#and just being able to go places with my friends without having to plan out how to avoid fainting or pain flares

[xechu]

cw: suggestive themes, swearing, 18+ blog mdni

notes: from the same au as my one shot “Warm on a Cold Night” // check out the first HC here

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who could be charming and actually good with his words when he wanted to be, but overall, communication was not his strong suit.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - whose life might not have been the most smooth sailing, but he always took matters into his own hands and somehow managed to carve out his own path, which fueled his arrogance a little more than it should have.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who struggled with having to accommodate for someone else, when he had been so comfortable living life on his own terms and accord—now it always nagged at the back of his mind that there was someone else he had to answer to. But he still tried his best.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who finally got you to be his girlfriend after half a year. You understood that he could be a little rough around the edges and has a (very) wild side, but you deemed him to be a good man beneath it all. You also respected that he was able to make something for himself despite his turbulent past.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who couldn't believe that he was able to get the girl of his dream, but after a year of being together, your relationship quickly became an emotional roller coaster—volatile and chaotic. The two of you would reach the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. He truly loved you, but given how he had always lived his life, this was all uncharted territory for him. This went on for another three years.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who loved going on vacations with you. Surprisingly, he’s the one who usually plans them. He also pays for every single one of them, he just asks when you’re free to go and plans accordingly. It’s cheesy, but he wanted to see the world with you—only you. The two of you would always have a great time wherever you went. And this also meant that he wasn’t arguing with you about certain aspects of his life, he knew it was a temporary escape, but if only it could always stay like this.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - speaking of arguments and conflict, he always got angry and frustrated when you were upset or crying, but most of the time the frustration and anger wasn't actually directed towards you—it was to himself. He felt like he failed you, and deep down he knew what was causing your grievances, but he was also stubborn and selfish in his own ways.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who argued with you about the same things over and over again. It always starts with you expressing concern about his lifestyle and the crowd of people he hung out with. You weren’t trying to control or dictate him, but his self-destructive behavior always seems to be exacerbated and encouraged by his so-called friends. You were worried about him. The only people that seemed to try to keep him in check was his family and his best friend Uraume.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who walks away, leaving you a sobbing mess in the apartment after one particular nasty argument. Even though he didn't explicitly say he wanted to break up this time, the words said during this argument was hard to come back from, and his choice to walk away instead of addressing the issue time after time, inherently put things into perspective. This time, things seemed rather final, and his intuition was correct as he finds his belongings all packed up in a box the very next day.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who doesn't say much at the sight of his boxed up belongings. There were no questions, no fight, no protest, not a single word. He quietly takes the box, accepting the reality of the situation, throws your spare keys on the dining table, and leaves without sparing you another glance - like the past four years meant nothing, like you meant nothing.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who was working out at the gym after he dropped his stuff back at his own place. He forgot to bring his headphones and had to listen to the much dreaded gym music. "Baby Come Back" was on blast and he nearly wanted to throw his weights into the mirror. Needless to say, he added that song to his playlist the same night.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who found himself in front of Yorozu's door three weeks later. Yes, this wasn't the best idea, but the two of you had broken up. He no longer had to justify his actions with you. Besides, he just needed to blow off some steam, and he didn't know who else to go to that would have openly accepted his current predicament.

ex/boyfriend!sukuna - who knew he majorly fucked up when you called him at 2:30 AM, drunk and sobbing hysterically, while he was still over at Yorozu’s. As he’s scrambling to get dressed to come pick you up, he’s praying to all the gods out there that you will never find out about this. He swears on his life that this was going to be the last time he had ever sought Yorozu out for favors again.

a/n: ahh, I've been enjoying making hc's for this au, it's a nice little break from my other projects right now. Just something fun and lighthearted that doesn’t require a lot of time and editing. And I do enjoy writing hc's because I treat them as little lores and ideas for potential one shots that I can go back on. If I start expanding a lot on this au, I may have to come up with a series name. The events in this hc all happen prior to ‘Warm on a Cold Night’.

Shameless self plug: you can check out some of my other works here under 'archive'. x

[feverdreamsandlucidnightmares]

God I swear I’m not trying to be all doom and gloom talking about my health I know it’s annoying I just really need a break and everyone irl is already done with my shit bc I’ve been too anxious to go back to the doctor bc the last one told me I’d just have to deal with it and potentially get more surgeries and I’m 23 dude. It took nearly 3 years before my doctor even agreed that that surgery was necessary and it didn’t even fully fix my shit it just lessened the pain — which I’m grateful for, don’t get me wrong! But I haven’t had full limb function in my left arm since I was 15 and they made it sound like the surgery would fix it and then acted like I was overreacting when it didn’t. And my left leg has been deeply fucked for nearly as long, and at least slightly fucked at least since I hit double digits, and has gotten progressively worse. So like I know, I get it that I need to go to a doctor, but why would it go better now? What’s going to make a doctor take me seriously now?

I want to be angry, but I’m too tired.

[the-bluestreak-cat]

My extremely personal red flag is if you’ve never lived independently.

Do not open tags it’s just a personal vent and I hit the tag limit (30) and that’s never happened to me before ajskdlf

[icewindandboringhorror]

Other Misc. Rambling Thoughts on the topic:

(~ !!!!!!!!! if you're just reblogging this post for the Poll section, please reblog the original post without this addition* lol. ~)

(*not that there's anything super personal or weird about the addition, just that it's meant to be kind of casual Side Commentary, not really part of the Main Point Of The Poll, so it would feel kind of weird for it to be emphasized by being included in reblogs unless the reblogs were explicitly about the side commentary, etc..... if that makes sense.. ANYWAY!)

It's neat to read the written descriptions that people are mentioning in the tags, since it's almost like I can see or conceptualize the idea as well, but it's just.. I'm not SEEING it.

Like for example: I can imagine a vase, it's a muted mint green and slightly translucent, elaborate golden birds sprawled down the side in streaks of thin rough watery paint, the base material shimmers gently in the light, there's a small chip where it's cracked on the handle, etc, etc. .. But as I'm thinking about this I see literally nothing.

It seems like perhaps some people can visualize an object first, and THEN describe what they see. But I sort of work backwards. I am building the object in my mind, I can never see it, but it's a collection of concepts. Rather than visualizing all details as a whole at once, I am adding each detail one by one, building onto the IDEA of the thing.

The vase doesn't have a crack on the handle because I just automatically visualized a vase with a crack. It was more that I cognitively understand the concept of a vase, what they tend to be made out of, how they tend to look and feel, the properties they have. So based purely on that knowledge, I can imagine "a chip is something that a vase could have, it would look this way and behave this way" - more like... I'm constructing a bullet point Fact List about the object rather than seeing it.

So if you tell me to imagine an object, I can, in a way, imagine that object in great detail, but it's just.. I'm not SEEING those details, more just knowing it's qualities in a purely conceptual way. Sometimes in the tags when people are like "yeah I can see the skin of the apple, texture, little dots on the surface" it's like… I can imagine that too, I can know it's there, but just with no visual attached.

I guess rather than SEEING something and going ''ah. I know what this looks like because I have seen it''. I more just skip that visual step entirely and go ''I know what this looks like, I just randomly have a list of information about the concept in my mind.'' etc. Maybe similar to how sometimes in dreams, even though a house may look completely different and be in an entirely fake 'dreamlike' environment, you just somehow KNOW intuitively that it's meant to be your childhood home or something. Even when it looks nothing like it in reality. There's a built-in base knowledge of the properties or information of some things within a dreaming mind, etc.

--

This also makes me wonder about like.. how storytelling and myth is so important to cultures all across time. Or how this could tie also into concepts of religion.. etc. etc. If so many people really can kind of conjure these vivid images in their mind, then maybe that's part of why certain things are so meaningful to them? Like a "religious experience" being something you can actually really SEE/feel/lingering with you in your head, rather than just abstract words on a page, detached purely theoretical ideas, etc... hmmm

.

Plus also just for average emotional stuff too, even outside of broader cultural conceptual attachments..

Like, I don't think there's a direct 1 to 1 link (obviously not all people with mental illnesses that significantly reduce their emotional or expressive capacity also MUST have aphantasia or vice versa), but it's interesting as someone who DOES also have a much more lessened emotional range/pretty flat affect/etc. etc. to think like.. Maybe I WOULD be more emotional, in a way, if I could have these vivid experiences..?

Perhaps memories would hold deeper significance if they could really stay with me vividly. Or storytelling would evoke more of a deep emotional reaction to me if I could really picture and feel the things that are going on. If things were more TANGIBLE in my brain, rather than always merely conceptual highly abstracted ideas.

Kind of like, it's probably easier to get over the death of a pet or something, if after not seeing them for an hour you already don't remember what they looked like (beyond just a vague fact list of traits), and you have no vivid memories or mental reminders of them (beyond just factual information stores). COGNTIVIELY you can appreciate the idea of their absence, of course, you still miss them, but there's just no remaining visceral sensory ties. A very "out of sight, out of mind" sort of thing in terms of attachments, memories, emotions, etc. Maybe certain things are easier to "get over", when you're not having constant mental sensory reminders that occasionally rekindle your feelings about the event or etc.??

(like for example, maybe someone could remain angry about an argument longer if they could vividly replay it in their head over and over again. VS just like.. 'Yes I can factually recall the fact I had an argument, and I do have knowledge stored about what precisely was said, but any sort of sensory data such as sights/smells/feelings, etc. from the actual moment of the event are long gone and can never be conjured again in my mind." etc.)

Which again, I think lessened emotional permanence and image permanence in the mind are NOT inherently linked, can all be caused by different things for different people. And, since I can't visualize anything in my head, maybe I'm misunderstanding how it happens and the effect it may have on stuff like remembering things you miss or replaying arguments, etc. etc. But it's still a little interesting to think about, if they could influence each other to some degree.... :0c --

Lastly, It's also weird because I'm actually pretty good at estimating distance and spaces? I can quickly assemble furniture without an instruction manual, pretty easily have a concept of how much space a chair may take up in a room, how two mechanical parts might fit together - BUT, I am literally not actually visualizing anything. I cannot see 3D objects in my mind at ALL. It's like.. just based on the pure List Of Facts About Things Which I Have Observed.. I can intuitively go "oh this works like this/this is this size" just because.. I know it's that size. I don't have to see anything to know..?

But then on the other hand, I'm terrible at directions without a map (I guess because a 3d outdoor environment has WAY more complexity than like.. "Will this square fit into another square?"etc. lol ).

BUT, I also draw/sculpt/etc. entirely without references, and seem to do mostly okay at that..? Like.. I can't even remember the last time I actually used a reference or looked at anything whilst drawing. It's all muscle memory, and me just adjusting as I go until something "looks right" on paper, I never have a set image in my head (or external reference) before hand.. Hrmm....

AND.. I used to say that I had a photographic memory when I was younger, which I know NOW is not true (I always thought it was just an expression, not that people could literally see things in a photographic way). But what I was describing is, I do often associate information with imagery, just... without imagery....

Like "Oh, I know that I took my medicine earlier today because I have a distinct memory, a snapshot of a moment in time, of me rattling the pill bottle in my hands as I looked up at a stop sign while in the back seat of a car". When I say this, I can't ACTUALLY see/feel/hear a pill bottle, or vividly picture a stop sign, but it's more just a factual recall, of. Even though I don't see these things, I know they happened, the information of them happening (me hearing a sound and also looking at a stop sign at the same time) has been stored in my brain as a memory, a collection of linked facts. --

As for other senses, I cannot taste or feel anything in my head AT ALL.. wild that some people mention that. I mean, again, I can have a purely factual recall as if reading a textbook, knowing the information of 'X item typically has X texture, therefore I can imagine what it may be like to feel it' or 'X usually has this taste' etc. - but I can never actually experience those senses in any capacity in my mind alone. I would say audio is my strongest mental sense (maybe a 2.5 or 3 (if it were translated onto the above scale where 1 is most vivid and 5 is nothing)), then visual (4.5 at most, usually 5), and then taste and smell and such are just complete 5, absolutely nothing, I didn't even know people could experience taste or feeling just in their mind alone.. lol...

I know this is just a silly bad quality random screencap of a screencap that I found on facebook lol, BUT it's a succinct enough image to easily describe the concept in a quick/accessible way hopefully :

-

(and of course, feel free to elaborate in tags, etc.! (especially elaborating about other senses as well.. can you "hear" in your mind just as well as you can "see"? taste? etc.) It's an interesting topic to me, as someone who's like a 4.5 at MOST lol. I'm curious what option will be the most common :0c )

[chahnniesroom]

night again

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: in hindsight, visiting chan's studio right before a comeback isn't one of your best ideas. what was supposed to be a pleasant surprise leaves you spiraling into self-doubt, wondering if chan even wants to be in a relationship with you at all.

word count: 6.4k

tags/warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, misunderstandings, insecurities, reader not eating due to stress

a/n: the long awaited 'he calls you clingy' fic! title is from the english translation of 또 다시 밤 (twilight)

read it on ao3 | masterlist

You love your job. It's challenging for sure and the expectations from upper management are often unforgiving, but you’re proud of how hard you've worked and everything that you've accomplished in the past few years at your company. 

As you've gained experience, you've slowly been given more and more responsibility. You've grown out of your junior role and though you're thrilled by the pay raise and prospect of being a team lead rather than being led by one, it's also daunting.

When you and your new team are assigned an important project with tight deadlines, you're determined to prove yourself. It's implied that you're going to have to have to dedicate a significant amount of time to finish it and while you're no stranger to long hours, it means that any plans you have of seeing your boyfriend, Chan, are out the window.

The timing is not terrible, Stray Kids has a comeback scheduled in about a week so you didn't think that you would be able to spend that much time with Chan anyway, but you usually try to surprise the boys at one of the music shows with a cake and some home cooked food.

Luckily, you've already been planning for this. Although nothing had been confirmed, you had expected that this project would be awarded to your company and you've already been trying to spend more time with Chan than usual in preparation for the busy season ahead for both of you.

Still, you can't help but agree with your best friend at work after she complains how little she's going to see her partner this month. Jinjoo doesn't know who your boyfriend is, but the two of you are close enough that you’ve shared that you have one and that work takes up a lot of his time. You've gushed to her about the sweet things that Chan has done for you and you've admitted that you think he's the one.

“You should bring him dinner sometime!” she exclaims when you mention you're not sure when the next time you'll be able to see Chan will be.

“Well, he’s really busy-” you start to say.

“That’s the beauty of it. I’m sure he would appreciate if you brought him food at work, especially if he’s anything like my partner and gets so caught up with work that they forget to eat sometimes,” she insists.

“That’s true.”

“Just trust me, Y/n. I wouldn’t be telling you this if I wasn’t sure that it’d work. My partner loves when I do this. It’s literally the perfect way to take some time for each other before you’re both too busy. Even if he's super busy, his work can't be bad enough that he’s not allowed to eat, right?”

You agree somewhat reluctantly. You're still unsure about whether or not Chan would appreciate you barging in unannounced, but it is a cute idea and Jinjoo's confidence is enough to convince you.

The next day after work, you head to the company and order takeout for a late dinner for you and Chan, picking it up along the way. It reminds you of earlier in your relationship before you had gotten your current position and when Stray Kids were just gaining popularity. Both of you enjoyed having more casual date nights that provided more privacy as opposed to going out to fancy places and it makes you even more excited to see his reaction.

About a year after you started dating Chan, he insisted that you get a pass to get into JYP Entertainment without having to fill out a visitor's form and have someone pick you up. It has definitely come in handy more than a few times, although you try to limit the number of visits you make. Even though you're allowed to be there, it still feels intimidating to be in the building, like someone is going to recognize that you're not an employee and accuse you of being a sasaeng.

Luckily the late hour means that you make it to Chan's studio without having to interact with anybody except the security at the door, who had waved you through without a second thought. You had double checked with Felix earlier in the day to make sure that Chan didn't have any schedules or dinner plans, so you directly knock on his door without texting or calling him beforehand. 

“Y/n?” he asks, a bit baffled when he sees you. “Did we- Did I forget that we had plans tonight?”

“No,” you say, a little nervous for some reason. It's just Chan, you tell yourself, but it doesn't make you feel any better. “I didn't think that you had dinner yet and wanted to see you.”

“Oh, I see. Come in,” Chan responds slowly, still processing your sudden appearance. “I just have something that I need to finish up-”

“It's fine! You can work,” you assure him quickly. “I don't want to interrupt you too much, I just wanted to drop by since I don't have plans and wanted to make sure that you're eating well.”

Chan’s studio isn’t messy at all, but he still gets up to clear some space on a side table for you, before returning back to where he has Cubase opened up. You pass over his food and feel relieved when he immediately digs in, but your appetite seems to have vanished, you can only get yourself to pick at your meal.

Chan is short with his responses all evening and continues to work on his laptop, even while eating. It throws you off a bit, you thought that he would be able to get to a stopping point and at least make a bit of time for you, but you did tell him that he could. Even so, you're determined to make the most of the last time that you’re going to see them for a while. You know they’ve been super busy the past few days, or more like the past few weeks, but still you had thought he would be a little bit more engaged or at the very least seem happy to see you.

Finally, after half an hour of eating with minimal conversation, you decide to broach the subject that’s been on your mind this entire time. Chan’s finished his food and you know that you won’t be able to get yourself to eat anymore, so you shuffle everything off to the side and inch closer to Chan. 

“You know that client we’ve been trying to work with for a while?” you start tentatively.

Chan hums noncommittally, continuing to type on his computer. Not quite the reaction that you're hoping for, but you forge on anyway.

“We got awarded the job! It’s a great opportunity for the company and everyone is really excited, but-”

“Y/n,” he interrupts. “I’m sorry, that’s amazing and all, but you know that it’s not a good time for me right now. I have something I really need to work on and now that you’ve finished eating, can we please not bother with the small talk?”

“Oh,” you say, a bit caught off guard. Chan has never been the type to cut you off when you're speaking. “No, yeah, I get it. Uhm. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, just-” he sighs, sounding frustrated. “Next time can you please ask me when you want to visit in advance so this doesn’t happen again? You chose the worst timing to come by. I just need some space, from all of… this,” he says, waving a hand between the two of you.

“Sorry, I know it’s a busy time, but I just wanted to see-”

At that moment, an alarm on Chan's phone goes off, interrupting you. When he turns it off and notices the time, he swears lowly, unlocking his phone and typing out a message to somebody. You’re scared to break the silence. Less than a minute later, someone knocks on the door.

“Come in,” Chan calls. When Changbin and Jisung step into the room, they eye you curiously. You keep your head down and try to prevent your hands from shaking as you stand and start to haphazardly shove away all your belongings and the garbage from your dinner into bags. 

“Noona, it's good to see you!” Jisung says brightly, although his smile dims when you make eye contact and can only manage to weakly return the smile. “Sorry for interrupting you two.”

“Hi Hannie,” you reply quietly, not wanting to make conversation, but not wanting to be rude.

“It’s okay, Y/n was just leaving,” Chan says, his obvious annoyance making things even more awkward.

You say bye to the boys quietly and apologise as you shuffle past them to the door.

The handles of the bag from your dinner are digging into your hand painfully and your purse can’t close with the way that you’ve thrown everything into it. You only take a few steps before you have to stop for a moment to save a container from falling and decide to put down everything and reorganise it all.

When you crouch down, you take a second to mentally berate yourself. Everything you had worried about had come true. Instead of being a pleasant surprise, you had come across as a nuisance.

In your rush, you hadn't fully closed the studio door behind you and you're close enough that you can just barely pick up the conversation that happens inside.

“Sorry,” you hear Chan say faintly. “I don't know what's been going on, but Y/n has been… really clingy these days. She just showed up today without asking and I hate-”

You leave before he has the chance to say anything else. You look like a mess for sure, you had just grabbed all the empty containers without bothering to put them back into the plastic bag, your jacket is partially dragging on the ground, and your purse is hanging off your elbow, having slipped off your shoulder. You're pretty sure you hear an empty drink bottle clatter to the floor behind you, but you don't look back to check.

You don't have it in you to care, you just need to leave.

Even waiting for the elevator feels humiliating, so you bypass it and stumble down the stairs. You dump the garbage into a bin on the first floor, not bothering to sort it properly, and step out onto the street, bee-lining to the nearest subway station.

The ride home passes by in a blur.

It hurts, of course it hurts. 

Honestly the reason that your relationship had worked out so far was because you weren’t the kind of person that needed a lot of attention. You understood that both of you were busy and were content to just exchange messages every couple of days because you knew how important Stray Kids was to Chan. Of course you did, they were just as important to you.

If Chan wanted space, well. You were more than capable of giving it to him.

In fact, your upcoming schedule had been the reason that you had wanted to meet up in the first place, the source of your so-called clinginess. You’d never been called that before. You were hyper-independent and tended to get lost in your own mind, easily distracted by different thoughts. It had gotten to a point that most of your exes had complained at least once about you being distant or inattentive.

With Chan, you had been determined not to be the same. It had been difficult at first, to make the effort to send messages throughout the day. You had to convince yourself not to spend too long drafting replies in your head and try not to worry that you were bothering him, especially if you knew that he had schedules at the same time that you were texting.

By the time that you make it to your apartment, your pain has faded into a mixture of resignation and numbness. You don't want to talk to Chan about how you feel, it's your clinginess that he didn't like in the first place, and you don't think you'll have time or the energy for a long, emotional conversation in the next few weeks anyway. If you keep your distance for a while, it just benefits both of you, you tell yourself. You won’t be a distraction to Chan as Stray Kids has their comeback and he won’t be one to you as you take on this new project. 

As much as you want to spend the rest of your night overthinking- something you’ve done more than you’d like to admit- you know that you have a busy day at work tomorrow. Feeling a bit like a zombie, you force yourself to shuffle through your usual nighttime routine, swallowing a melatonin pill before climbing into bed.

Normally, you would send Chan a good night message. Actually, normally you would have sent him a message the second that you arrived home. It was something that he was insistent on starting from early on in your relationship, wanting to make sure that you were safe.

Tonight, you just turn off your phone, plug it into its charger, and sleep.

—

In the morning, you allow yourself to wallow in bed for 5 minutes, before you get ready for work. You’ve never been good at eating breakfast and today’s no exception. Your stomach turns uneasily at the thought of food so you only force yourself to drink some water before you leave.

Your team at work has agreed to get to work earlier than usual just to get a headstart on everything. Though you’re more of a night owl, you’re grateful to find that deviating from your usual routine means that the subway is empty enough that you can find an empty seat, a luxury that you’ve rarely experienced.

It feels eerie to walk through the streets of Seoul when the sun has just started to rise and you’re relieved when you finally make it to your office.

Unsurprisingly, you’re one of the first to arrive. You’re grateful for the time that you have to unpack your things and make a much needed coffee before the rest of your team shows up.

“How did it go last night?” Jinjoo asks you excitedly when she comes in.

“Uhm, it was okay,” you reply noncommittally. “He was definitely surprised.”

“Oh,” Jinjoo pouts at your lack of enthusiasm.

“I mean, it wasn’t bad,” you backtrack, hating to see her disappointed. “It was just so short, he was kind of… busy. But that’s what I expected anyway so that's fine I guess. Thanks for suggesting it to me though! I really appreciate it.”

“That’s good,” Jinjoo brightens. “At least you got to see him one last time.”

“Oh yeah for sure! I think that after seeing him yesterday, it’ll be easier to deal with how busy we’re going to be for the next few weeks,” you say truthfully. 

It’s not a lie, you justify. For the first time since you started dating, you’re not looking forward to the next time that you’re going to see Chan.

You know that your communication is about to reduce to an all time low for the next few weeks, and while you had originally been worried about how Chan would react, now you’re thinking that he’s just going to be relieved not to hear from you. You’ve never thought yourself to have been overly chatty with Chan during the day though, preferring in-person conversation over texting and knowing that he’s generally not available to read your messages anyway, much less send you a reply. It seemed that you were wrong. 

Luckily your team now has to use a shared box that you’re required to put your personal phones into during working hours and only have a little bit of time during lunch and dinner breaks, if you take them, to fish them out. It’s a policy that your company enforces when teams are working on confidential projects and you can’t blame them due to past litigation that they’ve been involved in after a former employee leaked sensitive information.

For once, you're glad for this excuse to not look at your phone, even if you feel a little bit naked to look at the side of your desk or reach into your pocket and not have your phone there. You’re relieved to bury yourself in your work and forget all about your personal life. Even though your project is just starting, you feel like you're already behind. 

When you're finished work for the day and take back your phone, you find yourself reluctant to check your notifications. It's only when you're waiting for the subway to arrive at your station that you finally force yourself to take a look.

No new messages or calls from Chan.

You’re not sure what you expected, but somehow you’re still disappointed.

You get back to your apartment late, you had wanted to finish a couple of things before you left the office and it had led to you being one of the last to leave. You had also stopped by the convenience store closest to your place, not having the energy to cook anything for yourself.

You pick at your dinner half-heartedly. You're used to eating alone, Chan often had his meals at odd times due to his schedules, but tonight the silence feels more oppressive. 

It haunts you, the tail end of the overheard conversation. You have no idea how Chan was going to complete the sentence, but your mind unhelpfully fills in the blanks with worse and worse suggestions.

He hates the timing of your visit.

He hates that you visited at all.

He hates that he has such a clingy girlfriend.

He hates that you are his clingy, annoying, bothersome girlfriend.

He hates you.

In moments of clarity, you can recognize that it's not true. That's not the Chan that you know and he would never say something like that about anybody, least of all you. It's just hard when a small part of you has never really been able to believe that someone as talented and amazing as Chan would want to date someone as unremarkable as you.

You find yourself falling into a new routine, waking early, working overtime, and trying not to cry yourself to sleep. You succeed most of the time, you keep yourself occupied by thinking about work and you're so physically exhausted by your long hours that you fall asleep the second that you get into bed. Luckily, your coworkers are just as overworked as you are and it’s easy to blame your declining condition on the project. Weekends don't help you rest at all, you've committed to your manager that you can work on Saturdays and Sundays are spent completing the chores that you've neglected during the week.

