. You were working the streets when this opportunity came about but the name was never spoken of who this man was that needed a live in companion. You had just went because you heard it would be good money, so when you ended up at the Shelby’s place you were in over your head and now you’re naked in bed with Thomas Shelby, the most wanted man in many ways.

“Bunny, I asked you a question !” His voice and strike to the cheek brought you back to reality.

“I’m sorry sir, just got caught up in the moment.” He stroked your cheek gently where he had just slapped you.

“I asked you if you like my cock.” Your eyes followed down his happy trail and around his cock. He had the biggest cock you had ever seen, granted you haven’t seen a lot but his was the nicest for sure.

“Yes sir! Very big, going to stretch me out and put a baby in me with that!”

“Good little bunny! You’ve learned your place with me quick! I knew you’d be the one.” Thomas climbed on the bed and over you until he was laying chest to chest with you. His hands grabbed yours and laced your fingers together as he got up. “If it hurts too much, just squeeze my hands.” His brought your hand to his lips and gave it a kiss before letting go so he could line the head of his cock against your folds. You were wet but not wet enough for his size.

“OH MY GOD!” You cried out while squeezing his hand while he pushed the head in slowly.

“Shhh bunny! It’s okay, I’ve got you. Relax.” Thomas stopped once the head was all the way in to let you adjust to his size. “I’ll be gentle on ya, too cute to break something as precious as ya. But only at the start, soon you’ll get use to my cock in ya and you’ll be begging me to fuck ya hard.” All you could do is nod in response. The stretch really stung as you laid below him.

“Sir, please be gentle on me.” Your words came out choked as he stroked your cheek until you were ready. Tommy was gentle when he first started taking it slowly because he did honestly enjoy how tight you were around him but soon it changed.

His cock was stretching you in a way you never knew. It was a lot to take his cock. Your eyes were watering as you sobbed. Your hands tried to push him off, nails digging into his skin as he rammed his cock into you.

“Sir stop! Please! It hurts!”

“Shut up!” His hand flew over your mouth as he slammed his hips against yours. “Good little bunnies take it ! Be a good little bunny!” He enjoyed seeing your wetness mixed with your blood on his cock. It made him harder and hotter than he’s ever felt. You sobbed into his hand while he angled your hips upwards causing him to go in deeper. His thrusts were hard, fast and painful! But as he continued you felt yourself starting to enjoy it which felt wrong and right? You were confused but he had fucked you stupid! No thoughts as you laid there taking his massive cock.

“See I knew ya could be good.” His thrusts were getting sloppy as he held onto your hips while drilling into you. “Going to be even more of a good bunny and let me cum deep in ya, put a baby in ya.” His words were coming out as a stumble as he looked into your eyes.

“Fuck! That’s it pretty girl! Yeah!” His mouth hung open as his legs started to shake as his cum shot deep into your walls. Tommy looked down at you panting and groaning as he filled you up. He held your legs high in the air to make sure his cum went into you as far as it could. Both of you laid there panting before he slowly pulled out of you, grabbed his rag from the night stand and cleaned both of you up. Tommy tossed the rag aside before he climbed back into bed with you and wrapped his arm around you.

“You’re mine, ya understand that? Means no looking at other men, no flirting with them, no showing yourself off! Yer my girl now! And I’ll kill anyone who dares looks at ya!” Tommy grabbed his cigarette from the bedside table and lit it up before rubbing your side.

“Mine.” You whispered holding onto his arm.

“Yes darling, I’m yours and you’re mine . All mine! My little breeding beauty ! You will give me a child.” He blew his smoke before looking down at you with a look full of love and seriousness .

#Peaky blinders #peaky blinders smut #Thomas Shelby #thomas shelby x fem!reader #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby drabble #Cillian Murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy drabble #thomas shelby x you #emsblurbs

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moonchildstyles · 1 year ago

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For a possible smutty gravity blurb: maybe something they haven’t tried before?? Like maybe flower watches one of his streams or something and he’s talking abt some type of kink/situation they’ve never done before and she gets all nervous bc she wants to do that but she’s kinda insecure bc why is he talking about it on stream but not to me??? And so maybe there’s a wholesome communication moment butttttt they end up doing that thing:) idk just a thought hehehehe

cw: anal play involved!! if that makes you uncomfortable please skip :)

wordcount: 10.2k+

—————

The end of autumn chill swirled around (Y/N) in a fluttering gust, the ends of her hair being lifted along the sweeping breeze. Her nose felt chilled, among the elements, any bare swatch of skin prickled with goosebumps. Despite her hand being exposed to the elements, she didn't notice much of that cold with the way Harry had it wrapped in his own. Walking her out to her car, he swung their hands between them in a juvenile show of affection. Since he started, she hadn't been able to wipe the smile from her face.

Looking up at him, seeing the tip of his own nose flushed with a chill to match that of his cheeks, her grin widened. He still had his glasses on from class, a heavy cardigan on his torso with his curls still a bit loose from his morning shower.

"What?" he asked, glancing down at her with a wide smile, his dimples and bunny-like front teeth on display.

"Nothing, just looking," she muttered through the curl of her lips, "You're working tonight, right?"

"I am, yeah," he sighed, "Sorry."

Creases pulled her brows into a furrow. "Why are you sorry? It's your job, don't be sorry."

"I know," he drawled, the same way he always did when she had to remind him that there was no reason for guilt tied to his line of work. "But, I was wanting to spend time with you tonight instead."

Bumping his shoulder, her gentle scolding tone melted, "You know, I could still come over."

A shy flush bubbled to the surface of his cheeks, painting him a deeper shade of red than the wind could accomplish. "You'd distract me too much."

"I think we could still get through," she teased, her voice lilting as she bumped her hip against his once more.

"Maybe, another time, flower," he murmured, looking down at her with an expression she figured was better suited to the man on camera and not the physics tutor he was during the day.

"Another time, then," she agreed, pushing back the sudden need to squirm as his eyes traced down her form.

Approaching the parking lot, her car in the lucky space close to the building, (Y/N) pretended as if she didn't cut her pace to make slower strides. She wanted an extra couple of seconds with him, even if it meant walking like the people she complained about on campus between classes.

"Did y'still want me to call you before bed?"

"Yes, please," (Y/N) answered, "If you're not too tired, anyway."

"Never too tired for you, love."

Thinking back to the first days of knowing Harry, remembering the way he struggled to meet her eyes or would flush immediately when she said something as simple as his name, it was hard to compare him to the version that stood before her now. Openly flirting with her and agreeing to another time where she could sit in on one of his cam sessions and distract him for fun. It was no wonder she had never seen the obvious signs tying the camboy on her computer to her physics tutor.

"Get home safe, yeah?" he murmured to her, stopping at the bonnet of her car. Using his hold on her hand he turned her to face him.

"I'll text you," she smiled up at him, rising to her tiptoes for a moment to press her lips to his in a small kiss.

Harry chased after her, unwilling to let the kiss end just yet. He won his reward of an extra peck before she started pulling away. He'd been late to his afternoon classes one too many times after walking her back to her car, claiming he just wanted to make sure she made it there alright when they really ended up spending time kissing until his cheeks were flushed.

"Go to class," she reprimanded him, drifting away from him towards her car.

Keeping his hand clasped in hers, Harry elongated that contact until he couldn't anymore, his fingertips grazing hers before they dropped to his side. "Love you."

"Love you, too, H. I'll see you tomorrow."

A toothy grin spread across his cheeks as he looked at her, his eyes impossibly behind the lens of his glasses. "See you tomorrow.

She gave him a tinkling wave as she stepped into her car. He would stay there until he saw her pull out of the lot, keeping to his promise of ensuring she started her journey home safely (he knew too many statistics about driving accidents to freely let her go without being there in case of emergency, he'd said). But, even as she pulled out of the lot into the main road, she could see him in her rearview mirror, standing with his hands on the straps of his backpack, wide grin on his mouth.

There was the tutor version of him again; the one that was soft and smiley, shy and wrapped in sweaters. She was going to have to tune into his stream tonight to get the other side of him.

—————

While tuning into Harry's shows were something that she always found fulfilling, there was something especially satisfying now that she knew who he was and knew him as more than just a faceless crooner. Though, she could admit, she still felt a bit shy when she logged in.

However, it didn't take her long to sink into the night session when she tuned in after putting away her study materials for the night. Checking the time, she knew Harry would be in the middle of his stream then, the temptation too much to ignore before she was logged in and watching him as he cooed and moaned for the camera.

By the time his screen was pulled up for her, his tip meter was already full and over the edge, his shirt off and his hand wrapped around his cock though his boxers were still on. She knew this routine—it was one of her favorites, anyway; he was in the mood to tease the audience tonight. He was going to coax them into begging for him, asking for more of daddy before he would be so inclined to give it. His chest was flushed a warm red, complimenting the black tattoos inked on his skin. Blocks of muscle were bunching and straining, his abs shining with a layer of sweat. The camera had almost everything in view, going as high up as to capture the line of his throat before cutting off at his jaw.

Plugging her headphones into her ears, she heard the labored sound of his breathing, the rich gravel of his town heavy on his tongue, and the slick sound of his fist passing over his length.

She had her hands on her keyboard, reading to type something out for him to test if he had his eyes on the chat, but she stopped short when he resumed talking. He was detailing out a fantasy for them, one she had never heard fall from his lips before.

"Would you like that, baby?" he asked, words drawling and dripping out of his mouth, "You'd let me try with you? You'd let me play with your cute little ass?"

Just out of view of the camera, he threw his head back, his breathing labored. She could see the stretch of his neck, flushed with his Adam's apple bobbing. His hand on his cock quickened, his fist slapping against his skin.

"You'd let me do that?" he continued, his voice completely breathless with his chest heaving, "Let me fuck you from the back and see where else you could take me? Play with you a little?"

With a fluttering blink, (Y/N) couldn't take her eyes off of what her Harry was doing on screen. Though he'd never brought it up to her before, it didn't take much for her to picture what he was offering for the audience.

She could be on her hands and knees for him, Harry kneeling behind her with his thighs smacking against the back of her own as his cock sank in and out of her pussy. Her heart was in her throat when she pictured him spreading her cheeks apart and thumbing at the second entrance he was speaking up, the second place she could "take" him like he said.

Is that something he wanted? He wanted to play with her, see what else he could mold her body into doing for him, see what reactions he could garner from her?

"You'd love it, sweetheart, I promise. I'd be so gentle, so gentle," he rambled, his voice sounding airy and lost the longer he sat with his fantasies. "I can put in a couple of fingers, show you how good it feels. I think I could make you cum like that. You want that?"

Her designated nickname pricked her ears. He didn't even know she was tuning into the show yet, having been frozen since he started speaking with no comments in her name being sent through the chat yet. He was thinking of her?

The idea made her thighs tense, her stomach squeezing into a tight knot.

There had never been a time in her life that she had considered allowing anyone to feel around anywhere other than her pussy, but the thought of Harry wanting to feel and touch her everywhere plucked at something in her. Leave it to him to make even the most unappealing of things into something she could see herself wanting.

"Fuck you everywhere, sweetheart, that's what I want" he groaned, the pace of his hand on his cock causing the band of his underwear to slip low enough to show off his length. "Gonna cum jus' thinking about it."

Sucking in a deep breath, (Y/N) listened to his breathing hitch and shudder, changing to match the heavy pace of his hand on his cock. He really was going to cum, that much she could tell. His abs were tight, skin flushed, and the base of his cock tight from the sliver of skin she could catch on screen.

"C'mon, sweetheart, tell me you'd let me try with you. Let me have more of you."

His chat was flooded with responses, going way too fast for (Y/N) to even attempt to concentrate on. She could imagine it was filled with the confirmations that he wanted, dirty promises that any of these audience members would spread open for him at any given moment. His tip meter had well exceeded the goal amount, the donations and tiny messages attached seemingly only urging him on.

All (Y/N) could give her attention to was the amount of times he uttered her nickname, asking her if she'd let him try his fantasy with her. That he promised that he would make it good for his sweetheart, that he'd be as gentle as he could be when sinking his fingers in and fucking her everywhere he could reach.

She felt as if she were out of her body, watching as he plucked down the band of his boxers. His heavy cock bounced up against his stomach before he caught it in his slick fist. His length was wet and flushed, precum pooling on the tip and dripping down his shaft. She was sure her mouth had dropped into a gape. This fantasy had elicited that kind of reaction from him. Her tummy tightened at the thought.

Though she was aware he was talking, spinning a story for his viewers to be entranced with, (Y/N)'s own head was spiraling around her own story.

Would he help hold her hips up when she couldn't anymore? She already felt full enough with his cock inside her, how much more would she feel with him like that? With his stamina, how long would he have her buried against the mattress, opened up just for him?

Before she could even be aware of the moment, she heard a familiar gasp in her headphones. Her eyes refocused on the screen, Harry's cock spurting with ropes of cum. Strings decorated his chest, slicking over his tattoos in milky pearls. He groaned, chest heaving with blushing skin. His throat was bobbing, the skin stretched with the very ends of his hair visible on the edge of the screen. She could picture his eyes closed, lavender eyelids fluttering with dark lashes. His mouth would be set into a gape, a pinch between his brows.

One of these days, she was going to end up going to his apartment after one of his streams. It wasn't fair that he was able to perform like that and she wasn't in his bed at the end of the night.

Harry recovered soon enough, cleaning off his chest and giving his signature send off for the night.

(Y/N) was still far from joining him in that headspace even when the screen blacked out, his page settling for the night. Her brain was still where he was describing his fantasy, where she could picture herself on all fours for him.

Replacing her laptop lid and sliding the device away, she rolled onto her back in the folds of her comforter. Staring up at the ceiling, she attempted to gather her bearings.

Now that more of the lust and the initial intrigue began to wane, she was left with a question.

Why wouldn't he tell her about this? Obviously, he had quite the feelings towards this fantasy, given the fact he was so worked up, cumming before she even really had a chance to catch up. Why was his first choice to share this with strangers on his stream as opposed to telling her?

To be fair, it was a rather intimate dream, even more than what they usually did with one another. But, considering the details of their relationship—her being an avid viewer of his before knowing his identity, Harry being an active cam-personality, as well as the time they sexted with one another before even knowing who they were—there were very blurry lines when it came to what could be "too much".

She hoped she had shown that she would be open to trying anything for him, just the same way he is with her.

Their phone call tonight would be interesting.

—————

"Hi, flower."

Snuggled in her duvet, (Y/N) relaxed into the mattress at the sound of his voice. "Hi, H. What are you doing?"

"About to fall asleep," he shared, his voice decidedly deeper than usual, "What about you, love? Y'get all your studying done?"

"Mhm," she hummed, casting her mind back to the hours before she tuned into his stream. They didn't seem so important compared to everything that happened after she slid her textbooks out of the way. Harry didn't even know yet that she had been present during the show, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to tell him. A part of her wanted to wait and see if he would broach the subject of everything without her having to bring it up. "How was your show?"

"Short," he laughed, the sound a warm vibrato, "I got too worked up and barely made it through a half an hour."

"Yeah?" she prodded, hoping to open up the conversation for him, "What happened?"

"Jus' m'imagination running a little too wild," he sighed, paraphrasing everything she had already heard through her headphones, "Thought about you a little too much, of course."

The timber of his voice fell as he spoke his last statement, enticing her through the phone as if that was a hard task for him to pull off. His voice was what paid half of his bills anyway—his body handled the other fifty percent.

