#and leave comments on old fics and old WIPs

[all-things-jily]

You know, fanfic archives aren't appreciated enough. Look for older fics, for fics older than a year, older than two years, many years old, look through other fanfic platforms - there's so much incredible stuff to be found!

[causticsunshine]

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[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

you wrote a fanfic the other day about Sebastian gaining some weight but I’d love to see a fanfic where MC gains some weight + Sebastian’s reassurance <3

Pool Side | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Anon! I want to apologize for the very long wait (like... two months...) for this fic! It has been a WIP since you submitted this request but the story took on a life of its own and it took a hot minute for me to finish. I hope it was worth the wait!

Also I promised some more fluff/smut on the blog so enjoy everyone💚

Words: ~16,100

Tags: Smut, Modern AU, Reader Insert, Female MC, Plus Sized MC, No Y/N, Post Hogwarts, Fluff, Actually Unrequited Love, Romance

Beta: @newdreamlove95 💚

The coastline stretched before you, the sea a glimmering expanse of blue beneath the midday sun. White limestone cliffs loomed in the distance, dramatic and weathered by time, framing the golden sand of Durdle Door Beach. It was the kind of place people romanticized—secluded, picturesque, the perfect setting for a group of old friends to escape their busy lives for a single, carefree afternoon.

Except, you hadn’t felt carefree all day.

The sound of crashing waves filled the spaces between laughter, between playful shouts and splashes as your friends waded deeper into the water. The air smelled of sea salt and sunscreen, the sand warm and fine beneath your towel. It should have felt perfect. But as you sat beneath the wide shade of your umbrella, the book in your hands barely touched, all you could think about was how different you felt—how different you were.

Time had shaped all of you in its own way—careers, travels, lessons learned, heartbreaks and triumphs, all of it leaving its mark. Garreth had finally cut his hair, and his once-boyish face was now set with sharper features. Imelda had somehow managed to look even more athletic than she had in school, toned and lean, her features even more fierce. Natty had grown taller, even more poised, carrying herself with quiet confidence. Even Ominis, who you’d always considered the most put-together of the group, had softened somewhat, the weight of his family name no longer pressing so heavily on his shoulders.

And Sebastian—He wasn’t the same as he had been at eighteen, either.

You let your gaze drift toward him, tracking him where he stood near the water’s edge, talking with Ominis. His once-boyish face had sharpened, the angles of his jawline more pronounced, the shadow of scruff darkening his face where smooth skin had once been. Even his curls had changed—longer now, though the wind still toyed with them the same way it always had.

And his body—

He had always been strong, lean from Quidditch and dueling, but now he had filled out, broader in the shoulders, thicker in the arms and chest. Not as sharply cut as he had been at eighteen, no longer carved from restless youth and constant training, but something better—something balanced, something solid—not chiseled, not sculpted, just strong, in a way that felt effortless. Comfortable.

Yet while everyone had changed, you had changed the most.

You adjusted the loose cover-up draped over your shoulders, tugging it down to make sure it hid as much of you as possible. Not that anyone in this group would say anything—but that didn’t mean they hadn’t noticed. Because people always noticed. In fact, people commented. Not cruelly, not always, but enough. Enough that when you saw someone again for the first time in years, you had learned to brace yourself, waiting for the inevitable remark, whether it was an aunt’s offhanded, Oh, you were always such a slip of a thing before! or the faux-concerned, Are you taking care of yourself?

The world never let you forget that you used to be different, better.

At least, that’s how it felt.

You had been confident in your teenage years, running through the halls of Hogwarts with reckless energy, sharp-tongued and sharp-witted, always ready to challenge someone in a duel or throw yourself into something new without hesitation. Back then, your body had never been something you thought about—it had just been yours.

You weren’t sure when that had changed.

Somewhere along the way, your body had shifted, weight settling onto you in ways you couldn’t ignore, in ways other people refused to ignore. It didn’t matter that you were still you, still clever and kind and capable—it was as if the world had collectively decided that none of that mattered as much as the shape of you.

It wasn’t fair, but fairness had never been a rule the world followed. So even though your friends never said anything, you knew they had noticed. How could they not?

The weight of your thoughts pressed down heavier than the sun, hotter than the sand beneath your towel.

You felt guilty.

This weekend had been planned for months—a rare break in everyone’s busy schedules, a chance to reconnect without the distractions of work, responsibilities, or the sheer exhaustion of adulthood. It had taken forever to arrange, largely because of them.

Imelda and Natty were impossible to pin down.

Imelda, who had thrown herself headfirst into professional Quidditch after Hogwarts, had spent the last several years building a name for herself as one of the fiercest Beaters in the league.

