#also the second part is pretty much mature

[bucketbueckers]

mess me up - paige bueckers

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader wc: 6.1k content warnings: language, abuse of italics, grammatically incorrect past tense flashback, smut robbery(?), pretty mature but nothing graphic synopsis: your friends invited you out to a frat party to celebrate the men’s team winning the NCAA tournament where you bump into paige bueckers, the girl who you're in love with and who you ghosted for a month after hooking up with her. a much-needed conversation at the party forces you to revisit difficult memories and give her the closure she’s been seeking. notes: idk what this is! based loosely off of 'friends' and 'mess me up' by chase atlantic. unfortunately the smut robbery line is for real, like it's smut in the way lacroix tastes like real fruit (which is to say it's not smut, but like concepts of smut... 😝 (i've never had lacroix idk if this is accurate)) side note i hate writing in past tense but doing a traditional flashback scene is corny as hell! idk if it matters but this is set april 2024 (w/ a february 2024 flashback); doesn't really affect anything, so... anyway, second post on tumblr, lmk if we're rocking w it 🙂‍↕️

For the record, you didn’t want to come to this party.

It’s hot, sweaty, loud, and all you can smell is the same brand of men’s cologne and weed. The air is both stale and somehow feels wet and all you can think about is getting back to your apartment so you can shower and go to bed. You had a mock trial bright and early the next morning and your law professor was a stickler for punctuality and presentability – showing up with wrinkled clothes and smelling like a frat party was a sure-fire way to fail, and you had too much riding on your grades to let that happen.

The frat (whose name you’ve already forgotten) was celebrating the NCAA tournament win for the UCONN men’s basketball team. They’d apparently gone back to back, which you guess is cool, but you swore off basketball a long time ago. If you had your way, you’d be at home, three steps into your skincare routine, but you let peer pressure get the best of you and allowed your friends to drag you out.

It’d be fun, they said. You never come out with us! You’re spending all this tuition money and you’re not even taking advantage of it. How can you say you don’t like it if you’ve never tried it?

You only remember that your friends are law students, too, in the most unfortunate of moments when they put their persuasiveness to the test. In the most unfortunate of moments, you’re also reminded of the fact that they’re college students, too, because they’re leaving you at the door and rushing off to find something to drink. You weren’t upset they dragged you out. Not necessarily. You were grown enough to say no. Perhaps you’d simply set your expectations too high when they begged you to come out and you thought they would spend at least a little bit of time with you before doing their own thing. But sure. It’s whatever.

So, here you are – standing alone in the corner of a frat party, watching as drunk college students grind against each other, laugh, and have a good time. A part of you feels like you’re missing out, but as you watch somebody throw up into a plant, you feel like you’re just fine where you are.

You’re drawn from your thoughts when a man wearing a backwards cap suddenly shows up next to you. “Yo, you thirsty?” he yells over the music, thrusting a red solo cup into your empty hands. You don’t have the time to say anything to him before he’s grinning at you, eyes red and hooded. “Come dance with me. You’re too pretty to be standin’ here all alone.”

You hear her before you see her.

“She’s good, bro, trust,” Paige interrupts smoothly, throwing a casual arm around your shoulders. You feel too much like a damsel in distress, but sensing the gravity of the situation, you flash the guy a light smile and lean into Paige slightly. Her grip tightens. You try to not let it bother you.

He raises his hands, surrendering. “My bad. You got it.”

Paige hums, unconvinced, as he leaves. When he’s out of your sight, you wrench yourself out of her grip. “Thank you, but not necessary,” you tell her sharply, red solo cup still in your hand. If this was how your night was going to go, then you need to be a little tipsy to survive it. You barely have it halfway to your mouth before Paige is pulling it out of your grasp, pouring its contents into a potted plant and chucking the cup into a nearby trash can. “What the fu–”

“First of all,” she begins, arms crossing protectively, “never accept a drink at a party that you didn’t pour, didn’t see someone else pour, or a drink that’s already open; matter fact, don’t accept a drink unless you opened it or brought it in yourself.”

You roll your eyes slightly. “This is Storrs, Paige. Do the frats really get down like that here?”

Her gaze is unimpressed. “You’re the law student, ma, you tell me the numbers. Second of all, you’re welcome. That was Kylin. He doesn’t take no for an answer in the first place but he’s all kinds of fucked up right now. I’d say I did you a favor but I wanted to talk to you, anyway.”

“Funny,” you deadpan. “Here? Now?”

“What are you doing here?” she asks you, ignoring your snippy words. “Thought this wasn’t your scene.”

You pause. “It’s not,” you confirm. “Jos and Chelsea wanted me to come out. Figured I should be a good friend once in a while.”

Paige raises a brow. “Jos and Chelsea are too busy playing strip poker with dudes from Kappa Phi to keep an eye on you, and you’re worried about having to be a good friend?”

“First of all,” you say in the know-it-all tone that Paige had used on you, “I don’t need them to keep an eye on me.” The blonde hums again, not entirely convinced, and the heat of her gaze makes you stumble over your words slightly. “Second of all, why do you even care?”

“We’re friends,” she states.

“We were once,” you correct, voice softening. It’s no secret that you and Paige had fucked up whatever you had going on. It’s never been clear whose fault your fallout was (it was yours), nor could the two of you ever agree on what destroyed you (you would argue that you shouldn’t hook up with your friends, especially not the ones you were in love with). It was a messy situation that you were sure the two of you couldn’t recover from (you didn’t want to be friends with someone you couldn’t have; Paige just wants you to give her the chance to prove you otherwise).

“Sure,” she agrees half-heartedly, knowing your spiel by heart now. “Kinda fucked up you think I need a reason to care.” You don’t dignify that with a proper response, feeling something strangely like guilt corroding your heart. “Come outside and get some air with me? Please? Just wanna talk, no funny shit, I promise.”

You sigh, feeling yourself fall back into all too familiar routines. You had a near inability to say no to Paige most times – it was the reason why you had to put a stop to your friendship. And here you are now, undoing all of the progress you’ve made since you’ve been apart (a small part of you knows better; you’re moving forward but you’re not really doing any better. You’re not progressing. You’re just stuck now, only this time, you have less than you did before). “Jos and Chelsea–”

“–made their choice,” she finishes for you. “And their choice was strip poker with a guy named Anthony,” she adds solemnly. You can’t help but quirk a smile at the absurdity of your life right now. “C’mon, please? It fucking reeks in here. They’ve got a porch swing outside and it’s all quiet and shit.”

“You’ve always had a way with words,” you tease.

“You comin’ or nah?” she asks, but you shove her forward (she lets you) and she leads you through the crowd to the door. They part like the Red Sea and you can’t help but admire the way she silently commands the room, feeling a flutter in your chest you try desperately to stomp out. It’s like a fire; all it takes is a small spark before it eventually grows out of proportion. You know better now.

The door shuts behind the two of you and you sit on the porch swing. You can still hear the music’s pounding bass, but it’s muted. You feel like you can hear your thoughts now. The tension in your shoulders eases as you take in the crisp night air, the crickets’ chirps, the occasional owl’s hoot. For a moment, you forget all of the complicated history between you and Paige; the way she held your hand as she kissed up your thigh, the way she stayed afterwards, cleaning you up and bringing you water. It almost seems as Paige is reliving all of it, too, as she looks at you, and that thought is sobering enough to bring you back to the moment.

You finally get a good look at what she’s wearing. It’s nothing outstanding; a gray Nike tech suit and a pair of dunks, although she’s opted to leave her jacket unzipped, revealing the crop top underneath. She’s dressed for comfort, though the most unfair part of it all is how good she looks when she’s not trying. Her cheekbones are sharp, eyes blue and wide and alert, and you can’t help but notice how fitting a slick-back bun is on her.

This was precisely why you needed your space. You couldn’t control your thoughts or feelings. It was manageable when you minded your business – the phrase out of sight, out of mind did wonders for you and you were usually busy enough that she only crossed your mind once or twice a week when the student population was buzzing about a recent game. But now? Now you’re fucked. You’re inches away from her and you’ve allowed her to pull you back into her orbit. She’s the Earth and you’re a meteor – any closer and you won’t be able to come back from the damage you would do to each other. She would survive, you’re sure, but you’d be destroyed in the process.

“So,” she says slowly. You avert your eyes, staring at anything but her. “How you been?”

“Good,” you lie. “Keeping busy.” That part was less of a lie, but it wasn’t her business to know.

Paige has always been good at reading you, so she gazes at you like she’s not convinced. “I think we’re overdue a conversation,” she says, surprising you. “A real one. No more of this running in circles bullshit.”

“Okay,” you agree hesitantly. You finally meet her eyes. They’re strikingly blue, disarming, and you feel an odd mixture of guilt and longing eat away at your insides. She looks like she’s drinking you in, like she’s trying to understand why you did what you did; her eyes soften in the dim glow of the porchlight and you can’t help but flush under her gaze. She always understands you in spite of how often you push her away – she seems to understand why you keep her at arm’s length, too, and it’s then that you fully understand how overwhelming it is to be known.

“Why did you leave?” she asks finally. You have to swallow back the bile in your throat. “The morning after.” Her clarification does nothing to soothe the turmoil in your stomach. “I thought…” Paige’s throat bobs as she tries to find the words. “It wasn’t a hook up. It meant something to me – everything to me. So why did you leave like that shit ain’t matter to you?”

That night in February comes back to you in the blur of a memory. You’ve thought about it so often that you could write a play-by-play of it; every single unremarkable detail comes back to you in a flourish of vibrant color – the way the floor felt beneath your feet as Paige guided you into her room, the slight scratch of her nail against the base of your neck as her hands found purchase in your hair. Paige was wrong. It meant something to you, too much to you. You often remind yourself, if it meant that much, why was it easier to run away? Jumping off of a diving board into a pool conceptually means the same thing as jumping off of a cliffside into beach waves; the jump isn’t the hard part, it’s the reminder of the distance between your feet and the surface. Your feelings for Paige are too consuming. It’s easier to not make the jump at all than it is to worry if you’ll be able to come up for air.

She was in high spirits, drunk off of their win against Villanova. They weren’t an opponent you’d typically call home for, but the Huskies were having a tough season with several injured players and a lot of underclassmen. It was close, 67-46; Paige had contributed to a little less than half of their points overall with a solid 31. She was happy, the rest of her team was happy, and she’d begged you to come over to her apartment for the post-game festivities – which was usually games and snacks as they weren’t big on drinking during the season. You’d nearly refused at first. It was supposed to be a small team get-together and you had some work to catch up on. You eventually gave in, like you always do. Paige had flashed her typical, charming smile, looping an arm around your waist, and you were a goner.

The team accepted you like you were one of their own, too. That was new. You didn’t spend as much time with them as you did with Jos and Chelsea, but it felt like you knew them better than you knew Jos and Chelsea, anyway. Ice and KK were two menacing peas in a pod – they were like sisters separated at birth and whenever they were together, something chaotic was bound to happen, but they loved and protected fiercely despite the way they teased each other and the team. Caroline was like the team mother and many of the girls called her such. Nika was intense on the court, but off of it, she was Paige’s twin through and through – they always had something to say to each other and their banter often brought smiles to everyone’s faces. Azzi was sweet and well-loved by the team (and the student population in general). She introduced you to her and Paige’s son Ines, which confused you at first, but Paige threw her arm over your shoulder and assured you that they’re only co-parenting because Carol has enough children and they didn’t want Ines to be a ward of the court. You couldn’t help but smile at that, leaning into Paige – something about the team’s dynamic healed you a little, and Ines joked that Paige went out and got her a stepmom.

You felt the blush creep up your neck as Paige tightened her grip around you slightly. “I didn’t want you to find out like this, son,” Paige had said somberly, pretending to look sad as Azzi rolled her eyes. “Your mother was havin’ an affair–”

“Oh, bullshit!” Azzi cried. The entire room broke out into fits of giggles.

“Now I understand why Paige wifed up a lawyer,” KK said in between laughter. “Tryna get a discount on that divorce, huh?”

The team had tears in their eyes from their excitement – you didn’t have the heart to tell them you were hoping to specialize in civil litigation, so you just laughed along. The conversation continued to flow as games were played. Nika was exceptionally bad at UNO and Paige never let her hear the end of it. You guys only managed to play a couple of rounds before Nika suddenly got good and played a +4, prompting Ice and KK to stack +4s of their own onto it – Paige stared in disbelief for a solid thirty seconds before picking up 12 cards and rage-quitting one turn later when KK skipped her.

“There, there,” you’d said, lips trembling as you tried not to laugh at the look on Paige’s face. You rubbed her shoulder comfortingly, and she pushed you off her gently, her own lips quirking in amusement. “Show this card game who’s boss.”

“Bro,” she grumbled, but she couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she leaned back into the couch, her arm finding home over the back of your shoulders once more. You remember wondering if this is what normal felt like, what finally finding a community was like – you fit in too well with Paige’s teammates and they made you feel at home. Being near Paige made you feel at home. She was talented that way. She had an uncanny ability to make people feel at ease, regaling them with jokes and an endless supply of charm. When you realized you were in love with Paige Bueckers, you weren’t surprised about it. If anything, you might have been a little upset with yourself – you were sure you weren’t the only person she’d drawn in unintentionally, ensnared in a web whose latticework was meticulously shaped like basketball netting.

As the night went on, more and more laughs were shared until the clock reached midnight and many of Paige’s teammates got up to leave. Everyone shared hugs and affectionate goodnights. All of them even looped around to hug you – which was… nice. Paige shared her apartment with Azzi and Aubrey, so they retired to their own rooms after curious glances to you and Paige, still curled up together on the couch.

The apartment was quiet. You could hear the ring of silence as it enveloped the two of you, Paige’s gentle breathing, and the tick of the clock. It was oddly comforting; normally, it would have lulled you into a drowsy state, but you couldn’t focus on anything but the heat of Paige’s body next to yours, the brush of her thumb against your shoulder. Feeling both unmoored and tethered, you shift next to Paige, gathering her attention. “I should go,” you’d whispered. Her thumb halted.

“Stay,” she requested. She tilted her head. Her gaze met yours. You expected her eyes to be half-closed, dim with sleep. The rasp of her voice was attributed to a tone you knew she’d adopt when she was exhausted, but her eyes were wide, alert, dilated, a blue so dark you were sure you almost mistook the sheer want for something else. “Stay,” she murmured again. “Please.”

“Yeah,” you agreed almost breathlessly, feeling her hand squeeze your shoulder gently. “Sure.” She untangles from you and stands from the couch, offering you her hand, and you take it. She led you seamlessly through the dark of her apartment into her bedroom, where she released you long enough to rifle through her drawers, having found you a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt for you to wear to bed. Paige pointed you towards the bathroom. You changed into her clothes. Your fingers had shook with anticipation at the sheer domesticity of it all as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Your – her – t-shirt read HOPKINS GIRLS BASKETBALL. It had all felt so different now. You hadn’t been sure at the moment if it terrified you or excited you.

You exited the bathroom to find Paige’s back to you, adjusting the band of a pair of basketball shorts around her hips. Her hair was out of her bun and it cascaded down her back in loose, wavy strands; you’d felt an inexplicable urge to run your fingers through it, to find out if her hair was as soft as it looked. She was wearing a dark black sports bra. The two of you were friends. Granted, you were in love with her, but the sight of her wearing nothing but ball shorts and her Nike bra shouldn’t have done the things it did to you.

“Which side is yours?” you’d asked, mostly to break the silence. You ignored the crack in your voice. Paige paid it no mind as she turned, which forced you to avert your eyes, trying not to glance at her abdominals.

“Don’t matter,” she responded. You watched the way she moved, sitting low on the bed, legs long and stark against the purple of her comfort. “You gettin’ in or what?” You hoped she couldn’t see the flush on your neck. You slid into bed next to her, hoping to maintain some sort of distance, but she refused to let you get too far. She slung her arm over your waist, fingers brushing against your skin where your shirt rode up. Her breath was even against your neck and the heat of her body nearly turned your brain into mush. “This okay?” she asked, tone softer.

“Mhm,” you hummed, afraid to speak or you might fuck up and tell her just how okay it actually was. Paige was just a touchy person, you tried to remind yourself as you felt the tickle of her hair against the nape of your neck. This doesn’t mean anything to her. It was all for naught. It did little to quell the way your heart raced, the way the heat pooled low in your belly.

“You looked good tonight,” she said casually. You tried to stop the goosebumps as they rose on your flesh. “You always do.”

Unable to think of something smart to say, you shifted your body slightly, your fingers splaying over the arm she held tight around your midsection. “Oh, yeah?” Her fingers brushed a little lower on your stomach, grazing the waistband of your shorts.

She hummed an affirmative, pulling you tighter against herself, and you could barely breathe. It was overwhelming in the best way – she was all around you. Physically, you felt as though you were in her skin as she greedily pulled you in. The scent of her was everywhere; the shampoo that seeped into her pillows, the cologne on her neck. Your hair stood on end as her lips brushed almost imperceptibly against the shell of your ear. “‘M glad you came tonight,” she whispered.

You flipped on your side, face-to-face with Paige. Her arm moved enough for you to get situated and once you were, her hand found the small of your back, her palm warm against your skin. You can’t help the way your breath hitched, even as Paige’s eyes seemed to take in the stuttering rise and fall of your chest. Having found some courage, you poked her cheek, drawing her eyes back up to yours. “What are we doing?” you asked finally, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable. Her brow raised slightly, the dark blue of her gaze illuminated by the streaks of moonlight through her window. “No funny shit, Paige. You touch me like you want me, claim me in front of your friends.” You searched her eyes as she fell silent. “What are we doing?” you repeated, voice firmer.

“I want you,” she confessed after a few heartbeats of contemplation. She leaned in closer to you, your noses nearly brushing, and she continued, “I want you so fucking bad. Don’t wanna do anything you’ont want, but–”

Your lips were on hers before she had the chance to finish. She responded eagerly, one hand firm around your waist as she flipped the both of you over, pulling you to straddle her waist. You leaned down, your chest against hers, hands on each side of her neck. You felt the thundering of her pulse under your fingers. It was stabilizing in a sense – words were one thing, but to feel how badly you’d been able to affect her, too, did wonders for your growing ego. Paige’s hands had found your hips, keeping you pressed against her body.

You parted briefly to catch your breath. Paige’s chest heaved, her lips shiny and swollen. She was hard to look away from. For a moment, you’d wondered if this was worth it. Your heart had raced, beating uncontrollably; it felt like too much and not enough at the same time. Everything would change between the two of you. Was one night with Paige worth the risk of losing your friendship? You feel too strongly, too much, overwhelmingly. You’ve been told by an ex or two that you were simply too much. You wouldn’t want to subject Paige to that.

Her right hand met your face, tracing the line of your bottom lip. “You want this?” she asked. Her eyes were blown wide, more pupil than iris, but something about it entranced you. The desire in her eyes had brought fresh heat to your stomach, but coupled with the fact she’d be willing to stop made your heart beat a little faster. She was enough to quell your worries, settling the irregularity of your thoughts. You nodded, leaning down to connect your lips again, but her hand was insistent against your jaw as she held you back. “Words,” she commanded.

You’d barely resisted an eyeroll. “Yes, Paige,” you affirmed. Her hand loosened, eyes searching yours. “Want you.”

Her smile turned smug. “Yeah? How bad?”

The tease sent white-hot desire straight through your body as your hips rolled against hers, trying to find some relief. Her hands fall back down to your waist, helping you rut against her thigh as a shared flush creeped up both of your necks. “You gonna touch me?” you breathed against her lips. Her breath came out a disjointed stutter when you guided her hand to the swell of your ass. It was unnatural – Paige was so sure, so confident. To have her nearly at your mercy was like a drug through your veins, but you didn’t want her there. You wanted Paige fully in control; you wanted her to take care of you, to give you everything you’d fantasized about for months on end. You wanted her so bad it rewired the coding in your brain. There was something about her that broke down all of the walls you spent years building.

Your actions and words had been the only permission she needed. One of her hands gripped the flesh of your ass as the other one cupped the back of your neck. Her nail scratched you inadvertently as she dragged you back down to connect your lips – the slight echo of pain caused you to whine against her lips, a sound she swallowed greedily before she flipped the two of you over once more. Your head fell back against her pillows as she rucked up your shirt, finding that you’d opted to not wear a bra. She groaned indulgently, one large hand coming up to squeeze one of your breasts and her mouth finding the other one.

You ran your fingers through her hair, gripping it tight as she lavished you with attention. “So fuckin’ pretty,” she murmured against you, voice dripping with want. She pressed her knee against your core as she found her way back to your lips, kissing you deeply and drawing another whimper from your parted lips. It sent a jolt through your body. “You gon’ let me do what I want, huh? Get you right?”

“Paige, please,” you begged, all of the shame having left your body as you ground down against her knee, feeling the pleasure and relief simultaneously. “Fuck, do what you want, I don’t care – just please fucking touch me.”

She shushed you, lips back on yours, tongue brushing against your lips like she was trying to take whatever you’d give her. And at that point, you would have given her anything if it meant she’d stop teasing you. “I got you, ma, jus’ relax,” she whispered against your lips. She trailed a blazing path down your chest, leaving hickies as she went. Paige reached the waistband of your shorts; she pressed a sloppy kiss to your navel before bunching her fingers in and pulling them off, throwing them haphazardly into the room.

The air was cold against you. You were breathing heavily by then, eyes squeezed shut in anticipation. Her hand untwisted yours from the bedsheets, linking your fingers together, and that touch alone was enough to bring you back down to earth. “I got you,” she promised again, reminding you, pressing diligent kisses against the inside of your thigh. You relaxed ever so slightly against her, feeling as though you could breathe a little easier, but your body was still incredibly high strung. Paige squeezed your hand. Then her mouth was on you, and you were done for.

She held your hand as she went down on you, talking you through it until your orgasm reached its peak and you sunk into the bed bonelessly. She didn’t release you when she came back up, her smile a mix of smugness, pride, and quiet adoration. Paige kissed your knuckles, your cheeks, your lips, drawing a contented sigh out of you. “You good?” she asked, brushing your hair out of your eyes, hand cradling your jaw.

Exhausted, all you could do was hum an affirmative. Paige flashed a small smile again, pressing a kiss to your forehead and crawling off the bed, much to your surprise. “Lemme get you some water,” she said. “‘M coming right back, I promise.”

You nodded wordlessly, closing your eyes and sinking back into the pillows as your breathing evens out. She left her room, the door shutting with a silent click. In the silence of Paige’s bedroom, curled up in her purple comforter, all you can think about is how the future of your friendship has inexplicably changed forever. She said she wanted you. Did she just mean sexually? Paige was always intentional in her communication, a byproduct of her media training. Tears brimmed your eyes when you considered the idea that you might have just been another Wednesday night fling for her. Here you are again, feeling stupid about the overwhelming feelings you harbored for Paige despite your better judgment. The worst part was that it wasn’t her fault. You got your hopes up.

You wiped your eyes when you heard the door open again. Paige crossed the room, cracking open a cold bottle of water for you and pressing it to your lips. You nearly forgot about your inner turmoil when she smiled at you again, having thrown her hair back up into its bun. “Gonna clean you up, okay?” she informed you. At your nod, she runs a warm washcloth between your thighs, getting rid of the lingering stickiness. She carefully redressed you, squeezing your hips gently, and you’re left feeling so incredibly conflicted that you’re breathless with the anxiety. Paige disposed of the washcloth and curled up next to you in bed once more, an arm wrapping around your midsection. You’d told each other goodnight, but as her breath evens out against your neck, your mind races.

You slept fitfully through the night. And when morning light rolled around, you extracted yourself from Paige’s grip, sliding a pillow into her arms. The nervousness and all of your overthinking thoughts made you queasy with grief. You were in love with Paige Bueckers. That much was true. You were too head over heels for her to return to normalcy; you couldn’t. At that point, it would be easier for you to not be friends with her at all than to pretend like she wasn’t everything you’d ever wanted.

As she slept, you casted one last guilty look over your shoulder and you ran.

But that night in February has long since passed, and on the porch swing on a much warmer night in April, Paige stares at you in desperation, seeking answers to the questions you’ve withheld for over a month. “Why did you leave?” she asks you again. “Fuck, tell me the truth, lie to me, whatever, just please give me something to work with.”

“It was overwhelming,” you finally admit, twisting the rings on your fingers. You feel terrible as you glance at Paige, whose eyes soften when she takes in your expression.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shoulda seen that something was wrong.”

You close your eyes, lips trembling. You’re touched at how she instantly takes responsibility for your fuck ups, thinking she’s done something wrong. “No, Paige,” you correct her. “Fuck. It wasn’t you. It was never you.” You pick at a loose string on your shorts. She stares at you, waiting for you to continue. “You were so gentle. That night meant everything to me, and that was the problem. I wanted you so bad – Jesus Christ, I was in love with you for months. I don’t do casual. I always feel too strongly and I loved you so much that it was fucking overwhelming. I woke up and nearly lost it because I couldn’t handle the idea of having you like that and having to pretend like I didn’t want you like that forever. It was so much easier to run and not face the possibility of having to be your friend when all I’ve wanted was more.”

When you finally look back to Paige, her eyes are wide with something that looks strangely like grief, like you’ve pulled the rug from under her feet and watched as she fell. As you think about it, that’s probably what you’ve done, anyway. She spent so long thinking that your fallout was her fault, that it was something she’d done, but the ugly truth of the matter was that you were too scared of the way you felt for her that you ran from it instead. Paige runs a frustrated hand over her jaw, her expression nearly unreadable. You frown. “I’m sorry,” you say quietly, knowing that your apology is long overdue. You fucked up so incredibly bad with her. Your brain remembers her prior words, the ‘It wasn’t a hook up. It meant something to me – everything to me,’ and you suddenly feel like an idiot. God, it was mutual this entire time and you were too caught up in yourself to realize it.

“You think too fucking much,” Paige says finally, and you hardly have the time to react before she’s kissing you, her hands gripping your hips. You nearly gasp against her lips before you fully register what’s happening. Sinking into it, you wrap your arms around her neck, feeling suddenly like everything is finally aligning, that all of your blurred focal points sharpen. When she pulls away, her eyes are alight with understanding. “So, lemme get this straight. You pushed me away ‘cause you’re in love with me, then we fucked, and you thought I wouldn’t wife you up?”

You frown, feeling stupid all over again. “Well, when you put it like that…yeah?”

Paige sighs. “Fuck. Look at my lawyer – you’d send dudes to jail left and fucking right ‘cause you jump to conclusions too early. Thank God you’re not going into criminal defense.”

You shove her away from you, feeling the embarrassment bloom on your cheeks. You can’t help but laugh as you say, “You’re an asshole.”

She guffaws, reaching for your hands, intertwining your fingers. “Says you! You ghosted me for a month and let me think I fucked us up. Jesus Christ.” She twists the ring on your finger mindlessly as she searches for the right words. “Okay, lemme be really fucking clear. I’m in love with you, too. Like, I’m fuckin’ crazy about you. There is nobody but you. You aren’t too much for me – I love you for you, no ifs, ands, buts, whys, hows, nothing. I know you thought you were protecting us by pushin’ me away, but you gotta let me make that choice, too. I want this with you, alright? Will you gimme that chance?”

Her words leave the two of you in silence. You can still hear the chirp of the crickets, the thrumming from the party indoors. You can feel the way her thumb brushes over your knuckles, the way her eyes bore into yours, patiently waiting for your decision. But distinctly, you can see the plea, the desperation for you to just give into what she knows the both of you are feeling. Your anxiety and constant overthinking never ruined the two of you. It may have set you back, but you and Paige found your way back to each other. Maybe you’re not a meteor, dangerously crashing into her and disintegrating on impact. Maybe the two of you are something simpler – the moon and the tide. She was never going to let you get hurt if only you’d give her the opportunity to show you that.

So, you take that leap – whether it’s off the diving board into the pool or the cliffside into beach waves, you don’t care. You know now that Paige is waiting for you at the surface. “I want this, too,” you affirm, watching the smile bloom on her face like springtime flowers, and you seal the deal by pressing your lips to hers. She responds eagerly, her arms tight around you. You loathe that it took the two of you this long, that it was your fault for not trusting Paige with your heart when she’s given you no real reason to doubt her; despite this, her lips taste like forgiveness and yours like atonement. In spite of everything, you made it here in the end, and it was worth it.

[greeksorceress]

if i had my way ( you’d always stay) 

(brief mentions of mature content)

In hindsight, the night had been bound to be hell on earth since they received the current invitation for the Christmas dinner that religiously took place in the Red Keep every year. 

The invitation had been a family Christmas picture that Alicent forced upon her husband and their children every October —with enough time to prepare for the holidays, Alicent had said when Daemon made fun of her two Christmases ago—, and as soon as Lucerys and Jacaerys had seen the sender’s address, they had barely contained themselves from tearing the green envelope open with teeth and nails.

Viserys, Alicent, Aegon, Helaena, Aemond and Daeron wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. 

In the back of the card, just for “Rhaenyra and her family ♡” was written the time they were expected to arrive.

In the picture, Grandpa Viserys and Alicent were sitting on their burgundy designer couch, a piece of furniture more expensive than it had any right to be, and in the background the enormous fireplace of the main and biggest hall of the Red Keep could be seen alight and bright. Aegon and Helaena were standing by Grandpa Viserys’ side, carrying baby Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, while Aemond, pretty much like in real life, had preferred to stay by Alicent’s side. Daeron wasn’t even in the picture. The hilariousness of the situation wasn’t even about the rather ugly matching Gucci Christmas sweater that Alicent had picked for them this time. What truly sold the picture were the different stages of grief that could be appreciated as clearly as summer skies in the faces of the three Targaryen-Hightower siblings.

Spending some days in the Red Keep to celebrate with Grandpa Viserys and his second family has never been uncommon for them, truth to be told. However, Lucerys must admit that his mother and Alicent had come a long way with their relationship and it had influenced the rest of them, if not just to keep the two women happy. What had been broken once by lies and marriages, enhanced by the loss of an eye in a childish dispute, had been reconstructed and reinforced with no short amount of willingness and care, as well as time and all the perseverance in the world. Their dinners had gone from Rhaenyra and Alicent trying to claw at each other to a pleasant companionship that made Alicent feel safe and encouraged enough as to send them a personalised Christmas card every year. 

The first time they received one, Jacaerys hollered so hard that he woke Joffrey and baby Aegon up. Even Rhaenyra had unwillingly giggled, covering her mouth guiltily after that. Daemon had been the most enthusiastic about it, though, and had dedicated a little hall of fame in the empty study on the second floor for all the Christmas cards they’ve received. Now, just as it was tradition for Alicent to send them one, the Velaryon brothers as well as their step-father and littlest brothers hung and ranked the pictures with the same reverence one would fill stockings or decorate the tree. 

And yet, although the younger generation of the family have tried to keep it together for the sake of their mothers, it doesn’t always —almost never— work out in the end. There’s a sort of animosity that hangs above their heads as heavy as stones, and Jacaerys had mumbled once when they were about to sleep after a particular harsh toast three years ago that he thought it to be unfair that Alicent and their mother got to play friends and pretend nothing ever happened between them while their children had to carry the hate that had been fed to them by the adults. So yeah, while it wasn’t as bad as a few years ago, the invitation had meant hell on earth for the three Velaryon boys, for they had known they would have to endure poorly concealed jabs and jests through the entire duration of their stay.

Still, this has to be a first even for a family as dysfunctional as theirs. 

Lucerys looks at the present, neatly wrapped in black paper with a velvety green ribbon that met in a delicate and sophisticated bow in the middle, and his hands tremble. It’s Aemond’s, that much is clear. If the wrapping hadn’t been enough of a clue, Aemond’s burning stare would have been sufficient. Lucerys blames Jacaerys for not paying enough attention to the cues, handling Lucerys the present as soon as he saw his name written in the tag attached to the bow. 

He starts undoing the ribbon with clumsy fingers, almost mourning the perfection of the bow practically dissolving and then proceeds to slowly tear the paper, actively trying to ignore Aemond’s eye while being conscious of the eagerness of the rest of the family members. 

The present is a box as black as the paper that has been wrapped over it, and the cover has the name of a very expensive jewellery maker from Dorne that Lucerys follows on Instagram. 

As a rule, the first to open their presents are to be the children, so they had waited patiently for Jaehaerys, Jaehaera and baby Viserys to open theirs. Their excited screams and their little faces painted red with happiness had been as exhilarating and endearing for the older teens and young adults as it had been for the two older, married couples. Supposedly, baby Aegon was to be next, but Grandpa Viserys, never one to miss the opportunity to play favourites, had encouraged Lucerys to open his first. 

“Jace,” he tries, “why don’t you give me mom and dad’s—” he sees the way Jaehaera and Jaehaerys pause and look at him, toys forgotten in their confusion, and he has to bite his tongue, “I mean, Santa’s presents that he has left for me in honor of mother and father—”

Jace falters, as if he’s actually considering to switch presents and take the black box from Lucerys’ hands. He will feel bad later for taking advantage of his older brother’s weakness for hi., but right now, he just wants to dodge the literal bomb that must be concealed under the paper and the velvet, waiting for Lucerys’ fingertips to brush against it to set it off. Would the bomb be powerful enough to blow his eye out of his face?  

Aemond doesn’t let that happen, though. He stands up and calmly approaches Lucerys, skilfully avoiding stepping on the kids that are sprawled on top of the carpet, not a single drop falling from his champagne flute.

“But, Lucerys, that wouldn’t be nice, would it? That’s Santa’s present that he’s giving you in my honor… Would you wound me so by discarding it?” 

Lucerys blinks at him, mouth agape. Next to him, he feels Jacaerys tensing. His brother is starting to realise the potential danger of the present and he reaches a hand to take it from Lucerys. Aemond is faster. He knocks Jacaerys’ hand out of the way and pushes back the box into Lucerys’ arms, making the pointed corner jab at his ribs. He sits right on the stupid burgundy couch and looks at him with unadulterated self-satisfaction, raising the flute to his lips.

Lucerys is not proud of the way his eyes fixate on the bubbles disappearing into Aemond’s mouth, and in the movements of his Adam’s apple when he swallows. Lucerys’ neck itches, the spots that Aemond had thoroughly kissed and bitten a couple of hours ago, embroidering the tender skin with reds and purples by teeth as sharp as needles, burning up and pulsating under his clothes. 

He feels his cheeks heat up with shame and things he doesn’t want to admit in front of his family. Aemond dares to eye-fuck him back right in front of their family, playing with the kids’ naivety to get his will met at any costs, softening his voice enough to actually sound wounded, “Jaehaera, Jaehaerys, don’t you want to see what Lucerys got from Santa? Kēpus specially requested for it, it was the first thing I wrote in my letter!”

It works, it fucking works, of course it does. As soon as he says that, the kids turn to Lucerys and rush to assemble by his legs, peering up at the present like it’s the world’s seventh wonder. 

“Open it, Luce!” cries Jaehaera, resting her little chin on Lucerys’ knee, “it has to be a great present if Kēpus asked Santa himself!”

Lucerys has fought his fair share of puppy eyes in his life, having three younger brothers kind of makes you immune to it at some point, even more if you’re dubbed as the actual king of the look itself. Now, he finds he cannot say no to those sweet faces and sighs, ready to meet his destiny. 

It cannot be that bad, right? 

For the longest time, Alicent was the person that hated him the most, even more than Aemond, he thinks. And yet, as years have passed and things have been settled and forgiven, Alicent seems to appreciate him enough to actually get him presents that he might like. Ignoring his own version of the Gucci Christmas zipped sweater that she has forced him to wear over his turtle neck shirt and overalls, —Jacaerys and Joffrey had looked at him with glee in their eyes, it’s his own karma for making fun of the picture—, she has also given him an Apple Watch and the two pairs of shoes that he had added to his wishlist. So, if Alicent is actually being good to him, it means Aemond cannot be much worse, right? Lucerys knows he’s not fooling anyone, not even himself. 

He opens the box hesitantly, barely enough for him to peek inside. It seems Jacaerys is having none of it, and he yanks the fancy black lid open, ignoring Lucerys cursing at him, so they all can take a look.

Nothing would’ve have prepared Lucerys for this. 

Inside the box was a bomb in the form of jewellery, but a bomb nonetheless. 

It has to be a first, definitely. Because he certainly remembers some of the most chaotic Christmases they have celebrated and nothing that comes to mind can possibly hold a candle to this moment. 

Lucerys was too young to remember that one time when Daemon punched Otto, who was still being invited to celebrate with them at the time, and successfully managed to break the man’s jaw, forcing a pregnant Rhaenyra to take the children to their rooms and leaving Viserys and Aemond to take Otto to the hospital while Alicent wept. He does vividly remember that one time Aegon was three hours late to the Christmas Eve’s dinner and crashed his brand new Mercedes into the three foot snowmen that Alicent liked to set in the front garden of the Red Keep. Aegon had proceeded to puke all over Aemond and Daemon’s shoes when they pulled him from the car before losing his consciousness. He had needed three stitches in his right eyebrow, but otherwise, he had been okay. Lucerys doesn’t want to remember the first Christmas right after the eye incident, the one where Aemond and Alicent had been absent from the table, refusing to dine with them —with Lucerys— in the same room. Unfortunately, he does remember it, and he also remembers crying into his pillow that night. He had known Aemond wasn’t going to be there on the next morning to open his presents with them, so he had made sure to sneak out during the night and place the handmade package with his letters and drawings for the older boy by Aemond’s door. When Jacaerys had woken him up and had forced him out of their shared bed to rush down and get their own presents, the box was right by their door, stomped and ruined beyond recognition. 

So yeah, it’s safe to say that Lucerys and his family are used to complicated holidays. Nonetheless, this present is like a bucket of cold water poured over him.

“A necklace!” screams baby Viserys, big eyes wide open before the sparkling piece of jewellery. 

No. It isn’t a necklace. It’s a choker. A fucking full on collar, if you will. 

It’s beautiful. It’s frightening. It’s Aemond’s. 

It’s as velvet as the ribbon that had decorated the box, only this one is much smoother and as black as the ocean water during the night. In the middle of it, dangling from a beautiful chain made of sapphires, sits a beautiful heart with a carving on its center. The material of the heart is Valyrian steel, as elegant as silver —the preferred material of House Velaryon— and more expensive than twenty-four karat gold. The carved message is two mere words. 

ñuha taoba

Lucerys only needs to raise his head to look at Aemond, but he finds himself unable to do so. His stare is frozen upon the collar, and he holds the box tightly to his chest, to hide the fact that the tickling sound that seemed to reverberate through all the room was his heartbeat speeding up. He also wishes to hide Aemond’s deranged tribute far away from the kids’s curious gazes. 

The room falls into a deafening silence, Lucerys doesn’t even want to see his mother and father’s reactions. 

“Well. Do you like my present, taoba?”

The bomb does, indeed, tick off. Daemon stands up abruptly, the sheer force of his movement enough to knock the chair down, and rapidly stalks towards Aemond. “Is this a fucking joke to you, boy? Do you want to see how funny I can get, too?” 

His mother is stricken with the same kind of mortified silence that has overpowered Lucerys, and Alicent, who’s sitting beside her, looks as pale as a ghost. Their stupor doesn’t last much, though. Soon, they’re jumping on their feet, trying to pull Daemon away from his nephew while screaming profanities at both men and at each other. Jacaerys joins the argument too, and so does Daeron while a very stressed Helaena tries to pull the children away. It just takes a couple of insults from Aemond’s mouth towards Rhaenyra to make Joffrey interfere too. Grandpa Viserys is raising his voice, trying to be heard atop the shouts of his family to no avail. 

Lucerys’ abasement is fuelled when feels the taletelling wetness run down his thighs, and he hopes for the love of the gods that he doesn’t stain the couch. He wants to die. 

He feels someone sit next to him, occupying Jace’s previous seat and throwing an arm over the back of the couch.

“If they think that’s bad, wait until you open my present” singsongs Aegon, drinking from his own flute without the elegance that his brother possesses. 

[foldingfittedsheets]

I’d like to entertain and enliven you now with the saga of my Slut Era.

I’ve always been a serial monogamist and my shortest long term relationships clocked in at three years. So perhaps that’s why when I finally broke it off with my ex I went insane on dating. Part of it was definitely just that between anxiety and loneliness I wanted to fill up my time.

This happened when I was living alone for the first time, no roommates, just me and my little cat Leeloo. I didn’t want to come home to an empty house so instead I set up dates.

Most of these were disastrous. I’m not everyone’s cup of tea and I had a lot more first dates than second because they’d seen enough, including the one where people aggressively complimented me.

But after a few months I had four people I was seeing simultaneously. I was up front with all of them that things were not exclusive, and they all agreed, so no infidelity took place here, just a lot of hijinks.

Here’s who was on the dating roster:

• An apprentice woodworker that we’ll call Jill. I honestly thought at 26 years old that her being 21 wasn’t a problem age gap and I quickly learned that there was a vast gulf of both maturity and life experience between us. Jill described herself as “heteroflexible” and had just dumped her first boyfriend to flirt it up with me.

• A married woman looking for a friends with benefits. We’ll call her Alice. I insisted on meeting her husband first to be sure I wasn’t part of a cheating mess and he gave me his blessing when I stayed over at her house. Years later when he and Alice had divorced I would go on to sell him and his new fiancée an engagement ring and we both realized at the end how we knew each other and it was wildly awkward. Alice was nice, but a hardcore vegan who insisted I brush my teeth if I so much as ate string cheese before I could kiss her. She was also unhappy in her marriage and was feeling out if I’d want to get serious.

• A bartender dubbed Snakebites, so called because of her signature piercings. She cooked me a steak so raw it was still mooing and some of the best asparagus I’d ever had. In our singular sexy encounter she bit my nipple and I never got over it. Really don't bite someone if you don't know their preference and work up in pressure. We weren’t terribly compatible but neither of us were willing to admit it yet. Truthfully I considered still dating her solely because I desperately wanted her bathroom. It had all black tile, black toilet, black sink, a rain shower in the corner and a jacuzzi tub. I may not have loved her but god I loved that bathroom.

And finally,

• My beloved, who I would go on to marry, who was dealing with a lot of personal stuff at the time. Obviously that meant I liked them the best of all the people I was seeing because we were both disasters at the time.

So that’s the cast of this little misadventure. Now, our story begins with Jill.

Jill was someone who heightened my anxiety. Each of the three times she came to my home she brought and left more stuff. A self help book, a ramen kit, the entire Teen Titans collection of DVDs. It was like she was trying to move in. She also liked to deride my taste in things, frequently calling me a pleb when I mentioned a band or show I liked.

She was working on a gorgeous little decorative table in her woodworking program. The main wood for the top had a beautiful dapple of knots like jaguar spots, and when she showed me a picture I exclaimed how pretty it was.

“Do you want it?”

“Oh- I mean it’s lovely, I wouldn’t mind having it, but you should sell it and make some money!”

But she was adamant. She’d give me the little side table. At about this time, Alice was starting to get awfully lovey for a FWB. I knew she wasn’t happy with her husband but I also knew we were not a good fit. Fun fact: Alice and her husband were step siblings with a pretty hefty age gap. They got together when he stumbled upon a kink photo shoot she’d done with vegetables. None of their family was happy about the relationship but they weren’t related by blood so it was fine.

So I was fending off more overt romantic advances from Alice, and feeling increasingly like I needed to break things off with Jill. Snakebites wasn’t ever initiating communication and I decided to pull a lot of plugs at once.

I ghosted Snakebites, told Alice that I thought we should cool it, and in a move worthy of a rom-com I asked my beloved if I could pretend we were exclusive to put off Jill. They agreed and I texted Jill to let her know that I was no longer single.

I was not prepared for Jill’s response. She. Was. Devastated. She flew off the handle. She’d just been waiting for the right time to tell me how she felt about me! How dare I do this to her!

What about the table?!

“You should keep the table, it’s gorgeous, you’ll be able to sell it, but I don’t expect a free table.”

Silence met me after that text. I worried and fretted and eventually headed home.

There on my doorstep. The table.

It was a small little end table, reeking of oil and polish, but very beautiful. I brought it inside. The little drawer didn’t even have a knob or guide rails. But it did have a handwritten bill proclaiming that it was costing me $500.

“I can’t afford a $500 table, Jill!” I texted.

“Well you kept saying how nice it was. I spent a lot of time on it.”

“I’m not saying it’s not worth $500” (it wasn’t, it was a tiny side table made by an apprentice) “but I can’t buy a $500 table.”

“Make me an offer.”

I stared at the little table. I did actually like it, but I worried about the repercussions of entering into this deal. Hesitantly I typed back, “$300.” I didn’t think it was worth that much but I didn’t want to insult her too badly.

This suited her for the night. But the next day she informed me she needed a new bed, and that she’d take her $300 in credit toward a new mattress. I spent the whole next day basically wrangling with her over what she wanted and eventually she spiked back up to demanding $500 for the damn table.

“Let me just give it back,” I begged. It was not the first, second, or even third time I’d asked to return the thing but this time she finally relented and gave me her address. Since she lived with her parents still I’d never been over.

I called up my beloved and said, “Hey, I need moral support, can you run an errand with me?”

They agreed which is how we loaded up a self help book, a ramen kit, the entire Teen Titans DVD collection, and the table from hell into my little car together. Jill had said to meet her at one o'clock. I intended to drop everything off at noon and be done with this madness.

But while my beloved and I were on the doorstep leaving everything I heard, “Jill? You’re home early,” through the door. Her mom opened it to peer at us in confusion.

“I was just bringing Jill’s stuff back!” I chirped in alarm.

With little tact and a lot of speed we left her with Jill’s collection of things and then I sped out of there like my tail was on fire. I handed my phone to my beloved as I zoomed away instructing them to block Jill’s number. I was free. The tabletross around my neck had been returned.

It was about a month after that when my beloved and I officially began dating exclusively. I had wrapped up all my messy dating threads and it was a relief to be in a relationship again. They went on a trip to Mexico shortly after we made it official.

So I knew they were out of town. But next morning I walked out to my car and beheld a lipstick kiss pressed to the drivers side window.

I was petrified. I had just dumped three girls at once and had an extremely messy back and forth with one of them. Did I have a stalker?!

Of the girls, Alice seemed like likeliest candidate, being of a stronger lipstick variety girl than Jill or Snakebites. We had ended things a bit stiffly, but still cordial. She just laughed when I asked if she knew anything about it. “Nope,” she said, “but good luck.”

I’d rather have walked over broken glass then text Jill, and I’d firmly ghosted Snakebites so I was scared to reopen communication to ask if she was stalking me. I had to drop it. But it haunted me, that lipstick kiss.

For months I was jumpy, wondering which of my spurned lovers had done it. And why. Was it a threat? A goodbye? I lay awake thinking about it, worrying about how everyone I’d dated knew where I lived, which car was mine.

Finally, nothing else happened and I moved on. The kiss would remain a mystery and I had to be content with that.

It was a year later when I finally started filling my mom in on my dating escapades that I finally got closure. She was hooting and laughing as I went over the table debacle. Then I paused and added, “And then this kiss showed up on my car.”

“Did you like it?”

“What? No! I’m pretty sure one of them was stalking me! Who else would leave a kiss on my car?”

My mom started bellowing with laughter. “I did!” She wheezed.

Apparently. My mother had been driving by my place. And decided that a cute little gesture would be to leave me a kiss. And then decided to never mention it to me even though she’s never done anything like that previously.

“It scared the crap out of me!” I yelled while she collapsed with helpless laughter. “I thought I had a stalker! How could I possibly have known that was you?!”

“How could I have known you’d just broken up with three girls at once?” She wheezed in rejoinder and like. Fair play.

So that’s how my mom convinced me I had a stalker and I got out of buying a $500 table.

[yundeob]

A NIGHT IN HOLLYWOOD ☆ | ATEEZ SERIES

— featuring ot8!ateez in iconic HOLLYWOOD romance and rom-com movies

— TICKET BOOTH IS CLOSED! 🎟️ : the movies are about to start! all fics will have MATURE CONTENT! MDNI!

sit back, relax, grab your popcorn and tissues, and enjoy the silver screen . . .

THE PARENT TRAP ☆ | KHJ

TROPE: exes to lovers! divorced!au

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, crack, slice of life

AS DIVORCED PARENTS to two twin daughters, you and hongjoong have your fair share of work cut out. Driving to piano lessons, cheering at hockey games, drop offs at each other’s houses, it can all be a little much. But could a relaxing summer retreat as a whole family possibly rekindle past emotions you’ve swept under the rug? . . .

— IN THEATRES

DIRTY DANCING ☆ | PSH

TROPE: bad boy!seonghwa, enemies to lovers!au , 60s!au

TAGS: nsfw, smut, angst, crack

THAT WAS THE SUMMER before JFK got shot, before the beatles came, and when you were working part time at your aunts summer resort. That was also the summer you met resident heart breaker and cocky entertainment crew member, Park Seonghwa. Remind yourself why you’re suddenly dance partners with him again? . . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

PRETTY WOMAN ☆ | JYH

TROPE: dilf!yunho x formerstripper!reader, strangers to lovers!au, contract lovers!au,

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst

LIVING IN BEVERLY HILLS comes with its perks. But for two different people such as yourself and multimillionaire business tycoon, Jeong Yunho, both of you can’t seem to find what you’re looking for in the so called ‘Land of Dreams’. So the proposal is simple really… let him spoil you with money, jewelry and clothes while in return, you stay by his side. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

MR AND MRS KANG ☆ | KYS

TROPE: marriage!au, established relationship, spy!au, assasin!au

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, ANGST, crack

WHO WOULD’VE THOUGHT picture perfect suburban neighbourhood couple, Mr. and Mrs. Kang would be at each others necks trying to kill each other first. You’ve both come this far in your marriage while hiding your secret identities, but it looks like only one person can remain standing. I guess you both did promise “in sickness and in health”. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

ROMAN HOLIDAY ☆ | CS

TROPE: royalty!au, princess!reader x reporter!san, strangers to lovers!