(Y/N) felt a tad on the breathless side when she spoke next, settling back into the way she had integrated herself into his story; she could still see herself on her hands and knees, spread open for him with whines falling from her lips. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean, sweetheart," he drawled, the smug smile on his lips audible through the phone, "You've seen the shows; you know what I think about when it comes to you."

It was hard not to get wrapped up in his words. Even with the small plan she had in her back pocket, this being her attempt to gather more information about the fantasy she shared with strangers on the internet, it was all too easy to fall into that soft, velvet coated space with him where his words were like silk and honey dripping over her skin. He knew exactly how to talk to her.

"Yeah," she swallowed, closing her eyes with her cheek mushed against her pillow, "But, was something different about today?"

Harry hummed as if he were considering her question. This would be the moment, she figured. This would be when he'd bring up the fact that he wanted to try something new with her, lay her out on his bed and take her in every way he could.

"I jus' think I miss you, that's all," he told her, deflating that anticipation ballooning in her chest. "I feel like 's been a while since I've had you all to myself, don't you think?"

Truthfully, they spent the entire weekend at his apartment, studying and working on papers in-between cuddles on the couch and romps in his bedroom.

"I think, we had all weekend together," (Y/N) laughed, teasing him some as if she still wasn't itching for alone time with him.

"I guess we did, huh," Harry joined in, "Jus' not enough for me then, I guess. You've spoiled me, now I'm always going to want more."

That declaration pinged in the back of her mind. He wanted more, that's what he's said in the stream. He wanted more of what she had to give him.

"I can do that," she answered instinctively, her voice a bit breathy over the line.

"Yeah? Gonna keep spoiling me?" he teased, his demeanor decidedly much more light-hearted compared to the creeping in of lust into her tone.

"I'll try." She'd try to be everything he wanted, she decided. She was going to be the place he indulged and shared those intimate stories with, not the internet.

A soft sigh sounded on the other line. "Y'always do, flower," he crooned before a yawn cut him off, "'M about to fall asleep, love, 'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," she rushed out, feeling guilty now that she's trying to extract information from him when he started the call telling her just how sleepy he was, "Go to sleep and I'll see you tomorrow, right."

"See you tomorrow," he confirmed, his voice heavy and dripping, "Love you."

"Love you, too, H. Goodnight."

Harry shared a final goodnight with her before the call ended with (Y/N) left in her lonely bedsheets and the new facet of him she learned today.

Her eyes shuttered to a close as she sunk into the silence of her bedroom. She hadn't been lying when she said that she would try to do that—be that—for him. Why he didn't tell her in the first place, wasn't something she could dwell on at the moment. She needed to focus on plucking up the courage to do what she promised.

—————

"I'm still coming over tonight, right?"

Harry's smile bloomed over his lips, dimples deep in his cheeks. "Of course," he murmured, dipping his head down through the open window of her car to press a kiss to the apple of her cheek, "Should jus' live there, if you ask me."

(Y/N)'s own lips were curled into a soft smile as she looked up at him. This wasn't the first time nor would it be the last time she heard of this want of his. "We'll see," she settled, "Let me know when you're back then I'll head over."

"I will," he smiled, pressing another delicate kiss to her mouth before pulling away. "I love you."

"I love you, too," she cooed, "I'll let you know when I make it home."

He murmured a small thank you against her skin before pulling away. He waved a goodbye at her as he stepped back from her car, giving space for her to pull out of the parking lot.

Flicking her gaze to the rearview mirror, Harry nothing more than a cardigan covered figure that grew blurrier and blurrier until she took the turn to leave him out of her sight, (Y/N) could feel her heart rate spike.

She had a plan. The idea of setting it in motion elicited that nervous excitement in her. All she wanted was for it to go along without a hitch, and spend a special night with Harry.

When she laced this whole thing together the night before, she decided that when she went over that night, she wouldn't even really address what she had heard him say in the stream. She would initiate everything, pushing a little bit for the taboo idea he had shared, telling him that she wanted to try something new with him. She would tell him that she wanted to give more of herself to him.

It wouldn't take too much convincing, she figured. She already knew he had quite the affinity towards the idea of trying out both of her entrances. All she had to do was frame it with all the confidence she could muster.

And, maybe a cute set of lingerie she had bought with him in mind.

—————

The soft sound of lips parting and coming together once more filled Harry's apartment, the television screen a plain black as (Y/N) didn't want to waste time playing pretend with a movie night or watching an episode of their show. Instead, she didn't take much time before she was climbing atop his lap on the couch, her thighs astride his hips and Harry's hands on her waist.

"Sweetheart," he sighed into her mouth, his grip on her waist tightening as if she would slip away without him, "I've missed you."

(Y/N)’s own hands cradling his jaw, thumbing at the planes of his cheeks. Tipping her head in an effort to deepen the kiss, her tongue sweeping across his own, her nose the side of his own. "I missed you too, daddy."

She could feel the way his title affected him, his cock hard and heavy against her own core. He used his hold on her as leverage to help grind her down against him, (Y/N) practically able to feel the ridge of his head and the pulse of his heart through the thin fabric of her shorts. His grey sweats left little to the imagination.

"Say it again."

Moaning into his mouth, a crease knitted her brows the further she sunk into the moment. This was her chance, she was vaguely aware of. She was so ready for him, she lacked those nerves that came with vulnerability and she doubted Harry would be self-conscious enough to deny any indulgence into his fantasies.

"Daddy," she moaned, leaning into him that much more.

Snaking a hand down his form, (Y/N) followed the line of his shoulder down to his forearm. She reached to grab at his wrist before guiding his hand down lower on her body. Harry pliantly let her move him until they reached the full of her ass, the plush skin denting under Harry's fingertips. She pressed back against him, encouraging him to grab and play with her just like he said he wanted.

Harry was all but melting between her thighs. His kissing was growing lax and heavy, his tongue playing with her own in languid strokes. His heartbeat was racing but there was no urgency in the way he handled her. He luxuriated in every touch, every stroke, every grab.

It didn't take long for him to bring his other hand down to match the first, gripping her bottom in the span of his palms. Her skin felt flush everywhere he touched her, making it easy for her to push back against his hands and urge him to take the more he had been searching for.

"What's gotten into you?" he murmured, his voice heavy and watered down through the interrupting kisses. "Not that I don't like it, but you're being different, sweetheart."

To his credit, she was definitely going out of her way and initiating more, asking for more, doing more than she ever had before. She was always perfectly content with Harry calling the shots and sinking into that persona he felt comfortable in when it came to the bedroom. While she wasn't planning on taking that power from him tonight, she still had an end goal in mind that she was willing to guide him into meeting her at.

"Sorry," she answered, taking her lips to the corner of his mouth as they caught their breath, "I can stop. I just didn't realize how much I missed you, that's all."

"No, no, don't slow down," he urged her, pulling her flush against him with his hands on her ass, "Jus' want you to talk to me. What do you want? What do you want daddy to give you?"

Traveling down his neck, her lips never left his skin as she dragged a string of kisses over the slope of his throat. "I want to try something new," she whispered, hiding in his neck as she spoke.

"New?" he clarified, his voice vibrating through his throat, "What do you mean, hm?"

Was there a pretty way to phrase what she was going to ask for? (Y/N) wasn't sure, but she was going to try her best. As lusty as she was, she still was a little too shy for the more vulgar of phrases.

Instead, she pressed her bottom back against his palms, the ridges of his palms and the digits of his fingers could be felt through her sleepover shorts. "I want more of this," she told him, nose skimming his hairline with her eyes shuttered closed. "Inside."

All at once, clarity seemed to move into Harry.

Shifting his hold on her, one palm returned to the curve of her waist and the other landed on the back of her neck. He drew her away from her hiding place, forcing her to meet his gaze.

The lush green of his eyes had been depleted into something dark and foresty, a thin ring around a dilated pupil.

Fluttering her eyes in a blink, she dropped her gaze down to the swollen pillows of his lips. "Why'd you stop?"

A lopsided curve tugged at the corner of his lips. His hand on the back of her neck shifted until he was cradling her jaw in his palm, thumbing at dip under her chin. "Wanted to talk to you for a second, that's all."

Her heartbeat sped up in her chest, though no longer because of the lust she had feathering through her veins. "About what?"

Amusement flickered through his gaze. "About what y'jus' said to me."

Underneath her, Harry looked every bit the boy she had met in her physics course, the one that was too shy to meet her eyes and overly apologetic any time he had to scoot past her. He was the one that had tutored her through the toughest lectures and exams, willing to take his time and teach her things she wouldn’t have understood without him. She remembered him with flushed cheeks and chunky glasses, always warm under a heavy cardigan and a shy smile.

But, he wasn't acting like that boy. He was acting like the performer he was on screen. He was coaxing and teasing her, easing her into spilling her guts and cumming for him the second he requested as much. It wasn't fair; he was too cute, making her feel so safe to let go and be whatever she wanted to be, but entirely too hot to let her hand a clear head.

When she didn't answer, the cam performer continued, "Y'said y'wanted more of this, right?" He emphasized his question with the hand on her waist sliding down until he was warming the curve once more, fingers denting the soft flesh.

With a flutter of her lashes, (Y/N) gave a quiet nod of her head.

Harry hummed at her nonverbal answer. He tipped his chin and pressed a small kiss to her lips. It was a distraction as he led both his hands to sit on her bottom. This time, he made a point of sliding them under the hem of her shorts, skin to skin.

"What did y'mean by inside, flower?"

(Y/N) bought herself time by pressing another lingering kiss to his lips. There was that bashfulness rearing its head once more. She would have to tap into his confidence if he wanted her to be blunt.

"You know," she murmured as if that were a real answer.

"Do I?" he prodded, smiling into their kiss, "Because I think it sounds like y'want me to play with your cute little ass. Is that right?"

Her chest expanded with a shuddering breath. "Uh-huh."

Buttoning his mouth against hers one more time, he shared a quick kiss with her before pulling away. His pupils were still dilated and warm, but something was decidedly softer when his gaze met hers.

"Is that why y'seem so nervous, right now?"

(Y/N) clammed up at his words. He wasn't supposed to be so observant.

"I'm not nervous," she argued, her hands falling to the planes of his chest.

"Yes, you are," he countered, just as sweet as he smiled up at her, "And that's okay. I jus' want to know where your heads at. I didn't know y'ever wanted something like this."

She shrugged, dropping her eyes to where her hands rested on his chest. She could feel the hard muscle underneath the soft fabric of his top. "I only want to try it with you."

"Yeah?" he said, sounding a little too cocky to be safe, "And why y'didn't y'tell me before?"

Before she could think much better of it, the adrenaline and endorphins in her system doing their job, (Y/N) fired back, "Why didn't you tell me?"

She watched as Harry's brows creased at her words. "What do you mean, love?"

Floundering over her words, (Y/N) knew she couldn't stop here. She had already started, there was no way of stopping in the middle of it all. "I saw your stream the other night," she blurted out, getting it out of the way and off of her chest, "The one where you talked about this stuff."

Realization dawned on him then. "I didn't know y'were listening to that one."

"I was going to comment or say something so you knew I was there," she explained, "But I had come in halfway through and you were already talking, and I've just never heard you talk about wanting that before. I was... surprised."

"Bad surprised or good surprised?"

"Good surprised," she admitted, peeking at him through her lashes, "But, a little bit bad surprised because I had to hear about it through a stream and not from you."

Adjusting his hold on her, Harry held her with an arm looped around her middle with his other hand still warming her jaw. Hugging her to his chest, she had no choice but to look up at him and meet his eyes. "I wasn't trying to keep anything from you, you know."

"I know," she reasoned, understanding that part of his job was that it was an outlet for some of the more vulnerable things he hadn't admitted aloud yet, "But it sounded like you were talking about me, and when we talked later you said you were thinking about me while you were streaming. If I hadn't been watching, though, I still wouldn't have known."

He took in her every word, listening to what she had to say before speaking. "I don't want to push you too far, that's all. I like what we have—I like making love to you,"—the phrase always brought a smile to his face when he said it, especially when (Y/N) grew shy—"and I didn't want it to be any different."

Pursing her lips, (Y/N) attempted to understand what he was getting at. "So, you don't actually want to? It was just a stream thing?"

"Oh, no," Harry stopped her, a huff of his laughter fanning across her skin, "I definitely want to, trust me. I want you to want it too, and not jus' because y'feel like it would make me happy."

"I feel like we do a lot of things because we know it makes each other happy, though," she started, maneuvering her arms until they were looped around his neck with her fingers edging into his hairline on the nape of his neck, "I don't think that's a bad thing as long as we're both comfortable, right?"

"You do watch scary movies with me," he smiled, drawing a small breath of laughter out of her lungs, "But this is a little different, don't you think? I don't want to do anything with your body that you're not one hundred percent excited for. 'M only happy if you are too."

Rolling her lips between her teeth, she leaned into his hand on her jaw. "I am excited, though—I want to do this. I just wish you had told me first."

"Me too," he smiled, "Promise I wasn't trying to hide anything from you, I was only trying not to scare you."

"I know," she murmured, turning her face until she pressed her lips into a small kiss against his palm, "I'm not scared—you already promised you'd be gentle."

His grin widened at her reference to his stream, surely remembering his own fantasy in detail now that she was offering it up. "I did, didn't I?"

"Mhm," she hummed, using that hold she had around his neck to draw him nearer, "You said a lot of things."

"And, you liked it."

"I did," she confirmed, the tip of her nose grazing his, "You don't make it sound scary or gross, or anything?"

"Yeah?" he laughed, tipping his chin until he could press a tiny peck to her lips, "How do I make it sound?"

"Really hot," she admitted, "I forgot everything I studied about as soon as I started listening to you."

Harry gave a disapproving hum, teasing her. Resting the pad of his thumb against the full of her lips, he kept her from kissing him again, leaving her to listen as he spoke. "We'll have to work on that again later then, won't we? Go to the library again for some motivation?"

The reminder of the time they had gone to the library and Harry helped her through that mental block with his hand between her legs was enough to get her squirming in his lap once more. He had to know exactly where her mind had gone when she saw his grin stretch his dimpled cheeks.

"But, I should probably take care of you now," he mused, finally slipping his thumb from her lips as he smeared a kiss across her pout. "Y'deserve it for being so patient and talking to me about what you want."

"I do," she absently agreed, melting into him. She was willing to take whatever he would give.

(Y/N) indulged in the pillow of his lips, parting her mouth and taking the taste of him across her tongue. It was easy to slip back into that place with him, where her thoughts were wisps and her desires were candles lit aflame. His cock was still heavy in his lap, right where her core was resting with spread thighs, his lips still swollen, and skin still warm.

"I love you," he murmured on a breath, breaking away though he didn't stray too far from her with his forehead resting on hers, "Let's go to bed, sweetheart."

She let out a dreamy okay, following after him once he had her settled on her feet, back towards his bedroom. They didn't bother to close the door behind them, in too much of a rush before Harry was roughly handling her to be tossed amongst the folds in his bedding.

A bright peal of laughter fell from (Y/N)'s lips at the act, her eyes creasing and cheeks split wide. Harry climbed his bed with a matching smile, hovering over her.

"So pretty, you know that," he crooned, dropping a kiss on the apple of her cheek before he began his own pathway across her skin. He followed the soft planes of her face, grazing her eyelids and the bridge of her nose. (Y/N) couldn't help the soft breaths of laughter that followed the more affection he piled on her.

"You're pretty," she answered through her smile, placing her hands on his cheeks to keep him from straying too far once he finally rested on her lips.

A sly smile on his mouth kept her from getting a real kiss from him. He was bubbling up with something, she was sure.

"I know," he teased, "You think 'm pretty enough to play with your cute butt, so."