And Natty—Natty had never stayed still. She had left the Ministry years ago for international work, teaching and training young witches and wizards abroad. If she wasn’t in Africa, she was in Asia, and if she wasn’t in Asia, she was in Australia.

Getting both of them in the same place at the same time, on holiday no less, had been a miracle.

You should have been thrilled. You were thrilled.

And yet all you could think about was how different you felt—how different you were.

You had tried to prepare. You had tried.

Dieting. Exercising. Starving yourself. Hyping yourself up by buying a new bikini, thinking that maybe—maybe—if it was flattering enough, if you just forced yourself into the right mindset, you’d be okay.

But stepping into it today had made you feel sick.

You had stood in front of the mirror in the beach house bathroom that morning, stomach churning, as you studied the reflection that didn’t match the version of yourself in your memories.

You had stared at your body, turning slightly, tugging at the waistband of the bottoms, at the straps over your shoulders. No matter how you adjusted them, you still looked like this.

So, instead of running into the water, instead of being the girl you wanted to be, the girl used to be, you had thrown on your cover-up and settled under the umbrella, staying there like an anchor while the others ran free.

You watched as Imelda and Poppy tossed a beach ball back and forth, their laughter carrying over the sound of the waves. Imelda, ever the athlete, barely had to move to intercept each pass, her sharp reflexes making it look effortless. Poppy, for all her gentleness, was surprisingly competitive, her playful smirk clear even from where you sat under the umbrella.

A little farther out, Natty floated on her back, arms stretched, face tilted toward the sky. She looked serene, perfectly at ease in the water, her dark braids fanning out around her like a halo.

A little closer to shore, Garreth waded through the shallows, carrying a handful of bottles, the brown glass glinting in the sunlight. He trudged toward Ominis and Sebastian, where they stood in the the surf, the waves lapping lazily at their calves.

Sebastian popped off the cap and lifted the bottle to his lips without a care, his other hand raking through his hair. The sunlight made the water droplets on his skin glisten, tracing the lines of his shoulders, his arms, the long stretch of his back where his swim trunks sat low on his hips. You hated how easy it was to look at him, how easy it had always been.

You wrenched your gaze away, but you heard Garreth open his own bottle with a sharp hiss before sighing dramatically.

“Merlin’s balls,” he laughed. “I forgot to tell you. I finally took Eloise out last weekend.”

Sebastian, already a few swallows into his drink, raised a brow. “That sounds promising. Do tell.”

"It went brilliantly," Garreth continued. "Dinner, drinks, and by the end of the night—" He took a swig of his beer, then grinned wolfishly. "Let’s just say I made quite the impression."

"Spare us the details, Weasley," Ominis huffed, tipping his head back.

"Oh, come on, mate. Don’t pretend you’re not interested."

"I assure you, I am not."

Garreth rolled his eyes before continuing anyway. "She’s gorgeous. You know, tall, really fit, amazing legs. I mean she plays for the Falcons, and bloody hell, you can tell." He whistled low, shaking his head in admiration.

Sebastian made a knowing sound, half a chuckle, half a sigh. “Of course. Tall, leggy, tiny waist. Garreth Weasley’s classic type.”

“Right, well, can you blame me? She's something else,” Garreth pointed at him with his bottle.

Sebastian hummed appreciatively. “I get it. Hard to argue with a body like that.”

Garreth nodded firmly. “Of course you get it, you're a man of taste.”

Your grip on your book tightened, the pages bending beneath your fingers. Of course, Sebastian understood. Of course, he got it.

Because women like that were meant to be wanted.

Women like Poppy, who was soft in the way that was delicate, the kind of pretty that made people want to protect her.

Women like Natty, who carried herself with effortless grace, whose body was carved from strength and discipline.

Women like Imelda, who was lean, fit, sharp-edged and powerful.

Women, apparently, like Eloise, whose body was a gift, something to be admired, appreciated, worshiped.

It made sense. Of course it made sense. But it didn’t stop the ache that settled deep in your ribs, the quiet, sinking certainty that you would never be the kind of woman men spoke about like that.

And then—

“Well,” Ominis drawled, tipping his bottle toward Garreth, “not all of us are so visually inclined, I suppose.”

Garreth snorted. “Are you calling me shallow?”

Sebastian let out a quiet huff of laughter. “Knowing what you like isn’t shallow.”

“Perhaps,” Ominis allowed, tilting his head. “But I still think I have better taste.”

Garreth groaned. “Here we go.”

Ominis smirked, lazy and self-assured. “Forgive me for thinking there’s more to a woman than her legs, Garreth.”

Sebastian snorted. “Alright, we get it, you’re enlightened.”

Ominis only hummed, amused. “It’s just that I, personally, prefer someone with a bit of substance—quite literally.” He tapped his own ribs lightly with a knowing smirk. “I’ve already got enough bone for the both of us. A bit of cushion is good for a man.”