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst

AS CROWN PRINCESS, you’re on a tightly scheduled tour of European capital cities. But after an especially rough day in Rome, you sneak out of the embassy to explore the so called Eternal City, running into no other than celebrity news reporter, Choi San, looking out for his next big royal scandal. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU ☆ | SMG

TROPE: college!au, stoner!mingi, enemies to lovers!au, fakedating(?)au, y2k aesthetic

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, crack, slice of life

YOUR YOUNGER BROTHER Wooyoung is desperate in getting you, his older sister in college, to date so that he can finally date in highschool. The options for potential candidates are scarce, considering men flock away like birds the second you’re near. Good thing campus stoner and weirdo, Song Mingi is the same as well. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN 10 DAYS ☆ | JWY

TROPE: fashioncolumnist!reader x advertiser!wooyoung, y2k aesthetic, fake dating(?)au, enemies to lovers!au, mutual pining

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, crack, slice of life

LISTEN, IF IT MEANS getting a promotion at your editorial company as a news journalist instead of pop culture and lifestyle columnist, you’d do anything. And that includes pretending to be the most annoying and clingiest girlfriend to some guy for 10 whole days. But just so you know, Wooyoung likes clingy. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

ROMEO & JULIET ☆ | CJH

TROPE: unrequited love, star crossed lovers!au, mutual pining, secret romance (shakespeare be rolling in his grave rn)

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, ANGST

FOR CENTURIES, a plague of hatred and hostility has been present in the relations between the House of Choi and your own. You know you can’t be together, but yet why do you keep catching that dark haired boy staring at you so longingly? And why do you want him just as bad?. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

a/n: for updates, follow my blog! this will be a work-in-progress so I ask for your support:(🙏

taglist: @vent-stink @dazzlingstarrs @vcutparis @xpixie @potatos-on-clouds @showingmafandomlove @bibbleypoof @kpop-will-kill-me @avantalem @beabatiny @gabrielle-brugger @nsixns @amaranth1ne @stayminho @myblovedjyh @kkeshia @rebekah-reads @yoonbroom @4kwp @butterflydemons @iwaizumiismybae @soobinsputnik @stayatinykatsy @atitties @justconniez @kitten4sannie @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @cheolsthicthighs @morethingsfandom @geminiml95 @byuntrash101 @quailbagutte @syubseokie @newworldwritings @urmom26john @sleepy-kat-here @pearltinyy @hjshyhyssnmgwyjh @cursedeastern @starryunho @piratekingateez2001 @jiminbility @paumll @drinkingrumandcocacola @roomsofangel @channies-bbg-room @meanaonthemoon @teeztopia @pommelex @kiln9z @sanhwalvr @youresolivlie @edawg77 @a-0206 @summer-gyu @bvidzsoo @yoongzsmile28 @tournesol155

taglist became too long so find the second taglist here💀 no longer taking requests

[thinkinonsense]

old!logan and his obsession with the cute diner girl *mdni

a/n: this is my first attempt at writing something smutty so if it sucks im sorry lmao also if any writers have any tips please share! :)

logan has been around for long enough to know when a woman is attracted to him. there was a certain essence given off that was always a dead giveaway. usually it came from women close to the age he looked like and it tended to be brief moments of lust before all hope was lost. this was until he met you.

the pretty young girl working at the diner during her time off from college. everyday, he came in and ordered a black coffee. the coffee wasn't even that good but logan would spend two dollars every single day of his life if it came with the view of you bending over in that tiny uniform skirt.

logan would watch you for hours while he drank and skimmed the news paper alone in a booth. your hair was always up in either a ponytail or held together with a hair clip. he loved seeing your pretty handwriting as you scribbled on your notepad, taking orders. it was part of your job to be nice to everyone but you were especially nice to him. even your friends began to notice how you would linger by his table, constantly topping off his coffee mug and making small talk; sometimes giving him a slice of cherry pie on the house.

"don't you think he's kinda old for you?" one of your friends whispers to you behind the counter.

it's stung but you suppose she had a point. what would a man old enough to be your father want with a young wild girl like yourself?

"i-i guess so?" you stuttered, embarrassed at your previous attempt at flirting with him.

the rest of the night, you hoped he would leave before close so you could have some time alone with your feelings. summer was almost over and you would go back to the city soon. it was time to forget these silly fantasizes.

by ten, all the other waitresses went home except you, the older woman in the back who counted the drawer every night, and a few of the cooks. the only customer still there was logan. he flipped through one of the books he brought with him; still sipping away at that damn coffee.

"isn't it getting a little late for you, sweetheart?" he asked nonchalantly, not even looking up at you as you bent over to scrub the table next to his. the fifth table you've cleaned in the last hour and the second time you've cleaned that specific table. logan noticed but you didn't.

"need the hours." you mumble, frustrated by a stubborn stain. all logan could focus on was your scrunched nose and how your tight top pushed your boobs together just right for his viewing. "college is fucking expensive plus grants and scholarships only cover so much."

"hmm.." logan grunts. grants? scholarship? what a goody fucking two shoes, logan thought to himself. "if you bring me piece of pie, i think i can help you out."

you lean off the table and go get what's left in the glass container. it's probably a little hard so you definitely didn't plan on charging him for it. you sit the plate down in front of him and before you could turn around to walk away, logan reaches for your wrist softly.

"join me." he offers.

you knew you shouldn't but what was really the harm? at least your friends weren't here to make fun of you. the radio played quietly on an older station while you watched logan take a bite of the pie.

"why did your friends leave you here alone?" he asked, watching your face turn sour at the memory of them.

"don't wanna talk about it." your voice was small in the empty diner.

"why? think an old man like me can't relate to it?" logan chuckles. your thighs squeeze together without thinking. so much for not embarrassing yourself.

"no, no, not that." you shake your head and a strand of hair falls from your bun. "just sort of juvenile, you know?"

logan could tell that you were trying to come off more mature around him. you didn't want him to see you as some college kid.

"juvenile, how?" he eggs on, pushing down his glasses a bit.

god, those glasses got to you; and logan knew it.

"they don't understand how i feel about someone." you sigh.

"how do you feel about this person?" logan noticed you now avoiding his gaze, not liking it one bit. "eyes on me, princess."

the nickname caught you off guard like a dear in headlight; blinking and trembling up at logan. something logan enjoyed very much and could get used to.

"it's not important, just some stupid crush." you lie through your teeth. "they will forget about me in a month."

"why don't you think it'll work?" he cocks his head to the side a bit. "you're a pretty young thing, dollface. anyone of those college boys would be lucky to be wrapped around your little finger."

"i don't want college boys." you mumble, slightly annoyed by the memory of your friends.

logan felt himself getting hard at you admitting you had a taste for someone older. his eyes grew dark as he leaned in a little over the table.

"then what do you want?"

your moment to answer was interrupted by the older woman from the back, releasing you to go home for the evening. this was your chance to get up and leave before you admitted anything else that you would regret.

both of you stood up. logan threw down some cash while you went to collect your stuff behind the counter.

"i'll see you tomorrow, lo-"

"you didn't answer the question."

"i must go now if i want to catch the last train."

logan worried about you taking the train back to your apartment alone this late at night. usually you drive back but your car has been in the shop for almost three days now. he would watch you get to your car every night to make sure you were safe.

"i can drive you home." logan offers.

you shouldn't be this excited to be sitting in a strangers truck alone at night but here you were. the two of you sat in silence for a few minutes before logan brought up the conversation from the diner again. what did you even want?

"i want someone who understands me..." you begin rattling off the first things that come to mind when you notice logan's hand on your knee. you don't dare move.

"someone who is responsible..." with every word, his hand creeps higher and higher up your skirt. logan is more than pleased when he notices your legs spread on their own.

"someone who is m-mature..." logan's fingers inch towards the delicate skin of your inner thigh. there's no way this was happening, you thought as his index finger plays with the lace on the center of your pink underwear. he smirked at the wet spot front and center, waiting for him.

"treats me r-r-right." every word was a struggle to form as he stroked you softly. back and forth. back and forth.

logan nods along, not letting up down below. his index finger hooks onto your underwear, pulling it aside. you weren't even sure if you were breathing at this point; all this teasing was torture.

"p-p-please, logan..." you whine. "touch me."

his thumb rubs tiny circles on your button, adoring the way his name pours from your glossy lips. your hands fly to his wrists, needing more; nails digging into his skin in the most delicious way.

"where did this greediness come from?" logan groans, dipping his index finger inside of you. "what happened to that good girl from the diner?"

logan's finger barely fit in the tight space. your head fell back and a loud moan escaped you.

"oh, you weren't letting those college boys touch you at all, huh?" logan mocks, adding another finger and creating a steady pace.

"n-no!" you whine, lifting your hips a little.

"you were waiting for a real man to have his way with you, isn't that right, pretty girl?" he growls, pushing your hips back down.

you completely missed logan pulling off to the side of the road until now. his pace increases becoming rather rough now that he isn't driving. logan leaves deep purple bruises down your neck and across your chest, praising you to no end until you gush around his fingers, completely soaking his palm.

your heart pounded like you had just finished a marathon. logan allowed you to catch your breath as he carefully removed his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth to lick clean. he can feel your dazy eyes staring at him as he does so, making a real show of it.

"i've been wanting to do that for months now." he admits with a smirk.

"me too." you said, leaning forward and pulling him into a kiss; tasting yourself on his lips and tongue. logan wraps his hands around your hair, pulling you back a little when another moan falls from your lips.

"and we aren't even close to being done."

[ybklix]

homewrecker!

★ pairing: hwang hyunjin x fem!reader x lee minho part two

✦summary: The summer you thought would be boring, starts to become entertaining once you meet two beautiful mature men with whom you look forward to having fun for a while, Hwang Hyunjin and Lee Minho, whose perfect lives with wives and children become entangled in their own downfall as they fail to control themselves with your sweet and wicked game of seduction.

♡ genre - warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, bit angst, dilf hyunjin & minho, sub!hyunjin, dom!miho, cheating, age gap, sugar daddy, oral sex, masturbation, fingering, grinding, pet names (some dreg), kinks: breeding, daddy, unprotected sex, creampie, mention of spanking, slapping.

₊ ⊹ word count: 17.7k

masterlist - taglist ⭑.ᐟ

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ NOTES: nerd hyunjin from mountains mv as main inspo of his looks!!

miniplaylist: she by harry styles / cola by lana del rey / homewrecker by marina / older by isabel larosa

a/n: thinking about nerdy dilf hyunjin since this post of mine hehe & added minho for more fun lol EDIT: this extended too much, sorry, so I decided to split it in a part 2♡

divider by youre-ackermine

Everything started in that summer, a messy and unforgettable summer where you explored lands of desire, madness, passion, and lust.

You never thought spending the summer at your older sister’s house with her newly formed family would be so much fun, you were in paradise, surrounded by attractive mature men who lost their sanity with your slightest affection and youth; Hwang Hyunjin as a private tutor, Lee Minho as your neighbor, two men whose mid-life crisis went off in a war against themselves by not knowing how to control themselves with your sweet and perverse game of flirting, which you were not going to stop until you obtained your goal, no matter obstacles in the way, like their perfect lives, families and wives, you just wanted to have some fun. You never took it seriously, just some good sex, until the circumstances changed, sometimes not always for good reasons…

It all started, to be exact, on a Friday afternoon when your older sister picked you up from one of your friend’s house, where you stayed after leaving your college dorm for the summer. To be honest, you had two options: go to your parents’ house in your small town for the break, where you would be forced to take any job, or spend it at your sister’s big new house with her very well-behaved 7-year-old stepson and her husband, who was offering you a chance to visit his workplace sometimes, which was more than a dream since Mr. Bahng was a well-known and respected prosecutor and would feed your knowledge in your degree. The second option sounded pretty good for you, plus you’d be very useful to Missy, your sister, by taking care of little Chase, Bahng Chan’s son, from time to time.

You didn’t see anything wrong with the situation, you adored your sister even though she was a few years older than you, you were best friends without a problem, so you knew you wouldn’t have a dull moment, at least not all the time. Missy met Bahng Chan when she was 24 and studying for her graduate degree, Chan was then, her professor, 32 years old, a year divorced with an also 1 year old son, somehow, they fell in love and, Missy who for her motherhood was not an option, had no plans to conceive or adopt, accepted Chan just like that. They dated for four years, you knew Chan since you were younger, he was absolutely part of the family; they finally married two years ago and just last summer Chan bought a house in one of the nicest neighborhoods, moving in with her and him, and on special occasions when he had full care of his son.

To everyone’s good fortune, Chase was an adorable little boy identical to Chan, causing your sister so much tenderness as she watched him grow up that even on a couple of occasions her mentality was altered by wanting to conceive Chan’s child. Still, Chase was a little nerd, he loved school, he was too smart, and at his young age he had a life plan to get into the best college in the country —which you knew it wouldn’t be hard for him, seeing the kind of influences and contacts his father had—, but everyone knew he could make it on his own merit; he was of course at the top of his class and school, active, he played sports, he had a love of technology and above all, he was pure and very well disciplined. Missy and Chan would have him all to themselves the entire summer.

“Well, welcome, you already know which room is yours, oh, I didn’t ask if you were hungry” spoke your sister, closing the large door behind her.

“Mmm, I don’t think you cooked anything” you jokingly replied.

“No, but you can order something" she replied obviously, playing along, “If you want I’ll pay for it.”

“Thank you, Miss, I’m fine for now. Where’s Chase?”

“Mmm… I think he’s in his room.”

You left your things in the extra room you were going to stay in and headed animatedly to greet the little boy. His door was already half open, so you decided to slowly walk in.

“Chaseee” you chirped.

You could hear the sounds of video games from his television and when you were finally inside you confirmed that it was little Chase playing, however, he was not alone. You saw the attractive back of a slender man with long black hair sitting on the boy’s bed. As soon as Chase jumped up to hug you, he turned around revealing an attractive clean face done to perfection, bushy straight eyebrows, sharp dark eyes, accompanied by rectangular glasses, a slightly prominent nose, and full lips. He smiled at you, his gaze and smile were warm, and he stood up from his place, putting the console aside and walking towards you.

“Hello, auntie Y/n” Chase greeted you adorably.

You were so engrossed in reading the man with your eyes that you barely noticed that Chase had paused his game to go over and hug you, you returned the gesture, still standing and only hunching your posture slightly to gently rest your arms on him.

“Hi, Chase” you greeted him animatedly, looking at him quickly and returning your gaze to the man, who now stood before you.

Up close he looked a little better. He dressed a little unusual, making him look a little nerdy, but something about his look and gaze radiated so much confidence as if he knew how incredibly handsome he was. His black hair was slicked back, leaving free little strands that fell gracefully towards his face, and he looked so young as his lightly tanned skin was so smooth, but at the same time, you could tell he was someone older than you. He was tall and his limbs were long, his arms, his fingers, his legs in those black pants of a washed-out denim, baggy on his body, a collared shirt of a soft, thick gray fabric with the designer’s name on the pocket detail, giving the appearance of wearing another button-down collared shirt of red and white grid patterns, watch on his wrist and a thin necklace decorating his slightly bare chest; he looked good, too good for your taste, it felt good just to look at him.

“Ah, Aunt Y/n, this is my Uncle Hyunjin” the little boy spoke again.

“Nice to meet you, Hwang Hyunjin” finally said the man in front of you.

He sounded young, and had a unique voice that rumbled inside you. He didn’t stop looking at you either, almost as if he was mesmerizing you as well. He extended his right hand, you saw his large limb before shaking it, enjoying his light squeeze.

“Nice to meet you, too” you replied, trying to hide your huge grin, smiling downwards.

“Ah, you must be Y/n, Missy’s little sister, right?” he was quick to say, to which you nodded, unable to speak, but you had to, something in your nature wanted to flirt with him, “I’m a close friend of Chan’s and I come here for a few days in the afternoons as a private tutor for Chase.”

Hyunjin thought in those moments that you were not so little after all, you were quite a young woman and he felt the need to explain to you what he was doing there, in fact he felt the need to talk to you, you were a fresh and pretty young woman, you sparked in him the curiosity to talk further; regret came later for him, as he read your subtle bright look, implying that you were also interested. Hyunjin was older and knew every move of the game perfectly, so he blinked suddenly, coming out of his trance as he recognized that you were beginning to arouse in him curiosity for another woman, when he was happily married for almost a decade to the love of his life and they had two beautiful children.

You didn’t know what to reply, your brain was working fast to respond instantly to the handsome man, Chan’s friend; however, the little boy interrupted.

“Oh yes, auntie Y/n, Uncle Hyunjin is the best, he teaches me physics and math and also loves computers. He’s a biomedical engineer with a PhD, don’t tell anyone but he’s my favorite uncle” Chase spoke quickly, impressing you that the whole academic area was very important to him at his young age.

Hyunjin laughed softly, lowering his gaze to look more tenderly at the boy with a very cute smile traced on his face, his cheeks lifted and his eyes narrowed more, you thought he was adorable too. Seconds later, before anyone else could speak, footsteps could be heard down the stairs and a booming, animated, “Heyy, mate, where are you my champ?” in Chan’s distinctive voice.

The man entered his son’s room with a huge smile narrowing his eyes, “There you are, my boy” he said happily, seeing his mini-me version of himself and his purest creation.

“Oh, hi, daddy!” ran Chase to hug him.

Chan squatted down to better embrace his son, looked up and said:

“Oh, hi everyone” Chan extended his hand, greeting you and Hyunjin, with a shy smile.

You smiled back, you had to admit that Chan was always a very attractive and well conserved man for his age, he was a good man, he loved his son, his wife and he had to wear a suit almost every day that looked great on his muscular body, no doubt they were both lucky, because your sister was extremely careful with her appearance and she was a dream, a prosperous and sexy woman in her thirties, childless and with a professional career.

“Alright, lil’ mate, enough video games, go play outside” Chan commented softly to Chase, watching his face tenderly and still holding him.

“Will you play with me, daddy?” he replied, eyes sparkling.

“How about you let me change my clothes and then I’ll go to play with you right away, okay? You can play with Hyunjin.”

Chan looked at him, stood up and Chase turned to look in the direction of the two of you.

“And with aunty Y/n, too!” exclaimed the little boy.

“Alright, she can play too” Chan replied in a tired sigh, loosening his tie more, making him look effortlessly attractive, “Go with Missy so she can put some sunscreen on you before you go out.”

“Oh, I can do it” you replied at once, to which Chan whispered a soundless thank you, leaving his son’s room.

And again you were alone with Hyunjin… and Chase. You were slightly nervous, you had never stood like that in front of a boy, but you thought it was perhaps because you were very sure that Hyunjin was not a boy, but a man and you had never witnessed such a unique beauty as his. Hyunjin placed his hands in his pockets, also wandering in his thoughts, distracting himself from thinking about you and waiting for you to finish putting sunscreen on the little boy.

But Hyunjin couldn’t help it, his problem was always that he imagined too much, he loved to do it, it was his gift and curse at the same time, he was a bit delusional and kept fantasizing about how old you were, if you had a boyfriend, what year of college you were in, what your major was; because all he knew about you so far was your name, that you were the little sister of the wife of one of his best friends and that you were studying at the university. But it felt so wrong to have an interest in another woman. Normally he is not like that, he’s kind of shy but he has to socialize in his work from now and then, and he does it with female colleagues, he asks them about their life, he eats with them together sometimes, with another of his colleagues, in his lunch break, he texts them without concern when it’s something work related, he wishes them happy birthday… but feeling interest in you somehow felt so heavy and so wrong to him… and he recognized deep down that it was because of the fact that he found you attractive, so those two things combined, just resulted in Hyunjin’s light flirting, something he hadn’t done in years, at least not to impress or get the attention of any woman other than his dearest and most beloved Yeji.

Hyunjin was a romantic, he could be a bit of a nerd but he loved living a glamorous life, money, travel and love; so he goes through life quietly, exploring and living all kinds of experiences and, he comes to recognize when another woman is beautiful to him, but then he just moves on, remembering that there is no one more beautiful than the woman who wakes up in his arms every day, but for him… feelings are extremely important, he lives on hunches and feelings… and something deep down inside him is hard for him or he thinks it will be, to just let it go just like that, getting rid of you.

You played a little soccer in the sunshine together with Chase and Hyunjin, but quit as soon as Chan joined them, exaggeratedly pretending to be exhausted and shouting ‘time out!’ over and over again, just to get out of the situation, making the two men laugh, and made Hyunjin find you adorable, thinking you had a very cute relationship with Chase. You weren’t like that with all the kids, most of the time you didn’t know how to treat them, except for Chan’s boy, who was someone very special and smart and you almost saw him grow up too.

You entered the house, heading to the kitchen for some water, you already knew the place very well, you had stayed there a couple of times, Chan always reminds you that you are more than welcome and you know the pure kindness of your brother-in-law in his actions and words.

You took a napkin to wipe the light sweat from your brow and stood there, enjoying your refreshing water and the coolness of the house from the air conditioning everywhere. But your tranquility was disturbed when you saw that Chan’s handsome friend also entered the kitchen, confidently grabbing orange juice from the refrigerator. He walked over to you without thinking, standing next to you, with his glass in hand and finally taking a sip of the juice.

You thought everything about him in seconds, as you watched him slyly do the deed: his long fingers intertwining in the glass cup making it small held by him, his eyes closing softly as he directed the glass to his plumpy lips, his long neck and Adam’s apple moving as he drank, the ends of his hair slightly damp with sweat, everything about him was wow, the scene passed so slowly, you wanted this man, you were so determined and pumped up, until something shiny dazzled all your hopes away. As he lowered the glass from his mouth you noticed a ring on his finger, an important ring that indicated he was a taken man, belonging to someone else.

Hyunjin didn’t notice or acknowledge your displeasure, so he just continued with his questions, with a slightly guilty but bright smile on his face, convincing himself that he only wanted to ask about you, out of kindness, and not because he was really interested…

“Mmm… and you came to visit Missy?”

You turned to stare at him, you couldn’t do it because it made you nervous, but at the same time you just wanted to watched him over and over, you were embarrassed because you had a million of not-so-nice thoughts about a married man. You thought you should have seen it coming, Chan is 38, and his friends should be around that age, but he... something about him still remained so young, but it was to be expected that a man that handsome in his thirties would be married, more so with that shy, nerdy look; but something about you wanted to read him as a mature man, single, living life by visiting the children of his friends who did have children… your brain spun around, thinking if Hyunjin had children too and who was the type of person waiting for him at home.

“Oh, something like that, but I’ll stay here for the summer if that’s what you’re asking” you replied, as normally as possible.

“Ah…I see” he couldn’t have been happier to know that there was a possibility of seeing you often, “I’ll be teaching a few days a week for Chase, like a summer course… I guess, I’ll see you around.”

His slight change in tone, his look… you couldn’t process the fact that he might be flirting with you. You decided to give him back his vibe, you knew it was wrong, unbelievably wrong and that you’d be internally calling yourself a slut for the rest of the week, but you leaned back slightly more comfortably on the edge of the kitchen counter, smiling:

“So… what are you doing here? I assume your work is hard.”

He released a chuckle.

“It is to those who don’t enjoy it. I’m head of the whole department so, that has its perks” he hissed softly and smugly.

Hyunjin licked his lips, smiling and checking you out completely, giving you chills and now without any doubt he was flirting with you. Once again he used a slightly smug tone as did his expression, you couldn’t believe it, your body temperature began to rise… no doubt this was a man telling you that he basically did what he wanted and that he was the one in charge.

“Oh, I see, biomedical engineer you said? Well… said little Chase, it must be very interesting, really.”

Hyunjin took another sip of his juice, finishing it completely, staring at you as he licked his lips again, this time less casually and more sensually, savoring every last taste of the sweet but sour juice.

“What’s your major?”

“Law” you wobbled softly in place, approaching him smoothly.

“Oh, just like Chan and your sister” he spoke interestedly, raising his eyebrows, to which you nodded, shyly, “What year are you in?”

“Third.”

“Ah, I see, you’ve been in college for a while now… at this point I want to assume you like it, huh.”

Hyunjin thought eighteen plus three, giving you the sweet age of 21, if you had already turned it, he thought what a very nice number, it seemed like a number that had no limits… you were free, young and beautiful, able to do anything. Or you could be 22, 23, either was fine for him, he felt comfortable talking to you.

You made a grimace, your mouth slightly pouting, a sign that you doubted it, which made him laugh, a laugh so cute that you almost forgot that he was a completely taken man.

“Well… I like it but it has its moments…”

“I guess it’s hard, you should never underestimate any major…” Hyunjin was just about to tell you something from him in college, but he held back, the last thing he wanted was for you to see him as an old man, as the age difference was slightly considerate, over a decade gap, that he was sure of, while you were playing and probably around Chase’s age, he was in college and dating his current wife, “But hey, I see you did great this semester, you’re already here relaxing a bit…”

You looked into his eyes the whole time, each time you were getting closer and closer until both of your bodies were getting tighter and tighter together, almost sticking your blouse in the waistband of his pants, it was as if you both enjoyed seeing each other. This time you looked at him, innocent, with shining bambi eyes, raising your gaze because he was taller than you, tilting your head and running your tongue along the inside of your cheek. Hyunjin had to resist, clenched his left fist, and almost fell to his knees, in pity; he had never seen, he thought, such bright eyes, such a unique gaze in which he could see his anguished reflection of a distressed older man grieving, eagerly wanting to take your young body and pin you against the wall, screaming and scolding you to stop looking at him like that just now or…. he could fall, he was doing it, his gaze lowered to your lips, shiny from the water you were drinking, he didn’t know what was wrong with him, he hated it, but the feeling of wanting someone was filling him again, suddenly he felt all his blood rushing through his body, he was so alive again.

You were about to talk, to ask him meaningless empty questions that you knew he would be compelled to answer you… because his worried expression spoke for itself. He was so frustrated you almost wanted to squeeze his soft cheeks, telling him he looks a little tender when he’s needy.

Thoughts were betraying Hyunjin so much, it was like his final day where a little devil was whispering all sorts of things in his ear, and the little angel on his other shoulder had completely abandoned him. His body tensed, if only you could read his thoughts… you might be able to judge how dirty he was. He felt filthy, a dirty married man lusting after a college girl, as if there was no other cliché.

You liked seeing him like that, you didn’t really do anything elaborate yet, you were perplexed to think it would work so fast, you just gave him your best innocent look asking for sex, your best fuck me eyes, and the man almost trembled in front of you. But you took it as a game, as much as you wanted to fulfill his every fantasy and whatever he was thinking, as much as you were dying to get down on your knees right there and give him a blowjob… he was married and god, you studied law you knew the huge controversy about adultery backwards and forwards, you couldn’t do it, even though something deep down inside tingled in you, besides your throbbing clit trapped in your panties.

Just as the thoughts were about to have a fatal effect on Hyunjin’s body, Chan and Chase interrupt you, breaking the tension and making you slide down the kitchen island to get away from the dangerous distance you were with Hyunjin.

“Daddy, let me sleep over at Suho’s house, please!” the boy exclaimed, entering the kitchen with his father in the back.

“Go wash up and get your things ready, I’ll talk to your Uncle Minho to tell him if you can stay.”

You and Hyunjin remained silent, Hyunjin pushed up his glasses with a single finger, nervous and agitated, with his hands resting on the counter, crestfallen and embarrassed, about to be caught doing something improper; you on your own part were calm, watching Hyunjin’s expression with amusement, he was almost on the verge of tears. He cleared his throat, drawing the attention of Chan who watched him with a raised eyebrow in confusion.

“I have to go” Hyunjin suddenly spoke, his voice thick.

Oh, it was just starting to get good and create tension, you thought, disappointed, but you were comforted to see Chan agitated and sweaty in a sleeveless shirt, his strong arms and veins detonating; you couldn’t help it, you were just a girl with judgment and critical thinking, you admired your sister for getting someone very handsome.

“Oh, sure, Hyunjin, see you later.”

“Ah, yeah sure” he started to say nervously, avoiding looking at you, “Let Chase know I left, see you in a bit with rest of the guys… Bye, Y/n” he mentioned again a little awkward and more shy.

You smiled at the idea that he was so hard to read, he was confident, but then suddenly seemed so shy and clumsy, anyway, you thought that whoever he was married to, they were so lucky to have Hwang Hyunjin every day, while you… had him for the moment, just slightly wrapped around your finger, but you were sure it was a little slip and burst of lust, that he would go home with his partner and try to forget it all.

And he left, that time being the first time you met Hwang Hyunjin, an afternoon that moved every part of his world and left him thinking until his thoughts became a headache. Finally, he did exactly what you thought, he wanted to evade the guilt and his near slip. He came home, being greeted by the greatest loves of his life, his two sons, four and two years old, and his wife, who sweetly asked him how it went at Chan’s house, kissed him, and told him she had his clothes ready to wear for the night out with his friends later, without the slightest idea of what happened. Hyunjin knew the millions of opportunities he almost had, and a lot of women approaching him, but he was more shy and did not pay attention to them, he only had eyes and heart for Yeji… But now, how did he explain himself. He almost cried, however, he decided to release all those feelings and frustration by trying to make love to his wife, without success, it was relatively early for the kids to sleep and they were not giving them enough privacy; Hyunjin then remembered… they had gone weeks without intimacy with Yeji and sex was very important to him, they used to be so active and sexual, always on top of each other… but now, the last sexual encounter with the love of his life was when he gave her oral sex one morning before their kids woke up. He loved her, every part of her was delicious to him, and he knew her like a map by heart… yet the most typical frustration of a man ached in the deepest part of his being, not having sex. That night Hyunjin cried in the shower, masturbating thinking of you, and got ready, feeling pathetic when he still had it all, he was handsome, young, successful, and above all, he had time to stop and do things right.

You, on the other hand, stayed in to watch a movie with Missy, both of you relaxing, until little Chase went to disturb your peace a little.

“I’m off to Suho’s house now,” he warned.

Missy grimaced slightly, not wanting to go drop the little one off at the Lee’s house.

“Won’t your daddy drop you off?” asked Missy softly.

“Daddy’s still getting ready.”

“Ahh, I see, Y/n, take him,” your sister ordered you, causing you to be a little awed, but you couldn’t say no to the tender wobbly silhouette of Chase, all ready with a backpack on his back that Chan helped him sort out, “It’s here with the neighbors on the left.”

You smiled at Chase and got up from the couch to join him, he hurried off, leaving Chan’s property and heading for his friend’s house. It was getting dark, but there was still some light. You were surprised to see the house, thinking damn, little Suho must have a lot of money, or at least his parents, you had never paid attention to the rest of the houses, besides most of them were private properties, like Chase’s friend’s, he animatedly told you the code in secret so the gate could open, giving the view of a mansion… you knew the neighborhood was exclusive and Chan’s house was impressive, but this one you saw was much better.

You both walked to the door, now you knew why Chase couldn’t go alone, it was a few minutes walk despite being neighbors. You rang the doorbell, waiting a little over a minute for them to open.

“Oh, aunt, you’ll really like Suho!”

“Oh, Chase, I don’t think I’ll be able to stay and meet him…”

And they opened, abruptly, another handsome man, wearing a sleeveless black shirt showing off his strong arms and marked pecs and abs. He looked at you confused, almost in a rude manner, blinking in disbelief not knowing what you were doing on his property since he didn’t know you. Shiny, smooth, straight black hair, perfectly styled, his features were so sharp, sharp straight nose, big round feline eyes and thins lips with his pronounced nasolabial furrow. You thought about how many attractive men you had to see today and, if it was possible it was your lucky day.

“Can I help you…?” he was about to say, somewhat annoyed, frowning and narrowing his eyes.

“Uncle Minho!” greeted Chase, causing the man to lower his gaze and his countenance softened completely.

Minho laughed, hiding his upper lip slightly and showing his teeth.

“Ah, it’s you little Chase, come in, Suho is in his playroom.”

Chase suddenly became shy of Minho’s presence and came in a little embarrassed, being more respectful and less animated, giving you a little wave goodbye, and leaving you and Minho alone. You didn’t know anything about him, you barely even knew his name because Chase mentioned it and he was starting to intimidate you as well, his presence was so heavy but pleasant, his big eyes… if he saw you properly, he could look so kind… but just now he looked a bit unfriendly; even Hyunjin could have a bit more the appearance of a villain, but you couldn’t see him like that, instead Minho, something about him was so overbearing.

“Ah, I came to drop Chase off, I’m Missy’s sister… have a nice night!” you smiled at him, not knowing what to say.

Now Minho found you tender, he had already been impressed when he opened the door and the first thing he saw, as he was in a hurry as if to check through the cameras who it was, was a young girl, with the background of the sky painting itself in colors as night fell, your image was like a divine revelation, like an angel knocking on his door, but he hid the feeling perfectly.

“Wait” he stopped you, a great idea came to him, and you turned around, “What will you do today?” he asked suddenly.

You didn’t know how to answer, to which he continued, “Ah, it’s just that… would you mind watching Chase and Suho for a moment? And… a little girl. It’s just that my wife and I have to go out…”

You felt your luck crumble once you heard him say he had a wife, although of him you were ready any time he mentioned it, something about him was so domestic, it was obvious, to you, that he screamed husband material. Besides… a mansion to have it by himself with his son didn’t sit very well with you. Now you understood that it was about him, his wife and two children, Sunho and a girl.

“Do you want me to tell Chan or Missy to see if they agree or…?” he spoke again when he got no answer,

“Oh no, it’s okay, sure, I’ll do it.”

He smiled broadly, looking incredibly attractive, you didn’t know if you liked Hyunjin or Minho more, either one, it was a forbidden little crush, that you hoped wouldn’t pass into anything more than from your own thoughts, you weren’t that crazy and cynical, right?

“Thank you! It’ll only be a couple of hours. I’ll pay you, obviously” he said letting you in to which you nodded and entered, “Suho!!! Come here” he shouted, scaring you a little, being all fatherly, “What did you say your name was?” he asked you softly in contrast to his previous shout, standing next to you.

“Y/n.”

Minho looked you straight in the eyes and nodded, within seconds Suho and Chase appeared in front of you, and your nephew smiled happily at you waiting for the news.

“Y/n is going to take care of you tonight. Be good boys and take care of yourselves and obey her” said Minho in a serious tone to which they nodded animatedly.

You observed Suho for the first time, he was so similar to Minho, but at the same time, there were some slight differences to him.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Lee Suho” the little guy introduced himself so politely, causing you so much tenderness.

“Nice to meet you, Suho” you said with a smile.

Minho looked at you tenderly, and you deciphered that this was Lee Minho; he hadn’t even introduced himself and you had already said yes so he and his wife could have their moment.

“Go back to the playroom, Y/n will be right there in a minute” he warned, coming out of his trance, you liked hearing him say your name, “I’ll take you to meet Minji, she’s one year old, she’s so smart for her age” Minho spoke adoringly.

He guided you to what seemed to be her room, it was pink but still looked a bit sophisticated for a little girl’s, there were slight elements that gave you hints that it was a little girl’s room; you were impressed in every corner you knew of that house. As you entered you saw a slender woman playing with the little girl, both sitting on the floor.

“Park Suji” Minho spoke to her, a little coldly, catching the woman’s attention.

You noticed how he didn’t refer to her as Lee.

The woman turned around, causing you to finally see her fully and your jaw almost dropped to the floor, internally as on the outside you didn’t react. It was none other than Park Suji, one of the most recognized and highest paid actresses and celebrities, her face was everywhere, it was known that she was married and had two children, but she was extremely careful with her image and kept everything private, the world was dying to know what her children and husband looked like, everyone speculated that she had married a billionaire, but to her fortune, it was the handsome Lee Minho as her husband.

Suji looked at you both expressionlessly, waiting for Minho to speak.

“I got you a temporary babysitter, just for today, she’s Y/n, she won’t say anything, she’s Chan’s wife's sister” Minho explained himself a little frustrated.

Suji smiled broadly, finally hearing good news, she carried the girl and walked quickly in the direction of her husband.

“Thank you so much, honey, I knew you would, I love you,” she replied happily, giving Minho a kiss on the cheek, “Can you take care of Minji? I have to finish getting ready.”

Minho carefully carried his little girl, smiling at her instantly, Minho’s big eyes suddenly shone in adoration, seeing the baby return the gesture of happiness. You looked for brief seconds at Suji, she was so beautiful in person, she made a great pair with Minho, the two of them looked so fucking good together, you didn’t understand why Suji didn’t show him off to the world.

“Hey, my baby, she’s your newest friend, Y/n” Minho baby-talked, consumed with tenderness, making him press his lips together, gently squeezing her chubby arms.

You looked at him fondly, after being intimidating to you, seeing his soft side just because of his little daughter made you tender. Plus he looked fucking handsome with his big bare arms.

“As you can see, my life with Suji is very private, I really want to trust you that you won’t share any information, our children’s names, their appearances, ages…” Minho suddenly spoke seriously, his voice cutting and thick, returning to his intimidating self.

You shook quickly, “Oh, yes, I understand, Mr. Lee” you replied somewhat submissive and scared, making him smile sideways.

“Well, they’re all yours” he said, trying to pass you the little one to hold, but she objected mumbling a soft daddy, “Daddy will play with you, okay? I’ll bring Soonie to you, you want to see Soonie?” you held the little girl finally as she babbled a tiny Soonie, “I have three cats, they’re running around all over the house, I hope you’re not allergic. Well, I’ll finish getting ready and come say goodbye in a moment.”

Minho left in a hurry, leaving you stranded with his little girl in your arms, the little girl was calm and somewhat quiet with a stuffed animal in her arms, you saw her up close, she was completely the female version of Minho.

You didn’t know what to do, it was a bit easy to get lost in the house you didn’t know, but you went to Suho’s playroom, where at first he joked about being a girl-free space and minutes later he started having fun with his sister, who was running and shouting his name over and over again. Then you heard a shout from Minho, calling Suho back, he ran out, alerting him that we were all in his playroom.

Minho walked in, taking your breath away, he looked so casually dressed. He added a leather jacket on top of black sleeveless shirt, silver chains and necklaces with his light blue jeans.

“Okay, you know the emergency numbers and I’ll leave you mine just in case. I’ll be right back.” Minho addressed you.

“Daddy, did mommy leave too?” Suho asked him.

“Didn’t she say goodbye to you?”

Suho softly shook his head with a slight pout and wide eyes, to which you caught a glimpse of Minho annoyed, sighing and rolling his eyes almost disappointed. You passed your cell phone to Minho to type in his number a little nervously, you booked it as Lee Minho. He typed quickly on your cell phone and passed it to you; saying goodbye to all the kids with affection and goodbye to you with a gentle see you later.

Hours passed, you talked to your sister about how you got caught and you couldn’t say no, she laughed and joked about how Chan’s friends were all dilf’s. You gossiped with her a bit, having a celebrity as a neighbor, to which Missy told you that Minho works in an extremely famous entertainment company, which Suji is a part of and from there their love story began.

As it got later in the night you gave them dinner because Suho suddenly wanted pizza, hesitantly you asked Minho by message what his kids were eating, you didn’t want to bother him, but he immediately replied that it was okay to order pizza for the boys, as long as Suji didn’t notice, as she apparently had a healthy diet specifically for their kids; he only helped you a little by telling you what to feed little Minji. Finally getting ready for bed both children, six-year-old Suho, and 7-year-old Chase, completely independent in their routines, put on their pajamas, brushed their teeth, and went to sleep. The real challenge was little Minji who suddenly started crying, you didn’t know what to do, her diaper was clean, she had no fever, and she had eaten well… you were scared for a while, until you put cartoons on her and she managed to calm down little by little, leaning her little body on yours on the couch, where you both fell completely asleep.

You lost track of time and a manly voice calling your name softly woke you up, startling you a little, and the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes was Minho’s attractive face looking at you carefully and closely. Once you woke up, he pulled away a little, and you felt embarrassed to realize that you had his little daughter cuddled up, sleeping next to you on the couch, thinking what a good job it was to have left her in her comfy bed, but the TV was still playing cartoons.

“Oh, Mr. Lee, I’m sor-”

“It’s okay, I arrived a little later than expected, sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, a little frustrated, you wised up, noticing a relaxed expression on his face and his drooping eyelids, “I imagine Suji hasn’t arrived, right?” this time he slurred his words a little but did his best to sound aligned, you shook and a displeased expression reappeared, “It’s okay, let me take Minji to bed and I’ll come back to you.”

Minho approached his daughter, who whimpered softly as she was moved but instantly recognized her daddy’s strong arms. You were restless waiting, it was almost 3 a.m. and you wanted to sleep. He returned after a few short minutes.

“Did the kids behave well?” he said as he returned, to which you just nodded.

Minho suddenly moaned in a soft groan, “Agh, I drank too much. Y/n, it’s late, do you want to sleep over in the guest room or shall I walk you to Chan’s house? He’s there, we just arrived.”

He stared into your eyes, you felt like a little girl changing houses. Suddenly, the not-so-nice thoughts appeared in your head but now with Minho.

“Will you be alright in the morning?” you mentioned somewhat sheepishly, as you noticed he did look a little drunk.

Minho smiled, “Of course I will.”

“I… I can go to Chan’s house by myself, it’s just a few minutes away…”

He shook his head disapprovingly softly, “Come on, I’ll walk you quickly, everyone’s asleep.”

You made a very good impression on Minho the first time he met you, he thought at least for a few minutes in totality, about you, but then stopped as he got distracted and told himself he has better things to think about. And you, in those short minutes when he walked by your side, you saw him slyly, his hair shone under the light poles illuminating the street and the road, something about him was very different from Hyunjin, as much as you wanted to flirt with him, something stopped you and it wasn’t exactly morals and ethics.

That meeting Minho had with his friends had been chaotic and he learned slightly more about you, when Hyunjin suddenly brought the topic of conversation to the table, you… causing Minho to be immeasurably curious as to how it was that you knew Hyunjin and why you met him before him. Later Hyunjin realized that you were texting each other as you babysat Minho’s children, making a slightly inebriated Hyunjin think about hiring your services as soon as possible just to see you longer.

He finally left you at the door, where he quickly pulled out his wallet to pay you for your very unexpected service. You didn’t know how much a babysitter earned for a night, but you were sure that the amount he was giving you was a bit exaggerated, you tried to tell him, but he refused and before you both could say more, an also slightly drunk Chan opened the door.

“Ah, there you are, Y/n, come in. Goodbye, Minho” you turned to see him, unable to say thank you as Chan had closed the door.

“Sweet dreams” he wished you, leaving with tired steps to his room.

That was the time you met Lee Minho for the first time. There was no need for your intervention for him to start doubting his wife, he had been doing it for months, since Minji was born they started to have problems since Suji always wanted only one child; Minho agreed since it was her body and they would make a nice family anyway, but there was a time when Minho mentioned how much he wished for two since he grew up a bit lonely being an only child and always wondered how it felt to have a real sibling, Suji did not take it seriously and by an accident, she became pregnant with Minji, after four arduous years of taking care of herself after Suho’s birth, however, she did not tell anyone about her pregnancy and was planning on having an abortion, she was already contacting her manager to schedule doctor’s appointments, but that afternoon after taking the pregnancy test, her sister came into her bathroom to find it and getting excited, she congratulated Minho without a second thought. He found out while he was at work and ran to his wife to ask her what was going on, she told him that she refused to keep them, she was about to start filming a show and didn’t want to feel pregnant. Minho had to put up with it and let her do what she wanted, he knew perfectly well that she was not going to listen to him, she was not going to listen to him when he said how much he dreamed of feeling another little one in his arms again and being there for her at any moment, but to Suji’s bad luck, her sister had already told her parents, she was so genuinely happy that she could not contain herself, so Suji, out of intense love and respect for her conservative and religious parents, kept the fetus, but she really didn’t want to, arguing that her body would be deformed, that she was already in a critical situation being in her thirties, that one more pregnancy and birth would destroy her career.

But Suji’s problem was never with Minji, she loved and loves her creation resulting from her loins, sweat and pain… but somehow she took it out on Minho, resulting in endless fights and an incredible lack of communication. Minho didn’t understand, he loved her with a fierce passion… but since Minji’s pregnancy she stopped being the one he loved.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♡🧸ྀི ♡ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

But after the anguish and pain, a fatal relief came to the tormented souls of those two men. A relief so beautifully short-lived, the first time they both tasted the forbidden fruit, and the first sinner to commit the heinous act of adultery was Hwang Hyunjin.

After a week of getting to know each other, of flirting with him when no one was around, of talking and talking endlessly with certain guilty looks of desire, that’s when it all fell apart. One Saturday, when you let yourself get carried away with pleasure without thinking about the horrible consequences of your actions.

Missy informed you a day before that she would have her first meeting with the wives of their respective husbands, of Chan’s friends and that she felt happy and included, as a new woman; she mentioned that they accepted the invitation and that it was probably only because she was married to Chan and she would invite his close friends with their families. Missy invited you too and you couldn’t deny the opportunity to host a gathering full of mature and incredibly hot men of their ages. You couldn’t deny it, ever since you met Hyunjin, and from time to time talked to Minho, your mind was racing with thoughts of having a taste for men who were older. You fantasized about how experienced they must be, the way they must move, your thoughts made your legs go limp.

And it all happened the next day, when you did your best to dress slightly elegant but casual knowing the kind of people you were going to see, like Minho’s superstar wife and a few other rich women. Finally, the perfect families arrived, at least some perfect in appearance, the Hwang family, Lee, and one more, the small Han family of childless newlyweds. And then Missy and you showed up, whose women internally judged both of you to be the youngest of them all and not so much in keeping with their group, somehow. They thought for a few seconds that you were like some sort of dolls, two bimbos designed to make men happy but not enough to take you seriously enough to marry you.

You saw Hyunjin arrive with his wife and two children with his same slitted eyes and something inside you died. You had to stop, you couldn’t start creating more temptation in him, flirting with him felt so much worse. You met Yeji, a beautiful woman with long straight hair, dyed light brown color, she was also incredibly gorgeous, you even stopped understanding the reason why Hyunjin would even fantasize about you, having someone like her every day.

Then the Lee family appeared, with Suji’s perfect, clean-cut appearance. To be honest, you hadn’t flirted with Minho since, besides the fact that you hardly saw him often, you didn’t think Minho was an easy target, something about him made you extremely nervous, sometimes he looked at you normally, sometimes softly with slight sweetness but there were also times when he was so intimidating.

And lastly, Han Jisung, you didn’t know him that well, he looked slightly younger than the rest but his face was so mature, as was his soft and deep voice; he was accompanied by his young wife and they had just married in the spring.

The children were playing in the huge Chan’s yard, the women were sitting in a shaded area, ready to be served by their husbands… And you, you were there as an outsider, being the youngest of the group, not belonging to any man who was cooking, unless of course if thoughts spoke, you would mentally be Hyunjin’s property, he drove you crazy, he was so witty and nerdy that you wanted to do so many things to him.. and deep down, only with this one you had a harder time accepting it since you knew his kids, he was Minho’s, fuck, you would do anything just for a little touch from Minho, he was unbelievably hot and his sex appeal was undescribable. Something about those two men made you super horny and you were sick of holding back.

So, you just watched them secretly, between complicit glances, of which Hyunjin returned each one of them, however, Minho was taking care of Minji, while Yeji was taking care of her youngest two-year-old —at the same time not taking her eyes off her other son playing with Chase and Suho—, whose adorable little boy with the same face as his father was sitting nicely still on his mother’s lap. He was so quiet and adorable, you definitely felt so guilty sleeping with his daddy.

Yeji called Hyunjin to come over, telling him if he could please bring her Yoojin’s favorite toy, the youngest boy of them, which he had forgotten in the car and the adorable boy was starting to get restless for his toy and, while Hyunjin was there, he couldn’t help but overhear the conversation, the typical question of one of them asking you if you had a boyfriend, if there was some one interesting in your college, if you saw yourself formalizing with someone; Hyunjin suddenly felt jealous but was comforted to know that you didn’t have a boyfriend and thought that he could treat you better than any other immature boy of your age.

You for yourself felt stupidly bad about the obvious closeness of him and his wife, you didn’t know what was wrong with you, you knew it was pathetic and illogical to feel this way and that you needed a really good reality check, that your silly fantasies were not going to be fulfilled and that you were getting carried away with a married man with children.

You watched them play, endearing and making you feel miserable, Hyunjin and Yeji, smiling in the grass, with Yoojin and Yoohyun, the little boy and big brother. You felt a little listless and slowly walked into the house, not wanting to see anyone, not having the slightest idea that your image hadn’t faded Hyunjin and Minho’s mind and thoughts.

You sat on a couch in the living room, checked your cell phone uninterested thinking that you had worn your very nice and elegant sundress, had done your hair and makeup to… impress men out of your limits. You wanted to laugh at yourself, you really did, but a part of you seriously needed to try at least one of them or you felt like you were going to die, besides… you just wanted some sex, it wasn’t like you were looking to snatch their love for their wives.

You sighed in frustration, you were seriously about to text a guy your age from one of your classes just so you could see each other and please you, you had sex a couple of times, and at least this time you could imagine it was Hyunjin or Minho filling your pussy. You were really about to message him, you were in his chat trying to decipher the perfect message, but a bigger mistake suddenly appeared.

“Why that face?” a voice you knew so well spoke you softly.

He had managed to sneak away and searched for you until he found you, sitting looking like a beautiful little doll in your short dress. You looked up, meeting Hyunjin’s long physique, your gaze swept from his thighs to his face which had an adorable smile on it. However your eyes stopped for a second on his crotch, whose bulge in his jeans was so visible and wasn’t even hard, you salivated, thinking about how incredibly big his cock must be, causing you to shiver as it excited you a little.

Hyunjin adjusted his glasses and sat down next to you, so close to you that your thighs touched the denim of his pants. You raised your shoulders with a little pout, Hyunjin found you so cute, he wanted to rub his whole cock on your face, he had never felt such a big sexual appetite as just now, he wanted to satiate all his desires and satiate you, the magnetism of your bodies was incredible.

“I don’t know” you replied nonchalantly, you now being the one to divert your thoughts, he was married and his wife was out with their children, it wasn’t fair, “There are a lot of people out there.”

He laughed incredulously, not taking his eyes off you.

“Adults outside bore you a bit, don’t they?” he asked in an amused tone.

You nodded softly, watching him and downplaying it and trying to calm the small fire that lit your insides, you needed him so badly that you lowered your gaze to your thighs, unable to cease your thoughts and emotions.

“Then let’s have some fun, I’m a little bored too” he whispered to you so seductively that he caught your attention quickly and you found him licking his lips, you watched him raptly, as if you had imagined his phrase, but no, “What do you guys do nowadays for fun?” he purred, completely aroused and, a little hesitantly, he placed his large hand on your bare thigh, squeezing it gently.

You saw his hand and then you saw him. You couldn’t say no, you could, but you didn’t want to. You wanted every inch of him making you smile like you never had before.

Just this once, you promised and prayed, just this once you will have sex with someone married, you thought as you swore in vain, you hoped you would be forgiven and never caught.

“Would you like to know my kind of fun?” you smiled broadly.

Hyunjin nodded frantically, stroking your thigh; his cock throbbed in his pants within seconds of touching you, your soft, smooth skin, you looked so angelic to him that he could get down on his knees and make you his new religion, he needed you, he could eat you day and night, he couldn’t even organize his thoughts. He had lost himself, he never thought he could control his lust and put it over everything and everyone. He moved his hand up, closer and closer until he approached your center, feeling in him a rush of adrenaline, as if he was about to reach a goal that he exahusively determined to reach. You watched him, every limb of his manly body, weak, taut and yielding in sex, his bulge grew, his eyes sparkled… he was a new man, ready to fuck.

“But let’s do it somewhere else” you tried to say.

You were so weak too, you were a young woman about to fulfill her fantasy, it was obvious that your body was vibrating with excitement.

You stood up, your pussy was soaking wet and he barely caressed your thigh. You led him to your room, in such a fugitive and manic way, checking that there was absolutely no one inside the house who could see you enter the same room. Walking so excitedly feeling your sticky folds with every step you took. And wasting no time, once you locked the door, you raised your gaze, Hyunjin watched you with his sharp dark eyes as if he was catching his prey, with a smug smile on his face and in timid steps he approached your body, until he joined your body to his completely, finally catching your lips so passionately and desperately.

Hyunjin held you from your lower back sticking you to his body and performing the dirtiest and most atrocious act ever committed in his entire life, an adulterous relationship, an affair outside of his matrinomy, but the dirty man didn’t think for a second about all the life he led and built with hard work and love around the years, he was crazy but only his brain was working to think of you and the throbbing pain in his crotch from his well erect member.

You tried to keep up with his rhythm, his lips felt just as you had imagined them, soft and fluffy, and he kissed with such skill that it was a little hard for you to keep up with him but you enjoyed every second of the act, of his big hands lifting your dress to squeeze your ass, his erection colliding with your body and his face attached to yours to the point of feeling his glasses bump into your face, everything about him made you so horny and you couldn’t believe it was happening. His attacked somehow slow and romantic kisses continued, satisfying the inside of your mouth to perfection until surrendering in breathlessness, yet he kept depositing little pecks on your lips, so lost in you, every part of you that he wanted so much, finally for himself.

Slowly, Hyunjin opened his eyes again to pleasantly meet your face, smiling at it in a mischievous way and almost immediately, you got down on your knees, impressing him a little and making him eager to know exactly what you were about to do, he never wanted you to stop.