"Don't say it like that," she whined though her complaint held no grit through her toothy smile. She made a halfhearted attempt at pushing him away, though Harry stayed right where he was above her.

"Am I wrong? I seem to remember a certain conversation we had just a minute ago."

She didn't bother to answer him, instead smushing her lips against his in a silencing kiss. It was a bit off center, not quite matching up with her nose smushed against his cheek, but that didn't matter much to either of them. Harry happily fell into the contact without a single complaint.

Soon enough the silly kiss had melted into something serious, warm and languid. He laid heavily between her legs, his cock straining against his sweats with her loose shorts doing little to cover herself. His chest was pressed against hers, heartbeats side by side with every breath marked by the extra push of his blocky muscles against her breasts.

By the time her breath was taken from her lungs, Harry pulled away first. He skimmed his kiss-swollen lips over her skin until he was hovering by her ear. "Y'really want to try it out tonight?"

It didn't take a second thought before she was nodding her head.

"We'll go slow, (Y/N)," he cemented, pulling away to match her eyes intensely, "Jus' tell me to stop if you change your mind."

"I will," she answered, knowing he wouldn't move on until he had that verbal confirmation from her,

He gave her a pleased smile before he dipped down and pressed another small kiss to her lips. "Flip over for me, sweetheart."

The flames in her stomach pitched into a bonfire at his command. That had been exactly what she was picturing. Harry gave her space to roll onto her tummy, helping her move until she was on her knees with legs spread and cheek pressed against his pillow.

"This alright?" he checked in, dragging his warm hands down the backs of her thighs.

She nodded with a pleasant smile on her mouth. "This is how I pictured it," she murmured.

Harry's touch solidified at her words, less glancing fingertips and more weight on his palms as he caressed her skin and felt every inch of the plush fullness. "You pictured it?

Her ribcage practically rattled against her heartbeat as he started pulling down her shorts and panties. He helped her navigate pulling them off of her bent legs and ankles with the way her mind was too preoccupied. Why didn't she just show up naked? It would have made this so much easier.

"Uh-huh," she breathed, answering his question, "I-I wasn't sure what you had in mind, but I hoped it was like this."

Harry hummed, bending down to press a kiss to the small of her back. He pushed the hem of her loose shirt up, revealing more and more of her skin though they were both too in a rush to take the time to completely undress her. Soon enough, Harry's shirt joined her shorts and underwear on the floor, his sweats and boxing being all that clothed him for the moment.

"I have lots of ideas, sweetheart," he murmured, starting a path of planted kisses on the hills of her spine. "We'll only get through a couple today, but if y'like it, we can try so much more."

The promise that there was more he wanted to show her, more times that she would be wrapped in his sheets, more of him that she would accept without a doubt, was enough to get her pussy fluttering.

Going down the line, Harry started kissing over the globes of her bottom, delicate sweeps of his lips over the sensitive skin. She couldn't help the goosebumps that touched her skin, unfamiliar with the feeling of anything other than his strong hands skimming this part of her.

"Gonna eat you out first, okay, flower?" he crooned, his words fanning out across her skin, "We'll start there, and we'll see how you feel."

"Okay, Harry," she sighed, trusting him from where she lay with her cheek squished into the pillow and eyes fluttering to a close. The only thing she didn't love about this position: she couldn't see him.

A beat later, she could feel the warmth of his breath fan across her core. She tensed some at the surprise, feeling her insides squeeze knowing that he was that close. She only had enough time to register that exhale before the flat of his tongue was licking through her wetness. Her own breath was sucked out of her lungs at the first touch against her clit, her folds being spread wide open around the width of his tongue.

Sagging towards the bed, she arched her back that much more for him, presenting any and everything for him. Harry wrapped his hands around her thighs, palms warming the tops while his fingers wrapped around to the side insides and dented the delicate skin. His grip was steadying as he pointed the tip of his tongue and explored her opening, her walls pulsing.

An all too smug breath of laughter fell from his lips when he pulled away. "Feeling good, sweetheart? Tell me."

"So good, H," she bubbled immediately, no other thoughts attempting to take over at the moment.

"Who?" he pressed, his hands on her thighs tightening though he didn't dip back down to her pussy like she wanted.

"So good, daddy," she corrected, all but keening into him, hoping she gave the right answer and would feel more of him sliding through her folds and tasting her wetness.

"That's better, sweetheart," he praised her.

With that, Harry's tongue was once more slipping through her wetness. He smeared his tongue across her core, taking in everything she had to offer while leaving a mess behind, comprised of both her slick and his saliva. Wet sounds filtered through his bedroom, along with the heady breathing coming from her and the contented noises coming from Harry.

By the time (Y/N) had her slick covering her thighs, enough wetness to make her worry she was going to start dripping over his bed (though, seeing as how he enjoyed making her squirt, she doubted he would have minded), Harry began focusing his tongue over her pulsing entrance. More and more slick wept from her hole as he pointed the tip and slipped inside amongst her tight walls. She shuddered at the feeling, her breathing hitching as she attempted to bring in a deep breath.

Before she could even register that she was missing contact on her clit, his fingertips were pressing against the bud. Tight circles were drawn around the top of her slit, her legs beginning to shake now that there was so much moire to focus on but less room in her brain to spare. He kept his other hand steady on her thigh, keeping her from falling while simultaneously being her grounding anchor.

Her wetness dipped down his fingers, tainting his palm with a thin glimmer. Harry pulled away for a heartbeat, his breathing heavy. She could imagine the shine on his chin and nose, the flush to his cheeks, and the way he would be staring at her with intensity in his eyes. She could feel that heated gaze as his fingers trailed through her messy slit.

When he reached her hole, he lingered for only a second before he was skipping upwards. Though (Y/N) knew this was coming, she still felt her heart skip a beat, her breathing shatter as she waited with bated breath.

He brought his slick fingers to her second entrance. In an instant, (Y/N) felt herself tense up, the foreign feeling shocking her.

"'S alright, flower," Harry crooned to her, his words fanning across the rounded globes of her ass, "Jus' relax. 'S only me, and 'm going to be gentle, remember?"

"I remember, I remember," she muttered in a rambling blurt. Honestly, if she had been asked what exactly she was remembering at that moment, she wouldn't have been able to give a straight answer.

Working her through that initial shock, Harry circled his slick fingers around the puckered skin, delving his tongue back into her pussy to give her something familiarly fantastic to cling to. Her legs took as she took in the duo of feelings, her clit being laved over by his tongue with a part of her she never thought could be stimulated now pulling the breath from her lungs.

"Still feeling good, love?" he asked, drawing away for just long enough to ask before he was licking through her folds once more.

It didn't take a second thought before she was breathing out, "Uh-huh, uh-huh."

There was nothing else for her to say—especially if she wanted to sound coherent. Though it was still odd, the feeling of his wandering fingers, every pass of his fingertips over the tight opening had a pulse ringing through her insides. The flames in her stomach were tight and warm, coiling into a burn.

"I knew you'd like it, sweetheart," he mumbled against her pussy, "Told you I'd be gentle. Jus' wanna open you up a little for me to fit a finger in, is that okay?"

(Y/N) felt her eyes squeeze to a shut, creases knitting her brows together. "It's okay," she breathlessly answered, half-parroting his words back to him as that was all she could process in the moment.

A groan rumbled through Harry's chest, the sound vibrating over her core. "You want that? Want me to finger your tight little ass, love?"

Until Harry, those words would have turned her off, had her curling in on herself and ending whatever encounter had gone south, but hearing the vulgar request in his dulcet tone, rounded with lust, had both her entrances pulsing around nothing.

"Tell me you want it, sweetheart."

"I want it, daddy," she breathed out, a short whine cutting her off when he thumbed at her slick rim, trying to spread her open just like he said, "Please."

"You're doing so good, my love," he murmured, dropping a kiss to the sensitive crease just between her thigh and the slick spread of her core. "'M going to give you everything y'want. I jus' need you to relax."

Bringing her bottom lip between her teeth, (Y/N) sagged towards the mattress. She thought she had been relaxed, easing into everything and welcoming his touch. "I-I'm trying," she whined, "I thought I was doing good."

"You are, flower, I promise," he soothed her, another kiss to the slick skin, "Y'might be thinking about it too much, that's all. Y'need a distraction, don't you?"

(Y/N) didn't want to be distracted from a single touch he gave her, if she was being honest. She wanted to feel everything, know where his hands were, and find what she liked most. But, she supposed she might be too aware of every graze of his fingers, her body instinctively tensing and moving.

"I think you do, sweetheart," Harry continued when he didn't get a response.

The bed shifted behind her then, his hand stilling on her backside before she could feel his hips pressing against her ass. His thighs were lined up against her own with his hard cock sliding through the wetness of her folds.

A gasp fell from her lips, the tip of his heavy prick nudging her clit. She felt her insides pulse, including the already tight hole he was trying to work open. She keened back against him, slicking his shaft and the trimmed patch of hair at the base.

Smug laughter sounded behind her, Harry sounding much too pleased with himself and the reaction he could garner from her.

"Stay still for me, love," he instructed her, "'M gonna help you."

The steadying hand he had placed on her hip disappeared then, instead fisting at his cock before he was nudging the head into her entrance. Slick with both his saliva and every weep of her wetness, he slid in with no problems, a wet slap sounding once he bottomed out. (Y/N) reveled in the familiar feeling of fullness, completely spread wide open for his cock to push through her tight walls. She could feel the ridge of his head, the length of his veins, the slight curve that aimed him perfectly at the soft spot on her walls.

She would never be used to the depth he reached in her, remembering the way he had teased such a thing on a stream before they even knew one another. She had figured it was nothing more than fantasy talk back then, something to get his viewers going as well as feed into something Harry could cum to. Now, she knew that was all very much the truth, feeling the stretch in her own body as if he were nudging as deep as her stomach.

"Better, sweetheart?" he muttered, rearing his hips back before thrusting forward. He kept her on balance with his hand returning to her hip. Slick noises erupted around his cock as he sunk in, his hips slapping against her thighs.

The pads of his fingers circled her back entrance through his distraction, though her attention had trouble splitting between his heavy cock and the foreign touch. She could feel the way he did his best to gently spread her open, easing her into being able to take one of his thick fingers.

"B-Better, daddy," she cried, reaching blindly for this hand on her hip. She needed something gentle and familiar, she decided.

Harry welcomed her innocent touch, lacing their fingers together over the full of her hip together though her hold was decidedly looser given the monumental distractions she was going through.

"Good," he huffed, matching that of a particularly hard thrust he gave.

In that same moment, (Y/N) could feel the tip of one of his fingers slide inside her untouched opening. She gasped, mouth dropping open into a gape.

It was more startling than anything, the small intrusion causing her body to tense up.

"No, don't do that, sweetheart," Harry gently scolded her, keeping the pacing of his hips as he fucked her pussy, "Stay relaxed for me. You're doing so good, no need to be scared."

She wanted to listen to him, she really did, but she didn't know how to relax. All she could manage was closing her eyes, flexing her fingers around his own, and focusing on the familiar parts of his touch. She tried to right her breathing, fix the uneven shuddering and replace it with something steady and consistent.

"That's so much better, sweetheart," he cooed, dropping down to press a kiss to her shoulder, "Keep going, love. 'S jus' me."

While she didn't feel as if she were relaxing any considering how tightly wound her tummy was and the pulsing of her walls, she was happy to hear that she was easing up for him. Her efforts increased tenfold when that same slick finger pushed deeper inside of her, the knuckle of his digit catching before he could go further.

(Y/N) couldn't have prepared for how full she felt with his cock running through her walls and the small intrusion of his finger in her backside. The pace of her breathing she had tried to curate, the even intakes and exhales, was thrown out the window the second she allowed herself to take in the full breadth of that feeling.

She could feel him everywhere: the slap of his thighs against the back of her own, his hand in hers, his cock spreading her open, and his finger venturing into her ass for the first time.

There was no room in her head for anything but him; no wispy thoughts or anything that could form coherent words. She was drifting through his bedsheets as he did as he pleased with her.

With her attention only on him and he he felt, she could feel the twitch of his cock through her walls, everything stretched so tight around him. He barely stroked his finger through her back entrance, pulling it out the smallest amount before pushing back through. He was curating two opposing rhythms, leaving a part of him inside her at all times.

The thought had a broken moan leaving her lips.

"Fuck, you're so hot, baby," Harry muttered, the burn of his gaze trapped on her ass, "Gonna make me cum just from seeing my finger in your ass."

"I-I—" she floundered, unsure of where her mind was as well as the moisture in her throat, "I-I want—daddy."

A particularly harsh thrust was delivered, the bones of his hips pressing hard into her thighs. Another tiny bit of his finger sunk into her backside, enough to have (Y/N)'s back arching.

"What do you want from daddy, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice strained and thin. His composure was waning.

What did she want from him? What else could he give her that she wasn't already reveling in?

"C'mon, love," he coaxed, though his voice was decidedly harsher than she'd heard it before, "Don't go dumb on me yet. I still wanna hear my smart girl talk to me."

If he thought that would help clear her mind, he was sorely mistaken when she felt another gush of her wetness seep around his cock, her clit throbbing, and walls pulsing around everything inside. He could barely move his finger though the fact that she was aware it was inside was just as effective as feeling him slide through her virgin opening.

"Oh," he sighed, bottoming out with hard and fast thrusts against her, "You liked that, my love? I'll have to remember that, won't I?"

"Uh-huh, uh-huh." (Y/N) nodded her head with only half of her attention on what he was saying.

He pulsed his hand around her own, keeping her steady and with him. "We'll have to save that for next time though, sweetheart. I think you're about to cum with daddy, right?"

That was what she had wanted. The last thing he could give her was his release landing across the backs of her thighs. She could only blindly nod against the pillow, her hair sure to be a mess by the time she would actually start to care about anything other than her lust-filled body.

"I can't last much longer, love," Harry started, his words emphasized with the way he had to grit them out, "But, I need you to cum first. Wanna see you cum with your pussy and ass filled with me. Make me proud, sweetheart."

For (Y/N), time stopped right there. All that she was aware of was the man at her back and the perfect ribbon in her tummy that had unraveled in the most spectacular of fashion. Her mouth dropped open to a silent gape, nothing coming out given the fact she couldn't take any air in. Her head was cloudy and warm, matching the rest of her body. Points of clarity came in the form of Harry's hand on her hip, the tap of his balls against her clit, and the sharp unfamiliarity of the stretch of her second entrance.

That was the only reason she was aware of the fact he had pulled out. She mourned the loss of him inside her—in both places—until she felt him cum against her pussy, warm ropes sticking to her skin. The mess between her legs was now a perfect miss of the both of them, dripping down the inside of her thighs.

Aftershocks came in the form of lingering spurts from Harry, and (Y/N)'s walls pulsing around nothing. She couldn't be sure when she returned to the land of the living, but when the details of Harry's room came back into focus, she swore her vision was sharper. There was a joke about good sex there, something about Harry being her cure-all, but there was no way she could even attempt a tease at the moment.

She knew Harry was with her once more when he dropped down to press a set of kisses on the small of her back. His hands were on her hips, one still holding tightly to her own, while the other kept her steady as she began to lose her balance and sink towards his bed.

"You with me, (Y/N)?" he murmured against her skin, his voice gruff.

Flexing her fingers in his as a response, (Y/N) gave a small nod. "I'm here."

"Oh, love," he sighed, draping himself over her back, his lips pressing to the line of his jaw and soft of her cheek, "You did so good, I love you so much. Did that feel alright? I didn't hurt you right?"

"No, no, I felt really good," she breathed, a soft chord of laughter swaying out amongst her words, "I think I almost blacked out."