You still talk to Chan sometimes, either right when you wake up or on the way home after work. The conversation is stilted though, both because of the long delays between messages when you text and the limited time that you have when you call. It's enough of a difference that Chan asks you multiple times if everything is okay. Even though you try your best to assure him that you're fine, just busy, you're sure he knows that something is off, although he doesn't question you further.

Most exciting is the day that the new Stray Kids album releases. You've already heard most of the songs for this comeback, perks of dating the member that's the most involved in the writing and production of the album, but it's different now that they're available to the public too. You make sure to organise your schedule so that you're on break when the music video drops and you send a number of messages in the group chat that you have with the group cheering them on. Usually, you try to take a day off to deliver some food to them at the music shows, but you've had to settle for arranging with one of their managers to treat them to a meal.

You can tell when they get breaks because when you check your phone after work, notifications from the members are all in the same blocks of time. It's mostly them thanking you, taking pictures of the food you sent, flowers that they've been gifted, and letters from fans. They have a short promotion period this comeback, but it's packed with different interviews, performances, and fanmeets. At one point, Felix even sends you a picture of Chan sleeping slumped over on one of the waiting room couches. As much as you're relieved to see that he's able to get some rest, the picture has your stomach twisting uncomfortably.

You're proud of Chan, of all of the boys. They've worked so hard and each comeback seems to be more and more successful. Even if you're not confident in what's going to happen with you and Chan in the future, you want to celebrate with them while you still can.

—

After almost four weeks, your project is nearing completion and you've never been more grateful to have a deadline arrive.

You only have a couple more days left until your last submittal is due and after getting off work, you want nothing more than to collapse into bed even though your stomach has been growling the whole walk from the bus to your building. You had caught a significant mistake in a document right before it was going to be sent to a client and the whole afternoon had been spent trying to fix it in time. Your team had just barely managed it, but your head has been pounding for hours and your whole body is tight with stress.

You’re not quite sure how you make it to your apartment, your exhaustion has made you clumsy. You struggle a couple times to enter in the code to unlock your door and trip over a pair of shoes that are scattered in the entryway.

You manage to catch yourself before you fall, then squint back. Yes, you haven’t had the chance to tidy your apartment in a couple weeks, but you’ve never been the type to leave your shoes on the walking path.

A light is on, further in your apartment. You know for a fact it wasn’t like that when you left this morning, it would have been obvious since you've been leaving before the sun rises. Someone else is here.

You stare at the light for a few seconds in disbelief, then slowly reach to grab something, anything that you might be able to use to defend yourself. Your shaking hands close around a full sized umbrella that you keep beside your closet. 

You’ve already made enough commotion that there’s no way the intruder didn’t hear, but you try to keep your footsteps light as you creep down the hall to where your kitchen is. It’s stupid to try and confront them, but the idea of someone in your space, potentially taking your things, is enough to inspire a sudden bout of bravery.

You hold your breath as you turn the corner, launching forward to attack the second that you see someone. You recognise the figure halfway through your swing, and though it’s too late to fully stop, you manage to pull back enough that they’re able to easily catch the umbrella before it hits them.

Chan wraps his arms around you then eases the umbrella out of your hands, resting it against the wall. You sag into his embrace, adrenaline draining away, leaving you exhausted again. 

“Chan?”

You've missed this. His warmth, his comforting scent, the reassuring steadiness that he always provides. You can almost pretend that everything is fine.

“Sorry for scaring you,” he says, sounding more amused than apologetic.

“You should be,” you grumble into his shirt. “I could have seriously injured you if I didn't realise it was you!”

“I don't think that was going to be a problem.” Even though you can't see Chan, you can hear the grin in his voice.

“Hey!” You lightly smack his arm. “You take that back!”

“Fine, fine,” Chan acquiesces, holding up both his hands in surrender. “I'm very glad that I didn't have to experience the full power of your self defence.”

“Yeah yeah,” you huff. “What are you doing here anyway? Other than trying to give me a heart attack, that is.”

“I made you dinner,” Chan says shyly, turning pink.

“For what?” you ask suspiciously. It's easy to fall back into the banter that you typically exchange with Chan, but you can't help but be a bit wary these days.

“No reason. I uh, just haven't seen you in a while,” Chan says sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck where it’s now flushed red. “We had so much preparation to do and then all our schedules… Anyway, I wanted to surprise you, so I thought I could cook for us.”

Now that he's mentioned it, you can see that he's set your tiny kitchen table and that there's a couple of pots on the stove. Chan doesn’t cook often, but he’s expressed a desire to learn before and you’ve taught him how to make a few of your favourite recipes.

You stare at him for a moment, lost for words.

It's only been a few weeks, but you feel like you've forgotten how to act around Chan. Instead of a comfortable silence, it's almost awkward, neither of you knowing what to say.

“Oh,” you say finally, touched and still a little shocked that he's actually here. “That's- that's so nice, I just- is it okay if I wash up a bit quickly first?”

“No, yeah, of course. I'm sure you had a long day,” Chan says. “Go ahead, I’ll- the food should be reheated anyway so I’ll get on that. Take your time.”

You skirt around him to go to the bathroom, taking a moment to splash yourself with water. This feels like a bizarre dream and you wonder for a moment if you’re making this all up. But when you leave to go to your bedroom, Chan’s still there, puttering around in front of your kitchenette. You change your clothes slowly, mind racing as you try to puzzle together why Chan has decided to visit all of a sudden.

You eventually settle on the most logical reason that you can think of.

He’s finally decided to break up with you.

You’ve figured that this was coming for weeks by now, but somehow it still hurts. Instead of feeling resigned, it feels like you’re shattering into little pieces. You twist your work blouse into a tiny ball as you try not to cry, even though you know the fabric is going to wrinkle terribly. You finish cleaning up in a daze, already drafting what you're going to have to message your manager later. There's no way that you're going to be in any shape to work tomorrow if you’re right.

“Y/n?” Chan calls eventually. You know you're procrastinating leaving your room, but you want to put this off for as long as possible even though you know it’s just delaying the inevitable. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you reply with a heavy heart. “I’m fine. I'll just be another second.”

You can tell that Chan doesn’t quite believe you. He hovers around you when you emerge from your bedroom, knocking away your hand when you try to pull out your own chair from the table.

He's set the table, going so far as to fold little napkins under your utensils. There's even a tiny vase with your favourite flowers as a centrepiece. All this effort just hurts more.

“You look exhausted. You got home so late. Where were you?” he asks.

“I was at work,” you reply stiffly. You know that if you try and say any more, your emotions are going to spill over and you're either going to scream or cry. Maybe both.

“So late?” Chan's forehead creases with some sort of emotion. You can't quite tell if it's concern or scepticism.

“You're not the only one that has a demanding job.”

“Y/n, you know that's not what I meant-”

“Sure,” you say. “Whatever, let's just eat. Thank you for the food.”

You don't want to deal with this. You're so tired.

You have no idea why Chan’s dragging this out longer than it needs to be. Why he’s forcing you to sit through a meal with him like he’s not about to break your heart. Chan is one of the kindest people you know, he’s probably trying to make this easier for you, giving you one last nice memory, but it just feels cruel.

Chan reaches out, stopping you before you can pick up your chopsticks. He stares at the way his fingers overlap each other around your wrist.

“You’ve lost weight,” he says quietly. You look away, watching steam curl from the bowl of rice that has been set in front of you instead of returning eye contact.

“I’ve been busy.” Is all you can say in response. 

You don’t want to tell him that you’ve been basically subsisting on iced americanos and various convenience store meals in part because of your work schedule, but mostly because of your lack of appetite. Every time you thought of Chan, it made your stomach turn and well, everything reminded you of him. You hadn’t realised how much it had actually affected your physical condition until now though.

“You're not taking care of yourself,” he scolds you. You can feel yourself bristle at his comment even though you know it’s true. “I haven't been around to take care of you either. I'm sorry.”

“Chan,” you protest. It has been weeks since you last saw him in person and you’ve spent more time that you’d like to admit micro analysing your relationship, but you still can’t make sense of his behaviour, especially how he keeps switching between criticism and tenderness.

“What?” he asks in genuine confusion.

“Why are you here?”

“I missed you,” Chan says, sounding hurt and confused. “I haven’t seen you in so long.”

“I just- I don’t understand what you want from me!” You run your hands through your hair in frustration. “One day you don’t want me around, we go weeks without seeing each other, then you’re at my place cooking me dinner? You said you needed space, I gave you space."

“Woah woah woah, what do you mean I don’t want you around?” Chan asks, alarmed. “When have I ever said that?”

“You made it pretty clear that you didn’t appreciate it when I went to bring you dinner that day,” you start.

“No, baby!” Chan stands up abruptly before you can say anything else. He falters when the loud scrape of his chair causes you to flinch back. He slowly walks towards you and kneels in front of you, reaching out to hold your hands in his. His eyes are wide with earnestness. “Of course I wanted to spend time with you. I always want to be with you.”

“So why did you call me clingy?” you ask in a small voice. Gone is your anger, replaced with a self-consciousness that you can’t hide. You look away as tears prickle your eyes.

Gently, Chan lets go of your hands and cups your cheeks instead, turning your face so that he can see you better. His thumbs swipe under your eyes, brushing away the tears that have managed to escape.

“Baby,” he says, sounding even more upset and angry than you feel. “I'm sorry. Did someone tell you I said that?”

“Nobody had to tell me, I heard you say it myself!” you burst out, pushing Chan away. You know that you’re being dramatic, that you keep oscillating between different emotions, but you don’t care. “That day, in your studio, you told Han and Changbin that I was really clingy.”

“You heard me talking to Binnie and Hannie?” Chan asks slowly.

“I didn't mean to eavesdrop,” you sniffle. One of Chan's hands shifts and he carefully tucks behind a lock of hair that has fallen in front of your face. The gentleness makes even more tears well up.

“It's okay, I think I know what you overheard now. It must have hurt, right?”

You can't muster up a response, choosing instead to just nod slightly.

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry,” he soothes you. “Can I explain myself?”

You pause for a moment, then slowly nod again.

“I don't mind that you're clingy, actually, I like it. I shouldn't have used that word. I like that you want to spend time with me, Y/n,” Chan says carefully. “I like that you take time to visit me, even though I know that your work is busy too. I think that it's cute and thoughtful that you think of me and try to take care of me by bringing me food. I know that you intentionally take the time out of your day to text me because you know that I like hearing from you, even though I might not see it or respond right away.”

Chan pauses for a second and you use it as an opportunity to pull away slightly. His hands tighten briefly, before he lets them fall away, giving you the space to process.

It's not that you don't like what Chan is saying, it's just hard to reconcile it with the thoughts that have been eating away at you for the past few weeks. You still don't understand what you overheard though, how it fits into all of this. When you voice your concerns to Chan, he sighs, before continuing to speak.

“I don't know what I did to have someone as caring and thoughtful as you in my life.” You want to protest, but Chan carries on before you can say anything. “It's just that- you visited me without notice and were the sweetest person in the world. I wanted to spend time with you, believe me, I did, but I can't just ignore my deadlines when the rest of the members are relying on me. It makes me feel like garbage when I can’t give you all my attention. That's the thing I hate the most. That I can't be the boyfriend that you deserve. That I can't show you how much you mean to me the way that I want to.”

It makes sense, in some sort of twisted way. You know that similarly to you, Chan often feels insecure. It had taken a while before you had been able to convince him that you really did want to be in a relationship with him even with all of the difficulties that were associated with being an idol. You hadn't realised that your visit had fed into his worries that he wasn’t enough.

“I didn't know,” you say quietly. “I'm sorry.”

“Hey, I didn't tell you how I was feeling and that's on me. I’m the one that’s sorry, you have no reason to be. I should have been clearer about what was going through my mind and it wasn't any excuse for the way that spoke to you. Even if I wasn't at my best, I can't believe that I made you feel like I didn't want you to be around.” Chan shakes his head and you can tell that he's beating himself up about it. This time, you're the one that reaches out to him, grabbing one of his hands in both of yours.

“I am sorry that I put you into that position, though. I got caught up in the idea of how fun and romantic it might be, that I didn't give enough consideration to your schedule. Even though I wanted to surprise you, it would have been better to check with you beforehand. I don't ever want you to have to feel like you have to choose between me and work.”

“It was a really nice surprise,” Chan agrees. “I wish that I hadn't been so wrapped up that I wasn't able to enjoy spending time with you. I really hated not being able to see you these past few weeks.”

“It was really hard for me too,” you admit.

“I missed you so much. I missed your beautiful voice, hearing your laugh, seeing your smile. I missed all the texts that you usually send, they make me feel like I'm not as far away, that I'm a part of your day too. You kept saying that everything was fine and- I know it's hard for you, especially during comeback periods when I'm not as responsive. I didn't want to pressure you into messaging me more often if I'm not able to do the same.”

“No, it's not that. It doesn't bother me. Work was, is still really busy for me,” you explain. “I was trying to tell you that day, but-”

“But I basically shut you down,” Chan realises. He laughs bitterly. “I’m just the worst, aren't I? No wonder you were so confused by why I was here.”

“I thought you were going to break up with me tonight,” you whisper. Chan looks devastated by your statement.

 “No- you know I wouldn't-” Chan stumbles on his words in his haste to correct you.

“I don't think that anymore,” you reassure him. “I understand everything now, it was just that we didn't communicate well and I assumed… It's okay, we're together now, this won't happen again.”

“I promise that I will make it up to you. I love you and I will prove it to you in every way possible. And I'm going to start right now. You still haven't eaten yet, please go ahead.” Chan moves back to his abandoned chair and doles out a portion of the stew from the pot that's on the table. 

“I am really hungry,” you confess. Your stomach chooses that exact moment to growl loudly and the two of you can’t help but burst into laughter. 

Just like that, it feels like things are back to normal.

You know that there's still more that you and Chan have to talk about. The two of you have only scratched the surface on your insecurities, communication, and how those things led to such a significant misunderstanding.

But tonight, it's enough that you get to share a meal with the man that you love.

read it on ao3 | masterlist

[kekewrites]

tw. Dark content, noncon, dubcon, creampie, size kink, magic onahole/toy/fleshlight, coercion, mind-break, corruption, obsession, gaslighting(?), objectification(?)

part 2 of the onahole troupe

***

"Sweetie~ Are you already out? Come on, you can still keep going."

Hot... It's so hot.

Whining, your body continue to bounce on him, hole swallowing his fat cock. Sweat and cum staining your thighs, sticky and wet as it mixes with your juices.

Such a hot sight. His hands gripping your hips, helping you bounce on him and sometimes meeting your hips with his own, making you whine and sob.

You were so sensitive, having no idea how much time have passed. How many orgasm he pulled out of you.

"I'm helping you, remember?" He sat up, wrapping his arms around as he pulls you close. "Ha... You're so cute. That bastard won't touch you anymore, ok? I'm here."

Barely hanging on, you nodded as your ears started to ring. If there was still a rational part of you awake, you would've find his words suspicious, but you were just too dumb for that. Blindly trusting your friend, believing him with your being.

He promised to help you.

So why does it feel like you made the wrong choice?

That tiny rational thought of yours was pushed as you felt his lips on your own.

***

It was odd how the phantom disappeared after his help.

Your complexion improved, the shadows under your eyes fading as if the weight of their presence had been slowly draining you all along. Sleep came easier now, uninterrupted by restless nights and unwanted pleasure, able to focus studying without it whisking your attention away.

Sitting in class, you were finally able to listen without dreading for the touches.t was freeing.

You were glad you told him.

Smiling a bit, you open your cellphone as you think of hanging out with them. You really missed them, thinking about how you three rarely hang out nowadays. It used to be so easy to hang out with your closest friends, without having to plan anything elaborate. Just a quick text, and before you knew it, you were all together. But lately, it was about you two without your more or less busy friend. You know how much he took his studies seriously, often holding back to invite him whenever you discover a film you'd both like to watch.

Determined, you found yourself texting him, sending him a little message of, "Are you busy? Let's meet at the library when it's lunch time!"

You nervously shifted on your sit as you await his reply, a minute after you feel your phone vibrate.

"Sure."

You couldn't wait for the class to be over.

***

"Hey, what's up?" You heard his voice as he sat down beside you. Your usual hangout spot, comfort place, and your solace before those events happened.

Beaming, you turned to him, grateful for the simple presence of someone you're comfortable with.

"Are you done with your studies? I was hoping we could hangout soon, all three of us..." You speak, your confidence dipping down as you let out the last part.

Resting his chin on his hand, "Hmm... We have a quiz for next week in my major," He observes as your smile fades, "But I suppose, I'll make time for you," He swears it's like watching a dog wag its tail as he see you regain your smile.

It couldn't hurt to relax a little, it's been a while since you two hangout. He did notice how you were with that stupid guy in the past few days

You softly clap your hands, "That's great! Oh, we should do a movie marathon!" As you babble your plans, he couldn't help but notice how more... alive you look compared to before. He was still wondering why you were so troubled back then, but he's glad you got it solved out.

Humming, you started typing on the notes in your phone, making plans and listing movies to watch, throwing in snacks to buy as well. It was safe to say that you're really excited to be able to be with your best friends.

It would be just a fun night with the guys, right?

***

"Come on, don't be upset. Something probably important came out that he won't be able to come."

It seems that the three of you wouldn't be able to hangout, as the two of you sit on the couch.

Grumbling, you hug the couch pillow close to your chest as you glance at the text message left by your friend. It was upsetting but you couldn't be that upset since he rarely wasn't able to come in your hangout session, and since he's the one who helped you after all.

"Yeah, you're right. It can't be helped, I guess…" you sigh, trying to hide your disappointment as you sink further into his couch. The soft fabric and cozy atmosphere of his apartment help ease your mood a bit.

"I'm sure the three of us will meet up soon. Plus, the two of us haven't hangout for a while."

Come on, it's not so bad to be alone with him, you know?

"Yeah, that's true," you say, trying to shake off the disappointment. You steal a glance at him as he queues up a movie. It's been a while since the two of you just hung out alone like this, and despite the change in plans, it feels nice.

As the movie starts, you realize he accidentally picked a horror film—complete with dark shadows, creepy music, and plenty of jump scares. You’re both laughing it off at first, but the sudden shocks get you clutching the couch pillow a bit tighter, scooting unconsciously closer to him.

The atmosphere shifts when an unexpected scene appears—a moment that’s more... explicit than either of you anticipated. You feel your face heat up as you quickly avert your eyes, feeling a mix of embarrassment and tension settle between you. You catch him glancing away too, clearing his throat nervously.

What is he, five? Getting flustered with such scene, not like he hasn't done any worse than it.

"I... think I need to use the bathroom," he mumbles, standing up hastily and heading out of the room, leaving you alone on the couch.

You’re left there, pulse racing slightly as you try to shake off the awkwardness.

This is bad, you suddenly remember all of your other friend's help. Clutching your legs close, you try to avert your attention somewhere while waiting for your friend to come back.

Though, you felt your stomach drop as that familiar and unwelcome touch came up.

***

What the hell is he even thinking?

He tries to find his reason as he stares at the onahole on his hand, that idiot's gift to him. It's been a week since he had last use this thing, yeah it felt good and feels like the real deal but after one use he never touched it again.

So why the hell is he using it while thinking of you? The same girl who's sitting on his couch right now, in his apartment?

His eyes glance at the lube on the counter, putting the wet lotion on his free hand. It's your fault he got hard, you were too squirmy and... cute. That shitty horror movie wasn't even that good with the corny soft porn scenes but you... were just having an effect on him. So damn shy and innocent reactions, he needed to get out before he'd lost his composure and pounce on you.

But he's not a brute, no he isn't like those rabid animals.

Imagining does not count, no, no, he's only letting his frustration out.

So with the touch of his fingers, rubbing the entrance of the onahole he let himself go.

***

Jumping from the couch, you looked around frantically as you felt that horrifying touch on your nether region. 

That's impossible! You though he already fixed it!

Silently crying on your hands, you tried to keep your noises.

You've experienced that ghostly touch countless times however this time, it felt a bit calculative yet desperate, as if another entity was touching you. It felt weird but you can feel how different this one was touching you.

Is there another ghost who's harassing you?

Will it ever go away?

You cried as you felt something big goes inside you.

***

Shit, he forgot how realistic this onahole was. When was the last time he used it? Weeks ago? He doesn't remember but he might use it again now. Since his darling is always inviting him to hangout, this little gift might save him from pouncing on you when you're just a little too cute for his liking. Not only that but because of the hectic projects and assignments coming in, he hasn't had the time to relieve himself.

His thrust is fast and uncaring, yet a bit desperate for release. He felt himself feeling more sensitive as he imagine if this was your cunt instead, squeezing and twitching around his cock. He loves how automated this thing was, his mind just running wild as he imagines you sitting alone in his couch unsuspected of his vulgar and filthy thought of you. It's wrong but it damn this onahole just feels so right.

Slamming himself on the tight hole, he pinch the little clit and felt the walls squeeze tight making him come undone. Hissing and twitching as his cock shoots down his massive load inside the toy. What a waste, it would've been better if he could shoot it down your womb. Exhaling, he slowly pulled out of the toy, savoring the way the wall clung on his shaft before his head pops off.

Fuck. He's really a goner now. 

He's no better than a scumbag for letting his mind wander to thoughts about his best friend, his childhood friend… his first crush, his first and only love. He remembers how he was when you two first met—a boy who struggled to connect with anyone. He didn’t see the point in making friends, preferring to stay on the sidelines, reserved and detached.

Though, him, was the exception as both of their parents were business partners and have good relationship with each other. It's only natural for them to build a connection, solely for maintaining good connections with their business partners. Over time, he realized how strangely alike the two of them were, as if they shared the same quirks and preferences.

Well, he shouldn't think of that while thrusting his dick on a toy but he can't help but reflect on the way they are alike. He certainly knows, that guy shares the same affection he has on you, and he hated how he can't feel jealous because... he's fine with sharing you if it's him. But he's a little pissed at how you two were hanging out lately, he only have himself to blame by taking his studies seriously unlike that guy.

That's not important now, he has you in his room alone with no one else to ruin your moment with him. Shit, he felt the toy tighten around him.

His mind goes blank as he felt himself getting closer.

***

"Hey, sorry I took a while, but I'm... back?" he said, sitting down on the couch. His voice trailed off, quieter and confused, as he noticed you hugging yourself with your head hung low.

"What's wrong?" he asked immediately, placing a hand on your back as he tried to see your face. His eyes narrowed as he waited for your response, only to widen when he saw your tear-streaked face.

"I-It... touched me again..."

"What do you mean?"

And you broke down, crying as you told him about the phantom.

Any sane person would be skeptical, hell they would probably put you in the asylum for the things you swore happened to you. He'd get you help if it weren't for that one specific detail, an oddly timed and complete coincidence. Where that phantom touched you the same time he had gotten the toy... and the way it touch you just minutes later he went to the bathroom.

No way...

Surely, it was just a coincidence...

He supposed testing that theory wouldn't hurt.

With a lousy excuse of getting you a glass of water from the kitchen, he went straight to the bathroom to take that toy, sure it was big enough to be seen by you, but the way you were staring down on the floor as you quietly sob made it easy to sneakily place the onahole behind the couch pillow. Close for his hand to touch but unnoticeable from your teary eyes.

His hand goes behind the pillow right where the toy is.

"Ah!"

It can't be... Such an impossible story.

"J-Just now... it touched me!"

His finger went in.

"No! It went inside...!"

This is crazy.

He knows it's wrong but watching you panic and look around with frantic and terrified eyes made his cock throb. Not knowing that the source of your trouble being right in front of you made it immoral, so bad, and it made his cock harden.

"Hey, I'll... chase out that bastard for you." His wandering finger pulls out of the toy, his other hand cupping your tear stained cheek, "You don't have to worry anymore. You said that guy made that phantom disappear, right?" He sweetly cooed, a rare tone in his voice, "Just trust me on this one like he'd done with you, yeah?"

Your back gently hits the couch as he straddles you, "Be a good girl and relax, I'm just going to help you."

Doubt and wariness swirls in that doe eyes of yours. He can see the uncertainty in that stupid head of yours, but he knew you'd agree with him. You always do.

"O-Ok... Please help me."

And he's right about that.

You're just too trusting, aren't you? Stupid girl.

It's your fault he's like this to you.

All your fault.

There’s a faint metallic click as his belt buckle comes undone, and the soft rasp of fabric follows as he frees himself from his pants. His cock springs free, the swollen head brushing against your inner thigh. He can't believe he's finally doing this. The girl he ever wanted right beneath him, all bare and for him to ruin.

It's fucked up how he doesn't feel guilty for doing this, doesn't feel guilty as he rubs his tip on your wet entrance. Everything about you is soft, the only thing he's afraid to do is to bruise your pretty skin. He can feel your breathe quicken, you heart thumping in anxiety and he smiles at that.

"I'll be... gentle." For now.

The blunt head nudges against your entrance, the slick heat of your hole enveloping him inch by inch as he presses into you slowly. Fuck. It's completely different from a toy. He wished he'd done it sooner, the walls of your inside and the wall of the toy was like night and day. His cock pulses within them, the heat and tightness driving him to the edge of his patience. Hissing in pleasure as your walls clenched around him.

"So cute..."

With that, he leaned down, his lips pressing against you. His tongue invaded your mouth, claiming you, owning you, just as his cock claimed your body. He knows he should let you adjust and wait for you to be ready but hell he'd wait for more than a second. Setting a fast pace, fucking into you with abandon, his hand gripping your hip hard enough to leave bruises-- the one he was dreaded on doing. He panted, his head thrown back in ecstasy. 

If it were that easy, he should've done this sooner. Manipulated that stupid head of yours, your naivety being the one who'd get you in trouble when you were younger.