Both bodies were tense, lewd and full of sin in a spiritual context, surrounded by evil and lust, both bodies engulfed in flames ready to unburden their darkest secrets on that bright summer afternoon.

You licked your lips, two of your very important organs throbbing in pleasure for the forbidden, your heart protruding from your chest and your pussy getting more and more lubricated, you watched him with feigned innocence behind your not virgin eyes and unbuckled his belt, and the tedious button and zipper that blocked you from tasting your new favorite food, you were so hungry for his cock that you thought you would explode with excitement. You swallowed nervously at the sight of a big size still in his boxers and, finally you could take it raw in your hands, making Hyunjin let out a soft whimper.

“Fuck, play with my cock as much as you want, baby, please” Hyunjin whimpered needily, stroking your face and hair delicately.

His comment coming from the deepest part of his darkest desires sent an electrifying shock to your sensitive spot of your needy femininity, which was begging for some spoiling as well. Hyunjin was lost, he wanted to take you, to see what he swore would be the most delicious and pretty pussy his eyes had ever seen, so shiny and dripping for him, but an unknown force was taking over his fragile body and it wasn’t exactly guilt, it was something inexplicable that he let himself be carried away by every single thing you decide to do, he was for you and by you, absolutely devoted.

You looked at his erect and throbbing shaft between your two hands, thinking it was obvious you’d have too much fun, Hyunjin was ridiculously big, long like the rest of his limbs; you didn’t wait to play with his entire length, unable to believe he was hiding such an amazing cock under his tender and nerdy appearance, sometimes a bit of a loser.

You wanted to rub your whole pussy on his cock, it really impressed you, you had never seen one this big, but you just limited yourself to masturbating him, with trembling hands palpating every corner of his sex, from carefully and gently squishing his balls while resting his tip leaking precum in your tongue with your mouth open.

“Do you like it, Mr. Hwang?”

Hyunjin sighed and nodded, so excited by the formal way you spoke to him, even though you know he likes to be called simply Hyunjin.

“Ye-es, please keep doing it.”

He was so desperate for the moment he didn’t even know where to place his hands, he looked first timer, he felt first timer, like he was doing it for the first time and his cock was getting to know the feeling of a warm cavity to please him. He forgot the last time his wife had blown him, he was so hormonal and needy, but just radiating delicious, masculine pheromones that made you lose your mind. Tasting a man’s sweet, big cock, you felt so fulfilled. His hands found your hair again and you began to suck him hard, squeezing your cheeks so he could feel the softness of your mouth. Hyunjin trembled, so close to his orgasm as you teased him to the limit.

You continued more confidently, licking his entire length, moistening it to dirty slurping sounds on it, teasing his needy, squirting, pink glans, until you took his cock again, wrapping your lips around it, struggling to get it deep into your mouth.

Hyunjin whimpered, babbling your name, his every energy was focused on his cock and as he felt you sucking him at an exquisite pace, bobbing your head all over his cock, it was doom for him, you were doing it so well he had to throw his head back panting “Fuck.”

Hyunjin bit his lip, holding back his moans and watching you take his cock so well he grabbed more of your hair into a sort of ponytail to gently push you in, he didn’t want you to take your lips off his cock, his pumping sex hadn’t felt this good in a while, all of him came alive again.

“Fffuck, mmm baby, I’m gonna cum, you’re sucking it so good, oh my god.”

You would have liked his cock to fuck your throat, but you didn’t want to hurt yourself, he was so big you just wished he would use his big gift for good, and so he could keep fucking you, you wanted him so bad.

You sucked harder, masturbating the rest of his length, you were so turned on you thought about bringing one of your hands up to your pussy to attend to it a little. Hyunjin gasped in exasperation and cum all the way into your mouth. Saliva and his cum started coming out of your gob and you pulled his cock out of your mouth for a few shots to stain your chin making you smile broadly. Hyunjn was so full that he wanted to keep fucking you until you pumped him dry, no kidding, he wanted to be completely yours.

Hyunjin was ready to continue with you but the sound of his cell phone indicating a call in his pants pocket that lay lowered halfway down his legs startled you both. He snapped back to reality, he had loved the way you had done it and would pray for it to be repeated again and again… but you weren’t alone, there were people outside, waiting for you, and his family was one of them. Hyunjin nimbly pulled up his underwear and pants, adjusting his big cock and verifying that indeed his call was from his wife.

You stood up, somewhat confused, to which he leaned close to your ear to whisper:

“I’m sorry I didn’t make you cum, next time I’ll make sure to take care of you, okay?”

Next time… you thought.

Hyujin was about to leave, but shyly asked you if you could let him know there was no one there, you did, telling him there was no one around so he walked out of there, leaving you with your heart racing and incredibly aroused, you couldn’t calm down, you were so frustrated you had to play alone a little with your pussy until you made yourself cum with your own fingers.

Hyunjin felt dirty and guilty, but you made him see stars and now he was addicted to you. He just hoped he didn’t look so agitated.

On the way, Hyunjin met Minho, who was looking for you since your sister asked for you and he offered to do so, without any objection, however he met a nervous Hyunjin who strangely denied in a heavy manner to have seen you and left, leaving Minho blinking in confusion and came to your room, where he was about to knock on your door and call your name, but sweet somewhat strange and compromising sounds awakened something in him all of a sudden. You were moaning softly, holding back the sounds as you filled your pussy with your fingers, fantasizing about being touched by someone else, fantasizing that it was Hyujin and his big cock, you were so damn horny that you couldn’t calm down, you only got more aroused and prolonged your orgasm more.

Minho could decipher that your sounds were sexual and his mind went off in all possible scenarios, just like Hyunjin, he hadn’t gotten good sex in a while…

You on your hand, kept playing with your whole vulva, caressing and penetrating your slick entrance while thinking and thinking… putting yourself in his wife’s place, thinking that if you would have a hot husband and a promiscuous college girl managed to seduce him you would surely cut his penis in his sleep, but shit, it’s just that Hwang Hyunjin? you didn’t want him to waste his amazing size by not using it, you could take care of him.

݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♡🧸ྀི ♡ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

Your second atrocious and immoral act, was attributed to Lee Minho. You couldn’t deny it, the damage was already done, you already felt like a dirty slut and you might go to hell but the taste and feeling of Hyunjin’s big cock struggling to enter your cavity was not taken away from you by anyone.

A little secret didn’t hurt anyone if it was taken to the grave, right?

Ever since Minho heard you moan like a dirty needy little slut, or so he thought, every aspect he had of you changed, before he saw you as the pretty girl who was somehow Chan’s family and rarely thought of you, like when he felt lonely at times of the day, he would start thinking about what a young girl like you would do, oh, but after that afternoon, the sweet sounds of pleasure from your mouth made him so hard that he had to go off to work it out on his own, thinking it was unfair the way you left him and that you had to be even. That day he wanted to break down your door to fuck you right there.

Chan was giving you opportunities to visit his office to see a few cases and it just so happened that the big entertainment company that Chan also works for and of course, Minho does there too, was across the long avenues, but were basically across the street from each other.

It was strange, but suddenly Minho started visiting Chan more, hoping to find you there and when he did, he would take the opportunity to flirt with you in his unique way, which worked very well for you, you liked Minho so much but wanted to deny it.

Minho was more… you couldn’t explain it but he was more different, in fact he was so different from Hyunjin. Minho despite being rich liked to live a simple life and enjoyed the little things, it was as if being a father and being in a house suited him so well, he was such an old man. But he also had fantasies and liked to have a little fun, in fact he loved to tease people, which he started to do and you didn’t know how to act at first, maybe you were quite intimidated by the fact that his wife was literally a superstar, yet that didn’t stop him so that one afternoon when he seemed friendly and happy, he talked to you and as fate would have it, Chan stepped out for a brief moment, leaving you and Minho alone, so he began to tell you what he did at work and how he was also a professional choreographer and dancer, impressing you but justifying his maintained appearance and body.

He started joking with you, which made you feel good, his smile was adorable and you could melt right there just listening to his laugh. Minho started talking to you about a supposed new choreography which he invented and…. one second it was laughter and games and the next it became completely serious, as he suddenly stood behind you, holding your waist and placing his face next to yours, Minho had never touched you before because there was no need to. Your body tensed and your breathing momentarily cut off.

“And I’ve told the boys to take their work very seriously, dancing can leave them exhausted at times” Minho whispered close to you.

You found it meaningless what he had said, what did that have to do with him touching you, lowering one of his hands to your ass and the other near your pussy, but you didn’t complain.

“I had to tell them that in order to find themselves in such a sensual dance, they should start doing sensual things too…”

You were transfixed at his touch, he moved his body closer until you finally felt the touch of his cock as he was wearing loose shorts that clung a bit to his body, at least in his exquisite crotch.

You didn’t say anything, you just enjoyed the moment and how your body was struggling to keep up, but you were beginning to get hopelessly aroused.

“But me… who can help me with that, to give them my best too…”

Minho squeezed your pussy, surprising you, his whole hand under your femininity over your jeans. You collapsed, losing yourself, but before you could react, he pulled away from you abruptly.

“And well I also told them that creating some good tension on stage might be good for them by having the audience hooked on their movements” Minho spoke more relaxed, as if nothing had happened, almost in a mocking tone.

You turned to look at him, distressed. Minho had a haughty smile on his face and laughed softly in such amusement, naughtily running his tongue across his lips, but you didn’t find it funny, you found it ridiculous the way he had to approach and touch you, or so you wanted to feel as you were pathetically horny, screaming for sex from a mature, married man. Again, from a new man.

He saw your expression, so tenderly needy with eyes begging him to touch you again. He found it amusing and got even with you by letting him masturbate in the bathroom that day at Chan’s house. However, your expression… drove him crazy, he wanted to fuck you so hard until your pleading look is genuine, until you are covered in tears and in his cum. The thought made his cock twitch in despair.

“Minho…” you whispered, seeing his face and body in his snug, comfortable, sporty clothes.

His expression changed, giving you a dirty look, “Minho? Address me with respect, I’m older than you, kid.”

His authoritative tone and annoyed expression shouldn't have excited you so much, but it did, almost weakening your legs. Before he acted, however, Chan arrived.

And the next day it really happened, when you used the old technique of a slightly provocative outfit, getting all dolled up and thinking that if that worked on Minho it would be funny if he fell for the most typical and obvious, but you had to resort to that, you didn’t know how to approach him properly, when in fact you shouldn’t even do it.

But you were dying for a taste of Minho. One more unforgivable act and you would stop, you swore again.

Minho kept thinking about you, but he had no plans to fuck you, he had done enough with teasing you and that had already turned him into something he never thought he would be, a fucking cheating bastard, since he had no reason to touch another woman. But he kept fantasizing about how good you must feel, how inexperienced you must be, all horny, riding a cock senselessly and frantically believing that was the right way to satisfy a man, since that’s how you’d been taught to do it, at least by the dumb, immature college boys, or so he thought. Minho would be lying if he denied that he was incredibly attracted to you. But it was so wrong.

That day he casually went to see Chan on legal advice about something that came up as a conversation at his work earlier in the day, he could talk to him on the phone, but he wanted an excuse to at least see you, if he wasn’t going to allow himself to fuck you.

And he found you, attractively sitting behind a desk reading some papers, making notes, so focused and cute, making him feel so guilty and dirty as he had recurring thoughts of your weak sex-weary destroyed body.

But your face lit up at the sight of him and your attention was drawn to him.

Minutes later in the midst of conversation with his friend, Chan had to apologize and said that he remembered he had to leave urgently and it would take perhaps all afternoon, if Minho could please go drop you off at his house, to which strangely for Chan, Minho agreed instantly, leaving you alone once again at such a critical point for both of you.

Minho came dangerously close to you, with the dirty thought of fucking you on his friend’s desk, but he had to stop himself.

“Chan had to leave, I’ll drop you home” he spoke to you sharply.

“Now? I’ll leave now?”

“Yes, that’s when I have some time off.”

You had gone over the situation, feeling even guilty about raising looks from Chan towards you, that was not what you wanted, Chan was never your target because you had enormous respect for him and you thought that maybe you should start acting sane and also keep respect for his friends, stopping all the craziness.

You grabbed your stuff and your short skirt got exactly the kind of reaction you wanted from the beginning for Minho to have. It took nothing for him to drop you off at Chan’s house, go back to his job where his wife was busy on another floor and fuck her right there, but it took nothing for him to fuck you either.

“Oh, sure, wait here, I’ll go get my car,” he said.

He was so engrossed that he stopped thinking clearly. You got in his car, leaving Chan’s assistant to close the place later at closing time.

You were nervous and tried to distract yourself, thinking about how his car looked so good on him, it looked just like the kind of car Lee Minho would drive, you thought about what to eat once you got to the house, you just wanted to stop the crazy ideas, but now it was Minho who had them.

You didn’t even see him drive and acted modestly, while his piercing gaze saw every part of you, of your subtle cleavage and skirt so short he could see your panties easily in that position. Minho cursed menatally and thought he should have let you order a fucking cab. Chan argued that Missy was at some sort of all-important convection for Chase and they had the tickets for a while, so he didn’t want to disturb them at their bonding time and he didn’t want to keep you waiting.

You felt his heavy gaze and stirred a little excitedly in the seat, revealing a little momentary glimpse of your white panties. Minho tightened his grip on the steering wheel and looked straight ahead, so annoyed and helpless that he couldn’t do anything, he pursed his lips and wrinkled his nose a little, trying to calm himself down, you were literally doing nothing and you had him with his libido full, his mind spinning and his cock so hard it was squeezing in his jeans.

Minho was blinded in lust and finally spoke, confessing what his mind always wanted you to know:

“I bet you taste delicious.”

You blinked in confusion, thought you hadn’t heard his murmur right, innocently believing he was talking about food all of a sudden. Minho stopped at a red light and you both turned to look at each other. His intense gaze surprised you and you noticed him subtly agitated, his expression was serious and monotonous but his breathing was heavy, he was aroused, you noticed, it was impossible not to see his notorious bulge protruding from his pants.

You felt dizzy and heated, thinking how unreal the situation was.

“Excuse me?” you asked almost breathlessly.

“That I bet you taste delicious. I want to taste your sweet pussy until I make you scream, that’s what I said.”

You were surprised by his boldness and honesty. Minho spoke to you so directly, in such a demanding and serious tone, but you managed to see his slight sparkle in his eyes, almost enjoying what he said. He moved the car forward and it wasn’t superfluous to say that your world spun in every possible way.

“And… where will you do it Mr. Lee?” you returned to yourself, your weak body filled with pity and guilt glowing in desire again.

Minho smiled, so happy all of a sudden.

“I can’t fuck you in the car, the daylight is too bright. But we can do it at my place, there’s no one there now.”

You shivered and Minho was so happy that you easily agreed that he caressed your thigh; you sighed softly, he enjoyed teasing you until he brought his hand to your pussy, you didn’t understand how he could look so calm, with his cock aching and still driving while he pulled the fabric of your panties aside to caress your pussy, you were already a mess, it felt so good, but it was so wrong.

“Fuck, you’re so wet already, I see” Minho giggled softly, “We’re almost there, doll. Don’t worry.”

And Minho was almost cumming in his pants, his cock screaming for attention. All of you were doing it.

You arrived, Minho’s wife was gone, his children were being watched by his mother, everything was lining up perfectly for you, it seemed. You felt dirty again, with an ache in your chest but you couldn’t stop, you kept thinking about his mouth on your pussy.

Minho turned off from his cell phone every security camera in his house and directed you to a room, which didn’t look fancy enough to be his main room, but still looked spacious, nice and clean.

“Take off your clothes, sweetie” he commanded, so desperate, his hands on his hips waiting as he gasped for breath.

You obeyed him in a heartbeat, you felt so dirty filled with a voracious sexual hunger. Minho watched you, biting his lip eagerly until he saw you naked in front of him.

“Fuck” he sighed breathlessly, lust in person, so young and full of life, with soft round breasts and hard nipples, “Lie down and spread your legs, I’m gonna fucking eat your pretty pussy.”

His gaze was so penetrating and in trembling, excited steps you did his bidding, a command so rough and tactless it made your clit vibrate.

He moved closer to you, admiring you in that position with a smug smile, so submissive and begging to be serviced. He wanted to hear you ask for it. However, Minho resisted no more and pulled down his pants and underwear with a tug, you caught a glimpse of his big and taut cock so erect before he got on his knees facing the edge of the bed and in front of your pussy. You sighed, he was just as you expected.

Minho bit his lip at the sight of your exposed lubricated vulva, which throbbed in untouched pleasure.

“Look at you” he began to say amused, “the little slut so horny, tell me how badly you want it, say it now.”

You gasped as you felt the fingertip of his index caress your clit, your cheeks were beginning to burn in embarrassment, wanting to tell him that he was just as needy for pleasuring someone younger who was not his wife, such an old man horny for the forbidden.

Minho brought his face close to your pussy finally with you feeling his heavy hot breath and breathing, you shivered, watching him with your elbows resting on the mattress, he saw your whole body perfectly from that angle.

At this point you had no dignity, sex with two older, married men in a period of days were your biggest mistakes. So begging Lee Minho didn’t sound so bad after all.

“I-I want you to eat me, Mr. Lee.”

Minho smiled widely.

“Magic word” he requested, his eyebrows raised as if he was reminding something to a kid.

“Please” you whispered haltingly.

Minho gently pinched your clit before withdrawing his hand and taking care of your sensitive spot with his mouth. You moaned, small shocks of pleasure filled your body at the sensation of his warm and steady tongue making circles on your clit, then taking it over completely, biting and sucking hard, sticking his soft lips on the skin of your pussy. You arched your back and reflexively brought one of your hands to his soft, straight hair as you struggled to lean back with your other arm because you didn’t want to let him out of your sight, he looked so attractive with his face buried in your core. Minho left his right hand on your thigh, squeezing it lightly and with the other he caressed the rest of your pussy, your sticky wet labia until he reached down to tease your entrance with his thick thumb, subtly inserting it making you sigh in desperation.

He finally lowered his mouth slowly to the rest of your cunt, licking and sucking your folds until he inserted two of his strong fingers into you, causing you to let out a squeal of surprise, Minho smiled with his lips pressed against you. You were a mess, you had never had your pussy eaten with so much attention and patience, you could tell he knew what he was doing and exactly which spots to touch, lick, nibble and suck, you were going crazy; most guys your age would lick senselessly and without a rhythm, with their exhausted jaws wanting to make you orgasm, they were inexperienced, they would be offended if you told them which spots to touch and you had to beg for oral sex… but Lee Minho, the expert Minho didn’t have to take any orders, he was giving them and he was making you see fucking heaven.

His fingers were filling your pussy so well like no one ever had before, digging deep inside you, your walls squeezing his digits so satisfyingly as he feasted himself on your delectable young cunt. Minho’s poor, exposed cock was on the verge of intense ejaculation, but he had incredible control of his body and wasn't going to cum until he was inside you.

You whimpered as you felt his restless tongue inside you as he removed his fingers from you, his nose bumping against your pussy as he tasted your perfect entrance, staining his chin and mouth, being strong evidence of how good he was making you feel.

After sizzling whimpers and your pussy being treated so specially, you were about to cum and Minho sensed it, so he replaced his tongue once more with his fingers, pulling away from you to see your beautiful flustered face about to climax.

You saw him, his lips and chin glossy from you, Minho was slightly flushed, his ears were bright red, he looked so tender and dominant at the same time, penetrating your insides with his fingers.

“C’mon, sweetie, cum, I know you’re about to do it.”

You were no longer thinking clearly, the tension of your orgasm was so strong that you frowned uncomprehendingly, your vision blurred slightly, his touches felt for a few seconds a couple of times better than before and in a moderate whimper, you let yourself collapse in an intense orgasm, shuddering and battling with the irregularity of your breathing.

You dropped your body onto the bed, tired as you relaxed your legs as you felt the absence of his digits in you. You were tired, satisfied.

Minho stood with a smile, wiping his residue of you from his mouth and pulled his body closer to you. You were recovering a little, your orgasm had been so intense that you didn’t react to seeing him this close.

“Open your mouth” he ordered.

You looked into his eyes and noticed his fingers heading for your mouth, you took them, sucking on them, tasting his skin and your own orgasm coated on them.

Minho kept watching you with a half smile, so proud to have you like this. He slipped his fingers out of your mouth, brought his face close to yours and played with your lips, running his thumb wildly across them. You were again aroused by the heavy breaths of the two of you and his incredibly dominant look over your body.

Minho pulled away, he was so hot that he stripped off his black shirt quickly, revealing his muscular body. You bit your lip, seeing his body and his thick swollen cock.

You magically regained your strength again and sat up, so fascinated and attracted by his big dick, your eyes sparkled as your brain only worked to think that you had to touch him.

Minho saw your intentions and didn’t stop you, he let you do it, you looked tender with your eyes slightly widened in admiration as you moved towards his cock. You stroked his abds and moved your hand down to his recently shaved and stubbly pubic area that detonated in visible veins his erect member. You looked so fascinated, as if it was all an attraction you could touch.

Your pussy throbbed, still wet in your recent orgasm as you felt his cock between your hands, it was big and thick, so visibly pretty that you were dazzled. Minho moaned, his cock was so sensitive, leaking precum, he had small, slight sensations of an orgasm but had not fully ejaculated his load, his balls ached and his body was tense, that was why he was going to fuck you all at once but he let himself be carried away by your gentle caresses.

You slid your hand down his length, staring into his eyes, Minho was doing everything to look hard and hold his position, but he was dying to whimper and fall to your touches. And, when he saw you were about to bring your mouth close, he stopped you. It wasn’t that he didn’t want you to do it, but that he was eager to unload every drop into you one by one.

“Enough. Turn around and let me see your ass.”

You looked at him confused, which he intimidatingly raised his eyebrows waiting for you to react quickly.

You got into that position, squealing with excitement knowing that he was going to fuck you, still in the midst of the thrill, you wondered to yourself if you should ask him to use a condom, you didn’t want to end up making a big mistake. Bigger than fucking a married man.

Minho pulled your body with ease, making you stand up from the bed and letting your legs bump on the edge of it.

Minho took his cock, also debating whether to reach for a condom or fuck you with his raw cock, arousing him to immense levels at the thought of filling your entire pussy with every drop of his cum. He bit his lip, teasing your entrance with his bare glans, fantasizing about the idea of making you his, his heart was racing, he was about to do it, fuck you unprotected to feel your insides at first contact. You wiggled your ass while you arched your back ready to be fuck, needy and softly moaning until Minho spanked you hard twice unexpectedly, making you groan in surprise and excitement.

“Fuck” he sighed, “Why don’t you say anything, huh? You’re so fucking needy begging for my cock, you want me to fuck you like this without protection, don’t you?”

Minho spoke, in a thick voice that made your core rumble. The idea of his cock twitching inside you unprotected suddenly felt so good, you turned to see him, letting lust win again for both of you.

“Yes, please, Mr. Lee, fuck me.”

The thought filled his body and cock again, rubbing his cock against your folds to lubricate him and then gently thrusting his unprotected glans into you.

“Say it again” he ordered, the vein in his neck showing.

“Fuck me, please.”

His tip felt so good but you were desperate for his full length filling you up. Minho smiled at your needy expression. You raised your ass higher, the thought of the risk quickened his heart more, Minho was fucking fertile, his wife got pregnant as she ground his cock and cum in her folds and after she took the pill. And he could swear you were too, so young, panting for sex, so naive without measuring the consequences, Minho was blinded by pleasure and temptation that licking his lips he thought amused that he was going to get you pregnant so you would stop behaving like a little whore with any man asking for unprotected sex. He was going to teach you a lesson and at the same time he was going to fuck you like they had never fucked you before, all those immature guys who presumed to fuck you. He was going to make you remember and never forget.

Minho slid all the way in, stretching out your entrance until you felt his balls brush against your body and his tip touch the deepest part of you, caressing your cervix. You whimpered in pain and pleasure, it hurt like the first time. He grunted in pleasure, you were squeezing him so well, making him think for a second if you were a virgin or it was just his swollen, pumping cock that had to hold out so hard.

One of Minho’s hands went to your waist squeezing you tightly the other one grabbed your hips to finally push your body. At first he pushed your body, to peruse your wet open hole giving room for his cock and how his raw cock slid smoothly into you, the skin of his veiny cock coated in your glistening liquid, sliding in and out of your pussy, Minho was going to make sure he left every drop of his cum in you to teach you a fucking lesson, to let everyone know you were his, to make you remember the day when you were so well fucked and accepted his exposed cock in you without thinking.

Minho smiled broadly, starting to ram you deep, moving your body with each intense, rough thrust, making you whimper, you were still adjusting to his size but for now your body was starting to ache, combining with pleasure.

He gasped, your walls were so tight squeezing him so torturously that he could cum weakly in moments.

“What a pretty and tight pussy you have, kitten, it feels so fucking good.”

Minho kept pounding your pussy hard, weakening your body, feeling his large size protrude into your lower abdomen; he noticed how you were slightly desperate not knowing where to put your hands, so he quickly acted and grabbed your forearms with force exalting the veins of his strong hands, leaving you helpless at his disposal, with his cock filling every inch of you, and even more, your poor entrance and interior was starting to be attacked by Minho’s cock as he accelerated his rhythm, moving his hips on you so satisfyingly until reaching your G-spot, finally you managed to combine the pain with your pleasure filling you completely, you couldn’t stop whimpering, each intense impact of his pelvis against your body clouded your sight more and more.

Minho was panting and overbearing to have you at his disposal, listening to you whimpering, his ego went to his head, he knew he was good at sex and fucked hard and he did it so rough that it left you shaking and sore.

Minho kept up his intense pace, thrusting hard into you until you could hear your skins collapsing and your soaking wet pussy sliding on his cock, you were both mesmerized, Minho could count your encounter as one of his best sexual experiences, the inside of your pussy squishing on his cock was an heavenly sensation. Minho hummed in pleasure, finding your submissive position so arousing; you were in a slightly uncomfortable position as he was holding you by your arms so tightly, but the sensation of being slightly motionless made you experience sex like you never had before, Minho was making you explore so many new sensations that you whimpered in pleasure with soft tears forming in your glistening eyes.

“Mmm, you’re taking so well my cook, kitten, look at you like a fucking good slut. You like being fuck hard, don’t you?”

Your whole body got hot listening to him talk dirty, you could listen to him for hours while his cock is shoved in your pussy.

“Y-yes, Min-” he pounded you harder, “Mr. Lee!”

You babbled in a squeak oh my god, enjoying being fucked hard like you had never experienced before.

It was feeling so good but at the same time it was like you were being split in two, your face was flushed red as you were so close to your orgasm. You didn’t know how he was doing it but it didn’t feel like a fuck where he was mindlessly penetrating you, his movements were frantic but the intensity of the perfect control of his hips blurred your vision and took you to the edge.

You felt his cock throbbing in your core as your near orgasm squeezed it slightly tighter, almost milking him dry, however, Minho in one swift movement grabbed both your arms with one hand while with the other went in search of your hair, to pull it back and whisper to you in a husky voice, “Come here.”

You did your best to lift your sore body, with a little of his help, and press your naked back against his bare chest.

“Cum, little slut,” he growled in your ear, grabbing your neck with one of his hands while the other held your quivering body in your mons venus, his nimble fingers stimulating your sensitive clit, “Cum all over my fucking cock and I’m gonna cum all inside you to make you mine. I bet no little brat has ever fucked you the way I do” his lips were glued to your ear, you heard every gasping breath and felt the vibration of his voice on your back as you were pinned to his chest, you shook in response, causing him to let out a smug chuckle in your ear, with the ache in your abdomen from his cock and from your second intense orgasm, “You just love when I make you cum, don’t you?”

“Y-yees” you replied raggedly through the constant battle with your breathing and racing heart, the edge of your orgasm, and his intense thrusts into your pussy that made your body move, blurrily seeing the arm veins that wrapped around your neck.

Suddenly Minho whimpered in your ear, tightening his previous soft grip on your neck.

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum too. I’m gonna fill your pussy with my cum you dirty slut.”

His ramming continued and he began to lightly choke you, more tears graced your face, the pain and pleasure was getting so intense that you collapsed again more fiercely and broke free from the growing knot in your stomach, falling into a rumbling orgasm leaving you shuddering and lifeless.

Minho also cum at the sensation of your orgasm collapsing on him, satisfying you audibly as you heard his loud moan and filling the inside of your vagina with every drop of his loaded cock just as he had promised himself. You felt his warm shot into you still with his cock inside and a tired Minho rested his chin on your shoulder as he slowly released his grip on your neck.

He pulled out of you leaving your dripping entrance.

“Let me see your pussy full of my cum, kitten” Minho ordered breathlessly.

Tired, you sat on the bed and spread your legs, you moaned at the tingle of the fluids slipping into you and Minho smiled, to pull you close and give you a short but tender and passionate kiss on your lips. Your first kiss, after the dirty act.

“Aw, you look so tired, you’ve never been fucked this hard before, my babygirl?” he spoke almost mockingly.

݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♡🧸ྀི ♡ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

You couldn't stop for a while, you lived a double life entangled in the guilt and strong arms of two men. They were both sex gods so ready to please you, they knew what they were doing and it drove you crazy.

There were many differences between the two, but you loved fucking them and having fun with both equally, with the same intensity. Neither of them knew that you were fucking them at the same time, honestly you were there for a good time, not to promise them that you would always belong to them, when they already belonged to someone else in the first place.

With Hyunjin, your encounters became serious when he returned to the topic of not making you cum and promised to do so, renting a penthouse exclusively for the two of you where you could both sin without a problem. That place became a witness to your dirty and fateful encounters.

Hyunjin was softer and more tender with you, he loved foreplay and you deciding what to do, what to touch, he put your needs before his, anyway he knew you were going to please him and that was enough for his miserable and needy slightly mature body.

You loved the contrast of the two of them, some days you would see Hyunjin and others Minho, you'd text for hours, have fun sending each other risqué messages and then take out every sorrow and frustration on you and your young, docile, libido filled body. You loved that with Hyunjin you were soft, he gave you the sweetest kisses and you could be in control… but with Minho everything was very different, he gave you orders for everything and left your body sore.

Hyunjin liked you, because he could fill himself with as much sexual pleasure as he wanted, just like Minho, you seemed to have no limits.

That night you felt guilty when he informed you that he had rented the place just for the two of you, but you decided to accept it cynically. He showered you with expensive gifts and filled your bank account with money, all while giving you some of the best sex. You didn't know where to put the gifts or hide them, so he gave you the keys to the penthouse so you could leave all his gifts and use them once you were alone, without your sister asking where you got a Cartier bracelet or new handbags from the latest Versace collection. You noticed that with his gifts, Hyunjin was looking for something more lasting which alerted you a lot, but then you forgot about it when you arrived at the place with absolutely nothing to worry about, you both had developed the ability to be soulless and cynical monsters, guiltless enough to enjoy sexual pleasures with the city light outside the big windows as your witnesses.

Hyunjin always made sure to kiss you before initiating any sexual act, his soft lips always lived close to your face and body in every moment you shared alone. He loved to touch you and slide his hand under your dress to caress and take care of your pussy. His deft fingers would easily slide into your already lubricated area and he would gently thrust into you. You both undressed and he continued to caress your sensitive pussy until he guided you to the bed still kissing you. You enjoyed his kisses so much that you both dropped on the mattress and masturbated his cock, you adored the feel of his quivering dick, Hyunjin drove you wild that you couldn't say no to his adorable face begging for sex.

Your encounters were like this, on lonely nights when you got overly turned on and asked him to lie down on the bed, Hyunjin with an adorable and wide smile would obey, in contrast to his colossal cock intimidatingly wagging at you as it was exposed. He was also pleasurably hurting your pussy every time you fucked. He was so handsome you could eat him out, you unloaded all that energy as you sat on his erect cock, grinding on it and sliding your wet folds into his stiffness, making him whimper.

“Mmm, fuck, it feels so good, baby, you love my cock, don't you, baby?” moaned Hyunjin taking hold of your breasts tightly and massaging them.

You nodded frantically in response, Hyunjin loved it when you had fun with his cock, putting it in your mouth, on your pussy, while riding him, masturbating him even with lazy footjob on his cock when watching a movie and the two of you are at the far ends of the couch spaced apart.

You continued, sliding up and down, rubbing all over your wet pussy making pressure on his cock and his exposed abdomen, panting, and seeing him so appetizing and handsome. You moved closer to him, as he himself had made you an addite to his lips and you kissed him, the sensation of his mouth working against yours made your pussy throb more and you remembered how good his lips felt on your pussy.

Pulling away from him, you looked at him with your huge bambi eyes that he adores and said:

“Can I sit on your face, Hyun?”

Hyunjin almost cum before your innocent gaze rubbing on his cock as you ask for fucking his face.

You knew Hyunjin wouldn't say no to you. And then he would cuddle you to keep chatting about his whole life, you liked him, you weren't going to deny it, he was handsome, interesting, kind… but he was married, you wanted to keep it to just sex without feelings, at least until your summer was over.

Minho, on the other hand, debated long and hard whether to continue seeing you and ended up giving in completely, offering the cabin he had a few hours outside the city as your main place of pleasure.

You didn't feel proud, you felt dirty and Minho always reminded you of that, he loved to talk dirty and sometimes referred to you with sweet names and sometimes blurted out in excitement somewhat derogatory names, both of which made you horny anyway.

Nights with Minho were darker, he didn't make sure to kiss you before doing any act, he loved to tease you and watch every reaction, whispering dirty and defiantly, “Wasn't this what you wanted?”

You loved to tease him and misbehave only to receive your painful punishment. It was as if you were balancing very well the sweet sex with Hyunjin, with the hard and painful one Minho was giving you.

He was so forward and a total pervert, at first he liked you to call him Mr. Lee, but as he became more confident he asked you to call him daddy. He liked to feel in control and the absolute authority of your body and pleasure.

Sometimes you would get very proud and try to play his same game, making comments that you knew made his blood boil and hurt his ego, throwing at him in a mocking tone, “And you? You're so needy too, daddy, look at you, your wife's pussy isn't enough so you come to taste mine.”

Minho paused, pulling his mouth away from your pussy, letting his heavy hand fall on your exposed and sensitive vagina, slapping it hard and making you cry out in pain. Minho hated talking about his wife when he was with you and hated it even more when you talked about her, unlike Hyunjin who used you as his therapist to tell every complaint he had.

Minho stood up, coming close to your face to slap it too. That night he was so furious, and not exactly because of you, but he was taking it out unfairly on you. He was fed up with his wife's glamorous life, her fame was starting to fall on his shoulders as it was starting to affect his children, which hurt him, they were the most precious thing to Minho.

He moved your body with ease, putting your body over his lap to begin spanking you.

But those were the unusual nights, what Minho liked about you was that you never seemed to get tired, your body never got full of him, apparently, you could take round after round until you ran him dry, he loved to call you derogatory names to remind you how unbelievably slutty you were behaving and in the end he didn't talk much like Hyunjin did, Minho showed his caring and affection by making you dinner and talking softly about him, though he was extremely reserved, though to you… something about Minho caught your attention so much, for days you wanted to deny it, but you liked him slightly more than Hyunjin.

But you lived trapped in the sexual fantasies of two men, you didn't really believe them capable of seeing you with fondness or affection. Two men, running away from home and families just so they could fill your pussy and fuck you releasing every sexual frustration on them. You were their little doll, their fucktoy.

But like everything, your little empire fell little by little once Minho was starting to suspect that you were also sleeping with another man, but he was manic, trying to figure out if that man could be Chan. Also Hyunjin's wife, Yeji began to suspect him, he was late, he didn't come to sleep, she went to designer stores and the workers kindly told her if she wanted another pair of the same garment, bag or shoes that her husband had already bought. But Hyunjin had a very huge problem, as he was slightly falling in love with you. He couldn't help it.

----------------------

𐙚TAGLIST: @rylea08 @hann1bee @iovecb97 @armystay89 @bubblebisk

[softspiderling]

est-ce que je t’aime? | j.v

summary:

“What does dear Jace have to say?”

“I do not like your tone,” you huffed, snatching the letter out of his hands. Daeron chuckled, his eyes gleaming.

“You could become my niece, if this continues.”

“Oh please,” you answered, not even entertaining the idea. “I am too low of a rank for him to even consider marrying me.”

OR; After having spent almost eight namedays in Oldtown, you longed for your return to King’s Landing, to see Jace again. When the day finally comes, you didn’t expect to be thrust in the middle of a war for the crown.

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x reader, platonic!daeron targaryen x reader

warnings: mention of death (Viserys), canonical violence (follows plot of the show up to Storm’s End), otherwise this part is pretty tame!

word count: 8,2k

author’s note: i do not know a single thing about daeron except for the tidbits we have learned in the show. the rest is made up (but imo my Daeron character analysis is pretty great finally my bachelor's in english has proven useful). this is gonna be a two parter! the first part is heavily reader x daeron/team green focused, while the second part will focus on reader’s and jace’s relationship. title is from GIMS' song est-ce que tu m'aimes which also inspired this fic... also @eldrith bc i fear i will be threatened with a gun if i dont... happy reading 🫶🏼

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“I have a letter from the Queen Alicent and and another one from the Prince Jacaerys Velaryon,” the messenger said, bowing as he stood at the door.

“Thank you Ser.”

Taking the letters, the messenger bowed to take his leave, and you handed Daeron the letter from his mother before settling into your chaise with Jace’s letter.

This was how you and Daeron received news from King’s Landing and Dragonstone. You hated how you had to wait so long to hear news, longing for the time all of you were at King’s Landing together, but you knew that things hadn’t been working out with Rhaenyra and her family nor with Alicent and her children.

You thought that was the main reason Daeron had been sent to Oldtown, to shield him from the tumultuous life at court and you along with him, despite that you had been Helaena’s lady in waiting.

Smiling at the contents of the letter, you tried to imagine Jace’s voice as he told you of Luke taking flight with Arrax for the first time, failing miserably. It had only been two years since you saw him last, but you knew how boys matured quickly in a short span of time, Daeron being the perfect example.

He had only come up to your shoulders when you first arrived in Oldtown, now, he was almost as tall as you.

“Helaena and Aegon were married,” Daeron suddenly said and your hands stilled, lowering Jace’s letter.

You glanced at him, noticing how small his voice sounded. Putting the letter away, you clasped Daeron’s arm, offering some comfort. You knew how hard it was for him to be away from his family and hearing about important news like that through letter just made the distance seem even greater.

“To whom?”

“To each other.”

“What?”

“Look,” Daeron said, handing you the letter his mother had sent him with the official sigil of the Targaryen house. You read through the letter, before sitting back with a surprised sigh.

“Helaena must be devastated,” you muttered, rubbing the side of your temples. You couldn’t imagine how alone Helaena must feel, to be married off to Aegon. He had always been a little crude; you doubted he had changed much.

“I cannot believe mother did not even deem it necessary to bring me home for their wedding,” Daeron said with a frown. “Am I even still her son?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you chastised him. “Your mother sent you away for your own good.”

Even as you said those words, you didn’t quite believe them yourself. It had been so long since Daeron has seen his family, you understood sending him away in the first place, but going for so long without a single visit?

With a sigh, Daeron brushed his silver hair back, angling towards Jace’s letter you had left on the table.

“What does dear Jace have to say?”

“I do not like your tone,” you huffed, snatching the letter out of his hands. Daeron chuckled, his eyes gleaming.

“You could become my niece, if this continues.”

“Oh please,” you answered, not even entertaining the idea. “I am too low of a rank for him to even consider marrying me.”

“So you have thought about marrying my nephew?”

You groaned and Daeron only cackled when you shoved him.

“Go sit and write to your mother,” you told him with a sniff of your nose and even though he grimaced at you, he sat down at the wooden desk, grabbing a roll of parchment. Even though Daeron was of much higher rank than you, he had adopted you as some sort of older sister ever since you two got to Oldtown, with you being the only familiar person from home that was still present in his life, apart from his uncles, of course.

It pained you, to see Daeron long for his family, who seemed to have discarded him so easily. You wondered when he would get to his family again as you reached for Jace’s letter to keep on reading;You wondered when you would get to see Jace again.

It was six more years before either of that would happen. However under much different circumstances than either of you had imagined.

“Urgent news from King’s Landing!” the messenger said, his breath short as he handed Lord Ormund a roll of parchment. You and Daeron glanced at each other; you were in the middle of breaking fast, the most important meal of the day in Oldtown; it must be incredible important news for the messenger to disrupt the meal like that. His face was stony as he read the contents of the letter, before his eyebrows raised in surprise. He lowered the letter, his eyes finding Daeron.

“Your father has passed. They are to crown your brother Aegon to be King. You are expected back in King’s Landing.” Lord Ormund’s eyes found you. “Both of you.”

It didn’t take long for Daeron and you get everything ready for your departure, you barely noticed most of your belongings being packed up, still reeling from the news. You couldn’t believe King Viserys had died. Of course you had known from the letters that Daeron had received from his mother that the king had taken quite ill, but still. And he named Aegon as his new heir? You couldn’t imagine Aegon, the boy who teased his brother endlessly to become King of the Seven Realms, but who were you to judge?

Your hand was itching to write to Jace, despite your last letter still being unanswered. You weren’t sure what had changed, but lately you felt like Jace’s letters had become scarce, every answer taking longer than the last. You weren’t quite bold enough to ask why in a letter, fearing a rejection, but maybe when you saw him, you could gauge his mood. You knew you were to see him at King Viserys’ funeral or the latest at Aegon’s coronation, you would see him sooner than your letter would take to get to him. Despite knowing that, your eyes caught on parchment and quill, so you took leave to Daeron’s chamber to distract yourself.

The door to his chambers stood open as you stepped in, the maids moving in a flurry as they packed his belongings, while Daeron was sitting on his bed, unmoving. Gingerly, you moved to sit behind him, but he barely acknowledged your presence, gazing out of the window.

“I’m sorry about your father’s passing,” you told him, nudging him with your shoulder.

“I have been living without a father for quite some time,” he replied wryly, glancing at you. “I suppose it will not feel any different.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it, hoping to lend him comfort. “I know. But still, I wish he had been a better father to you.”

Daeron only snorted, shaking his head.

“Are you nervous to see your kin again?”

The young Prince let out a laugh, unwinding his hand from your grip to stand.

“Kin? I haven’t seen them in nearly ten years,” he scoffed, starting to pace. “Mother writes to me once in a moon, Helaena’s letters are more confusing than not, and Aegon and Aemond barely write to me on my name day. I have not seen them since my eighth name day.”

“They are still your kin, Daeron.”

“By blood, yes.”

“Is there any other way to be kin?”

You were humoring him, knowing he was frustrated and nervous to see his family but Daeron stopped in his tracks, looking at you.

“Yes. You.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise and he took his seat next to you again, cradling your hand in his.

“You came with me to Oldtown when you did not have to, gave me a sense of familiarity in this… Farce of a home, lent me comfort in a way my own blood failed to do,” he said quietly, squeezing your hand. “You are my sister in everything but blood.”

“Oh Daeron,” you sighed, pulling him into a hug and letting the younger boy - despite him arguing that he was long a man - find comfort in your arms. Ten and six, and the burden of feeling like you were abandoned by your family. You wished he did not have to feel this way, but you were powerless to change it.

“Swear to me you will not abandon me once we get back to King’s Landing,” Daeron said, pulling away to hold you at an arm’s length, his eyes searching yours.

“I swear it,” you told him, a smile on your face. “Swear to me you will not say any of this to your mother.”

Daeron let out a laugh at that, but you only shook your head, only half-jesting. You know Otto Hightower would fall right to his grave if he had heard Daeron call you his sister. You were high-born, yes, but in no way comparable to a Princess.

A knock sounded on the door, before a squire entered. “Everything has been prepared for your departure my Prince.”

“Very well, we will be right out,” Daeron answered with a nod.

The squire bowed, before leaving again and you squeezed Daeron’s hand, standing.

“I will go fetch my belongings, you go bid farewell to your uncles.”

Daeron nodded, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders. “I will meet you outside the city walls.”

You touched his cheek gently before you departed. A knight and two maids followed you with bags of sustenance and personal belongings to the city walls, where a handful of dragonkeepers were eyeing the sky. Lifting your gaze, you saw Tessarion fly over the city in circles, a smile growing on your face, excited to be making the trip back to King’s Landing on dragonback.

You had always loved whenever Daeron took you out flying on Tessarion; deep within you wished to feel a bond as special as a dragonrider had with their dragon. You wondered if Jace would take you flying on Vermax, now that all of you were reconvening for the King’s funeral rite and Aegon’s coronation.

Tessarion let out a screech before coming to land on the small green meadow, and you knew Daeron must be close. Surely enough, you heard footsteps coming closer before Daeron stopped just next to you, knights accompanying him.

“Will you miss Oldtown?” You asked him, but Daeron only shook his head.

“Nothing keeping me here,” he answered, stepping forward to greet Tessarion as she landed, calming her as the knights and maids attached the satchels and bags to the saddle. You let out a deep breath, turning to look at Oldtown for one last time. While Daeron had been right, a part of you was sad to leave, as it had been the place you had called home for the last years.

“Are you sure this is King’s Landing?”

The journey to King’s Landing had been uneventful and quick, a half day’s journey only. When you had arrived, flying over the city, Daeron directed Tessarion into the dragon pit, where the dragonkeepers had been waiting. Maids had then taken you into the Red Keep, and you barely had any time to react as you looked at the adornments that decorated castle; countless dedications to the Seven. The busy Keep you had remembered had now been replaced with empty halls and dark walls.

Daeron glanced at you before looking around. “Surely mother’s doing.”

The maid led you into empty chambers, bowing to Daeron.

“The Queen Dowager will be with you shortly, my Prince.”

Daeron thanked her and she inclined her head at him before turning to you.

“My Lady, if you follow me.”

“Where are you taking her?” Daeron, his hand on your arm to stop you from leaving. The maid paused, glancing between the two of you.

“To her chambers, my Prince.”

“She will stay with me.”

“Daeron, you should see your mother by yourself, I can come see you after,” you assured him but Daeron merely shook his head, his grip on your arm tightening.

“I shall not meet my mother alone.”

“Daeron-“

“Please,” Daeron begged, his voice panicked and you sighed, giving in. Only then did Daeron release the grip on your arm.

The maid still paused but she then decided to retreat, but not without bowing to Daeron again. He started pacing in the room, picking up the small trinkets that littered the desk.

“They just put me in my old chambers thinking it will be like I never left.”

You raised your eyebrows, glancing around before you realized that Daeron was right - you were standing in his old chambers. They had replaced the furniture and added a bigger bed, but it was the same chambers he had stayed in when he was a little boy.

“They have always kept a place for you to return, is that not a good thing?”

Daeron looked at you with a frown when the doors suddenly opened and Alicent stepped in, in tow with Daeron’s siblings and his grandsire, Otto. Alicent beamed at the sight of her youngest son, though her smile wavered when she saw you, before turning her eyes back to Daeron, opening her arms.

“My boy.”

“Mother,” Daeron replied, his voice hesitant before he fell into her arms, hugging him tightly.

Your heart warmed at the sight and Daeron seemed to lose all of the fears he had been carrying - if only for a split second - as he laid in his mother’s arms. You were content to stay back, let Daeron get reacq with his family again, but you weren’t ignored for long, when someone threw their arms around you with so much momentum, it nearly knocked you off your feet.

“Oh Gods,” you laughed, a head of silver hair in your face. “Helaena.”

“I missed you,” the Princess whispered and you hugged her back just as tightly, sighing. She gave you one last squeeze, before Helaena pulled away to muster you, running her hands through the ends of your hair.

“You look well,” she said. “Very beautiful.”

You flushed at her kind words, lacing her hands with yours. “So are you, my Princess.”

Helaena smiled brightly at you. “You must meet Jahaera and Jahaerys.”

“There is time for that later,” Alicent decided, cutting in. Helaena’s smile dropped slightly and she fled to your side as her mother stepped to you. You bowed your head to greet her, but Alicent grabbed you by the shoulders before pulling you into a hug, surprising you.

“Thank you,” she said quietly in the privacy of the embrace. “Thank you for watching over Daeron when I was unable to.”

You wrapped your arms around Alicent. “Of course my Queen.”

She pulled away, straightening her dress and you caught a glimpse of Otto talking to Daeron before Aegon and Aemond stepped into your view.

“My Princes,” you said, bowing. “My condolences for your father.”

“Thank you,” Aemond said. “He was in great pain, The Stranger freed him.”

His voice was monotone, almost void of emotion and you wondered if any of them mourned their father. Aegon nodded, though he seemed more subdued.

“Are you excited to be King, my Prince?” you asked, hoping to change the topic.

He gave you a wry smile, opening his mouth but Aemond gave him a subtle jab in the side with his elbow.

“Uh, yes, of course, my Lady,” Aegon said, clearing his throat. “Now that we have all reconvened, the coronation cannot come soon enough. You are a much better guest than our nephews.”

That made you pause.

“Jace and Luke were here?” You asked, your forehead creasing.

“Yes. Lord Vaemond challenged Luke as heir for Driftmark and the trial was held at court. They left just shortly before father passed,” Aemond told you, his voice even. You hadn’t known that.

“When are they expected to return?”

Alicent exchanged looks with Otto, silent conversation passing between them and you glanced at Daeron, who seemed just as confused. Something was going on, something you weren’t aware of.

“They are not,” Alicent then said and your lips parted in surprise. “Rhaenyra is upset, rightfully so, that her father had chosen Aegon as his heir, so she decided to remain on Dragonstone.”

Your eyebrows furrowed but you decided not to press the matter, only nodding. The topic was quickly brushed off as Alicent wrapped her arm around Daeron, trying to draw him into conversation, asking about his interests. You only listened half-heartedly, your mind still spinning from the news.

“Do you not think all of this odd?” you asked, your voice low. “I know Rhaenyra is proud, but refusing to show up to the coronation or even pay respects to her late father?”

It was the day after your arrival in King’s Landing, the day of the coronation. The day was hectic, the Keep suddenly bustling with servants and maids getting everything ready; you had taken the advantage to sneak into Daeron’s room, something that had gotten much more difficult ever since you got back to King’s Landing.

“Maybe thing’s have changed,” Daeron replied, rubbing his temple. “We have been away for a while, we do not know of the things that have transpired.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but a knock on the door interrupted you, a maid coming to fetch you for the coronation was about to begin. As you walked to the carriage, you were arguing with yourself on the inside, knowing that you were privy of most details, thanks to Jace’s letters. You couldn’t believe Rhaenyra wouldn’t rush to King’s Landing to bid farewell to her father. There must be something else holding her back.

As you got to the Dragonpit where the coronation was held, you were surprised that it was over faster than you had imagined, almost like it was rushed. Then again, this was your first coronation so who were you to say this wasn’t how every coronation went? As Aegon raised his hand to the small folk, eliciting applause, you joined in. The applause ceded when a loud growl shook the entire building. Silence followed, before the floor gave away when a dragon emerged through the stone, countless people falling to their death, trampled by the the huge beast with Princess Rhaenys on top.

Meleys, you thought, stood before the family, and Alicent rushed towards Aegon to shield him, cries and pleads from the smallfolk surrounding you. Criston shielded Helaena, and you grasped Daron’s hand as he only stared at his cousin in shock.

With bated breath, everyone waited - to be burnt, eaten, you weren’t sure. But Meleys only let out a deafening roar, before flapping her wings, breaking through the doors to escape to freedom.

“What in the Seven Hells was that?” you muttered to Daeron. He gave you a shrug, squeezing your hand as he looked you over, making sure you were unharmed.

The small folk on the other hand were fighting to get out of the building, which seemed to be crumbling in on itself, and Criston began to usher everyone out.