"Oh?" he sounded, his own peals of laughter following right after, "In a good way, right?"

Letting go of his hand, (Y/N) brought it up to pat at his cheek. "In a good way."

"Good," he crooned, pressing a gentle kiss to the palm of her hand before he started extracting himself from her. "I'm gonna get some things to clean us up, 'kay? Stay right here."

He must think he's so funny, she thought, but she didn't have it in her to play his back and forth at the moment. He could win this round.

By the time Harry returned with wet cloths and a pair of his shorts for her to borrow, all of the slick release coating her core and the inside of her thighs had cooled. It was an uncomfortable feeling that he took his time wiping away. He eased up around her sensitive spots, apologizing with kisses to the backs of her thighs and promises to be gentle.

"Did y'really like it, (Y/N)? Everything we did?" Harry asked after a moment, wiping down the insides of her thighs.

She bit at the full of her bottom lip, unsure of how to articulate what she had experienced. "It felt weird," she started, unable to find any other word to describe how she felt, "But, I liked it—a lot. I think it helped since it was you, and I love you, but it was... good."

"Jus' good? I thought y'said you almost blacked out?"

Blindly swatting behind her, she landed her hand in the soft swirls of his hair. She playfully pulled at the strands. "I'm too tired to play right now, stop," she laughed.

Her reprimanding hold of his hair turned into gentle carding through the curls as he took care of her. A beat passed, Harry finishing cleaning her up before he helped her into her borrowed shorts. Collapsing onto his bed, her back bouncing over the springs, she figured laundry, including the clothes on the floor, would have to wait for now.

Hovering above her, Harry looked to her with his clear green eyes—the same ones she had seen that first time in her physics class after he had taken a leap and took the seat beside her. She would be eternally grateful he had the confidence to do as much, otherwise she would have never learned just how many greens were in his irises.

"Really," he started out, voice gentle and quiet like a secret, "'M really happy y'felt good. It obviously worked very well on me too."

(Y/N)'s lips turned into an amused smile as she reached up and pushed back the flop of curls covering his forehead. "See, this is why you tell me things like this first—not the stream."

It was a lighthearted tease that had his mouth splitting into a smile, bunny teeth and dimples on display. He dropped his head to press an innocent kiss to the tip of her nose, though it wasn't quite as effective through his smile.

"I've definitely learned my lesson, flower," he murmured.

(Y/N) could only tip her chin and press her lips to his.

—————

this is.....very different SHFUSHFSUH thank u sm for reading, thank you to whoever requested, sorry for any mistakes and if theres any other ideas anyone else wants to see please send them in!

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xoluvx · 2 months ago

Note

Hiiiiii 🦋

I have a Miko request for you! Okay so purposely making her jealous by flirting with Benito (bad bunny) cause you know she's gonna give it to you goooood when she's pissed 🥵

oh my god hiiiii i am melting over this request. i only wish i could have both of them ... what a dreeeaaaam.

she watched as you leaned your body into him laughing. not your regular laugh. not the laugh she knew and loved. no, the little flirty laugh you used when you first started talking. she knew it well.

you shifted your weight tilting your head almost biting your lip as he said yet another thing that was apparently the funniest shit ever. you went so far as to tap his shoulder and he certainly wasn't backing away.

furrowing her brows, she watched. she was completely ignoring the conversation she'd been heavily involved in. licking her teeth, she pursed her lips and sneered. hands on her hips, she turned to the person she was talking to patting their shoulder excusing herself before making her way to you.

"ey," she said moving her head in a 'what's up' motion looking between your bodies.

"cuidado miko," benito chuckled shaking his head pointing at you.

miko gave him a tight line smile before turning to you. you swallowed standing straight glancing between the two bodies completely caught in your game. were you extremely turned on right now? yes. oh god yes. the look she was giving you was of pure lust and punishment.

"you thought that was funny?" she snarled in your ear holding your body. her fingers digging into your ribs. lips so close to your ear, your eyes were rolling to the back of your head picturing all the things she could do to you right now.

"answer nena," she growled biting your ear, fingers wrapping around your neck. she pushed up against your ass and you moaned letting your head fall back on her shoulder.

"n-no" you croaked feeling the pressure of her hand on your neck tighten for a moment. then her fingers loosened and she bent you over the bed. you gasped reaching your hands above your head as she hiked up your skirt.

she palmed your ass, bringing her hand down slapping it firmly. one. two. three times before soothing the sparking area. you fisted the sheets, stifling your moans as you bit your lower lip.

"i want to hear you, mami" she spoke bringing her hand down again. this time you whimpered so loud, your lips were plush against the sheets. teeth sunking into the fabric when you felt her fingers slide between your legs.

she maneuvered her arm under your body pulling your hips up, ass in the air. two fingers in your pussy. her free hand caressed your ass bringing it down firmly every free seconds. your mouth still full with the sheets tucked between your teeth.

"say my name," she instructed, three fingers in your pussy now pounding aggressively.

"m-" your mouth was dry. legs giving out. you felt her move, fingers still pumping. her lips on your back kissing over your clothes until she was at your ear.

"who owns you?" she whispered pressing her lips on your cheek maintaining a steady and delicious rate. you were clenching around her fingers as she hit your g spot. seeing stars as she snarled in your ear.

"say it," she teased biting your ear again.

"you. fuck-" you groaned and whimpered and moaned and pushed your hips back on her fingers trying to reach your high.

"yeah that's right," she laughed sinisterly placing her hand on the nape of your neck, raising your head so she could see your fucked out face. eyelids fluttering, lips parted, spitting moans and cries.

you were hers. she just needed to remind you.

#young miko #young miko blurb #young miko x reader #young miko x fem!reader #young miko x you #young miko x y/n #young miko request #young miko fanfiction #young miko fic #young miko imagine #young miko smut

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mediumgayitalian · 7 months ago

Text

part two

———

Getting outrun for seven miles by an eight year old is a uniquely humbling experience. Compactly humiliating, coincidentally, is being outrun by an eight year old while dragging along a bouquet large enough that it cannot be adequately contained with two hands and must therefore be carried between two people.

Lee is having something of an afternoon.

“It starts in seven minutes!” shouts Will, at least twelve solid yards ahead of them and running backwards. He does not appear even to be sweating. “Hurry!”

“Could not be hurrying more if I tried,” Lee wheezes.

(It’s not that Lee isn’t a good runner. He is. It’s that Will is freakishly fast, because he has dimples when he smiles and has endeared himself to the dryads, who have been teaching him how to sprint like the hopped up little Energizer Bunny he is. Michael has been calling him Soda Boy for ages, on account of how he so closely resembles a can of pop that has been vigorously shaken, which he hates. Remembering it brings Lee some peace.)

“Let’s go let’s go let’s go!”

Clamping his mouth shut in a desperate attempt to preserve energy, Lee surges forward. Michael matches him, having to run significantly faster to keep up with his long legs. Their panting forms a discordant melody of despair. Poetic.

When they stumble through the door, chests heaving, Lee considers collapsing to the ground and weeping for joy. He will never run again. If a monster chases him, he will simply fight or accept his fate. He has reached his quota.

But, for perhaps the first time in his life, there is no time for dramatics. The lobby is devoid of the massive crowds it held earlier, shadows eerie in their absence, and only the final tail end of a line shuffles through the stage doors.

Despite his internal vow, Lee sprints forward to catch up with them.

“Hold it,” says a man in a venue volunteer! vest, holding up a hand. He glances at them, resting his gaze on Will’s messy hair, Michael’s scuffed shoes, Lee’s wrinkled shirt, and pausing for quite a while on the giant bouquet. The narrowed eyes and thinned lips are familiar. Lee stiffens.

“Go on in,” the man says to the middle aged couple in front of them, who’s crease-free jackets read ‘Dance Mom’ and ‘Prop Team Dad’ respectively. He shoos them inside, complimenting the honest-to-Apollo corsage in the woman’s hand, chortling along to the man’s joke. The laughter drops from his face the second the couple is guided through the doors, and the man turns back to the three of them.

“The show,” he says, nose upturned, “has begun. I can’t let anyone else in lest they cause any…disturbances.”

“The show starts on three minutes and forty-seven seconds!” Will protests, sticking his watch in the man’s face. Completely oblivious to his murderous look, he continues, “Forty-six seconds! Forty-five! Time’s-a-tickin’, let us in!”

The man bares his teeth in a smile. “Regrettably, you are too late. You’ll have to wait for the intermission.”

Will blinks at him. He looks at Lee, at the doors, then back at the man.

“But…we’re on time. And if we come back later, we’ll miss my sister’s dance!”

The man shrugs. “This will be a valuable lesson, then.” He purses his lips, glancing again at the bouquet. “Perhaps be more prepared, next time.”

Will turns back to Lee and Michael, crestfallen. He swipes quickly under his eyes, squeezing his thumb into fists, but the tears well up anyway. “We’re going to miss it?”

Michael snarls. In one quick move he shoves the massive bouquet entirely into Lee’s arms, yanks Will by the shoulders to stand behind him, and gets right in the man’s face.

“You listen here, you slimy ratbag, you had no fuckin’ trouble letting those last scragglers in so you better clean up your act quick before I —”

A loud crashing noise makes them all jump, interrupting him. Nearly crushing the flowers, Lee whips towards the source of the sound. One of the competition banners has been yanked down, metal frame collapsing on the tile floor. Fastening screws rattle to a slow stop beside it.

“What the —”

Another banner crashes to the floor. This time, the little hands that tore it down are a touch too slow to dart away, a blonde head not quick enough to duck behind a corner.

“Hey!” the man shouts. Shoving Michael aside, and moving quicker than Lee can think to stop him, he sprints towards the corner Will disappeared behind. “Get back here! You can’t do that!”

Lee curses, trying to manoeuvre the flowers to see and run at the same time. Michael runs ahead of him, on the man’s heels, chanting shit shit shit shit under his breath. Lee’s brain takes the initiative to alternate, chanting fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck every time he takes a breath.

They’re going to get kicked out for sure. Diana is going to kill them and it’s going to be justified, because Lee is going to have to live with the noble look he knows Cass will have on when she realises they’re not there to watch. The shakey, practiced smile she’ll slap over the disappointment in her dark eyes.

Shit shit shit shit indeed.

“Lee! Michael! Over here!” whispers a voice. Lee whirls around to face it — boy does he ever feel like a puppet on a stick right now — and, for the second time in as many minutes, feels his head pound at the disorienting frenzy of emotions that bubble up when he sees his baby brother’s face. Will stands half inside a doorway Lee hadn’t noticed on the way in, tucked in the shadow of a corner.

He is fast, holy shit.

“What the hell are you doing,” hisses Michael.

“Getting us inside! Hurry up!”

Lee doesn’t need further prompting, clock ticking in his brain. Gods, how long do they have left? Thirty seconds? Less?

“Most big theatres have sideline entrances,” Will explains after Michael helps shove the giant bouquet through the tiny door. He guides them, upright to their hunching, down a tight corridor. “They’re for performers to pop up in the audience without being seen. Mama and I race each other to find ‘em when she did shows.”

Lee had forgotten, for a moment, how much of his life Will has spent in and out of theatres, bars, stages. Naomi Solace has been growing more and more famous since…half of his life, at least. Lee remembers hearing about her four years ago, when she’d done a smaller show in Queens. A friend of his had gone.

Michael reaches out and tugs the mostly-undone ponytail he’d wrestled Will’s hair into that morning. “Good job, kid.”

He grins over his shoulder. “Thanks.”

They stumble into the darkened audience in the nick of time. The second Lee steps out of the cramped little corridor, dragging the stupid flowers (he is, in fact, regretting his choices at this point in time; when he has a free moment he will add this to the list of reasons he will be kicking his past self’s ass if the Hephaestus cabin successfully recreates DeLorean time machine) along with him, the stage lights come on. An announcer’s voice calls out, “Entry 109, Competitive Open Solo: Cass Hasapi.”

“Fuck,” Michael mutters. A quaint family of four gasps. He sneers at them. “Fuck, you see Diana?”

“No, is she maybe —”

“I think that’s her hair —”

“That person is way too tall, what are you —”

“I swear to the gods, I am going to kill you both,” whispers a beautifully familiar voice, and then Lee is being dragged. “Sit the hell down and shut the hell up. Will, baby, c’mere.”

Will climbs happily over the two empty seats, settling onto Diana’s lap and curling under her chin. He sticks his tongue out when Lee and Michael follow in behind him, struggling with the bouquet, muttering about favouritism.

“I’ve literally known you for six times longer than you’ve known him,” Michael mutters, sticking his tongue out right back. A grandmother with a severe bob whirls back and hushes him.

“Yeah, I’ve had all that time to get tired of your bullshit. Shut up.”

Before Michael can retort — Lee is sure he has an eloquent and devastating response, Lee has been helping him practice — soft piano drifts out from the speakers. A light turns on, pointed at the stage.

All four of them snap their mouths shut.

In the centre of the stage, Cass stands, poised. Her back is turned to the audience, arms extended above her and tilted to the right, as if reaching for the setting sun. Her hair, braided loosely back, brushes the edge of her thickly draping purple costume. Her knees are bent and locked and one bare foot sticks out like she’s trying to balance herself, like she’s mid fall.

A gravelly, male voice sings lowly along to the piano. How do you know which time might be the last? She moves along the dip of his voice, dragging her limbs through the rigid air. What I would give just to see you again? She moves with a swooping twist of her heels, twisting at the waist. Under the heat of the stage lights, her face contorts, forehead deeply wrinkled, mouth parted, breathing quickly. I’d walk to the depths of a world down below and demand to get back what some circumstance stole. She holds herself with such tension that Lee finds his own shoulders hiking up to his ears. Her chest moves rapidly, hands shaking, knees buckling. His breath goes stale in his lungs.

When the chorus starts, hard and heavy and sudden, I turned back one last time just to prove you were there, Cass hits the floor. He gasps with the rest of the audience, clutching the plush armrest, but it’s intentional, part of the dance. ‘Cause the last ray of sun made Eurydice cold. Collapsed on the floor, limbs bent, dress askew, she crawls, begging, towards the audience. Did she know? Did she know? Did she know? Did she know?

Cass does not move gracefully. She moves like a beached, gasping siren dragging herself back to the depths, like someone climbing out of a pit. Every movement looks heavy and painful. She looks at the audience and Lee is surging forward before he can stop himself, breath hitching, brain screaming: help her! help her! help her!

If I knew how it’d feel back then, I wouldn’t take another step.

Her body twists again, hair escaping her loose braid and sticking to her neck, her forehead. She claws at her throat like she’s suffocating, eyes accusing everyone watching like they’re holding her under. Each movement of her arms swell and sway on the beat, bare feet slapping the ground with every hit of the kettle drum. If you can see me it’s all in your head, but it feels real to me now, it felt real to me then.

Everything ends.

The piano fades out, the drums hit their last beat. All that’s left is the wretched guitar, taught like strings snapping, taught like the tense pull of her suspended muscles.

But I opened the door and went down the stairs; I turned back one last time to prove you were there.

As the last word fades, she drops. Not slowly, not evenly, but like whatever was holding her up crumbled to dust. Like she was shot. Her purple dress pools out around her like dark Hyacinth. She lays completely, entirely still.

The lights cut. The air in the audience goes heavy.

They come back on and no one says a word. Lee realises, as it drips onto his hands, that he is crying. Diana is, too, tear tracks too fresh to dry on her face, and Will is leaned forward so far he sways precariously. Michael��s hands are pressed harshly to his eyes.