It was different back then when he was alone. Socializing was unnecessary and draining, didn't have any purpose or value to him. He supposed having one friend is enough, he didn’t have patience for others, especially kids his age who, to him, seemed immature and exhausting.

Then you came along with your bright smile, bold laugh, and endearing quirks. You weren’t stunning or wealthy, and your background was humble—a stark contrast to his world. And yet, every time you called him by that silly nickname you made up, something in his chest stirred, an ache he couldn’t ignore. A foolish girl, treating him as if he were just another friend, another kid to play with.

So why can’t he push you away? You're just like any other kid who wants his attention. So why is it so hard to say no to you?

You're the one driving him crazy. So you only have yourself to blame, this is only happening because you're letting him. You're the one doing this to your self.

He could feel the pleasure building, the pressure in his balls as he neared his release.

"Be my onahole, ok?" He demanded, his voice rough with lust. He needed to hear you say it, needed to know that you understood.

Your mind was swirling, head foggy as the pleasure was starting to mix with the confusion. As your cries grew louder, body writhing beneath him, he felt his own orgasm approaching. He could feel the heat building, the tingling in his toes as his balls drew up tight.

O-Onahole? What's that? What is he talking about?

"Everyday, you'll be my onahole." he panted, his words punctuated by the sound of flesh meeting flesh, the obscene squelch of his cock pumping in and out of your pussy. "I'll save you from that phantom, ok?"

I don't know anything....

"Ok?!" he warns, hips losing their rhythm as his climax approaches, "Shit...!"

"Ah! I-I will! I'll become your onahole!"

With a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt inside, his cock pulsing as he empties himself deep in your womb. He holds you tight against his chest, grinding into you to prolong the waves of pleasure.

"Fuck, you're so good for me," He praises breathlessly, peppering your sweat-dampened neck with kisses. "Taking my cock so well, milking me dry. That phantom is gone now that I'm with you."

All you could feel was the light kisses trailing on your neck to your cheek and finally on your lips.

"One more time? I mean you are my onahole now."

***

"Wow, you didn't hold one bit eh?"

His eyes narrowed as he saw him standing on the door with a smug grin.

"What are you doing here? I thought you wouldn't be able to make it?" His tone accessory as he cleans up the aftermath, gently tucking in your passed out figure on the bed.

"So defensive for what?" He chuckles, sauntering as he glance at your peaceful fresh-fucked face. Such a lovely sight. He  licks his lips at that but for now you'd need to get your beauty rest after a rough day. "So, did 'ya like your present?"

"..."

"I'd take your silence as a yes then." Giggling, he places his hand on his shoulder, "I knew you'd like it I mean, we are similar in taste after all."

His jaw tightens before sighing in defeat, "Where did you even get that toy?"

"Oh, some shady website~! I was planning to buy another one but the website mysteriously disappeared!" He exaggerate his movements which earned a grimace from him.

"Shut up, you'll wake her up."

"No, she won't. You made her pass out, how ungentlemanly of you."

"Says you."

"Whatever, I came to ask you a question," His hand drop to his side, his smug smile still on but something sinister behind it, "So, we're going to share, right?"

The answer should've been obvious but it was hard to let the word out of his mouth. Was it pride or possession?

"Yeah..."

"I knew you'd say that."

"But I want her on Mondays."

"Oh brother, why pick the worst day?" He grunts in disappointment.

"Because it's the worst day, I need her on that day."

[deadsetobsessions]

Danny laid across his throne, legs planted across the left arm of the ornate chair and back pressed uncomfortably against the right.

"Listen," Danny started, letting his head flop to the side as he glared at a hovering Observant. "This meeting has wasted enough of my time. You all have been arguing for hours and that's without Clockwork slowing things down."

"Your Majesty, this is a matter of great importance. Belial means to overthrow and rule my-our world!"

"I am distinctly aware aware of that," Ancients, Danny couldn't wait to go home and rid himself of the formal speech he'd had to adopt in order to be taken seriously. Well, as seriously as he cared to be taken when sprawled across his throne instead of sitting on it intimidatingly or something. He slowly placed his gaze on the suddenly still demon sitting across from him. "Yet you've proposed fifteen different plans that were all unviable for whatever reasons you've cooked up. Your conclusion is that I must step in. Does your world not have heroes to take care of it?"

The demon- another lord of hell from this Belial’s universe- fell silent.

“Ah. But if they do, they would also take care of you.”

“No- no, that’s not-”

Danny allowed his voice to drop to the artic freeze he knew his core was capable of. "I opened these these doors to allow all of you to present me with reasonable concerns regarding your own universes and realms. What is not on the table for discussion is your petty politics. Do you think I am unaware of your intentions in tattling to me? That I do not know you are trying to use me to further your own position?"

"Your Majesty, I-" The demon growled out, fear slowly coating its expression.

"It no longer amuses me. You think that I am young and easy to manipulate." Danny froze the demon to its chair. It tried to break free, but Danny isn't the High King of the Infinite Realms for nothing. "Bring to me a miserable problem like this ever again, one that could be easily solved if you used even a smidgen of your intelligence, and you will find exactly how I tore Pariah Dark from his throne."

Not that Danny knew how he did it either, he just did it.

"Yes, Your Majesty. My-my apologies."

The room is dead (Danny patted himself on the back for the pun) silent. Some of the Ancients looked bored, like Clockwork who knew Danny would never hurt them, but everyone else looked close to crying. He held eye contact with the demon until it looked away.

When Danny settled back into the throne and allowed his ice to dissipate, the room let out a collective sigh of relief.

"The next item on the agenda is another demon, by the name of Trigon." Clockwork announced, the large piece of paper comically huge next to his currently toddler-like body.

"Another?"

He flicked an amused look at the previous demon, who kept his trap firmly shut.

"He is attempting to take over multiple worlds in an attempt to conquer the universe. I had thought you would be interested in this one, Your Majesty, as he plans to begin with Earth 135."

Danny stilled. That was his Earth. His haunt.

"Does he know of the Realms?"

"Vaguely, I believe."

"Then he should know the rules. I will wait to see if my Earth's heroes are capable to step to the task."

Danny would be a hypocrite if he doesn’t let the heroes of his Earth try first, even if he is one of those heroes.

"Of course," Clockwork grinned at him, fully aware of the shit Danny's about to stir back home. Ah, the wonders of being able to influence the time stream. Perhaps the young Ghost King will finally get some friends, and maybe get those pesky speedsters to stop making his jobs so hard. Cujo yipped at Danny as the King begrudgingly moved onto the next topic.

——

Raven shuddered as she watched the footage of her "brothers" laughing while steering their human "meatbags" around. She turned back to the giant circle of donated blood and herb filled candles.

“This is a nuclear option, don’t you think?” Green Arrow mumbled, clearly not against it by the half hearted way he’d said it. The Star City billionaire nursed his cracked ribs.

“No,” she floated over to where Zatanna and Constantine kneeled, trying to see if they needed help with the inscriptions. “Trigon is coming soon, and my brothers will no doubt find their way here in a moment. We are out of time.”

“Yeah. Plus, we don’t want Raven to be turned into a portal.” Garfield piped up, switching animal forms rapidly.

“No one dies.” Red Robin muttered. His wrist computer was open, monitoring the surroundings of the open field they found themselves uneasily occupying. Batman grunted in affirmation, eyeing the tree line. Every hero except the magical ones were on look out, preparing themselves for one more battle against the two demons that were trying to take Raven and force her into becoming a portal.

“Hey guys, we might want to hurrythisupbecausethey’re kind of close!” Impulse slammed into the room.

“Done.” Zatanna got up, motioning for everyone to step back. In Superman’s case, he floated back.

“Too bad you won’t get to use it,” a voice drawled, dripping with malice and the screams of a thousand souls.

“Come now, little sister. Why fight fate? Be grateful father has deigned to spare you. If not for your dirty blood being useful, you would be dead, little sister. Give up, before our patience runs out alongside the lives of your little pets.” Another, mocking, voice gleefully rumbled.

Raven would rather gouge out her own heart than to claim these two as any type of family.

“You won’t touch them.” Raven snarled, powers rising even as the marks on her body burned a painful red.

“Buy us some time!”

With that, the group of beaten and battered heroes rose to clash against just two demons, for a chance to save their world.

——

The Circle crackled. Danny felt a tug on his core. He followed the thread of the summoning. Oh. It was his haunt. Earth 135. Hm. It tasted of blood. Desperation? A hint of anticipation. Oh, an overload of fear. Could use some more hope, but Danny understood that it was rather hard to season these kinds of summonings with hope.

“Stop.” Danny commanded, straightening in his chair.

“Sire, we have more-”

“There is an issue with my haunt,” with that, he followed the summons.

——

“Ugh,” was the first thing everybody on the frozen battlefield heard. The demons had smacked away many of the heroes, but they all turned as one when the circle lit up a bright green. “Why do you people always use blood? I’m dead, I don’t need any more iron!”

A boy

Raven’s eldest brother let out a hideous rumble. “You fools tried to summon the king, and you got a dead boy. And now, you’ve doomed another.”

Constantine looked resigned, and regretful. “I am so, so sorry,” he whispered. It was just a kid. John might be a lot of things, but even he found summoning dead kids for demons to devour was just a step too far. “Shite, we got the wrong fucking-”

“Hey, man, that’s rude,” the boy snapped back, waving John off.

“Brother, kill the whelp.”

“I vote on not killing the whelp. Not killing at all, really,” the boy stepped out of the massive blood circle, wrinkling his nose at the drying stains.

“This is not one of your pesky democracies, fool.”

In response, the demons lunged at him, ignoring the screams of the surrounding heroes as they shoved their human arms through the boy’s stomach.

“So,” the boy continues, “I heard your dad was after my haunt?”

“Your haunt, whelp? This earth shall be his! And through him, ours!” Raven slammed against the demons with her power, shadows enlarging and tossing them away from the unharmed… ghost boy?

“Is it?”

——

Wow, these demons are so rude. Normally, it’d be a breath of fresh air compared to the stuffy halls of his throne room. But since they’re attacking his haunt…

“Thanks. You’re… Raven, right?”

Raven nodded, arms outstretched in concentration as she held her brothers back.

“You have to go. We’re- we’re sorry you got pulled into this, but it’s not safe here.”

“Eh. It’s cool. You don’t have to do that anymore, by the way.” Danny stepped forward once more, green skin shifting and gliding as everything about him sharpened. He flew at the demons piloting the human shells, catching them around the necks and dragging the demons out of their stolen bodies. The threw them even further away as he floated in the air, a beacon of green and white. Raven thought it looked like hope.

“My name is Phantom, the High King of the Infinite Realms,” let it be known that Danny always had an eye for dramatic entrances. He shifted into something more off, more eldritch, more kingly. The crown flared to life above his head. “You have invaded my haunt. You have challenged me. What do you plead?”

“You’re not-” they said.

“Wrong answer,” Danny flew at them once more, body contorting into something undeniably terrorizing, his maw unhinging and crunching down on the demons with a sound that made the present heroes cringe.

“Ugh,” Danny grunted, turning back and floating peacefully to the group of heroes- Tucker and Sam would be so stoked he met Wonder Woman and Batman!- and chewed rapidly. He shifted back into his normal form. “Eating demons always leaves me with indigestion. And their bones get everywhere up in my teeth!” Danny pulled out a giant femur looking bone from his mouth, despite it not logically fitting in there.

“Right. No eating demons, solid life advice.” Red Robin said.

“Right? So, you’re Raven! It’s nice to meet you! Think you can summon your dear ol’ dad for me?”

“But we summoned you to stop Trigon, not help him come here.” Superman said, frowning.

“One! That summoning circle is wack. Those things you piled up as offerings? Mid. Also, if you thought you could control me with those terribly written spells, you’re dead wrong. And yes, I am making puns about death.” Danny jabs an aggressive finger towards the shabby circle.

“Have you considered that maybe not every being that can be summoned wants a shit ton of useless blood? Like what if I wanted food? And two, how am I supposed to beat up Trigon if he’s still stuck in the prison realm?”

“I have a cup of coffee,” Nightwing offered. “Kid Flash could probably get you food, right?”

“Yep, surethinganythingyouwantyourMajesty.”

“You wouldn’t catch me alive accepting food from a speedster. You people fuck up the timelines so much,” Danny grumbled, crunching on the last of Raven’s brothers. Raven thought she should probably sit down.

“But you’re dead.” Batman said, something about his voice catching the sharp attention of his protégés who all started making cutting motions at him.

“Fair,” Danny pointed at him, grinning. “I’ll take two pizza and Nightwing’s coffee as payment for taking care of your little demon overlord problem. Raven, summon your dad.”

——

Didn’t much like the characterization of this piece but it’s been in my drafts for a while and I needed it out

[bluebeads-art]

2024 November 21st

INTO THE LAKE WITH YOU, MUD CHILD

My part of a retroactive art trade with @anxiousapplepie ! "Retroactive" because I was already drawing this before we agreed to make it part of a trade, heheh. December 2nd edit: BEHOLD!... THEIR HALF OF THE TRADE... Eleven whole pages of trade!! Go read it go read it go read it

I read this post about their Role!Swap AU, and, like, multiverse shenanigans? Check. Characters goofing off and having fun? Check. Several opportunities for slapstick humor? Check. Conclusion: I really wanted to draw it. Physical comedy is my specialty. :p

This thing is kinda all over the place composition wise (looking at you, relative sizes of speech bubbles) because there is Too Much going on in these panels and I Did Not plan ahead of time, lmao. This was supposed to be doodlier than it ended up being, so as a growing pain it's a funny jumble of consistency. One of these days I'll be able to doodle without getting carried away. 😂

More rambling and close-ups under the cut

This interaction in particular is what nudged me over the edge to draw this whole thing. I don't know what Fighter Mirabelle's malfunction is when it comes to the Siffrins, but it lets me make Sif the butt of a joke again, so yeehaw! His hat being catapulted out of frame made me laugh when I was thinking of what to do with the composition-complicating hat in question.

Also my personal take is Siffrin is 100% having the time of their life here. Making new(?) friends? Being involved in a fun group activity? Well worth inhaling some puddle water and having to go jump in The Lake to wash the mud off later.

Bonnie being so furious they changed art styles wasn't in my original plan, but I'm so glad I thought of it on a whim because it made me laugh Every Time I looked at their face. 😂

Time taken on this whole thing was 42 hours and 50 minutes. AND. I KNOW THAT SOUNDS BAD. IF YOU KNOW I'M TRYING TO SPEED UP MY ART PROCESS. But this project gets a special pass. This was the farthest out of my art comfort zone I've been in a while! 13 (mostly) full-body characters at various complicated angles, 2 backgrounds, learning to use CSP's perspective rulers, effects I'm not used to like water splashes, etc etc. I made progress on speeding up sketching & line art as well! Some of the lines you see are just extremely cleaned up sketch. I was able to let myself fudge things more too. For example, Mira's dress is a very "dude just trust me" simplification because I don't know how the clothes folds would work at that angle. ^^;;

So while there's still a handful of things I'm not happy with, it's worth it for the learning experience and perfectionism-busting progress! Also for the sake of drawing silliness, of course.

Oh, lastly; the KO sprite is the one from in-game, so it was made by insertdisc5 and not me.

[coldfanbou]

Fair is Fair

We get to learn a little bit about Mina in this fic. Turns out she's a little needy.

Length 2.3K

Mina X Mreader

Previous Part

Once Chaeyoung had left your home, you lay on the couch, wanting nothing more than to relax when your phone began vibrating. It was a series of messages. “Why did Momo get a turn?” was the first one that got your attention. You wonder who would know about your night with Momo and Jihyo. Curiosity gets the best of you, and you open your messages. You scroll to the top and realize it’s Mina messaging you. The rest of her messages were her complaints about being left out.

“I’m not the one that decided that,” you reply.

“Well, I want a turn; it’s been so long since I’ve been with someone.” She texts back before she begins calling your phone. You pick up the phone and instantly hear Mina's voice come through, “It’s not fair that Momo gets to have fun with you. We share everything, and she shouldn’t be able to have fun with you alone.” she repeats, her voice high. Mina’s whines were odd to you. From the small amount of time you had spent together, she had acted much more like a lady, so her complaining like a bratty child was weird, for lack of a better word. 

“Mina, things just happened. What do you want me to do about it.”

“Tonight, you and I are going out, no ifs, ands, or buts.”

“Mina,”

“No, we’re going out.” Mina whines, the soft pounding of something heard in the background. On the other side of the phone, Mina kicked her feet against her bed, cheeks full of air as she pouted. “I want to go out tonight, and then we can spend the night at your place. Chaeyoung got to fuck you last night, why can’t I?” You question the last part, your mind working slowly until you figure out that the friend Chaeyoung had been talking about was, in fact, Mina.  “Chaeyoung was showing us pictures last night, and I couldn’t believe it was you. I want my turn now!” She whined, kicking her feet again. 

You reluctantly agree, too tired to put up a fight. “Alright, fine, but you plan the date.” 

“Really?” Mina almost shouts, the glee in her voice ringing out.

“Yes, give me the details, and I’ll meet you there.” You were already tired of the situation. You place your phone on the coffee table before shutting your eyes. 

When you wake up from your short nap you have several messages on your phone from Mina, including the time and place for your date. You check the clock and realize there isn’t much time left. You get yourself ready, already regretting giving in to Mina so easily. You head to the address Mina had sent you. Arriving at the address, you double-check to make sure it’s the right place. You question Mina’s choice of a Lego cafe, but soon enough, you see her arrive, standing outside the cafe and typing something out on her phone. Your phone buzzes a second later, “Where are you?” 

“Okay, guess this is the right place.” You say to yourself before getting out of the car. You walk up to Mina, who smiles when she sees you. She’s dressed casually, wearing oversized jeans and a hoodie.

“Let’s go!” Mina says, taking your hand and heading inside, grabbing a table for the two of you. 

“What kind of place is this Mina?”

“It’s a Lego cafe,” Mina says, stating the obvious.

“I know that, but why here? Why have the date here?”

“It’s fun,” Mina says, pulling out a set of legos from under her sweater. You feel like you’re in another world as Mina begins playing with the set. Looking at the box, you see it’s a car she’s building. You’re more confused than anything else; you never would have thought Mina would be interested in something like this. Seeing her pull a box set from under her sweater was another can of worms in and out of itself. You watch the young woman smile to herself as she puts the pieces together. It was cute, almost innocent. You feel out of place as she continues to build the car. “We’ll get you a set,” Mina says without looking up at you. 

As the waiter comes around, Mina takes charge, ordering coffee for both of you and a Lego set for you to work on. You sighed briefly, “I didn’t expect this would be our date. I thought you’d want to do something else.”  You pick at the set Mina had chosen for you; it was a set of flowers, something simple.

You build your set while watching Mina work on hers, “Do you do this often?”

She nods, focusing intently on the tiny stickers she had to place on the Lego pieces. “Yeah, I think it’s fun building these sets. Most guys don’t really like it, though; they think it’s childish.”

“It kind of is, but if you enjoy it, you should be able to share that.” You reply as you look through the instructions. “If they don’t like it and don’t want to date you because of it, that’s their problem.” Mina glances up from her set, looking at you before continuing to build it.

“Thanks,” she murmurs. “It’s peaceful building these,” Mina pauses as the coffee arrives, taking her time to sip from the hot cup before returning to her build.

“I thought you would just want to get straight to business. Not go on a date first.”

“I-well, I thought it would be rude to go to your house and do it.” Mina stammers, “I thought this would be better; besides, I wanted to build this set. I’ve had it for a month.” Mina says, trying to give another reason for the date. She hoped you wouldn’t see the price tag on the box. She had bought the Lego set before coming here. After your call with her had ended, she got flustered and went out to buy it. 

“So what else do you like?” 

“Games, video games,” Mina says, drawing out another question from you. “I like Minecraft; it’s a lot like Legos. I like building things more than going on adventures.” You nod along and continue asking Mina questions about herself. She slowly grows more comfortable as the date goes on, and once she finishes her build and you finish yours, the two of you decide to leave.

Mina places her little car in the back seat, with your plant, staring at them as you drive home, hoping nothing happens to them.

As you arrive in the parking lot, Mina slips a pill into her mouth and swallows it, preparing herself for a long evening. The effects are immediate as she feels her body begin to heat up. Walking to the door, Mina grows anxious, her body growing needy.

Reaching the door, Mina throws herself at you, wrapping her arms around your neck as she presses her lips against yours. “Let’s get started,” You struggle to open the door but eventually manage it, moving inside with Mina. She grabs your hands, moving them under her sweater. You feel her toned stomach as she drags your arms up her body until you reach her modest chest. Mina cranes her neck, letting you mark her body with hickeys as you lead her to the bedroom. Mina’s nipples rub against the palm of your hand, and she lets out a light moan as you squeeze her breasts. You push the door open and place Mina on the bed. You pull the hoodie off her before continuing to mark her body, her moans growing louder as you tease her nipples. Mina holds you against her chest, wanting to keep you there forever as you begin tugging at her jeans. 

Mina grabs your hands, stopping your advance. When you look up at her, her eyes are already on yours. “Before we keep going, I want to tell you something, but you have to promise not to tell anyone else.” 

“Okay, I promise,” You state to her, staring into her eyes and creating a sense of trust.

“Momo doesn’t know about this, but…” Mina’s face becomes flushed as she struggles to finish her sentence. “Can I call you Daddy? I like it better this way; please take the lead.”

For the second time today, Mina stunned you. “Uhm, sure, that’s fine.” This version of Mina was a lot different from the woman you had sex with a couple of weeks ago. Whereas when she was drunk, she degraded herself, Mina seemed more soft when she was sober. Mina giggles as she unbuttons her jeans and lets you pull them off. You become distracted, thinking to yourself how Mina has been the opposite of what you expected of her as she reaches down and rubs your bulge. 

“You’re so big,” Mina whispers, “Can I see it, Daddy?” You nod and lay back on the bed, letting Mina pull your pants off you; she slowly moves her head over your crotch, her long fingers pulling at your underwear. A smile creeps onto Mina as she tugs at your underwear, and your cock flops out. She grasps it gently, her hand moving along it slowly.

“Keep going, Mina, that feels good.” You groan.

The young woman drips her saliva onto your cock, spreading it out as she runs her hand along her shaft. “I want you, Daddy, in here.” She says, placing her other hand on her stomach. Mina stares into your eyes as she strokes your cock, her body growing hotter as she becomes more eager to move on. Mina flashes her gummy smile as she uses both hands to stroke your cock, rubbing the tip with the palm of one as the other runs along your shaft. You groan Mina’s name, the pleasure flowing through you as she leans down and kisses the tip. Mina smiles after, feeling shy. 

“Mina, I want you.” The young woman’s heart skips a beat after hearing your order. She straddles you, rubbing her lips along your cock and moaning as she prepares herself. The heat coming from your cock, makes Mina want more. She doesn’t wait long before lifting herself and rubbing the tip between her folds. Light moans escape Mina’s lips as she slowly sinks onto your cock, her walls squeezing your shaft as she slips more into her cunt. Mina places her hands on your chest as she begins to feel full. 

Mina rides you, her hips rocking back and forth as she leans back. “You’re so big,” she groans. The young woman bites her lip as she moves up and down your shaft, slowly putting more force into her bounce as she takes every inch inside her. “Mmm, Daddy,” Mina moans, her strength slowly leaving her body, leaving you to thrust into her. You roll Mina onto her back and lift her lower half, continuing to thrust into her. Mina’s moans only get louder; she grips the bedsheets, getting closer to cumming. She wraps her arms around you, holding you tightly as you ram more of your length inside her. “D-daddy, you’re so deep,” she whines, her legs wrapping around you. You kiss Mina’s neck and listen to her whimpers. Your hands grip the back of her thighs; they quiver as you push Mina closer to her climax.

“Cum for me, baby. Cum for Daddy,” you growl in a low voice. Mina’s body tenses, and she cries out as she cums. You continue thrusting into her tightening cunt, driving Mina mad. She continues to moan, “Daddy, wait!” She whines, her body becoming overrun by the pleasure. 

“I’m going to cum, Mina,” you groan. 

“I want Daddy’s cum. I want it inside me,” Mina moans, the pleasure breaking her as she feels your cock throbbing inside her. As you're about to cum you bury yourself inside Mina, your cum pouring into her cunt. “Oh, Daddy, more,” Mina moans. You kiss the young woman, shutting her up for a moment as you enjoy her body, her cunt milking you.

“Does my baby want more?” You ask, running your finger between Mina’s tits. 

“Yes, Daddy. Please give me more,” Mina says, biting her fingertip as she uses her other hand to spread her lips. “Please fuck me again, Daddy.” The sight of your seed leaking out of her cunt gets you hard again, and you slide back into Mina, gripping her ass as you begin thrusting again. 

As you fuck her to another climax, you feel something rub against your finger. Moving your hand just a little, you feel a plug. “Does my baby have a plug in her?” You whisper into Mina’s ear. 

“Yes, Daddy.” Mina says with a pout, “I want to save that for later.” she says softly. You leave it alone for now and continue fucking the young woman until you’re both exhausted. As you lay beside Mina, your chest heaving, you comment on her other side.

“This is a lot different from our first time together. So you have Sharon, and this is Mina?”

Mina looks away from you, covering her face. “It’s only when I’m drunk. I say a lot of things when I’m drunk.” She admits.

You laugh at Mina, “Oh yeah? Like ‘cum inside my slutty pussy’ or ‘fuck me like a whore’”  Mina’s mind flashes back to the first time you had sex, and she grows more embarrassed. “So, which do you like more?” You lean in closely to Mina’s ear and run your hand along her body, pushing two fingers inside her cum-filled cunt. “Or is it both?” You ask her, “Are you my slutty baby?” Mina gasps, and her body shivers. She bites her lip and nods.