You froze.

Ominis' words hung in the air, settling between the easy laughter and the rhythmic pull of the tide.

On one hand, it was almost comforting in a way, hearing Ominis brush aside such narrow ideals. At least someone—someone you respected, someone you trusted—didn’t think a woman’s worth was measured by how well she fit into a neat little mold.

But at the same time his words didn’t fix anything. Not really. Because it wasn’t him you needed reassurance from.

It was Sebastian.

Garreth laughed, raising his bottle. “Well, cheers to that, then,” he said, clearly unbothered. “Honestly, better for both of us. I’d rather not compete with you, mate. If I had to go up against you and your good looks? I’d be doomed.”

Ominis rolled his eyes but clinked his bottle against Garreth’s all the same.

Sebastian made a sound—low, amused, noncommittal.

And that was it.

No teasing rebuttal. No agreement, but no disagreement either. Just a simple, easy acknowledgment that meant nothing.

Or maybe it meant everything.

Because Sebastian had spoken up earlier, when he’d defended Garreth’s tastes. But now? Now, he said nothing.

He didn’t joke with Ominis. Didn’t agree. Didn’t disagree. He just let the conversation move on, unbothered, unthinking.

And that was your answer. The truth you had known somewhere deep down but had tried so hard to ignore.

Sebastian got it. Sebastian agreed. Because of course he did. Because why wouldn’t he?

Hard to argue with a body like that.

A sudden burst of splashing pulled you from your spiraling thoughts.

You blinked up just in time to see Natty emerging from the water, droplets rolling down her sun-warmed skin as she pushed her braids back from her face. She was beaming, looking as effortlessly radiant as ever, and you felt a twinge of guilt when your first instinct was to shrink further into the shade.

She cupped her hands around her mouth, calling toward the shore. "I am going for ice cream. Who’s coming?"

The response was instant.

“Ooh, absolutely,” Poppy chirped, catching the beach ball Imelda had just tossed her before jogging toward Natty.

“I could go for something,” Imelda agreed, squeezing the seawater from her ponytail. “Haven’t had a proper cone in ages.”

Sebastian tipped his beer back for a final sip, then turned to Ominis. "You coming?"

Ominis scoffed. "Do you even have to ask?"

You didn’t have time to react before the whole group was moving, heading toward the shore in a mess of dripping bodies and sun-warmed skin, shaking the saltwater from their limbs as they made their way toward you.

"That book must be fascinating if you’re still at it," Garreth teased as he approached your umbrella.

You forced a smile, gripping the novel a little tighter. "Riveting."

Sebastian was right behind him, running a hand through his damp curls as he reached for the towel he’d left beside his bag. "What’s it about?"

You hesitated. You had no idea. You hadn’t read a single word in—how long had it even been?

"It's romance-mystery-crossover," you lied offhandedly, hoping the vague genre mashup would be enough to satisfy him.

Sebastian gave you a slow, amused look, clearly unconvinced. "Sounds made up."

"Of course it is, it's a fiction novel, Sebastian," you countered, flipping the book closed and setting it aside, hoping the conversation would move on.

It did.

Garreth reached for his t-shirt, shaking off the sand before pulling it over his head. "You going to join us in the water after we get ice cream?"

You hesitated.

The question was casual, easy, but you could feel the weight of expectation behind it. Not just from Garreth, but from the others too. Poppy was already looking at you with hopeful anticipation, Natty giving you a small, encouraging nod.

They wanted you to say yes.

And for a second, you wanted to say it too. To be the girl you used to be, the one who wouldn’t have thought twice before running headfirst into the waves, salt-stung and laughing, sand stuck to her legs and hair damp with seawater.

But that wasn’t you anymore.

So you mustered up a small, apologetic smile and said, “Maybe later.”

Garreth groaned. “Oh, come on. You said that last time."

But before he could complain further, Natty had already tossed on her sunhat and pulled her dress over her swimsuit, slinging her tote bag over her shoulder. She didn’t waste time waiting for further debate.

"Come on," she called over her shoulder, already walking down the beach toward the path leading up to the ice cream stand. "Before the ice cream all melts."

That was enough to get the others moving.

Poppy hurried after her, still wringing the seawater from the ends of her hair, Imelda not far behind. Garreth quickly followed, dragging Ominis along with him, still grumbling about how one day you’d actually keep your word and join them in the water.

And then, just like that, they were gone.

You could have followed. You should have followed. But you didn’t.

You stayed put beneath the shade of your umbrella, hands clenched in your lap, your book abandoned beside you.

Because you didn’t need ice cream. You certainly didn’t need the extra sugar, nor the extra calories.

Then a shadow fell over you. You knew who it was before you even looked up.

Sebastian.