Trancelike, Lee stands. All eyes snap, abruptly, towards him, but he ignores them. He looks straight across the rows of chairs and locks eyes with his sister, upright now, heaving, standing hesitant. She looks at him, and then beside him at Michael, and then at Will in Diana’s lap. They scramble quickly up next to him, and without any of them saying anything, they begin to cheer.

Cass’s face lights up.

With permission, much of the audience claps. No one stands as they do and as they continue hooting and hollering the claps fade quickly, replaced with stares and murmurs, but Cass still stands there, beaming, looking away and looking back like she can’t believe they’re there. That someone is there, that someone watched her, her, from beginning to end. A hand tugs on his sleeve.

“Can I sonic?” Will asks, raising his voice to be heard.

“Level four,” Lee allows.

He needs no further permission, grinning. He lets out a piercing whistle that makes everyone around them shout in alarm and Lee’s ears ring. But Cass laughs, loud and bright, so it’s worth it, and when Will looks at him in question he nods. The second whistle is definitely beyond a level four, but Lee doesn’t care. Cass looks the happiest he’s seen in a long time.

———

None of them care too much about staying for the other performances. But Cass has two more dances with her studio classes, spread out as they are, so Lee remains doomed to two hours of an aching ass and performances that come nowhere near Cass’s masterpiece. Will seems intrigued, though, by some of the pieces, so he grits his teeth and bares it. Besides, the rolled eyes he shares with Diana and Michael every time someone does something exceedingly cliche or tries and fails at depth (someone, often, being one of Cass’s teammates, shocker) makes it somewhat worth it.

By the time the judges call the last entry, though, Lee is ready to book it out of there.

The lights come back on and pop music plays through the speakers as dancers, in track suits over their costumes, congregate on the stage. Lee stands and stretches, letting Will stand on his shoulders and jump off into Michael’s arms to get some of his energy out. (And, also, ‘cause tossing a small child between them is fun. Diana jogs into the aisle so they can throw farther, but they all decide against it when a security guard glances over.)

After what feels like eight million years, the judges finally lumber over to the stage. The building voices hush as they climb the steps, standing in front of the gathered studios with cabled mics and stacks of foreboding envelopes.

“Welcome, dancers and families,” starts one judge.

She blabs on for several minutes about what an honour it was to judge and how wonderful everyone was. Blah, blah, blah. Lee spaces out about the time Diana’s eyes glaze over, and he looks instead to the gathered stage, observing. There are five different studios that he can see, each with about forty to fifty dancers. Mostly young women. They sit tangled together, legs on legs, arms around shoulders, feet tucked under thighs. Cass, he notices, sits on her own, at the very back of the stage. She sits straight-backed and proud, though. Chin lifted, braid resting over her shoulder.

Impossible to miss.

Two of her group dances win Diamond (Diana explains to them that this is Very Good. She thinks). Most others do not get this honour. Lee notices especially the older couple to their left looking quite sour. The glee he feels is indescribable.

“The winner for our open solo, for all age groups, was actually unanimous. It’s been a while since that happened!”

A girl near the front of the stage, who Lee recognises as the one to make a cruel joke about Cass’ mother, preens. Her solo was boring as hell. He’s not sure what she’s so smug about.

“With a score of 97.6, congratulations to Entry 109, Cass Hasapi!”

The four of them scream like lunatics.

They don’t even wait for scattered applause. Each one of them clambers up on the pristine chairs, covering them with scuff marks, and yell at the top of their lungs, jumping and cheering like chimps in a cage. Cass goes red, but she can’t hide her smile as she stands and accepts her award, grinning over at them. Michael holds up his camera and snaps a photo of her, pink-cheeked and wild-haired, glowing.

———

“Cass!”

Will sees her before the rest of them, sprinting towards the changeroom doors at top speeds and leaping up into her arms. She catches him easily, spinning them both around, pressing a thousand kisses to his hair and face.

“Hello, my darling! Hello hello hello!” Every word is punctuations with a kiss, or rather a press of her wide smile to anywhere she can reach. In seconds his cheeks are stained with her lipstick. “Oh, it has been weeks, darling boy, I missed you!”

Will clings to her sweater, face buried in the crook of her neck. She holds him just as tightly.

(Will has seen Cass more than Lee, in the past few months. He knows she’s made a few sudden trips to camp. But he also knows that she was the first one to welcome him into camp, the day his mother dropped him off, and when he was claimed she was the first to bring him home. She loves to tote him around, too, to have him trail after her for cabin inspections, holding the clipboard, or paint his nails when she’s bored. He misses her something fierce in the winters. She holds on tightly when she comes back home.)

Squeezing him one last time, she turns to the rest of them. Despite her wide smile, her mascara runs.

“You came,” she says, voice wobbling.

Michael clears his throat. “No shit.”

His voice wobbles, too.

“Come here, you goober.”

He’s the next to cling to her, inserting himself under her arm. She presses a kiss to his temple and he pinches her ribs, complaining, getting louder when she digs a knuckle into his hair. Diana jogs up and separates them, as she always does, flicking Michael on the forehead and pressing a kiss to her sister’s cheek.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispers, squeezing her hand.

Cass’s tears spill over again. “Thank you.”

Lee clears his throat. He feels, suddenly, like a doofus, holding a bouquet of flowers the size of him, but Cass looks at them and grins again, chuckling.

“You sell your kidney for that or what?”

Lee snorts. “No, we exchanged Will. This is a clone.”

“Did not!”

Lee blows a raspberry. “Did too. Clone.”

“I’m not a clone! I’m me!”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Ya-huh!”

“Alright,” Cass interrupts, rolling her eyes fondly. She kisses the tip of Will’s nose again and sets him down, turning towards Lee, hands outstretched dramatically. “Hand me my dues.”

Because she is, at the core of her, a true daughter of Apollo, even though the amount of poise and grace that bleeds from her at any given time contradicts almost directly with the guy who beams Pocketful of Sunshine directly into their brains at five in the morning every single day without fail, she kneels with a flourish. Because Lee is, at the core of him, also a child of Apollo, he goes unquestioningly along with the bit, pulling out one of the flowers to knight her before resting the entire bouquet in her arms. She has to hold it with both hands.

“You guys are ridiculous,” she says, grinning.

“They are ridiculous,” Diana stresses. “Dumbasses were damn near late getting this for you. They already had flowers, mind you. They’re just dumb.”

Will holds up his hand with his watch. “I kept us from being late!”

Diana squishes his cheek. “Thank you, sweetpea. You’re already smarter than your brothers combined.”

“Stick out your tongue again and I’ll grab it, you little snitch,” Lee warns.

Will, darting to hide behind Diana, does not heed his warning. Because he’s a little shit. bc

The walk out of the building in a gaggle of movement. As other dancers and their families walk by, glowering at Cass’ flowers and at Cass in general, Lee makes a point to catch their eyes. To smirk. To let them know, without saying a word — you were wrong. Of course you were wrong. Look at how she’s better than your bitter ass without even trying.

It warms him inside, truly.

“I’m thinking,” Diana says, walking back to the car, “that we stop at Dairy Queen on the way home. On Michael’s dollar. Will, look real excited so Michael can’t say no.”

“I am excited,” Will says, turning to face him, “so that’s real easy.”

Michael sighs. He taps his foot on the pavement, glaring. He sighs again. “You’re getting s plain cone and that’s that. You understand me?”

Will takes that as code for ‘begin negotiating’. Diana joins him, the two of them chasing Michael to the car, yelling about Blizzards and sundaes. Cass falls into step next to Lee, adjusting the flowers.

“So,” she says, shooting him a small smile.

“So,” he intones.

“Diana told me you snuck the boys out of camp.”

“…Yes.”

“Organised the whole trip, basically.”

“It wasn’t hard. I just told Michael to pack his shit and he listened, for once. So.”

“Lee.” She waits for him to open the trunk, letting him stuff the ridiculous flowers inside before facing him, grabbing his hands and squeezing. “Thank you.”

“I don’t —”

He swallows past the lump in his throat. How can he say it? How can he tell her about being fourteen and older than half the unclaimed kids in Hermes, still reeling over camp as a whole, and the fear that had dissipated from his chest when she stood in front of camp and said, firmly, he’s ours? About the hours she spent listening to him ramble about Pokémon, learning the game for him, mailing him cards she finds around? About the letters she sends him every week without fail, even though she’s swamped with her own shit, because she remembers the night he cried, months and years of being weird and lonely and unlike anyone else he knew? How can he explain the bubbling in his chest, the ache for her, because of her?

“Of course, Cass.”

She opens her arms and he falls into them, forehead on her shoulder, arms tight around her waist. She grips around his back, pressing a kiss to his hair. His throat is dry, choking back the thickness of his tears.

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Lee.”

#AND WERE DONE #AND ITS FIVE THIRTY IN THE MORNING FUCK #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #hoo #heroes of olympus #lee fletcher #will solace #michael yew #diana mckinney #cass hasapi #cabin seven #my writing #fic #longpost #song is orpheus by vincent lima btw #pjo hoo toa

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nastybuckybarnes · 1 year ago

Text

Training Wheels - Extra

Pairing: Dark!Step-Brother!Steve Rogers X Innocent!Reader

Summary: Your stepbrother would do anything for you. And he’s more than happy to prove that over and over and over again until you believe him. No matter what it takes.

Warnings: Language, Dark Themes, Age Gap, Angst, Kinda Fluff,

Word Count: >1K

A/n: I wrote this forever ago but never posted it so here’s a little extra piece for training wheels. The first parts can be found below. I’ve got two other things queued up to be posted that I might just fire off right away for shits and gigs but who knows!

Part One Part Two Part Three

!!!!THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT! 18+ READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!

~*~

The line rings for a moment before connecting, a heavy breath filling the silence before- “Hi, Bunny.”

Your insides melt, bottom lip wobbling as you look through the thick glass to those endless blue eyes that you’ve fallen in love with.

“Hi, Steve.”

He smiles softly, his eyes devouring your features.

You haven’t changed at all since he last saw you.

Well, you look more tired, and your face is the tiniest bit rounder, but other than that you’re the same. And just as beautiful as ever.

“How’re you doing, sweet girl?”

You swallow hard, fighting tears as you sigh.

“I’m okay. I... I miss you.”

He nods, knowing the feeling all too well.

“I miss you too, honey. But I’ll be out soon, okay?”

You nod, biting your bottom lip for a moment.

“My mom doesn’t want me to come visit you anymore, says you’re dangerous. I tried convincing her but she doesn’t wanna hear it. Your dad drove me here though, he said he’s glad you have me.” Your eyes stay trained on his, sadness filling them.

“I miss you,” you repeat, tears filling your eyes.

He sighs, placing his hand against the thick glass separating the two of you. You lift your own hand, squeezing your eyes shut and wishing you could feel his warmth.

“Hey, look at me, Bunny.”

It takes you a moment, but you do, your eyes meeting his.

“I’m gonna be out of here soon, pretty girl. Then we’ll be back together again. I’ll build us a nice house and your mom won’t have any say in it, okay?”

You nod, taking a deep breath.

“I-” A hand falls on your shoulder and you jump, turning to look at the person.

“Time to go, girly.”

You grind your teeth but nod at the security guard, turning back to look at Steve.

“I love you, Steve,” you whisper into the phone.

His eyes soften and he gives you a soft smile.

“I love you too, Bunny.”

You hang up, eyes lingering on his for a moment longer before you’re being ushered out of the building.

~*~

You shut the door to your apartment with a sigh.

It’s been a long day.

You peel off your shoes then head towards the couch, freezing in your tracks when you see a figure standing by the TV.

“Hey, Bunny.”

Your heart races in your chest, throat constricting and hand fluttering down to your stomach.

Steve.

He turns to you with a smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I thought you weren’t getting out for another six months!” You exclaim softly.

“Got out early. Of course, I would’ve told you that, but you stopped coming to see me.” His eyes get dark, borderline hostile, and you swallow hard.

“I... Mom kicked me out when I tried to see you. When... when she found out. Bucky and Nat helped me find this place and I've been trying to save up money for when you got out.”

His brows pull together and he takes a step towards you slowly, not wanting to scare you after all this time.

“Honey, you didn’t need to stop coming when she kicked you out.”

You sniffle, a stray tear sliding down your face.

You did.

He couldn’t find out. Not while in prison. He would’ve fought tooth and nail to get out and that would’ve only kept him from you for longer.

“I... Steve I...”

His eyes devour your figure, zeroing in on where your hand is protectively on your belly.

“Bunny...” His eyes flash up to your face then back down to your bump.

You only nod.

“You... is that why you stopped coming? Why your mom really kicked you out?”

You nod again, sniffling and scrubbing a tear off of your cheek.

“I-I didn’t wanna tell you ‘till you got out. But...”

He’s got you in his arms in the next second, lips pressed against your forehead as he whispers soft little words of reassurance.

“It’s gonna be okay, Bunny, I promise. M’gonna take care of you and our little one in here.”

He pulls back a bit, eyes on your protruding belly.

“You look so pretty like this, Bunny. All nice and knocked up. Got my baby growing inside you. Can't wait for you to have my baby, Bunny. Then m’gonna fuck another one into you.”

You whine, tilting your head back to look up at him, and he finally, finally, closes the distance.

His lips find yours after seven months of no contact.

Seven long, torturous months.

But now you’re here in his arms and he’s here in yours.

He’s not letting you go. Not again.

#Steve Rogers x reader #dark!Steve Rogers x reader #step brother au #step siblings au #Steve Rogers x reader dark fic #w:dark fic #dark fic #Steve x reader dark au #stepbrother!Steve x reader #training wheels #nastybuckybarnes

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rodolfoparras · 1 year ago

Note

if any of this makes you uncomfortable feel free to ignore it, you’re comfort comes first

I’ve been seeing so many male character x bunny hybrid readers and don’t get me wrong, I love a good hybrid reader cuz they’re either really hot or really funny to think of.

Butt every time one is written, it’s always ‘Bunny reader is bottom and small, petite little man/woman that gets railed’

How about a dominant hybrid bunny reader?? Like imagine just fucking Price till his legs are shaky and he’s begging for you to slow down. The bunny traits giving you strong, well built thighs and legs which helps to fuck him so roughly.

Barely giving him a break between climaxes as his ass gets sore and numb from being fucked for so long. Using his pretty ass as you bend him over any surface, barely able to hold back.

Being able to go multiple rounds and recover quickly, so horny for that old man. Sometimes just straight up dry-humping him. Even in the kitchen on base, where anyone could walk in and see their beloved captain getting his ass humped by his horny boyfriend

I’m so normal about this <3

This is my first time attempting to write about hybrids/ shifters even though I love reading about them but anyway I present to you bunny shifter male reader and bear shifter price !

Thinking about Price being an unmated bear shifter and no matter what he does he can never find an appropriate partner for him.

Every partner he’s ever encountered had expected him to be the dominant one in bed and to be completely honest Price had been more interested in being dominated himself.

That’s why, despite his old age, Price had stayed unmated, had even accepted his fate to be unmated all the way to his grave.

However that mindset quickly changed when he set his eyes on you. Because of his big shifter form there were rarely times when he felt like he was in danger, but there was something different about you, something that evoked an instinct to flee, and in the same breath made him want to get closer to you.

Logically Price knew you wouldn’t actually hurt him, hell the two of you are so close people tend to ask if the two of you are mated.

But something about your watchful gaze lit a fire inside of him while simultaneously urging him to run away, something about your touch made him feel like he was stuck in your grasp while every cell in his body was pushing him to get impossibly closer and something about your words made his insides purr while also urging him to bury his teeth into your neck.