You were the last to come down from the stairs, taking Daeron’s hand he was offering to you when a crunching sound from above made you lift your head, seeing a large part of the roof cave in, falling right down heading straight for you.

“Sister!”

Daeron gave a harsh tug of your arm, pulling you behind him, as the large slab of stone fell right in the place you were standing mere moments ago.

“Are you well?” He asked, his voice full of concern as he padded you down.

“I’m fine, Daeron.”

“Daeron.”

You both looked up when Alicent called for him, just to see that they were all staring at you, Otto seeming incredibly displeased as you realized what Daeron had just called you. Seven Hells, you thought, this was precisely what you had been trying to avoid.

“Do you even realize what sort of rumors would be spread if anyone had heard you refer to her as “sister”?!”

You were pacing in front of the study, voices muffled through the wooden door. After you had gotten back to the Keep, Helaena and Aegon had returned to their children, while Otto and Alicent had dragged Daeron into the study. Neither of them sounded particularly happy, their raised voices spilling out of the room. You were wringing your hands, something that you had been doing a lot since you got to King’s Landing. Not even three nights ago, you were in Oldtown wondering if you were ever to return to King’s Landing, now you were back and everything was happening so fast and you felt like you were missing a big part of the story. When did the King change his mind about his heir? Why wouldn’t Rhaenyra and Daemon return to King’s Landing following the King’s death? And why in the Seven Hells did Rhaenys break through the floor with Meleys like she was being held captive? You had so many questions, none of which you had answer to; deep in thoughts, you didn’t even notice someone approaching you.

“Eavesdropping, are we?”

Letting out a small gasp, you jumped to face Aemond, a hand on your chest as he eyed you, unimpressed.

“Gods, you scared me,” you said, shaking your head. “No, I am waiting on Daeron. Your mother and grandsire didn’t want me to come in.”

Clearly.

Aemond didn’t say anything else as he leaned against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest. You eyed him as he stood there, on guard. It was hard to gauge him; you felt like Aemond was waiting for you to make a mistake so he had a reason to get rid of you. You remembered the soft, warm boy he used to be when you first got to King’s Landing. You wondered when he had changed, if it was when Luke took his eye or before.

“I should have known Daeron would cling to you after you had gone to Oldtown with him,” he said, his voice slow. “What is it, that you are planning to do with him? Make him infatuated with you so you can insinuate yourself into our family?”

Your ears grew hot at his implication. How dare he abandon his brother for nearly all his life and accuse you of having improper thoughts?

“Daeron is like a brother to me,” you said, voice indignant. “I care about him and I mislike being accused of such a horrible things.”

“So you vow your loyalty to our family, to Aegon as King?”

The way Aemond phrased the question made it seem like you had a choice and you hesitated, the fight leaving you.

“Of course, he’s the rightful heir, is he not?”

Aemond only gave a nod, taking a step back. You narrowed your eyebrows at him, but the door opened and Daeron stepped out, his face in a scowl.

“What happened?” you asked, but he only gave a brief shake of his head. He inclined his head, and you followed him, a knight on your trail, while Aemond stayed behind. The two of you walked for a while, until you reached the gardens, the knight staying by the edge as you and Daeron took a seat on a bench. He still seemed agitated, so you placed your hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

“They accused me of impropriety,” Daeron muttered. “Said that I was opening our family up for vulnerabilities and rumors.”

“We’re not in Oldtown anymore, Daeron, everything you do here is looked upon,” you sighed.

“What is improper about calling you my sister? You have been by my side since my eighth name day,” he argued. “How can I call a woman my mother when I haven’t seen her since I was a boy? The strangers brothers and sister, when I barely recognize them?” Daeron hissed, his voice rising.

“I know you’re upset,” you said quietly, eyes darting around, not wanting him to get in even more trouble. “It’s hard for them to understand. They are not trying to hurt you.”

“Did they not try to hurt me when they cast me out of the family?”

You sighed, leaning your head on his shoulder, and Daeron let out a shaky breath, staring out in the distance.

“How is my brother faring?”

You shut the door to Daron’s chambers quietly to find Aemond waiting just in front. After you had spent the rest of the afternoon in the gardens, you had thought it best if Daeron laid down for a while before supper, hoping it would calm him.

“It’s hard for him to find his footing here. His life in Oldtown hasn’t been this… Restrictive. It will take him time to adjust.”

Aemond nodded, letting out a sigh.

“I was hoping he would accompany me,” he said. “But I do not think he sounds well enough to go.”

“Where are you going?”

“Storm’s End. To get Lord Borros to vow for my brother.”

What?

“Forgive me but who else would he be loyal to?”

Aemond turned around, looking at you in disdain.

“Rhaenyra. She might think she still has some claim on the throne.”

He paused, eyeing you carefully.

“You should come.”

“Me?”

Aemond’s eye swept over you once more and he nodded.

“Yes, it will look good to Lord Borros if someone outside of our family is there showing support to Aegon,” he insisted. “It will be a short flight on Vhagar.”

“Very well,” you said, a glance on Daron’s closed door, wondering if you should tell him that you would be gone, but it sounded like the trip to Storm’s End wouldn’t be long, so you decided against waking him. You could tell him after.

You followed Aemond to the dragonpit, where a maid laid a cloak around your shoulders as you watched Aemond mount Vhagar, the breath stocking in your throat at the size of his dragon. Vhagar was large and old, barely able to turn in the dragon pit without brushing the cave.

“Come,” Aemond said, offering his hand to you before pulling you into the saddle, instructing you to hold on tightly.

“Soves, Vhagar!”

With a loud growl, Vhagar stepped out of the dragon pit before taking to the skies, her enormous wings stretching out several feet. The ride on Vhagar was much smoother than every ride you had ever taken on Tessarion, and it wasn’t long before you reached Storm’s End, dark clouds following you. Vhagar landed in the courtyard, you and Aemond climbing off.

“Just in time,” the Baratheon knight said, watching the rain pour from the skies just as you stepped under the roof.

“I am Prince Aemond Targaryen, brother of King Aegon II,” Aemond said, fixing his doublet. “I am here to talk to Lord Borros.”

The knight lead him into the Round Hall, where Lord Borros sat on his seat, seemingly having expected Aemond, his four daughters standing idly next to him.

“Prince Aemond, what can I do for you?”

“Lord Borros, I am here to ask you to pledge loyalty to my brother, King Aegon II.”

“King Aegon, you say,” Lord Borros said, arrogance dripping from his voice. “And what do you offer me for my loyalty?”

You were taken aback by his words, but Aemond only smiled, his hands locked behind his back.

“Your four daughters… They are still unwed?”

A smile spread on Lord Borros’ face and he gestured to his four daughters with his arm.

“Indeed. Are you proposing a betrothal?”

Aemond inclined his head. “Not only am I free to marry, but my younger brother, Prince Daeron as well. His lady companion can attest to his formidable character.”

Your eyes widened at Aemond’s words and you glanced at him, anger welling up inside you. So this was why he had wanted you to come. Aemond paid you no mind and you exhaled deeply, turning to face Lord Borros again, putting up a faux smile.

“Excellent, excellent,” Lord Borros said, clapping his hands. “Let us discuss-“

“My Lord!” A knight called, striding into the hall with quick steps. “Another dragon has been sighted, headed straight to Storm’s End.”

“Ah, that must be my nephew,” Aemond replied easily, your heart skipping a beat. Were you finally going to see Jace again? Lord Borros gestured to the side, and Aemond placed his hand to your lower back to push you along; you fought your urge to slap his hand away from you, eyes darting over to the door.

The heavy rain was still pelting outside, nearly drowning out the sound of the steps as a young boy entered.

“Prince Lucerys Velaryon,” the knight announced. “Son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

Luke, you thought, looking at the young Prince, now old enough to be delivering messages. The last time you saw him, he was round faced, his dark locks curling around his angelic face. Seeing him lessened the fire in your chest, though you were still angry at this whole situation, and you threw Aemond a look. He didn’t seem like he was paying any attention anyhow, his focus on his nephew who came further into the hall.

Luke’s step faltered when he saw Aemond, before his eyes laid on you. You tried to give him a comforting smile, show him you were a friendly face in a crowd of hostiles, knowing Luke was about to be met with a rejection, but he quickly glanced away, facing Lord Borros.

“Lord Borros...” Luke started. “I brought you a message from my mother... the Queen.”

“Yet earlier this day, I received an envoy from the King,” Lord Borros drawled, his tone less warm. “Which is it? King, or Queen? The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it.”

Lord Borros chuckled in amusement and you could tell Luke was nervous by the way he was shifting on his feet. Aemond seemed to enjoy all of it.

“What’s your mother’s message?”

Luke held out the parchment roll and the a knight fetched it, bringing it to Lord Borros, which he readily accepted, asking for the maester. As the maester quietly recounted the content of the message to Lord Borros, Luke glanced to you and Aemond numerous times, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. Your eyebrows creased, but the corners of Aemond’s mouth tugged up.

“Remind me of my father’s oath?” Lord Borros spoke, the message seemingly upsetting him greatly. “King Aegon at least came with an offer: My swords and banners for a marriage pact. If I do as your mother bids… Which one of my daughters will you wed, boy?”

Luke hesitated. You pressed your lips together; he had probably expected less of a hostile welcoming. Lord Borros only scoffed at Luke’s silence.

“Go home, pup,” he sneered. “Tell your mother that the Lord of Storm’s End is not some dog that she can whistle up at need to set against her foes.”

Luke inclined his head, disappointed at the rejection.

“I shall take your answer to the Queen; my Lord.”

Luke turned to leave, but Aemond stepped forward, calling out to him.

“Wait, my Lord Strong.”

You glanced at Aemond, letting out a soft breath, nerves pooling in your stomach. Luke turned, despite the blatant insult.

“Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?”

Your hand reached out to grasp Aemond, but he slipped out of your grips as he stepped closer to his nephew.

“I will not fight you. I came as messenger, not a warrior.”

“A fight would be little challenge,” Aemond said. “No. I want you to put out your eye.”

He took off his eyepatch and you pressed your lips together, eyes darting between uncle and nephew, knowing this was about to escalate terribly.

“As payment for mine. One will serve,” Aemond added, throwing a dagger in Luke’s direction. “I would not blind you.”

Luke stared at Aemond in shock, his lips parted.

“Plan to make it a gift of it to my mother.”

Luke’s eyes dropped to the dagger on the floor, before he lifted his head. “No.”

“Then you are craven as well as a traitor.”

“Not here,” Lord Borros said, but no one paid him any attention.

“Give me your eye!” Aemond yelled, descending upon Luke, grabbing the dagger from the floor, while Luke stepped back, reaching for his sword. “Or I will take it, bastard.”

“Aemond!” you shouted, panic evident in your voice.

“Not in my hall!” Lord Borros cut in, his voice raised and Aemond stopped, turning back to look at him. “The boy came as an envoy. I’ll not have blood shed beneath my roof. Take Prince Lucerys back to his dragon. Now.”

Luke resheathed his sword, throwing one last look at you before he turned, hurrying out of the hall. Aemond let out a huff of frustration, throwing a dirty look at Lord Borros, exiting the hall without waiting for you.

“Aemond, wait,” you called after him, hurrying to keep up with his long strides. “You’re not thinking about following him on Vhagar in this horrible storm, are you?”

“He cannot get away with it, not again.”

Aemond’s voice was angry and you let out a breath, trying to keep a clear head.

“This is a thing from the past!” you reminded him. “Did you not gain a dragon from it?”

“You were not present when he took my eye!” Aemond hissed, taking a turn before you had reached the courtyard, just in time to see Luke on Arrax, flying out of Storm’s End. It was raining so heavily, you could barely see him, dark rain clouds swallowing Arrax and his rider easily.

Aemond was already walking towards Vhagar, the rain soaking, as you stayed put under the roof, hesitant.

“Are you coming, or staying?” Aemond shouted, climbing on top of Vhagar. You could feel the anger rolling off of him, something that Vhagar no doubtedly was feeling as well with the way she was growling and you wanted him to stay, calm down, but you knew it was no use, so you exhaled deeply, lowering your head.

“I am coming.”

You took his outstretched hand and he pulled you into the saddle behind him; you had barely settled in before Vhagar already leapt up in the sky.

The rain felt like small icy daggers in your face as you ascended higher and higher to the sky, easily catching up to the smaller dragon carrying Luke. Vhagar let out a roar, snapping her jaws at Arrax, as the smaller dragon breathed fire in your direction. It was clear that Arrax was no match for Vhagar.

“Aemond stop!”

Your voice barely carried over the rain, but Aemond disregarded you, his Vhagar as she darted to the left. You tightened your hold on Aemond, nerves coursing through you.

“What is it you’re trying to achieve, Aemond? You yelled, shaking him. “Are you trying to kill him?”

“That boy needs to learn how to fear me,” he only replied, tightening his reins on Vhagar, the distance between you and Arrax growing.

Aemond let out a frustrated growl, urging Vhagar to fly faster and you could feel the adrenaline rising as you almost caught up to Arrax again. You knew you were at a cross roads, and what would happen next would change everything, with Aemond consumed by his anger, and Vhagar following his emotions, someone was bound to get hurt. You had to do something. So as Vhagar descended upon Arrax, her jaws opening, you let go of Aemond, leaping off of Vhagar, almost immediately regretting it as Aemond yelled out your name, before you landed on Arrax, the wind being knocked out of your chest.

The young dragon let out a screech, dropping several feet down with the sudden added weight, just barely escaping Vhagar’s jaws.

“What are you doing?!” Luke screamed, the rain pelting against his face as he held onto his saddle tightly, Arrax roaring.

“Saving your life!”

You scrambled to find anything to hold onto, trying not to fall a gruesome death, your hands gripping onto Luke’s shoulders.

Vhagar’s shadow disappeared, but you knew her and Aemond were lurking inbetween the stormy clouds, you had to act fast. Your eyes were straining against the heavy rain, hand gripping into Luke’s shoulders.

“Do you trust me?”

“Not particularly, no!”

You grumbled, knowing his feelings were warranted, but this was not the time.

“We’re vulnerable. We need to find a spot to lay low, where Vhagar cannot come in.”

“Arrax is faster, I just need to get back home. It’s not that far!” Luke yelled back and you shook your head, even though he couldn’t even see you.

“That’s what Aemond is counting on! Please Luke, I know you don’t trust me, but I am trying to keep both of us alive.”

Luke groaned in frustration before tightening his reins on Arrax.

“Ilagon, Arrax!” Luke instructed. “Īlon jorrāelagon naejot jurnegon syt ruaragon.” Down, Arrax. We need to search for cover.

Arrax roared before you dropped several feet, flying by a range of mountains. You squinted your eyes trying to see anything in the rain, when you saw a cave several feet down.

The opening was small, too small for Vhagar to get in, but large enough for Arrax.

“Luke,” you said, squeezing his shoulder and pointing to the cave. “Down there.”

Luke nodded, leaning down to guide Arrax into the cave, and soon enough, the both of you were back on solid ground.

Arrax whined and Luke whispered to him gently, stroking his snout. “Lykiri, Arrax,” he said, leaning his head against his dragon’s. “Īlon jāhor jikagon lenton aderī, syt sir, ziry iksos daor ȳgha. Lykiri, issa valonqar.” Calm down, Arrax. We will go home soon, for now, it’s not safe. Calm down, my boy.

Arrax let out a soft whine, before curling in on himself, letting out a puff of smoke. With slumped shoulders, Luke sat down against the cave wall. You took off your cloak, laying it down so it could dry off before you sat down next to Luke, even as the boy avoided eye contact with you.

For a while, the two of you sat in silence with the occasional huff of Arrax, listening to the storm raging on outside. You hoped Aemond would cease his need for revenge soon. As a particularly loud thunder sounded, Luke jumped and you glanced at him, your heart aching.

“Are you well?”

Luke glanced over to you, trying to hide his tense shoulder by tightening his wet cloak around himself.

“No. But I’m unharmed,” he replied, his lips unmistakably shivering.

“It is better when you take off wet clothes, otherwise it might make you sick,” you said, leaning over to him to help unfasten his cloak, but Luke flinched away at your touch and your hands froze midair.

“I am sorry,” you said, breath bated. He must still be shaken, after seeing The Stranger right in the eyes. Luke let out a small breath, his fingers tightening in the fabric of his cloak.

“Did you know my uncle came to Storm’s End to kill me?” Luke asked, his voice small. “Did you come to make me lower my guards?”

“Forgive me?”

You knew their family affairs were difficult, strained from what had happened in the past, but you were stunned that he would expect this from Aemond, or you.

“I cannot speak of Aemond’s intentions,” you said truthfully. “Only of mine. I never wanted to harm you, and I did my best to keep you safe as soon as I realized that Aemond was too blinded by his need for revenge…”

Luke sniffed, wiping his cheeks and you moved to sit down in front of him.

“I’m only here to help you,” you assured him, holding your hands up in defense. “Arrax would turn me to ashes if I even touch you the wrong way, right?”

Arrax let out a soft growl at that and Luke gave you a small smile, nodding.

“Yes he would.”

“See, you’re in no danger,” you told him, your hand slowly reaching for his cloak, careful, as to not spook him. “Now take off your cloak and lay it down, it will dry off faster this way.”

Luke nodded, unfastening his cloak and laying it down next to yours before he took a seat beside you. Even though he had grown considerably in the years you had not seen him, he still was the little cheeky boy you remembered from before you had left King’s Landing.

“You have grown into a fine young Prince,” you told him. “I almost did not recognize you when you walked into Lord Borros’ hall.”

Luke quirked a smile at you, ducking his head. “I’m almost as tall as Jace now. He despises it.”

You grinned, pulling your legs close. You could imagine Jace just all too well, squinting at the mirror standing next to Luke.

“How is Jace?” you asked, your chest tight. You couldn’t believe how it was mere moon’s turns ago where you were exchanging letters, wondering why his replies seemed to become rarer.

Luke let out a small sigh, like it was a question that plagued him.

“Jace is… Angry. Ever since my uncle usurped the throne he has been trying to take action, fight for my mother’s claim.”

Your forehead creased.

Usurp?

“Pardon… Are you saying Aegon is not the rightful heir to King Viserys?”

Luke stared at you, mouth agape. “… Yes. He stole my mother’s inheritance.”

You only blinked at him, letting the news sink in as you leaned back against the wall, stumped.

“Now everything is falling into place… Why Aemond was questioning my loyalties, Rhaenys! Gods!” You covered your face with your hands, a gasp escaping your lips. “Daeron. I’ve left Daeron at King’s Landing without telling him that I’ve gone.”

You didn’t want to imagine what story Aemond has spun to make you a villain, to draw Daeron on his side.

“I’m sure all will be well,” Luke assured you, patting your hand consolingly. You only nodded, even though you were making up the worst scenarios in your head. Luke gave you a small smile, turning his hand when a yawn overtook him; Arrax had long curled up, his snores filling the cave.

“You should get some rest,” you told him, glancing over to the entrance of the cave where it was still pouring rain. “It might be a while before the rain ceases. I will wake you, when it is safe to leave.”

Luke semed hesitant, but then gave in, settling back against the wall, closing his eyes. As he slept, you noticed how he looked even younger, too young to be thrust into a war like this. Was this the fate that would meet Daeron, Helaena or even Joffrey? The thought unsettled you.

Time passed for a while, and it seemed like the clouds would never pass, but surely enough, the rain lessened, before stopping completely.

Gently, you shook Luke awake, feeling bad for waking him, but you knew he’d want to go home as soon as possible.

“Luke, the rain has stopped,” you told him, waiting for him to blink at you sleepily before you got to your feet, collecting your cloaks off of the ground. You handed Luke his cloak, fastening your own around your shoulders.

“It should be safe now. Aemond must be long gone.”

Luke nodded, glancing at Arrax and then back at you, hesitating, and you knew what he was thinking. You had been thinking it ever since you got to the cave.

“It is alright, Luke. Arrax is too small to carry us both all the way to Dragonstone. Go.”

You tried to be brave, giving Luke a smile but your voice was shaking, whether it was from fear or cold, you weren’t sure. You were a high born lady, you were in no way capable of fending for yourself. Luke leaving you here would mean a certain death, but he didn’t need to know that. Luke looked at you with big eyes, saying nothing before he walked over to Arrax, whispering to him as he stroked his dragon’s neck gently.

You let out a small breath, taking another look around the cave, resigning yourself to your fate when Luke called your name.

“Come, we need to leave before the weather turns again.”

“Luke, no,” you argued but Luke shook his head.

“You saved me. I am not leaving you behind. I would never forgive myself, and neither would Jace,” Luke said, and you let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. “Arrax can carry us both, it is not much longer until Dragonstone.”

You ducked your head, a smile on your lips. Rhaenyra really raised amazing children.

“Very well.”

The two of you squeezed into the saddle on top of Arrax, who let out a small huff as he walked to the entrance of the cave.

“Mēre mōrī kipagon gō īlon issi lenton, issa valonquar,” Luke said to Arrax, gently caressing his neck. “Soves.” One more flight until we’re home, my boy.

Arrax leapt into the air, letting out a screech before stretching his wings, making his way home. As you flew through the skies, your eyes darted around constantly, looking for any sign of Vhagar, but it seemed like the coast was clear. Soon enough, you could see the outline of Dragonstone, and just in time; as you had noticed Arrax growing tired the more you lost on altitude.

“Īlon issi bē konīr, Arrax. Sepār mirrī tolī.” We are almost there, Arrax. Just a bit more.

Luke’s voice was gentle as he spoke to Arrax, despite his nerves. You nearly sighed in relief when Arrax flew towards the small opening to the dragon mount, and you thanked all the Gods when both you and Luke climbed off of Arrax onto solid ground again.

“Prince Lucerys!”

A knight came hurrying into the dragon pit, his eyes flickering to you before turning his attention back to Luke.

“Her Grace has been awaiting your arrival.”

Luke nodded, watching Arrax climb into the depths of the cave to get some much needed rest before he turned to the knight. “Take us to my mother.”

The knight bowed, leading you and Luke into the Keep, stopping in the doorway. Rhaenyra was pacing in front of the fire, her face worried. You hadn’t seen her for so long, but she looked almost exactly the same.

“Prince Lucerys, your Grace.”

Rhaenyra ceased her pacing, looking up and the relief was obvious on her face as she ran toward her son.

“Luke!”

“Mother!”

Rhaenyra threw her arms around her son, embracing him tightly and your breath stocked in your throat as you stayed back. You couldn’t believe how everything could have played out so differently if you had not intervened.

Rhaenyra pulled away, cupping Lucerys’ face with her hands.

“What happened?”

“Aemond and Vhagar were already at Storm’s End when I arrived. Lord Borros refused to stand by his oath… When I left Aemond followed me on Vhagar; if she hadn’t intervened…”

Lucerys paused and Rhaenyra glanced over to you; you, who had stayed behind to give them privacy.

You bowed your head, mostly out of respect but also because you had no idea what to do.

“You’re Helaena’s lady in waiting,” Rhaenyra said.

“I was. I have spent my last eight name days in Oldtown with Daeron.”

Rhaenyra gave you a small, grateful smile, but before either of you could continue your talks, shouts interrupted you.

“Mother! Luke!”

You turned around just to see Jace storming into the hall, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. Your heart stopped in your chest as you saw him again for the first time in so many years, relief washing over his face as he saw his brother stand with his mother unharmed. Then his eyes laid on you, and you gave him a shy smile. Jace only blinked at you, eyeing you from head to toe before his eyes widened; and for a second, you thought he’d be happy to see you. Instead, his forehead creased and his mouth curled downwards.

“What are you doing here?”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author’s note: omg the drama...what are we thinking??

[theereina]

Big Mama Pt. 1

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC

Wordcount: 1,462

Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, teasing, no smut (alluding to sexual situations), heavily dialogue-centered, use of Daddy, Mama, and other pet names (lil' mama, pretty girl, etc.)

A/N: I literally haven't written in years. I'm open to critiques. I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.

PART 2 => 🦋

"You look like you bite," I said looking at him directly in his eyes. They were a greenish-hazel color that resembled fallen leaves. Nothing about this man's appearance was hard on the eyes. His face, his eyes, his lips, his body, and even his smile were driving me silently insane. His presence was intimidating yet inviting. An aura surrounded this man that demanded attention and took up space.

He stared back at me with a challenge brewing in his eyes. "I do, but only if you want me to. I promise," he said not even hiding his smirk. All I could do was stare at this smug bastard. I knew that he knew the effect he was having on me. If he couldn't see it on my face, the heat from my body was evidence enough. I was getting hotter by the second.

"Mhmm," I said while turning away. I honestly just wanted to see what he would do. I couldn't let this man see me fold this quickly. I wasn't retreating; it's just that I needed a moment to promptly gather myself. I was fucking losing it. We hadn't even spoken three sentences, and I was already struggling to think. I was normally a quick-witted smartass with a lot to say. Everything about this man was short-circuiting my brain, and I didn't like one bit of it.

"Where you going? C'mere, lil' mama," he teased. The way that man's voice had me in a chokehold. It was thick, heavy, and warm like raw honey. All I could do was smile. I paused and turned back to face him. "Why would I come to you when I'm the meal? If you want it, come get it," I said motioning for him to come here. Now, why the fuck did I do that?

"Meal? I'd prefer it if you were dessert. Daddy's got a sweet tooth," he said striding towards me. He was closing in on the space that I was using for comfort. I felt like I was melting in the spot I stood in. I had to think about my next move. I had to do something. I took a breath and relaxed as much as I could before speaking. The last thing I wanted to do was show this man that I was a nervous fucking wreck. "Well, I guess it's a good thing Mama's a baker," I said while winking up at him. At this point, there was no space between us. We were chest to chest, and I could feel every rise and fall between us.

There was no turning back now. The smile that this man wore from what I said had me blushing. I couldn't cover it up even if I tried. Clearly, I had lost this battle, but I would try my fucking hardest to win the war.

We were way past the point of this being friendly or casual banter. The sexual tension was heavy between us, and I had some shit to prove. He reached up and gently caressed my chin. Breaking me from my trance as he spoke, "Focus, mama. Where your head at, pretty girl?" His smile was now even more intense and sinister. It was as if he was feeding off of my nervousness. Was he getting off on watching me react like this? A devil, I tell you.

At this point, all I could say to myself was "fight back, bitch".

"Just thinking," I said looking up at him. I was struggling to keep my composure. I bit my lip to hide the anxious smile I was fighting. He said nothing as his eyes dropped to watch my movements. His eyes flowed from my lip to my body and back up to my eyes again.

Antsy and nervous, I began to rock on my heels shyly. My facade was beginning to break, and I was crumbling by the second. "Uh oh. Is all that big girl energy fading away?" he asked slowly using his thumb to stroke my cheek. "Big girl energy? I'm a grown woman." I snapped back. I instantly dropped my eyes in regret. "Oouu, there she goes," he said raising one of his eyebrows. This man was taking me for a joke, and my dumbass was letting him.

I raised my head to meet his eyes again. "You don't take shit I say seriously. Do you,... Um... Wait, I never got your name," I stated while watching him and waiting for a response. "Yes, you did. I told you what it was. You don't remember? Huh, pretty girl?" he questioned gathering my hand in his. He held my hand while I struggled to remember if this man ever said his name. I couldn't recall him ever saying a name at all. I, for sure, would have remembered replying with mine if he did. Was I that dumbstruck by this man? Did he have me forgetting portions of this conversation?

Then, it hit me. He said a name, but there was no way in hell that he wanted me to call him that. Right? Did he really want me to call him "DADDY"? I couldn't call a man that, especially a man that I just met. This had to be a joke. I was pulled from my thoughts by feeling his hand cupping my chin. He raised my face upwards to meet his gaze. Those striking eyes were piercing down into mine, and I could almost swear his eyes had darkened to bronze.

The growing intensity of his gaze and the faint grip he held on my chin indicated that he was awaiting an answer. "Something tells me you know exactly what my name is. You just don't want to say it. It's okay. I'll get it out of you one way or another, lil' mama," he said laughing. "And how are you going to do that?" I asked raising my hands to play with the lower hem of his plain t-shirt. "Don't worry. It doesn't matter if I got chu yellin' it, screamin' it, whisperin' it, crying' it. As long as I got chu sayin' it, I did my job," he said leaning in closer.

I could feel the warmth of every breath he took on my neck. The heat from that alone was like a smoke signal. I refused to fall prey to my own desperation, but my brain and pussy were now working against each other. I desired to feel every part of this man in EVERY capacity. I needed a closer connection, so I used the hem of his shirt to softly pull him in closer. I wouldn't dare fold that fucking easily. Not like this.

*FIGHT BACK!*

The wheels were now turning in my head, and my brain was in overdrive. I had to finish what I started. He was right about one thing. I WAS A "BIG GIRL". A woman whose thighs destroyed jeans on the regular and who could talk a lot of shit but wasn't going to take much of it. I had to get him while he was close enough to feel it.

"And what job might that be? Huh,....Daddy?" I asked while trailing my hand up his chest to rest on his shoulder. "Mmmm..." he said taking a deep breath. GOT HIM! He removed his hand that was resting on my chin and rubbed the back of his neck. "What? Did I say something wrong?" I asked sheepishly. I was proudly smirking at this point. "Nah. You said everything right," he said smiling back at me.

I decided to take it up a notch. What was the harm in having a little fun? We were only talking after all. I couldn't believe I was feeding into this, but fuck it. "So, does that make me a good girl?" I asked stroking my hand along the back of his neck awaiting an answer.

I could feel the shift in his energy. Desire overtook his eyes. His playfulness had turned primal. "Are you?" he asked tilting his head while watching me. "What's the fun in tellin' you when I could just show you?" I replied as I stilled my hand to rest on his neck. He caught my hand and brought it to rest at his lips. He placed small kisses on the back of my hand. His eyes never left mine. "I guess that settles it, lil' mama. You busy tonight? I think I might have something fun for us to do," he asked smugly.

I knew exactly what this man meant, and I was going to enjoy every minute of it. I just hope he can keep up because...

"Big Mama don't fold, and Big Mama don't quit. If you stay awhile, she'll show you some shit."

Taglist: @avoidthings @brattyfics @5headsupremacist @creartivefairy

[lucyandthepen]

sweet cream, cold brew | lmh ( m )

something about mark lee keeps you up at night, and you’re pretty sure that it isn’t the lingering smell of espresso on his shirt.

alternatively: mark is shy until he isn’t.

read the second part here!

pairing: nerd!barista!mark x reader verse: college au rating: r ( minors, do not interact! ) warnings&tags: unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), fingering, slightly possessive/jealous dialogue, mark has a thing for tummy bulges because why not, implicitly that also means he has a big dick, a slight???? exhibitionism kink (not actually something that happens, only talked about), johnny exists in this simply to trigger something vaguely feral in mark, reader is a little bit assertive and schemes to get mark's attention, jaehyun is a nosy lil eavesdropper, i think that should be it?? word count: 26.4k

a/n: hello so this was a mess and honestly not a fic i would say showcases my best plot-wise but… what can I say apart from booty wurk mark has me in a chokehold and I needed to release some thoughts and feelings !!! please do not expect too much from the development of the story; i fear it’s quite long and choppy because my ideas were all over the place and i was wringing my hands and brain constantly and i was eager to get to the spicy parts !! this is also not beta’d/proofread, it’s currently almost 1am, and i’ve been writing this on and off for a full week with very few breaks so it honestly felt like a fever dream for me LMAO please forgive any oversights and mistakes; i’ll try to go back on them another day and fix them little by little! finally and …most importantly belated happy birthday, my beloved morkly!

p.s. this will probably be flagged as ‘mature’ by tumblr, which means there’s a high likelihood it won’t appear in tags or searches. please consider reblogging to boost the fic, if you feel so inclined!

You’ve heard tell of how caffeine has inherently addictive properties. 

The more of it you have in your lifetime, the more likely you are to experience symptoms of withdrawal whenever you try to have orange juice for breakfast in its stead. It sounds bad, actually, considering most addictive substances are, but you suppose that its benefits somehow outweigh its milder drawbacks. You’re not much of a coffee connoisseur the way some people — see: your best friends, Yeji and Jisu — are, trying one cafe after the other in pursuit of being able to nominate the winning beans of 2023 (an annual heated debate they participate in for no better reason than their own slow and useless entertainment during their six-hour long breaks), but you do know you’ve only ever experienced good things from having a cup every so often: better energy, a more focused approach to mental activities, and the ability to drive through fifty percent of a road trip without needing pop punk music blasting out of your speakers to keep yourself alert. 

The three of you are generally particular about the coffee you drink, only in different ways. While your friends have a tendency to demand only the best from any establishment — lest the staff hear fiery commentary about the flatness of the brew or the evident coarseness of the grind — you, on the other hand, are a singular individual of rather simple tastes. All you need to survive long days is a glass of vanilla sweet cream cold brew. No modifications to the sugar level or fancy new milk types are necessary; you’ll drink it as it’s served in a grande cup (or a venti, when things prove particularly grueling). 

Of course, you’re strict about other things in the experience of consumption —  like where it’s served and, more importantly, who serves it to you. 

While Yeji and Jisu have rated the Liberal Arts building’s on-campus Starbucks branch as a five with the strict label of POEO — ‘passable on emergencies only’ — branding the menu as “nothing revolutionary” and criticizing most baristas for subpar brewery, you happen to be extremely drawn to the place. Initially, you may have argued that this has to do with the fact that it’s walking distance from most of your classes, confined to the same general compound on campus, so you can always grab a quick recharger whenever needed, no matter how short the timeframe to do so is. Sometime later on, you may have found yourself asserting that the layout of the cafe, albeit small, is very convenient, considering that every table is situated next to an electrical outlet, so you’re never out of battery (important to other students for their laptops and powerpoint presentations, important to you because you have an unhealthy obsession with passing time on TikTok, scrolling past video after video of ASMR girls clicking their twenty-inch long acrylics with their crazy candyland designs), and this makes you feel at ease. 

A month ago, you finally came clean to yourself and, soon after, to your friends, and they came to understand, albeit begrudgingly and with no small amount of amusement, what made this Starbucks unbeatable in your eyes; it had one thing no other coffee shop could lay claim to.

What you know of Mark Lee is accrued from two major sources: long, surreptitious glances in the Modern World History class you share, and irritatingly brief interactions when you place your order from the other side of the counter behind which he stands, long fingers always poised to punch in your order at the speed of light. Sometimes, those encounters get cut even shorter when irate upperclassmen start prattling their orders out before you can even say anything past your own, except even this has its own consolation prize — an apologetic smile at you that seems only for you, although you’re not sure how much of this assumption is true. You’ll just believe it as you feel it. 

And what you’ve learned about Mark Lee has funneled down into two key points for you: first, he is single, a fact you were clued into when a group of his friends came to the coffee shop and sat around the table next to you. You hadn’t been eavesdropping; they’d just been pretty loud, but you’d also perked your ears the moment the one everyone seemed to call “Hyuck” — you aren’t sure if it’s his full name or a nickname, and you don’t particularly care — had leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper about having a vague master plan to set Mark up with an old high school friend’s younger sister that he was just waiting to spring on said Mark, busy slaving away on their six impossible orders near the espresso machine. 

You don’t really know what became of that plan, nor if anyone had telepathically been on your side to outright call it crazy (someone should have had a better reason than you, anyway) since the next moment, Hyuck’s voice becomes significantly louder when it orders the one named Jisung to collect the completed coffee and snacks waiting for them on the counter. However, you feel safe in the assumption that even if it had happened, no repercussions had followed, seeing as Mark still presently comes and goes from his shifts alone and in no clear hurry to meet any cute girls that are sisters of high school friends of his friends. Or, maybe you’re just ignoring what could be truth, but that’s whatever. 

Second, you’ve learned that Mark Lee should not actually be your type — at least, in theory. 

Saying you’re out of his league would be a bit juvenile, but if you had only so many words to describe the situation, you’d say so under duress. It isn’t so much that he’s beneath you in any way, but your interests and general social circles run different routes. Yours tend to be more classically patterned after constantly changing trends, and the people you interact with all seem to have similar goals; you like to call it ‘vibe networking,’ which, from experience, involves connecting with both groups and individuals that are equally aware that they will benefit in some way from any resulting acquaintanceship — whether it be by climbing the social ladder a couple of rungs or being able to call in a quick, off-the-charts favor for something very important and/or very exclusive down the road. You and your friends spend a significant amount of time in a year watching your style and image, something quite a lot of kids in the first couple of years of college tend to do, which means that while you don’t particularly like to spend your time following your grade trajectory, you do have quite a lot of pseudo-friends that all seem to offer something entertaining or helpful to you. 

Mark, on the contrast, prefers to keep his circle very close to his heart, it seems — that which acts as a receptacle for all his interests. You can tell that he likes to be up to date less with trending movies and more with comic books, a separate beast of a world that’s rather unknown to you. More than once, you’ve overheard him chat with his friends about Spider-man Issue Number Whatever-It-Is or engage in somewhat lively (sometimes rowdy, thanks to the Hyuck fellow) discussions about some webtoon you’ve come to understand is called Solo Leveling, which seems to have to do with monsters and hunters — two things you know next to nothing about. You’ve also never seen Mark holding anything remotely close to a magazine; his hands are always filled with either a freshly opened comic or a beat-up textbook. Maybe once or twice, you’ve seen him on his phone, but when you peeked over (surreptitiously, of course) on those occasions, you were met only with brightly colored panels and a singular word: BAM. 

In conclusion — you and Mark Lee live very different lives, likely never truly meant to intersect. 

And yet, you want him — not even in a way that speaks only to your curiosity, but in a manner that feels slightly delusional. More than once, you’ve found yourself having to shut your jaw close after realizing you’ve been watching him steam milk with your mouth slightly agape. Maybe it’s his side profile, which gives you a great view of the way his jaw tenses every time he puts whipped cream on someone’s frappuccino. Maybe it’s his eyes, which always seem to twinkle like he’s harboring some special secret every time someone in line asks for his recommendation on how to spice their order up. Maybe it’s his hands, steady and agile, with just the right showing of veins through the skin to tell you they’ve probably got significant strength to them too. Or maybe it’s just his mind — that thing he always manages to show off in class, working faster than lightning even when the rest of you are in your natural eight-in-the-morning stupor.

Whatever the reason for your interest, Mark Lee makes sure the Liberal Arts building’s Starbucks has you as a regular customer. 

You’re fully aware that this is the twenty-first century, which is why you could, as Yeji and Jisu have so kindly made known, simply ask him out. Under normal circumstances, you would have.

Unfortunately, in this particular area of your life, separate from all others, you’re something of a traditionalist. 

Actually, you just want to know what Mark asking you out would look like. Curiosity has fully gotten the better of you — how can it not, with how he breaks eye contact with you the moment it happens by accident in class, or with how pleasantly and shyly he smiles when you say ‘hey’ to him once you’re about to order? You’d like to see, first-hand, as a recipient of the experience itself, what he would look like taking control of a particular situation like that — something someone like him, so mild-mannered and laid-back, never really seemed to do upfront. 

You’d like to think you’ve given him clear signs. There’s a reason you always come in during his shift times, and it’s the same reason for why you have the same damn drink from the menu over and over again despite not even caring too much about coffee in the first place (something he admittedly doesn’t know and probably wouldn’t puzzle out, given how often you’re in that Starbucks, anyway). It’s that you want him to remember you.

Selfishly, it’s that you want him to think just a little bit more about you every single day. 

But if he does, Mark has never made it very clearly known; apart from taking your order in his genial customer service demeanor or letting a look of brief recognition pass his face over when you cross paths in the hallways, he’s never really shown heightened inquisitiveness about you. For all your differences, only you seem to actually care.

Frankly, that frustrates you, because if you have to think about him unhealthily, it would only be right for him to do that for your sake too. Still, you’ll shrug that hit on your pride off for as long as you can get his attention one way or another.

All you really need is for your plan to pan out as well as you think — and hope — it will. 

The thing is, you’re not even that bad at math. You’ve never really excelled at it, of course, but you wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re in dire need of help from anyone — the kind of help that feels like babysitting, at least.

However, Mark Lee doesn’t know that, and you’re not compelled to make that fact known to him when you notice that he’s leaning on the counter with his elbows, shoulders rolled forward and head bent down. He’s twirling his ballpoint in hand, wrist hovering over a worksheet, and you’re briefly distracted by the rapidly moving shadow underneath it.

His head snaps up when you gently knock on the counter, and the rest of his body follows suit, straightening as he shoves the paper away, one edge crumpling in on itself as it meets resistance in the form of the pastry display glass.

“Hey — hi, _________.” He knows your name, says it easily, and while you’d like to believe it’s because of his unprecedented interest in you, you know that it’s just because you’re always here and always having him write your name on the side of your cup. “Can I get you the usual?”

There’s no particular reason you order what you do; maybe it’s just rooted in the fact that when you first asked Mark for a recommendation, he said that the Vanilla Sweet Cream Cold Brew was pretty good, and you were inclined to believe him (while pointedly ignoring the fact that it was, at the time, a new item all of the baristas were required to push to indecisive, slightly moony-eyed customers such as yourself). Whatever the case, you found the drink generally palatable, and you were also able to score the first of many smiles that fed into your two-semester-long infatuation with him, so it was basically a win-win scenario for all. He even got to do his job by getting some rube (see: you) into trying a new product.

“Hey, Mark.” You’ve long since given up pretending that you don’t know his name and have to check the tag on his cute green apron (why is it cute? You don’t know. It’s the same, standard, Starbucks green, but Mark makes it look homely and natural, somehow). You’ve been here way too many times over the last academic year for a nonchalant, were you talking to me? approach to work, anyway. “That, plus a lemon loaf, if you don’t mind. What’ve you got there?”

His eyes follow the trail of yours over to his wrinkled worksheet. “Oh — no, sorry. It’s nothing.”

“Is it secret?” Your bottom lip juts out, and you see his Adam’s apple bob dangerously, a small telltale sign of minute nervousness before he lets out a short laugh. “Didn’t know we kept stuff from each other.”

You don’t know what makes you say that so naturally. The both of you don’t do much beyond exchanging pleasantries.

“We — uh, well, it’s just a worksheet. For Park Hyosung’s class. College algebra?”

“I’m in Kim Junghwa’s. Can I have a look? I want to know if you’re suffering just as much as I am.”

He pauses, considering your request for a moment, likely wondering if there’s any harm in it before he smooths the paper out and turns it towards you. His handwriting’s a little messy, but his solutions are extremely neat. You see, like, one erasure, max. You also don’t see anything that interests you — except the name written at the top. Still, you can see at a general glance that more than half of his answers are correct; the logic of his organization is way too elegant and his writing’s too sure to be anything else. You whistle low, and his eyebrows shoot up.

“Something wrong?”

“Pretty much the opposite. How is it that you’re doing this without breaking a sweat?”

“Oh, well — it’s not…” He doesn’t even know how to brag. Yet another item in the perpetually growing list of things you find cute about Mark Lee. “I mean, anyone… can?”

“I must not be anyone then.” You meet his quizzical look with a wry smile. “Either you guys are leaps and bounds ahead, or I’m really not going to make it through this semester.”

Another silence passes, just for a fraction of a second — short enough to be passable to others, but long enough for you to wonder if your humor code isn’t up to par with the rest of the world’s — before Mark’s chuckling lowly. His large palm comes down, covering a majority of his answers in the process.

“You’re kidding. I’m sure you’re doing just fine.”

“Mark, look at this face.” You gesture to your evidently dumbfounded, blank expression. “Does this look like the face of someone that’s doing just fine?”

You’re pleased to hear another laugh from him; you don’t know if he really finds you funny or if he’s just the type to be easily amused. You don’t want to know, anyway; assuming is better than actually finding out.

“That bad, huh?” He slides the worksheet away again, like he’s afraid his correct answers are going to offend you into leaving the cafe. Instead, his hands start working on your order, grabbing a cup and scrawling the shorthand of the drink on one of the little boxes. “Ever think about getting a tutor, maybe? If you really feel like you’re drowning, that is.”

“A tutor? I guess that depends. Are you free on weeknights?”

The marker makes a soft screeching sound as he drags it down with too much force, ruining the penmanship of your name. Mark takes a moment to stare at the mistake on the plastic before he looks at you, pointing the rim of the cup towards himself. “Sorry — am I free—?”

“You said I should get a tutor, right?”

“I thought — no, sorry, I was thinking more like one of those department-assigned tutors you can ask the faculty for, or something.”

“Oh. Are you not one of them?” You sigh, albeit a little over dramatically. Thankfully, he doesn’t really cotton onto your acting, too caught up in befuddlement at the turn of the conversation. “That’s a bummer. I was kinda hoping that if I was going to ask for help, I’d get an actual genius. You know — someone like you?”

You can tell by Mark’s expression that he’s torn between denying your compliment again and responding to your actual question; he looks both relieved and miffed when the student behind you clears her throat.

“Sorry, but— you know that there’s a line, right?”

You both apologize, Mark’s much more sincere than your own, and you step aside. His gaze follows you for a moment before it snaps back to the next customer, his voice abandoning that bemused uncertainty it had taken up with you. You don’t really mind; as far as you’re concerned, any dent in his barista persona when he talks to you is a step in the right direction.

You hang around the pick-up area, receipt in hand, watching Mark clear the line before moving to the actual stations near the kitchen area. There’s a concentration on his face that you find all the more attractive; he has a habit of chewing on his bottom lip when he’s trying to focus on getting the drizzle just right inside the cup’s cylinder.

He tends to try his best at everything, you figure. Not an unattractive quality — not by a long shot.

Mark finishes your drink first; the milk’s still only seeping, cloudy, into the coffee when he brings it over. He doesn’t even have to call your queue number, opting to meet your eye — albeit slightly nervously — instead. You reach out to hold the cup, a calculated move that allows you to brush hands against his without him being able to pull back on instinct. He doesn’t, nor does he really seem to want to, but his jaw tightens as a flush creeps along the curve of his ears.

“You really won’t help me?”

Your question’s abrupt, almost a little demanding, even if your voice is sweet. You’re not above asking this much, anyway, even if you technically want him to make the first move. The redness sinks down to his earlobes.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t really say anything,” you tease. The cup’s on the counter now, so he can easily relinquish it to you at this point, but he still hesitates, only one hand slipping out from under the heat of your palm. He uses it to rub the back of his neck, chuckling softly, and you take this as a green light. “What time does your shift end?”

“Five-thirty. You sure you wouldn’t want someone better?”

You pull your cup slowly to yourself, and his hand, still lightly trapped by your own, follows for a few inches before he’s withdrawing, the counter between the two of you forcing the distance. A smile follows the shaking of your head, and you take a small sip of the drink before you respond simply.

“There’s no one better than you.”

Mark is a prompt kind of person; you learn this when, at five-thirty, he comes over to your table, tugging his apron off over his head. Of course, you might attribute that to his overall personality, but the fact that you spend the remaining two hours of his shift casting him glances from the left side of the coffee shop might have also been a contributing factor. The looks you give him aren’t even furtive; they’re deliberately long, so you never miss whenever he looks over to you from time to time.

He doesn’t hold eye contact for very long (he does it well enough when he’s talking to customers, but it’s not like you’re ordering another cold brew from across the room at that point), but you can read snippets of his thoughts through the fleeting gaze exchanges. He’s curious as to why you’re asking for help, now, of all times, when the semester’s more than halfway over. He’s surprised that you asked him, of all people, because he just can’t conceive of a world that isn’t within a television show where this kind of abrupt, overt request makes sense. He’s flattered that you even asked him out of the blue. He’s equal parts anxious and eager to know what’s meant to happen after his shift, once he starts fulfilling your request.

Most of all, he’s unsure if he’s reading you right — if what it feels like you’re doing is something he’s attaching too deep a meaning to. If he’s right in reading your signs.

You don’t really mind it; you like knowing that Mark somehow wears his heart on his sleeve, even if he tries to remain neutral for the sake of appearances. You also bask quietly in the fact that he’s looking at you twice as much as he ever has in the time you’ve loosely known each other. Still, his bubbling confusion and inquisitiveness seem to be interfering with the rest of his work, especially when you notice that he’s been wiping down the surface of a table two down from where you are for more than seven minutes.

In the hopes of easing whatever tension might be in his heart, you offer him a small smile, but that’s only met with his eyes immediately glazing over and inching a couple of centimeters above your forehead, where the story of Starbucks’ origins is drawn out in a faux-manga style. He pretends to find it interesting, as if he hasn’t seen it a million times from coming into this establishment day after day — you know it well enough, and you don’t even have to, considering you don’t work here — and you can’t do anything but hold back your laughter.

A small part of you says you should just give him the affirmative answer to his biggest question, but every other cell in your body says that it’s no fun if he doesn’t ascertain it for himself.

He has his school bag and textbook in tow when he approaches, taking the seat across from you. There’s a steely resolution on his face, like he’s been emotionally preparing himself for such a daunting task, but it eases up the moment you laugh lightly.

“You don’t have to act like I’m going to eat you.”

“I’m still not sure why you’re suddenly asking me to help you,” he admits. He’s also very honest, you note. Again, not an unattractive trait. “I’m not complaining. I just didn’t think you even had an opinion of me.”

“Why’s that?” You’re genuinely surprised. Mark drums his fingers on the front of his textbook, thoughtful — less for the sake of thinking what to say and more for the sake of considering how to say it. It’s clear he wants to avoid calling attention to the fact that before now, you two have had no reason to run the same track, let alone sit together and talk at a coffee shop, as if you’ve always been the best of friends.

“Genuinely just thought I was the guy who gave you your afternoon coffee every day,” he finally settles. Your eyes widen, and another laugh escapes you — a little louder this time, enough to call the attention of a couple of jumpy freshmen nearby.

“Well — let me put it this way.” You lean over slightly, cupping your chin in your palm. “Was I just the girl you made coffee for every day until now?”

There are clear cogs turning in his head; his eyes unfocus slightly as he thinks of the possibilities. His silence suddenly makes you somewhat nervous; your tone had been confident, and you’d only said that to prove a point, to push him in the right direction, but you realize that you hadn’t previously factored in the possibility that he might simply say yes — or, worse, say no just to avoid hurting your feelings.

You watch his lower lip curl in; he uses his tongue to smooth out the skin that’s slightly dried from work fatigue. You would much rather it peeked out, so you could imagine it against your own. His response is mumbled in a lower register, but you catch some key syllables — didn’t… not … stranger — pretty … you?

“Sorry?” You ask patiently, but the fact that he turns red and laughs again — something you realize is not only a trademark of his personality but also downright delicious of him to be doing — is all the answer you need to let the apprehension seep from your shoulders. “I didn’t catch that.”

Mark clears his throat. “No, I… didn’t think of you that way. I mean… you’re my classmate.”

“Sure,” your tone’s breezy, but the somewhat sloppy confirmation of interest in you makes your heart soar. He just needs more of a push. “And we’re basically friends, right?”

“Yeah.” His voice is unsure at first, like he can’t seem to wrap his head around the concept. You can tell that Mark’s notion of friendship is likely based on shared interests, of which you admittedly have none. Technically, if you were his friend, you’d spend less time just telling him the exact same order every single day and more time sitting around a table trying to learn how to play Magic: The Gathering with him. Still, he takes one long look at your grin and suddenly gains confidence in his next words, as if it somehow convinces him that the briefness of your old conversations had been a mutually agreed-upon thing and not the product of social distance between the two of you. “Yeah. We’re friends.”

“Right. Friends help friends, don’t they? I’d definitely feel more comfortable having a friend teach me than some stuffy upperclassman I don’t know.”