“I like both,”

[headkiss]

it’s christmas (this is gonna be a nightmare)

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: steve puts a little too much pressure on himself to make this holiday a magical one. or: 4 times steve messes up your first christmas together, +1 time it's perfect.

word count: 7.4k

content: established relationship, one injury (no blood!), some kisses, a lot of steve's thoughts, and a love confession <3 fluff all around!!!

a/n: a full length fic!! it's a christmas miracle!! thank you to the anon who sent the ask that inspired this fic and to all of u for being here. i love u, happy holidays <3

⁺̇◍̇̇̇⁺̇̇̇⊛̇̇̇̇⁺̇̇̇◍̇̇̇⁺̇

Steve Harrington doesn’t know too much about what exactly a perfect Christmas looks like. He has his parents to thank for that.

What he does know is that this year has to be just that: perfect. Because this year he has you.

Though you went to high school together, you and Steve properly met in the summer. Right at the beginning of it, where the evenings still have a chill of wind but the sun cuts through it with welcomed warmth. Robin convinced him to take her to the flower shop just outside of town, and you’d been behind the counter to greet them.

Robin recognized you, and she chatted your ear off while you helped her pick a bouquet with the sweetest smile Steve had ever seen and he felt like an absolute moron for never having noticed you before at school. But he noticed you then.

He’d forced Robin to wait for him in the car while he stayed back, bought you your own bouquet of flowers from the store as if you weren’t the one who’d made them, and asked you on a date. Steve fumbled the whole way through, pricking himself with a rose thorn and cussing mid-sentence, but you still said yes.

You’ve been together ever since, and Steve feels incredibly lucky for it. Lucky for how kind you are, how well you fit in with his friends, how much the kids (Max, especially, though he won’t call her out on it) like you. Lucky for being allowed to grab your hand, to kiss you whenever he wants.

And, on the nights you stay over that grow more frequent with each month, lucky to have you fill the space in the Harrington home that usually feels so cold and empty.

So, maybe the holidays make him extra sentimental, maybe he cares a little too much about making sure it’s the best damn Christmas you could have. Maybe, for once, he’s actually looking forward to it all.

Robin startles him into the present — leaning on the counter at Family Video — with a stiff poke to the cheek. “Dude, I can literally tell you’re thinking about her by the look on your face. It’s kinda gross.”

He scoffs at her, even though he probably was making a face. “Sounds like jealousy to me, Buckley.”

“Shut up, if it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even know each other! I deserve compensation.”

Steve hangs his head dramatically. Robin is never letting that go. Ever.

“My friendship isn’t enough for you?” Steve says, placing a hand over his heart, “You wound me.”

“You annoy me,” she says, flicking his arm.

“Ow- whatever. You’ll be free of me in like five minutes.”

Steve checks his watch just to be sure. Robin’s closing by herself today, and while Steve would normally just stay and bother her anyways, he’s got plans that involve you and takeout and napping together on his couch.

As if the thought conjures it, you walk through the door, the bell jingling cheerily above your head, Steve’s car keys dangling from your fingertips. (Yes, he lets you drive the BMW.)

“Thank God,” Robin says when she sees it’s you. “Please get rid of him, he’s getting on my nerves.”

You smile and walk towards Steve, who immediately tosses an arm over your shoulders and pulls you in close, stamping a kiss to the side of your head.

You turn your head to the side and look at him, “What did you do?”

Steve gasps, “Me? Honey, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

You send him a wink, and Steve grins. He fucking loves having you with him, being able to speak without speaking. Your hand grabbing his and squeezing says I missed you, his squeezing back says me too.

“Okay, please remove your public displays of affection from the store and leave me alone with the overplayed Christmas song radio station, thank you.” Robin announces.

“Don’t miss me too much, Robs. I know it’ll be tough,” Steve says, guiding you forward.

“Good to see you, Robin!” you wave on your way out.

“You too!” And just before the door closes behind you, Robin’s voice rings out; “You’re my favourite half of the relationship!”

Your smile widens. Steve is the best thing that’s happened to you, and his friends becoming yours is one of the greatest bonuses you could ask for. It’s like his life made room for you as simply as the ocean’s tide pulls in and out. Gentle and certain.

He catches the keys when you toss them to him, and Steve’s mood just seems to lift and lift on the drive back to his place with you in the passenger seat, Christmas lights lining the streets glowing on your cheeks.

Yeah, he thinks, this Christmas is going to be perfect.

-

1.

That weekend Steve calls you and tells you to be ready by noon and to dress warmly. He doesn’t tell you much else besides his usual ‘see you soon, honey’ or ‘miss you’ murmured sweetly through the phone.

As instructed, you’re dressed in a pair of jeans and one of your favourite knitted sweaters, your brown leather jacket overtop and socked feet stuffed into your Doc Martens. Though you feel plenty warm, Steve will probably fuss over you and hold you close for body heat anyways. And, well, you’d never be opposed to that.

Steve’s BMW rolls into your driveway exactly one minute past twelve, and by the time you walk outside to meet him, he’s already standing on the passenger side of the car waiting to open the door for you.

“Always a gentleman,” you say, kissing him quickly on the cheek.

You slide into the seat that’s become yours for the most part, and Steve ducks down to kiss you properly on the mouth before pulling back, “Mm maybe not always.”

He closes your door and you laugh lightly, your face a little warm even though he’s been your boyfriend for months now. You don’t think you’ll ever be unaffected by Steve Harrington’s charm, ever be used to it being aimed at you.

Of course, you knew of him in school, but knowing the real thing, the kind, caring boy who’d been buried under King Steve back then, is probably the greatest gift you’ve ever had.

Steve drives with one hand just above your knee, his thumb running back and forth over the stitching in your jeans. Still, he doesn’t tell you where he’s taking you, his only hint was to “pay attention to the radio station.”

It’s playing Christmas music. Like that narrows things down a whole bunch.

You chat the entire way. Steve asks you how the flower shop is doing (“Poinsettias are flying off the shelves”), you ask him who he got for the group’s secret Santa this year (“Max. I’m going to need your assistance”). It’s so easy to talk to him, to laugh and joke and not have to worry about what you say or how you come off.

You never knew being with someone could be so easy until Steve.

Eventually, he pulls into the long driveway of a farm. A Christmas tree farm, to be exact, if the wooden arch you drive through is to be trusted.

“What are you planning, Harrington?”

He shrugs, his hand squeezing your knee, “Thought we could pick out a tree together. Put it up at the house. My parents aren’t gonna be around — shocker, I know — I figured we’d do it together. Make it our own.”

Steve pats your leg before letting it go and putting the car in park, his palms dragging over his thighs like he’s suddenly nervous.

“Our first Christmas tree,” you say quietly, almost to yourself, a smile creeping onto your face. He really is sweet. “I love it. Let’s go adopt a tree, Stevie.”

He flashes you a smile before getting out and jogging around the hood to open your door for you. You’ve learned to wait for him to do it since you’ve been together. The last time you tried to open your own door he made you close it again just so he could be the one to open it.

Before, you’d never really cared about that sort of thing, but Steve has single-handedly raised your expectations.

He grabs your hand and leads you towards the classic red and white barn, following the signs painted simply with a tree and an arrow pointing you in that direction.

When you turn the corner and see the selection of trees, however, Steve pauses.

There are maybe seven trees left, none of which are very impressive upon first glance. Their branches are skinny and the pine needles leave a lot of space to see through them. It’s safe to say these aren’t the Christmas trees Steve was hoping to surprise you with.

He was sure there’d be something better left, at least. And he’d been wrong. Minus a point on that perfect Christmas, he supposes.

Still, he walks you to the selection, the farm’s employee greeting the two of you as you walk up; “Hey y’all. Good afternoon!”

“Hey man,” Steve starts, “you wouldn’t happen to have any more trees left, would you?”

“Sorry folks, this is all we’ve got. Most people like to get ‘em early.”

Steve’s hope dwindles, and you can see him deflate a little bit.

You, however, don’t mind one bit. You tug on his arm to get his attention, and Steve turns to look at you, brown eyes shining like honey in the sunlight. “It’s okay,” you tell him. “Even the little trees need homes, right?”

He shakes his head with a small smile. It’s cute, he thinks, the way you tend to talk about plants as if they have feelings. You do it when you tell him about the flowers you sell, too.

“Right as usual, honey,” he decides. “Pick your favorites.”

So, you wind up with two small Christmas trees rather than one full one, and there’s a small victory in it when you and Steve strap them both to the top of the BMW without too much of a struggle.

Another victory when you sing along to ‘Last Christmas’ and hold out your fist as if there’s a microphone in your grip to get him to join you. Admittedly, it isn’t a very good rendition, but Steve loves it all the same.

You have a way of turning things around for him, even without knowing it.

When you get back to Steve’s, he brings both of the trees inside and sets them up before bringing down the bins of ornaments and lights from the attic. He only shouted once when a spider crawled over his hand.

Having two trees makes it easy to turn decorating into a lighthearted competition. You both claim one as your own and decorate them with string lights and tinsel and ornaments. Steve’s mom would probably have an aneurysm seeing them used so haphazardly.

Though by the end, your tree is definitely prettier, Steve still feels like he’s won something as you lean your back against his chest and his arms cross over your own, keeping you there.

As a kid, he wasn’t even allowed to do the decorating. Mrs. Harrington had to make everything look picture perfect, and Steve’s hands didn’t help with that. Not according to her.

Today couldn’t feel more different from those memories of his childhood.

“Yours is better,” he tells you, chin perched on your shoulder, his voice low in your ear.

Objectively, it probably is better (your prior experience with arranging plants was an advantage), but you don’t actually care about that.

Today felt like a little glimpse into the future you and Steve could have. It’s easy to picture it: your own apartment, buying decorations you both actually like, setting it all up together every year.

“I think they’re both brilliant,” you say.

And while today wasn’t what he was picturing, wasn’t what he’d hoped for with his ideal holiday in mind, Steve finds that he can certainly live with that. Your adorable little clap when you’d finished decorating was enough to cement it.

It’s only one thing. He’s got plenty of chances to be perfect later, he guesses.

Steve dips his head and kisses the top of your shoulder over your sweater.

-

2.

You stay over at Steve’s that weekend. You’re both off work, and you find yourself spending your days (and nights) off with Steve more and more.

In the morning, you blink your eyes open slowly, naturally. No alarm set, your boy wrapped around you. It’s how you’ll spend every morning someday.

The sunlight sneaks through a crack in the curtains, cutting a line across Steve’s blue bedding. You squint at it, shifting onto your back gently. Steve’s arm remains slung over your waist as you move, his knee against your leg. You roll your head to the side to look at him, a smile creeping over your mouth at the way his cheek is smushed into the pillow, his lips pouting and hair a mess over his forehead.

Mornings have easily become your favorite time to spend with Steve. He’s cuddling you in some way every single time without fail, even when he wakes up. His voice is all low and gravelly from sleep and it feels like an honor to get to be the one to hear it like that. Usually, you spend an hour in bed with him after waking up. Laying together, talking, kissing. Sometimes (often) more.

You’d stay put right now if you didn’t have to pee so bad.

Slipping out of bed without Steve noticing proves a challenge, his arm tightens over you in his sleep, his brows scrunching. You whisper a soft “I’ll be right back.” He mumbles something incoherent, but his arm relaxes and you’re able to sneak away.

On your way back from the bathroom, you pause and take a peek out the window. You gasp happily at what you see: snow. A bright, white layer blanketing the ground sparkling in the sunlight.

You turn back to the bed and let yourself fall to it with a bounce, earning another grumbled protest from Steve, but there’s no way you’re going back to sleep now. You trail a hand up his arm to his shoulder, giving it a small shake, “Stevie, wake up.”

“Hm?” his eyes scrunch before opening. “What happened, honey?”

“It snowed!”

“Yeah?” he huffs a laugh at your excitement, his hand searching for yours in the sheets.

“Yeah, and it’s so pretty. We should go out before it melts.”

“It’s winter, sweetheart. Not gonna melt that fast.”

“Steve.”

“Okay, okay,” his hand leaves yours in favor of wrapping itself around you again, and he uses it to tug you close again. “Just five more minutes.”

His nose is pressed to the top of your head, and he breathes you in, smiling to himself. Mornings are Steve’s favorite, too. Only when they’re spent with you.

Secretly, he’s also happy about the snow. He was hoping mother nature would be on his side so that he could check yet another holiday item off his list with you. Hopefully one that will turn out nicer than the tiny trees you’d ended up with.

It’s definitely more than five minutes by the time you get Steve to get up and out of bed. You attempt to get him outside right away. He stops you with a: “No snow-related activities on an empty stomach!”

So, it’s a rushed breakfast of bagels and coffee provided by Steve, and then you’re gearing up and heading into the back yard.

The cold bites at your cheeks, and the tip of Steve’s nose is pink within minutes, but you love it.

There’s a snowman built together, snow angels made that get ruined when Steve rolls himself on top of you and steals a kiss or five. Naturally, all there is left to do is have a snowball fight.

You start it when you’re still on the ground, a hand sneaking into the snow to grab a handful and pressing it to the back of Steve’s head. He gasps, and you take the opportunity to push him to the side and get up.

“No fair!” he calls. “I was distracted and you went for the hair.”

“Your fault for not wearing a hat, babe,” you laugh.

“Oh, you won’t be laughing for long, honey. You’re in for it.”

And just like that, you’re running around like kids in a schoolyard, hiding behind trees, slugging snowballs at each other and cheering when you manage to not miss.

Steve silently thanks mother nature or the universe or whatever made it snow for the wide smile on your face, your eyes shining with mirth.

At one point, you’re suddenly distracted by something in the trees, and the snowball is out of Steve’s hand before he sees you start to look towards him again.

It hits you square in the face.

A quick “Ow” comes out of your mouth, though it really doesn’t hurt that bad. Your first reaction is just to let it slip, but Steve’s heart sinks to his stomach.

“Shit, honey.” He runs over to you and cups your face in his hands, his mittens soft against your skin as he brushes the snow from your face. “Fuck. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t tryin’ to get you in the face.”

Minus another point, for sure. Perfect Christmas: -2.

“I know, don’t worry,” you tell him, because he clearly is worrying.

“You okay?” he checks. He literally winces when you sniffle, frowns when he sees the way your eyes water. “Honey. I’m sorry.”

“Honestly, Steve, I’m fine,” you reach up and grab his wrists, squeezing them over his jacket. “I’m only crying ‘cause it got my nose. It doesn’t actually hurt.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you assure him. “Didn’t you used to play sports in school? Thought athletes had better aim.”

“I was a swimmer, baby. No projectiles involved.” He smiles softly when you laugh, but he can’t stop himself from asking one more time. “You’re really not hurt?”

“It’s just a bit of snow, Stevie.”

His eyes run over your face anyway before he nods. Then, he dips forwards and lightly kisses your cheek, the other, the tip of your nose, and your mouth.

“Well now I’m certainly all better,” you say against his lips.

Steve pulls back but doesn’t go far. “I think this snowball fight is over.”

“Buzzkill,” you tease.

He bends down and picks up a handful of snow before shoving it in his own face.

“Steve!” you laugh.

“There, now we’re even,” he says, snowflakes clinging to his lashes.

You let him lead you inside after that, his arm draping over your shoulders, yours hugging his middle as you walk across the yard.

Once you’ve both shed your layers of coats and boots and hats and mittens, Steve takes you upstairs and runs you a bath to warm you up. He apologizes another two times when he looks at your face for too long, and you have to kiss him to stop him uttering another ‘sorry.’

Hell, if it’s gonna make him this sweet on you, you’d probably take a snowball to the face any day.

Eventually, when the bathtub is full, a layer of bubbles over the surface, you coax Steve into joining you. He leans against the side with you between his knees, back settling into its home against his chest, his chin resting atop your head.

Steve runs his hands over your shoulders, presses kisses into your hair. All along he’s reminding himself that the next thing will go right. He won’t be throwing anything, at least.

-

3.

The next weekend Steve calls you again. He asks you to be ready in the evening this time, but still keeps things vague other than the fact that you’ll be outside and need thick socks.

You have a pretty good idea of what he has in mind, but he’d called it a ‘redemption date’ over the phone and even though you truly don’t think he has anything to redeem himself for, you don’t want to spoil his plans, so you play along.

He comes to the front door when he picks you up this time, knocking gently as if you hadn’t been waiting for him by the windows.

“Hi, honey,” he drops a quick kiss to your lips, “had to come and approve your outfit. Don’t want you getting cold and stealing my jacket again.”

He’s lying, really. Steve fucking loves draping his own jacket over your shoulders and seeing you pull it tighter around you. When that happens, he braves the cold, but he figures that probably won’t be smart for spending hours outside.

“Aww, but yours is so much warmer than mine,” you pout jokingly.

Steve simply grabs your thickest jacket from a hook by the door and holds it out for you to slip your arms into.

As suspected, he drives you to a skating rink. He chose one a town over from Hawkins, where they have twinkle lights strung above the rink and rainbow Christmas lights lining the boards. Steve smiles when you gasp lightly in delight at the sight of it. The brightness cutting through the already dark night sky.

Steve guides you over to the skate rental booth first, bumping his hip into yours when you attempt to pay for the rentals. “As if. My idea, my wallet.”

“You don’t even let me pay when it’s my idea, either.”

“Well, that’s just chivalry, babe.”

You roll your eyes at him and thank the man behind the booth when he hands you both your skates. As you walk towards the lockers and cubbies set up nearby, you lean up and kiss Steve’s cheek, his light stubble scratching your lips.

“Thank you for this,” you say.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he tells you. “Though I should warn you that I’m not very good at this.”

“What? You, not good at something? Please.”

“No, seriously. I’m like bambi on ice.”

You laugh and shove his shoulder weakly, “Don’t worry. I’m probably even worse.”

Steve grins. So far, so good. This one will be perfect. Well, as perfect as it can be considering his skating skills.

You sit on one of the benches and Steve puts both of your shoes in one of the cubbies. He ties his own skates first before kneeling in front of you to help you with yours. He knows how to tie them, at the very least.

He helps you slip your feet into the skates first, then tightens the laces on one before peering up at you and checking, “Feel okay? Not too tight?”

“It’s good, Steve. I feel like Cinderella.”

“A perfect fit! She must be the one!”

“Dork.”

“That’s prince dork to you.”

Steve finishes up with your skates, squeezing your ankle before setting your foot down and standing back up.

On the ice, neither of you are very graceful. You hold onto the boards most of the time, and Steve stumbles and nearly falls every few strides, but you’re laughing and having fun, so who cares?

So what if you get lapped by multiple people on the rink, including children? So what if you get some side eyes for being too slow or in the way? Neither of you can bring yourselves to be bothered.

Best of all, Steve keeps a hold on your hand the entire time. He literally saves you from falling with his grip on your hand squeezing and pulling you up straight.

However, your hands being clasped also means that, inevitably, when one of you goes down, you both do.

It happens after a decent amount of laps; your toe pick catches on a dip in the ice and it’s all it takes for you to lose your balance. Steve somehow twists himself to catch the brunt of your fall.

He expected that to come with some pain, a couple bruises, maybe. Instead, his wrist twists painfully against the ice as he falls, as if he’d tried to catch himself with it, and he can’t help the hiss of pain that comes out when he lands.

“You okay, honey?” he asks you.

“Of course I am. I landed on you, Stevie. Are you okay?”

He tests his wrist out by flexing it, wiggling his fingers, and he tries to hide it but he winces when he does, a sharp pain shooting up his arm. “M’fine.”

“Bullshit, I saw that wince, Harrington.” You manage to get back up on your feet and hold out a hand for him to grab, “Up, I’m taking you to the ER.”

“No, no. I’m good.”

“Steve.”

“Baby.”

“Come on, you don’t want to make it worse, do you?” you urge him. “Plus, I’ll only keep worrying and bugging you about it until you let me take you to the doctor. Your wrist is already swelling, babe.”

Mostly because he doesn’t like the thought of you worrying about him, Steve agrees.

When both of your skates are off (your doing, this time) and given back to the booth, you reach into Steve’s coat pocket and grab the keys to the BMW. He doesn’t protest, and that alone tells you he must be hurting more than he’s letting on. You even manage to open your own door for once.

Steve’s quiet on the drive to the hospital, his hand resting limply on his leg. His brows are furrowed, his eyes squeezing shut every so often when a burst of pain comes. You do your best to avoid any pot holes or bumps along the way.

Once there, you make him sit in one of the waiting room chairs, “I’ll get the check in forms and everything. Stay put, yeah?”

“Your wish is my command,” he says, trying to joke. His voice wobbles a tiny bit, though.

It’s at least an hour of waiting before someone can see him (and that’s including your many pesterings to the front desk). You don’t mean to be a bother, but you’ve never seen Steve injured in any serious capacity, and it’s messing with your head.

He took the weight of that fall to make sure you wouldn’t get hurt. The way he pays attention to things like that is one of the many reasons you love him.

You love him. You haven’t said the words to each other yet, but you’ve felt them for a long time already. It’s hard not to love Steve Harrington.

Finally, the doctor takes him back, and you follow. After an x-ray and some prodding, he determines that it’s a sprained wrist and that he should keep it wrapped for a few weeks to make sure it heals. They give him a prescription for some mild painkillers, too, for the first couple of days.

You breathe a sigh of relief knowing it isn’t broken, but Steve’s shoulders are still slumped.

He’s in pain, sure, his wrist now wrapped up in a tensor bandage, but really he feels defeated at messing yet another thing up. Third strike.

Steve lets you guide him back to the car and drive back to his place. You’ve decided you’re staying the night to take care of him, and as much as he hates looking weak or feeling useless, he’s glad to have you around.

You dote on him back at home, grabbing an ice pack from the freezer after making sure he’s settled on the couch, throwing a frozen pizza in the oven, bringing him meds and water.

“Honey, it’s just a sprain. Please stop fussing and sit with me.”

His brown eyes shine a little, and you could never say no to him when he looks at you like that.

You sit beside him and he drops his head to your shoulder, your hand coming up to play with the strands at the nape of his neck, scratching his scalp gently. His uninjured hand rests on your thigh and squeezes.

“Best painkiller ever,” he says.

-

4.

Steve has convinced himself that nothing could possibly go wrong this time around.

His plans for today involve staying at home, just you and him, no outside forces to deal with or avoid. So much less potential for failure. That’s what he thinks, at least.

Steve knows nearly every piece of you, so, obviously he knows you like to bake. You’d made him a cake for his birthday, and every so often you bring him other treats from home. Naturally, that meant that there was no way he was leaving out Christmas baking.

He’d considered doing gingerbread houses, and then remembered that the last time he tried that in a competition with the kids, his house was nothing more than a messy pile of gingerbread slabs. One with a bite taken out of it.

So, considering his past failures this holiday season, he’d settled on something that he thinks — hopes — is really hard to mess up: sugar cookies.

His mother’s collection of cookbooks had never been used for more than decoration until now. Steve searched through them until he found a recipe, wrote down the ingredients, and bought them at the grocery store to make sure he had everything.

In school, he never did much studying, but he reread the hell out of that recipe in order to get at least this one thing right.

The tensor bandage is still wrapped around his wrist, which is fucking annoying, really. He has to adjust it every day, and it’s hard to do with a single hand. He much prefers when you do it for him, sealing it with a featherlight kiss.

Worse, the thing still hurts, and you refused to let him drive and put more strain on it than necessary, so you took the bus and walked the rest of the way to his house.

He’s got all of the ingredients and tools laid out on the island when you ring the doorbell. “Hurry up, Harrington, it’s freezing!”

Hurry he does. He lets you in and helps you unwrap yourself from your bundle of a scarf and hat and mittens and jacket. Steve dips in to kiss your cheek, your skin cold against his lips. “Wouldn’t have to freeze if you let me come get you.”

“I don’t want you hurting yourself for no reason, I’m fine,” you grab his uninjured hand and kiss the pads of his fingers, “and I like these hands.”

He smiles at your words, smug, “Yeah, I know you do, honey.”

You shake your head at him, but you’re smiling all the same, “I take it back. Your ego is getting too big.”

“Nooo, it’s just the right size,” he winks.

“Don’t you have plans, Steve?” you ask, changing the subject. “Getting a little off track, aren’t we?”

“Later, then,” he says, taking your hand with his good one and leading you to the kitchen.

You pause at the entryway of the kitchen, scanning over the things on the island, two aprons Steve must’ve dug up from somewhere hanging from the knobs of the cabinets.

“Tada,” he says, “we’re making cookies.”

“This might be my favourite one yet, Stevie.” You walk over and grab one of the aprons, leaving the other (a pink floral number) for Steve. “I’m in charge, though.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he says, taking the other apron without a complaint. “This is your kitchen today, chef.”

“Mm. That has a nice ring to it.”

“Chef honey,” he says, planting a kiss where your neck meets your shoulder, breath warm even through your shirt.

You get started after that. Predictably, you make a mess with flour on the island and mixing bowls strewn about the surface. You get distracted with a bit of a flour war somewhere in there, Steve smudging it onto your cheek, you onto the tip of his nose.

When it’s time to roll out the dough and cut out the cookies, Steve grabs a handful of cookie cutters from one of the drawers, setting them onto the counter with a small clang. They’re all holiday themed. Candy canes and snowmen and Christmas trees.

“Someone’s prepared,” you say, bumping your hip against his.

“I run a serious establishment here, baby.”

“I thought I was in charge.”

Soon enough, after sneaking bites of raw cookie dough and cutting out as many cookies as you could manage, they’re placed into the oven, the timer set.

You end up in the living room, a random channel playing on the TV while the cookies bake. It starts innocently enough, just sitting next to each other, shoulders and thighs pressed together.

Then, Steve’s good hand wanders, starting above your knee and moving up and up until he’s squeezing the top of your thigh, tracing patterns with his thumb. When he speaks a husky, “Come closer?” how could you ever say no?

So, somehow, you’ve ended up straddling Steve’s lap, his injured hand resting loosely on your waist, the other pressed in between your shoulder blades to keep you close. Yours are in his hair, running through the strands, tugging even.