Despite the instincts you awoke inside him, he never tried to initiate anything. The two of you were colleagues and anything past that would be deemed as inappropriate.

However the line seemed to blur one night after a successful mission, when one too many drinks had entered Price’s system and instead of hanging out with 141 he had ended up standing in a corner with you, talking no -flirting.

Because it had started off as talking, brief comments made about the mission, a pat on the back for a job well done until your fingers seemed to clammer onto his shoulder and your tone turned much lower as the conversation switched to discussing the different shifters on the team.

Soap is suited as a wolf shifter, according to you, because he acts like an overgrown puppy.

Gaz is suited as a lion, for his dedication and loyalty to those close to him.

Ghost is suited well as a lynx for his elusive nature.

However when it came to discussing Price, you paused for a moment, before looking at him with a small smile.

“And you captain? What kind of shifter are you?” You ask because at the end of the day you don’t know what type of shifter he is and he doesn’t know what type of shifter you are either.

Price feels himself tense, before he clears his throat and awkwardly shuffles in place.

“Bear shifter” Price says while closely eyeing your reaction.

Many times when he’d revealed his true form, people’s view on him had changed, quickly regarding him as the more superior of the two and therefore ruining any potential of forming a relationship with him.

But you did none of that, instead you seemed more intrigued with this reveal.

“Bear shifter?” You say, the smile growing bigger on your face while eyeing the group of rowdy men standing a couple of feet away . “Suits you” is all you say before you turn your gaze back to the older man.

“Yeah? Why?” Price says, feeling heat creep up his neck, ears and cheeks, slightly fearing what you’ll say about him but also feeling intrigued.

“You are very gentle and tolerant with those you love”

His eyes widen in surprise, brows almost dipping past his hairline as a soft gasp escapes his lips.

“You don’t find me intimidating?” He says almost in a whisper.

“Do you want me to think that?” You say in a playful tone while raising a brow at the older man.

“No” he says, so quickly , a chuckle escapes your lips before you turn your gaze back to the rowdy group of men steadily drinking themselves half to death.

“So what are you then?” Price says after a moment of silence passes as he too now watches the group of men.

“Guess”

“Something of the feline sort?” He says, recalling then many times he’s seen your sharp smile.

“Nope” you say with a big smile on your face, showing off the very same sharp teeth that seem ingrained into his memory.

“A reptile?” He says, thinking of the vivid color that usually paints your irises.

“Mm not quite right” you say, now turning to him, chest flush against his as you crowd him up against the wall. “Let me give you a hint” you whisper in his ear and he feels goosebumps rise across his skin, gaze still trailed on the men in front of him who seem none than wiser to what’s happening “We’re said to have a high sex drive and many of us are much fast and way stronger compared to most feline shifters”

Recognition paints his face as a gasp slip past his lips. “A bunny shifter “

When he hears the sound of your chuckle he realizes just how ridiculous his reaction must’ve been and he feels the heat creeping back into his face as he apologizes profusely. “I apologize I-“

“It’s okay” you say, still chuckling “ You’re not the first one to react like this but you don’t think I’m weak because I’m a bunny shifter, do you captain?” You say amusement stripped from your tone and voice sounding much sharper.

“You want me to think so?” He says, voice breathy and strained repeating your words from earlier with a small smirk on his face

“No “ you say before you lightly nibble on his ear, hearing another gasp tumble past his lips

“You know what I want though?” You say, pushing away from him a bit to meet his gaze with your colorful irises and a sharp smile on your face.

Price swallows hard, feels himself shift in place, cock stirring in his pants as he eagerly awaits what you’re about to say.

“I want you to run.”

“What?” Price says, face pinched in confusion.

“I want you to run”

The confused look disappears from his face as Price realizes what you’re really saying.

You want to chase him.

You want to catch him

For the first time in his life someone wants to court him.

And it doesn’t take much before he’s slipping out your grip and running out the bar like his life depended on it, all while your laugh echoes behind him.

#thank u for ur patience angel mwah #alec answers #call of duty #john price #john price x reader #john price x male reader #captain john price #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #dom male reader #sub male character

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coldfanbou · 2 years ago

Text

Bunny Breeder

Bunny time. The story of a young man getting a gift from his girlfriend and long-time friend.

Length 2.3K

Nayeon x Eunha x M reader

Next Part

You're sitting in the park on Eunha's lap. Her firm but soft thighs are the perfect pillows as she runs her hands through her hair. You're both waiting for your friend Nayeon. "Do you think she'll be here any time soon?" You ask before a yawn escapes you. A soft pair of lips press against your forehead.

"I'm sure she'll be here soon. It's your birthday, after all. I even made sure she wouldn't forget the time." Eunha replies. As you look at Eunha, you see her big smile, her front teeth are slightly larger than the rest, making her look a bit like a rabbit. It was the same case as Nayeon, but hers were more pronounced. You close your eyes and rest; turning toward Eunha, you kiss her thighs. This makes her giggle. "Stop that; it tickles."

"But your legs are so nice; they're perfect for this." You kiss her thighs again.

Eunha laughs again. "Can't you stop? We're out in public." You shake your head and face down on her thighs, rubbing yourself against them.

"You really can't wait for me to show up?" A new voice says as the person smacks the back of your head.

When you look at them, you see Nayeon standing over you. "Nayeon! You're late." Eunha says. You get off Eunha and help her up. You both hug Nayeon, "I told you to be here at five on the dot."

"Yeah, Eunha told you to be here at five." You repeat.

"Well, I had to pick something up," Nayeon says, dismissing your criticism. She holds a large bag in her left hand, lifting it up as proof. "Anyway, should we go back to your place now or?"

"We're going to eat," Eunha says.

"What are we eating?"

Eunha raises her hands above her head and excitedly says, "Hamburgers, yay!"

"Eunha really wanted burgers." You explain to Nayeon. She nods knowingly, and the three of you go to a burger shop.

As you're eating, Nayeon looks at you, "So, are you excited for your gift?" You simply nod as you continue to eat. "Any thoughts as to what it could be?"

Eunha lightly smacks Nayeon's shoulder, "Don't give him any hints!" She exclaims. "It’s going to be a surprise."

"What is it?" You ask.

The two women glance at each other before Eunha speaks up. "It's something you've always wanted." That doesn't help you narrow things down whatsoever. You consider what it could be for a moment. The three of you continue to chat while you eat. Once that's done, you all start the trip home.

"So, are you sure you can't tell me my gift?"

"No, you'll find out soon enough," Eunha says. "But I know you'll love it." The girls talk in hushed whispers in the back as you drive. You can't make out whatever they're saying, but their occasional giggles make you more curious. "You'll have to wait in the living room and wait for us to call you, okay?" Eunha asks, in the first comment she's directed toward you in a while.

You nod in response. "Okay, I will." When you arrive home, the girls rush past you and head inside while you take your time.

You sit on the sofa, waiting for the girls to come out. Your mind runs through the possibilities; there was never much you wanted. You also have yet to tell Eunha about things you did want. "Are you ready?" You hear being said in unison from your bedroom.

"I'm ready." You shout back to them.

"Are you sure?" Nayeon asks.

"Yes, I'm ready." A moment goes by before Eunha and Nayeon walk out; as they stroll into your eyesight, your cock immediately starts to rise. Eunha and Nayeon are both wearing reverse bunny suits. You look at Nayeon first; her suit is a light blue. Long sleeves run down the length of her arms with cuffs at her wrist. A small bow tie around her neck is all that covers her torso, besides small pasties that cover Nayeon's nipples. They're heart-shaped, and as your eyes take in every part of her smooth pale skin, you eventually reach her nether region. Another heart blocks your line of sight as it covers her cunt. Boots that cover the entirety of her legs just show off how long they are. You nearly drool as you stare at her. Nayeon blushes but doesn't cover herself up, instead leaning forward while winking. Her small breasts became even more tantalizing.

Eunha is wearing the same style, except instead of a bow tie, she has a regular one that runs between her breasts. Her pink suit looks good on her, especially when she turns around. Her shapely bottom jiggles as she purposely bounces up and down. "Do you like your gift?" She asks with a huge smile.

"I think he does," Nayeon says, pointing at your growing bulge. "I think we should help him with it." Eunha agrees, and the two women kneel before you. They work together to pull off your pants. "I think you should go first; he is your boyfriend," Nayeon says.

"Thanks," Eunha responds before pulling on the waistband of your underwear. Once your cock is free, Nayeon can't help but stare at it. Eunha immediately gets to work stroking your shaft.

"Wow, he's huge," Nayeon says. "You take this regularly?" She asks in amazement, and slight confusion. Eunha laughs and nods. Her slow rhythmic strokes make you moan, and Nayeon watches on. Eunha presses her smooth lips to the tip of your cock, kissing it before taking small licks. It makes your cock twitch in her hands.

"You should help too, Nayeon."

"Right." Nayeon looks almost intimidated by your cock as she starts suckling your balls. You tilt your head back and moan. You're in heaven as Eunha plays with your cock, and Nayeon swirls her tongue around your balls. You place your hands on their heads as you praise them.

Eunha begins to gobble more of your cock, getting half of it in her mouth. Her lips are stretched around your shaft as she uses her tongue to rub the head of your cock. Your grip on her head grows stronger as you struggle to stop from climaxing. Eunha feels your cock throbbing in her mouth and pushes herself to take more in. Her mouth works like a vacuum as she sucks the life out of you. "Fuck, I'm going to cum." Eunha uses her tongue, swirling it around your shaft as you cum. Semen spills into her mouth, and she drinks it all. Nayeon watches Eunha, amazed she could do so with no problem. Eunha pulls away from you, leaving your cock with a pop. She opens her mouth to show you some cum still on her tongue. Turning to Nayeon, Eunha kisses her sharing your cum with her. Nayeon, shocked at first, welcomes the salty liquid being given to her. Eunha begins playing with Nayeon's tits; her fingers find the edges of the pasties and tear them off. Nayeon moans as she feels the sting from them being ripped out. Your cock stiffens, watching your girlfriend toy with your mutual friend.

Getting off the couch, you get between Nayeon's squirming legs, spreading them apart. You take off the barrier between you and her pussy. Nayeon's already wet, her juices making her slit glisten as you start eating her out. Your tongue traces her folds, outlining them. Nayeon's muffled moans are loud despite Eunha kissing her. As your tongue pushes past Nayeon's lips into her pussy her legs wrap around your head. She moves her hips to grind against your face as you try to hold her still. "More. More!" Nayeon's moans are unfettered as Eunha attaches her mouth to one of her nipples. Eunha's skillful tongue flicks the small nub while her fingers tug at Nayeon's other nipple.

While that is going on you, spread Nayeon's folds to get a better look at the pink flesh before you. You take a long lick of Nayeon's cunt. Her legs tighten around you as you begin to flick her clit. "No, wait! I'm going to cum." Both you and Eunha continue pleasuring Nayeon, forcing her to orgasm. Nayeon's hips buck upward as she cums, and you drink as much of her nectar as possible. Eunha giggled, watching her friend cum, the ecstasy on Nayeon's face made it known she enjoyed it. Nayeon's mouth hung wide open, her bunny teeth showing themselves while her tongue hung outside.

You're not able to contain yourself any longer. Cock in hand, you rub it between Nayeon's puffy lips, coating it in her nectar. Eunha watches you with a smile. "Go ahead, baby, use your gift." You press your cock against Nayeon's pussy and start to push inside. Nayeon stirs as she feels your cock begin to split her in two. She screams, feeling your cock go deeper into her. You moan Nayeon's name as her walls tightly clutch your cock. It's nearly impossible to push in deeper, but her pussy also refuses to let you go. You hold onto Nayeon's legs, keeping them spread as you finish burying your cock inside her. You revel in the feeling of your cock being squeezed by her pussy, her warm and wet walls hugging you. Nayeon's screams of pain soon turn to screams of pleasure as she adjusts to your size.

Eunha, deciding she wanted to feel good too, strips off the pasty covering her pussy and sits on Nayeon's face. The older woman automatically begins eating Eunha out, driving her tongue deep into your girlfriend. You thrust into Nayeon, and each time using tremendous strength, she moans into Eunha's pussy. Eunha cups your cheek, kissing you as you fuck Nayeon. You pull at Eunha's pasties, eventually getting them off. Using your fingernail to circle her nipple, you tease Eunha. She moans from the tingling sensation in combination with Nayeon's tongue lapping at her cunt. Your thrusts grow frantic as you feel a tightening in your balls. Nayeon wraps her legs around you, feeling that you were going to cum soon. "Eunha, I'm going to cum."

Eunha places her hand under your chin and lifts it up, "That’s okay baby, cum inside her. She wants it." You don't question Eunha, kissing her while you impale Nayeon with your final thrust. Your semen pours into her, filling her to the brim. Nayeon's pussy milks you as she cums too. You slowly pull out of Nayeon and look at your handy work. Your cum pours onto the floor. When Eunha climbs off Nayeon, you can see her eyes have rolled into the back of her head, and she's mumbling something. Eunha has you sit on the couch as she climbs on top of you. "It’s my turn now, baby." She places her hands on your chest, her fingers circling your nipples. "I want you to pump me full of your hot sticky cum. I am your present, too, after all."

You capture Eunha's lips, "of course, Eunha. I'll give you everything I have." She gives you a soft smile as she drops down on your cock. Your cum and Nayeon's nectar make it easy for Eunha to take your cock. She coos, feeling it knock against her womb. Eunha's pussy caresses every part of your cock as it gently holds you. You lean down, taking Eunha's nipple into your mouth, and your tongue swirls around the small nub as you suckle on her tit. The young woman moans, her hands gripping your shoulders as she cums prematurely. Despite that, she keeps riding you. Eunha's tightening pussy makes you moan as it tries to milk you. Holding onto her hips, you start thrusting while bucking your hips. Your cock slams into her, and Eunha digs her nails into your skin. Eunha's tits bounce because of the quick pace; she grimaces as the pleasure overcomes her.

"I'm cumming again!" Eunha shouts, being overstimulated. You feel her walls clamp down on your cock as she cums again. This time it pushes you over the edge.

"I'm cumming too!" You yell as you bury your cock inside Eunha and flood her womb with your cum. Eunha bounces a few more times on your cock before sinking down on it tired. You feel a wet sensation on your balls when you realize Nayeon is lapping at your balls and the base of your cock.

"Did you like your presents?" Nayeon asks you.

"Yeah, it was great." You reply, tired from your orgasms.

"Carry me to bed," Eunha says, still holding onto you. You stand up and carry her to bed before returning to Nayeon, placing her on your other side. They lay on either side of you. "I hope you know today wasn't a safe day, baby."

"It’s not safe for me either," Nayeon adds before you all pass out.

A few weeks later, Eunha and Nayeon are sitting in the living room when you return from work. Eunha immediately gets up and kisses you. "You're home!"

"Welcome back," Nayeon says coolly.

"I have some news, baby. We're pregnant!" Eunha says, motioning to Nayeon. You look at Nayeon, and she nods. "Now that we're pregnant, we can't really have sex with you. It could be dangerous, you're so big after all, but we know some people that wouldn't mind."

"Some other rabbits," Nayeon adds. "You tend to like rabbits like us."

You stand there stunned for a moment. "You're pregnant? Both of you?" They nod in unison. You kiss Eunha before motioning for Nayeon to come over. You hug her. "I love you both, but uh, I don't think I'm ready to be a father. I mean, me and Eunha just got comfortable living on our own."

"Well, you have a few months to get ready. Daddy," Nayeon says the last part in a mocking tone.