You see Mark’s lips move slightly, in such small movements you could have imagined it as breathing if you didn’t care too much (which you do). He mouths, to himself — friends help friends. For some reason, that boosts his conviction even further, and he nods.

“Makes sense. Well — for as long as you don’t mind me, then.”

“Mind? I asked you, so I should be saying that.”

“I’d never mind — I mean, of course I don’t mind.” He’s quick to correct himself, and you have to stop your own hand from reaching out to try to satisfy your curiosity, the desire to know just how hot his cheeks get when he blushes. “More than happy to help, actually.”

“And I’m more than happy to be here.” You beam at him, and he mirrors your smile. You don’t know what it is about the look on his face — the brightness in his eyes, or the slight lift of his eyebrows, maybe — but it gives you the impression that he might be feeling at least a fraction of what you are: the feeling of your heart lifting off a few inches from your rib cage. “Since we’re on the same page, I hope — should we get to it?”

From the moment that Mark opens his textbook to a chapter on inverted parabolas, he assumes a personality you feel you haven’t seen from him before. You realize that you really do know him in only two limited capacities — his classroom persona that seems to really only view himself and the material, focused on the board and the professor’s words (even up until the useless anecdotes) to absorb as much information as possible, and his more genial customer service form, always happy to assist in the trained, easygoing way you’ve come to meet so often.

Right now, he’s a blend of both, yet somehow neither all at once. He’s quick to catch the parabolas you draw, either wrongly or downright poorly. Despite initial hesitation, he always manages to say something; there’s already a pattern to how he does it, from his slightly awkward, “Ah, sorry, actually —” to the way his finger traces over what you’ve written, outlining the right curve. You find his interruptions so endearing that you start drawing them wrong purposefully — not enough for him to realize your schemes in their entirety, but enough to cast you a few amused glances, like he can’t imagine why you’d map out such an absurd graph. You get the feeling he wants to actually laugh at how ridiculous you’re acting, but he can’t tell if you’re seriously struggling or not, so he settles for a smile he thinks he does well in keeping to himself, but that you catch anyway. He’s patient, even when you have to rip out pages from the back of his notebook because of your ‘mistakes,’ like he’s still catering to your request for an extra pump of syrup for your coffee on sleepy days.

But there’s also that side to him that comes out when he suddenly remembers the distance between you that, before today, had felt unlikely to be closed. It peaks at odd moments, like when you’re borrowing his pen because yours is currently holding your slowly unraveling bun up, and your fingers brush against his. It surfaces abruptly when you lean in to watch what he’s drawing until he realizes how close you are, arm lightly grazing his, and his pen freezes, ink blotting on the paper for a second. It’s in those times that you can almost hear his brain churning out questions — like he’s wondering if you’re just oblivious or if you’re doing something on purpose that he can’t quite believe. Like he wants to ask you what’s on your mind, but he just doesn’t know how.

If he asked, you would reply without missing a beat. The answer, after all, is simple (him). But Mark never raises the question, only does something without fully acknowledging what he’s doing — the adjustment of his glasses on the bridge of his nose, the ruffling of his hair as though to shake off his thoughts, the clearing of his throat to normalize his tone before he explains something you’ve just asked about. There’s always that light tinge of pink to his face that makes him look even more endearing, and it fades and returns every so often for the better part of two hours.

By the time he rubs oncoming fatigue out of his eyes, the sun has already set; there are far fewer people around you at this time, and for as much as you like spending time with him and breathing in the scent of his shirt — always a tinge of Downy, barely cutting through the much more overpowering scent of espresso and sugar — your back has begun hurting from your front-heavy posture and determination to have your face as close as rationally possible to Mark’s. Still, you don’t miss out on the fact that the act of him cracking his neck to relieve tension makes your lips curl inward, trying to stifle an inappropriate noise in reaction to the view.

“I feel like I talked your ear off,” he pipes up, sounding a bit sheepish. “Sometimes it’s hard to know when to stop once you’ve gotten started. I’m just hoping I didn’t bore you to death.”

“Meanwhile, I’m here hoping you aren’t sick of my questions already.” You smile, closing your notebook and hanging the clip of your pen on the spiral. Your arms stretch up first, followed by your back, a light twist to relax your posture into normalcy again. Mark’s breathing falls quiet, like he’d been preparing to say something in response but had let it die in the back of his throat instead. You let your eyes drop, expecting to see him looking at you, as he mostly has been — on and off — since his shift ended, but his eyes are far lower than yours, the telltale redness now growing in evident splotches across his cheeks.

The hem of your shirt has ridden up; while there’s nothing outrageous about it, there’s a short expanse of skin that it reveals, for a brief moment. His eyes are slightly glossy, brow furrowed like he’s trying to find a solution to something he can’t fully understand. You’re not even sure about what he could really be looking at, or if there’s something he’s just thinking of that caught his attention while his eyes focused on a rather unfortunate spot. To test your theory, you suck in your stomach slightly alongside an inhale.

It should be objectively funny to watch Mark blink unevenly, left eye going first before his right tries to catch up, but you manage to stifle your laughter — poorly, though, because you end up coughing a little and breaking him out of his strange trance. You avert your eyes quickly enough for him to look vaguely relieved that you hadn’t caught him looking. So he thinks, at least.

“Anyway.” You feel bad that you have to tear his mind away from whatever faraway land it must be trying to burrow a hole in; the dazed expression on his face dims into hastily hidden embarrassment. You don’t want him to feel awkward, so you just busy yourself with packing up, making an unnecessary show of stuffing your notebook back into your bag as if it isn’t half-empty at this point. “I really appreciate you taking the time to help me.”

“Any time.” His first attempt is a little raspy, maybe from overuse of his voice today, so he clears his throat and tries again. A slow smile builds on your lips. “Any time, really. I’m glad that this is actually helping you; you pick things up surprisingly fast.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. Give it a couple of weeks, and you’ll probably be ready to tackle it on your own again, I’m sure.”

He smiles reassuringly, but all you can think about is how that’s not good. You should pretend to be a little dumber next time, or this will end much too prematurely.

The next five minutes pass in silence; you don’t expect to be knee-deep in conversation anyway since, as much as you try to convince him, you aren’t actually anywhere close to being those kinds of friends yet. There’s an unspoken rule to the give and take of things, where he pauses for you to get an item off the table and push it into your bag before he does the same with his own belongings. Neither of you really intersect paths, save for the moment you both grab your phones and stand at the same time.

His jaw falls open like he’s preparing to say something, then shuts as if he’s better decided against it. You decide to take the initiative to say what you’re assuming he wants to. “Same time, same table?”

“Oh — uh, yeah, for sure.”

You want to ask him to walk out with you. You want to lace your fingers with his, tug him out, and kiss him under the green and white glow of the sign outside. You want to know if kissing his collarbone means you’ll taste a hint of coffee. You think about doing it all somehow, especially since he’s fighting back a slight smile at the promise of tomorrow.

But it just isn’t the right time.

Instead, you place a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. The slow movement of his throat — yet another hard swallow — isn’t lost on you, and his eyes land on where the two of you connect. With a grateful smile, you bid him a soft goodbye, taking your leave first.

You don’t look back — at least, not until you’re fully in the cover of the darkness outside. On the gravel path, just out of reach of the lamplight, you chance one last glance back into the store. Mark is still rooted to the same spot, his backpack slung over one shoulder, staring at the table like he’s dissociating from what just happened — like he can’t believe the last couple of hours.

Your smile grows when you see his own, and his hand comes around to the back of his neck, rubbing it lightly like it gives him small comfort to let him know that it was real.

Baby steps, you remind yourself. You’ve already got one foot in the door, after all.

As the days trickle by, you fall into a more comfortable standing with Mark; there’s a routine to your meetings that seems to eliminate the initial and abrupt awkwardness of that first day. You come into that Starbucks at four, greet Mark, who doesn’t ever have to ask for your order, and spend the next hour and a half slowly sipping on it until the ice has thinned and watered down your drink substantially. In that time, you allow yourself to do whatever you want (as if you’ve ever done otherwise anyway), and what you usually want the most is a good view of him. You therefore use most of the minutes you have on hand to regard him from different angles — from the side when he’s frothing milk, upfront when he turns to leave cups on the pick-up counter, from the back when he’s clearing tables — interspersed with moments of checking your TikTok feed, clearing group chat messages, and sometimes re-curling your bangs with a portable iron from the school’s co-op center, a relatively new purchase you tote around these days. You do essentially anything in between to avoid acting too suspicious while he works.

Sometimes, you catch Mark’s eye too; the more your meetings increase in number over the course of a few weeks, the more deliberately he looks over at you, and the longer it lasts. You feel like you’ve made significant progress when your gazes lock and he smiles slightly, albeit a bit unsurely, instead of turning away like he used to. The other day, he’d even passed by while apologizing for how long you always waited for him — not that you ever minded, something you made a point to clarify with him before he walked away, carrying a couple of chairs from the back room with him to replace rickety ones.

That he’s able to transport them easily, as if he’s lugging a bag of apples from the grocery, does not escape your watchful eye.

What you like the most is that you start to learn more about him in a way that isn’t fueled only by your expectations and, therefore, limited by your imagination. You find out that he’s from a close-knit family with a rather cushy background, and this barista job is just for interest funding and experience, in that exact order. Most of his earnings are funneled into the things he collects, which apparently isn’t limited to comic books and special edition blu-rays with director’s cut but also a rather stupendous amount of PopMart blind box figurines. Apparently, he particularly likes the Skullpanda series even if he hasn’t completed it yet; your last session together had adjourned thirty minutes earlier than usual so that he could catch a pre-rush hour inner circle train to Hongdae, where the flagship store was set to open on that day. He’d promised to show you his pulls (as long as they weren’t embarrassing dupes). You learn that he likes to listen to loud music when he studies to stimulate his mind, and he has a playlist that’s just a jumble of songs from Punk Goes Pop volumes that makes him feel empowered for some absurd reason, like he’s going against the grain. You don’t really get it, but you do like that spiced-up rendition of Ariana Grande’s Problem that he let you listen to once.

Of course, there are things that you find out not through conversation but through continued, closer observation. You notice that he likes to put on chapstick even if his lips aren’t particularly dry, but he does worry on them often, most especially when he’s thinking hard about something. He has a habit of saying honestly… at the start of every other sentence, as if he’s concerned you won’t take his word on anything, even though he’s just talking about how unnaturally hot it was at noon despite it still being spring. He has long eyelashes that you’re equal parts attracted to and jealous of, and he bites the inside of his cheek whenever he wants to pep himself up after grueling shifts. He plays beats you’re not even sure he knows he’s creating against his knee with his fingers, so enthusiastic and consistent in this habit that you want to offer your thigh instead. His shoulders always go first before he laughs, and he does this thing where he raises his hand to cover his mouth at the start of it, which is a shame, because you’d do anything to keep seeing him smile like that — or, better yet, to be the reason for it.

Then there are those things you notice he tries to hide. He always turns his face halfway to the side when he blushes, something he seems to do without fail every time you smile at him. He has to temper the intensity of his grin when you take the time to compliment him on how cool his shirt is, or how nice his hair looks today, or how smart he is, like he doesn’t want you to know how good it makes him feel even if you want him to feel good about it, around you, because of you. Sometimes he denies it for the sake of responding, and his voice always lilts on the first syllable in his refusal to accept what you say, even though he knows you won’t take it for an answer.

And after a couple more careful experiments, you notice that Mark, out of the many things he’s interested in, seems to have a particular thing for your stomach.

You don’t know if it has anything to do with him not really seeing much of it in real life in his own time or if he just has his own kind of fixation on it, but you start to cotton on by the fourth time you meet. An hour of being hunched over a table that’s not at the greatest height in relation to your neck and torso has you stiff, and you’d leaned back in your chair, arms pulling to the air, hoping your spine might feel like realigning if you exerted enough tension pressure that way. Your shirt hadn’t ridden up this time, considering it had been tucked into your jeans, and it was because of this that you’d caught a flicker of something new in his face that you hadn’t seen before.

You could have sworn it looked like disappointment.

Of course, he hides it quickly, as he does with most of his emotional candor, but it’s enough to make you suspicious — enough to make you wonder if Mark is also just keeping something to himself. Or maybe you’re just projecting your own presently secretive nature onto him. Regardless, you think it’s odd that whenever you stand up or stretch, his eyes almost immediately fall to your midriff, like he wants to challenge your clothing into a staring contest before he thinks better of it.

You don’t mind, anyway. He can look as much as he likes. Maybe when the weather’s warmer, you’ll even cater to that interest and wear a crop top. Hopefully, that’ll be the push he needs to act on human instinct and ask you out or, like… bend you over. Maybe.

You’re often plagued with these kinds of thoughts in between the ones you try to keep as family-friendly as possible — now, more so than ever.

Sometimes, it’s easier, especially when you’re caught up in talks with him; despite the fact that he doesn’t seem like much of a conversationalist when it comes to generic matters, when either he or you are enthusiastic about a particular topic, he has a tendency to get carried away. There’s nothing impure about how his eyes light up when you remember to ask him about the movie he saw with his friends over the weekend or the way he hums old Nickelodeon cartoon theme songs under his breath whenever he’s looking for a page in the textbook. It’s more of a situation where you’ll observe something and immediately run with it despite it being an objectively normal action.

Like right now, as you’re watching him turn his pen between his fingers. Now, while he’s shaking his knee in mild impatience, as if he’s trying to will the answer to the worksheets you’ve both been trying to get through for the better part of the day faster. You’d made copies of the problems your professors had assigned and exchanged them under the premise of being able to practice more intensely.

However, whereas Mark is actually focused on solving, you’re just watching him out of the corner of your eye, wondering if he’s ever been told that his fingers are fuck-worthy on a singular, unique level or if it’d feel good for you to ride the thigh he’s currently moving, jeans and all. You consider the feeling of his warm palms on your bare waist as you do it, and you end up wondering if that’s what crosses his mind whenever he sneaks glances at you, too.

You’d know the answer to all those things if he’d fucking ask you out. Maybe you could do it after all. Maybe you should, instead of relying on slowly increasing the probability over such a long period of time. Maybe if you asked nicely, Mark might pull the shades down on the storefront windows and rail you against the glass.

You’re so lost in thought that it genuinely startles you when he plops his textbook over the worksheet, rattling your eraser dangerously close to the edge of the table. You’re still clutching your heart while he rubs his eyes a little too violently.

“Can’t,” he groans, and his neck gives into the weight of his head, allowing it to loll backward. “I feel like the numbers are just melting into each other. I swear, I thought I could read words out of them.”

“Maybe we were a little too ambitious with the double worksheet agenda,” you admit, even though you’ve barely gotten past half of yours and certainly haven’t touched a single item on his. “Should we call it a day for now?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, although he still takes the time to encircle his final answers before clapping his palms to his cheeks (an act that has your mind dangerously close to wandering off inappropriately again) to wake himself up. “Woah. I didn’t even notice how dark it is already. I’d say time flies when you’re having fun, but I’m not too sure about the ‘fun’ part of it…”

You trace his gaze towards the glass; the moon’s already out, surrounded by a smattering of low-light stars. You hadn’t realized how late it had gotten, probably because your mind had been on R-18 mode for most of the afternoon. Also, the days are getting generally shorter, but that fact doesn’t make you feel as embarrassed, at least.

“You got a ride?”

The question once again shocks you out of your small trance, and you turn back to him with wide eyes. “Well — no. Wait, I didn’t know you had a car. Why’d you take the subway, then?”

“Oh — no, sorry, I… don’t.” He looks suddenly sheepish, eyes dropping to the shiny surface of the table for a moment before they snap back up, as if he’s actually actively reminding himself to look at you. “I was wondering if you wanted me to — actually, more than that, are you going home already? Not that you need to stay; it’s not that important, but…”

You try to gloss over the fact that he had just been about to initiate another huge step in the right direction (i.e. offering to walk you home) by beaming at him, maybe a little too widely, if only to mask your disappointment at the sudden shift in conversation. “I have nothing waiting at home for me but a sandwich dinner and Singles Inferno, so hit me with whatever it is.”

“Oh, cool.” His lips turn up, and the corners shake, this show of happiness once again tamped down by his own inexplicable desire to maintain a safe distance. How are you supposed to tell him you’re desperate to bridge that gap without using those exact words? “I came from the flagship store yesterday — the one in Hongdae that I told you about?” He allows the smile to widen slightly when you nod in genuine understanding. “Got the last six boxes of the collection I’ve been trying to finish.”

You whistle appreciatively. “Can I ask you for a loan on my next phone bill? You know, once I’ve upgraded to something pricier.”

“Nah — just itching to complete the set,” he laughs. You wonder if he’s been doing that more often because he knows its crippling effect on you, though you doubt he’s that sly. Again, maybe you’re just projecting too much of your own motivations onto him. “This was probably about two months of saving up combined.”

“No new Iron Man issues to look out for, then?” Your voice is warm even though it takes on a teasing tone; Mark’s hand rubs the back of his neck, and his expression is a little sheepish, but you’re happy that the times he used to go completely quiet, opting only to blush at your attempts to act more familiar with him are pretty much gone now.

“Maybe next month.” You also like that he doesn’t really treat his hobbies as secrets, neither out of shame nor snobbishness. He explains these things to you the same way he does the topics you study — with an air of contentedness, like he’s happy someone listens to him without interrupting. On your end, you have no qualms with listening to his voice for hours, wondering when he’ll stop using it to greet you when you come through the door and when he’ll start saying your name in a way that makes you feel like you’re the only one he sees whenever you’re near. It’s a win-win situation (sort of). “I was actually debating between this collection and a really rare copy of Spi— well, never mind that. I just thought — since you were asking me a bit about blind boxes last time. You know, if you wanted to. With… me.”

As much as he’s become comfortable talking to you about things that don’t involve coffee orders and school, you can’t say that you aren’t doing your fair share of the work in connecting the dots; the demand for your efforts is exponentially higher in moments like this, when you think he’s trying to ask you something but can’t seem to find less-than-eager words to avoid what he thinks might spook you.

Luckily, he augments his fragments with action; reaching into his backpack — which you notice seems to be bulkier than usual — he starts extracting small brown boxes, all with the same design; it seems, for lack of better words, aesthetically gothic, and you reach out to pick one up, turning it over and examining the print on each side with vague interest. Mark starts laying them out on top of each other until there’s a small, somewhat unstable pyramid in front of him, then shifts his attention fully to you, just as you’re putting the box in your hand atop all the rest.

“I’d love to.” You beam as he does, and there’s a wondrous relief in his eyes that tells you he’s glad you manage to catch onto his words — or lack, thereof — surprisingly well. “For as long as you don’t blame me for any bad draws.”

“The contents have already been decided by my own hand — sort of,” he chuckles. “Point is, I would never do that to you. But I won’t lie; I kind of want to rely on your luck a little more.”

“What makes you think I’d have any of that running through my system?”

“Not sure — beginner’s luck, maybe? You just kind of look like one of those kinds of people to me — like… you’re just made of good things.”

You don’t know how to take this compliment; on the one hand, it’s easily one of the sweetest things Mark has ever said to you that doesn’t involve anything with actual sugar content. On the other, you know you’re not as lucky as he makes it sound, considering you’re still striking out on getting past the borderline of friendship with him. All you can do is smile, nodding and making to move closer to him by sliding into the next seat.

It’s hard to ignore the sight of him stiffening; something like surprise mingled with both fear and interest flashes strong across his face, but you don’t do anything to acknowledge the slight change in atmosphere, choosing to settle down comfortably and clap your hands. “So. What are the rules? What can I do, and what can’t I?”

“Uh.” His throat constricts at the right moment, the syllable getting caught and causing him to clear his throat. You know that this is the nearest you’ve ever been to him, the sleeve of your shirt tickling his arm. Upon closer, albeit brief inspection, you note that he’s also rather veiny. That doesn’t do your impurity any favors. “Not… really rules, or anything like that. Just — these are the ones I’ve been looking for. Not that you can really control it, but in case you were curious about that.”

You squint intently at the scaled-down images he points out. There’s one that looks like a penguin caught in an oil spill; another that seems to be in a polar bear costume, dozing; and — “What’s… halo? Halo…bios?”

“It just means marine life,” he answers quickly, like the thought means close to nothing to him to know something that obscure. Whoever said that smart is the new sexy wasn’t joking. “Like… all things that live in the ocean, that kind of thing.”

“And you know this because?”

He pauses, looking thoughtful. “I’m not sure. I guess I must have just learned it when I was curious about what it meant some time ago. Isn’t that how we all learn things?”

You shake your head incredulously, and he smiles a little apologetically. “You never cease to amaze me.” Your nail drums against the silhouette of one with a question mark on it. “What’s this supposed to be? Can you draw your own figurine, or something?”

“No.” He’s clearly amused, but his expression’s still patronizing enough for you to not feel too bad about saying something idiotic. “It’s a secret design — a money drainer, basically. You could buy a full set of this and still not get it. Some people will open hundreds without any luck, so it’s really rare.”

“You don’t want it?”

“I try not to get too caught up in the secret thing,” he admits. “Otherwise…”

“No rare print comic books for the rest of your life, basically?”

He taps his nose, and you both share another laugh. It’s nice, you think, to have come this far — to be someone Mark can share his interests and thoughts with. You may have been stretching the word to its limit when you first punched your way into his social life and called yourself his friend, but it feels more real now, more natural to think about and say. Even if he still sometimes seems to be hyperaware of the gap between the both of you, there’s no denying, at least, that it’s been significantly reduced, and this much is a testament to that.

“Well, leave it up to me. I’ll let all of this beginner’s luck rub off on you,” you announce with overflowing albeit unfounded confidence.

You both decide to open a box each at the same time; Mark suddenly panics and asks you not to unseal the foil bag right away without looking at the card inside first, earning him one slightly alarmed look followed by a burst of laughter at his pained expression when you pretend to rip open the packaging. Comparing pulls, you identify them using the set chart — your luck doesn’t seem to be operating at full capacity yet because you can only offer him the card of one that looks like a floppy pigeon, which he responds to with a slightly apologetic grimace before saying he’s already pulled that thrice in the past. He, on the other hand, is turning the card of the polar bear over in his palm, trying not to make you feel bad for your duplicate pull by slipping it under his textbook when your eyes land on it.

The second round isn’t much better; both of you manage to pull something he’s already added to his collection, and as you’re ripping the seal to your third box, he pauses and watches you. You think it’s because he’s concerned about the obvious shit luck you’ve had thus far and wants to snatch it from you before your negative energy transfigures whatever’s inside into something he doesn’t want, and you’re just about to offer the half-opened package to him before he pushes the one on his end to you.

“No way, Mark.” Your eyes are wide, a palm up to reject it. “If that turns out to be another dupe by my hand, I’m literally going to walk into oncoming traffic.”

He has to control his amusement at your words so that it doesn’t completely shake his voice into incoherence. “I picked all of these while I was there, so if anything, you’re only riding off my bad luck. Besides, this is your first time doing this. I want you to have fun.”

“But,” your voice is pained. “Your money.”

“It’s not a big deal. With how few I need to complete them, I was definitely bound to run into more repeats than new ones.” He taps the front of the textbook — or, at least, the part of it not buried under the figurines and sealing tapes yet. “Probability mathematics.”

“I thought we already ended the study part of the day,” you grumble but concede, putting aside the one you half-opened to tear the top of his. You’re careful when you shake out the foil packaging, making sure to place it upright on the table before extracting the card. Both of your faces fall — yours more than his — when you see it’s a repeat of the polar bear.

“Almost. It would’ve been a pretty lucky pull earlier, so it’s technically not bad,” he tries to reassure you, but you childishly feel like you’ve been the sole source of his disappointment thus far. “Try the last one.”

It’s irrational, but you’re suddenly anxious about it. For some reason, you’re worried that this will topple the carefully constructed ladder you’ve propped up against Mark’s tower of social defense. Even if he’s being genial about your rotten pulls, you don’t know how much of it is just resignation to dismay on his part.

You say a small prayer, then fully rip off the seal; you don’t even take out the packaged figuring anymore. You just shimmy the card out of the box, turning it over when you notice it’s upside down.

For a moment, your shoulders deflate. It’s closest to this pastel purple figurine in the middle of the line-up, its stupid puckered lips almost taunting you. He hadn’t even mentioned it as something he’s looking for, so you almost feel like this has come to a horrible full circle. But then he grabs the box, checks the list, and looks back at your card again. He looks shell-shocked, and you’re not sure if it’s the strong air conditioning directed towards the two of you or if it’s just his hands, but the image he’s holding is shivering slightly.

You look more closely at it, and something just doesn’t feel right. Color palette aside, there are notable differences — different colored lips, a more intricate ear design, and closed eyes. It’s…

“Dream eater,” Mark’s voice is hushed, almost reverent, and very, very close to your ear. “It’s the secret one. You’re… incredible.”

“What are you talking about,” your words are just as raspy; you’re not sure if you’re actually choked up with emotion or something — over a figurine, you have to remind yourself. “You picked all of this. I just ripped open the box.”

The hush that falls over the both of you feels very concrete, weighty on your shoulders. His fingers creep towards the foil packet — the only one he actually opens because there’s no way he’s not keeping it. The shiny purple head gleams under the fluorescent, the glitter around the star and moon designs catching the light as he turns it left to right, like he’s worried it’s a fake. You can tell why people want these things so much; there’s a thrill in you that lingers, makes you feel warm and alert. It’s anticipation, despair, excitement, and triumph all in one sitting.

You’re stroking the smooth curve of the design by the ears lightly when Mark speaks up again and says the most outrageous thing.

“I want you to have it.”

“What?” You actually have to pop your ear canal in front of him with your pinky to make sure he knows how ludicrous he sounds. “This is… you said it was crazy rare.”

“Yeah. And you pulled it, with your magic. That’s like… unimaginable luck. Even more than beginner’s luck.”

“Like I said, I literally just opened the box.”

“No — you have like… the golden touch.”

“Please,” you hiss, a genuine testiness to your voice. “Do not. I was just here for the ride — the experience, and all.”

“Seriously, take it.”

“Absolutely not—”

It’s a chaotic moment of him trying to hand you the figurine and you outright rejecting it, with both your palms working hard to push it back to him. Instead of nudging the plastic back, though, you end up placing the full force of your hands against his fingers.

There’s no actual spark when you touch, but your reactions make it feel like there might as well have been; you even lock eyes in startled unison, like you can’t believe that just happened, before you pull away quickly, Mark drawing the figuring back to his torso while looking away towards the counter, where a lowerclassman is wiping down the stains. You want to scream at your warped reflection in the window. You barely initiate contact with him, but you imagine that if you ever did, you would prefer to not be saying something as abjectly negative as absolutely not while doing so.

Your mind flails in an attempt to mitigate the issue and water down the embarrassment, and clearly he’s struggling to figure it out too, because he pipes up before you can piece your thoughts together.

“No, really.” His tone is a lot milder and, consequently, a lot more persuasive this way. “You should take it. I want you to.”

“It’s not mine. This is your thing — your hobby.”

“That’s why I’m giving it to you. I swear — I want you to keep it.”

“Why?”

He lapses into silence again, but his face is much redder than earlier. His mouth opens in an attempt to say something, but he just manages to uh his way back into a state of quiet, which gives you a chance to speak instead.

“We can… share it,” you suggest. “Shared custody…. ish.”

His eyebrow cocks involuntarily, and his jaw falls again, but all he does in actual response is nod — slowly at first, then with more sureness to the act.

“Yeah. We can share it. I’d… like that.”

You’re glad that the bulk of the awkwardness has fizzled out fairly easily, and when you think about it, this feels like a pretty good course of action; you like that it’s this little link between the two of you now — something you share that no one else can touch.

Mark, you notice, is smiling as well — more to himself than towards you, it seems. His thumb grazes across the face of the figurine, slow across the lips, and you’re once again falling into a pit of nonsense by wondering when he’d do that to you.

“Thanks for staying with me, _________,” he finally says, and your heart jolts and melts all at once. “And for… doing this. For chatting with me. And giving me your luck, and all that. Great way to end the day… with you.”

You say no problem, but you instantly regret it when you realize you could have just said it didn’t have to end just yet.

“__________? Hello? Come back down to Earth?”

“Shut up,” you sigh at the guy seated across you — Seo Youngho, an upperclassman, your Gender Studies classmate, and current project partner, waves in front of your face. You shoo his hand away, which only joins his other one as he throws them in defeat above his head. “Stop moving. Be quiet. Don’t talk.”

“That’s the same thing as shut up and be quiet. What’s up with you?” He demands. “Fifteen minutes ago, you were full of ideas. Now I feel like I’m talking to a wax figure.”

You’d been engrossed in your report for the last hour and a half, and the subject matter is admittedly something you enjoy — the role of gender in Twenty-First Century Korean marketing and advertisement, a title Youngho had taken more than ten minutes to type into the Google Docs header because he was pissed off at how the numbers looked like in the fonts he chose. He’s an enthusiastic classmate and someone you’ve come to be friendly with, not only because he’s genuinely approachable but also because he has fits of nosiness and talkativeness at the strangest moments, so a chunk of your relationship is mostly based on social terrorism on his part. You like him well enough most of the time — save for the last fifteen minutes of this hour.

Because Mark had just come in for his shift fifteen minutes ago, and suddenly Youngho is much too noisy for your taste, and his head is honestly way too big to the point that it gets in the way of your opportunities to see Mark behind the counter. You even resent him for choosing a booth instead of your usual table all of a sudden, because your view of the central barista’s area is much more limited from this angle, especially since the huge espresso machine is in the of your field of vision.

You’re also (currently and abruptly) mad at Youngho because you remember that he’s the reason you’ve had to skip out on a couple of sessions with Mark. Like, it technically isn’t his fault that you have a lot of research to do for the literature review section of the paper, nor is it his fault that this is your final requirement that comprises a whopping forty percent of your grade, but like… you’ll blame him anyway. So you’re much more irritable, and you’ve definitely been missing Mark’s presence. In fact, you kind of just want to shove Youngho’s balloon head away and call Mark over to sit with you, but you’re not that much of an animal to actually do that.

Probably.

There had been inquisitiveness across Mark’s face when he’d come in; his eyes had trailed to the table at which you usually sat, surprised to find two guys hunched over a single phone there instead of the usual you, waiting for him with your eyes bright and your smile wide. You’d like to think it’s because he’s gotten as used to seeing you as you’re used to waiting to see him — like he just expects you to be there.

You hadn’t really known how to call his attention to where you were, especially since Youngho was prattling very matter-of-factly about the academic journal he’d unearthed yesterday and how he thought it would be useful in reshaping the methodology of your paper (whatever). There was a moment in which you briefly considered ordering another cup of coffee just to get in line to talk to him, but your hands were already shaking from the venti you’d had to keep yourself from passing out in front of your partner.

So you’re more than relieved when, half an hour into his shift, Mark finally steps out from behind the huge machine, a mug of water for himself in hand, and turns away from the front of the store to drink it — only for your eyes to lock as he twists his torso in your general direction.

The mug stops just inches from his lips, but you could swear he smiles at you briefly when he recognizes you, so you return the favor. Youngho’s face contorts into abject befuddlement, turning around to see what you’re grinning at.

“Oh, you poor sap,” he snorts, finally letting the puzzle pieces fall into place.

“What?” You’re still distracted even if Mark has taken a gulp of water and is now attending to a gaggle of girls still in the throes of discussing what to order.

“What what? You gonna spend the rest of the day eyefucking Mark Lee from over here? At least let me get a different table.”

“Shut up,” you repeat sullenly, coming back down to his level and finally — albeit reluctantly — meeting his eye (just because Mark isn’t looking your way). “What were you saying about the sample size?”

“That it’s much too large to be feasible, a point we closed twenty fucking minutes ago,” he says pointedly. “Is it a thing for baristas or a thing for smart guys?”

“It’s a thing for Mark Lee,” you sigh, following Youngho’s suit and shutting your laptop close. You’re at least glad he’s not annoyed that you’re delaying work for a crush, or maybe he’s also just equally lazy at this point. “You ever look at someone and think you would give it all up for a chance to hit that?”

“No, because this isn’t a porn movie, and I’m clearly not the main character in whatever’s going on in there.” He jabs at your forehead; you swat his hand away again.

“Well, I would.”

He rolls his eyes. “So do it, dumbass.” He says this so simply, like he can’t imagine why you’d be holding yourself back, which is a valid thing to feel, except it’s not really any of his business.

“Can’t.”

“Because?”

“Because it doesn’t fit into my elegant master plan. Also because I want him to ask me out. I just want that victory.”

“Oh yeah, there it is.” Youngho leans over, wiggling his fingers at your ears like he’s greeting a next-door neighbor. “Hey, delusion. Good to see you. Do you even understand how crazy it is that you’re taking a Gender Studies class while waiting for your dick-in-shining-armor like a damsel in distress?”

“Asshole,” you grumble, violently opening your laptop monitor again. “Get back on Google Drive.”

Thankfully, Youngho complies, and the next two hours pass in relative silence and productivity, with you hammering out a vague references list that he promises to format in your stead so you can ‘spend more time dreaming about Mark Lee between your legs.’ You want to strangle him, but there are far too many people in the cafe for you to get away with it. Also, aforementioned Mark Lee would only be a witness to your criminal record, and while you think there’s something romantic in killing for love, or whatever, you’re not sure it’d make the best impression on him.

“Next week’s my birthday,” Youngho announces as he stands to tug on his jacket.

“Congratulations,” you say wryly, peeking over his bulletin board torso to see Mark tugging off his apron and picking up his school bag. Your heart hammers in your chest as he looks over at you briefly, and something like embarrassment passes over his face before he busies himself with neatly folding the fabric. “Go away.”

“Usually people look uncomfortable for not knowing and then start thinking about what gifts to get the celebrant, but I always felt you were kind of a revolutionary.” He snaps his fingers right in front of your eyes, and you look up at him, a little offended. “I’m having a get-together — and by get-together, I mean it’s gonna be a rager. You should come.”

“When?”

“Next Thursday.”

“Can’t,” you chew on your lip, wondering if Mark is leaving. His movements seem particularly slow, but you wonder if he’s just taking his sweet time because he has nothing better to do. Of course, he would have something better to do if Youngho stopped fucking obscuring you from him and vice versa. “Busy. School… whatever.” Not completely untrue. Most of what you do with Mark has to do with school.

“This moony-eyed thing is just not for you, I fear.”

“Are you going to be here all day?”

“Are you? Why don’t you just fucking ask him out, you lunatic?” You can’t imagine why he sounds so exasperated. It’s not like this is his problem — or his business, for that matter. “Maybe if you did, you could fuck him and move on with your life and be an actual contributor to society’s development.”

“Has anyone ever told you how nosy you are?”

“Constantly.” He brings his palms down on the table, the thud shaking you out of another oncoming stupor. “Think about it. Maybe it’ll make you stop making that stupid face.”

“You’ve got a stupid face,” you mumble, sulking as he pinches your cheek as a goodbye before heading out of the shop.

At least you finally get to see Mark in full, glorious view — and you get to watch him come closer, although his stride is somewhat cautious.

“Hey.” Even his voice sounds unsure — almost like the way he used to sound earlier in your friendship. “I didn’t want to interrupt you and… your friend?”

“Oh. Well, you wouldn’t have been interrupting,” you inform him, completely genuine. “He was spouting a lot of nonsense.”

“You guys seemed pretty close.”

“I guess it’s a proximity thing,” you sigh, and Mark raises his eyebrows slightly in question. “We’re partners.”

“Oh.” The way he draws out the syllable is slow. “That definitely makes sense.”

The silence stretches out between the two of you again, with Mark checking his shoelaces. You almost grab your head; it hadn’t occurred to you until now how damaging missing meetings with him would be to your friendship. You feel like you’re slowly being dragged back to square one, and you want to give him an explanation.

“He’s actually… I haven’t been able to see you because I’ve been working on something with him.” you offer, trying to answer a question he didn’t even ask. “Sorry about that. I swear I’ll be back on track tomorrow.”

“No, no — I completely understand.” He pauses thoughtfully. “Thank you… for telling me, though. I— uh, appreciate that.”

“I’d love to see you tomorrow, though.” You try injecting more pep into your voice. “I’ve really been behind on my algebra. I’ve definitely been drowning without you.”

“Oh, yeah.” A small smile graces his lips, but you can’t tell if the reluctance behind it is from fatigue or something that looks oddly like sadness. “I’m down for tomorrow. Same time, same table, right?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Cool. See you, _________.”

You watch him turn on his heel, walking to the front door, and something like fear mingled with desperation clutches your heart. Fuck the traditional route, you think. You don’t know what it is about how he’s acting now, but it’s making you feel like he’s slipping through your fingers. All that hard work — there’s no way you’re letting him go.

“Mark, wait.”

You’re at his side, fingers curled into the sleeve of his jacket before you can figure out exactly what you want to say. You feel as surprised as he looks at your sudden liveliness in action, and his gaze trails from your clenched fist to your face slowly, like he’s trying to memorize this whole position.

Your exhale’s shaky, but even still, you try not to sound overtly self-conscious when you ask, “Do you like Chinese food?”

Something in the furrowing of his brows tells you he can’t seem to see where this conversation is headed, and that slightly bothers him. “I like it well enough. Why?”

“There’s this really good dim sum buffet near my mom’s office. We tried it before — the Xiaolongbao is awesome.”

“Hey, that sounds pretty cool. I love Xiaolongbao. I’ll definitely have to check it out then.”

You want to tear your hair out. “How about — you know, checking it out with me? Tonight? You know… together. With me.” You already fucking said that.

You’ve never seen Mark blink this rapidly; he looks like he’s trying to crunch large numbers in his head. A small part of you actually worries that he’s malfunctioning, but just when you think he’s going to glitch out completely, he clears his throat. It bothers you how uncomfortable he looks. “Tonight? Oh man… it’s my cousin’s birthday tonight. I can’t… reschedule. Well, obviously. Maybe some other… time?”

Your ‘oh, yeah’ is small, and so is the ghost of Mark’s smile. You can’t help but feel like he’s pitying you a little, although he doesn’t seem like the type, but the thought of it alone makes you want to puke. He makes no motion to move, and you think he’s extending this awkward moment out on purpose until you realize you’re still hanging onto him and he has no way of telling you to let go nicely.

Fingers unfurling from his sleeve, you take a careful step back, but when he walks away, it feels like you’ve gone much, much further away.

The worst part is that you can’t even figure out why.

Luckily, the next few times you see Mark, you manage to rebuild a rather shaky bridge back to where you had been. You even manage to strong-arm him into sharing an apple fritter one afternoon, and you know it’s a bit sad to think about it a particular, untrue way, but you can’t help but pattern what you’re doing into some kind of pseudo-date. Pathetic isn’t a word you normally associate yourself with, but you’ve been borderline desperate for progress where there seems to be none, so you take small victories where you can get them.

Unfortunately, you haven’t been able to revisit your stupid dim sum plan; sometimes, he says he has somewhere important to be, but most of the time, it’s actually your fault. No — it’s Youngho’s fault, because he keeps bothering you to finish the project. You’re aware that he can’t do it himself, but since he’s informed of your current plight, he could at least stand to be more sympathetic.

And you hate the way Mark looks every time you splutter out that you have to take a rain check for that reason; it’s not even disappointment, or something, which would be much more understandable. It’s this mysterious kind of faraway look, where his eyes glaze over a bit and he seems suddenly very lost in thought — or completely dissociated. He never strays away from his normal response of “next time, then,” but that ‘next time’ fades into the weekend and into the start of next week, and you have to spend every other evening with an annoying Seo fucking Youngho on a Google Meets call instead of eating soup dumplings loveshot style with Mark Lee.

Thursday night rolls around, and the former performs the most irritating stunt yet: blowing up your phone with so many KakaoTalk messages that it almost buzzes off the table during your session with Mark. Luckily, he seems to have learned a thing or two from his comic books, catching it before it hits the floor.

“You sure you don’t want to answer it?” He asks, gingerly handing the phone to you like he’s afraid it’s going to explode from all the pinging.

“Without the shadow of a doubt,” you sigh, flipping the screen downwards. Buzz.

“It kind of seems important. Or, like… urgent.”

“He’ll live. Unfortunately.”

Mark falls silent, fiddling with the page he’s on. He’s neatly highlighted the formulas on the page with blue ink, and his finger keeps scratching at the slightly wet paper. Buzz.

“Didn’t you say you two were partners?”

“Yes. Also unfortunately.” Youngho is actually a great person, but you kind of hate how Mark’s paying more attention to his texts than to you right now. “What did you get for number ten?” Buzz.

“A hundred and twe— are you really just going to let it keep ringing like that? What if he’s… I don’t know. In trouble? Like, he needs you?”

You smack your phone on its back, hoping that the punishment reaches Youngho because he absolutely is in trouble — only with you. “He’s just making a racket because it’s his birthday and he probably wants a bunch of people to trash his parents’ house, or something.”

“Sounds like fun.” The dubious tone in Mark’s voice indicates that his idea of fun definitely isn’t that. Buzz.

“Not really, but I assume he’ll only pipe down if he manages to get his way.”

“He must really want you there.”

There it is again — that weird, distant expression that makes you feel like he’s trying to free himself from the tethers of the earth. You close your textbook in defeat; it wasn’t even like you got the answer to number ten correct anyway. Buzz.

“He just wants everyone there, I bet. But I probably should show up so he shuts up.”

“Oh — yeah, okay. We’ll call it a day, then?” He’s avoiding your eye as he starts packing his things, which is actually impressive because you have practically nothing but your book to keep in comparison to his pencils and protractor, so you just stare, willing him to look at you.

You want to know what’s going on in his head. You want to know what’s going on in his heart — what he thinks of you, why he seems warm one second then almost like a stranger the next. You want to know if he knows you like him and if him not doing anything even if he knows is a sign that he doesn’t like you back. You want to know if he’d let you kiss him, if he’d kiss you first, if you can meet not because of sweet cream cold brews or algebra but because you just want to be together.

You just don’t know how to ask. For as much as you like him, for as much as you want him, you haven’t figured out the most basic part of this — if you mean anything more than a two hour talk to him at all.

“Mark.” This feels awfully like the dim sum conversation, only somehow ten times more disastrous. “Come with me.”

“Sorry?” The appalled look on his face makes you squirm in your seat.

“I don’t really want to go, but maybe if we go together… we can just hang out a bit and leave once it’s boring… I think it’d be fun,” you explain lamely, deciding at the last second to drop the with you that had originally come with your sentiment.

“I don’t think your… partner will like someone uninvited showing up.”

“I’m inviting you.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“You’d be, like, my saving grace or something — my excuse to scram. We’ll say we came right from a study session; we only popped in halfway through for the sake of greeting him a happy birthday. Then we can just go. We can say — uh, we’ve got more work to do.” You’re practically begging him at this point, and you don’t even get why. You just don’t want him to leave looking the way he does — confused and a little detached. You want the Mark that had smiled at you while giving you your coffee — the one that had kindly pointed out an arithmetic mistake in the most gentle way possible. You want to open blind boxes with him, whine about your rotten luck, and part ways with his warmth still against your coat sleeve.

You don’t know what comes over you then, but you pluck up the courage and initiative to slip your hand in his. He stiffens a little, but you don’t care; your fingers squeeze his in urging.

Something in his expression breaks — cracks first, then falls away, before he’s nodding, still looking vaguely thoughtful.

“If you think it’ll help you, then… okay.”

The bus ride to Youngho’s neighborhood is uneventful because it’s quiet. You stand close to Mark at all times, but you barely touch, save for the times your knuckles accidentally brush his when you lurch forward slightly as the vehicle comes to a dangerously abrupt stop. He doesn’t ask anything about the party or the company that’ll populate it, which is just as well, because you don’t have a clue.

You know it’s the right house because the door’s wide open and there’s music coming from inside; you can’t make out much more than the deep bass pumping through the concrete, but you’re pretty sure it’s making your heart jump in your chest even more than it already is. There are quite a few people you vaguely recognize on the lawn, and even more that you absolutely don’t; a good number of them glance at you and Mark as you step through the threshold then look away, probably deciding you’re of no real consequence or harm to their moods.

Youngho’s easily spottable because of his massive height; he towers over the rest of his guests, and the red plastic cup in his hand calls even more attention because he’s lifted it over everyone else’s heads. You throw Mark an apologetic glance that he responds to with a short nod before you dive into the crowd alone, trying to weave your way to where you’d last seen Youngho.

“Bro, finally!” Youngho greets you, pretty much shouting over the music. “Where’s the gift? Did you leave it on the table?”

“Happy birthday, Youngho. Do you know how close you were to being blocked?”

“I see you brought mister espresso with you,” he ignores your comment completely, nodding to Mark. When you turn back to see him, you notice he’s squishing his arms closer to his sides, trying to minimize the space he takes up. “So what? Y’all get to hook up already?”

“No. I brought him here because we were in the middle of something and someone,” you stop, offering him a pointed look that’s also ignored. “Wouldn’t stop texting.”

“Cockblock,” the guy next to Youngho, who you now realize has been eavesdropping, singsongs. “Oh, sorry. You looked angry when you stomped through the crowd, so I wanted the juicy details. Name’s Jaehyun.”

You take the hand he offers you briefly, introducing yourself. When you say your name, realization dawns on his face, and he jabs his forefinger at you.

“Oh, dude. You’re that girl — the Starbucks Showstopper.”

“The what?”

“That’s what his friends call you.” He scratches his ear, seemingly racking his brain for more information. “I’m with Mark and a couple of his friends — Lee Donghyuck and Na Jaemin — in College Algebra.”

You completely gloss over the fact that you’ve finally found out the real government identity of the mysterious figure named ‘Hyuck.’ “They… talk about me?”

“From time to time. Not really. Once or twice. Donghyuck only calls you that because Mark apparently keeps blowing them off to hang out with you.”

“How do you know this?”

“I have ears. It’s not hard when they talk like no one’s around.”

You shush Youngho’s exclamation of and you’re saying I’m nosy?, your heart hammering hard in your ears, practically drowning out the music. “What… what else did they talk about?”

“Not sure. Something about not seeing you that often these days. Jaemin teasing Mark about getting dropped now that you don’t need his help anymore. Donghyuck piling on and saying you’ve got a boyfriend.”

“What?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger.” Jaehyun still inches away from you when your voice rises in pitch and decibel. Some people around you start, then move away as well, as if scared you’re going to incinerate them. “They were just teasing him that you probably ditched him after you started dating someone. Your partner in some project, or what.”

“Oh gross.” The realization hits you like a speeding truck. Youngho’s expression is affronted.

“First of all, you bitch. Second of all, as if I would date someone who didn’t even buy me a gift. Or want to come. Or yelled at me after coming. Wow — now that I think about it, you’re terrible, _________.”

“Oh, shit; that someone was you?” The only person that isn’t tense in this conversation is Jaehyun, who laughs point blank at Youngho’s sour face. “I think they were offering to put you into one of their Death Note notebooks. Sucks for you, hotshot.”

“What a smudge on my good name,” Youngho sighs mournfully. “On my special day, too.”

“I desperately need you two to be quiet for one second. I have to — where’s Mark?”

Even when you stand on your tiptoes, you’re not nearly as tall as the two of them; it’s Youngho, with his freakish height, who manages to spot Mark by the bowl of nachos, looking as though he’s trying to decide if they’re safe for consumption. You hardly excuse yourself; actually, all you say is a distracted “later” that dismisses Jaehyun’s cooing that something’s going down and you should clue him into all the mess later as a thank you. Your appreciation of his sudden and somewhat short-lived presence in your life is still up in the air.

Mark’s busy making a sour face at the sip of punch he’d just taken; he only straightens up when you’re right in front of him, putting his cup down next to the nachos. “Hey. Did you get to find… um…”

“That’s not important.” Your hand bunches the fabric of his jacket in a death grip, something he barely has time to register, let alone question, before you’re tugging him through the throng of people. You want somewhere quiet, somewhere private, and you initially consider the lawn, except you know it’s strewn with cups and has stragglers debating whether to go home or not. You can’t risk any of them being expert eavesdroppers like Jaehyun, so you make a beeline for the stairs instead.

“We’re not leaving yet?” He has to shout over the music, but there’s no resistance in his stride; he follows you up and waits patiently, although a little perplexed, as you check the doors on the second floor. Two are locked, one is a bathroom, and the other is a messy, musk aftershave-scented place you can only presume is Youngho’s room. Talking in front of a sink and a toilet doesn’t feel like it’ll be very productive, so you just drag Mark into the bedroom, kicking aside the crumpled shirt on the floor — which you could’ve sworn you’d seen Youngho wear for class yesterday. “_________, what’s going on?”

“Mark Lee,” you burst out, ignoring the fact that his eyes widen slightly at your tone. “What’s your fucking deal?”

You don’t think you’ve ever sworn in front of him before; that much is evident when he continues to gawk silently, unable to find words to respond to your question. Or maybe it’s just the volume and force with which you demand an answer. The problem is that you don’t even know what kind of reply you want. A small part of you nags that this is uncalled for, especially at this level, with you practically caging him into an unknown room. In fact, even now, you’re still embarrassed at your behavior, wondering if you’ve gone too far and stepped over a line between you.

But the source of all your frustrations is, in fact, that line — one so strangely drawn, clear at some points and almost invisible at others. Sometimes, he seems simply content with the barest minimum of friendship: talking to you, helping you, politely laughing at your (terrible) jokes. But there are also times he blushes too hard for it to not mean anything, times that he makes you feel like you could mean a little something more to him too.

Yet, from there, he wavers, stepping back so as not to get entangled in something you don’t understand — like when he grows distant every time you mention Youngho to him. You don’t understand why he would unless he echoed, even just a little, the longing in you. But you also don’t get why he stays and builds more walls around himself, like he’s determined to ignore all the other signs — like he doesn’t want to know if it’s really true and will just accept the assumption that it is. You hate not knowing where you stand with him, and while you could easily ask, you know you don’t want to.

And for a long time, you’ve convinced yourself that it’s because you want to see Mark step out of his comfort zone and initiate something, but the ugly truth is staring at you: it’s simply just that you can’t stand the idea of seeing him come to the conclusion that you can’t be anything more to him than someone he makes a sweet cream cold brew for every so often.

There’s a moment of tense silence between you two, where you’re just staring at each other — him, perplexed, and you, agitated — and the only sound that passes is the faint but unmistakable voice of Youngho going who has the cake cutting knife? from somewhere down below. You try not to get caught up in the fact that Mark still looks cute when he’s dumbfounded.

“Sorry?”

“What,” you repeat pointedly. “Is your deal? Why have you been acting so weirdly around me these days? I thought — I thought we were… getting closer. I thought… we…”

You’ve confirmed it now; you’re the epitome of cowardliness. You can’t even say I thought we liked each other — because you know that you do, but you still can’t honestly, assuredly tell if he does. Maybe you just read too deeply into the smallest things — smiles before he asks for your order, glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking, sharing the dream eater figurine — to fuel your own emotions without really checking the depth of his.

“I thought we were cool,” you reroute your words, and they come out flat and lame. “But just when I think you’re warming up to me, you suddenly pull away. Like… you’re afraid of me. Or you don’t like me. I don’t know.”

“It’s not — I don’t — I’m not afraid of you,” he stumbles over his words, and even in the darkness of this space, you see his face turn bright red, very quickly. His feet shuffle, not because he’s lost his balance but because he seems to want to get rid of a sudden restlessness. “I do like you. We are — we were getting — we’re close. We — we’re friends. You said that, and we are.”

“Is it only because I say we are that you agree?”

“What? No, I—” His hand passes over his face, slowing at the curve of his chin. “I really like being friends with you. I like being around you.”

“Then why do you act so weird these days? Like — you’ll be fine one moment, then you’ll back off, like you suddenly remembered you don’t want to be around me.”