It grows heated fast, and all of a sudden you’re making out like a pair of teenagers, Steve urging you to press further down in his lap, to writhe there while his mouth works yours until it’s all you can think about. All you can feel.

The room feels warmer, Steve’s jeans tighter over his lap, your chest bumping against his, hearts racing. Even just kissing him feels better than anything you’ve ever had in the past.

He kisses you like he’s starved everytime, sometimes a ravenous hunger, like now, or, when he’s gentler, something tender and soft. A sweet tooth.

The cookies are long forgotten. The timer sounds and nobody hears it. You would keep going forever, if you could. But then there’s the smell that hits your nostrils. The smell of something burning.

“Steve?” you say against his mouth.

“Uh-huh?” he breathes.

“Do you smell that?”

He pulls back, and it’s immediately after you say the words that the alarm goes off, piercing through the air, killing the mood, much to your dismay. Even more to Steve’s.

“Fuck,” he groans.

You’re both rushing to the kitchen then. You, fumbling off his lap, him beating you to the kitchen and frantically taking the baking sheet out of the oven and turning the thing off. You grab a towel from the counter and start fanning beneath the alarm to get it to go off, and when the cookies are dealt with, Steve joins the efforts.

Eventually the thing stops beeping, and you both rest your arms. The room still looks a little cloudy, the cookies black at the edges.

Steve doesn’t say anything, only rests his elbows on the island and slumps his head, defeated.

He’s so frustrated with himself. Not for kissing you. No, he could never be mad at that, but at the outcome of his final attempt at a holiday date going south again.

You frown at him, walking over and placing a hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles. “Steve? You okay?”

“I just- I messed it up again.”

“Hey, I’m as much to blame as you are. It takes two to tango, as they say.”

He huffs a weak laugh, picking his head up and twisting to look at you. Your pretty face, eyes nothing but kind. Fuck, he loves you, and he just wanted to show you that. To make Christmas as magical as it's supposed to be.

“I really wanted it to go well, you know?”

You realize then that he’s not only talking about today. That he’s been putting this pressure on himself all month to make plans and something has happened every time. You don’t blame him for that, if anything, it makes your heart ache with adoration.

“Steve, it doesn’t matter to me. Things happen, it’s okay,” you kiss his bicep lightly. “I’d rather things go a bit wrong with you than to have them go right with someone else. You are the best part.”

“I-” love you, he almost says. But he doesn’t want the first time to be like this, in a room that still stinks. “You’re the best part for me too, honey.”

You decide that next time, it’s your turn to do something for him.

-

+1

Steve comes home from work on Christmas Eve, eyes tired and feet hurting despite having worn relatively comfortable shoes today.

He’d tried to get the day off, tried to be able to spend it with you in bed for hours and hours and not getting up until the afternoon. Keith had other plans for him.

He even tried to dramatize his wrist injury. Still, he was forced to go in.

Walking up the driveway, Steve sees the glow of lights inside filtering through the curtains. He’s fairly certain he hadn’t left any on, but he also knows he’s often wrong about these things, so he shrugs it off and goes inside.

There’s noise coming from the living room. Crackling of the fireplace that he barely ever uses, music playing quietly, and then he hears you humming along.

“Honey?”

“Yup, it’s me!”

You know where the spare key is, Steve’s the one who told you the information and encouraged you to use it, but you’ve often been too nervous to do so. Not today, it seems.

While Steve was at work, you’d set up your plan for him.

He follows the sound of your voice without much of a thought, a moth drawn to a flame. When he turns into the living room, he stills.

There are strings of warm white Christmas lights hung about, the fireplace is actually housing a fire, and in front of it is a fort made up of red and green and white blankets and pillows. Some plaid, some with snowflakes, all Christmas themed.

“Did you do all of this?” he asks, walking slowly to where you stand by the fort.

“Figured it was my turn to organize a date, don’t you think?”

“Baby. This is all really sweet, but wha-”

You cut him off, “Uh-uh. Let me explain.” You reach for Steve’s hands, and he meets you in the middle willingly. Suddenly nervous, you shift your weight on your feet. “I thought we could do presents a little early.”

His brows scrunch, “But Christmas is tomorrow.”

“Please?” you ask, squeezing his hands once.

And, really, Steve would never say no to you. Especially not when you’re saying ‘please’ all sweet and delicate like that.

“Okay,” he says. “Yours is in my room. I’ll go grab it. And change; I smell like Family Video.”

“‘Kay, Stevie.”

You kiss his cheek before he goes for good measure.

Steve is confused the entire time, wondering what it could be that you’re up to, but he does as he said he would. You’d been wearing a set of pyjamas (one he loves on you; a soft baby blue pair of shorts with a matching sweater), so he goes for one of his pairs of plaid pants and a plain t shirt before grabbing your messily wrapped gift bag from where he’d hidden it under his bed.

Back in the living room, he finds you now settled on the ground of the fort, which you’d lined with fuzzy blankets and the biggest of the pillows. His gift is sat beside you, a gift box wrapped in a lovely bow. Your skills of wrapping bouquets are transferable, he’s learned.

He joins you, sitting across from you, but close enough that your legs tangle and knees bump.

“You go first,” you tell him.

“Okay,” he scratches the back of his neck, handing you the gift bag. “Let me explain it before you say anything.”

That grabs your attention, but your plans aren’t about his present to you, really, and you know you’ll love it no matter what because Steve knows you better than anyone.

You lift out tissue paper first, uncovering multiple different things inside the bag, also wrapped. It pieces together as you go. A toothbrush, toothpaste, a hairbrush, your entire skincare routine, a couple of pyjama and underwear sets.

“It’s so you don’t have to bring an overnight bag every time you stay over now. I, um, cleared out a couple of drawers in my dresser and the bathroom.”

“Steve,” you look at him, heart squeezing. It’s so thoughtful, so him, and you surge forward you wrap your arms around his neck and breathe into his skin, “I love it. Thank you. It’s perfect.”

Perfect.

“You really think so?”

“Of course I do,” you sit back into your spot. “You know I hate carrying things.”

“I never let you carry anything, honey.”

“Exactly,” you nod. Now, you hold out his gift for him to take, “Your turn.”

You watch Steve’s hands as he tugs the bow undone, then lifts the lid of the box.

Nestled inside are four delicate ornaments. A Christmas tree, a snowman, an ice skate, and a plate of cookies. One for every date he’d planned for you.

Steve frowns at them, not because he doesn’t like them, but because he doesn’t quite understand where you’re going with this.

“I thought it was time we started collecting our own ornaments. For our place, one day,” you tell him.

“They’re lovely, but honey you- you really wanna remember these things?“ he shakes his head, more at himself than you. “I messed ‘em all up.”

“There’s one more thing in there,” you say quietly.

The thing you're nervous about. A thing you’ve never said out loud before.

Steve finds it beneath one of the ornaments, a small piece of paper folded up. When he opens that, his heart stutters in his chest. Written in your handwriting are three words: I love you.

He blinks away from the paper to look at you, though his thumb continues to trace the words absentmindedly. “Honey-”

“I love you, Steve. Okay?” You shift closer, kneeling at his side, your hands coming up to frame his jaw, your fingers kind against his skin. “I don’t care that things didn’t go how you planned. I mean, I would rather you didn’t require an ER visit, but the point is that I don’t need things to be perfect. And I know you’ve been hard on yourself trying to make them so.”

He lets go of the paper and reaches up to grasp your wrists, his thumb finding your racing pulse. His uninjured hand holds on tighter than the other.

“Thank you for trying for me,” you continue, “for caring. But no matter what happens, things are perfect for me. Because I get to do them with you. Got that, Harrington? You’re perfect, and I love you, and-”

He shuts you up with a kiss. It’s a simple but firm press of his lips against yours, but it says enough.

“I fucking love you too, honey,” he says, his forehead against yours, lips only a breath apart. “You saying all of that it means — you mean a lot to me.”

“Yeah, well, I meant it.”

“I know you did,” he nods. Steve pulls back the tiniest bit to be able to see your face fully, his sweet brown eyes locked on yours. “I wanted our first Christmas to be perfect, and I didn’t wanna let you down, but you’re right. They were perfect, because you’re here. And I love you for bein’ here.”

“As long as you’ll have me,” you say. You push his hair off his forehead before letting go of his face and sitting back, “Why don’t you give those ornaments a try?”

“On those trees?” he asks, eyebrows lifted, voice joking.

“Steve.”

”Okay, okay.”

He picks up the skate first. Surprising, considering that one had ended in a physical injury for him, but you say nothing and watch him walk over to your little trees by the window. You join him, sitting on the arm of the couch nearby while he scans over the tree.

“Pick a spot, handsome,” you encourage. “There’s really no wrong answer here.”

He goes to hang the first ornament, hand wavering before setting on a branch.

“Well, maybe not-” Steve tackles you onto the couch before you can finish. You dissolve into giggles as he pokes at your ribs, his head on your chest.

Steve’s done keeping score.

Perfect Christmas. That’s it.

⁺̇◍̇̇̇⁺̇̇̇⊛̇̇̇̇⁺̇̇̇◍̇̇̇⁺̇

thank you so much for reading!! if you enjoyed please please consider leaving a comment and/or a reblog and letting me know what you thought! it would mean a bunch of<3

[bokettochild]

You ever think about how Sky's entire world got turned upside down like...days before what was essentially his highschool graduation ceremony? And, like, my dude got the Skyloft approximation of a full ride to college by winning that one race, but by the time he's saved the world, it doesn't matter at all- this thing that mattered so much just days ago- because not only has he learned more than most of the professors know, but also the school is basically going to be abandoned now

They're going to the surface, they're going to live there. Sky- finished his adventure and saved his best friend, and his reward was losing everything he'd ever known in life EXCEPT Zelda.

No one treats him the same; he's the hero now. He knows things they don't. He just got out of highschool and now his teachers are suddenly the ones coming to him to ask how the world works. He was going to be a knight and he is now, butt his experience is so drastically different from all the other knights around him.

He's this huge world now, this place he only is beginning to understand, and because he's the hero, because he's been here longer, he's the one everyone else comes to with questions. He's their leader now,w hen before he was a lazy teenager they always chastised with warmth, trying to teach him to grow up.

He's still a kid, still younger than the knights, the professors, but he's also the only person whos got much of an idea what's happening other than Zelda. That's got to be weird for everyone. People will come to him with things but they'll doubt him because he's still young, or they'll want to teach him something only to decide not to because he's the hero, he doesn't need their instruction.

Like, the game ends all bitter sweet, but let's be real: by leaving Skyloft, he loses his home, his plans for the future, any conception e previously had of the world, the other half of his soul (his best friend and companion!), his childhood, and probably any sense of freedom he had now that he's got the fate and security of his people on his shoulders now.

And then he somehow ends up meeting the chain. All capable people, who (like his professors, his teachers, his neighbors) know what's going on even if he doesn't, who can handle themselves, who can protect themselves, who knows more than him and are better (seemingly) at this hero gig than him, and Sky? He can finally relax. He's silly again. He's taking naps. He's able to zone out without consequences. he doesn't need to be in control and he's fine with that. He's happy with that. As long as all is well, he's content to just exist here, just for now.

But the moment that peace and security of being with other heroes is threatened? Yeah, that's when the god-killer comes out.

......

Anyways, yeah, I think Sky's more than just a big softie and sleepy-head. Man has issues he is avoiding with the power of ignoring them and sleeping, but on some moments (like Miss Her, or the Sunset arc) we see that he slips sometimes.

Long of the short: I have Sky brainrot these days :)

[monzabee]

run for the hills – lh44 (+18)

masterlist ||

Summary: The one where fate decides to bring you back into Lewis’ life, making him question his belief in fate.  

Pairing: lewis hamilton x rosberg!reader

Word Count: 9.3k 

Warnings: cursing, crying, drinking and mentions of alcohol, mentions of brocedes (rip), kissing, unprotected sex (you shouldn’t be surprised at this point), oral (m receiving), hand kink, praise kink, minors dni!!

Request: “hey, Merry Christmas 🫶🏽 I was hoping I could request a Lewis smut fic where the reader is Nico Rosberg's sister (with a age gap of around 6-8 years with him and Lewis) and before 2016 they were just really close friends who just kissed once but chose to pretend it didn't happen. after years, they run into each other at a club or a party and they're pretty snappy at each other but there's a lot of tension too and they end up having sex where Lewis is really cocky and also the reader has a hand kink and praise kink? I'm so sorry if I made it too long, i love your writing <33” + “oooo please could i request something w lewis?! something gut wrenchingly angsty? sorry i don’t really have a plot in mind hhhh thank you heheh”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! HAPPY NEW YEAR, i started this fic last week and i honestly didn't think I'd finish it this quickly but here we are. don't let my words fool you, i got the request last christmas but if you know me then you know that i am not quick when it comes to working on requests (i'm working on this i promise), not that this fic is even remotely christmassy, but let’s just appreciate that it is supposed to be set during the holiday period lol. this was supposed to be a shorter one but here we are, lol, i'm not even surprised at my inability to keep things short at this point. i posted this fic and realised i forgot to copy and paste a big chunk of it so oh well. as always, feedback is appreciated, and i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee 

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

Lewis decided he doesn’t like cold a long time ago. That’s why, being the ever-decisive person he is, he chooses to spend his winter vacationing in places like the Maldives or Bali. His decisiveness is an important part of him, given what he does for a living. When he is on the track, in his car, there is no room for hesitation – he needs to be able to make split-second decisions under intense pressure, what’s not to love about that? So, once he decided he’d rather spend his time off basking in the sun rather than freezing to death somewhere else, he never looked back. He enjoys spending his time off in someplace tropical with his family, or without his family; most of the times away from the prying eyes and camera lenses of the media. 

But this time, it’s different – he's alone. 

Or rather, he thought he would be alone. The villa he rented out for the duration of the month is isolated, just how he likes it. He wakes up to the sound of waves crashing against the shore right outside his windows, and the distant chirping of tropical birds to accompany him as he lounges on the large deck, overlooking the infinite expanse of blue. There are no spectators around to gauge his reaction, try to get him to speak out about his plans for the next year when he moves to Ferrari, or what he’s going to do when he eventually retires one day. He hasn’t seen anyone from the racing world for weeks, and it’s been a much-needed break. He’d usually love to spend Christmas with his family, the only time he would ever tolerate the cold being when he is with his family, but this year he just wanted to get away on his own. 

There is no one around that expect anything from him. Just peace. 

He’s not a hermit, of course, but he enjoys spending his time by himself mostly isolated from all the other guests of the touristic area he’s staying in. The chef that works at the villa is on call for when Lewis decides that he wants to stay in for the night, the housekeeping staff come every morning to clean up around the house, then promptly leave, providing Lewis with the privacy he so desperately needs. But other than that, and a few nights spent outside in a restaurant or a club? He is all alone, and he is not complaining about it. Another thing about Lewis Hamilton is that he doesn’t believe in fate. He believes in setting and achieving goals; after all, that’s what he’s done all his life. His success isn’t some cosmic coincidence. It’s years of sacrifice by his parents, relentless effort, and unwavering determination. So, when things happen that feel serendipitous, like running into someone from his past, he doesn’t chalk it up to destiny. He chalks it up to the sheer unpredictability of life. 

And yet, as he steps out of the villa to head to a nearby beach club after dinner, he doesn’t expect to run into you, especially not after how the things ended last time, but there you are. His eyes find you at the bar with some guy next to you – he has to do a double take. Just to make sure, he tells himself. But no matter how many times his attention reverts to you, he knows it’s you. Of course, it’s you. Though he’s not a believer in fate or destiny, or whatever you might want to call it, there you are – dressed in a flowy linen dress. His first instinct is to ask the server to seat him somewhere else so that he wouldn’t have stare at you and your ‘date’ for the night. His grip on the glass in his hand tightens momentarily, and he exhales slowly, forcing himself to look away. This is not the moment, he tells himself. It’s not his business, not anymore. But still, his gaze drifts back to you. You’re laughing at something the guy says, your head tilted slightly as you sip from your drink. He can’t hear your laughter, no – but what a sound that would be to hear, he thinks for a moment. 

He knows he shouldn’t care who you’re with or what you’re doing; it’s been years since the two of you shared anything beyond... well anything, really. But something about seeing you here, in this place he thought was his private retreat from the world, feels like a twist of fate – or the kind of cosmic joke he claims not to believe in. But his eyes watch you as you throw you head back in a laugh and he can practically hear the sound in his head, his mind taking him to years ago when he used to be one of the people who got to hear it first hand; when he joined your family on karting days, or when you celebrated with him when he won a race, or even back to that one time when him and Nico were trying to drive those unicycles and you kept doubling over in laughter when they fell down – something your brother did not appreciate, but Lewis couldn’t help the smile that crept on his face as he watched you from the ground.  

Somethings never change, he thinks, as he notices the smallest of smiles that has crept its way onto his face, quickly disappearing the moment he catches himself. He knows it shouldn’t matter to him – let alone bother him. But old habits die hard, and the sight of your smile, that easy laugh, stirs something in him that feels like both longing and a pang of annoyance. You’ve always had a way of getting under his skin. Back then, it was teasing remarks that somehow felt more genuine than any praise he received elsewhere. He catches himself glancing your way again, his jaw tightening when the guy beside you leans in a little too close. It’s irrational, this surge of jealousy that claws at his chest. He knows he has no right to feel this way, but that doesn’t stop it from burning through him. He looks down at his drink, willing himself to focus on anything but you. But memories have a way of sneaking up on him, unbidden. The days spent at karting tracks, the shared dinners with your family, the quiet moments when it was just the two of you, talking about everything and nothing at all. Back then, it was easy. Natural. Like you were two pieces of a puzzle that fit together perfectly, until you didn’t. 

Just then, you glance over, your eyes scanning the room before they land on him. For a moment, everything stills. The laughter fades from your face, replaced by something unreadable. Surprise, maybe. Or recognition. His breath catches in his throat, and he curses himself for the way his chest tightens under your gaze. He watches as you excuse yourself, heading towards the restrooms, and he swears he has never gotten up so fast and walked so fast in his life. He doesn’t think, he just moves until he spots you in the hallway, queued behind some people waiting for the bathroom line. What kind of a club only has one bathroom? He thinks, but that’s not the point. 

He clears his throat. 

You turn, eyes widening in that familiar, guarded way. “Lewis.” Your lips open in shock as you glance behind him and then focus on him again, “Did- did you follow me here?”  

“Were you on a date with that guy?” The words come out of his mouth before he can stop himself, his voice colder than he expects. 

You blink, taken aback by the question. “Excuse me?” 

He stands there, regretting the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but that doesn’t stop the irritation from creeping up his spine. His gaze flickers to the bar behind him, where the guy you were with is still talking to the bartender, oblivious to what’s going on. “I asked if you were on a date,” he repeats, a little sharper this time as he emphasises the last word. 

You raise an eyebrow, the surprise on your face melting into something more guarded, a mix of disbelief and annoyance. “What if I was?” You cross your arms, your eyes narrowing. “Maybe I’m just out enjoying my night. Ever think of that?” 

He feels a rush of heat in his chest. “It’s not like I care,” he mutters, though it’s clear from the edge in his voice that he does. “Just curious.” 

You scoff, your lips curling into a sarcastic smile. “Sure, Lewis.” 

“So?” He inquires, “Are you? On a date with that guy, I mean.” 

You raise an eyebrow, clearly not amused. “Are you serious right now?” you snap, your arms tightening across your chest. “You’re standing here, in the middle of a hallway, asking me about my love life? What is this, high school?” 

Lewis feels the heat rise in his neck, irritation mixing with a sense of frustration he doesn’t quite understand. “I’m not asking for your life story, just... just an answer. Is it that hard?” His voice is tight, but he doesn’t back down. 

You scoff again, your lips curling into something between a smirk and a sneer. “You really think you can just waltz back in and start demanding answers like we’re still... You know what? Yes, Lewis, I’m on a date.” You throw a glance over your shoulder at the guy still sitting at the bar. “We met on the beach at the hotel I’m staying at, and I thought I’d let him treat me to a dinner and a couple of drinks before I’d let him fuck me six ways to Sunday.” You roll your eyes at someone on the queue gasping at your choice of words. “Not that it’s any of your business. Are you happy now?” 

Lewis’s hand grips your wrist, a little too tight, and without warning, he’s tugging you away from the bar, his jaw clenched. “Come on,” he mutters, his tone low and urgent, as he steers you towards the back exit. You’re caught off guard, stumbling to keep up with his forceful pace, your heart hammering in your chest. 

“What the hell, Lewis? Let go of me!” you snap, yanking your arm free once you're outside in the chill night air. The chill hits you like a slap, the heat of the club’s atmosphere fading behind you as the door slams shut. 

“Seriously?” he spits, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and frustration. “You’re gonna play it like that?” 

You take a step back, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t know what game you're playing at, but I’m not interested. What the hell was that back there? Dragging me out like I’m some kind of... of property?” 

He glares at you, his fists clenched at his sides. “You’re unbelievable.” His voice rises, sharp and cutting. “I ask you a simple question, and you throw that crap at me? What the hell did you think I was supposed to do? Just stand there and pretend like I didn’t care?” 

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “Pretend like you don’t care? That’s rich coming from you. You don’t get to just waltz in, after all this time, and act like you can demand answers, Lewis. Like you have any right to know what’s going on in my life.” 

“Your brother would be so disappointed in you right now.” His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the air between you two freezes. The breeze picks up, but the sudden silence makes the world feel too loud.  

“You don’t get to talk about my brother,” you seethe, as Lewis's face hardens, his jaw tensing, but it’s the look in his eyes that hits hardest — it’s a mixture of hurt and fury, both so raw, you almost feel sorry for what you’ve just unleashed. 

“What did you just say?” His voice is low, almost dangerously so, the words slipping through clenched teeth. 

You swallow, but it doesn’t help the sharp edge in your voice. “You heard me. You don’t get to talk about him, you don’t get to fuck up my life and you don’t get to come back here acting like you still have any claim on me or my life.” You’re breathing heavily now, the anger and hurt mixing into a bitter cocktail that you can’t quite swallow – funnily enough, Lewis can smell the cocktail you had earlier. “You left. You made your choice, Lewis. And now you don’t get to barge back in and pretend like I owe you anything.” 

Lewis stands in front of you, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His eyes are dark, his jaw tight as he processes your words. He doesn’t know when the two of you got closer together, he can practically feel the anger radiating off you, “You think I don’t know that?” he spits, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “You think I don’t know what I did?” His voice cracks slightly, the vulnerability slipping out before he can stop it. “I fucked up, alright? I fucked up more than you’ll ever understand. We all did – me, Nico, you.” 

“You don’t get to make me feel guilty about this, Lewis. You don’t get to act like I’m the one who fucked everything up.” Your voice shakes, but you keep going, the words coming faster, more bitter. “You kissed me and called it an ‘accident’, a fluke. You fought with Nico every chance you got. I had to pick up the pieces on my own.” 

Lewis flinches at your words, but his anger doesn’t dissipate—if anything, it only sharpens. His hands remain balled into fists at his sides, but there’s something else behind his eyes now, something raw, something almost desperate. “We wouldn’t have worked out,” he mutters, it’s something that he said to himself time and time again to convince himself of it, “I am– was your brother’s friend, you–” 

“You were my friend, too!” You exclaim, your hands swatting at his arms, chest – anywhere you can reach. “You left me, as if I meant nothing to you! You stole my first kiss and shattered my life to pieces on the same day!” You manage to get in some good hits despite Lewis’ attempts to calm you down, and the lump in your throat makes it harder for you to continue talking, “Do you know how many times I wondered if you kissed me just to piss Nico off? Do you know how that feels?” 

“What?” He asks, his voice low. Each hit, each accusation, it stings. But nothing hits harder than the raw emotion in your eyes – hurt, betrayal, and the weight of everything he left behind. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words catch in his throat. “You think I kissed you to get at Nico?” he says finally, his voice quieter now but no less intense. There’s an edge of disbelief, of hurt, as if the idea itself cuts deeper than your accusations. “Do you really think so little of me?” 

You cross your arms tightly over your chest, holding yourself together in the face of his raw honesty. “I don’t know what to think, Lewis. What was I supposed to think back then? You shut me out. You made me feel like it never happened – like I never happened.” 

“You were twenty-three years old,” he points out, “our age difference–” 

“Oh please,” you scoff, pushing at his chest one last time, “you’ve fucked girls younger than that.” 

Lewis flinches at your words, as if they’ve struck a nerve he didn’t even know was exposed. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. “You don’t get to throw that in my face,” he finally says, his voice low and clipped, tinged with a kind of frustration that feels different from before. 

“Why?” You ask, head cocked to the side. “I can’t comment on you fucking other people, but you can question my actions because I want to fuck–” 

“Say ‘fuck’ one more time and I swear I’ll–” 

“—what, Lewis?” you snap, cutting him off before he can finish his threat. “You’ll what? Walk away again? Pretend this conversation never happened, just like you did last time?” 

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his face tightening as he tries to rein in his emotions. “Don’t push me,” he warns, his voice low and taut, but there’s no real menace in it—only desperation. 

“Oh, I’m pushing?” You laugh bitterly, throwing your hands up. “I’m the one pushing? You’re the one who showed up here, dredging up every memory I’ve spent years trying to bury. Don’t you dare put this on me, Lewis.” 

“You think this is easy for me?” he shoots back, his voice rising. “You think I don’t hate myself for what I did? For what I didn’t do? I’ve lived with this every single day, and you—” 

“Fuck you!” you shout, stepping closer, your finger jabbing into his chest. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck–” 

His hands shoot up, grabbing your wrists – not harshly, but firmly enough to stop your movements. You don’t even fully register how quickly he pushes you against the wall, “You think I ran off and lived some perfect life?” he hisses, his face inches from yours as he inhales deeply. “You think I didn’t miss you every goddamn day? You think I didn’t lie awake at night, wishing I’d had the guts to ask you to stay?” 