"You'll be fine, baby," Eunha says, patting your chest.

"And you're sure we can't have sex? You're not far along." The two women laugh before looking back at you.

"Maybe we can, but not too rough. We don't want to risk anything." Eunha says. "As Nayeon said, we'll get some other bunnies for you."

#nayeon smut #eunha smut #gfriend smut #viviz smut #twice smut #kpop smut #m reader #male reader

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loveshotzz · 1 year ago

Text

Here’s a little preview of everyone’s favorite Tamagotchi Daddy 😚 and an appearance at the end by your fave bartender.

Whatta Man Masterlist | Rick’s Party Playlist

as a reminder my blog is 18 +

Sheer curtains sway with a pink glow from the flashing sign outside your apartment, the nip in the October air makes goosebump dance across your exposed skin from the crack in your bedroom window. The summer heat came and went like it always does but not the cute bouncer you took home the first warm night of the year.

Weckx-N-Effect’s ‘Rump Shaker’ spills through the boombox in your living room where Steve stands in front of your long mirror, dressed as John Dalton from Road House, you hear the pitch in his voice deepen,

“Take the biggest guy in the world, shatter his knee and he’ll drop like a stone.”

Rolling your eyes at the line you’ve heard both him and Patrick Swayze deliver all week long, you adjust the white and blue trimmed high waisted basketball shorts that hug your curves before tugging down the cropped Tune Squad mesh tank that matches. Straightening your bunny ears, you turn around to inspect your tail, bubble gum pink glossed lips turning up into a pleased smirk with the height the white platform sneakers on your feet give you. Humming in approval because you know Baby Spice would be proud, your shoulders wiggle in excitement as you apply another layer of gloss before smacking your lips loudly.

“Hey Doc, you got the goods earlier right?” The bouncer calls out.

His boots sound heavy on your shag rug making his way towards the bathroom and even though you saw his outfit earlier, when Steve’s handsome face appears next to yours in the mirror with a wide grin, you still flutter around nothing. Dark emerald eyes turn black as they drink in your costume, and you're almost positive yours look the same admiring the thick patch of hair on full display in his white loose fitting button up. Long sleeves rolled up to his elbows with the top three undone just like Dalton’s.

The extra button reveals more than usual, including the silver chain that dangles from his neck. It shines under the dark curls that cover his chest when it hits the bright lights above you, matching the belt buckle attached to the black leather that holds his tight fitting jeans to his waist. The ivory of his shirt makes his permanently sunkissed skin glow, thighs pressing together when he licks his full lips, moles moving with his cheeks when he grins.

“Jesus, you look - fuck, why’s the tail doing it for me?” Finally breaking character, he runs a hand through his hair, the ring wrapped around his middle finger catching your eye in his reflection.

“Stop calling me that or everyone is going to think I’m Bugs Bunny.” You huff and his lips twitch at your pout, “and if by goods you mean, the Roadhouse soundtrack, yes I picked it up from your friend Robin.”

Turning around, you lean against the sink, the reminder of your promise to recreate the sex scene with him tonight has you giving him an extra exaggerated roll of your eyes, a smile lighting up your face despite yourself. Steve’s big black boots cross the threshold, thick rubber soles squeaking against the rose colored tile, he closes the small distance to stand in front of you.

The warm smell of his Calvin Klein CK One cologne lingers fresh on the cotton of his shirt, along with the faint hint of your hairspray when he stole a spritz when he first got to your apartment. The cinnamon from his Big Red is hot on his breath, the whites of his teeth showing in a grin as he pushes the gum to the other side of his mouth with a tongue that was between your thighs just a few hours ago.

“I’m sorry baby, I’ll stop. I can’t help it when I’m in character you know?” One of his big hands comes up to your face, long fingers spreading across your jaw tilting your mouth towards his. The bouncer takes in your done up features in the light, and the pucker of your glittery lips, looking at him like you needed to be kissed. “No one is going to think a pretty thing like you is anything other than hot.”

“Good.” You try to say it with more conviction, but the way he keeps looking at you like he wants to eat you alive makes it come out quiet.

“Oh yeah?” He questions with a quirked brow, his boots moving the one step left to stand in the space you made for him between your legs. The tip of his nose runs along the bridge of yours, his other hand finding a new home on the plush curve of your hip to pull you even closer. The denim doing nothing to hide just how much your outfit was affecting him.

“I’m gonna have to follow you around all night aren’t I? Gonna make me abuse my power and kick anyone out who even looks at my girl like they got a chance huh?” Steve mutters his threat against your lips, the tips of his fingers digging into the dip in your cheeks bringing your mouth to his.

The strawberry of your gloss is sweeter than it was thirty minutes ago and it makes him groan when his kiss turns possessive, tongues meeting in the middle when he licks into your mouth. Your hands find their way to his chest, your palms finding the warm skin of his chest, the blunt ends of your nails dragging through the dark thatch of hair. He nips at your bottom lip when he lets you go. Pink glitter staining his when he pulls away sticky, eyes blown wide feeling the way your leg starts to lift over his hip, daring him to come back for more.

He tuts at you with whatever self control he has left, letting his hungry gaze drop down to drink up every dip and soft curve on display for him. Your back arches under the heat of it and Steve catches the puffy tail resting perfectly on the curve of your ass in the reflection. His responsibility to get downstairs in five minutes doesn’t seem so important anymore.

“I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off you.” He sounds almost angry, and pride swells in your chest.

His hand slides from your waist, fingertips tips dragging down the soft dough of your thigh making the hem of your shorts bunch up when he hooks them under your knee. He accepts your dare with a roll of his hips, his grin turning salacious when you gasp.

“That’s kinda the point, duh” the giggle that leaves your mouth is breathy as he ducks his head down to the crook of your neck to suck a fresh bruise where the previous one he left last week is almost healed, “oh my godddd.”

His lips curve against you, the hint of stubble along his jaw tickles as he makes his way with greedy lips to all the sensitive spots he’s discovered over the last few months, including the new one he found the other night right below your ear. He nips at the soft skin when your fingers tangle themselves into his hair with a harsh tug at his roots, the back of your calf pressing against his ass encouraging him more.

“Earlier wasn’t enough, my girl needs more attention doesn’t she?” His taunting comes out next to the shell of your ear, the deep baritone making you shiver. “It’s only been a few hours and you want me that bad again, huh?”

Your eyes hit the back of your head when he rolls your earlobe between his teeth. Another tug to his hair, a whine pushing past your pink lips trying to get more of anything he’ll give you.

“Come on baby, don’t be shy.” He hums pulling away from your neck, finally letting go of your face to squeeze at the fat of your ass propped on the sink, long fingers playing with your tail. “Tell me, I wanna hear it.”

The song on the radio changes, and Mase’s ‘What You Want’ encourages the next grind of your hips.

“Gonna make me beg for it Steve?” You pout looking up at him from under your lashes, relishing in the way you feel him twitch in his jeans at the thought. One of your hands trails down the muscles of his stomach, biting your lip when they twitch under your fingertips, adding more to the growing problem in your underwear.

The incessant high pitch beeping of both your tamagotchi’s cuts through the tension like a knife, making both of you freeze and you catch the way his eyes widen, the color coming back at the realization of their need to be fed.

“Steve, I swear to god-“ Your disbelief is quickly cut off by the bellowing voice of a certain bartender from outside your window.

“Hey! Asshole! I know you’re up there. Get your dick in your pants and get down here and help! It’s fucking Halloween!”

Eddie sounds like he’s already at his wits end, and you swear you hear him say ‘before I fuckin’ kill Rick’ as the bar door creaks open before slamming shut behind him.

#my writing #whatta man #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington imagines #bouncer!steve

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theitgirlnetwork · 1 year ago

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Chapter 5: Don't Call Me That

Note: Thank you so much for all of the love, I appreciate it so much. I've been having so much fun writing this story and seeing everyone's responses! The kind words mean a lot. Two questions: 1) Would you all want my Lip x Charlotte Playlist? 2) I'm considering opening my requests to writing little one shots about things you all want for just Lip and Charlotte or Angel and JJ right now, and expanding as I introduce more of my little universe. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy.

The sun rose in Charlotte’s room, pouring through the wispy white curtains, shining down on Lip’s face. The woman next to him turned over after waking up, leaning on her elbow as she scans his features. He reminds her of some kind of painting, or statue. Strong features, chiseled chest and stomach. Curly deep golden hair.

She’d woken up to his phone going off. Calls and texts. She had braced her hand on his chest to shake him awake but when she saw Mandy’s name on the screen instead of one of his siblings, she rested her hand softly on his skin, trailing her finger along the contours of his stomach, following the lines up his chest, past his jaw and along his soft lips. She holds her own breath as she scoots up a little more, smoothing her fingers between his eyebrows, feeling him relax his brow and release a peaceful sigh under her touch. She liked making him feel like that. Peaceful and relaxed.

Charlotte was enjoying herself until she felt his muscles tense and a groan rumble in his chest as he stretches out his limbs. She panics, flipping back over on her side and squeezing her eyes shut as if she’d been asleep the whole time, trying to place a cute, peaceful look on her face.

She feels Lip shift behind her, his body heat pooling even closer as he leans over her to look at her face. “Why’d you stop?”

Charlotte yawns dramatically, mimicking his stretching motion, accidentally (on purpose) pushing her hand into Lip’s face, before turning onto her back to look up at him. “Stop what?” she asks groggily.

“Stop what?” he mocks in his attempt at her voice, the fact that his voice was lower because he just woke up didn’t do him any favors. “C’mere.” He grabs her sides, pulling her the rest of the way under him and tickling her sides, grinning as she squeals, kicking her legs and pushing him with her hands. Lip grabs her ankle to stop her motion, pinning her hands with the other and smiling down at her. “Huh? What’re you gonna do now, bunny? C’mon, slugger.”

Charlotte squirms for a little, laughing at how weak her attempts to escape were, and how little effort it was taking for Lip to keep her in place. His teasing murmur of ‘come on, baby’ pushes her to turn her head to the hand that was holding hers, arching up a little before sinking her teeth lightly into his arm.

“Fuck! Ow, Charlotte!” Lip hisses, yanking his hands back as she cheers victoriously, pushing her feet at his chest. “Yeah yeah. Fightin’ dirty and shit.”

She cheeses at him, patting the bed next to her and Lip lies down on his back, turning his head to look at her. “Good morning. How’s your head? Your ribs? Emotional health?”

“Mornin. How’s your hand?” he asks, reaching down to bring her hand to his face, peeling back her bandage briefly to inspect for any damage.

“I asked you first.” she sighs, watching as he ignores her, smoothing the bandage back over and rubs his face over it once. “Phillip?” she asks again, rolling her eyes when he just starts kissing the palm of her hand. “Mandy called a couple times. Texted too.”

“Hm, what’d she say when you answered?” he asks, wincing when she smacks her hand on the top of his head. “Ow.”

“Me answer? I’m not the one she wants to hear from. It seems like she still thinks you guys are together.” Charlotte says, pulling her arm from him. “Talk to her.”

“You want me to break up with her.”

“No.” Charlotte crosses her arms. “I want you to talk to her. If that ends with you broken up or together, we’ll be cool. I’ll be happy for you. But until then, no more sleepovers.” She goes to climb out of bed, rolling her eyes as Lip tugs her back in, wrapping his arms around, pulling her back underneath him.

“Just…fuck…fuckin’ relax, alright?” He murmurs, nudging her nose with his own, “I’ll handle it. Seriously, I’ll talk to her. Okay?”

Charlotte huffs, glaring up at him until he nudges at her dimple with his knuckle. “Okay.”

The two of them don’t even get to take a breath before the door creaks open. “Hey, Lottie, V wanted to know if you-shit!”

“Kev!”

“Fuck!”

Kev swings the door all of the way open roughly, letting it hit the wall before stalking into the room. “What the fuck, dude what the hell are you doing here?!”

Lip groans, backing away from Charlotte slowly, showing his hands, “Look, man-”

“No you fuckin’ look, man.” Kev growls, “I’ve seen you do this to other families but we’re supposed to be friends, you’re in here defiling our daughter-”

“‘M’not your daughter, Kev, we’re cousins. Through marriage. And even then not really!” Charlotte huffs, tugging on a pair of pajama pants. “And nothing happened.”

“Not that it’s any of your fuckin’ business.” Lip grunts, pulling his shirt over his head.

“Uh, she is my business dipshit-V! Come here!”

“Jesus.” Charlotte whimpers, wrapping her arms around herself and plopping down on the bed.

V comes into the room with a mug of coffee in her hand, grumbling about Kev screaming so early in the morning and pauses with her drink halfway to her mouth when she steps in. “Oh, fuck no. Lottie, what did I say?”

“But nothing happened!” she whines, flopping back on the bed, sticking her tongue out at Lip’s snort.

“He’s in here trying to fuck our daughter, V!”

“Not your daughter.” Lip interjects.

“You shut the fuck up.” V points at Lip then turns to Kev, “You’re delusional, she’s not our daughter, she’s my cousin.” She finally lands on Charlotte, going over to the bed and slapping the girl on the leg multiple times.

“Ow, Veronica get off!”

“My mom is not gonna kick my ass because I’m supposed to be teachin’ you to be an independent woman and you got knocked up by a Gallagher on my watch!” she slaps Charlotte’s leg one more time, dodging when the younger woman kicks her leg out at her. “You wanna have a sleepover, invite one of the redheads.”

With that, V storms out of the room, Kev in tow, turning to yell out “Out, Lip!”

The room is silent for a moment before Lip’s snickers start to fill the air. “It’s not funny. Seriously.”

“I thought it was.” Lip laughs, buckling his belt. “You’re Kev’s baby girl now, huh? And V spanks you when you don’t listen?”

“I did listen. I haven’t slept with you have I?” she scoffs, pulling her scarf off and letting her silky black hair fall down over her shoulders, Lip’s smile slowly falling away as he watches her sweep her hands through dark curls and envisions his hand tangled in it instead. “V’s worried about my mom talking to her mom and Kev…he’s weird like that. Acts like I’m not 19, but he’s sweet and I’ve always wanted an older brother.”

Lip continues to stare at her, the way the light from the window casts a halo around her as she smiles up at him brightly. Charlotte squirms under his gaze, feeling her cheeks heat up. “You heard my ‘dad’. Out, Lip.”

That breaks him from his stupor. The blond stalks forward to where Charlotte is sat on the bed, gathering the fabric on the front of her t-shirt, yanking her up, ignoring her squeal and the sound of footsteps making their way back to the room. He plants his forehead against hers, watching her face closely before pressing his lips against hers, pulling her into a heated kiss and letting her go, causing her to drop down on the bed. “You don’t call me that.”

Charlotte watches as Lip slips out of the room, calling back to her, “I’ll see you later!” giggling when Kev yells back, “Like fuck you will!”

“Honey! You’re home! You didn’t come back last night.” Monica cheers as Lip comes through the door. “Did my advice work?”

“Advice?” he asks, kicking off his shoes and slapping the back of Carl’s head as he passes by. “What advice?”

“About Charlotte!” Monica calls after him.

Fiona rounds the corner of the living room and changes the channel to National Geographic so Liam can watch the television and fixes Lip with a look. “You’re listenin’ to Monica now? That why I’m hearin’ about Kev and V finding you in bed with Lottie?”

“Jesus Christ-”

“You were in bed with Charlotte? Fuckin’ traitor!” Carl huffs jumping off of the couch and shoving Lip before running up the stairs.

The two older siblings make eye contact and the oldest girl shrugs, grabbing some dirty clothes off of the couch. “He’s got a crush on her. And you keep datin’ girls he likes. Not that you should be datin’ Charlotte.”