“It’s not like that. I’m — I don’t get…” He takes a deep inhale, recalibrating himself for a moment before his voice comes out again, less strained this time. “I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me.”

“How could I?” There’s something more than confusion coloring your voice; there’s hurt, too, and he looks as surprised as you feel at hearing it. “I wanted to be your friend. I was the one that asked you to hang out. I was the one who wanted you to talk to me, to help me, to go to a goddamn dim sum place with me. Why would I feel uncomfortable? Or are you just using this as some roundabout way to say you feel uncomfortable?”

Mark falls silent, and you don’t know why this speaks volumes all of a sudden. His eyes are trained to the tips of his sneakers, which are rising in soft bumps every few seconds; he’s curling his toes inside them. You feel like you’ve gotten the worst answer possible, and something grows cold in your chest.

“You feel uncomfortable around me.” You rehash, but it’s no longer a question. “You don’t know how to get rid of me.”

“No, it’s not that.”

“You think I’m only using you.”

“No.”

“Then what?” Your voice breaks, no longer out of anger, but a desperate sadness. The moment your eyes feel hot and prickly, you decide you want to end the conversation. It’s embarrassing, you think, for someone like Mark Lee — whom you like, who only ever sees you as a friend — to see you get choked up at a fucking birthday party at someone else’s house.

A beat later, you’re mumbling a half-hearted forget it, and you detest overdramatics, but you hate the idea of being in a room with someone who’ll never return your feelings even more right now; you push past him, already on the thought of calling a cab home instead of taking the bus so that no half-drunk businessmen coming from their company dinners see you crying.

But something warm wraps around your wrist, then closes over your hand, and you’re unable to move, Mark’s palm pressed against the back of yours. When you look back, you notice he’s still not looking at you, but his ears are practically on fire with how red they are, and you feel his fingers tighten slightly, tremble slightly against yours.

“It’s not that. I didn’t ever want you to think — I heard about you two. That you were dating someone. Seo Youngho.”

“What does that matter?” Your words come out a little more bitterly than you expect, and you have to remind yourself to reel it in. “That doesn’t explain your discomfort.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he repeats, still evidently careful in choosing his words. “Because you wanted to be friends.”

“I don’t understand,” you state bluntly. In the back of your mind, you note that Mark’s grip keeps tightening and loosening, unsure of whether to keep holding on or let go. But there’s something else, too — the soft graze of skin against yours, his thumb gliding over your knuckles.

“That was all you said you wanted to be, right?” He waits for a response, but when you don’t give him one, he lets out a shaky breath and continues. “You kept saying — we were friends. You wanted us to be close like that. I just wanted to respect it, even if…”

“Respect what?”

“That you didn’t want… anything else.”

The music downstairs is a bit tamer now; you hear the door opening and closing every so often, signaling guests leaving here and there, but there are still enough footsteps downstairs for you to know that there’s a crowd Youngho hasn’t gotten rid of and therefore has to attend to. That much is good; you’d get slapped with a homicide charge if he came up here all of a sudden.

“You were jealous.”

Mark’s fingers pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment. “I tried to stop. I don’t have a lot of practice with — well, I didn’t know how to approach the situation. I thought I was still acting normally; I didn’t think… I didn’t want you to feel weird and stop hanging out with me just because… I couldn’t fix it.”

“Your friends are assholes,” you mumble, and he finally meets your eye, equal parts startled and amused. “We aren’t. Weren’t. We never were dating.”

“Even without that, I thought… it was a bit embarrassing. Liking someone like you — someone as pretty as you, as nice as you — I thought it would make you feel weird. Then you’d start avoiding me too. Or, worse, you’d keep doing it just because… you… felt bad for me.”

You don’t know what you find more ridiculous — that you hadn’t seen figured it out or that you could have avoided all of this if you’d just been a little more honest with him too. Mark’s hand starts loosening around yours, a little too much, and you turn your palm and grip his hand before he can escape. He stiffens again, just like earlier, but you now understand better why he does.

“I just wanted to keep hanging out with you as much as I could. I thought… It’d be fine, just spending time with you, and I’d be able to like you for a while, on my own, then…” He looks a little pained. “Then just let you go. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry you couldn’t let go?” You sigh softly, your palm guiding his until they connect, face to face, and you can finally lace your fingers into his. There’s no resistance, but his hand trembles slightly in yours still. “If there’s anything you should be apologizing for, it’s that you ever thought of doing it.”

Something clears in the air, lightens in his expression, and he chuckles, albeit a little shyly still. “It’s because I never thought someone like you would like someone like me.”

“I like you.” And it feels right to say it now, not at all out of the blue, never in fear of an answer he’s already given. “I like you when you smile at me every time you ask for my order. I like that you never get impatient when I’m getting my answers wrong. I like seeing you excited when you talk about a new series you’re looking forward to — something new you really want to collect. When you blush, when you laugh loudly, when you spin your pen in your hand — I like you in all those times.”

“Even when I’m jealous?”

“Especially when you are.” Your free hand comes up to cup his jaw, and you’re reminded of the fact that you’ve wanted to feel the strength of the angle under your palm for ages now. It’s not at all a disappointment, and your heart flutters irregularly in knowing you could’ve done this a long time ago, but it doesn’t matter because you’re doing it now, and fuck if Mark Lee doesn’t look good this close to you. “So be jealous — because now, you know you can be.”

Kissing him is better than you imagined, and you’ve imagined a little too much to be embarrassed at this point; there’s a heat to his lips that matches the one across his face, an upturn to them that makes you smile too. The setting’s not at all an expected one, but you’ll take it, not because it’s dark or because it’s private but because Mark’s in here with you, and you would have kissed him in a brightly lit football field full of people for as long as he’d let you.

You’d like to think he’s flushed for a reason other than shyness when you pull away, even if his laugh is quiet and breathy. In fact, when you murmur not enough, he’s the one that closes the gap this time, offering freely what you ask for with such little eloquence. The natural trepidation in his mouth relaxes, gives way to a curiosity that keeps you locked for so long that you forget you need to breathe, much more intent on finding out if Mark’s tongue tastes as good as you’ve imagined for so long.

It doesn’t; it tastes even better.

It’s still not enough, not by a long shot, but you have to resurface before you pass out like this, and even he looks a little dazed when you pull away — not in a bad way, with a grin on his face that you can only classify as endearingly goofy: slightly lopsided and a little shy, but with an unmistakable air of satisfaction.

“Months,” he mumbles, his lips still dangerously close to yours. Your eyebrows rise in questioning, and he laughs in that infectious way that makes you want to join in without even knowing what the punchline is. “I’ve been thinking of kissing you for months.”

And you do share the laughter this time, not out of amusement but of a happiness that spills without restraint. “But you’re suddenly holding back now?”

“Just letting myself bask in the moment, I guess. Letting it sink in so I remember everything.”

The two of you stand there quietly, still trying to fully parse the progression of events, and a small part of your mind registers that Mark’s thumb is still drawing circles on your skin. It’s also not enough — this touch, this closeness. You know now that he’s been thinking of you for months, and it reminds you that you spent that time dreaming of him too. And you remember you’ve always wanted to be even more familiar with him, and suddenly the desire is overwhelming; he’s right here, and you don’t ever want him out of your grasp again.

“Where are you going?” He’s only curious for the sake of it; there’s no alarm in the question because you keep your fingers tightly woven in his, tugging him along as you walk past him to the door. He’s still staring in wonder after the lock clicks shut. “What’s… happening now?”

“You waited months to kiss me, right?” He nods in response at your question. “I’ve been waiting just as long to have you too.”

His mouth falls open, but he doesn’t manage to say anything; his jaw tightens just as quickly when he feels your free hand trail down his chest, feather-light and asking for a green light. Your index finger stops just above his navel and draws back slowly, but not before you feel the shiver that runs down his torso.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you murmur, giving his hand a little squeeze. “But I just want you to know — I want to. I want you.”

A thoughtfulness settles on his face, and his eyes graze over yours, trying to read your seriousness. You don’t know how honest you look, but your words hold enough truth in them. A silence stretches over the next minute, but to you, it feels like an eternity, and you lose the test of patience somewhat, smiling softly at him.

“You don’t want to?”

“I—” His tongue peeks out, running over his bottom lip. “I do. It’s not that I don’t want to, but…”

“You seem worried.”

A hesitant nod. “I’ve never — well, no, I have, but not — with someone like you.”

“What’s someone like me?” You laugh airily.

“Someone pretty like you — I don’t know. Someone who seems to know exactly what they want. Someone who seems like… they could do better than me.”

“Mark.” You can’t keep the incredulity out of your voice. “I do know exactly what I want. I want you. The rest — I don’t care about. As long as it’s you, I want it.”

He cracks a smile, half of relief, half of disbelief. You don’t miss his hand coming up to press, warm, against your waist. “For real?”

Your fingers curl into the front of his shirt — an anchor to bring you closer, until the tips of your noses are brushing. “For real.”

The third time you kiss is slow, almost careful; there’s lingering worry in the line of his mouth that your lips try to ease until his slightly part under the movements of yours. You feel the tension leave his form in waves — first in his shoulders, then in his arms, until you’re able to press yourself closer and feel the slight give of his frame against your smaller one. He’s radiating an immense amount of body heat that’s pricking your skin and keeping you alert, and you’re hyperaware of the smallest things — the weak tremble in his mouth, the slight roughness of his teeth under your tongue, the ridges of his palate above it.

He tastes nothing like what he smells, you learn. Instead of the air of earthy coffee stuck to clean linen, you inhale a combination of spearmint and mild saltiness that’s made slightly sharper by the lingering splash of alcohol from his accidental sip of punch earlier. You decide then and there that this disparity is important to you; it makes you feel like you’re the only one who can have this experience — that everyone else can know his scent, but now, only you can know what Mark Lee tastes like.

You have to keep your wits about you to avoid this addictive stimulation of your senses; you let go of his hand only to lock your fingers around his neck, and there’s a show of trust in how he lets you lead him backwards, until his knees are hitting the edge of the unmade bed. The kiss breaks as he’s forced to settle on the mattress, and he looks up at you in what can only be described as a quiet kind of awe. He doesn’t complain when you place your hands, heavy, on his shoulders, using his sturdy form to keep you stable as you move to straddle his lap.

“I feel like,” his voice is hoarse as he speaks up. “We should have picked a different location. Someone… could walk in.”

“I locked the door,” you remind him, a light reassurance in your voice. He doesn’t say anything immediately, but it’s clear there are cogs turning in his head, and you think it’s unfair that he’s thinking way too hard about something else that isn’t you, right now, in this position. In a bid to rectify this, your face presses into the side of his neck, breathing in that familiar scent and leaving a light kiss on his skin right after. Your lips mark the moment he swallows hard at the contact. “Besides, would you really be that unhappy if someone did?”

His hands tighten against your waist, prompting you to leave another kiss against his collarbone. “What — what do you mean?”

“You wouldn’t like it if someone — say, Youngho — walked in to see me on your lap like this?”

The silence that follows your words is tense, and you can tell that Mark’s breathing has become shallower. Again, you can feel his throat constricting slightly, and you can’t help but laugh breathily as you nip at his skin, just under his Adam’s apple. He’s surprisingly easy to tease, you realize — quick to turn speechless and prone to hanging onto your words.

To say that you wouldn’t want to use that to your advantage would be a downright lie.

“Tell me,” you urge, your tone deceptively gentle. “You wouldn’t want him to see you kissing me like this? To see me wrapped around you, begging for more, saying your name over and over? You don’t want him to watch you take me — so he knows you’re the only one that can?”

A strangled groan punctuates your words, but it comes from him; his fingers dig hard into your side with barely constructed restraint. “What do you want from me, _________?”

“I want to know if kissing me was the only thing you wanted for months.”

You pull your head away, nudging his chin with the tip of your nose. Another groan escapes him, and his head tilts back slightly, almost like he’s praying. But when his gaze comes down to meet yours at your level again, you see a firm resolution in his eyes that stirs your heart — which takes off the moment he shakes his head, slowly but surely.

“Then,” you whisper. “What do you want from me?”

He doesn’t say so much as shows; he takes from you your breath, steals another kiss that’s now firmer and more openly demanding. Suddenly, his mouth can’t seem to stay still, trapping your lower lip in between his, drawing out your taste until it mixes with his against his teeth. You feel your head growing light again, and you’re pleasantly surprised that it’s suddenly become difficult to keep up with his lips, asking more from you without restraint. A hum of need sounds in the back of his throat, vaguely dissatisfied, and he’s telling you wordlessly that it isn’t enough right before he attaches his lips to the base of your neck, just above your collar. You think he’s just about to return the favor, but a laugh leaves you when you realize he’s taken it a step further, his teeth grazing your skin lightly, soft nips signaling how eager he is to sink his teeth in with only his slowly weakening self-control stopping him from doing it. Mark’s breathing is slightly labored when he pulls his lips away, warm breath fanning over your chest.

“It’s crazy — and stupid,” he croaks out, voice slightly raspy. “But I want it, and I don’t.”

“What do you mean?” Your fingers drag into his hair, combing it upward messily from his nape. He leans in for a quick kiss that’s somewhat misplaced, landing on the corner of your mouth instead of squarely atop it.

“I want them — him to see us. To see me with you, kissing you — fucking you, too. I want everyone to know we’re like this.”

You’ve never heard Mark say anything so forwardly before; a sweet, warm flush builds in your face, pleased at how comfortably he manages to say it — pleased that he’s saying it to you. “Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t want him to see you.” There’s a bluntness to his words, but hiding behind them is an undertone of pleading — a serious request. “I don’t want him to see how pretty you look. I don’t want him to see you when you’re bare, or how you look when I’m inside you. I don’t want him to see—”

His voice wavers and dies, and you wonder if he’s embarrassed, but when you read his expression, you see an unyielding longing. A smile tugs at your lips, and your hand comes around to cup his chin, thumb extending upwards to drag his lower lip down.

“You don’t want him to see what’s only yours.”

He swallows hard again, but he doesn’t wait long to nod. Understanding passes between the both of you, silently but completely, and Mark presses his face to your throat, feeling the hum resonate as he places another long, firm kiss there.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, in a way that almost feels like he wants to convince himself of something impossible to believe. He doesn’t even wait for your affirmation, prefers to read it in the way you shiver lightly once his lips travel further down. His kisses trail past the collar of your shirt, and his hands are unabashed in how they seek skin, pushing the fabric upward so he can settle the palms of his hands, warm against your waist. Oddly, they don’t travel upwards; they only brush against the dip, down slightly over the upward rise of your hips, then upwards again, almost soothingly. It’s almost like he wants his mouth to meet them, but he stops halfway, sidetracked by the curve of your breasts.

He barely pulls away, only does for a moment, enough to meet your eyes.

“You’re only mine,” he repeats, his voice softer now. You realize he’s still waiting for some confirmation, and when you do, you’re quick to give it to him — quick to erase any doubt.

“I’m yours,” you affirm in the same tone, in the same careful volume. “Only yours, Mark.”

Whatever else he wanted to ask for, he knows you’ve given assent; that much is clear when he buries his face between your tits, inhaling your scent. You briefly wonder if he might feel just as intoxicated around you as you do around him, if your pleasant dizziness in being this close to him, in tasting and smelling him is something he experiences too, but you don’t get much time to dwell on it the moment you feel his lips part, a slight wetness seeping through the fabric. He’s kissing your chest, teeth grazing just above the cup of your bra, nipping without any real objective other than to feel the pad’s slight resistance to his mouth.

You almost miss what he says as he shifts his head, lips brushing over the curve of your breast — another breathless ‘mine’ that isn’t ever punctuated; his lips still stay parted, mouthing at the cloth, like he’s desperate to feel what’s underneath through it. There’s pressure where his tongue presses flush against the shape of your tit, tightness whenever he chooses to nip, attempting to take the flesh and all that’s between you and him between his teeth.

Not enough, you think, even when a whimper of need bubbles out of you; you want to be closer, your thighs pressing against the sides of his. You’re close in almost every way, but you still inch yourself further forward, enough to feel the taut hardness in his jeans. Your hips settle right there, letting fabric ride against fabric as you center yourself.

No sooner do you press yourself flush against him do you gasp; the light sting sends a jolt up your spine when his teeth close around your nipple through your bra, and when you look down at him, you see the corners of his mouth pulled up in evident satisfaction. He’s quick to atone, his tongue dragging your shirt slightly upwards in his attempt to soothe, and for some reason, the push of fabric and the barely-there feeling of motion leaves you tingling.

“Mark.” Your voice comes out in a whine, but in the haze you’re in, you don’t really have a clear idea of what you’re asking for. All you know is that you want more of him, and for as much as he’s already given you in kisses and words, you aren’t even halfway down the list of everything else you wish you could demand from him. You say the only thing that comes to mind — the only thing that really encompasses what you feel. “Mark, I want you. I want more of you.”

His hands on your waist are replaced by the significant tightness of his arms, locked around your torso; you don’t even have the time to take in your awe at the fact that he can easily carry you, turn you over until you’re on your back, until he’s already eased one knee between your legs.

The way he looks down at you is a mixture of hesitation and desire, but the former’s erased when you reach out for him, murmuring another ‘more’ so you can pull him in. With one palm pressed against the mattress, he lets his free hand graze against your side again, bolder in its movements, and his fingers trace a path up to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh through layers. Your back arches upwards in response, eager for more contact, for touch that’s almost there but not quite, and he smiles when you make a noise of frustration from his fingers tweaking the soft nub of your nipple.

“Mark, please—”

“Would you really let him see you like this?” His thumb’s still idly grazing over your breast, following the rise and fall of its curve. You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice level despite the growing want that threatens to break through it. “Would you really let him watch you… get fucked?”

You shake your head, and his brow furrows.

“I’d let him watch you fuck me,” you correct him, and the confusion in his face gives way to pure satisfaction the moment you make this nuance clear. “It has to be only you.”

His grip tightens briefly against your breast again, and he leans down, pressing a surprisingly chaste and brief kiss to your lips.

“Then I’ll unlock the door next time and give him a show.”

You don’t know if it’s what he says or what he does after — his hands bunching your shirt upward until the hem’s just below your neckline — that makes your breath hitch, but you decide it doesn’t matter when you realize you’d much rather be focusing on the journey his lips take, slick against your stomach as he presses languid kisses down to your navel. His fingers hook into the waistband of your jeans, the weight naturally pulling them down, and you see his muscles tighten for a moment as he stops himself from tugging them off completely.

Mark’s mouth is unparalleled in its attentiveness, seemingly intent on making sure he’s covered every inch of your stomach in warm kisses, but you only realize he’s somehow stalling when he starts the cycle again, his nails digging into the taut elastic of your jeans as though to remind himself to curb his desire.

You take the initiative instead, raising your hips slightly to signal your want, acutely aware of the fact that you brush lightly against his thigh when you do so. His eyes lift first, followed by the rest of his face, and he’s watching you quietly. You might have thought he was unsure of what to do all of a sudden again, but his knee pressing closer, an unmistakable pressure against you, is enough to tell you that he’s only curious to know what else you’ll do.

The second time you grind against his thigh, his hands catch your hips, keeping them aloft just long enough for him to tug the band of your jeans downward; he peels them off you with surprising ease, returning to the same position between your legs, hands still firm on your waist. With that done, he only has the thin garter of your panties left to curl his fingers into, bunching it into his fists when you roll your hips up one more time. You manage a shaky noise when you feel the stark difference — the roughness of the denim against you, the stick and drag of flimsy cloth. Mark lets out a low but unmistakable hiss.

“I can’t believe—” his idea is cut short by the movement of your hips again, and his grip tightens, knuckles pressing into your skin. “Can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“What am I supposed to do,” you breathe out, the sound momentarily getting stuck in your throat. “So that you know it’s real?”

His fingers relax their hold, palms now pressed against your thighs; they travel between your hips and your knees, a soothing and thoughtful motion. “God — I don’t know. I just want — I just want you so badly. Like… I’m going to go crazy if I don’t have you now.”

You lean up, your weight resting on your elbow, and your other hand reaches out; Mark meets you halfway, bending just a little lower to press his cheek against your palm. There’s something intimate, something so giving about the way he turns his face to your fingers, pressing a fluttering kiss just under your thumb. The tips of your fingers trace the shape of his lips, even when they pucker again under your digits.

“Take me,” you murmur quietly. “Right now — from now on, every part of me is all for you.”

His exhale is shaky, but his fingers have a sureness to them; they slip under your thighs, cradling the backs of your knees, and lifting until they’re folded over your chest. You don’t even have the time to wonder if you should feel exposed all of a sudden; his breath warms the inside of your thigh as he presses his lips there — not a kiss, just a touch as he speaks.

“I want to taste you,” he mumbles, partly distracted with the act of inhaling the mild scent off of your skin. “Every inch of you — I want to know just how sweet you are.”

He lets his hold on your thighs relax, letting them fall apart; he busies his hands with your panties instead, hooking a finger into the strip of cloth just covering you. It’s clear you’re both aware that the fabric sticks light to your skin, poorly masking your wetness, and interest mingled with hunger flashes across his face as he pulls it aside.

“You’re so pretty,” he says, sounding like it’s a comment more for himself than anything else. His gaze flickers to you for a moment before it moves back to your pussy. “The prettiest fucking girl in the world.”

The pressure of his thumb between your folds causes you to forget what you wanted to say, and you know Mark had been nervous, but you realize that it doesn’t mean he’s supremely inexperienced by any means; there’s a quiet, understated confidence in the way he rubs slow, thorough circles, moving upward towards your clit. Your face, your neck, your whole torso feels flushed, but you power through the instinct to tilt your head back so that you can keep watching him — the minute changes in his expression, the slowly building strength in his touch.

“I want to taste you,” he repeats, looking up at you. “I want to know what you taste like when you cum against my mouth.”

You’re not sure if you’re gawking because you can hardly believe Mark Lee — your eternally blushing, mild mannered campus crush — had said all those words strung together into such a lewd sentence, but you’re sure as hell not going to deny him. Your hand travels down your torso, and he watches, curious at first, then awestruck when your index and forefinger settle against either side of your folds, pulling them apart in offering.

His eyes end up transfixed on your pussy again, observing how your fingers ease your folds further apart the more he massages his thumb against your slit. His mouth is slightly agape, intent on drinking in the sight, unaware that you’re trying to memorize this view of him too — Mark Lee, touching you, wanting you, eager to take you fully.

“I’ve always wanted to see what it’d look like with your face between my legs,” you say in a hushed tone, but he catches it anyway, briefly looking up at you again. “I’ve always wanted to know what your tongue would feel like against my pussy.”

Your index finger bumps against the tip of his thumb, and he stops its motions, allowing you to move his digit down until the pad of it hovers just in front of your tiny hole. You can see one cheek tucked between his teeth, bitten to muffle the groan you wish you’d heard louder.

“Won’t you show me?”

You think you hear him rasp out a ‘fuck yes’ before he bends down, pressing his half-open mouth against your pussy. The squeal of delight that leaves you is half-strangled as his thumb curls, hooking into your entrance. It starts a shallow, distracted motion, with his attention funneled much more clearly into keeping his tongue working. Flush against your slit, it drags up, and he releases a guttural noise at your taste, lips pursing slightly on the way back down — like he can’t stand not trapping every drop of wetness with his mouth.

The intensity of his tongue, the idle thrusting of his thumb — you’re not sure what you want to focus on more, and the result is you whimpering incoherently at the starkly contrasting combination of the two. Mark moves his mouth like he’s never tasted anything as good in his life; the sounds between your thighs are wet, sloppy — almost embarrassingly so — but you don’t have the presence of mind to dwell on that because Mark Lee is eating you out and that’s really all that you can think of.

The tip of his tongue suddenly flicks upwards; you keen, long and low, when it starts to circle your clit in that same intense, circular movement his thumb had gotten you used to. Your sensitivity skyrockets, and you’re completely unable to control the upward bucking of your hips, but Mark stays supremely unperturbed, his free arm winding under your thigh to keep the both of you steady. Your noises are growing embarrassingly loud, and you realize just how needy you’ve become when you vaguely notice that there’s a pattern in what you’re saying — his name, over and over again.

“Did you do that too?” He asks softly, his words slightly muffled against you. “Say my name, I mean — when you thought of me.”

“God, yes.” Your voice comes out strained, teetering on the edge of slurring. “So many times — every single fucking time.”

“Promise me something.” He lifts his head, and you see a fieriness in his gaze.

You nod — at this rate, whatever he’d ask you to do, you would without question. “Anything.”

His thumb presses in deeper, up to his knuckle and you reflexively tighten around his digit, but he keeps it anchored there, pushing down against your walls. He drinks in your gasp, the widening of your eyes, the way you chew on your lip with a singular kind of contentment on his face.

“Promise me — from now on, you’ll make sure I’m always there to hear it.”

The only kind of assent you’re able to make is a moan as he dives down again, mouth buried in your warmth, his nose pressed tight against your clit. His tongue moves in strong strokes, broad swipes that push your folds apart further, and his thumb, while not moving, increases in pressure to the point that you feel a heaviness adding to the growing pleasure. Your hands fly down, seeking some kind of sense and reason, and you thread your fingers into his hair, grip tightening as your climax builds in stride.

“Mark, I’m—” close, you want to say, embarrassingly so, but the moment he hears his name, his lips attach to your clit, and there’s suddenly so much more pressure as he sucks, almost like he’s desperate to draw out your orgasm. He chooses this of all time to start moving his thumb again, and this time, his movements are anything but slow and idle; they’re filled with the intent to drive you over the edge. “Fuck me, oh my god—”

“I want to,” he murmurs, pausing for just a moment to drag the tip of his tongue around the nub. “God, I want to. Let me see you cum first; let me taste how sweet you are.”

His thumb stops, buries deep into your pussy, and you’re not sure why this, of all things, is what pushes you beyond control; you’re only half-sure you say his name when your orgasm hits, the rest of your consciousness much too clouded by pleasure. He doesn’t stop, revels in the way you squirm under him as he hums low and keeps his tongue working against your clit. His licks become longer, more thorough as you come down from your high, your cries softening into whimpers as his tongue both attempts to clean you up and makes you messier in the process. His arm is still curled around your thigh, keeping you from inching away from him, even if instinct and stimulation are telling you to.

You’re barely lucid when you sit up, and Mark inches back, somewhat startled; you grab the front of his shirt, and the sight of his mouth, slick and glistening from your wetness, only makes you more curious to know what you taste like on him. You find out how tangy it is, how rich the two of you are together on his lips, and you’re able to fully appreciate the skill of the mouth that kisses you deeply, leaving traces of you against your tongue and teeth.

“Please — fuck me.” It’s the only thing you can say at this rate, only half-coherent and still trembling with desire, but Mark doesn’t seem to care that you’re stuttering over such a simple request. His thumb wipes traces of saliva off the corner of your mouth, kisses it clean for good measure, then straightens up, his hands working at his belt. You almost miss the fact that his hands are shaking slightly as he undoes the buckle and tugs it out from the loops.

You want to help — it’s the least you can do, after all, and your fingers push the button of his jeans out through the hole, his hands working in tandem to tug the zipper down. However, your movements falter when you hear a noise from just outside the room — the sound of the doorknob being jangled, the thud of a body gently hitting the door, as though worried it’s stuck. You glance up at Mark, ready to reassure him, but he either hadn’t heard or doesn’t care because he’s too busy stepping out from the pool of denim at his ankles, and you get completely sidetracked by the bulge straining against his boxers.

You almost ignore Youngho’s voice grumbling ‘Jesus Christ, now of all times? from behind the door, but you leverage it instead.

“Should we let him in?” You ask, tone innocent despite the evident deviousness in your words. It pays off, though; Mark’s cock twitches unmistakably under thin fabric, and he actually looks like he’s considering it. “You’re just about to fuck me, after all. Weren’t we going to — what did you say? Put on a show?”

He worries on his bottom lip, like he’s unsure if you’re serious, but in the end, he shakes his head, reaching out to smooth your hair away from your face and ushering you to lay back down. The lips that meet your forehead are gentle, almost apologetic.

“Not now,” he murmurs against your skin. “Right now, you’re all mine.”

You laugh lightly, nodding, and he chuckles too, but the sound of it slowly dies down when your finger hooks into the garter of his boxers. You can feel his breathing hitch as you tug it down, the elastic catching when it meets the shape of his cock, but you don’t make any move to free it just yet — for some reason, you want to see him do it.

“Show me.”

He complies without hesitation, one hand dragging the elastic down over his thighs, the other curling around the base of his length, and your face flushes as satisfaction works through your system at the bare sight of him.

Mark Lee is big — not monstrously so, but enough for you to make a pleased noise as your hand joins his, fingers barely wrapping around his girth. You give his shaft a gentle squeeze, and his exhale stutters, watching you stroke him, long and thorough in your movements. Your palm swipes over the tip, leaking precum, allowing it to slick up your hand enough to keep your movements smooth. You’re fixated on the tension in his lips, the throb of his cock against your palm, and the way his gaze never leaves your face, like a small, amazed part of him still can’t believe what you’re doing, even if you’re both half-naked already.

“I want to suck you off,” you plead, grip tightening slightly. He grits his teeth, stifling another groan, but he shakes his head clearly enough for you to slow your movements in mild surprise.

“Can’t — not now. I need to be in you so badly.” His breathing’s sharp and heavy, like he’s trying to keep himself in check. “You don’t even know — how long I’ve wanted to feel you.”

Your hold relaxes, and you let him maneuver you, his renewed hold on your hips dragging you closer to the edge of the bed. In this position, he can spread your thighs further, and you angle yourself optimally — enough for him to get a full view of your pussy, wet and still aching from your last orgasm.

“You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to know how tight you are,” he continues, and there’s a faraway look in his eyes that makes you think he might be entrenched in fantasy. “How much I would have killed to see you — have you like this. I’m not gonna be able to wait anymore.”

His fingers dig into your sides, thumbs stroking your stomach in a weak pattern. The underside of his shaft presses against your folds, still half obscured by your panties, in a way that’s heavy enough to make you mewl, your hips reacting before your mind can, and he hisses softly as he feels his length glide along your slit before you relax your stance again.

“I can’t wait,” he reiterates, a breaking in his voice that sounds almost tortured. You don’t want him to either, want to see him buried to the hilt inside you, and you raise your hips again in need. “I want you so much it’s driving me crazy.”

“Then take me.”

And you’re not sure if it’s a demand or a plea, but he no longer stops himself; his hand fists his cock a few times, coating the slick of precum along his length before he lines the tip up with your entrance. His other hand’s flush against the inside of your thigh, a light pressure ensuring he always has enough space to fit himself between your legs — enough space to bottom out completely.

Mark’s considerate in his pace — maybe he knows he’s big, or maybe he’s just naturally careful, but he allows you the time to adjust to the stretch. Your nails almost puncture holes into the sheets, your grip so tight you wonder if it’s just to brace yourself or to hang onto the last threads of your sanity. He’s only halfway in, but you’re pushing fullness already, and he stops when his cock meets slight resistance, looking up at you in concern.

“You’re not—?”

“It doesn’t hurt,” you reassure him softly, and it’s true; the adjustment brings about slight discomfort, but it’s almost nothing to you — not compared to how much more you want. “Give me everything; I want all of you inside me.”

He pauses still, trying to read your expression for any lies, but when he can’t find any, he nods, his jaw tensing as he presses both palms against your thighs, keeping you open as much as possible to accommodate him. He doesn’t even stop when you whimper, feeling a tightening twitch in your pussy that also causes him to groan, until inch by inch, you’ve taken him, his hips flush against yours.

He doesn’t move — not yet, his eyes trained to where you’re connected like he’s once again unable to believe what he’s doing. You hear him mumble something to himself that you want to hear too; you squirm slightly, and he hisses through his teeth, looking up at you and finding the questioning in your face. He offers you a small smile, albeit somewhat strained.

“You’re tighter than I thought.”

“You’re bigger than I thought,” you hum, and neither of you is really to blame; the tight fit, the slight breathlessness it leaves you with, is perfect, you think — just what the both of you need. “Did you often think about fucking me?”

“Probably just as often as you’re making it sound like you thought about having me fuck you, I think.”

“Don’t get cocky,” you warn, but there’s no real heat in your voice.

“I won’t. But it makes me feel good — knowing you wanted me just as bad.”

“I still do.” Your gaze is lazy, a little hazy, even if you’re anticipating so much. Even just the feeling of Mark, throbbing inside you, is already slowly building the pleasure in your stomach again; you wonder if you could cum like this, given enough time, given enough patience. “I’m still waiting for you to fuck me. God, Mark— please.”

He chuckles good-naturedly, but even that’s drowned out by the long moan that leaves you once he draws his hips back; your body’s mildly shocked into a new adjustment, feeling a sudden emptiness that’s quickly mitigated by him filling you back up again. The pace is slow, almost torturous, although you know he isn’t doing it to get a rise out of you. He wants to ease you into speed, careful to help you adjust fully; his restraint in his movements is all the more evident on his face, in the furrowing of his brow and the determination in his gaze. Even with that, he can’t help what he says, so intent on controlling everything else he does that he lets his words spill out over your noises.

“Pretty,” he grunts out, and when your walls twitch around him, he accidentally thrusts sharper — just enough for you to whimper a little more loudly, and he has to reel his strength back again. “God, you’re beautiful. I should’ve told you sooner how much I wanted you. All those times I had to imagine you wrapped around me like this, wondering how much tighter you’d get once you came on my cock. All those times you drove me crazy while I was alone, when I could have been in you— I could have found out how good you felt. How pretty you’d look under me. And you’re still even prettier, even better than I ever dreamed.”

There’s an erratic melody of moans under his words, spilling from your mouth, and the fact that he riles himself up enough to increase his speed slightly doesn’t escape you. He’s a little less careful now, seemingly entranced by the view he gets, watching his shaft disappear into you only to come out glistening, and a part of you hates the idea of snapping out of his reverie, but the majority of your thoughts now lean towards wondering how much more you can get him to break free of his own self-imposed restrictions.

“I wanted to ask you so many times.” His eyes snap up, coming back into focus as he takes in the sight of you, flushed, hair tousled, gaze darkened. “Almost every day — I sat there, thinking about how all I could do was go home and fuck myself, frustrated you weren’t doing it for me. I should have taken you home with me right then and there — should have let you watch me touch myself thinking of you, should have let you touch me into cumming on your fingers.”

His breathing staggers as he leans in, eager to see you clearer, to hear your words, slowly becoming airier as they come out. For a moment, his gaze falls, torn between watching him move into you and meeting your eyes, but he ultimately chooses the latter once you speak up again, your tone even more hushed than before — like it’s meant to be a secret between just you and him.

“But there were times I wanted you even more than that, to the point that I almost felt like I couldn’t wait.” His eyes widen slightly, a few precious seconds of wondering if he understands what you mean, right before you confirm what he thinks. “I thought about making a move right then — I should have kissed you. I should have asked you.”

“Asked me what?” His voice is gruff with the effort to keep himself in check despite the fact that it’s clear to the both of you that it won’t last.

Your lazy smile’s illusionary; it hides the triumph swelling in your chest at knowing that he asked exactly what you hoped him to.

“I should have asked you to fuck me in front of everyone there.”

“God,” his eyes squeeze shut, his grip tightening. “Please. I can’t—”

“I should have bent over for you there, begged you to stretch me out right after our session,” you continue, bordering on merciless. “Mark, you don’t know — how badly I wanted to be on your lap, your cock in me, with everyone watching. How much I wanted you to fold me over that table, have people watch you pound me, have them listen to how good you make me feel. No one would ever even wonder; everyone would know I’m yours.”

You pause, allowing his eyes to fly open once again, and there’s a pleading in them that’s begging for release. Your eyes soften along with your voice, but you’re this far gone; you should at least see it through.

“And everyone would know you’re mine too.”

“Fuck,” he growls, and his hips stutter before new resolve fills him, his hips driving into you with the force of a strength you didn’t even know he had in him; your thighs tremble at the intensity, at the renewed impact, and feeling him drive his cock deeper into you has you crying out somewhere between a moan and a sob. “Fuck, _________. If I had known you’d thought about me like that — God.”

It’s your turn to shut your eyes for a while, allowing yourself to focus on his movements, breaching your tightness even faster now. You feel his hands skim up your sides again, fingers digging into the fabric of your bra and pulling them down until your bare tits are cupped in his hands. You shiver as his thumbs pass over your nipples, toying them into firm nubs.

“One day,” he hums out, his voice giving way to a slight hoarseness again. “I’ll do it. I’ll fuck you in front of him — in front of Youngho, in front of everyone. I’ll let them wonder how tight you are, how fucking warm you are, and I’ll let them leave knowing no one can know but me.”

It’ll never happen, you both know, but something about agreeing to something so absurd is what has your body almost shaking in longing, and it’s what causes him to press in deeper, folding your legs closer to your torso. Your hands do what little they can to help, keeping your thighs apart so as not to obstruct his view. You can tell it’s somehow not enough, not really all of what he wants when his brow furrows, and he shifts his weight, pushing into you at a new angle.

The stark difference has you gasping before you can control it. Immediately, Mark stops, and you’re already shaking your head before you even hear him say anything, presuming he’s paused out of concern. But before you can say you’re fine, his hushed voice cuts through the silence.

“Do that again.”

“What?”

“Do it again,” he mumbles, sounding distant. “Breathe in. Suck in your stomach.”

You’re not one to complain at such a simple request, albeit a little odd, so you comply, inhaling enough to tighten your torso. You’re surprised when you feel his cock twitch inside you, and you blow out the air alongside your question. “Mark, what are you—”

“I can see it,” he says in utter disbelief. “When you’re like this, I can — I can see my cock inside you. Just a bit.”

Your eyes follow his gaze, fixed just below your navel. From this angle, without any movement, you can’t see a thing, but you assume he’s not one to abandon fucking you so intently without good reason, so you press your palm against your stomach, just above your pelvis. Nothing really feels significantly out of place — up until the point when Mark draws his hips back again, and you feel the backward slide of his cock.

Your throat tightens, and you don’t really understand the feeling that spreads in you — a unique kind of arousal, knowing how deep he is inside you and how you’re taking all of him in despite the fit, because of the fit. Your hand falls away, allowing Mark’s to take its place, and he exerts just a little more pressure against your stomach in an attempt to get the most out of the experience when he thrusts back in. He groans, feeling the bulge push back up, and he quickly picks up the same pace, renewed in intensity so he can experience the rapid rise and fall he creates under his palm.

The faster he goes, the harder he presses, and you’re not sure if he knows it, but the onslaught of friction is what’s making you whine and squirm even more; you’re trapped, in the best way possible, in his hold, your hands back to clinging to the backs of your knees like a lifeline. Pressure from the outside builds on the slowly growing pressure inside, a knot in your pelvis that’s coiling so tightly you feel like you can’t breathe. If Mark notices how close you are, he doesn’t make it known; he’s busy feeling the outline of his cock against your stomach, and when he looks up at you again, his eyes are hazy.

“I would fuck you every single day, every single hour if I could feel this every time,” he whispers in a way that’s almost reverent. “Let me — I want to keep seeing you like this. I want to feel how deep I am inside you, too. Let me fuck you all the time.”

You nod, and your first attempt to say something is just another choked sob. When you do manage to get something out, it’s broken in tearful stutters. “M-Mark, I’m s— I’m so close… I’m — fuck—”

“Do it.” It’s not a harsh command but an urging made on short breath; through your misty vision, you see tension in Mark’s face and shoulders, like he’s bracing himself for something too. You barely register the ping in the back of your mind, too focused on the way he’s pressing his palm harder on your stomach, the way his hips quicken their pace — he’s close too. “Let me feel you — want to feel you cum all over my cock.”

You inhale, not to speak but to let out a loud whimper; your teeth dig into your lower lip as you try to stifle the moans that threaten to follow, but in the end, you whine out his name. Your thighs threaten to close, trembling as you finally reach your climax, an impossible explosion of pleasure, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut so that you don’t get dizzy from the stars that burst around your vision.

“Fuck.” Mark’s voice is strained, his one hand still firm against your stomach, the other sliding against the inside of your thigh. “You get even tighter — you feel even better when you cum.”

“Mark,” you hiccup, unable to do anything but flutter around him as he pistons harder into you. You don’t even know what you’re asking for when you say ‘please,’ but he somehow seems to, and you trust that your body’s saying something you can’t fully detect in this state, with your mind floating in the aftermath of ecstasy.

“I know,” his tone is soothing in contrast to the intensity of his thrusts. “I’ve got you. Just a little more — where do you want—?”

You blink slowly, his words sinking in at too leisurely a pace; his hips stutter dangerously before you’re able to respond. You barely even do that, your hand gently brushing over the one against your stomach, but he catches onto the meaning quickly enough.

You’ve never heard your name said in such a beautiful way; hearing him moaning it lowly is enough to make you whine again, and that noise is drawn out when he shifts and slips out of you fully. Your brain’s fuzzy, but your senses are at least sharp enough to drink in the perfect sight of him cumming — the way he leans his head back, jaw taut and eyes shut, as he pumps his cock and the heat of his release against your skin, pooling against your stomach once he finally cums. You see a shiver run through him, and then he’s still for a while in this position, the both of you basking in the afterglow of your highs.

You’re still weak and sensitive when Mark finally comes back down, a lucidity you don’t have right now coming back into his gaze. All you can do is smile when he leans in, catching your lips in another kiss — one that’s surprisingly soft and slow in comparison to everything else, but still leaves you breathless when he pulls away.

“Let me clean you up,” he murmurs, and you hum in agreement, your body limp as you watch him move off the bed and pull a handful of tissues from a box on the desk on the opposite wall. Even his hands are gentle when he scoops you up, shifting you until your head can lean against the pillows. They carry a scent you’re not used to, and your nose scrunches, rejecting the change, but that’s quickly overpowered by Mark’s familiar coffee-and-linen one when he presses next to you, careful as he wipes his cum off your stomach and thoroughly cleans between your thighs. From somewhere down below, you still hear hushed voices, and the front door slams shut again. People are still in the middle of leaving, but you know Youngho will likely run out of guests soon, and this makes you feel like the timing’s suddenly become urgent.

“I want to date you properly,” you start, slightly slurred but unmistakably blunt. Mark’s gaze snaps to yours, slightly amused, as he balls the tissues up in his fist. “You never asked me, so I’m asking you.”

He looks perplexed. “I just never thought you wanted me to, so I didn’t try.”

You reach up, locking your fingers into his hair and using your grip to pull him down. Your kiss is a little demanding, with a tinge of excess frustration, and he pulls away laughing lightly.

“Do you still think I don’t want you to?”

Mark hums thoughtfully. “I think you made a lot of things clear tonight. On my end, I was happy enough to be near you.” He smiles down at you, and in the faint light, you can see the flush slowly return to his cheeks. “Having you like this — dating you… there’s no way I’d say no.”

Your shoulders relax, satisfied with his answer, and you beam up at him — an act he easily returns, breathtaking and endearing all at once.

Moments later, you feel his arm wind around your waist; he allows you to lean into his side, his other hand crossing over his lap to stroke your thigh. His face turns, pressing a kiss to your hair, and you feel his lips move, hear the quick rush of a whisper. You tilt your head, eyes slightly wide in questioning. “What was that?”

He shakes his head at first, trying to pass it off as nothing. But when it’s clear your curiosity won’t abate, he chuckles softly, his hand gently cupping your chin so that you can only look at him. His thumb strokes your bottom lip gently, as if trying to coax the same words out of your mouth before he murmurs them to you one more time — and this time, he sounds fully convinced of them.

“You’re all mine.”

[cevansbrat0007]

Forget-Me-Not

Summary: Ari forgets to do something important before leaving out the door...

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Fluff, Implied Smut, Kisses, Chocolate Covered Strawberries, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Part of my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

You’re currently standing at the stove, slowly stirring a pot of freshly melted chocolate. For some reason, you’d awoken this morning with a craving for chocolate dipped strawberries. So, instead of paying an arm and a leg to buy them from some fancy shop, you’d simply decided to make your own. 

Humming under your breath, you’re surprised when you hear your front door open and shut. A quick glance at the clock suggests that it’s much too early for Ari to home for good just yet. More likely he’d probably forgotten something. 

Turning off the heat, you move to pour it into a bowl. Next up was your favorite part – turning your favorite fruit into a delicious confection. You run your finger along the spoon, wincing as the still-too-hot treat burns your skin.

But you don’t care. Not when it tastes so good. So good, that you can’t help the satisfied moan that escapes your throat. 

“Is it really that good, sweetheart?” 

“Mm.” You purr before helping yourself to another taste, this time using your tongue now that things have cooled a little more. “It really is.” 

Grinning, you take a moment to get a good look at your man. He’d been a man on a mission this morning, rushing out the door before you were barely awake and alert. And while you weren’t quite sure what business it was that had him moving so quickly, you were pretty certain that he’d tell you at dinner.

“You in the mood to share?” Ari rasps as he leans against the wall, looking exceptionally sexy in his dark blue Levi’s and black henley. You find yourself slightly disappointed that he’s not rocking one of his signature flannels. 

Mostly because you liked to steal them. But to be fair, your sweet Beast also never seemed to complain when he caught you wearing one. He mostly just sighed and grumbled about his diminishing wardrobe. 

Which was fine by you, considering the fact that he was the sole reason your entire panty drawer had been reduced to next to nothing. Those flannels were owed to you by right! 

“Just what are you doin’ back so early?” You ask, holding the spoon out to him. “I didn’t expect to see you until dinner.”

“Forgot to do somethin’.” He rasps as he moves towards you, his long, powerful legs bridging the distance between your bodies in mere seconds. “Somethin’ important.”

“Oh?” Guess you were right. The man had been moving so fast this morning that he’d likely left behind an important file or notepad. “I don’t recall seeing anything on the table, but–”

“That ain’t what I forgot, little Bird.”

Now he’s standing in front of you, his work boots almost brushing your bare toes. You’re caught off guard when Ari moves to tenderly cup his cheek, his roughened palm warming your delicate skin. 

“What…what did you forget?” Confused, you move to offer him the spoon in your hand, only to be surprised when he declines. You watch as his normally brilliant blue eyes darken as they stray to your waiting mouth. Your heart speeds up when his head descends, making his intentions all the more clear.

“Something much, much sweeter.”  

Squealing in surprise, you can’t help when your eyes flutter closed as his sinful lips capture your own. The kiss starts off soft and sweet, that is, until you feel Ari’s free hand make its way down your lower back so that he can grab a handful of your ass, pulling you closer to his big body.

You feel his tongue sweep against your bottom lip, encouraging you to open. To respond in the way you so desperately know he wants. Rising on your toes, you eagerly grant him access, wanting him to know that you were feeling just as hungry and wanting as he felt for you.

Feeling emboldened, Ari lifts you off your feet, prompting you to wrap your legs around his trim waist. Your fingers find their way into his hair, lightly tugging at his already tousled locks. Meanwhile both of his impatient hands busy themselves with kneading and squeezing your curves as he rocks his hips against yours, letting you feel the weight of his already impressive erection.

It makes you want him here. Now. So you can't help but feel disappointed when he slowly eases away, leaving you wet and needy.

“Fuck." He promises now that he's finally allows you up for air. "Promise I won’t forget to do that again.”

“Uh huh.” You breathe, your legs wobbling slightly the moment he releases his hold, lightly setting you down. It doesn’t help when he leans in once again to gently brush his lips against your temple. And his satisfied grin has you giggling as your head falls to rest against his broad chest. 

“Tell me what I interrupted here, baby.”

“I was making chocolate covered strawberries.” Nuzzling your nose against the fabric of his shirt, you continue. “I woke up with a taste for them, so…” You offer up a small shrug. “I decided to make some.”

“Well, that’s funny. On account of I woke up with a taste for you.” You feel his big palm come to rest on your head, stroking a path along your silky curls. “And these are about to make the proceedings even better.” 

You can’t help but feel a little dizzy when he pulls away. His teasing words were filling you with all kinds of spicy ideas.

“I’ve gotta run.” Ari tells you. “I only came back to rectify my mistake. But I want you to save some of these for tonight…” He glances down at your now cold bowl of chocolate. “Because I have plans to enjoy my little Bird for dessert before I even think about dinner.”

Reaching around you, he snags a ripe berry and lifts it to your mouth. His eyes never leave yours as he watches you bite down on the plump fruit, its juice lightly dripping down your chin. Groaning low in his throat, Ari leans in once more, lapping up the sweet trail with his tongue. 

“And Bird?” He calls as he turns to walk away, confidently striding towards the front door.

“Y-yeah?” Dear God, this man was going to be the death of you.

“No panties, alright? I don’t want anything between me and my strawberry delight.”

Fucking Beast.

END

Official Tag List

@katymae12344

@identity2212

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@blackhawkfanatic

@jamneuromain

@queerqueenlynn

@pono-pura-vida

@daykrisr999

@ninacutebee16

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@emerald-writes

@gh0stgurl

@blogbog710

@sincerelytlh

@patzammit

@curls-and-eyeliner

[aemondsbabe]

summary: your uncle catches you sneaking from the keep and decides you need to be punished, but finds a sweet surprise instead

pairing: daemon x niece!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, canon typical incest, infidelity but it's not really mentioned rhaenyra just exists lol, mentions of menstruation, reader is on her period, period kink on daemon's part, blood kink, blood, spanking, mild coercion, oral (f receiving), masturbation (m), slight corruption kink, good cop/bad cop daemon

word count: 4.4k

a/n: this fic is part of a collab with a bunch of my lovely moots! @lady-phasma came to us with an ask about period sex and daemon and, being as lovely as she is, she offered us all the chance to collab on it -- choosing our own characters & how to play the story!

🩸masterlist of everyone's fics here!

all board creds to the lovely @zaldritzosrose ♥��

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

❤️my masterlist

🦋find me on ao3!

🌟add yourself to my taglist!

“Uncle, please!” You plead again, though you know it’s useless; your voice carries in the empty corridors of the Keep, “I promise I won’t do it again! I swear it!” 

Daemon merely grunts in response, his grip on your shoulder tightening while he guides you along. You struggle to keep up with his long strides, his quick pace nearly knocking you over; your heart leaps into your throat when you’re finally tugged to a lurching stop.

“In you get,” he says gruffly, leaving you no room to argue as he ushers you into his study, “You and I have much to discuss, little niece.”

Huffing petulantly, you duck under his arm and slowly make your way into the small chamber. Truthfully, it was normally used as storage for the library but since Daemon and Rhaenyra and their sons had been back in King’s Landing, he had all but commandeered it for himself and had ordered that a writing desk be brought into the room. Glancing around at the various high bookshelves, you wince when he finally pulls the door closed. 

“Now,” he drawls, walking around to stand before you, arms crossed over his broad chest, “Do you want to explain to me exactly why I found you sneaking through the halls at this hour?” His violet eyes bore into yours, making you feel flush under his exacting stare. 

“I was merely going to the kitchens!” You murmur defensively, holding his gaze for only a second longer before glancing away, “I just… I was going to get more of the lemon cakes we had at dinner this evening! I know it’s naughty, but I –”

“No,” he cuts you off, voice low and firm as he narrows his eyes at you, no doubt seeing through your lies with ease. “You were being naughty, sweet niece, I dare say that bit is true,” he smirks, hooking a finger under your chin and forcing your eyes up toward his, “But we both know it wasn’t lemon cakes you were after.”

“I-It was!” You try once more, internally flinching at the way your voice cracks.

“This is a very fine dress for simple lemon cakes, then, isn’t it?” His brows raise knowingly while his other hand comes up to pluck at an embroidered sleeve. 