His words hit you like a tidal wave, the rawness in his voice leaving you momentarily speechless. For a moment, the anger in his eyes softens, replaced by something else – something that feels far too close to the hope you’ve been trying to suppress. “Well... yeah.” You inwardly cringe how your voice sounds so weak, but Lewis tilts your chin back to make you look at him.  

“Is that so?” He mumbles, thumb caressing your chin as his eyes hungrily take in how your chest moves with each deep breath your inhale and exhale.  

Your breath hitches as his thumb lingers, his gaze dropping to your lips like he’s fighting every instinct to close the distance between you. “Lewis...” you start, but his name comes out softer than you intend, more of a plea than the warning you meant it to be. 

“What?” he murmurs, his voice low and dangerous, but there’s a softness to it, an undercurrent of vulnerability that sends your heart racing. “What do you want me to do, huh? Walk away again? Because I can’t. Not this time.” 

You shake your head slightly, but his grip on your chin keeps you from fully looking away. “I don’t know what I want,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “I don’t even know how to feel about you anymore.” 

His eyes darken, and his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he leans in, his forehead almost brushing yours. “Then let me remind you,” he says, his voice a low rasp. 

Your pulse quickens, every nerve in your body screaming at you to push him away – or pull him closer and he tension between you is suffocating. “Don’t,” you whisper, but your voice wavers, betraying the battle waging inside you. 

“Don’t what?” he asks, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. “Don’t do this?” You don’t answer, your throat too tight, your mind too clouded with memories, anger, and something else you’re not ready to name. He waits, his breath mingling with yours, his patience stretching thin. “Say the word,” he whispers, his voice rough with restraint. “Tell me to stop, and I will. I will let you go back and take him back to your room and do whatever you want.” 

But you don’t say it. You can’t. Because as much as you hate him, as much as you want to scream at him, cry, and push him away... you also want this. Want him. 

And Lewis knows it. 

His hand releases your wrist, sliding down to your waist as his other hand stays on your chin, tilting your face toward him. The kiss that follows isn’t soft, isn’t sweet – it’s desperate, raw, and filled with years of unspoken words. It’s anger and longing, heartbreak, and desire, all crashing together in a way that steals your breath and sends your heart into overdrive. A softer kiss might have been what you wanted, but Lewis knows this is what you need. His body presses against yours, and your hands instinctively find his shoulders, clinging to him as if letting go would leave you falling apart. His lips are warm and insistent, the taste of him intoxicating. Every move, every touch, feels like he’s trying to make up for everything he never said, everything he left behind. 

The kiss deepens, each second unravelling more of the carefully constructed armour you’ve built around your heart. His fingers grip your waist tighter, grounding you even as everything else feels like it’s spinning. You can feel the heat radiating off him with every press of his body against yours. Your mind screams at you to stop, to think, to pull away before you lose yourself completely – but your body betrays you. The years of hurt, anger, and confusion dissolve into the fire burning between you, ignited by a kiss that’s as much a battle as it is a surrender. 

Lewis pulls back just enough to let you breathe, his lips still hovering close, his forehead resting against yours. His breath is hot against your skin, his voice low and rough when he finally speaks. “You still want to go back and fuck your little lover boy?”  

“Who?” You mumble, breathless as a result of the kiss as your eyes become heavy with something you can’t quite describe. 

Lewis smirks, a glint of triumph flashing in his dark eyes. "Exactly," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your waist in slow, deliberate circles. His confidence is maddening, but the heat between you makes it impossible to summon the indignation you’d usually feel. 

You try to muster a response, something sharp and cutting to put him back in his place, but the way his gaze drops to your lips again makes the words dissolve before they even form. “Don’t do that,” you manage, though your voice lacks the conviction you intended. 

“Do what?” he asks innocently, though the rasp in his tone betrays his intent. 

“Act like this changes everything.” 

His smirk falters, replaced by a seriousness that roots you in place. “It doesn’t change everything,” he admits, his voice quieter now, almost tender. “But it changes something. Doesn’t it?” 

Your heart pounds against your ribs as his words sink in. You hate how easily he disarms you, how effortlessly he pulls you back into his orbit no matter how much you’ve tried to escape it. But deep down, you know he’s right. “I hate you,” you whisper, though even you can hear the weakness in your words. 

“I know,” he replies, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing your skin like he’s memorizing every inch of you. “And I hate myself for making you feel that way.” 

The sincerity in his voice cuts through the haze, making your chest tighten. But before you can think about it, you find yourself tugging on the collar of his unbuttoned shirt, pulling him closer to yourself as you mumble, “Kiss me again.” 

Your hands, which moments ago were pushing him away, now find their way into his hair, pulling him closer, as if to anchor yourself in the storm he’s unleashed within you. Lewis doesn’t hold back. His grip tightens on your waist, pulling you flush against him, the wall at your back the only thing keeping you steady. The kiss deepens, his lips moving against yours with an intensity that borders on desperation, as though he’s afraid this moment might slip through his fingers if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. When the need for air becomes undeniable, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours. Both of you are breathing heavily, the space between you charged with everything unsaid. “Tell me you didn’t feel that,” he says, his voice hoarse, his thumb brushing against your cheek. 

You can’t answer right away, your heart hammering so loudly in your chest it drowns out any coherent thought. But eventually, you manage to find your voice. “I hate you,” you whisper, but there’s no conviction behind the words. They sound hollow, even to your own ears. 

He lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “No, you don’t.” 

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” you snap, but the edge in your voice falters. 

“I’m not,” he murmurs, his gaze unwavering. “I’m telling you what I see. And I see you... still here. Still looking at me like that.” His hand trails down to your hip, his touch light but grounding. “If you hated me, you would’ve walked away by now.” 

You close your eyes, willing yourself to regain some semblance of control, but it’s impossible with him standing this close, his presence overwhelming. “This doesn’t change anything,” you say, though it feels more like you’re trying to convince yourself than him. 

“Maybe not,” he concedes, his voice softer now. “But it’s a start.” You don’t say anything to agree or refute his statement, and after a brief pause, he straightens, fixies your dress and tries to fix your hair as well. “Come on,” he says, “I’ll take you back.” 

“But, my bag,” you mutter, pushing out your lower lip in a pout when you realise your bag is on the floor. Lewis has to restrain himself when he sees your lips all puffed up because of him. Your voice is whiny, and he realises you’re slurring your words a little bit when you tug on his shirt, “I don’t wanna leave my bag here.” 

Lewis looks at you for a moment, his expression softening as he reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers brushing against your skin with the same tenderness he’s shown all night despite all your fighting. With a soft exhale, Lewis bends down to pick up your bag, holding it out to you with the same quiet care. “Don’t make that face,” he murmurs, his voice teasing but laced with something tender. “You really wanna go back to that room, after everything that just happened?” 

You look at him, a mix of confusion and desire swirling inside you. “I don’t know what I want,” you admit, the honesty slipping out before you can stop it. The words feel raw, vulnerable, but there’s something about his presence, the way he’s here, still so close, that makes you feel safe enough to say it. 

Lewis doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, his eyes soften, his thumb grazing the strap of your bag as he watches you closely, as though he’s searching for something in your expression. Finally, he steps closer again, the space between you narrowing once more. “I get it,” he says quietly. “But I’m not letting you go home alone tonight.” 

The words send a shiver down your spine. You want to protest, to push him away, but there’s something in his gaze, the way he’s looking at you now, that makes you second-guess everything you thought you wanted. You hesitate for a moment longer, the weight of your thoughts heavy in the air, but the pull between you is undeniable. It’s the kind of pull that’s magnetic, that doesn’t let you escape even when you try to resist. 

Finally, you nod, the decision feeling both like a surrender and a choice you can’t take back. “Okay,” you murmur, your voice barely audible. “Take me back, then.” 

You don’t even remember getting into his car, but you do remember the smug look he shot at your date – Carl, you think – when he helped you through the club with a firm hand on your back. The villa Lewis rented for his little getaway is entirely what you expect it to be – modern, grand, and secluded enough so no one uninvited would know he is there and bother him. The couch in the living room looks way too inviting and you make a mental note to avoid it for now. Sitting on it might make this whole situation feel too real, too comfortable, and you’re not ready for that. You glance around the space instead, taking in the clean lines of the modern furniture, the polished wood floors, and the sprawling windows that offer an unobstructed view of the moonlit ocean. You walk towards the windows, eyes taking in the view from inside the villa. The ocean stretches out endlessly before you, its surface shimmering under the moonlight. The soft sound of the waves crashing against the shore is faintly audible even through the glass, a gentle hum that seems to echo the turmoil in your chest. 

You wrap your arms around yourself, partly to steady your nerves and partly to shield yourself from the vulnerability creeping up on you. The view is breathtaking, but it does little to quiet the storm of emotions swirling inside you. You faintly hear Lewis calling out your name, but as if you are in a trance, you can’t take your eyes off the view in front of you. His voice calls out to you again, softer this time, closer. “Hey,” he says, and you feel the warmth of his presence before you even see him. Lewis’s reflection appears in the glass, his dark eyes fixed on you as he stands just behind you. 

You finally tear your gaze away from the ocean and turn to face him, your arms still wrapped protectively around yourself. “It’s beautiful,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder might shatter the fragile moment. 

Lewis nods, his expression unreadable as he follows your gaze back to the window. “It is,” he agrees, but there’s a weight to his tone, as if he’s not just talking about the view. His eyes flicker back to you, searching your face. “But it doesn’t seem like it’s helping much.” 

You let out a shaky laugh, more to fill the silence than anything else. “It’s not that simple, Lewis.” 

“Nothing ever is,” he replies, stepping closer until there’s only a breath of space between you. “But I’m here. You don’t have to deal with whatever this is alone.” 

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into it. “I don’t know what to do with you,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “With... us.” 

He exhales deeply, his hand lifting as though he wants to touch you but hesitates. “You don’t have to figure that out right now,” he says, his voice steady. “I just want to make sure you’re okay tonight. That’s all that matters to me.” 

Something about his words, his presence, eases the knot in your chest, if only slightly. “I don’t even know where to start,” you murmur, more to yourself than him. 

“Then don’t,” he says simply, his voice carrying a quiet reassurance. “Just be here. With me.” 

You look up at him, your eyes searching his face for any sign of pretense or ulterior motives, but all you see is the same man who’s managed to undo you with a single glance. “Show me your room.”  

“We don’t have to do that.” His eyebrows furrow as he reaches for your cheek, “That not why I brought you here.” 

“Isn’t it?” You try to joke, but his deep sigh is a sign of his disapproval. “I know that’s not why you brought me here, but it can be one of the reasons you brought me here.” 

“Can it?” He drawls, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.  

“For God’s sake, Lewis.” You sigh, turning your body towards the man standing next to you. “Do I need to beg you for you to fuck me?”  

Lewis’s smirk falters, his expression shifting into something deeper, darker, but undeniably tender. “Don’t,” he murmurs, his voice low and edged with restraint as he steps closer. His hand comes up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “You don’t need to beg me for anything. Not now, not ever.” 

The intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch, and for a moment, the air between you feels electric. “Then fuck me,” you whisper, your voice trembling with equal parts frustration and desire. “If you want me, show me.” 

He closes his eyes briefly, like he’s steadying himself, and when he opens them again, the resolve in his expression takes your breath away. “You think I don’t want you?” he asks, his tone low but firm. “You don’t know how hard it is to hold back, to stop myself from–” He cuts himself off, his jaw tightening as if even admitting it is too much. He reaches for one of your hands, freeing from your hold and places it on his crotch. “See what you do to me?” 

The crude act manages to steal a gasp from you, your eyes widening at how hard he already is. “Lewis,” you mutter, he responds with an affirmative hum, “show me your bedroom.” 

He takes your hand, his grip firm but careful, and leads you down a sleek hallway. The sound of your heels clicking against the polished wood floor echoes softly, a counterpoint to the pounding of your heart. When he pushes open the door to his bedroom, you’re momentarily distracted by how much the space reflects him. The massive bed dominates the room, its crisp white sheets and plush pillows inviting. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the silver glow of the moon, casting the room in a soft, ethereal light. The massive bed dominates the room, its crisp white sheets and plush pillows inviting. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the silver glow of the moon, casting the room in a soft light.  

You walk towards the centre of the room, the corner of your lip trapped between your teeth as you glance at Lewis over your shoulder before you run towards the bed and throw yourself onto the soft bedding. Lewis watches you with an amused smirk as you sprawl across the bed, your carefree motion starkly contrasting the simmering tension in the air. “Comfortable, baby?” he asks, his tone teasing, but the heat in his eyes betrays his calm façade. 

You prop yourself up on your elbows, giving him a challenging look. “Very.” Then you narrow your eyes at him, “But don’t call me baby, I am not your baby.” 

He chuckles, low and throaty, as he steps closer, loosening the top button of his shirt with a deliberate slowness that sends a shiver down your spine. “No?” he muses, stopping at the edge of the bed. His eyes roam over you, drinking in every detail as if committing you to memory. 

Your breath hitches when he leans over, placing a hand on either side of your body, effectively caging you in. His face is so close to yours now that you can feel the warmth of his breath. “I like seeing you like this,” he admits, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “Relaxed, it suits you.” 

A flush creeps up your neck at his words, but you refuse to let him have the upper hand completely. Your fingers trail up his chest, over the defined planes of his torso, and then slide beneath the open collar of his shirt. “I could say the same about you,” you reply, your voice soft but loaded with meaning. 

His response is immediate. His lips crash against yours with a fervour that steals your breath, his hands gripping your waist as he pulls you flush against him. The kiss is raw and consuming, years of tension and unspoken words pouring into the connection. When he pulls back, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing ragged, he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. 

You smile, your hands slipping down to the waistband of his pants. “Why don’t you show me?” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. In one smooth motion, he lifts you, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as he carries you to the centre of the bed. He chuckles at the sound of your giggling, as he carefully lays you back down on the soft bed. His fingers work diligently to get you out of your dress, pulling the linen garment over your head as Lewis lets his eyes hungrily take you in. When your dress finally falls away, leaving you in nothing but lace and skin, Lewis takes a slow breath, his eyes scanning over your body with a mixture of awe and hunger. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice thick with admiration. His fingers trace the curve of your waist, his touch sending shivers of desire through your body. 

You arch slightly into his touch, your breath coming faster, and you meet his gaze with a challenge in your eyes. “Are you going to just gawk at me, or are you going to actually do something?” 

He smirks, a flash of cockiness in his eyes. “Patience,” he teases, but there’s no mistaking the hunger in his voice as he lowers himself over you. With one hand bracing himself above you, his other hand slides down between your bodies, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. His touch is slow, almost teasing, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips as his fingers inch closer to where you need him most. “You like this?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly, his lips just inches from yours. His fingers find the lace of your underwear, his touch deliberate as he pulls it aside and slips a finger inside you, making you gasp. “You’re fucking perfect,” he groans, his lips crashing against yours as he deepens the kiss, his finger working inside you with a slow, steady rhythm. You can feel the heat building between you, the tension in the room thickening with every passing second. 

“Don- don’t say ‘fuck’, Lewis,” you tease him with a small smirk as your breathing becomes deeper, “it’s unbecoming.” 

“You’ll see who will be coming in a few minutes, baby.” He chuckles at the way your expression changes at the mention of the word, his fingers moving in deeper as your let out a disapproving moan, “What? You don’t like it when I call you that?” 

With another dissenting hum and a raise of your hips to meet his hand, you let out a long exhale. “I’m not your baby Lewis, stop calling me that.” With the patience that only he can tolerate, he continues the leisurely movements of his fingers. “I want more, please.” 

Lewis tuts at your words softly, chuckling as he takes in your reactions. “I think you have a very important decision to make here,” he murmurs, his eyes suddenly painted with something more serious, “because once I fuck you, I’m not letting you go.”  

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” The words come out choppy as your breathing gets more erratic, his fingers stubbornly keeping to the slow rhythm he’s set.  

Lewis's gaze sharpens, the challenge in your tone sparking a flame in his dark eyes. “Oh, you’ll see it, alright,” he murmurs, his voice a velvety promise as his hand withdraws briefly, leaving you breathless and aching. Before you can protest, he moves with deliberate precision, tugging his shirt over his head and revealing the expanse of his chest – sculpted, strong, and utterly captivating. “Get on your hands and knees.” 

The command leaves no room for debate, his voice firm but laden with heat. Your heart skips a beat as you meet his gaze, a mixture of defiance and curiosity flickering in your expression. “Bold of you to assume I'll listen,” you quip, though the slight tremor in your voice betrays your anticipation. 

Lewis smirks, leaning down until his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Oh, you'll listen,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “Because you know exactly how patient I can be, but the same can’t be said for you.” 

A shiver runs through you at his words, and before you realize it, you’ve complied, shifting onto your hands and knees in the centre of the bed. You can practically feel his gaze on you, then all of a sudden, you can actually feel him behind you, the bed dipping slightly under his weight as he moves closer. “Good girl,” he says softly, his voice rich with approval, and the way your body reacts to the praise is almost embarrassing. “Oh, my beautiful darling.” His hands skim over your back, tracing the curve of your spine before settling on your hips. The grip is firm, possessive, sending a thrill through you.  

The sounds of him taking himself out of his trousers and pumping cock in his hand is pure debauchery, yet you find yourself pushing your hips back against his thighs. Lewis's low chuckle reverberates through you, a sound full of confidence and desire. His hand tightens on your hips, steadying you as he leans in, his chest brushing against your back. The heat of his skin against yours makes you arch into him instinctively, earning another throaty laugh from him. “You're eager,” he teases, his voice dark and dripping with amusement. “I like you like this.” 

You bite your lip to suppress the needy sound threatening to escape, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Maybe you're just slow,” you retort breathlessly, glancing back at him over your shoulder, a challenging look in your eyes. 

Lewis growls low in his throat, his hands sliding across your back. “Careful,” he warns, though there's a glint of amusement in his dark eyes. “Push me too far, and I won't be nice.” Your breath catches at his words, but before you can form a response, you feel him guiding himself to your entrance, teasingly dragging against you. The deliberate slowness makes your frustration peak, and you push your hips back, a wordless plea for him to stop teasing. 

“Patience, darling,” he murmurs, his voice a husky promise. But even as he says it, he shifts forward, entering you with a deliberate motion that steals the breath from your lungs. 

The sensation is overwhelming, every nerve in your body alight as he holds still for a moment, letting you adjust. “Lewis,” you breathe, your voice shaky with need.  

His hands gently caress over the skin of your back and hips, soothing over the sharp feeling of Lewis easing himself into you in small movements of his hips. “You’re doing so well,” he shushes your whiny moans, his hands tracing your sides, grounding you. “You feel perfect, we’re almost there, darling.”  

“A-almost?” Your voice cuts his words off, voice shaky with need, “It’s not going to fit, Lewis, I can’t-” 

He leans over you, his lips pressing tender kisses along your spine, each one sending a ripple of warmth through you. His voice is a soothing murmur in your ear. “Relax for me, darling. Let me take care of you.” Your breathing steadies under his touch, the initial sting giving way to a fullness that leaves you breathless as he pushes himself fully into you. You arch your back slightly, pressing into him as his hands continue their gentle exploration of your body. The tenderness in his actions contrasts with the raw desire in his voice, creating a heady mix that leaves you yearning for more. “That's it,” he praises, his tone soft but laced with heat. “You’re incredible. See? We made it fit.” 

“I feel so full.” You manage to let out, voice whiny as the moan is ripped from the back of your throat. “It feels so good, Lewis.” 

He begins to move, a slow, steady rhythm that builds gradually, allowing you to feel every inch of him. The friction ignites a fire within you, and you can’t help the soft moans that escape your lips, each sound spurring him on. His grip on your hips tightens, his pace increasing as he finds the perfect rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. “You feel so good,” he groans, his voice low and thick with desire. His hand slides up your spine, tangling in your hair as he pulls you back slightly, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re mine, you know that? Only mine.”  

The moan that comes from you is dissenting, causing Lewis to slide his hand down your throat to use the leverage to pull you up on your knees, pressed against his chest. “No,” you say, hands extending backwards to keep holding onto him in an attempt to keep up with the rhythm in which he is fucking you now. 

His words send a shiver down your spine, the possessiveness in his tone igniting something primal within you. “Say it,” he commands, his voice rough as his movements grow more urgent. “Say you're mine.” 

Your breaths are shallow, punctuated by soft whimpers as you cling to him, trying to keep pace with his movements. The way he pulls you against him, his hand firm on your throat, sends a jolt of heat through your core. His hand is firm around your throat, but not uncomfortable to the point that you can’t breathe. 

“I’m not yours,” you gasp defiantly, your voice trembling with every move he makes.  

Lewis growls low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your back as his hand tightens slightly around your neck—not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you in place. “We’ll see about that,” he says darkly. 

His hips snap against you harder now, his rhythm relentless as if determined to prove you wrong. The overwhelming sensation leaves you gasping, your fingers clutching at his forearm for balance. His free hand slides down your body, gripping your waist to hold you steady as he drives deeper, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. 

“Still not mine?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. His tone is equal parts teasing and commanding, daring you to resist him. “Still think someone else can fuck you better than I can?” You bite your lip, trying to stifle the moans spilling from you, but the way he moves, the way he claims you, has you crumbling. “Say it,” he repeats, his voice a low growl that echoes through your very core. 

Torn between defiance and surrender, you meet his challenge with a shaky breath. “I’m-” you begin, but he cuts you off with a particularly deep thrust that has you crying out his name instead. 

“Hmm?” Lewis chuckles darkly, clearly enjoying your struggle. His grip on your neck softens slightly as his fingers trace the column of your throat in a soothing gesture. “Come on, baby, just say it.” 

“I’m-” The word catches in your throat as he shifts slightly, the angle of his hips hitting a spot that sends a jolt of pleasure through you. A broken moan escapes your lips instead, and Lewis smirks against your ear, clearly revelling in your unravelling. 

“Say it,” he demands again, his voice low and demanding. His hand slides from your throat to your jaw, turning your face just enough that his lips can brush against the corner of your mouth. The gentleness of the gesture is at odds with the raw intensity of his movements, leaving you breathless. 

“I’m yours,” you finally gasp, the words tumbling out in a mix of desperation and surrender. 

Lewis freezes for a heartbeat, his chest heaving against your back as the admission settles between you. Then, with a triumphant growl, he resumes his pace, his grip on you tightening as if he intends to imprint himself into every fibber of your being. 

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice thick with satisfaction. His lips trail along your shoulder, leaving a path of heat in their wake. “Say it again.” 

“Yours,” you whisper, the word coming easier this time, though the weight of it still sends a shiver through you. 

His rhythm grows more urgent, his body moving with a single-minded purpose as he pushes you both toward the edge. “Never forget it,” he groans, his voice rough and ragged, “now come for me.” You blame the singular cocktail you had three or so hours ago for your compliance to his words, as you feel the wave of pleasure crash over you, obliterating any coherent thought. Your body trembles uncontrollably in his arms, your cries of release echoing in the room as he whispers sweet words of praise in your ear.  

There are a million other things Lewis expects you to say, but you surprise him with a, “I wanna taste you.”  

Lewis's movements still, his breath catching at your unexpected words. He pulls back slightly, his dark eyes locking with yours, filled with surprise and a flicker of intrigue. A slow, mischievous grin spreads across his face. “Oh, is that so?” he murmurs, his voice tinged with amusement and undeniable heat. 

You nod, your cheeks flushing under his intense gaze, but there’s a spark of confidence in your eyes. “I really do,” you say softly, the tremble in your voice betraying both your boldness and your eagerness. 

He studies you for a moment longer, his expression shifting to one of reverence laced with desire. "Well," he says, his voice low and gravelly, "who am I to deny you, darling?" With a gentleness that contrasts the fervour of moments ago, Lewis guides you to sit up, his hands warm and steady as they support you. He shifts to the edge of the bed, leaning back slightly, giving you room and letting you take control. His gaze never leaves you, his dark eyes glinting with anticipation. You settle between his thighs, your hands skimming over his skin, marvelling at the way his muscles tense under your touch. There's a sense of power in the way his body responds to you, in the way his breathing hitches when your lips brush against him. You look up at him, meeting his gaze with a small smile before leaning in. The moment your mouth closes around him, Lewis groans low in his throat, his head falling back as his control begins to slip. His hands find their way to your hair, his touch gentle but firm as he guides you, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. “Just like that,” he praises, his voice rough with pleasure. “You’re perfect, baby.” 

The sound of his voice, the way he says your name like it’s the only thing that matters, spurs you on, and you lose yourself in the moment, intent on unravelling him the way he did you. Your lips move with deliberate intent, your tongue tracing teasing paths that have him groaning your name like a prayer. His fingers tighten in your hair, a gentle tug that makes you glance up at him through your lashes. The sight of him – head tilted back, his lips parted as he struggles for breath, sends a thrill through you. 

“God, you’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice ragged and filled with awe. His eyes find yours, and the intensity of his gaze makes your pulse quicken. “You have no idea what you do to me.” Encouraged by his reaction, you take him deeper, your hands gripping his thighs to steady yourself. The sound he makes is primal, his control slipping further as his hips jerk involuntarily. He tries to hold himself back, but you can tell he’s close to losing himself completely. “Baby,” Lewis rasps, his voice thick with need, “you keep that up, and I won’t last.” You hum around him in response, the vibration pulling another groan from his lips. His hand slips from your hair to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a tender contrast to the raw passion between you. “Look at me,” he whispers, his tone almost pleading. 

You meet his gaze, and the connection between you feels electric. His chest heaves as his breaths come in quick, shallow bursts, his control hanging by a thread. “I’m so close,” he warns, his voice a low growl. “Do you want me to stop?” The shake of your head is all the answer he needs. With a curse under his breath, he lets go, his body shuddering as he gives himself over to the waves of pleasure crashing through him. He holds your gaze the entire time, his grip on you tightening as if anchoring himself to the moment. 