“When else have I dated a girl he liked?” Lip asks, choosing to ignore the raise of Fiona’s eyebrows when he doesn’t correct her about dating Charlotte.

“He had a thing for Mandy, not that you noticed.”

“He has a thing for anyone with tits, I can’t leave him every woman ever.” Lip chuckles, grabbing a beer from the table. “He can have Mandy now if he wants her.”

Just as he says that Ian jogs down the steps, dodging a hug from Monica and guiding her to sit down on the stairs. “Real classy, asshole, still my best friend.”

“Yeah your psycho best friend dropped Charlotte off at a whorehouse. Drive it through her head we’re not fuckin’ anymore for me will you?”

“Are you kiddin’ me?” Ian pauses, pulling on his jacket, “Fuck you, talk to her yourself, I’m not catching those strays.”

“Fine. Fan-fuckin-tastic.” He sighs, shoving his feet back into his shoes and turning back around to leave the house.

Lip walks the way to the Milkovich house smoking his way through three cigarettes on the short walk alone. It’s not like he’s uncertain about what he wants to do. No, he knows. Charlotte has made it abundantly clear that she has no intention of letting him get anywhere unless she’s sure he’s unattached. And not that his time with Mandy wasn’t great but…he’d already done that.

And it was great. Mandy was a good lay, a good friend, a nice girl when she wanted to be but for some reason he could never make himself take it seriously. He was always cheating, whether it be with Karen, that creepy teacher bitch, random girls he met out. It wasn’t Mandy’s fault, he’s not a shithead, he knows that it’s on him.

He couldn’t make it up to her. Give her the one thing she wanted, him. He wouldn’t be a good boyfriend to her. He wasn’t dedicated. He knew what dedication looked like from him, and it wasn’t how he treated Mandy. Not when for the few times he even agreed to hang out with her since Charlotte came he either envisioned her while he had sex with Mandy or stared out of his window into Charlotte’s hoping she’d slip by.

That’s why he had to be honest with Mandy. And she shocked the shit out of him.

“Figured. Just needed confirmation.” she sighs, throwing her cigarette into the dirt and stepping on it.

“Cause uh…I think we needed time apart anyway, but that shit you did with Charlotte was really fucked up.”

“Oh my God.” she rolls her eyes, staring past him into the street. “Tell the princess I’m sorry.”

Lip just works his jaw irritably, forcing back all of the angry expletives he’s had swirling in his head for her since it had happened. “Okay, so…”

“You either wanna fuck one more time to hold you over until you come back or you can go stalk Charlotte at her fuckin’ job like you like to do recently.” Mandy shrugs, climbing the stairs to her apartment, stopping in the doorway waiting for Lip to follow her up and wiping the tear that falls onto her cheek when she sees he’s already lighting a cigarette, walking up the street.

Lip stops by the construction site to pick up his check after settling shit with Mandy, and swings over to the bank to cash it so he could chip in to even out whatever the fuck Monica and Frank stole from them this time. After, he goes over to Charlotte’s job, checking the time on the phone to make sure her shift was ending. He’d promised not to make any more trouble that could cost her what’s left of her check.

He swings the door open and slides into a seat at the bar, waiting to spot her. He notices her boss Alan instead, drinking behind the wooden separator and nods to him. “Hey, man, she’s not here, alright?”

Lip furrows his brows. “Where is she?”

“Already headed out for the day, we were overstaffed and last one in, first one out.” Alan shrugs, openly ogling one of the girls as she squeezes past him and shaking his head when he notices look glaring at him. “What? That one doesn’t have a boyfriend comin’ down here every time she has a shift. Jesus, Gallagher, do you even work?”

“Yeah, when I’m not making sure you creepy fucks aren’t sexually harassing my girl.” He smirks. “Just tryin’ to make sure you assholes don’t forget my face, let your drunken dicks get confused and think you have half a shot with Charlotte.”

“Well, your point has been made, between you beating the shit out of some of my best customers and calling her twice each shift. I need her out here on the floor, man, even if she’s not putting out, the face and the body bring in customers, it’s math Gallagher.”

“Yeah, you have your teenage son workin’ the register cause you can barely add and subtract, fuck you, Alan. I don’t call her during her shifts.”

Alan scoffs, grabbing a handful of peanuts and turning to head back into the kitchen, “Well someone does, and she always seems happy to hear from him.”

Lip clenches his jaw as Alan’s snickers ring in his ears. Nothing in his mind but the same question over and over.

Who the fuck is she talking to on the phone?

Charlotte knocks at the door to the Gallagher household, cheerful as ever. She hears quick, happy footsteps jog over and is greeted with a grinning Fiona, with music blasting behind her. “Lottie, how are you?”

“I’m good, Fi, got off work early, wanted to know if Lip wanted to hang out.” she chirps. She smiles when Fiona makes a face, slumping her shoulders. “Really, just hang out. As in, you could join us. But it seems like you’re having a party of your own.”

“Girl, you should come in, V, your cousin’s here and I think she needs a celebratory shot!” Fiona grins, grabbing Charlotte’s hand and tugging her into the house.

“Nuh uh, baby girl’s next shot will be on her birthday in two months. But she should come party.” V smacks her cousin’s butt. “Put on some of your shit, you’ve got better music taste than this shit Fiona’s stealin from Carl. Kev’s getting beers and Ian’s picking up Mickey. It’s gonna be fun.” she leans over to Charlotte murmuring in her ear, “Fi got a new job and we’re celebrating.”

“Is…um…Lip coming?” Charlotte asks, eyes wide as she looks expectantly at the two women. She frowns at the two of them as they exchange looks with each other, shaking their heads, “I like hanging out with him!”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that!” V sighs. “But I don’t want you to get all caught up and confused!”

“Yeah, Lottie, you’re just not from here. And I know Lip, he gets swept up in seeing a pretty girl and is interested for a little while before he moves on. He’s like any hood guy around here, he’s just got a higher IQ and won’t put his hands on you.”

Charlotte groans, tossing her bag on the couch, “I’m fine. I can take care of myself, okay? Your brother and I are just friends. Seriously.” The younger woman changes the music on the speaker and stands on one of the chairs to help hang one the ‘congratulations Fiona’ banner.

As she pushes the tack into the wall she lets her mind wander to the blond, something she’s found herself doing a lot lately. She meant it when she said she had no intention of being around him after the whole Mandy debacle, but she hadn’t accounted for him being him.

Charlotte knows they’ve led different lives, and he has a bad reputation with women. Or…people in general. She’s heard plenty of stories about Lip since she’s gotten here. Half of the girls from her job had hooked up with him before, an embarrassing fact she’d discovered during her lunch break one day. Slept with them, and snuck out before the sun came up, screwed them over a bathroom sink in a dingy bar and never asked for their number, having sex with them one day and hitting on their sister the next. She’d seen that look that Mandy gave him when she came out of the house. Like he was her whole future. She looked at him like she loved him. Needed him. And Charlotte doesn’t ever want to get there. She never wants to be the type of girl V always warned her against being. She didn’t want to be standing there watching the guy she has feelings for give less than a fuck about her.

She knows she should listen to everyone and be around him less.

But she can’t explain it. She really likes being around Phillip.

When Lip gets home he hears the sound of music blasting and curses loudly, letting his head fall back and stare at the sky. He is not in the mood to push his way through whatever seedy, old fuckers Frank and Monica has coralled into his home just to get a simple beer while he tries not to lose his shit over whatever limp dick fucker has been calling Charlotte every fucking day at least twice. Speaking of.

He turns his gaze over to the house next door and weighs in his head how likely he’d be able to get in through the big window in the living room and down the hall to Charlotte’s room without Kev or V seeing. Then he thinks about how his head has been since Alan ran his mouth. Should he even see her? He has a bad track record of fucking things up when he was feeling…protective? Possessive? Jealous? Lip shakes his head, rolling his eyes at his own thoughts. They’re not even together. She’s made that abundantly clear. That’s why she’s probably fucking some trash from Virginia.

Yeah, no, he’s not ready to visit her right now. He needs to get his thoughts right, form them in a way that he ends up with what he wants and doesn’t sound crazy over a girl who hasn’t even agreed to date him.

Home it is. He thinks bitterly, climbing the rest of the steps and turning the doorknob. The door opens and the music fills his ears even louder, random 2000s rap blasting. Lip doesn’t even make it over the threshold before Liam toddles over to him, jumping into his arms.

“Party!” the little boy yells, flashing his smile with missing teeth at Lip. The older brother smiles, catching the toddler and swinging him up further into his arms.

“Yeah, party,” Lip cheers back, nuzzling his brother’s cheek, “You okay, buddy?”

“Yeah down.” Liam kicks his legs as Lip holds onto him, walking further into the house to assess the situation before letting his little brother go off.

“Liam! Where’d you go? I need my dance partner. I like this song” The voice makes the tense feeling in Lip’s chest immediately come rushing back, and it takes the edge off of the annoyance too. “Oh, hey.”

Lip can’t help but mimic Charlotte’s bright smile as she leans against the wall, clasping her hands behind her back. He steps further into the house pushing into her space. “Oh hey.” he says mockingly, relishing in the giggle she offers him. “You uh…in here hijackin’ my family?”

She shrugs absently, looking toward the living area where Fiona and Kev were taking shots and V was dancing with Ian and Debbie. “Maybe. Mostly dancin’ with Liam, he’s a good dancer. Right, sweet boy?”Charlotte coos, holding her hands out and snagging the little boy from his brother. Liam all but leaping out of Lip’s arms.

“Liam, you traitor.” he says, clutching his chest and quieting the absolutely fucking insane thoughts that swim in his head while he watches Charlotte bouncing his brother in her arms.

“Say, leave me alone, Phillip!” she encourages, pressing her cheek against the toddler’s. “Tell ‘em.”

“Phillip!” his little voice yells, reaching out and squeezing his brother’s nose.

“Oh yeah?” Lip smiles even more, narrowing his eyes at the boy, “She’s gotta go home sometime buddy. Don’t burn all your bridges, she won’t be here to bring you your cheerios in the mornin’.”

“We’re not listening to you, we’re gonna go dance.” she chirps, whipping around and letting her hair smack Lip’s face, ignoring the shiver she gets from the low chuckle she hears behind her and saddling up next to Ian.

“Gimme my brother,” the redhead says, “He’s not gonna be part of your weird foreplay.”

Charlotte gasps, shoving his arm, “Um where’s Mickey? You’re less annoying when you’re feeling up your boyfriend.” Her eyes trail over to Lip hugging Fiona, offering her congratulations and taking a shot with her.

Ian snorts, bouncing Liam on his lap, “Maybe. But he’s wearing you down.”

She bites her lip, letting her head fall back on the back of the couch, watching Debbie attempt a cartwheel with V trying to help her legs over. “Didn’t hold out very long, did I? You think I’m stupid too?”

“Yeah you’re stupid.” he chuckles. “But, uh, he likes you. Spoke to Mandy for you today.”

Charlotte looks at Ian with wide eyes, the redhead refrains from mocking the hopeful look on the girl’s face. She works the muscles in her cheeks, trying not to smile, dropping her gaze to her lap. “Not for me.”

“Yes for you,” Ian nudges, letting Liam down to go get the door again when it starts to open, Mickey putting down the case of beers he brought to lift the little boy, flipping him upside down. “Look, as your friend, I’ll tell you that you can do better than my brother.”

Charlotte nods, letting her eyes trail back over to Lip, blue meeting brown from across the room. “And as Phillip’s brother?”

Ian shrugs, moving to push off of the couch and greet Mickey who was impatiently gesturing for him to come over. “He never used to let anyone call him Phillip.”

“You seeing that?” Fiona points with the wine opener to the opposite end of the house where Lip is sitting in a chair, grinning as he watches Charlotte dance in front of him. Raising his eyebrows when she pokes him on his nose and each cheek.

V pauses in her dancing as she hears her cousin squeak as the blond boy grabs her by the waist, pulling her down onto the seat with him, both laughing loudly as she chair tilts back, threatening to fall. One of Lip’s hands shooting out onto the floor to stop the fall, the other going to protect Charlotte’s head. The girl is all but crying from laughter, her hand gripping the front of Lip’s shirt to keep him from tilting. Fiona groans as Lip’s beer spills on the floor, him chuckling out ‘Look what you did’ as he rights them, resting his chin on Charlotte’s shoulder. “I’m seeing. Any chance he’ll just lose interest?”

“Any chance that she will?” Fiona asks as the two women watch Charlotte all but fucking skip over to get Lip a new beer before climbing back into his lap on her own. “I love him but,” she passes V a glass, clinking them together in cheers. “He’ll fuck it up.”

“So you take them apart and put them back together?” Charlotte’s brows are furrowed as she tries to understand. Her fingers absently toying with Lip’s down by their sides. The party was slowly starting to die down. Carl and Debbie were put to bed, Kev, V and Fiona had started to clean up. Ian and Mickey were flirting in the kitchen.

Lip nods slowly trying to figure out how to explain exactly what he does without sounding like a criminal. Sure he scams privileged college kids out of a couple hundred bucks in exchange for fixing their computers. And maybe the real assholes get told that their shit is broken beyond repair and Lip keeps the pieces for his own collection, even though mostly, they just have a virus from watching some seedy porno site. “Uh, yeah. I like computers. Robotics mostly. Kinda into science too.”

“Hmm, noted.” Charlotte smiles, leaning back against the wall.

Lip has been having a great time hanging out with Charlotte. They’ve laughed, they’ve drank, her soda, him beer. She danced, which was a highlight of their night. But mostly they were just together. Talking. Laughing. It was like having her here brought some light into his dim, depressing ass home. He usually hates being home, despite his love for his family. The mold filled, worn down walls were a source of trauma for him. But he wasn’t thinking of any of that.

He was happy.

Aside from the constant fucking ringing of her phone.

“Your uh…phone’s ringin’ again, wanna answer it?”

“No, we're having fun.” Charlotte smiles, flipping her phone over and laughing at Ian dancing with Mickey in the kitchen. Lip just intertwines their fingers, begging himself not to fuck things up as the ringing stops only to start again.

“Uh, they’re callin’ again. At 1:34 in the mornin’ must be pretty fuckin’ important, wanna answer?”

Charlotte stops to look Lip in the face, seeing how serious he looks and nods, grabbing her phone. “Okay, I’m gonna go upstairs where its quiet.” she moves to go up the steps, only to be pulled back.

“Gimme kiss.” Lip mumbles, holding her loosely around the waist, waiting for her to come to him. Charlotte glances around at their distracted family members and pushes up on her toes, kissing him deeply and briefly. “Thanks, bunny.”

She presses her lips to his cheek before running up the steps, Lip’s sharp blue eyes following her the whole time.

When he tears them away he locks eyes with Ian who’s mouthing to him ‘don’t do it’.

He wishes he could avoid it. But his feet are already moving. Trailing after her. It feels like he does that a lot lately. Lip stands in the doorway of his room and watches Charlotte giggling on the phone, walking back and forth, tossing her head back and laughing. Giving the smiles he’s been working his ass off for to some fucker who didn’t even make sure to be here to reap the fucking reward.

Charlotte pauses, turning toward the doorway and finding him there, mumbling a sweet goodbye to whoever was on the other line. “Hey. Sorry, I know I didn’t ask to use your room-”

“Who the fuck was that?”

#fiona gallagher #ian gallagher #lip gallagher #lip gallagher x oc #lip gallagher x reader #oc #kevin ball #shameless #veronica fisher #gallagher #charlotte fisher #love #lip gallagher x you

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