“Well… well it wouldn’t be proper to be out in my night –”

“So, it’s propriety you’re so concerned with now, is it?” He cuts you off again, smirking wildly as he’s hardly even having to work at cornering you, the sweet little thing that you are, “That’s quite funny, seeing as how it’s also very improper for a young lady, a young princess at that, to be out galavanting around King’s Landing all night…”

You balk at that, lips parting in surprise as your brows furrow. “I wasn’t!” You quickly breathe, voice sounding more like a mousey little squeak, “I would never, uncle! I merely… I o-only got dressed to go to –”

“Come now,” he says slowly, voice low but firm, “This isn’t even the same pretty dress you had on at dinner. If you’re going to lie, at least try and be good at it.”

You open your mouth instinctually, a defensive reply ready on your tongue, though you quickly think better of it and snap your lips shut once more, jaws clenched. Your eyes flit away from him and your heart hammers in your chest; you hate the way you can feel blood rushing to your cheeks as you swallow thickly, fighting against the tightness building at the back of your throat, the stinging behind your eyes. 

“Shh, there’s no need for all that,” he murmurs, swiping a thumb beneath your eye to quickly wipe away an errant tear; your breath catches in your throat at how quickly he can shift from intimidating to doting. 

“Please… please don’t tell my mother,” you whine, switching to bargaining instead, “If she finds out, I won’t be allowed out again until I’m married and Gods know when that might be…”

He chuckles at that, a playful smirk on his lips when he shakes his head. “I won’t tell on you, sweetling,” he all but croons, making you relax somewhat until you see a devious gleam in his eyes, “If you tell me what you were really up to. Because I know damn well it wasn’t lemon cakes.”

Your heart sinks again and you chew at your bottom lip for a moment, nervously wringing your hands. You cannot tell him the truth, you know that much but you hardly trust yourself to speak at all, fearing he’ll work it out of you one way or another.

Daemon’s impatient grumble makes you wince. “I was just… just going to a tavern! Honest!” You rush out, squeaking and stumbling over your words like a nervous mouse, “I merely wanted to go out on my own! Just once!”

He stays silent for a moment, eyes boring into yours and narrowing just slightly, before he sighs heavily and shakes his head. “What in the world were you thinking?” He murmurs, sounding exactly as he does when he scolds little Joffrey, “Do you have any idea what might’ve happened to you?”

“I would’ve been careful!”

“It’s not about what you would’ve done, naive little thing,” he snickers, making your cheeks flush, “Certainly you’re aware that nearly every man in that wretched city would give to –”

“I’m quite aware,” you interject, snapping in annoyance and shuddering at the thought of what he was insinuating. 

“Careful,” your uncle warned, gaze darkening and growing serious once more, “Don’t take that tone with me, I could very well march you right to your mother; you’ll be lucky to be made a septa if she catches wind of this.”

Your jaws clench and you have to fight the urge to scoff, to roll your eyes. “Well, I don’t appreciate you speaking to me like I’m some idiotic child!”

“Oh, aren’t you?” He huffs, taking a step closer to you, “Only an idiotic little fool would venture into King’s Landing in the dead of night to get up to Gods know what with Gods know who!” 

“I told you!” You bite back, trying to keep your voice steady, “We would’ve been –” 

The air feels as if it’s been sucked out of the room by the time you manage to shut yourself up, though it’s already much too late. Daemon’s head tilts to the side curiously, a sinister smirk on his lips once more, the second you squeeze your eyes shut and internally scold yourself for making such an error.

“We?” 

“Aegon,” you admit after a tense moment, knowing there’s hardly any use in drawing it out further.

“Ah, Aegon,” he drawls, chuckling to himself as he nods, “Letting big brother take you on a tour of the city then?”

“Something like that,” your voice is little more than a whisper while you nervously bite at your lip, keeping your eyes downcast.

“My, my,” you can practically feel the smugness radiating off of him as he circles you, arms behind his back, “An unplucked little flower, galavanting around the city, and with a married man, no less.”

Again, you clench your jaw as anger builds within you, grinding your teeth together while you will yourself to just stay quiet. You can’t help but remember a story Aegon had told you once, years before. At the time, you thought it was nothing more than a rumor, just old family gossip compounded by the murmurings of smallfolk. Now, though, just the mere chance that there may be even a sliver of truth to it makes your blood run hot. 

How dare he.

Daemon snickers again, the sound of it makes you clench your fists. “I do wonder what my dearest brother would think of that.”

“Yes, uncle, what would father think?” You snap before you can help yourself, lips set into a tight frown while you peer up at him.

“I said careful –”

“Because he’s heard all of that before, hasn’t he?” You try, heart skipping a beat when his eyes widen just slightly before quickly narrowing again.

“Watch yourself.”

“No!” You scoff, chest heaving with a righteous rage, “You’re no better than me, certainly no better than Aegon – doing the exact same thing to Rhaenyra! You’ve no right to lecture me in this –”

“I married her, that is the difference,” he says lowly, a harshness to his tone you’ve never heard before; he grips your shoulder with one hand, fingers digging almost painfully into your skin, “I made an honest woman of her, something your drunken cunt of a brother cannot ever do.”

“An honest woman,” you scoff, some part of your subconscious is begging you to shut up but you ignore it, “Honest enough to birth three strong boys, isn’t that right uncle?” 

That’s the final nail in your proverbial coffin – echoing Aemond’s words from earlier in the evening, though you suppose you at least had the wherewithal to not ruin dinner. 

“That’s it,” Daemon snaps, violet eyes burning with a fire that would rival that of the Dragonmont, “I really didn’t want to have to do this, princess.”

Your brows furrow for only a second and you’re silently planning an escape route as he presses against your shoulder, assuming that he’s making good on his threats to parade you before your parents. Your cheek is already pressing against the smooth, dark wooden surface of the desk before you register that he was never pushing you toward the door. 

Flustered and disoriented, alarm bells ring in your head as you squirm against the hand on your back, pinning you down. Your eyes widen when you feel him tugging your skirts up, panic flooding through you when you realize what he’s doing.

“Uncle, please!” You plead, bracing your hands against the desk as you attempt to push yourself up to no avail, “I’m sorry, truly! I didn’t mean it!”

“Enough!” Daemon barks, pulling your skirts up over your backside and letting the fabric bunch in against the small of your back, “You need to be taught some manners, little brat.” 

You hardly have time to take in another lungful of air before his hand is cracking down against your rear, making you yelp even as the pain of it is dulled by the thin fabric of your smallclothes. You fight against his hold all the while, grunting and squirming like a rabbit in a trap. 

Unfortunately, he realizes after a moment that this particular method doesn’t seem to be quite enough. A little panicked yell is wrenched from your lips when you feel his fingers hook into the waist of your smallclothes, making an icy chill run down your spine for an altogether different reason than the threat of pain.

“Uncle Daemon, wait!” You beg, shoving an arm behind your back and attempting to bat away his hand, “Y-You can’t, you mustn’t!”

“Come now,” he scoffs, easily pushing your hand away, “It’s only a backside, sweet niece, you think I haven’t seen one before?”

“It’s not tha –”

“And you seemed more than prepared to let dearest Aegon see much more than that, hm?” He drawls, going to tug at the fabric once more.

“I wasn’t!” You try again, desperate to make him understand, “W-We couldn’t have done anything, anyway!”

“Couldn’t have done…?” He questions, brows furrowing as he finally wrenches your smallclothes over the curve of your rear, tugging them unceremoniously down until they hang at your knees. It’s only then that he sees the issue, unable to keep the smirk off of his face as he hears you whine softly against the desk. 

This is what all that fuss was about? He thinks, eyes trailing over the bright red streaks, tacky on your inner thighs, until they settle on the blood soaked linens folded in the gusset of your underwear. 

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he sighs, the hand on your back rubbing up and down in a way that would be soothing in any other circumstance. “Now, what were you saying?” He asks casually, like he’s talking to you about the weather and like your arse isn’t out on display. 

“Aegon… Aegon and I couldn’t have done anything anyway,” you try again, praying he’ll take mercy on you, “Because of, well…”

“Because of what? A little blood?”

You merely nod, flushing so badly that your cheeks tingle as blood rushes to them.

“Oh, you sweet little lamb,” he coos, suddenly bringing a hand down against your rear again, smirking when you yelp at the sting, “Do you think men care about getting their swords a little bloody?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to answer as he smacks you again, easily holding you down when you begin struggling once more. Again, his eyes trail over your slit, heart quickening in his chest while he admires the crimson against your skin. Rhaenyra has only let him have her like this a scant few times, the pains that come along with her monthly blood keeping her from arousal and though he has not given into his cravings, he would be a fool to deny them. 

His jaw clenches as he grits his teeth, spanking you yet again, alternating between cheeks, before soothing the sting with gentle caresses and smirking when you shiver at the soft touch. You remind him of her, you always have, though he’s never voiced it. All youthful vigor, filled with an untamed confidence that only naivety can bring, and with a fiery temper to match – more like your half-sister than you knew. 

Perhaps his desires could be managed in… other avenues. 

He brings his hand down once more, relishing the way you squirm and cry, your delicate skin hot beneath his palm. His member stirs, pressing angrily against the ties of his trousers, when he notices a little rivulet of red running down your inner thigh.

“You know,” he starts, petting his hand over your back while you sob, tears leaking onto his desk, “Many men quite enjoy their women this way, sweet niece.”

He smirks when he hears your breath hitch, swears he can hear your heart fluttering like the wings of a little bird in the quiet chambers. 

“Warm, open… slick,” he drawls, taking a second to squeeze at the soft skin at the back of your thigh, the very tip of his thumb just barely running through a little crimson drip. He brings his hand up, marvels at the dark droplet staining his finger for only a second, before flicking it away with his tongue. 

You gasp, having been watching curiously from the corner of your eye as an altogether different kind of heat swarms your veins. You don’t fight his hold any longer, victim to his spell even as your mind wars with itself. 

“I-It’s messy, though…” You try, your voice sounding unconvincing to your own ears; you swallow nervously when he chuckles. 

“Mm, it’s not all that different from any other honeyed hole, sweet niece,” Daemon soothes, putting your worries at ease while he trails a hand over your inner thighs, licking his lips at the way your tacky skin feels against his fingers, “It can be messy, yes, but… some men prefer mess.”

Do you? You wonder, although you already know the answer, legs spreading unconsciously at his touches. A whine slips from your lips when he moves his hand back up, rubbing it over your still sore backside. 

“Still stings?” He asks, one eyebrow raised. He tuts when you nod, soothing you gently, like the sting isn’t his fault, “Lucky for you, I know just the thing for it.”

“What…?” You question, brows furrowing as you attempt to push yourself up from the desk, only to be pushed back down against it – albeit a little gentler this time. 

“You just relax,” he croons, all traces of the anger from before gone; the fires within him extinguished at the thought of finally getting what he’s missed for so long, “Let uncle kiss it better, hm?”

A shiver goes through you at his words and your breath catches in your throat, eyes wide as you feel him move around you, slinking from his place at your side to your back. Fabric rustles behind you and just as you open your mouth to ask what’s going on, a loud gasp tears itself from your throat. 

Daemon kneels on the floor behind you, bent down on one knee, and leans in, pressing a gentle, feather light kiss against one cheek before alternating to the other. His hands grab at your hips, holding you in place, eyes trained on the side of your head drinking in the little flashes of emotion on your face – shock and uncertainty slowly giving way to a cautious curiosity. He could work with that. 

“Feeling better?” He husks, smirking against your soft skin when he sees you nod, hears the little whimper halfway trapped in your throat. He carries on, pearlescent hair tickling the backs of your thighs each time he leans in, kissing your skin. Eventually, his touches begin to linger, hands rubbing over the sides of your thighs while his tongue licks against you every so often. The soft, patient touches soothe you, tamper your worry, and soon enough pleased little sighs and hums begin filling the room, music to his ears. 

Quickly, he pulls at the ties of his trousers, groaning against the curve where your ass and thigh meet when his member springs free, bobbing against his lower belly. Wrapping a hand around himself, he continues – kissing and licking along the backs of your thighs before finally reaching what he most desires.

“U-Uncle!” You gasp, eyes squeezing shut when he licks into the crease of your thigh, the skin there no doubt smeared with the blood you can feel running down your legs every few moments, painting streaks of red down to your knees. 

Your feeble little warble is drowned out by the deep, throaty growl that leaves him – a man dying of thirst finally finding an oasis in the desert. He nudges at your thigh, panting a low, “Good girl,” when you part them more – as much as your smallclothes, still bunched around your knees, will allow. His head spins thinking of how passionate you’ll become with more experience, already so eager.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, spitting into his palm and grunting while he works a hand over his cock, panting as he admires your flowering center for a moment – your little petals shining, crimson staining your skin nearly all the way down to your knees. He feels like a man possessed, drunk and proud as his cock twitches against his palm. 

Another groan rumbles in his chest when he dives in, all thoughts of being gentle and slow thrown to the wayside as he presses his face against you, uncaring as to whether he can fill his lungs or not. 

“Daemon!” You yelp, hands scrambling over the smooth surface of the desk, mind reeling while you try to find something, anything to hold onto. His tongue is unlike anything you’ve ever felt, eons better than the way your own fingers feel pressed against your cunt in the wee hours of the morning. 

Your chest heaves when he groans against you, tongue toying with the stiff little bud at the apex of your slit for a second before he fucks it into you, all but punching whines and moans from your throat. Your cheeks flush at the sound of it, the slick, wet sounds of his tongue working against you almost painfully loud in the small study. 

His hips rut into his hand as he suckles at your pearl, burying his nose into you while deep moans resound in his chest — head clouded at the taste of you, at the slick feel of your blood against his lips, on his tongue. 

Gods, he’s missed this. 

The fire in his belly builds steadily while he takes what he needs from you, the little throbs your cunt gives around his tongue only serving to push him further and further toward the end. 

“Seven Hells, you taste divine,” he growls, rubbing his thumb over the head of his cock, his other hand tugging an arse cheek to the side, opening you more for him before skimming his fingers over your taut bud, smirking at the way your core clenches. 

“Please, please,” you pant, hips canting against the edge of the desk, breath foggy against the dark wood.

“Don’t worry, sweetling,” he murmurs, licking your taste from his lips, “I’m not done with you yet.” 

Your knees nearly buckle when he licks you again, laving his tongue over the entirety of you – lapping from your pearl almost all the way up to your other hole, the thought of such a thing stealing the air from your lungs. Your mind reels as he suckles at you, core aching from how tightly the knot in your tummy is wound. 

Daemon growls against you, the rhythm of his hand stuttering the closer he gets, stones pulling tight as he nears his end. He can tell you’re close as well from the way you press back against him, rutting on his tongue while breathy little moans tumble, unbidden, from your lips. 

The thought of your wet cunt clenching around his tongue causes his length to pulse again, causes it to leak against his fingers. Gods, he needs that. 

“Ah!” You pant when he redoubles his efforts and presses his tongue as far into you as he can, groan rumbling against you as he nuzzles into your folds, savoring the sweet coppery taste on his tongue. 

He feasts then, hand striping up and down his cock with abandon while he fucks his tongue into you, curling it and pressing it against as much of you as he can while his chin presses against your pearl, pulling loud cries from you. 

“U-Uncle, uncle, I… Gods, Daemon, I’m…” you stutter, words dying on your lips as pleasure threatens to white out your mind. You pant, breathlessly rocking against his face while your body tenses, instinctively preparing for the incoming onslaught. 

He grunts into you, fucking into his fist while his other hand squeezes at your arse. His eyes roll back in his head when he feels you tighten on his tongue, your walls finally beginning to suck at him in earnest. Just as his stones tighten to the point of no return, he smacks his hand against your rear once more, groaning victoriously as the dam finally breaks. 

“Fuck!” You shout, muscles tensing and falling limp all in the same breath as your high slams into you, rough and unforgiving — heightened by your menstrual flux. You can hear Daemon grunting and growling behind you, your cunt pulsing on his tongue. 

Below you, he feels as if he’s ascended to the clouds, stomach lurching like it does when Caraxes takes flight. He groans, long and loud, against you, into you, as his cock throbs, spend splashing down against his trousers, dripping to the floor. 

“O-Oh!” You breathe, hips twitching as he licks over you for a moment more, taking all he can. Your little tired cries make him chuckle as his touches border on overstimulation. He finally takes mercy on you and pulls away with a satisfied sigh, tucking his member back into his trousers as he stands, grunting at the soreness of his knee. 

There’s a heady fondness in his eyes as he lets them trail over you, watching as you catch your breath, limp. “Feel okay?” He asks, petting a hand down your spine before bending to press a sweet kiss against the back of your shoulder. 

You nod, your cheek slick against the desk while you finally start coming back to yourself. “Gods,” you sigh tiredly, blinking the fog from your eyes. 

Daemon chuckles at that, his normally mouthy niece reduced to little sighs. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and walks to a small mirror on the wall, well really an old, polished placard, but it’ll do. 

His eyes widen when he catches sight of himself, features distorted somewhat in the reflective golden surface, but clear enough to see the blood left on his skin. A smirk grows on his lips and he lets himself admire it for a second, mind flashing back to the aftermath of his victory against the Crabfeeder, before he begins wiping at his skin. 

From the corner of his eye, he sees you beginning to stir, arms shaking as you push yourself up from the desk. He stares at his reflection for a moment, jaw clenching as his heart pangs feebly. 

With a sigh, he walks the few steps over to you and steadies you, pressing a hand to your back. “Careful,” he warns, playful glint in his eyes while he guides you to the spare chair against the wall and coaxes you to sit, not caring if the fabric gets stained, “You’ll give me a complex.” 

Your lips quirk into a smile at that and you chuckle, eyes widening when you finally get a good look at him. “Ohh…” you balk, not expecting to see blood, your blood, trailing down his chin, painting him like a satiated lion, “I’m… I’m sorry…” You murmur, not knowing what else to say. 

“Why?” He chuckles, affectionately carding his fingers through your hair as he blindly wipes at his face a little more, “Did you not enjoy it?” 

“I did…” you admit softly, bashful before him now. Strength seems to find you again and you bend forward to pull up your smallclothes, only to stop yourself when Daemon leans down to do it himself. 

“Then there’s no reason to be sorry,” he says with a sigh, pulling your smallclothes back into place and letting you adjust them to your fancy, “Blood can be wiped away, sweetling.” 

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier too,” you murmur, wringing your hands while the two of you stand together. You watch as he busies himself with righting his clothes, making sure his trousers are tied well and smoothing out his tunic. You can’t help thinking that he looks handsome like this, finally seeing him how Rhaenyra might. 

Nervously, you pull at your skirts, smoothing them out and fidgeting with your bodice. You look up when he clears his throat, surprised to be met with a smile. 

“As I said,” he placed a hand on your shoulder, gentle this time, “Blood can be wiped away, sweet girl.”

thank you for taking the time to read! hope you enjoyed! :)

check out the rest of the pieces in this collab here!

consider adding yourself to my tag list or check out my works on ao3!

[vamptarot]

Why I Think Your Insecurity Is Beautiful | PAC

𐀔 pile one 𝜗𝜚 pile two ✮ pile three

how to choose a pile . . . choose whichever you feel drawn to or ask your guides to guide your eyes to the one that is meant for you! ᡣ𐭩

— ⭑.ᐟ accidentally turned out as a pep talk pac </3 well, not completely, but I apologise 🫡 not proof read.

𐀔 pile one : – teddy gems !

𐙚 : knight of swords rev. , eight of swords rev. , knight of cups rev. , king of swords rev.

bottom of the deck : queen of swords rev.

♡ ⢷ why I think your insecurities are beautiful

I can see from the cards that people in this pile have body image issues due to bullying, self harm, e.ds or simply being put down by family members through inappropriate comments.

This especially could be true if you are not average weight for your height, don’t like the way your leg looks or don’t enjoy the way your stretch marks look on your body. It could potentially make you feel like you aren’t attractive, and that the people you are interested in wouldn’t even give you a second look.

Well I am here to say it’s not true, and it also doesn’t matter.

Your life shouldn’t revolve around romantic validation. Of course, you can care about the opinion of your romantic interests, how they view you and what not, but your life is yours. Whether or not there is someone to love you in a romantic manner you are beautiful, valid and possess a wonderful soul.

You are uniquely you, no one can do it like you but you only.

There is so many wonderful things about you, who gives a (what) about the opinion of people who won’t even matter in five years?

Don’t stress yourself out over things that are not worth your time beautiful.

Besides, I do think that your body is very pretty. “Oh but you don’t even know what it looks like! “ Yes I do, I have the gift of clairvoyance baby.

Of course, I do not mean this in a creepy way at all. [for those with uncomfortable or horrifying looks on their face.. ] Rather, what I mean is that your insecurities don’t take away from beauty at all, I would argue they add even more to it.

Your scars? They are here to tell us that you went through something horrible and came out winning. Or will. You don’t have the energy of someone that would lose themselves completely anyway, my beautiful pile one is a fighter!

Regardless, I just think that you are so cool, you went through all that yet you are still here today, trying your best to survive. Even if you don’t see it that way, I just think you are so strong.

Some people in this pile are also underweight, due to health issues, one unrelated to e.ds. You could be insecure about that, especially if your bones show. [Around your shoulders, is what I see for most of you.] I would like to say, please don’t beat yourself up about things that are out of your control. You are literally so pretty!! I like your eyes, and I am pretty suuure many people like your lips too. People that are romantically interested in you. There is quite a few, you just don’t notice due to being in your head a little too much. You kinda remind me of Bella Swan, but just a bit smarter and more mature. I just so happen to love twilight and find her sooo pretty… I am sure it’s hard to go through the things you do, but your personality, soul and outter appearance is full of beauty because it’s so clear that your heart is so full of love. So what if you are not someone’s type? Fu.. them, who cares lol You gonna be naturally beautiful regardless of their opinion.

You could also hate your stretch marks because they remind you of a time of your life where you didn’t like yourself, or for some of you they remind you of a part of yourself that you aren’t proud of.. Well guess what, I got them too, now we are matching baby girl / baby boy / baby 🙂‍↕️🤞🏻 [in a platonic way, of course <3<3]

No but seriously, you tell me WHY wouldn’t it make you more beautiful? If you don’t like them that’s okay, but beating yourself up and bullying your own self over something like this is not okay!

Your health comes first baby, don’t be the main cause of your misery. I think your stretch marks are beautiful, they wrap around your body like a hug.

Besides, if you don’t like it you can get rid of them.. but I don’t feel the need to, after all they can be a sign of your hard work. And I mean that! I don’t look at those sort of things, but if you pay closer attention to the instagram pics of some body builders I am sure you will be able to find a few with stretch marks. Also some artists! I love looking at concert stages, and I am pretty sure if you do too you will see some people, both women and men, have stretch marks regardless of size.

It’s really not an indicator or shame, it’s the indicator that you have a human body with human needs and reactions. It will never make you ugly no matter how much you want to believe it will. It just won’t, matter of fact a lot of you in this pile are sexy af but don’t even know it because you care too much about what other people think. 😵‍💫

It’s okay tho, I get it. Just don’t be too much in your head.

On that note, if you have a darker skin complexion please try body glitter on your stretch marks. I am specifically seeing yellow and blue. You will look pretty / hot af trust 🙂‍↕️ [ only calling adults hot also 🫡 ]

♡ ⢷ what you can do to be more confident

This will make me sound like a b!tch, and I don’t mean to be.. But a diet could possibly help and make you feel more confident. [Why are you getting mad, I told you it will make me sound like a b!tch!?] Of course, I don’t mean this with any sort of malicious intent.

A lot of people think diets consist of depriving yourself from food. Which is not true at all, diets depend on multiple factors including your health, weight, lifestyle, eating habits and so on. That’s why dieticians exist!

The sort of one I am thinking of is actually just balancing your meals. Now, I am no control freak so I won’t give you a whole schedule or ‘dos and don’ts’.. I just want to tell you that it is okay to eat both healthy and unhealthy food. That way, your immune system will be healthier and you will get more energy to actually do the things you want to enjoy and participate in. Whether that’s working out, going outside on walks or to the mall, drawing, painting, writing… is not my business! You can do whatever you want, I am only here to remind you that you don’t need to starve or deprive yourself in order to be healthy. It’s actually bad for you.

If you want to eat a kinder bueno after your avocado toast, or eat a burger bc you ate a home made meal the other day you should go ahead and do that baby girl / baby boy / baby mhm mhm 🙂‍↕️

Don’t take away good things from yourself just because you feel like you don’t deserve it.

That goes for food and other things you enjoy. If you wanna buy a cute lipgloss, buy the cute lipgloss. Don’t worry about overconsumption. I am being so serious, most people in this pile worrying about it have only a few lip products that are pushing being 5 years old or even older.

Spoil yourself, you deserve it. Even if you don’t in your eyes.. who gaf ? There will always be someone who thinks of you as undeserving of things because of their own misery. So just do what you wanna do, live life for yourself. Maybe it’s your last. Enjoy it!

So what if you don’t know how to use it? lol.. You will learn along the way. No one starts out perfect, and if they do, they are lying! [If you do really struggle tho, @/clownmakeupmua on tiktok did help me a lot!!]

If you wanna buy that artsy stuff.. do it! I promise you aren’t wasting money if most of your stuff can be bought for 5-10$ and then that one thing is like super expensive. You deserve nice things whether you like it or not!!! Your mental health matters and if you need to pamper yourself to feel better that’s okay!!! It’s not a crime to love yourself, neither is it a sin!! 😤 No, seriously, I mean those things.

You are wonderful, the world is already cruel, so you shouldn’t be that to yourself. I know getting out of habits and thinking patterns can be hard, but eventually you will need to have a different perspective of them to heal. It’s okay if it takes long, do it step by step at your own pace. You will eventually get there.

♡ ⢷ five things that are cool about you

one - you remind me so much of the song dancing queen by abba.. or you know, from mama mia if you aren’t familiar with the name. I think you are just like that song. many people think it’s not something they would vibe to.. but then they hear it and can’t stop singing along. with you, people think that you might not enjoy them around since you are introverted, but as soon as they get to know you better they crave your presence, they want you to be around. over and over, they want to spend time with you whenever they can.

two - the body is BODYIIIIING. I do not care what you say, it does, you are beautiful! you look soooo beautiful in red! let that be a shirt or lipstick.. this is especially true for someone reading this pile that’s into vintage fashion! 20s - 40s? whichever decade it is, trust you would KIIIILLL that look. [you know, like, slay..] try it if you wish 👀

three - do you have the sort of relationship with your friends where you are like siblings? the one where you can tease them or mock them, but if anyone else does you will make sure that they will regret it? because that is so cool about you. as I was growing up, I had a very close friend who was like that to me too. they always made me feel safe, and that’s what you remind me of. the feeling of safety. I am sure people around you are very comfortable. and that’s so cool!

four - you have such a good music taste I am hearing, mhm mhm 🙂‍↕️ matter of fact, if you chose this pile pleaseee recommend me songs you like regardless of when you see this. even if it’s months or years after upload!! I feel like your music taste is so fun, it could definitely get people hyped up or in their feels.. the people around you for sure always listen to whatever you recommend! it’s like, they can’t really go wrong with it

five - fashion on poiiiint, like you just ATEEEE.. no I am serious, I do think your accessories are very cool and put the whole picture together. it can be your shoes, nails or jewellery, you always choose well! it suits you and it suits your outfit. this especially goes if you are a guy / man, because it’s hard to dress fashionable by default but you do make it work so well 🙂‍↕️ and the ladies in this pile have such an unique sense of fashion they stand out from any piles 🙂‍↕️ my fashionistas 🙂‍↕️

— ✮⋆˙ : girl groups , lolly by maejor, juicy j & justin bieber , sweet tooth , adele (hell yeaaaaah) , messy hair , box dyes , long nails , ‘my babysitter is a vampire’ , 00s , mango , amigo , the statue of mother Mary crying , fertility issues

that’s all for now my beautiful pile one! your reading made me sooo sad because you are literally such a cute, cool and pretty person and yet you don’t see that.. do you want me to get that talking mirror from snow white so he can tell you himself?! bc imma get it 🤨 jokes aside, idgaf if you are the fairest of them all or not, you for sure are the loveliest! mwa <3 thank you for reading!

paid readings

𝜗𝜚 pile two : – sweater !

𐙚 : nine of wands rev. nine of pentacles rev., ten of pentacles, seven of pentacles

bottom of the deck : five of swords

♡ ⢷ why I think your insecurities are beautiful

You know what, I actually started out your reading sweet and kind, thinking it’s about being behind in life and about financial issues. Even gave you a song recommendation. Then tumblr deleted the entire section… 🫡

So, I spent more time looking at your cards.. meditated, connected to your energy. Eventually, I figured this is my troubled pile.

Simply, you are not proud of the person that you are. Lucky for you, I am the ‘I can change him’ sorta gal 🙂‍↕️

Of course, I am just joking. I am not here to change anything about you, I am here to uplift you.

Before I will do that, I will tell you about a celebrity that I used to like as a kid. I do not care if you don’t know much about celebrities, because that’s not really relevant! I am bringing him up because many people in this pile can relate to his story. If you can’t that’s okay, it’s not a message that was meant for you but for someone else.

Either way, have you ever heard of Kim Jisoo?.. No, not the blackpink one, but the actor! He was accused of doing bad things in his childhood, which he admitted to and apologised for because even if he changed as a person, guilt and anxiety always followed him. Even though he did that because he did think it’s the right thing to do, to be fair and honest, people made more accusations against him. Heavy ones. He was then kicked out of the company, and black listed from being an actor in Korea. You know what’s the thing though? Each and every accusation after his apology was false, the person didn’t even know him. Yet, many people still blame him for things he has not done.

My dearest pile two, I can see you not caring.. at least some of you. However, I did tell you this because you remind me of him in a sense. You know you have made mistakes, some worse, some almost insignificant by now. You own up to it, you have made the apologies necessary, you are the sort of person that doesn’t shy away from accountability because you are pretty mature in your own right. Yet, people like to lie about you right? Twist your words. Ruin your reputation as if it was nothing but fun to them. Then they call you crazy when you get angry, potentially even gaslighting you. It’s annoying.

The sort of regrets people have here are different from one another. Some is just things like yelling at a loved one, while others are much more graphic to the point I do not believe it’s appropriate for me to detail them. Though, not as vile as you might believe.

Enough of that though, I should get the the point.~

Your insecurity seems to come from deep within, from your soul. You worry that you are truly a bad person, not able to change.. That there is something inherently rotten inside you.

I am here to tell you that’s not true. I think you are pretty neat. Yeah, sure, everybody has regrets.. so what? They are regrets for a reason, it’s not truly who you are but mistakes you have made when you were in a vulnerable state of mind. That is not a sin.

Making one bad decision doesn’t mean you are immediately a bad person. Neither is making several. Especially if someone else forces or pushes you to! Come on now sweetheart, think from a higher sense of your being. Truly bad people don’t care they are bad even if they know, they just enjoy the pain and discomfort they have caused for other people.

That’s not you, I can see that you have a such a kind soul. I know what you did, and I do not care, because I still see the good in you.

You are kind to kids, the elderly, strangers on the street.. even if they don’t necessarily deserve it. Seriously, you are the sort of person that gives up seats for other people. (Especially if they are vulnerable, such as someone pregnant, elderly or injured.) The kinda person to stop to pet puppies, to feed stray animals and not care if they come back because it just means you can feed them again. You don’t see an issue with it. The sorta person to hold younger people’s ears when there is a fight so they aren’t scared. You just give and give and give.

You are so unconditionally generous, it’s actually shocking. With your time, money, food, resources, abilities.. is there something you don’t give? [I do not mean this in a mean manner 🫶🏻, it’s a praise. I adore generous people.]

Even when you are hurting, even when you are angry.. you hold it back and think of the happiness of other people. It’s like hurting other people is your greatest fear.

Yet you keep on emotionally hurt yourself, like a bully. Please stop with it, I don’t think you deserve it. Why would you judge someone based on the lowest part of their life? I know you wouldn’t, and since you are a person you deserve the same kind of respect you give to others. From within and from outside.

You are not a doormat, you are not an animal, you are just you. It’s okay to treat yourself gently, I just see a hurt kid when I look at your soul. You remind me of a little lamb. So vulnerable, yet so mistreated.

If you need to, please find yourself a safe space, a support net. It’s okay to rely on other people, I think if you allow yourself to heal the beauty in your heart will be seen in every step you make. You remind me of a pretty flower field as well, so sunny and bright.

I am sorry for the amount of comparisons in this pile, you are seriously so beautiful, chic, elegant, talented and lovely. I don’t want you to think, not even for a second, that you are anything less than deserving of love and peace.

You are so beautiful, constantly trying to make up for your past mistakes.. making sure that people don’t end up hurt like you do. There is so much nurture and worry in your heart.

The past is the past, live in the present.

♡ ⢷ what you can do to be more confident

Defend yourself. It’s okay.

Like genuinely, if you feel like someone is being too much it’s okay to defend yourself. You have a right, and just because someone doesn’t like you it won’t make them entitled to lie about you or hurt you way beyond what any human should take.

Speak your truth, but be disciplined. That way, who truly can say anything about you? Even if they won’t like you, people won’t bother you if you keep true to yourself, if you speak from your heart honestly.

You are not deserving of being bullied or hurt. If someone treats you as a pushover or looks down on you show them that whatever little ill fantasy they have created in their head of you is wrong. You are much more than what you let people on, I truly believe that.

You are really cool, ya know? Of course it’s okay to have doubts, but I think one of your beauties is that you have so much mental strength in you. Just don’t surpass it, as it could make things harder to deal with.

Something that you can really benefit from is to not let your feelings and emotions build up over time, especially if you struggle with anger issues. This could lead to you being so pent up with frustration that you end up letting it out on other people 😞

It’s okay to be angry, but you shouldn’t let it consume you. Feel your emotions for 20 minutes, then just let them go, allow yourself to let them go and not cling into them as that’s unhealthy for you. You can learn and grow, but you have to actively choose that for yourself.

If you experienced past violence, bullying or anything of the sort… also let them go. You don’t have to forgive them, it’s your choice to make not mine.

Do you know that saying that goes sort of like, “ there is always a man watching you, even in your mind/fantasies “? If you live your life continuously remembering the people that hurt you, you cannot heal. So please do yourself a favour, just live for yourself.

If that abusive person kept telling you to dress modest, stop hiding yourself. Dress however you want, if it’s revealing, it’s okay! If it’s modest good, that’s what you are comfortable in. If you are nervous to go to xyz place because it reminds you of them.. that’s fine, you go there now because that’s where you wanna go to, to make new memories. If not, just go wherever your heart desires.. or stay home. Living for you is not a sin, and it will never ever be selfish. Your life is yours, it belongs to you.

From now on, if you have the strength to, have yourself in mind when you do things. [It’s of course fine to be considerate and thoughtful of people, that’s not what I am talking about here.] Allow yourself to live.

♡ ⢷ five things that are cool about you

one - bad b energy mhm mhm 🙂‍↕️ there is a sort of air surrounding you that just screams ‘don’t mess with me’, which I think is soooo admirable. you are definitely not unfriendly at all of course, but it’s obvious that people shouldn’t make enemies with you. not because you are a bad person, but because of your sense of justice.

two - adults only message, sorry kiddos 🫡 this isn’t necessary a sexual thing, but I felt the need to put that addition.. like a gut feeling, ya know? I don’t want to be misunderstood 😤 anyway, your guides are saying that you have a really pretty tummy? like your tummy. your belly.. it’s pretty. I don’t know if you work out but it also doesn’t matter because I am seeing this for all sort of people.. those who work out, those who have a soft tummy, the chubbier ppl, the skinnier people.. men, women.. matter of fact if you happen to be pregnant rn you are extremeeeely beautiful! I think your guides wanted to help out with your body image issues is all <3 so cute, you really are pretty.

three - hair? something about your hair is so beautiful, it makes you look like an angel. very pure and loving as well. I am also seeing an encouragement to go ahead and change it if you wish to do so. you look pretty either way, with whatever hair colour!!! <3

four - you are so persistent!! you work so hard ??? like there is nothing that can bring your spirit down baby. unstoppable force kind of energy!! that is so cool, just make sure to watch out to not overwhelm yourself 🫶🏻

five - YOU LIKE TO GIVE ACTS OF SERVICE 🫵🏻 mhm you are the sort of person to peel fruits for your loved ones, put their phones on the charger, prepare their clothes and do these little things to make their life easier on harder days 🙂‍↕️ that’s so admirable, I look up to you in this case!

— ✮⋆˙ : teacher’s pet , my little pony , ‘a whole new world’ / ‘ can you feel the love tonight ‘ , ‘icey, wifey, haters wanna fight me. ‘ , lotto , number one , trampoline , today’s tickets (?)

my beautiful pile two, please stop looking down on yourself or heaven is gonna have a problem 🙂‍↕️ IT WILL BE MISSING AN ANGEL 🫵🏻 no but seriously, no kidding, I do think many of you here think that I am being fake nice to you in order to get people to interact more or read my pile and what not.. but I don’t care about how many people read my pile, I care about my messages being sincere from the heart and as accurate as possible. besides, I mean the things I said! don’t underestimate how forgiving my heart can be.. like I am fr a hater but I don’t hate you, so what does that tell you? 🧐 anyway, give yourself a rest beautiful, you have been enough harsh already. thank you for reading!

paid readings

✮ pile three : – book !

𐙚 : page of cups rev. , page of swords rev. , five of pentacles , knight of wands

bottom of the deck : nine of cups rev.

♡ ⢷ why I think your insecurities are beautiful

Hii my sweet, sweet pile three! Your energy is the most private, I thought I would let you know before you begin reading ᡣ𐭩

Out of all piles, yours is the one that had me stunned the most. Not because of any sort of bad reason, but this is such a sensitive and hard breaking topic my beautiful pile three..

Your insecurity is related to your dreams, worrying if you are enough. Enough young, enough talented, enough lucky…

It left me speechless because I can feel the pain in your heart, this can affect you on such a deep level. Most likely ever since your childhood. For some of you guys, you were made to work hard at something that you didn’t even care for, possibly still are, just to please your parents or other people around you.

It’s heavy, right? You are worried that if you actually go for something that you want you will worry the people around you.

I see your struggles, you don’t want to be selfish. Though, I don’t see that in your heart, rather I see something so beautiful. Love! Sounds cliché or whatever, but it’s still in your heart.

For the people around you and for the dream that you have for a long, long time. This is different for everyone, some of you dream of being a mom, some of you a ballerina, for most of you it’s related to music in one way or another.. I don’t think you are too old. At all. You never are.. only death can hold you back from achieving your dreams. Who knows, maybe not even he can.

For some of you, who are unable to live them out, this is a confirmation to reality shift / timeline jump.. That’s for only a very few people reading this though, most of you can and will achieve your dreams in this lifetime even if you give it your all.

I do not care if you are over 30, 40, 50 and so on.. I won’t promise that it will be fast, easy or that you will immediately get whatever you want; but the fire in your heart is burning with so much passion that it’s impossible to ignore.

The love that you have towards this ideal life of yours is so beautiful, I truly love it. Your eyes get so bright and full of life when you talk about the things you love and enjoy, yet you don’t even know it.

I would say it’s tragic, but that’s not true, because a sad ending doesn’t suit you. You are meant to be happy, and I hope that you will remember this.

♡ ⢷ what you can do to be more confident

Just do it. ✓

No, but for real, the cards here are incredibly supportive. So if you feel like you are ready for it and it’s the right call do what your heart calls you to do, that childhood dream of yours that you always dreamed of.

[Of course, I mean this as an encouragement for arts and such, not anything that can harm someone… let that be you or others.]

Do that art form, start to learn that subject, work towards that profession… who cares if people will like what you do or not? You do, you have passion and appreciation towards it in your heart. So the rest doesn’t matter, because you have this in your hands. Your destiny is under your control, whether you like that as a fact or not.. You are waaaay more powerful than what you think.

Your message is simple, so unfortunately I cannot write a lot here.. I think your guides are just intending this to be a wake up call, that you can always start anew. Your past is not you, neither is your present.. you can always change it. You don’t have to be stuck.

Just be you.

♡ ⢷ five things that are cool about you

one - you can get things done so easily.. muuuuch easier than other people, through sheer will and that’s all you need to get things done. it’s so admirable, tbh.

two - your art!! even if you aren’t into art or such stuff, it still has many many forms. you possibly like creating things, something that’s special to you. while it’s different for everyone in this pile, I think it’s so insanely cool you can just create something so perfect with so much attention to detail.

three - your posture! this is especially for people who are into dancing and actively practicing, I do think that you improve a lot day by day even if you don’t necessarily notice it. you could be perfecting the moves through hard work and be hella proud of it because you worked so hard. I am proud of you too!

four - your ability to just tune out, and be calm despite the hardships that you face. not a lot of people are able to stay still when they are hurting, or keep completely calm without losing themselves.. you are very mature and grounded. I adore this about you.

five - you have so much unconditional kindness it’s so remarkable and impactful. you probably don’t know this, but you are genuinely such a safe space for people.. your energy is so comforting.

— ✮⋆˙ : 50s diner , elvis & priscilla presley , pepper , paperbackpress , ‘one in a billion’ , sneezy from snow white, ballet shoes , paintings , true crime stories , jack the ripper , green apples , kiwi without it’s skin

my beautiful pile three.. I am so sorry that I couldn’t say more, your energy is a bit closed off and shy due to the things that you are going through and I didn’t wanna be forceful. though, I do hope that you can start healing soon and see the beauty in your passions… It’s important what your loved ones want, but you yourself should be a loved one as well. so don’t ignore your needs sweetheart 🫶🏻 thank you for reading!

paid readings

[berry-potchy]

Dad's Best Friend!Miguel part 2

Summary: Your dad shows up unannounced, interrupting your romantic dinner with Miguel. He plants seeds of doubt in your pretty little head that Miguel is more than happy to snip off

Tags: DBF!Miguel x F!Reader, age gap, college age reader, P in V sex, size difference (smaller reader), brief under the table footjob, spanking, insecurities, vague mention of Miguel’s past relationships, uncomfortable relationship talk with your dad who means well but ends up making you feel like shit anyway

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Surprise! The second part actually exists. It’s been almost a year since part one and I kept teasing part 2 but I couldn’t think of a way to end it. I considered just abruptly cutting it off and post it but I just couldn’t do it. BUT HERE IT IS NOW. Hope you guys still enjoy it!

Part 1

It has been a week since Miguel has caught you masturbating to the thought of him. A week since you found out that he wanted you just as much as you wanted him. A week of absolute depravity that you thought only happened in porn. He fucked you all over the house; no room, furniture, or surface was left untouched during your vigorous lovemaking.

Unfortunately, his “sick leave” had to come to an end and so did your self-imposed break from uni. He’s going back to work the next day so you decided you were going to do something special and make the most of the last evening of his leave. Of course, there’ll be more times to fuck but you feel the need to give him something special before he goes back to his workaholic mode. Maybe it’ll encourage him to start coming home earlier.

You had everything planned. You and Miguel had a lovely early dinner that he helped you prepare. The way it was so easy to fall into a domestic routine made your heart flutter. You’d have to ask him if you can do this with him more often when he’s not so busy with work. You also had wine that Miguel picked out for both of you. You trusted his mature tastes even though you knew he preferred hard liquor. And for dessert, well…

“That’s it, gatita,” Miguel grunted in your ear, a deep growl rumbles from his chest as he rams his fat cock relentlessly into your greedy cunt. “Taking my cock so well. I’m gonna miss this when I’m at work tomorrow. Gonna think about your tight little pussy while I’m in a boring meeting.”

You can’t form any coherent words from how aggressive his thrusts were. Each thrust drove his cock deeper into you, his tip kissing your cervix, knocking the air out of your lungs and the words out of your little cock drunk brain. Your legs were wrapped around his waist and your arms holding his broad shoulders for support, hands desperately clawing at his back. You clung to him tightly as he fucked you standing up in the middle of the kitchen. He took full control of your body, his large hands on your waist, moving you up and down his cock as he pleased, like you’re his personal living cocksleeve.

“My little slut can’t even talk anymore,” he laughs at your pathetic whimpers and whines “Taking my cock like a good girl. Going to make sure you feel it until tomorrow.”

You bury your face in the crook of his neck panting, mumbling “please” over and over again against his skin. Your tits are pressed against him, sensitive nipples rubbing against the dusting of dark hair on his chest with every movement. The burning knot in your stomach is threatening to come undone.

“You’re gonna cum for me, princesa?” he said as his thrusts grow frantic. “Wanna feel your pussy milk my cock dry. She’s so greedy for my cum. Sucking me in so good I can’t even try to pull out.”

You arch your back as you feel your orgasm rip through you, making you see white for a second. Miguel catches you, an arm around your waist and the other around your shoulders to keep you from falling over as he keeps on rutting into you to chase after his own climax. He pulls you closer to him to capture your mouth into a kiss as you feel his hot cum coat your velvety walls. You moan against his lips, giving his tongue access to your mouth, making you melt in his arms.

You reluctantly pull away to catch your breath, resting your sweaty forehead against his. He coos at how absolutely wrecked you looked, the pretty makeup you did for him all smeared and messed up. The red of your lipstick is no longer on your lips but all over Miguel – on his lips, cheeks, neck, chest, trailing all the way down to the red ring near the base of his cock.

Miguel sets you down on the dining table, hands keeping your knees apart to watch his cum dripping out of your sloppy hole. Your hands grab your breasts, squeezing them together for his viewing pleasure. Miguel moans at the sight. You are so perfect to him.

“I’m going to see your dad again in the office tomorrow,” he says, kneeling in front of your spread legs, ready to eat his dessert. He licks his lips and rubs his large hands up and down your thighs “I’m sure he’s going to have questions. I’ll make sure to tell him how good you were, taking care of me and making me feel so much better.”

He was about to dive in when the doorbell rang. You hear him growl a string of Spanish curse words under his breath as he reluctantly stands up from where he was kneeling. He tries to calm down and you sit up to wipe the sweat and lipstick off his face. You help him put on his shirt, straightening it out as much as you can with your hands as he tucks away his half-hard cock in his sweatpants. You brush his messy hair back away from his forehead, trying to make him look presentable for when he answers the door.

“I’ll be quick,” he sighs, kissing you on your temple as he pulls away and walks out the room. You can’t help but be a little curious as to who is looking for Miguel this late in the evening. You try to stand up, snatching the silk robe you were wearing earlier to peek at the visitor when you hear an all too familiar voice echo in the halls.

“Miguel! You look like shit!” The loud booming voice of your father makes you stop dead in your tracks.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were coming over?” Miguel said, trying to act normal as you hear him letting your dad in. “You should’ve called.”

“Well I did try to but neither you nor my daughter were answering,” he said “Anyway where is she? I brought you guys your favorites for dinner. I’ll even set up the dinner table for you.”

That got you to snap back to reality. Shit, shit, shit!

You start running to your room, careful not to leave a trail of Miguel’s cum on the floor. You try to wash off any traces of sex with a quick shower and change into a simple shirt and unfortunately with a bra and shorts on this time. Can’t have your dad know you parade around the house half-naked for a man twice your age.

Downstairs, Miguel’s boner is fully killed. He didn’t even get to clean you up with his tongue. Shame. Your dad is talking about work stuff but he’s only half-listening. He helps him set the table for your second dinner of the evening, not able to turn down his best friend lest he gets suspicious. He eyes a few white drops on the table and reluctantly wipes it with the hem of his shirt. His eyes meet yours as you enter the room, drying your hair with a towel. You give him a tight-lipped smile before going in to greet your dad.

You have an okay dinner together: Your dad did most of the talking, which is usually what happens between him and Miguel anyway. He also is still under the impression that Miguel was actually sick so he got a pass. You however have to pretend you aren’t annoyed that the night you planned is ruined as you answer his questions about uni.

“No boys? Partners? I told Miguel not to let you bring any around,” he says smugly to which Miguel smirks, taking a sip of the whisky your dad brought over.

“Dad, please,” you groan, sliding down on your chair, which makes him laugh out loud. You steal a glance at Miguel, pouting, and he’s laughing along. Traitor.

“I just wanted to be sure my baby’s focusing on her studies,” he says, putting his hands up in surrender before adding “and that I don’t end up a grandpa too soon.”

They keep laughing but thankfully, Miguel changes the topic. You give him a look of relief and rub your foot on his leg as a silent thank you. He keeps talking to your dad, pretending not to feel your foot stray further up until it rests on his inner thigh, the tip of your toe toying with the outline of his cock. He grabs your ankle but doesn’t stop you. He instead moves to sit a little closer to the table so you can rub the sole of your foot against his clothed length.

You’re playing a dangerous game. Your dad is right there he could look under the table and find his precious daughter giving his best friend a footjob in front of the dinner and alcohol he so graciously brought over. But you were feeling petty about your ruined plans and Miguel doesn’t seem to mind the attention to his cock.

You bite your lip, feeling his cock harden under your touch. He must feel sticky and uncomfortable under his sweatpants after not being able to wipe his dick of your combined fluids when your dad barged in. You wish your dad decides to leave early so you could get on your knees for Miguel and lick him clean.

Miguel eventually excuses himself, coughing that he needs to go to the bathroom, probably to jerk off and shower. You start clearing up the table and your dad offers to help.

“So,” he starts wiping the table “I see the way you look at Miguel.”

You freeze, trying not to drop the stack of plates you’re holding.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You start loading the dishwasher, trying not to make it obvious that your hands are shaking.

“Hey, no need to get defensive. I know what I saw,” he says “And I mean, you’re a young single lady and Miguel is this handsome, cool, older guy that’s a constant in your day-to-day. It’s not wild to have a crush on him. I’m just…”

Silence.

“Sweetie, I’m worried about you. I don’t want you to get hurt when he doesn’t return your feelings,” he sighs as he leans his hip on the counter next to you. He’s trying to look you in the eyes, trying to let you know that he’s being sincere. “Believe me that man has no time for romance. He’s all busy with his work. Plus I’ve seen the women he slept with before. All supermodel looking and yet… well they never last long.”

“Thanks for the confidence boost, dad,” you roll your eyes at him, trying hard to ignore the feeling of wanting to throw up. You don’t want to think about that. About the specifics of what you and Miguel have going on. You’re just trying to enjoy Miguel’s attention right now. For the longest time, you didn’t even think you had the chance. Is it really that bad to just accept what he’s willing to give right now?

“I’m not saying you’re not beautiful, honey! Of course, you’re beautiful! You’re my daughter,” he tries to lighten the mood but turns serious when you don’t laugh. “Just might not be his type. Besides, he’s twice your age. He's too close to your old man’s age. Are you sure that’s something you’d like? In a few years, he’d be just as uncool as me while you’re still young and should be enjoying your life.”

He puts a hand on your shoulder and pulls you into a side hug. You both stay silent for a few moments. You think about Miguel and try to look for signs. Signs that say he just wants sex or that he wants something more. All you can think about is how sweet he always was with you even before you had sex. Even more now. You blush remembering how Miguel peppered your face with kisses this morning to wake you up because he wanted to cook breakfast but didn’t want to leave you in bed.

“Okay, but what if he does?” you countered, suddenly gaining a bit of confidence. “Would you be okay with that? If we get into a relationship?”

A painful few seconds of silence that felt like forever.

“I know that look in your eyes,” he finally says, shaking his head, and sighing. “It’s your “I’m going to get what I want” look you got from your mom. You’re gonna get hurt.”

You cross your arms and pout, never one to back down.

“And if he does end up liking you,” he starts again and you side-eye him “well… good thing he doesn't.”

You groan as your dad messes up your hair, laughing as he sees Miguel come back, fresh from his shower. Your dad finally decides it’s time to head out and let the sick man rest. He gives you a tight hug and a kiss on your forehead before leaving.