When he calms down, he collapses back against the bed, his chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths. You sit back after swallowing, a triumphant smile playing on your lips as you take in the sight of him, utterly undone. “That was fun,” you rasp as you take in the sight in front of you. 

Lewis chuckles softly, the sound low and breathless, as he drapes an arm over his face, trying to regain his composure. “Fun?” he repeats, his voice laced with amusement and lingering satisfaction. He peeks at you from under his arm, his dark eyes glinting with a mixture of adoration and disbelief. “You’ve got no idea what you just did to me.” 

You tilt your head, feigning innocence as you crawl up the bed to lie beside him. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea,” you tease, your voice light but with a hint of pride. 

He turns toward you, propping himself up on one elbow, his free hand reaching out to trace lazy circles along your arm. “You’re dangerous,” he murmurs, his tone soft yet filled with a reverence that makes your cheeks flush. “And I’m completely at your mercy.” 

You laugh, the sound light and genuine, as you nuzzle into his touch. “I think you like it that way,” you reply, your fingers grazing over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your touch. 

“More than you know,” he admits, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to your temple. The tender gesture contrasts with the raw intensity you’d just shared, and it sends a warm flutter through your chest. 

For a moment, silence falls between you, the only sound the soft rustling of the sheets and the slowing rhythm of his breathing. Then Lewis shifts, his arm slipping around your waist to pull you closer. “You know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your hair, “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.” 

The weight of his words settles over you, and you glance up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his gaze. “Good,” you whisper, a small smile tugging at your lips.  

He smiles back, a look of pure contentment spreading across his face as he tightens his hold on you. “That’s all I get?” 

“We’ll see how you feel after we get home,” you mumble as you run a finger along the curve of his jaw, “you might be bored of me by then.” 

“Home,” Lewis muses quietly, breaking the silence and ignoring your words. His voice is softer now, contemplative. “I like the sound of that.” 

You glance up at him, his face so close that you can see the faintest hint of vulnerability in his expression. It stirs something deep within you – a mix of tenderness and longing that takes you by surprise. 

“Yeah,” you murmur, leaning in to brush your lips against his. “Me too.” 

[husbandhoshi]

title: ghosted pairing: seungcheol x f!reader wc: 6.1k, mature/18+ only! tags: based on this drabble. porn with a considerable amount of plot, fwb to lovers, rich guy!cheol, yn is able to be picked up. horrible terrible excessive amounts of fluff. smut tags below the cut. everyone say thank you to @wuahae for reading this over :)

smut tags: softdom!cheol, unprotected sex, oral (m and f receiving), spanking/biting, yn has hair that can get pulled, mild ass play, boob stuff, fingers in mouth.

--

you think you have seungcheol's number memorized.

well, you definitely should have by now, with how many times you considered deleting it. instead you ended up changing his contact name, first to seungcheol club, which is where you met him. second time--rebound guy. the third iteration, your roommate had made it DO NOT TEXT, and you had left it like that because she was probably right anyway.

for better or for worse, you are not very good at following instructions. you're two and a half weeks fresh off of a heart-to-heart with your friends where you agreed that no, the best way to get over your ex was to not get under somebody else, and yes, you should absolutely stop sleeping with a guy who brags about being a playboy.

so you deleted his number and your text history, and everyone swore up and down that this was a good thing.

and you're sure you were on the same page as them until about five minutes ago, when you were doing your laundry and you had come across one of his white button-up shirts.

(he let you keep it because he said you looked better in it than he did. that morning, before you left his place, he had buttoned it all the way up for you--don't want anyone else looking at you the way i do, he had said. plus, the amount of hickies he had left behind were in no way presentable to the general public.)

the effect this has on you is instantaneous and humiliating.

"fuck. fuck," you groan, now scrolling through your camera roll to look for literally any screenshot with his number in it.

there's one from back when he was rebound guy--he had sent you ten dollars in apple cash so you could buy a coffee when you said you were too tired to fuck. you ended up coming over that night anyway, and you both watched four hours of law and order until you fell asleep on his couch.

there are a handful from when DO NOT TEXT had sexted you in the middle of the workday, which you kept for posterity and nights alone with your vibrator.

and then, finally, a few weeks before that, when things were simple and he was just an unsaved number in your phone--hey, i know you ran out this morning, but i wanted to let you know i had a great time last night, if you know what i mean. even with the winky face emoji, it was a strangely wholesome text from a first time hookup.

you favorite the screenshot and curse the fact that you have never had good impulse control.

you up? i miss you.

the words fly so fast out of your fingers, you have no time to consider whether or not this is a good idea. you vividly recall the time he told you he had never seen the point of putting a label on a relationship, which was the whole reason your friends staged an intervention in the first place.

still, the white shirt on your bed taunts you. even thinking about it makes your head spin.

yeah. let me send you an uber.

that too--he had money, and he wasn't ashamed to spend it on you. between that and the dick, you don't think you're willing to squander your luck.

besides, seungcheol is still rebound guy. you're still getting over your ex, and he's just a quick fix in the meantime. you tell yourself this, and you keep telling yourself this until you're out the door, without a second chance to tell yourself otherwise.

--

"can't go long without getting your back blown out, huh?"

this is the first thing seungcheol says to you, oblivious to the fact that you were planning on forever ghosting him less than an hour ago.

"as if you didn't answer my text almost immediately," you laugh, letting him help you take your coat off.

"never said i wasn't happy to provide," he replies. his gaze is hot, sticky, like he's forgotten what you've looked like already. "i think it's been almost a month. i thought you got tired of me or something, you know."

"of course not. i...i got busy."

it's a half lie. the other half? you wouldn't dare admit it, but you missed his apartment a little. partly because it's much nicer than your own, but the bachelor pad decor was starting to grow on you. (and maybe the bachelor, with it.)

"work was good today?" you ask, letting him draw you in by the waist. his hands are so warm as he draws them up and down your sides, underneath the cotton of the thin shirt you have on.

"oh, please," seungcheol says, his grin now hovering right over your lips. "don't play innocent. you didn't come here so i could talk about my job."

he's right, so you let him kiss you. it's hot and fast and it tastes like his twenty dollar mouthwash, which you take small pride in because it means he would have been sleeping if his hand wasn't on your ass right now.

seungcheol has never been slow nor patient. your shirt has come off, and he now thumbs at the waistband of your jeans, grasping at the button to undo them.

"i don't think i even know what you look like with pants on," he says, lips dragging against the shell of your ear. "you always dress up when you come here, and it all ends up on the floor. pity."

you feel all the heat in your body surge towards your core. somehow your jeans are already on the floor and seungcheol's palm is fanned over the thin lace of your panties.

"thought about me the whole way here, huh?" two fingers are meanly sat over the seam of your cunt, pressing the damp fabric to your skin. "let yourself get all wet for me on the car ride?"

"maybe," you manage, not wanting to betray the embarrassment in your voice. you don't need his hand there to know how wet you are, and yet you know he's doing it to tease you anyway. he finds the bump of your clit over the fabric, now clingy and warm over your skin, and runs his thumb over it. "what else was i supposed to think about?"

"no need to be shy. can't lie with such a needy pussy." he chuckles as your thighs squeeze helplessly around him. "it's cute."

before you can protest, he pushes your panties to the side, now undoubtably soaked through, and his fingers find your clit again. it just takes two, three, rough strokes to draw the pleasure out of you like a fire in your belly.

"cheol," you whine. somehow things always end up like this--you, almost fully naked, and him, still with all his clothes on. he likes reminding you of it too, now enjoying the way you press against him, searching for skin. instead, you feel his cock under his sweatpants, right up against your thigh, and it only turns you on further.

your hands find his waist, but between the new welt he's sucked into your neck and the paralyzing feeling of his thumb on your clit again and again, you falter. your fingertips hover on the downy hair peeking over the band of his sweats, and you've never ached more to have him inside you.

that's all seungcheol needs to yank you back in line. "bed. now," he says, and you listen.

his apartment is big, and the walk feels dizzying as he follows behind you. what's even worse is that you can feel his eyes rake over you--he loves it. the humiliating stumble of your two left feet, the glistening slick at the apex of your thighs, how your panties cling to your ass, now ruined.

even now, as you clamber onto the bed like you're learning to use your limbs for the first time, he loves how easy you are for him. but you can't help it--no one fucks you as good as he does, and that was the reason he was rebound guy in the first place.

"face me," is his next command. at the foot of the bed, first, he pulls off his shirt, and your eyes wander first to his chest, then to the trail he's got down his stomach, teasing you as he pushes down his sweats.

one of his hands, strong and veiny, disappears under his waistband to play with his cock. you watch the slow flick of his wrist and see the shape of his length underneath the fabric, and you almost start salivating.

you're sure he's punishing you by now.

"you're staring, pretty girl. use your words." a turn of his wrist, and he groans. he might just make himself cum like this, and the notion that it wouldn't be somewhere inside you absolutely shatters the last bit of pride you had left.

"need you in my mouth, cheol," you whine, now sitting up straight against the headboard, as if looking any more pitiful would persuade him to join you.

and he does, just not in the way you want him to. instead, you watch his sweats fall to the ground before he kneels on the edge of the bed, on the end furthest from you.

"what, you think i'm gonna give it to you easy? after you made me wait for you?" you are not thinking straight enough to decipher what this means. who knew ghosting a fuckboy would have actual consequences, but you watch his grip tighten around the fat base of his cock and decide this is not the time to play detective.

so you swallow your pride and all your questions and you crawl. you crawl all the way down the seemingly endless length of his king sized bed, feeling seungcheol's gaze swallow you whole, and you like it.

when you stop at the foot of the bed, you take pause to look at seungcheol, really look at him. his eyes are dark, almost unrecognizably so--maybe it's the way you so readily make yourself perfect for him, arching your back just how he likes and letting your swollen, wet mouth fall open like you've never wanted anything more than him.

"so pretty like this," he coos. he runs a thumb over your bottom lip, feeling it quiver under his skin. you feel the saliva pooling in your mouth; it's as humiliating as it is desperate but you can't help yourself. it feels so good to be touched, and seungcheol's clings to you like nothing else.

he pushes his fingers into your mouth, almost to the back so you choke. you're at the point where you'll take anything, so you suck. you let your tongue run all over the digits, long and calloused enough that you can only dream of having them inside the other half of you. he pushes onto your tongue, wanting you to taste him, and you whimper, the feeling harsh but not unwelcome.

"dumb mouth just needs something in it, huh? my girl will just suck anything?"

you can't talk, so you whine around his fingers, feeling your pussy clench around nothing. he's been playing with his cock with his free hand, forcing you to watch him trace every vein with his own skin instead of yours. you hollow out your cheeks and suck him nice and tight, trying to fool yourself otherwise.

then he laughs, low and quiet--as fun as it is to slut you out, he's never been patient. "open wide, darling." he slides his fingers out from your mouth before pulling your hair out of the way. thank you, you want to say, but it's quickly washed away by the shock of his cock between your lips, rough but never too much so.

god, you didn't even think you liked sucking dick that much, but sleeping with seungcheol for this long must have altered your brain chemistry for the worse. his familiar, heavy warmth sits on your tongue, and you can't help but moan around him. you love the stretch of your jaw, the way his eyes always wrench shut no matter how in control he is.

"fuck," he groans, carding a hand through his hair. "slutty little mouth's made for me."

you hum around him, taking him all the way to where your nose skims the dewy curls on his abdomen and all you know is the scent of his heat. you're drooling so much, thanks to all the fingers in your mouth not too long ago, but you don't care. you run your tongue on the veiny underside of his cock, back and forth, savoring the hurt in your cheeks and all the spit on your chin.

seungcheol makes a low-pitched, strangled noise, the first time you've seen him crack tonight, and it sends another gushy wave of heat to your cunt.

you toy with his slit, let the salt of his precum fill your mouth, and suck hard around his cockhead. your scalp stings wonderfully with how he pulls at your hair, and you lean into the feeling. a deep breath through your nose, and you sink down again. the way he hits the back of your throat makes you yelp pitifully, but you persist like a dog to a bone. again, again, and you're gagging on your own spit as your throat spasms around him and you go cross-eyed.

he's all about control, but he lets you have this--perhaps he likes seeing you give yourself to him without him asking. he doesn't have to lift a finger, and you'll still choke around him, bruise your own throat. surely that had to mean something, but you'll chalk it up to some astrological sexual compatibility you're unaware of at the moment.

"enough," seungcheol finally says, voice gravelly, and he pulls you off him by the hair. "fuck, you probably would've cummed from that alone, huh?"

meanly, he reaches over your back to grab at the strings of your underwear so it digs into your cunt. you cry out, feeling the warmth of arousal leak all over your twitching hole, even between your ass. he's right--any more, and you really might have cummed all over yourself.

" 'm so wet, cheol," you plead, toes curling as he pulls the elastic of your panties further back. "please, please, please."

he releases the band, and it snaps hard against your skin. it feels like electricity as it connects with you, and you cry out again, the noise high-pitched and whoreish.

"gonna need you to face the other way if you want me to fuck you, darling," he says. "my baby likes it best from behind, right?"

you have nothing left in you but insatiable desire. you turn around to face the headboard, still on your hands and knees. seungcheol runs a careful hand down the curve of your spine before landing a hard slap on your ass. your skin sings, and all the blood in your body feels like it's been turned to fire.

"cheol," you warble, pressing your face into the sheets. your pussy actually hurts from how neglected it is, and when the second slap comes down, your clit aches like a bruise. "need you so bad...can't believe i went so long without you."

the words just fall out of you but you think they're true regardless. you were really fooling yourself thinking you could go the rest of your life without this. somewhere deep inside you, in the working part of your brain, you wonder if he's come to the same conclusion. that underneath the show, all the greed and the meanness, he missed you too.

"you must really need to get fucked," seungcheol chuckles. "you've never been this nice to me."

"not true," you protest, muffled by the sheets, and he laughs again. then he peels your underwear down your thighs before spreading your ass underneath his palms, and the cool air makes you twitch under him.

"you smell so fucking good. fuck." he groans, low and desirous, and it's the last thing you register before you feel the swell of his nose, his lips, as he buries his face in your cunt.

it's all too much at once--it rips a squeal out from your chest, one of those slutty, loud ones he loves, and it spurs him on further. you feel the wet pressure of his tongue, first between your folds, then up to the tight ring of your asshole, still messy with your arousal.

"o-oh my god," you cry. the pressure in your belly is now wound tight; you're so, so close and he's barely even started. he seems to know this, and deprives you of his mouth in lieu of his two fingers. the change in sensation is instant and toe-curling. something, anything, is finally inside you, and it's better than anything you have ever known. he drags the pads of his fingers brutally over your g-spot, loving the way you cry and tremble beneath him as your orgasm builds.

"have you had enough, pretty girl?" seungcheol asks, voice cruel, teasing. it's a rhetorical question--before you know it, his fingers are gone, and you instead feel the length of his cock between the curve of your ass. he's got a hand between your shoulder blades, pinning you down, just so he can see you struggle to push yourself against him.

"n-no," you reply, voice catching in your throat. you feel the head of his cock against your slit, and your thighs tremble with anticipation. not good enough. it only takes him a few times, rocking against your cunt, for you to crumble. you ask for things you can't even remember, and it's then when he pushes into you, so meanly you really do forget what words mean.

seungcheol swears under his breath, and his grip on your ass feels tight enough to bruise. your cunt flutters around him, god, you forgot how fucking big he is, but he doesn't give you much time to get used to it. his pace is unforgiving, and his hips slam into your ass like he's trying to fuck the sound out of you.

"cheol," you hiccup, listening to your voice jolt with every thrust. " 'm so full...."

"yeah? you like how i fill you up?" he squeezes your ass hard, and you moan into the sheets. "better than anyone else?"

"o-only you," you reply, slack-jawed at the feeling of being split open so well and the delicious, unending drag of him against your walls. "just you."

this seems to satisfy him. he enters you, deeper still, until it feels like he's in your stomach.

"so fucking tight," he says, from somewhere deep in his chest. "you need me to stretch you out like this every once in a while, yeah? you take it so well, pretty girl."

all you can do is moan his name. it's what you've been doing, and at this point, it's the only word you know. he bottoms out again, and the pleasure is so white-hot it feels like it burns.

it only takes two, three, punches into your cunt for you to come undone. you're gushing, gushing around him, babbling something incoherent, and still he is unrelenting. you feel your mouth move in an attempt to tell him you're too sensitive, and he only shoves his cock deeper in you so he can feel you clench hard around it.

then he pushes your head into the sheets, deeper still so the neighbors won't write him up in the morning, and fucks you again. you foolishly think another orgasm will break you, but all it takes is for him to press his thumb into the dip of your asshole and tell you he's going to fuck you in both holes one day for you to fall apart again.

by the time he's done with you, your legs feel boneless and you don't even want to think about the situation between them. (you had asked him to cum in you, and he did. there was so much, he had to push some back into you with his fingers, and you cummed one more time.)

you feel seungcheol's dead weight slump onto the bed beside you. you're still face-down, but you turn as far as you can to look at him. it's unfair how he still looks good now--his bangs, dark and curly with sweat, crown his forehead, and you watch his long eyelashes flutter shut.

"fuck," he groans. "how does every time with you get better?"

somewhere inside you, in the parts that still work, you feel a small gleam of pride. it feels traitorous, in a way--the whole point of being friends with benefits was that it was supposed to be conditional, but you're running out of conditions. clearly, it didn't take much for you to come back and not regret it.

seungcheol laughs at your silence. "did i break you? no," he jokingly whines, and he rolls onto his side to return your gaze. he brings a hand up to brush the hair out of your eyes, as if that would somehow magically repair your body. but it does feel nice. "please speak."

"maybe broken. to be determined." seungcheol grins stupidly when you say this, and you watch how his eyes crinkle up at the sides.

usually, it's every man for himself at this point in the night. seungcheol will order takeout and draft some emails, and you hobble over to the bathroom so you can pee and use the shower. he leaves you alone for this part, which is the perfect opportunity to mix all his fancy shower gels together like you're a kid again.

but today seems different. you lie there for a beat in silence, watching each other blink. then seungcheol gets up, slowly then all at once, and walks over to your wrung-out body.

"i'm picking you up," he says, like a warning. "hopefully you're not afraid of heights."

you think he's joking until you feel the strong cords of his forearms--one around your middle and the other under your legs. you didn't even think you were able to be picked up at this point in your life, but somehow he's got you flush against his chest now, almost nose to nose with him.

"wait," you waver, suddenly feeling self conscious about literally everything. you're sticky and smelly and you're not curious to find out if your post-coital form will scare him away. "seungcheol."

"you really plan on walking yourself over to the bathroom? you couldn't make it to the bedroom earlier, and i hadn't even fucked you yet."

"hey!" you protest. he laughs, and you can feel his whole body shake. "wait, i can't laugh too much, or i'm gonna start leaking."

"you've got another thing coming if you think i'm afraid of a little body fluid."

seungcheol bumps the bathroom door open with his ass, which is somehow the funniest and most endearing thing to you. you flip on the light, and he sets you on the counter like it's just a normal friday night for the both of you.

he turns the shower on and turns back to look at you. "how hot do you want it?" then his eyes narrow playfully. "are you one of those freaks who likes getting their skin boiled off?"

"well, you can answer the first half of that question on your own."

"ok. freak."

while he messes with the shower knobs (he's got one of those showers with three separate showerheads), you take a moment to do some more snooping. the first time you were here, you did go through the various things he had on his counter. most of them are still there--the overpriced moisturizer you shamelessly use when you stay the night, a quarter-full bath and body works foaming soap, and a folded up hand towel with his initials on it.

there are some newer additions too. you don't miss how the little jar for your toothbrush is still there, or a small tube of lip gloss you had forgotten to take back a few months ago. he restocked the hand lotion that you said you liked, too.

you're starting to think that there is a small possibility that you are no longer friends with benefits. you're not dating either, but something somewhere in the middle. but how do you say something like that? how would you know, especially when seungcheol is a self-proclaimed forever bachelor who may never, ever date?

you have no time to think about this any further.

"sooo," seungcheol hums, wiping his hands with a bath towel. "i'll be in the bedroom. you want me to order chinese?" you watch him linger around, lamely, like a stray dog.

"wanna join me?"

he smiles, ear to ear.

"thought you'd never ask."

--

morning comes slowly.

you wake to birdsong and the quiet chatter of the city beneath you. the sun from the curtains is buttery and warm on your bare skin, and time seems to drag its feet. it feels perfect, which is a word you would have never used in relation to any of this, and yet nothing else seems more appropriate.

last night, after your shower (in which you learned that seungcheol always makes his hair into a shampoo mohawk, without fail), you talked for hours over the fattest spread of takeout you had ever seen.

the plan was to put on the office and dissociate like usual, but he finally answered your question about how his day at work was. (tumultuous and drama-filled--that was his first mistake. you love drama.) strangely, by the end of the night, you learned that you had more in common than you thought with a man whose watch collection was valued higher than your entire college education.

"you up?" seungcheol's morning voice comes out sounding like a croak from behind you. you're sure he's about to complain that his arm is asleep from your big head on it, but he doesn't. instead, he settles deeper into your warmth and pulls you closer by the waist.

"yeah," you reply, enjoying the feeling of his skin against your own.

you grab your phone from the nightstand, wondering if your roommate has discovered your betrayal and has blown up your phone. she has, so the two voice memos and twenty text messages in the group chat are no surprise to you.

what is a surprise is the text you get from your ex. can we talk? it reads. it's the first time you've heard from him in months--before that, he had broken up with you (over text) and then proceeded to block you on every platform possible.

your mind starts to spin. you'd be lying if you said you didn't want to text him back. just for closure's sake, you tell yourself, as if you haven't cried at least seven separate times about this. but you will admit, seungcheol has been a great diversion. you don't remember the last time you had a cry, and any progress was good progress to you.

complicating things, said diversion has slotted a leg between yours, and his hand has found its way to your ribcage, distractingly close to your chest. such are the consequences of only wearing a shirt to bed.

"you're so warm," he murmurs, right in the space where your neck meets your shoulder. his hand creeps up, now right over your heartbeat. it doesn't really take much for your body to respond--his fingertips find your nipple, and with a light squeeze, you're already arching back into him. "is this ok?"

"yeah," you breathe. you're distracted, but you figure the best way to un-distract yourself is with a new, better distraction.

now emboldened, he rolls the skin between his fingers, finding he loves the way you shudder underneath him. quickly, he moves out from behind you to hover over you instead, propping himself up by his forearms, and pushes your shirt up over the swell of your tits.

"you good?" seungcheol asks, lips flush to the skin over your heart. he presses another wet kiss to one of your nipples before taking it into his mouth.

"yeah, why?" you have half a mind to hold his head down so he can't ask more questions and ruin the point of being a distraction in the first place.

"dunno." he switches to the other side, licking over a mark he's bitten into your skin. "you looked at your phone and you seemed worried. also, you're frowning, and it's not a sex frown."

damn. you guess you're easier to read than you thought. you don't even have the heart to ask what the fuck a sex frown looks like.

seungcheol's mouth returns to your nipple, and he sucks hard, making you gasp into your palm.

"my ex," you tell him. there's no point in keeping it a secret. the first time you slept together, you had made it clear what your intentions were, which is what made this arrangement work so well in the first place. "he wants to talk or something."

"that asshole?" then another suck, and you keen into him. "you're too good for him."

it's literally one of the three appropriate responses he could have chosen from, but it still feels like a compliment to you. almost too much so.

"yeah. i guess." your voice sounds more wobbly than you'd like, but you chalk it up to the fact that he's now pressing his lips down your middle, all the way down to your core. "hey, i'm ticklish."

"i know." he kisses your belly button, and you smile in spite of yourself. "you smell good, by the way."

"it's your forty dollar body wash," you remind him.

"damn right it is." you feel his breath fan over your thighs, and your stomach flips with anticipation. "legs over my shoulders. you know the drill."

"you don't have to do this, you know," you say, before immediately regretting it. you have a spectacular knack of self-sabotage, which you think seungcheol knows by this point. "you've been really nice to me."

"am i not allowed to like being nice to you?" seungcheol jokes. "would you prefer me to be mean?"

"no," you laugh. you don't know how to ask what he meant. what made yesterday and today so different? it feels like you're on the edge of something, coming close to what you could only describe as more than casual affection, more than desire. "go back to being nice. forget i said anything."

you put your legs over his shoulders, like he asked. one good orgasm wouldn't solve the ex problem or this new seungcheol problem you are starting to discover, but it sure would help you think more clearly.

his lips are soft on you. he has none of the urgency or greed of yesterday; instead, he takes his time with you. his mouth skims over your inner thighs, lightly, drawing out all the breath from your lungs. you make a small noise of impatience, and you feel the stretch of his grin against you.

before you have a second chance to complain, you feel the heat of his open mouth over your cunt, as to drink your taste up. then his tongue, warm, insistent, on your clit, circling it before he sucks.

"o-oh, fuck," you whine, voice muffled by the back of your hand. it feels too early to be loud, and you're already embarrassed by how sensitive you are.

"don't text him back," seungcheol says. he's replaced his mouth with two fingers, now leisurely teasing you at your entrance.

"don't worry--" you manage to say this before he crooks the pads of his fingers into you, right at your sweet spot, and the words are stolen from you. "--about him."

"i'm serious." he laps at your cunt, and with his fingers still buried in you, the feeling makes you dizzy. "did he ever make you feel like this?"

"n-no," you whine, now with your palm shoved right against your mouth. he's added a third finger now, and the stretch is so good, you're going cross-eyed. "never ate me out."

"what?" you hear him tsk between your thighs as his fingers still. "he's missing out."

it's then that seungcheol must have resolved to give you the best head of your life, because you think you black out after that point.

his lips return to your clit, and the pleasure is so startling, you can feel your thighs squeeze shut around his head. unfazed, he continues to pump his fingers in and out of your hole, still fluttering, unused to the size.

"close, 'm so close," you mewl, hips now lifted to chase his tongue. he indulges you, gives you the flat of the muscle to grind against as he stuffs you full.

your other hand finds his hair, and it only takes a moment, a slight pull, for him to moan into your heat--the sound breaks something inside you, and you're gasping, crying out with your high. by now, there are marks from your teeth in your palm, but something about the sting only makes the feeling better.

seungcheol stays sealed to your cunt, removing his fingers only to replace them with his mouth, eager to taste you. he lingers until you're shaking and whimpering, spent from your orgasm and too sensitive to endure another.

he looks up at you, swollen lips and bedhead made worse, and a surge of affection overtakes you.

"kiss me," you tell him, and he does.

it's long, and it's slow, not even close to any of the ones you've had before. you wrap a hand around the back of his neck, and he sighs. you don't think he's ever done that before.

when he pulls back to look at you, it feels as though the air has changed. there are words pushing at your lips. this isn't casual anymore. it can't be, not with what just happened.

yeah, the sex is good, but the first thing you thought of this morning wasn't you or your saturday plans or how to endure the dismay of your entire friend group, it was about him. if didn't count for something, you don't know what did.

"seungcheol, i--" you pause. his eyes are so brown, it's distracting you, and you start to second guess yourself.

"is it about your ex?" he interrupts. "if he asked you to get back with him, would you?"

it's not his question, but his insistence that takes you by surprise.

"n-no." you watch his gaze flicker at your hesitance, and you don't like it. "no, i wouldn't."

"good, because--" he pauses, seeming to gather his thoughts. you try to read his expression, but he can't even meet your eyes right now. "look, i know i haven't had the best track record with dating. i don't even think i know how to date."

"what are you saying?" you ask softly. there's a part of your heart that feels like it's peeling itself back, in a good way.

"i'm saying i want to try." and when you still look confused, he continues. "dating you. if you'd let me."

against all odds, past all the swirling, terrible emotions in your chest, there's a bright surge of relief, of joy. the last time you saw him look so vulnerable was when he reached into his oven to pull out a tray of cookies and burned his hand because he forgot a glove. maybe this whole thing would crash and burn, but you like him enough (honestly more than enough) to try with him.

so you smile, and you watch him frown and pout and look unbearably terrified, and you smile harder.

"ok," you say, playfully feigning indifference. "you can try."

instead of replying, he kisses you again, and it's even better than the first one.

when you finally head out that morning, there's a lightness in your chest.

in the doorway, seungcheol pecks the top of your head before showing you his phone. "which emoji do you want?" he asks, completely seriously. "i want the blue heart."

you pull out your phone to find his contact, which still shows his plain number, just like old times.

"i'm unsaved?!" his jaw drops open like he's animated, and you laugh.

"gotta go," you tease. "see you later."

it's only in the uber home (that he called for you, of course), where you finally put in his real, government name, for the first time. finally, it feels a little more right.

choi seungcheol, it reads. with the blue heart.

[kedreeva]

Okay so, I don't think I've spoken of the saga here yet but! Gather round. I shall tell you a long story about the bird I just acquired and why she is VERY IMPORTANT.

At the beginning of last fall, I started looking into quail genetics a little more, because I got tired of not being able to sex my Celadon quail by their feathers. Originally I thought I could kill 2 birds (ok maybe more) with 1 stone and order nice jumbo wild type (which MANY places advertised as wild type jumbo) hatching eggs, and this would help me put some size on the Celadons (jumbo) while also making them feather sexable (wild type). Perfect!

But then I come to find out that pretty much all jumbo lines are jumbo BROWNS, as in they all have the sex linked brown (SLB) gene. So, I was a little confused and a LOT annoyed because I wanted to work specifically with the wild type color/pattern. No mutations just straight, plain wild type.

And EVERYWHERE I looked - major production hatcheries, private breeders through websites, Facebook groups, local swaps, craigslist, e v e r y w h e r e -

People ONLY had SLB.

This spring I came across a video showing about the differences between SLB and wild type and I figured if the person who made it can tell, maybe she will have some. So I looked her up (not in a stalker way, her farm name was stamped on the video and took me to the website), and what luck! She was in Michigan! Upper Michigan, so still a hike, but not California, y'know?

So I shot her an email and explained that I was looking for WT and that her site said she bred them and that people could do local pickup. She responded yeah she's totally got a bunch! And I said great, I'm also in Michigan, albeit far away, but I don't mind driving 7+ hours each way, because I really need actual, trusted WT for sure birds for my celadon project, can I come pick them up?

Cue the most frankly bizarre email chain in my short life. As soon as I mentioned that I was going to drive, or perhaps that I had a genetics plan in place, she got super sketchy and started saying how she hadn't really paid as close attention to SLB vs. WT, that it mattered less than she thought it would when she started, that I shouldn't focus on that either, and also that "fawn celadon is practically unheard of" in the hobby and "you should focus on a clean Tibetan because it's hard to find without roux in it) implying that I should concentrate on those things instead. And concluded by telling me if I really want WT, to contact this other person (why happens to be someone I can't stand). It all sounded VERY much like she didn't have wild type males, after all, and had thought I didn't know the difference so it wouldn't actually matter. But, it does. It actually matters a lot to me.

So I messaged back to say, well, I don't want to do any of those things, I specifically want to work with this set of genetics and you said you have them so I shouldn't have to go to anyone else??

And then she went radio silent for a week. I kind of figured I'd called a bluff, and that she was one of dozens of people I'd contacted who'd said they had WT only to find out they had SLB. I get that it's difficult to see the difference, but this particular person was the president of the American Coturnix Breeders Association or whatever (found out it's actually just a club formed by her and her friends a year ago, so not as impressive as it sounds, considering they don't actually DO anything- no putting on shows, no newsletters, no certifications, no public breeder directory, no finished SOP, nada), so I kind of expected she should know what she's talking about, if anyone does.

Eventually, after a week, she responded that she had been judging at a county fair, but she had a few heterozygous males (WT het roux, which is fine) and she could set a hatch for me for more if I wanted to come at the end of the month, but she's in WI now, not MI. I said sure, since where she was in WI was actually closer than where she'd been in the UP, and we arranged date/time.

The day of, my neighbor friend, Jude, comes with me for company/keeping me awake through the 15 hours driving round trip. It's a pleasant enough drive. We arrived at a cutesy little house on the edge of town that looks like anyone's house in a neighborhood, with a spacious lawn. The person meets us and takes me around the side of the house to a 6x6x1.5 or so chicken tractor, where she's got some male coturnix. She pulls the available males for me to look through and... fam, they ALL looked SLB, to me.

Now, she swore to me up and down that they couldn't be anything except WT het for roux, because of the way she is breeding them. But I've put these birds next to my SLB males and if I didn't have my males banded, I would not ever have told the difference between them. I still picked up 4 of them, because I will give it a go- worst case, I can produce plain Roux hens/plain Roux males for use in breeding later, best case they do actually produce WT hens and they just LOOK SLB and I have to figure out what the differences are. I don't want to leave without seeing her hens, which she has told me are all WT (which is why the males HAVE to be het for it), and she takes me back. Now the hens, the hens are easy to see the difference. White bellies first of all, but the chest feathers are also wildly different! The shafts are white, the dot around the shaft is dark, ringed in red, ringed in white. On an SLB, the shafts aren't white, it's just a black dot surrounded in a red feather, and the belly is all red/buff/cream, not white.

This is what an SLB hen looks like:

So I take a nice long look to memorize the color, and thank her for showing me and meeting, and we head back home.

I do fecals when I get home because all of the males are VERY thin, no meat on them at all, and since she said she'd been feeding Purina (garbage for fowl feeds), I figured that was why, but no- HUGE coccidia loads in all of them. So I treated them and got them on a better feed. They immediately began putting on meat, and they're find now.

The rest of this summer, I have spent going to local bird swaps and inspecting all of the quail I could find, hoping to find one (1) actual wild-type phenotype bird. Hundreds and hundreds of birds, I have pawed through them all, being super obnoxious to the owners I'm sure, holding and inspecting males. I found ONE suspected WT male (and this is a HUGE "suspected," he could very well be SLB with low red expression). I compared him when I got home and I'm doubting myself still, so I don't know if I will ever actually pair him with the SLB hens or if I'll just wait til I have a roux set.

Regardless, it's been a dry season for getting what I want. It's been a dry YEAR. Yesterday was another swap and more hundreds of quail and me pawing through all of them.

Until.

My eyes landed upon.... her.

If you've only lived in an area that has american crows and not ravens, you find yourself wondering if crows are ravens. You see a big crow and you think wow! maybe that is a raven! It could be a crow, but it's seems bigger so maybe it's a raven. But, if you take a trip to a place with ravens, and you see one for the first time, you realize that there is no question, when you see a raven. When you see a raven in person, there's no question and not only is there no question, you wonder how you could ever have thought a crow was a raven. It's laughable, while looking at the raven.

That's how finding this bird felt. I'd been picking up every SLB hen and going maybe this is actually WT? It could be SLB but maybe it's WT? But the second I laid eyes on her in the middle of a pack of SLB with some mixed colors, I knew I was looking at WT hen, and I can't imagine how I ever thought maybe an SLB hen was WT.

Here's a better photo of her chest and belly (she's beat UP from her previous home, the back of her head and most of her rump are plucked clean from males). You can see the white shafts and the white belly.

And some other pics of her, showing the grey-brown on her side and back- VERY different than the SLB hens

I can't express how stoked I am about this bird. This is the first time after a LOT of effort and time, that I have felt confident I am holding the bird I want.

She's also the indicator that I have a LOT of work ahead of me.

My end goal is to have birds that look like her, weigh 12-14oz, and lay large, blue eggs. I have birds that lay large, blue eggs, I have birds that weigh 12-14oz live weigh, and now I have at least 1 bird that looks like her, which means I can make more that look like her. The first step is cleaning the color mutations out of the celadon line without losing the celadon eggs. This is going to be a bit of a nightmare, BUT, I have a friend helping me out with getting a few celadons that are either WT or SLB (I'm guessing SLB all things considered) to start the work with. I will work over the winter to get a few more actual WT birds here, and to start crossing out the celadons with the SLB jumbos to clean out the other feather color mutations. Once I'm down to just SLB and celadon for mutations, I can clean the SLB out with the WT and roux lines.

This project will likely take me a good 2 years, maybe 3, to complete and then test breed to ensure I haven't lost the celadon gene and I don't have any hidden recessives lingering about. But just having the fucking materials to do it all on hand now is a huge step forward from where I was when I decided to start the project.

[mysillycomics]

Hi everyone! This is Claire. I am writing to let you all know that we did it. We saved Bailey and Tiger Fluff, and we all live together in an apartment in Illinois, my home state. We really, really did it!!!

You can read our thanks, thoughts, and more under the read more :0)

(note: Oliver also goes by Bailey! She has two names.)

There are many important people on this journey that we would like to specifically thank.

First, all of our friends (especially Peregrine, Sophie, and Jackson) who were there on the day Bailey was evicted, who listened to me and helped me figure out what to do when I felt more lost than I’ve ever been. Without them we wouldn’t have been able to act so quickly and efficiently. Because of them, we were able to formulate a plan.

Speaking of Jackson, he and his partner Cherri need to be thanked once again. Jackson drove all the way from his home, Bailey’s motel, and back to get both her and Tiger to a place to stay while we figured out what to do next. They provided a warm, quiet, and safe place for both of them in a time when something like that was so far away. For the first time in a long time, I knew that Bailey was truly somewhere safe. For that, we will be forever grateful.

While we do not have their names, we would like to thank the staff of the airport and airline who helped make this journey objectively possible. They also made Tiger into a little celebrity on the flight, and everyone, including the pilot, went to greet her and congratulate her for being so brave. She really is the bravest little kitty we know.

Next are my very close friends Elle and Callan, who invited Bailey and Tiger to stay at their house not far from mine while we secured a place of our own. They, like Jackson and Cherri, gave both of them the space to simply be. I was able to visit a couple of times, and being with my favorite people made an extremely difficult time so much better. It made me think “this feeling is what we are fighting for”.

Finally, we’d like to thank you.

To all of you who read and shared our story, you helped us to feel seen and heard and not alone. Reading words of support in the comments, quote retweets, and tumblr tags truly made me feel like we could do this with everyone cheering us on.

To everyone who donated, your generosity this financially possible. As of writing, we received $19,381 from the GoFundMe. We are now able to use the rest of funds that have been tucked away in savings for rent, food, and bills. I cannot overstate how grateful we both are. What you did for us will never leave our hearts.

…

While Bailey and Fluffy were at Elle and Callan’s, we found an apartment. It was small, but perfect. We toured. We applied. And we got it.

And on December 9th, 2023, we moved in and started living together! Our goal, our dream, our driving force for so long was achieved. After three years of long distance, we finally made it.

Our home is small, and has some quirks as all homes do, but it’s ours. The love of my life, the best little cat in the word, and I are all together. We are safe, warm, happy, and loved. The future we fought so hard for us now the present. Forgive me for being long-winded. I just have so much to say about all of this! Sometimes I still can’t believe that we actually did it. But we did, we really did!!!

I’m going to keep the GoFundMe up for a little bit, but once things settle more I will close donations.

Thank you!!!!!!!!! 🧸💕

____

Hey everyone Bailey here, I cannot overstate just how grateful I am to every single one of you and how thankful I am that this journey has been able to come into fruition. It was very scary being in that motel not having a plan or knowing what I was gonna do next while everything was crumbling around me. If it wasn't for Claire and our incredibly kind and caring friends I don't know what I'd do. They helped me press on and get through this with Fluff and we finally did.

Finally we're in a place that brings nothing but peace and comfort, my anxiety has dropped and I'm doing things I've never thought possible and building up strengths I never knew I had, I feel whole in a way that I've never felt before and I'm just, happy.

I am so grateful to have Claire, for years she's been so supportive and comforting and has brought this dream we've had into reality and every day I am so thankful to have her, she is the love of my life and my best friend. The life that her, myself and Fluff now share will forever be together and we can finally begin living. 💚💜

Thank you everyone, thank you to our friends who let Fluff and I into their lives to be able to be safe while we get our bearings, thank you to everyone who said such kind and wonderfully compassionate words, cheering us on as we go, every day I was looking at the community post I made on YT and it was just filled with people being so supportive, and thank you everyone who donated and got us into where we are. We could not have done it without all of you. 🐟 ❤️ 🐟 ❤️

[freak-accident419]

‘the patch stays on’

Logan Howlett x Reader

(18+ SMUT PATCH!LOGAN HOWLETT x GN!READER)

Summary: Ever since you saw Logan, your boyfriend, in disguise for his mission in Madripoor, you couldn’t stop thinking about him fucking your brains out. Luckily, when you finally get the chance in your hotel room, you have but one special request for him.

Word Count: 2.1k

Content: 18+ SMUT, MDNI, gender-neutral reader, no pronouns for reader, no specific genitals assigned to reader, no use of Y/n, swearing, oral (r!receiving), unprotected penetration, creampie, missionary, riding

(A/n: me when i come back to write a wolverine oneshot… dedicated to @silverskyeline + @stop-talking, my fellow wolverine enjoyers ❤️ to everyone, I hope you enjoy, patch is one of my most favorite wolverine variants. based on/is a combo of both comics and movies. happy reading!)

-

The X-Men were presumed dead by the public. Gone from the face of the earth without a trace. And just for now, the uncanny team of mutants would continue to stay low and hidden, planning to keep it that way.

Naturally, of course, this also included the Wolverine. James Howlett. Logan. Weapon X. Kuzuri. Your lover. Despite having several aliases, in which one of the many would be a hostile sputter of ‘freak’, they would all seem to dissolve by the time he arrived in Madripoor. No, for there was only one name he would go by in this crime-ridden, neon city for the sake of lying low. And it was Patch.

Considering his unique X-Men uniform that incorporated the use of a mask, his full face would be barely recognizable to any of the inhabitants of this foreign island. All he had to do was to wear a classy suit and put on an eyepatch to create a new identity while fitting in with the locals.

In your case, you’d never been on the news or the front cover of a paper, despite your mutant status and affiliation with the X-Men. For quite some time, you worked as a scientist alongside Dr. Hank McCoy at the X-Mansion, while also working as an academics teacher for the mutant students at the school. You were reserved and intelligent, preferring to focus on your studies rather than fight as an X-Man amongst your friends.

Therefore, not being a famous X-Man meant that nobody would recognize you in Madripoor, so you didn’t need a disguise and only needed to wear elegant clothing to blend in. You were still precautioned to lay low and make your presence discreet, however.

Additionally, the trip there was long and even a bit tense, considering Logan’s crumbling fear of flying, which you attempted to soothe. For the most part, you were able to calm his nerves and himself down.

He wasn’t very fond of the idea of you tagging along either, taking into account the ubiquitous danger of the island, but you insisted. You could handle yourself, and even help him scope out the several crime operations he sought to terminate in the first place. That had been the main reason behind this mission anyways.

Not to mention, you’d been crudely compelled to come with Logan on this mission, especially after seeing him put on that ‘disguise’. Watching him step out in an all-white, three-piece suit, paired with a contrasting black bowtie and eyepatch, gave you some sort of awakening. In retrospect, it was almost comical, if you weren’t so severely blinded by your own lust at the time.

Frankly, you could even say that you jumped his adamantium bones the second you got settled into the hotel. With heavy breaths and desperate touches, your lips moved with his passionately in a deep kiss. Your fingers tangled in his brown, now-messy hair as your bodies sunk down into the plush mattress.

“What’s gotten into you, bub?” He nearly chuckles, almost teasingly as you nipped at his neck quickly.

“I just—“ you pant, cutting yourself off with a breathy laugh as you feel the embarrassment of your hastiness kick in. “I don’t know if it’s the suit or the eyepatch—hell, maybe both—but fuck, it’s making me go crazy.” You felt your body heat up the more you thought about it; his dapper, white suit, the smooth cuffs concealing his wrists, the emphasis on his veiny hands.

Shit. You wanted him to take you with all of it on.

Well… Maybe with just the eyepatch on, at least.

“Mm, yeah?” Logan hums lowly as you two continued to make out, resulting in your voices turning hesitant and shaky. “You’re actually turned on by this, baby?” And before you could even reply, he flipped your bodies over so that your back was now pressed against the bed with Logan hovering over you. His eyes looked both sensual and predatory, eager to feel your skin on his, just like the many times he had in the past.

Logan’s hands ran down your clothed body in a firm, yet worshipping manner, soon removing all of your clothing until you were half naked. You hummed softly in pleasure as you felt his slow hands palm your heat through your underwear, his lips nipping teasingly at your thighs. His hot caresses continued for a while, him adding more pressure with his hand until you let out a quiet, impatient whine, hips slightly flexing upwards.

Affectionately, he kissed at the center of your underwear before slipping his fingers under the elastic waistband, pulling them down your bare legs, past your ankles, and off of your body completely, discarding the futile cloth onto the ground. The cold air met with your naked crotch, which would soon be replaced by Logan’s close, hot breaths.

You shivered with arousal, feeling his arms hook under your legs, hands gripping your thighs as you saw his head positioned between them. The sight of him fully clothed in his white suit and eyepatch while you were completely nude in front of him made you feel so lustful and needy.

“Mmm…” Logan hummed simply as his tongue poked out to give kitten licks against your flesh. A quiet gasp left your mouth in awe as the little action caused you to feel so much already. Then, your breath hitched as his tongue worked stronger, taking you into his mouth as he tasted you and your arousal.

You began to moan softly, hearing his lewd, wet kisses and suctions as his hand moved to spread your thighs wider. “Ahh—Logan—!” You cry in pleasure, hand moving down to grip his hair in your hand. Your lover groaned in satisfaction, your addictive taste leaving his thoughts and vision hazy, sending vibrations to your core. To Logan, your moans were some pure form of aphrodisiac, and he only ever wanted to hear more.

He continued for a while, using his mouth expertly on you as he has for years, his single eye now looking up at you through his eyelashes as he pulls away slowly. Logan, the passionate lover he was, wanted to take as much time as you both needed, to extend this moment of bliss and sexual pleasure. Therefore, he couldn’t let you cum yet.

As he smirked from hearing your playful, desperate whine, he sat up on the bed and took off his blazer, working to undo his bowtie. His hand then reached for his eyepatch until you immediately stopped him with your assertion:

“Wait,” you firmly interject, “the patch stays on.”

A wide grin appeared on Logan’s lips with amusement, now averting his attention down to his button up and pants, taking off every single article of clothing and covering. Except for the eyepatch you requested for him to neglect, of course.

“You do know I can’t see shit with this thing on, right?” He exaggerates with a chuckle, almost mocking your decision for him to keep the accessory. You didn’t know what it was that made it so appealing to you. Perhaps it was the sexy mysteriousness to it that made your boyfriend seem even more badass than he was. Either way—

“I don’t fucking care,” you retort, grabbing the back of his neck to pull him down towards yourself, crashing his lips against yours. You could argue absolutely nothing could interfere with how astonishingly he could fuck you.

As Logan hesitantly broke the kiss, he lined up his body with yours, your legs remaining spread out on each side of his body while he made sure you were prepped. His hands were flat on the pillows beside your head, looking down at you with lust. Finally, and slowly, he pushed his cock through your entrance, gradually stretching your inner walls.

“Mmm… Ahh…” You would moan softly, looking up at him with hooded eyes and a flustered expression as he then pushed in completely, hips meeting with yours. He moaned almost simultaneously, feeling your satisfying tightness around him. Logan pecked your lips once, letting you adjust to his size before he started moving in and out.

“Oh—Ah—!” You whimper as his pace grows faster, hearing him grunt as his cock began to thrust fluidly inside of you, letting his firm pelvis grind against your sensitive flesh at the same time. The combined sensations felt extraordinary.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, baby,” he mutters swiftly, rocking his hips at a steady rate against yours, letting his slick length massage and caress your walls. He made sure to move in as deep as he could, desperate to hit every spot that makes you feel good. His hands moved off the pillows to grip your hips tightly, holding you down, “you’re so fuckin’ perfect, sweetheart. Feels amazin’…”

Logan’s arms now hooked under yours, meeting your lips to kiss you passionately as he fucked you sensually. You moaned against his mouth as you felt him become faster, sensing his animalistic instinct to become rougher with you. “Oh! M—Logan!” You whined as his cock continued to ram in and out of your entrance, the contact eliciting wet, lewd sounds of flesh slapping rapidly against flesh.

Feeling your walls begin to pulse and tighten, indicating your closeness, Logan pulled out, making you complain once more.

“Need you to ride me. Can you do that for me, sweetness?” He asks roughly, pressing soft kisses to your neck as if an apology for the abrupt stop. You felt a physical reaction in your body at his lustful words, watching his uncovered eye stare you down with both love and sin. Then you nodded.

The two of you changed positions on the bed, hearing the soft sound of sheets shifting as you climbed onto Logan’s lap. Your hands touched his shoulders, but then moved to cup his face in your palms, stroking his cheeks gently. Pressing a deep kiss to his lips, you moved one hand down to grip his cock, lining it up with your hole. Both of your breaths faltered as you sank down on him, feeling the same sensation as before. The angle change, however, somehow made everything feel so much more pleasant.

“Fuck…” you groan, hands on his shoulders as you began to rock your hips against his. Logan’s hands explored and traveled across your body to feel the warmth of your skin under his palms. His fingers moved with such purpose, akin to playing an elegant harp. You two panted heavily as you started off slow for a while, until you gradually sped up once you practically began bouncing on his thick cock.

“Ah! Ahh! Oh!” You cry, hearing Logan let out small grunts and moans as well, while you fucked yourself on his lap. His hands moved to grip your hips, fingernails digging deep into the your skin to assist your movements. His hands pushed you up and down his dick, letting you feel him stroke your insides.

���Mm—” he grunts as he mutters your name in admiration, thrusting his hips up to increase the sensitivity and speed. “Fuck!” Logan groans, looking up at you with arousal as you kept moving.

You felt your body begin to squirm and tense up, knowing that you were getting closer and closer to your well-anticipated climax. Based on Logan’s panting, grunts, and stuttered hip movements, you could tell he was close as well.

“Mmm—Mm—I—I’m gonna cum,” you whine, holding him close to your body with your arms as your hips kept moving to pursue the final, euphoric sensation.

“Ngh—Me too. Me too, baby. C’mon… Cum for me,” he gently orders under his breath before you felt your muscles clench, walls tightening as you reached your powerful orgasm.

“Mmm—Ahh!” You whine in deep pleasure, feeling the knot in your stomach untangle with euphoria. Your fingernails dug deep into his back, nearly scratching down his skin as your entire body quivered. Logan releases immediately right after, groaning your name as he cums deep inside of you, letting his warm, white seed shoot through and paint your fleshy walls. Your hips moved slowly onto his cock as you two rode out your sensitive, shared orgasm.

You both panted softly and you whined gently as you moved up, feeling Logan’s cock slowly slide out of you, now sitting on his lap normally. You could feel his cum begin to drip out of you already. Your hands caressed his face before you lift his eyepatch up against his forehead, finally seeing both of his loving, intimate eyes. Your lips moved against his in a gentle, passionate kiss that marked the end of your lovemaking.

You were usually clingy at the end of sex, as you would frequently hold onto him like a koala. So there you were, with your arms embracing him tightly, as if he would disappear the very second you let go. Logan stroked your skin affectionately, basking in the afterglow of the beautiful moment.

“So, don’t get me wrong,” you mumble, still merely exhausted, “I love your eyes, but… the eyepatch is just… so fuckin’ sexy. Especially with the white suit, just—everything…”

Logan chuckled humorously at your confession, pressing several gentle kisses on your shoulder.

“Mm? Well, get used to it, bub. We’re gonna be here for a while,” he smirks as he positioned the two of you to lay down beside each other on the bed.

“Oh, I know I will,” you giggle softly, burying your face in his sweat-stained neck.