You’re left alone with Miguel again in the kitchen. The earlier conversation with your dad soured your mood and left you zoning out. Miguel slips himself between your parted legs as you sit on the kitchen counter, large, warm hands kneading your thighs, fingers slipping under the hem of your shorts.

“What’s on your mind, princesa?” He leans in to press his forehead against yours. “Tell me.”

You try to turn away but he brings a curled finger under your chin to make you face him. His brows are furrowed, worried. You try to look at him and your heart stutters. You don’t want whatever you have with him to end. You’re not sure if you actually want something serious with Miguel but the thought of just being a bedwarmer to Miguel is upsetting.

“Just thinking,” you start, trying to get the words out without sounding jealous or spiteful “My dad said you used to date? Sleep around with? Whatever. The girls you were with before were all… supermodel looking. They’re probably tall and skinny and drop-dead gorgeous huh? Is that your type?”

“And where is this going, nena?” Miguel whispers, pulling away and giving you a stern look.

“Well, I’m just not like that?” you say sheepishly, pursing your lips and shying away from his gaze. “I don’t know why you gave me the chance. I’m just-”

Miguel’s gentle touch on your chin turns into him gripping your cheeks, making you shut up. You nervously look at him, a deep frown on his face.

“Don’t you ever put yourself down, cariño,” he says, his eyes sharp. He makes you keep your eyes on him while he uses his other hand to pull you closer, making you wrap your legs around his waist. “You know, at the start, I offered to let you stay here just because I wanted to mentor you when I had the time. I know you’re a brilliant girl, so intelligent, following in your dad’s footsteps. What I didn’t expect is for you to consume my thoughts day and night for the past few months. You’ve grown into such a beautiful lady, cariño. You are such a temptation, making me think about your pretty eyes looking up so innocently at me. Those lips tempt me every single time you pout at me to get your way.”

He growls, finally letting go of your face to move his hands to your ass. He suddenly bucks his hips against yours making you gasp out loud, your clothed cunt rubbing against his growing bulge. You try to move your hips to gain friction on your throbbing cunt but he keeps you still.

“Don’t even get me started on this body of yours,” he buries his face at the crook of your neck, kissing, licking, nipping at the sensitive flesh making your head roll to the side to give him more access “So perfect for me. Made for me to grab, to fuck, to worship. Dios mio, nena, I can’t get enough of you.”

He sounds drunk from your scent and taste, mouthing at your neck, hands kneading your flesh. He grabs handfuls of the soft fat of your thighs, your ass, your tummy rolls, your plump tits, and back down, committing each curve to memory. You wrap your arms around his neck, eyes rolling to the back of your head in pleasure when he laps at your pulse with his skillful tongue.

“So I don’t wanna hear any of that nonsense comparing yourself to women I didn’t care about then and I sure don’t care about now,” he growls as he picks you up and flips you around. He bends you over the counter, stomach against the cold marble top and the rounded edges digging at the tops of your thighs. Your feet can’t quite reach the floor so you settle for trying to wrap your legs around Miguel’s own. He yanks your shorts and panties down to your knees in one aggressive motion.

“My silly beautiful girl getting jealous over old flings and exes,” he hummed, his large hands massaging your ass, kneading the cheeks, spreading them with his thumbs. “They’re not here anymore, are they? Didn’t work out with them and they’re not in my life anymore. And I prefer it that way.”

You feel him spit on your hole, dripping down to mix with your own wetness. You drop your head onto the countertop, the heated skin on your face making the marble feel icy. He takes your wrists, securing your hands behind your back with his own large hand while his other still massages your ass. Your eyes flutter, enjoying the sensation when you hear a loud smack cut through the momentary silence.

“Mig-” you yelp as you feel a sharp sting on your right ass cheek. His hand goes back to massaging, trying to soothe your reddened skin. You whine as he gives your other cheek the same treatment. Two matching red handprints bloom on both your cheeks.

“You shouldn’t be listening to your dad about my type when I was much younger,” he says, his voice low and serious as he leans down to press his sculpted chest on your back “Because right now there’s nothing I want more than this pequeña prinscesa whose toes can't even reach the floor when I bend her over the kitchen counter. You love that too don't you? How I’m much bigger than you? How easily I can carry you around, bend you over, and fuck you whenever I want? Love folding you in half and using your pretty pussy- no, my pretty pussy. This is mine. Mine to fuck. Mine to breed. Isn’t that right?

You nod enthusiastically not trusting your voice to speak. the words he growls at your ear going straight to your cunt. You feel another hard smack go down your ass, the impact making you slide a bit on the counter. His hands pull you back by the waist to press his erection against your dripping cunt, your wetness soaking through his sweatpants.

“Use your words when you answer me, nena,” he growls, grinding himself against your folds. The friction from the fabric of his sweatpants feels heavenly against your puffy folds.

“Yessss,” you whine, pushing your ass back against him “all yours. Need you to fuck this pussy please, please, please!”

“How can I say no when my baby girl is begging so nicely?” he coos, pulling down his sweatpants to free his cock. He takes it in his hand and presses the tip in. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull as your velvety walls welcome him back, still stretched out from your earlier activities.

“Perfect,” Miguel groans as he wastes no time to fuck into your slutty little hole that’s sucking him in so lewdly. “Made for me. Mi princesa needs to learn that no one can compare to her. She’s so perfect. And she’s mine. Only mine. And I am hers.”

“Yo-urs– M-ah, Miguel,” you whimper as he keeps hitting all the right places, his tip hitting your sweet spot with each hard thrust until you’re once again pushed over the edge of sweet release. Your gummy walls contract, milking Miguel’s cock as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. He follows shortly after with a deep moan, his cock coating your insides with his warm seed.

Miguel makes no move to pull out. Instead he peppers your shoulders and neck with kisses, humming in contentment, whispering sweet endearments. Your heart fills with warmth and before you could even think about it, the words just leave your mouth.

“I love you, Miguel”

Silence. Anxiety starts to bubble in your chest as you start to think that you’ve read all the signs wrong. But before you could take it back, Miguel turns you to lie on your back, facing him. He leans down to capture your lips in his, his hands pulling you closer as if he was afraid you’d leave if he lets go. He mumbles “I love you” against your lips over and over again for the rest of the night making sure you never doubt his feelings for you ever again.

[allurilove]

Yandere x Zombie you

Rated 18 + — mature short content !

Includes: He’s depressed, gore, murder, death?, he steals someone’s teeth, he tries to fuck you with his… thing, and kidnapping.

*Sorry for not posting! I had to watch TWD to finish this and omg Rick is so fineeeeee. This is pretty unedited. This is also the third fic, and you can read the first, and second for better understanding! He is referred to as “your stalker.” This is purely fictional writing!*

Synopsis: You left him. He fell into a deep depression, not being able to function normally, and he tries to find you again. But trouble seems to follow him where ever he goes, and he has a little run in with a human.

This has been the second time you left him.

When he lifted his head back up, he saw that you were gone. He wiped his tears away and he stayed there on his knees. He doesn’t know how long he’s been there for, his knees slowly becoming numb, and sinking into the ground. He feels the weather change, how cool it becomes when it’s night, and how the birds chirp during the day. He feels the rain pelt him, he sees the grass grow, and the leaves fall down and sees the arrays of yellow and brown. His hair has become longer, a huge bush on his face, and he didn’t know how to function. He didn’t eat, didn’t move, and barely took care of himself. He ignored how his stomach would growl, or how it feels like his body would cave in itself at any moment.

He is now just a part of the sea of zombies, that would be eventually wiped out for human civilization to thrive again. He and you—would be gone. He hoped that there was a way to reverse this. His body has already gone through so much, he’s been eaten on, and generally looked like shit.

If his heart was beating, it would ache. Day and night, he doesnt move from his spot. He doesn’t acknowledge all of the wildlife checking him out, the occasional bunny or deer would sniff him, and he wouldn’t move. He was still as a statue, his eyes hollow, and his limbs were stiff. Soon enough, he flopped over and laid on his back, and stared at the stars.

He would imagine that you were still with him. That you would comment how the stars were so bright, and he would say that they couldn’t hold a candle to you. He would imagine that you two would have a little picnic— to be able to eat edible food instead of human carcass. He would imagine himself wearing his best, and that you would be in yours. That you would treat every outing with him as a date. He would imagine that you and him lived together, eventually getting married, and die old together.

If he died first, he would wish you to live your best life. And if you died first, he would join you. His best life wouldn’t come to fruition if you weren’t living. There was no point being on earth if you werent there with him.

He felt like he was stuck, his body glued to the ground, before he felt a sharp pain in his stomach. He never understood the whole concept of being a zombie, he’s been one for a while, and he feels like he’s failing miserably at it. He touched the bite mark you previously left on him, he sighed as he felt the ridges of your teeth marks, and he closed his eyes.

He would stay there— imaging what his whole life would be like if you just accepted him.

It’s now been years since he has seen you. He has been walking up and down the roads, hiding from humans with guns or knives, and he tried to find you. He wished you didn’t hate him. Or that the damn city you two were in wasn’t so huge.

Your stalker learned a lot from the short time he was with you. You taught him that he didn’t have to ask humans for permission, and that he could just eat them. It was odd at first, and he had to force himself out of the habit of pointing to the human and then back at his mouth. But eventually, he started to feast. To be able to find and recognize the human scent. To be able to spread the virus person to person. He hoped that you would be proud of him.

He continued his journey north, and he found himself at the same place he was last time— when he woke up as a zombie. He first grabbed a bag that was tossed aside, covered in dirt and blood. He then started to find the essentials: razor blades, scissors, rope (to tie you up with), and combs. He then came across a CVS, picking up some magazines incase he gets bored. He hesitated as his hand went to grab some condoms. And he slowly looked down at his crotch. His thing, was officially retired ever since he cut it off and sewed it back on, and he doubts it works like a normal penis does. He dropped the condoms and pushed the door open, and he went back on the road.

He started to learn about the things that zombies do. He also learned that there weren’t many zombies that had the same capabilities like him. Most of them seemed to just run on instinct, and bite at whatever they could. So, it was hard to make any friends.

He came across a restroom at what was presumably a rest stop. He entered the bathroom, and opened his bag. He scrubbed his face clean, and brought out the razor blade. He gently pressed it onto his jaw, praying that he doesn’t nick his skin. Slowly his beard started to disappear, and he then took the scissors started to trim, and style his hair. He looked more presentable this time, and he still looked… dead. But he couldn’t fix that somehow.

He found a man that looked like he was around his size… and your stalker slowly looked down at the pants he was currently wearing. The jeans he wore were tight. And he was pretty sure he was chafing down there, and it was awkward to waddle after your victim. No one exactly took him seriously when he wore pants like these. He bends down and he inspects the dead body, his hands grazing over the full set of teeth the man had.

Dental… was pretty hard to keep up with. He began to pull and even try to bite out the man’s teeth, his hand gripped the man’s lower jaw and he snapped it off. He wanted to find a way to take his jaw off and sew the man’s onto his face, but he ended up just stealing each tooth instead. He shoved them into the slots that were missing teeth, and a couple were stubborn. Not willing to be in a strangers mouth, so he had to force them into his gums.

Your stalker felt like a new man.

It’s been a couple of years since you left him in the woods. You took the opportunity to flee without him noticing, and anyone would be foolish not to do so. You ran for your life, or as fast as your feet could carry you, and you disappeared from him forever.

You traveled up north, dragging your feet to a rest stop, and you passed a body that was missing teeth and pants. Weird.

You’re pretty hungry, your mouth filled with chunks of flesh as you tear the man’s legs apart. You barely swallow and you feel the meat slide down your gullet.

You soon find yourself at a cemetery. It felt like you cheated “death.” All of these people below you, once lived their life to the fullest and unknowingly escaping the apocalypse. While you, a undead being, had to live through it. You were respectful and mindful of where you stepped, and you read some of the tombstones. It was clear everyone here was loved, a bunch of decorations were still up, and vases surrounded each one. Despite the flowers becoming wilted overtime, you knew how much thought and care their loved ones put into it.

You notice a trail of blood on the ground, and you curiously followed it. It was odd to see that, especially in an area as pristine and untouched as the cemetery. You continue to follow it, your feet leading you up to a grave that was dug up. A huge pile of dirt on the side and the gravestone next to it. You wondered if someone crawled out of their grave.

You peer down curiously, trying to look past the clumps of dirt and blood, and you see some skin and bones poking out. A hand twitching and grabbing onto the air as if it wanted to be pulled out.

You waved a branch around above the hand. You weren’t about to sacrifice your body for this random thing. You watched as the hand paused as the branch hit it a couple of times, but then it surged up, grabbing onto the branch. You almost fall into the pit, but your feet plant you onto the ground. You pull and pull, and you see a head stick out.

Your stalker coughed as he was pulled out of his tortuous doom. His eyes immediately land onto yours. They seem to widen, and fill with tears immediately. His top half of his body was now out of the ground, and he wiggled around to hug you. You quickly maneuver your body out of the way, and he hugged a pile of dirt instead. His face nuzzling against nature, his lips puckering into a kiss, and he pulled back as his tongue tasted a worm.

Your stalker whined for you. He threw a little tantrum and all of his frustrations were voiced into little “ooh-“ or “ungh” or “mggggh.” He just wished you could understand him! He’s gone through hell and back just to find you.

Your stalker was so hungry that he used his nose to find a scent of a human, his feet leading him to the cemetery. All until he fell into a pit, dirt falling on top of him and he felt suffocated.

You gape at him, almost impressed by how he seems to pull his whole body up with a wiggle. All of the wind is knocked out of you as he pushed himself on top of you. He seemed to be grateful, his lips pressing kisses on your neck, and his hands hold your hips close to his. If he could speak correctly it would all be praises and compliments.

He then began to gesture at his crotch.

You immediately shook your head to say no, and he pouted. He pointed again. You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms and still said no. He then gestured at your crotch with a sheepish smile, a tiny peek of his pink tongue sticking out.

It took everything within you to not shove him down the pit.

He pulled his pants down, right below his ass, and he shimmed his cock out. It was floppy, not hard and couldn’t get hard since his blood couldn’t flow into it. He bit his lip as he tried to undo the pink stitches.

You haven’t gotten… laid in a while, and there was a man offering himself right in front of you. He pulled at the stitches, undoing the pink thread and his cock hangs off his body. He leans down, using his new teeth to cut it off.

When he got it off, he frowned as his cock was just limp in his hand. He then got an idea. He rammed the branch into his manhood, and he finally got it to stand proud. It sort of looked like a hotdog on a stick. But now he was able to control and maneuver his dick inside you.

He first wanted to see it in your mouth, and to see your cute lips wrapped around his pulsing tip. But you know, this will work for now. He got you to part your lips, his dick prodding its way into your throat.

God it tasted disgusting.

He held your face with one hand, the other pushing his cock in and out of your throat. Your saliva coating it all.

You pulled down your pants, spreading a bit of your legs apart, and you tensed up as he aligned his tip to your entrance. You closed your eyes, not wanting to look at the mangled cock press inside you.

Your stalker been wanting to be with you, and he can’t help but be a bit jealous of the makeshift dildo he made. But he watched with interest, his face close as the dick slides out of you, and his tongue flicked your hole to help with lubrication.

Sure, he wouldn’t be able to cum inside you and mark you as his, but the faces you make as his dick stretched you out so nicely… Fuck. He watched your toes curl, your back arching off the ground, and just to see your legs shake was enough for him.

He pressed kisses on your stomach, his face nuzzling into your body as he moved his hand to pump his cock faster into you.

He would tell you to cum, he would tell you how great you look, and how he would love to eat you out more. But his voice is just soft grunts. As you closed your eyes, the arousal building in your stomach— his hand grabbing his rope from his bag. He pulled the cock out of you, tossing it to the side and he forced you into your stomach. He quickly wrapped your thighs together, your hands, and he took off his shirt to gag you.

You wouldn’t be able to run away from him, you won’t be able to scream, and he smiles hard.

Allure: Not proud of this one. tysm for 870+ followers!!! 🫶🏻 It always makes me nervous to see my account growing, and the fact that many people want to see my writing 😬

[diremoone]

“make me (yours).” | r. sukuna

w — [ minors do not interact ] modern! AU, hints of sugar daddy vibes ;), older man/younger woman, age gap, everyone is above 20+ and legal age, male masturbation, Sukuna imagining seggs positions and shit like that, Sukuna is around 36 & Reader is around 22/23, tbh sukuna being a comfort character rn. jjk after 235? it’s non-canon lmao

a/n: this is the most I’ve ever written that’s sinful I’m not used to this (it’s been so damn long since i have written anything remotely sinful omfg) and it’s not even that much I’m so embarrassed y’all HELP— also part two depends on you guys and any ideas you want to send in through my ask box :3

part one | part two

[ first divider by @/benkeibear, the second by @/cafekitsune ]

♥️ Rich! Sukuna who meets you through his younger brother, who’s a few years older than you. You’ve been in Japan for a few years now, that much he knows, attending the same school his little brother got into. And now he’s determined to find out everything about you.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna who’s so fucking glad you can speak Japanese. He knows English, yes, but he prefers it when you speak his native tongue, because he fucking loves your accent and gets off on it. It’s exotic — you’re exotic — and he can’t help the temptation of wanting you and more.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna who knows to keep his smug smirk into himself when his little brother finally mans up and finally introduces you to him one day when he comes home to work on a project that you’re helping him with. And he knows that Yuuji knows about the look on his face. Because he knows his history with women. Yuuji knows he’s made a mistake introducing you to each other.

Or so he thinks.

Sukuna is thoroughly amused by you, although there are times where he becomes frustrated. You’re not an easy case to crack, and not easy to tease and rile up. Perhaps that’s the part of you that’s from accelerated maturity.

You’re smarter than the average person, even the people slightly above average. You’re intellectually and psychologically challenging and he very much likes it. It’s been a long time since he’s had the kind of stimulation you’ve brought him. Since his and Yuuji’s father passed away.

He watches from a distance as you and his brother go over notes and work and crack jokes that put a pretty smile on your face. He can’t hear your laughter from where he stands, but he’s positive it’s as lovely as your smile.

As for you, you know you’re being watched. You look to the tall man out of your peripheral vision and halt rolling your eyes.

“Your brother is never subtle, is he?”

Yuuji sighs heavily. “Never.”

♥️ Rich! Sukuna who hates the fact he can’t see you more often. So he digs and digs and then finds out about some old family debts and a couple things for medical expenses he can easily pay off to hold over your head, to use as a means to be something akin to a sugar daddy so he can order you around and see you whenever he wants to.

And it comes as no surprise to him when he mentions it the next time his brother brings you over for schoolwork that you’re startled by him finding out. He only mentions it after Yuuji has fallen asleep on the couch. You give him the wide-eyed expression of shock, probably wondering how he found out about it.

But unlike his expectations, you don’t ask how he knows. you don’t get embarrassed and try to hush it away with the option of using yourself as his favor. You shrug, going a little more into depth and detail about the financial struggle that’s been kept under wraps for several good years.

Sukuna himself is surprised in return, by both you and the way he sits down for you — to listen to you.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna, who finds out that even though you see him as super attractive, you’re not as swayed by his flirting and all of his advances like many women and young women your age are. Yes, you know he’s super fucking stupidly hot, and yes you’ve more than likely thought about certain things while in bed under the sheets, but you’ve got more important things to prioritize than hot men. Which he applauds you for just as much as he despises it. It makes him frustrated, because he’s attracted to you and wants you in his bed so bad; because it should be so fucking easy like it has been with other women. But you’re not the same, and while his lust is as prominent as ever in his older age, he also has the desire for something more than just a fling.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna who manages to get ahold of your schedule through his baby brother (who’s prepping for your broken heart) and asks you out, setting up a date for when he knows you’re free. He much enjoys the look on your face when he brings up the date he’s set, knowing you’re wondering about how he managed to nail the exact day you’re free for the day he’s set for the outing. He enjoys it even further when you quickly deduce how he knows about it.

Goddamn, he loves a sharp woman.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna, who orders you a dress to be made that’s a mix of beautiful deep crimson and black, one that shines but doesn’t shine too much to glare at people eyes. He drums his fingers against his desk in his home office as he sees the notification pop up on his phone that the item has been delivered.

But as usual, you surprise him. You don’t end up wearing the dress he’s made, but something completely different. You arrive to the restaurant he’s bought out for the night in a deep silver-gray tux, hair styled in a simple manner with minimal makeup that he knows you don’t need because he’s already seen and fallen for your natural looks anyway.

Sukuna hates you. He doesn’t, but he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with the feelings he has. You’re so much younger than him, but holy fuck has it been so long since he’s been given any sort of challenge or stimuli, especially from a woman. He both hates and is glad you’re not easy. And it only fuels his drive to get you to give yourself to him.

You drive him up a damn wall.

He’s been in the shower for at least forty minutes, alternating between hot and cold every five minutes. Forty minutes and the painful hard on he’s had all morning still hasn’t gone away.

Sukuna leans his head forward against the wall and cusses at himself. His hand isn’t enough, but there’s some relief as he starts leisurely pumping his shaft. He cusses and swears worse than a sailor as he starts off slow, imagination running wild (at what could be).

He wants you so fucking bad. He wants you on your knees in front of him; on the soft carpet because no way is he going to let his pretty woman have sore knees while taking his monstrous dick down her throat.

He wants to bury his face between your legs and make you cum so much and so hard you see fucking galaxies, then let you catch your breath just barely enough before he uses your juices as lubricant and permanently molds your pussy to the shape of his fat cock.

He wants your legs over his shoulders as you throw your head back and moan as he fucks your better than anyone ever has and ever will. He wants to see a white ring around his cock as he pumps himself in and out of you like he’s a starved man. And that he is. For you, anyway.

Sukuna just knows your pussy is so fucking warm. He’ll bet his dick that you’ll have the tightest pussy he’s ever going to have. The best he’s ever going to have.

His hand pumps his shaft faster and faster, gripping it harder as he nears climax. His massive cock aches painfully, desperate to cum. Fucking hell… He wants you so bad, underneath him, or on your knees, calling him by whatever pet name or name from whatever kink you might have.

Forbid everything if you call him ‘Daddy’ or ‘Master’. Game fucking over.

He doesn’t even care if you have those kinds kinks or not. He just wants the pretty girl that’s done more than caught his attention under him as he makes her feel pleasure that only he can provide.

But the selfish part of him can’t help but hear you call out those names in his head. And that’s what does it.

Sukuna’s thighs and back muscles flex almost painfully as his balls draw up and cums. He tosses his head back, the feeling of his load spurting from the tip making him groan in pleasure. He cums so hard he feels like he’s about to keel over.

“Fuck yeah…” he pants, oxygen finally catching up to his lungs’ need.

But now he’s disappointed and just a little pissed off. Because the cum on the wall shouldn’t be there. It should be on or in you. And he doesn’t like that.

And as he rewashes himself, his jaw clenches, can’t help but thinking determinedly he’s going to change things between the two of you.

Come hell or high fucking water.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna who’s finally shifted the relationship to being something else. Although you can’t tell what it is. The first date he takes you on is to break the ice, getting to know you better as a person. It’s also to see if you’d fuck him, but he knows you’ve got stronger convictions than the women he’s used to.

He takes you on a second date, this time in more casual clothes on a drive to a house he’s set up to have dinner and stargaze at.

He gets to tell you he’s paid off your family’s old debts now, relieved them of the medical bills and taxes that haven’t been paid yet. But it backfires, and now he’s left to make you understand that it wasn’t to make you feel beholden to him in any manner, like owing debt to the mafia.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna needs you to understand that despite how much he wants to fuck you, it’s more than just because he finds you attractive and wants to satisfy his dick. He wants you to know you’re not temporary; he doesn’t see you as a quick fix to his primal needs.

Not at all.

You’re the long term fix to his primal needs. And perhaps the only one he’s going to need ever again. And once the expression of understanding crosses your face, he goes to cradle the back of your head and hungrily slots his lips on yours. He may not get to take all your clothes off right now, but he’s happy with his results tonight.

Besides, he knows he’ll get you into his bed with a shiny diamond ring on your left hand eventually.

wheeeew im gonna go take a cold bath

@vagabond-umlaut here’s ur man babe pls enjoy.

& everyone pls feel free to send in more ideas for this series if you want im having fun with this lmao

[zepskies]

Wake Me Up - Part 1

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Summary: A few weeks after you and Ben celebrate your first Christmas together, Ben is returning from another mission with the Supe Affairs team. When he discovers that you’ve been taken, he’ll do whatever it takes to find you. And then, to help you heal.

AN: Welcome back to the BMD-verse! Let me tell you, I’ve had this mini series outlined for months, but now I thought it was finally time to get to it. If you’re not tired of the Break Me Down world yet, I very much hope you enjoy Wake Me Up.

**As a reminder, this story is set shortly after Love Actually, and will contain references from that three-part story. 

Song Inspo: For this whole series it’s “I Can Read Your Mind” by the Doobie Brothers. (I pretty much listened to this on repeat.)

Word Count: 5.5K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Starting off strong in this one: with mature themes, show level violence, angst, kidnapping, PTSD, mentions of torture (not too graphic), and character death.

💚 Wake Me Up Masterlist || Break Me Down Masterlist

Part 1: “Familiar Territory”

The start of a new year continued a steady rhythm for you and Ben. Namely, another successful mission for the Supe Affairs team.

While you were patched into the team’s communications line from the safety of your desk back at the S.A. headquarters in New York, your friends were a few states over in Denver, Colorado. They’d just arrested a supe that had been committing a series of bank robberies by literally slipping away from the police, thanks to his particular superpower.

“Somebody better get this shit off of me,” M.M. groused.

He wasn’t too happy about some questionable ooze this particular supe secreted as a defense mechanism. According to Frenchie’s research, it was the same shit that certain frogs could produce to repel predators.

“Need a good hose down, more like,” said Butcher. “You smell fuckin’ foul.”

“Like Satan’s ass crack,” Ben remarked.

You couldn’t hold back a snort of amusement.

“Let’s just get the fuck outta here,” M.M. said, his tone all surly, as per usual. You didn’t envy his plight.

“Good job, guys,” you said, to change the subject. “Now it’s just a short flight back to New York.”

“No layovers this time. I’m not being paid to rot in a fucking airport with a bunch of mouth-breathing assholes and their screaming brats,” Ben said.

Charming. You rolled your eyes, but a smile played on your lips when you imagined his taciturn face.

“Okay, your majesty. I’ll make sure it’s a nonstop flight,” you said. “I’ll be waiting for you at home.”

That last bit, you said with a hint of more behind your words. You drummed your nails on your desk and crossed your legs underneath it. A week was a long time for you and your boyfriend to be apart, and you’d been missing him.

“You better be,” Ben said. His voice was deep and cocky. He was smirking, you were sure, and you knew that he’d understood you perfectly well.

“Anybody else hearing this blatant foreplay?” Hughie quipped.

“I sense cheeks will be cracked tonight,” Frenchie muttered.

“Ugh!” you heard Annie shudder.

You knew she supported you and Ben, but you also knew that she didn’t want to hear about the gushy details. You laughed through your embarrassment. 

“Okay, guys. I’ll see you all tomorrow,” you said, before you officially signed off. 

You grabbed your purse that was stowed away in a desk drawer, fished out your cell phone, and you called Ben’s cell. He picked up on the second ring.

“Yeah?” he said. 

“I love you,” you said with a smile. “Just wanted to make sure you knew that.”

“Mhmm,” he replied. “I’ll see you soon, baby doll.”

You pouted. “Come on, say it.”

“Say what?”

You sighed. You knew he was being deliberately obtuse.

“You know exactly what,” you replied.

Part of you was upset that he didn’t say it back as often as you liked. God forbid Butcher and the others hear him express his affection for you.

But you supposed you understood that any kind of vulnerability was difficult for him, especially in front of others. As much shit as you gave him, you also knew how to pick your battles with Ben.

“I told you. I’ll see you soon,” he said.

You once again tapped your nails, on your armrest this time. After a moment, you relented.

“Okay, baby. Have a safe flight,” you said, even if you were still frowning.

When Ben hung up with you, he let out a deep sigh.

An entire week with these juvenile cocksuckers was almost too much for him to fucking take. While he often felt your presence with you on the comm line during the actual mission, and the occasional phone call on long nights in between, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t enough.

He was ready to go home.

The flight itself was fine, though dealing with civilians and the tiring experience of a long-ass flight made him even more antsy to land. Because even when they got to JFK, he still had a hired car waiting for him to drive him from the airport to get to Scarsdale, and to the apartment he shared with you. It had already been almost a year of you two living there, in a three-bedroom spanning two floors.

Ben hadn’t thought he would get used to such a small place, but it was all right. It had become his home, far more than the penthouses and party mansions ever were, at least.

When he finally got home and unlocked the front door of the apartment, he stepped into darkness. All the lights were off.

Odd, he thought. He called your name while he shut the door behind him, then flicked on the foyer light. He realized then that he hadn’t seen your car in the driveway. Were you still working? It wasn’t unlike you to get caught up with the paperwork and other logistics after a case.

After a quick look around of each room, from the kitchen to the living room, Ben knew you hadn’t come home yet. A frown marred his face.

He went upstairs and entered the bedroom next. He unclipped his wrist guards and took his gloves off first, followed by loosening the collar of his supe suit. The bed was made, untouched since this morning, he was sure.

Then he noticed the scrap of paper resting on his pillow. He picked it up, and his brows furrowed as he read.

By the time you find me, she’ll wish she was dead.

Ben called Grace Mallory first.

When she didn’t answer, he called Butcher next. Ben’s hand shook the slightest bit while holding the phone up to his ear.

“Evenin’, guv,” Butcher answered with a tired sigh. “What’s this about—”

“We have a fucking problem,” Ben growled.

Ben pushed the limits of his Mercedes Benz while driving himself to Supe Affairs.

The others met him there in a conference room, except for Grace, who was on an active case at the moment. There Hughie and Frenchie tapped into the S.A. security footage on their laptops. 

They eventually found you getting into your car in the S.A. garage, about four hours ago. Then two later, the street cameras picked you up somewhere in the Village. Ben recognized the street. 

You probably had dinner with your friend Yvette and her family, but you intended to make it home on time to meet Ben when you left around 9:00 p.m. 

You had parallel parked at a meter on the street. According to the footage, it looked quiet and empty when you headed back to your car. 

You were stopped by someone before you could get the driver’s side door open. It looked like a man’s height and build; he grabbed you by the shoulder and threw a punch you managed to dodge.

You put up a good fight, but you were eventually knocked out with what looked to be a crowbar, at first glance. When Hughie zoomed in, it was actually a black baton. Ben watched it all with a deepening frown. Anger churned in his gut and ignited his blood as he watched your unconscious body being hauled into a black SUV.

“That looks military-issued,” M.M. said, pointing at the baton that the suspect used to hit you.

Butcher nodded, and also noted the man’s fighting style. “That’s a professional.”

“He would have to be, to take her out,” M.M. said, glancing at Ben. “And the timing. They knew you were coming home. That note was personal, besides the fact that they were casing your place…they’ve probably been watching both of you, waiting for the chance to get the jump on you.”

“The question,” Butcher said, “is who the fuck would wanna tangle with Soldier Boy that badly?”   

“Shit. That’s a laundry list, isn’t it?” Hughie said. M.M.’s glance told him to shut the fuck up.

Ben was silent, but his fury was mounting. His head turned sharply to Butcher.

“Get Mallory on the line. Now,” he barked. When no one moved quick enough for him, his temper snapped at its thinly held leash.

“I said right fucking now!”

Slowly you blinked your eyes open. For a moment, you were seeing in double vision. It soon cleared up to reveal dark, damp, musty surroundings.

It smelled familiar; after that mission to find and subdue Sapphire a couple of months ago, you’d recognize a New York sewer anywhere.

Fuuucking shit, you thought with a groan. Your head was aching. You felt a trickle of blood down the side of your neck, and you found yourself in a familiar position—seated on a metal chair with your hands secured behind your back. Your restraints felt like zip ties.

“You finally with us, sweetheart?” asked a man. His voice was smooth and commanding.

“Jackson, I don’t know about this,” whispered someone else. Another man, though he sounded slightly younger, reminding you of Hughie.

“Shut the fuck up, Tommy,” Jackson snapped.

At least you had a name. He stepped into the light that came from a couple of small lanterns. One was propped on top of a bucket by the wall. The other was on a plastic fold out table that you saw a few feet beside you.

The man who stepped into your line of vision was tall, maybe around Ben’s height, if just shy of his build. He was blonde, just like his skinnier friend. They shared some notable facial features and coloring, but while Jackson’s eyes were dark brown and self-assured, the younger man’s were blue and apprehensive. If you had to guess, they looked like brothers.

“Nice digs,” you remarked, gesturing with your gaze at your surroundings.

Jackson rose a brow, crossing his arms.

“You’re taking all this pretty well,” he said. 

You huffed humorlessly.

“This isn’t exactly my first kidnapping,” you said.

He quirked his head and drew closer.   

“All right. Well, since we’re on the clock, let me tell you why you’re here,” he said. He bent down in front of you so that his face was level with yours. “I need you, sweetheart. You’re going to tell me how to bring down Soldier Boy. How to kill him. How to end him. Then maybe, I’ll let you go without gouging out those pretty eyes.”

You stared back at Jackson with an expression that didn’t change.

Then you spat in his face.

And you expected the hard, back-handed slap that made your head whip to the side. It rattled you for a moment as you caught your breath, but you recovered enough to lean back in your seat. Your eyes met Jackson’s directly after he wiped his face with his shirt. “Tommy” stood off to the side behind his partner. He’d looked away when you were hit.

You focused on the other man, Jackson. He was wearing black cargo pants to match his boots, and a belt with a gun on his hip. He carried himself like a trained killer.

“Military, government agency, or private sector?” you asked.

His head tilted. He studied you, just like you were studying him.

“None of the above really,” he said. “Not anymore.”

He walked over to the fold out table, where he grabbed a black bag and unzipped it. A flash of silver gleamed as he pulled out one sharp instrument after the next. You had to hide your apprehension, and fear that made your insides tremble.

He glanced over at you.

“Let’s get started,” he said.

Hours later, you were teetering on the edge of consciousness.

After the last hit, you spat a wad of phlegm and blood onto Jackson’s shoes. He rotated the ache out of his hand. He looked down at you through furrowed brows.

“Damn, bitch,” he said, catching his breath. “You can take a hit. I’ll give you that.” 

“My dad was a Marine, numb nuts,” you managed to reply, through labored breaths. “He used to hit harder with his open hand than all the strength in that limp-dick wrist of yours.” 

Jackson smirked. “Christ. Daddy issues, huh? Why doesn’t that surprise me.” 

You gave him a droll look. Again, to cover your fear, because you weren’t willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing it.

Angered and frustrated by that defiance, he reached down and grabbed your neck and jaw with one hand. You winced at the force of his grip, but when he started squeezing, this was the one thing that made you truly whimper. You tried not to think about the ghost of your father’s hand around your neck.

“Don’t you get it, asshole?” you gritted out while struggling for breath. “You can’t kill him. No one can. Stronger, smarter people than you have tried.” 

Moments ticked by while Jackson contemplated your words. 

Then he released you. You sucked in gulps of air and tried not to cough out a lung.

“Maybe,” he said. “But Soldier Boy’s got a weakness. If anyone knows it, I’ve got a feeling it’s you.” 

You can’t say anything. You can’t, you can’t, you can’t. 

That had been your mantra for every minute you had spent in this hole. You shook your head.

“Look, Jackson.” You sucked in another breath to steady yourself, and blink a drip of blood out of your eyes. “He’s going to kill you. You and your brother. Take your family and run, while you’ve still got a chance.” 

“…You know what? You’re probably right,” Jackson said, scratching the back of his head with his crimson-stained hand. “But I just realized something.”

He leaned down again, until he was level with your face.

“When he finds you, drowned in your own goddamn blood…I think the look on his face might just be enough for me.”

Your eyes widened. 

It took days. Three painful days to pick up the threads, which led closer to home than anyone could’ve anticipated. 

Grace Mallory put pressure across the chain of command, and even reached out to the FBI for assistance. An alert email finally came to her phone, and she realized that an agent on her own payroll had been flagged for never reporting back for his debriefing on a reconnaissance mission.

That agent was Jackson Rawlins.

The further she read into his file, the worse her frown became. She immediately sent the lead to Ben, Butcher, and the rest of the team to run down. For the first time in years, Grace actually prayed.

She prayed that they would reach you in time. It wasn’t until then that she realized it; she hadn’t thought of you as a cog in her system for some time now—not even as leverage against Soldier Boy. She was genuinely concerned about you.

Grace worried that she was setting herself up for disappointment…if it was too late. However, she also worried about what would happen if you didn’t survive. She considered how Ben might react, with that nuclear power within him that he was still learning to control. The consequences of this mission could very well be catastrophic. 

You were losing track of time in this windowless pit. You knew it had been days, but you didn’t remember how many. The cellar was cold, and the way sound and air traveled, it felt like you were underground. It certainly smelled like it—damp and gross. It made you certain this was a sewer.

Now this is Satan’s ass crack, you thought. You winced at the pain that radiated…pretty much everywhere. Blood had dried from various lacerations across your face, neck, chest, and arms, and bruises were dark against your skin.

Your blouse was in tatters, and your jeans had bleeding rips as well, though at least he’d kept your ankle boots on. You were too weak even for hunger. And a large, heavy chain attached to manacles on your wrists had replaced the zip ties. One end of the chain was fastened between the wall and a line of plumbing.

Footsteps echoed down the hall behind you. You closed your eyes and steeled yourself.

“Are we actually gonna have a conversation today?” Jackson asked.

“Depends,” you replied, your voice dry and coarse. “Are you going to tell me why you hate Ben so much?”

An angry sigh escaped Jackson’s lips. He pointed up in frustration.

“Ben.” Jackson rolled and cracked his neck, like just the mention of your boyfriend’s real name was disgusting to this man.

“You talk about him like he’s a real fucking person. Not like the animal supe he is,” he said.

“He is a person,” you said, both in exhaustion, and in pain. “And he’s trying to be better. Look, he’s done terrible things. I’m not saying he hasn’t. I don’t know what he’s done to you in the past, but—”

Jackson shut you up with a sharp backhand. It made black spots encroach on your vision as you caught your breath.

You noticed his brother Tom come in the room as well, to watch and worry. He didn’t seem comfortable with this way of things. He looked like a civilian. Maybe you could use that to your advantage…

But you lost track of thought after that, when Jackson started in on you with either his hands, or the creativity of the instruments on the table nearby. 

You tried to block out the pain, along with his questions about Ben. If you couldn’t talk about him, you couldn’t let yourself think about him. So you couldn’t say anything.

Not about the Novichok nerve agent, one of the few things that had been found to incapacitate him. Not his imprisonment by Vought or the S.A.—nothing that your captor could one day use against Ben.

You can’t. You can’t. You can’t.

Even though all you wanted right now was him. 

Ben, please…

You zoned in and out of consciousness from there.

When you next registered being awake, mercifully, you were left alone. You raised your head when Tom came to blot at least some of your wounds and give you water. You’d only eaten small pieces of protein bars for days. 

“I’m sorry,” Tom whispered.

“Why does he want Ben?” you wheezed. “Why are you going along with this if you’re so damn sorry?”

Tom looked up at you with pain and grief in his blue eyes. He sighed and dragged a nearby chair from the table. He sat beside you while he fed you half a protein bar. It was a struggle to even get the pieces down.

“Last year,” said Tom, clearing his throat. “I lived in the building that Soldier Boy blew up when he got back from…wherever the Russians had him.”

Your eyes widened as you processed that. “You…but you made it out. Why—”

“I wasn’t home. I was at work,” Tom said. His voice was pained as his eyes became red and glassy. “Our mom wasn’t so lucky.”

You sighed, closing your eyes.

“She was retired, and I was taking care of her,” Tom said. He wiped at his eyes and sniffed. “Jackson wasn’t here. He was on a mission in Colombia. Told me he was cleaning up some cartel shit.”

At that, you had a sneaking suspicion that coiled in your gut. Ben had left a bit of a mess when he peaced out of Colombia, with an entire plane filled with drugs and weapons from whatever cartel he’d infiltrated. (In his words, he’d cut the head off the snake.)

Grace told you she’d sent a team in to handle that mess…

“Your brother—who does he work for?” you asked. Though you had a feeling you knew the answer.

Tom seemed to read your understanding, and his face turned grim.

“The CIA,” he said.

Fuck, you grimaced. So not only had Ben been responsible for their mother’s death, but Jackson had been part of the team that cleaned up his mess in South America. It explained why Jackson was somehow able to find your information; Supe Affairs had become a subsect of the CIA, thanks to Grace. 

“I didn’t know he was planning this. I swear to God. All he said was that he had a way to get at Soldier Boy,” Tom said. You let out a deep breath.

“I’m sorry for your loss. I really am,” you said. Tears welled up hot in your eyes. “But you need to let me go. For your own safety, believe me.”

You saw the guilt, the sadness, the regret on Tom’s face. The brief indecision was overtaken when he glanced down the hall. You knew then that he was more afraid of his own brother than he was willing to do the right thing.

Your tears spilled over, though you tried to breathe through it. You’d tried to save them for when you were alone, those seldom few, cold hours, but you were reaching your breaking point.

“Okay, before I go, do you have to use the bathroom?” Tom asked. There was a bucket in the corner, and Jackson preferred it away from the chair. It was the only time Tom was allowed to unchain you from the wall and let you stretch your legs.

Letting out an exhausted sigh, you nodded in agreement. It was humiliating to know you were going to have to do this yet again, in a bucket, with company. With the manacles still on your wrists, he brought you over to the “special” corner.

Tom sighed and looked away to give you some semblance of privacy.

That was when you used every scrap of energy you had left in you.

You grabbed the chain and yanked it out of his hands long enough to wrap it around his neck from behind. You cut off his sounds of strain and kicked out his knees, so he was forced to kneel on the ground.

You wrapped the rest of the chain around your thigh, giving you the leverage you needed to tighten your grip and choke him out, until he was unconscious. His body fell to the side, and you heaved for breath. Once again, there were black spots in your vision, but you did your best to blink them away.

Now set with determination, you made your way to the plastic table and searched for the key to your chains. After the manacles were unlocked, you rubbed at your raw wrists and rapidly scanned the room. Adrenaline pumped through your veins as you calculated which way you should go to try and escape.

There were three possibilities in this clearing under the sewer: left, right, or straight ahead. Every time Tom or Jackson emerged, it sounded like it was behind you. The chair was facing to the east, which meant you had to take the left tunnel.

You ran in that direction and tried to find a metal ladder that would take you to whatever manhole cover these guys had detached. Someone couldn’t just open up any of those iron plates without the right tools, from the inside or the outside.

You walked as fast as you could manage, even though your entire body protested in pain. Then finally, you saw a black duffel bag lying on the ground, against the wall. Next to it was a metal ladder that went all the way up to the top.

“Jackson, don’t!”

You heard Tom’s voice, but you felt the presence behind you too late. Jackson hit you in the back of the head with that damn baton, so hard that even he grimaced at how the sound echoed on the walls. You crumpled to the ground.

Jackson stood over you with a grim set to his face. He turned to his brother with a shake of his head.

“She’s a walking welt, and you couldn’t handle her?” he said.

“This is too much,” Tom said in worry. He bent down and held two fingers to your neck. He still felt a pulse, at least, but when he felt behind your head, he found blood. His hand shook as he stared at it.

“If you didn’t want in on this, you should’ve said so from the beginning,” said Jackson. He spun the baton in his hand and clipped the hilt to his belt, from a small metal loop on the end of it.

“You didn’t say anything about…about this!” Tom argued. He cleaned your blood off on his jacket.

Jackson regarded his brother with disappointment, and he hefted you up into his arms. Tom followed him back to their setup with your makeshift prison. There Jackson left you lying on the ground, and chained you back up by your wrists for good measure. He then literally and figuratively wiped his hands of you.

“Come on, we’re leaving,” he said. “For good this time.”

Tom looked at you, then his brother in shock. There was even emotion in his eyes.   

“We’re leaving her to die,” he said, his voice unsteady. He knew then, that their mother wouldn't have wanted this in her name. If she saw both of them now, she wouldn't recognize them.

Jackson grabbed his younger brother where his neck met his shoulder. An iron grip.

“And what do you think Soldier Boy is going to do if he finds us?” Jackson asked. His gaze encouraged Tom to explore that reality for a moment.

Jackson nodded at your unconscious form. “Trust me, that bitch was never going to talk. But this is almost better.”

It wasn’t right, Tom thought. He knew it, deep in his heart, but he wasn’t strong like his brother, or even like you.

That was when they heard it. The rumble of engines dying and tires rolling overhead, dislodging a few stray pebbles and dust from the ceiling. Jackson’s eyes widened. 

“Fuck!” he muttered. “All right, let’s go.”

Jackson forced his younger brother to leave the sewer with him, and leave you chained up on the floor.

Ben, Butcher, M.M., and Frenchie had done much of the legwork in tracking down Jackson Rawlins and his brother Tom (with help from Annie, Kimiko, and Hughie of course). Frenchie had found your likely location with a powerful thermal scanner, courtesy of Grace.

Now, they’d driven up to the wide alley in the city and blocked off all the exits on the block. Ben was the first to get his boots on the ground and stride toward the point of entry, where according to Frenchie’s scanners, more than one body was holed up in the sewer. He held his shield at his side and at the ready when the manhole cover loosened, and slid open.

A small gas bomb rolled out towards his feet, but it was just tear gas, not the kind of thing that could actually affect him. Ben picked up the little round ball of metal and crushed it in his hand. While the rest of the team dove for the oxygen masks stored in the car, Ben stalked forward.

Seeing the silhouette of a man, Ben threw his shield hard enough to rattle a supe.

Jackson Rawlins was thrown clean onto his back with a force that stole the breath from his lungs, even through his gas mask. It also broke half a dozen ribs. Ben was soon bearing on top of him and ripping off the mask.

Jackson cried out as remnants of the tear gas seared his eyes.

“Got us a runner!” Butcher shouted. He intercepted and grabbed up a second man who tried to escape. Tom Rawlins wasn’t the threat, but he still wasn’t going free. M.M. and Frenchie also dove down into the sewer to try and find you after they got their gas masks on.

Meanwhile, Ben hauled Jackson up by his neck and walked him back until he hit the brick wall beside a nail salon. Jackson grunted in pain. Every breath he took was now agonizing, thanks to his now battered and broken ribs.

“Where is she?” Ben demanded.

Jackson actually laughed in his face, despite his now bloodshot eyes.

“All you fucking supes are the same,” he said. “But you…you’re the worst. Quite literally, the original asshole. And what does the government do? What does the world do? Gives you a pass on decades of indiscretions, fuck ups, and straight up murder.” 

Ben didn’t outwardly react, but he knew what Jackson’s problem was. He knew he killed the man’s family. Collateral damage—something that had caused Ben more than one argument with you in the past.

But he didn’t care.

He didn’t care, because all he could see in his mind’s eye was a metal bat hitting the back of your head and knocking you clean out. He saw you being taken against your will. Taken from him. And that, he couldn’t abide.

“Where. Is she?” Ben said, as his grip flexed around the other man’s neck. It would be easy. Easier than snapping a toothpick. And he warned, “Don’t make me fucking repeat myself.”

“Dead, probably,” Jackson spat, despite his red and bleary eyes. “Real tough bitch. I see why you’re fucking her…I had me a little taste myself.”

In that moment, Ben couldn’t compute.

His green eyes widened. His breath stilled.

Then his jaw clenched so tight that his teeth were grinding. A fire in his blood and behind his eyes, and fury that burned hot in his chest, almost giving it that nuclear glow.

His hand tightened and choked any salacious words Jackson might’ve spewed out next.

“He didn’t!” Tom shouted out. He was being restrained by Butcher. Ben glanced at them out of the corner of his eye.  

“He didn’t touch her. Not like that,” Tom said. He looked sincere.  

“Shut the fuck up, Tommy,” said his older brother. 

It earned Ben’s attention back. Jackson had the look of a man who knew he was going to die either way.

Ben’s lips curled into a sneer. He took the man’s head with both hands, and slowly crushed his skull. The scream echoed between Ben’s ears, but he was only satisfied when Jackson’s lifeless body dropped at his feet.

He turned to the other Rawlins next.

Tom had screamed as well to watch his brother’s life ended before his eyes. He now stared straight into Soldier Boy’s, pleading wordlessly for his own life. Ben started toward him.

“Please,” Tom said. He tried twisting away from Butcher, who held firm to the man’s arm. The Brit knew all too well, the rage that Ben had in his blood.

“Ben,” Annie tried, and she even stepped forward. Butcher held a hand out against her with a knowing look. It wouldn’t be wise to stand in the way.

“Hey!” M.M. shouted up from down the open hatch of the sewer. “We found her! Need help getting her loose.”

Ben paused in his steps. Tom was shaking, lips trembling, petrified.

Tilting his head, Ben let out a subtle breath through his nose. He began to turn back toward the sewer.

At the last moment, however, he drew his gun and shot Tom Rawlins between the eyes. The man was dead before he hit the ground.

Annie and Hughie flinched, but Butcher and Kimiko weren’t surprised in the least.

Meanwhile, Ben made his way back towards M.M.’s voice, and into the sewer. He heard M.M. and Frenchie arguing about first aid and head wounds, the further in he went. Ben’s dark mood blackened even more along the way.

Once he reached them, he also reached you, held in M.M.’s arms as he cradled your head.

You were unconscious with your wrists locked into heavy chains. The furrow between Ben’s brows deepened, but he got down to his knees beside you and first, broke your chains. He guided you out of M.M.’s arms and into his own, making sure to support your head. Blood was already staining his half-glove and fingers.

It was then that he noticed the small crimson pool lying where your body had been, likely from the wound he could feel at the back of your head. Ben’s mouth trembled the slightest bit, mostly in anger as he drew himself back onto his feet. Your body was littered with bruises, cuts both shallow and deep made by what looked like a blade, and God knew what else.

“I had me a little taste myself,” Jackson had taunted.

No, Ben internally shook that thought from his mind. No, you hadn’t been touched like that, at least, according to the sniveling, cock-sucking brother.

But can you trust that little cunt’s word?

Ben briefly closed his eyes, pressing his lips to your forehead. He continued walking down the hall and towards the light and fresh air of the world above.

You’re gonna be just fine, he promised you, if just within the safety of his mind.

Yeah, you would be all right.

He was going to make sure of it.

AN: 🫣 I'm sorry...BUT, I can promise it will get better (eventually). First, it's going to get worse.

Next Time:

It was a slow process, and it hurt, but you managed to turn your head. You saw a man sitting in the corner with a laptop balanced on his lap. He typed with two fingers at a time, which reminded you of your grandfather. His brown hair fell over his furrowed brows, but his beard was well trimmed.

His head soon raised, possibly feeling the weight of your gaze. His eyes widened a fraction, and he hastily closed the laptop and set it down on his seat before he went to you. You frowned when he came to sit at your bedside, and even touched your cheek with a gentle hand.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said. His voice was deep and smooth. “How’re you feeling?”

You didn’t have the energy to lean away from his hand, but you did give him a look of weary confusion.

“I…I don’t…who are you?” you asked.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 2

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Break Me Down Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

BMD/Series Tag List (Part 1):

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26

@spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@mrsjenniferwinchester @lyarr24 @xoxovienna @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28

@nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022

@emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @theonlymaninthesky

@kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun

@lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420

@tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92 @kazsrm67 @deansbbyx