His presence was unmistakable—always had been. Something about him was too big, too bold, to ignore.

For a few beats, he didn’t say anything. Just stood there. And then—

"You’re not coming?"

His voice was casual, but there was something beneath it. Something pointed.

You swallowed, keeping your eyes fixed on the page in front of you as if that would be enough to make him move on. "I’m not really in the mood for ice cream."

Sebastian didn’t move. Didn’t turn to leave. Didn’t let the conversation drop like you needed him to.

"You were in the mood for it last summer," he pointed out. "And the summer before that. And the one before that. And before that."

"Well, people change, Sebastian."

You hoped that would be enough. That he’d just let it go. But you’d been friends with Sebastian Sallow for over a decade, and Sebastian Sallow never let anything go. Not when it came to you. He would poke and prod, just like he always did, the way he had when you were fifteen, sixteen, eighteen—always tugging at you, always unraveling you.

You heard a heavy sigh, followed by the soft sound of shifting sand as he sat down beside you, uninvited but entirely unsurprising.

His skin was warm from the sun, his shoulders still glistening from the water. He didn’t crowd you, but he was close, the scent of salt and sun-bleached fabric clinging to him as he leaned back on his hands, his gaze now trained fully on you.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you, brows pulling together slightly, head tilting the way it always did when he was trying to figure something out.

"Are you okay?"

You exhaled sharply through your nose. "Why wouldn’t I be?"

Sebastian hummed, tilting his head toward the horizon, pretending—pretending—like he wasn’t watching you carefully, like he wasn’t studying you the way he always did when he knew you were lying.

"You’ve been avoiding the water all day," he mused. "Didn’t eat much at lunch." He nodded toward your book. "And I’d bet my wand you haven’t actually read a single page of that."

You gritted your teeth. "What’s your point?"

Sebastian turned his head then, looking at you fully. "My point is that you’re clearly not okay," he said, voice steady, measured.

"Sebastian," you sighed, voice tired, "just drop it."

For a second, he actually looked like he might. But then his gaze flickered, his expression shifting with realization.

"Is it because of what Garreth said? I know how much you hate when guys objectify—"

“No.” The word left you quickly, too quickly, your chest lurching at the assumption—not because it was wrong, but because it was almost right.

Because Garreth’s words did matter. Just not in the way Sebastian thought.

He assumed you were bothered on principle, that this was about your usual distaste for men reducing women to their bodies. Because that was who you were to him—sharp-tongued, quick-witted, never one to let careless words slide.

And in a way, it felt good that he saw you like that. It meant he wasn’t thinking about your body. It meant that, in Sebastian’s mind, at least, you weren’t standing on the outside of their conversation, trying to pretend the words didn’t sting.

That was… a relief.

But it didn’t loosen the tight, twisting knot in your stomach, because even though Sebastian hadn’t thought of it that way—you had.

And it wasn’t about Garreth having a type. It wasn’t even about Eloise specifically. You didn’t care who Garreth found attractive—everyone had their preferences.

It was Sebastian. Because he had agreed with Garreth.

And it was stupid, really, that it should hurt at all. You had no claim to Sebastian. No right to expect him to think of you that way. He had never given you any reason to believe he did. The only person who had spent the last ten years hopelessly in love with an idea—with him—was you.

But it still hurt.

"I'm sure you overheard him," Sebastian continued, "I know you like to eavesdrop," he added teasingly.

You let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking your head. "Oh, please. I wasn’t eavesdropping. You lot were talking loud enough for the entire beach to hear."

Sebastian huffed a quiet laugh, but it lacked any real amusement. “Fair enough. But for the record, I don’t think Garreth meant anything by what he said.”

You scoffed. “Oh, I know that.”

And you did know. Garreth didn't have a single mean-spirited bone in his body.

Sebastian was still watching you carefully. “Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong."

“Right,” he said, stretching the word out and leaning back on his hands. “So you’re sitting here, sulking under this umbrella, avoiding the water, avoiding ice cream, barely speaking to anyone—all because nothing is wrong?”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Sebastian—”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

Your fingers curled tighter around the book, your nails pressing into the cover. “You are wrong.”

Sebastian let out a dry, knowing laugh. “Yeah, no, see—that’s the thing about lying. You’re shit at it. Always have been.”

Your jaw clenched. “I swear to Merlin—”

“What?” He turned to you fully, one eyebrow raised. “You’ll hex me? Go on, then. Should be entertaining for the rest of the beach.”

You exhaled harshly, fingers flexing against the cover of your book. “Look, Sebastian, it—” You shook your head, forcing out a small, humorless laugh. “It doesn’t matter.”

Sebastian made a sound in the back of his throat—somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. "You’re not even arguing properly.”

That made you glance at him, brow furrowing. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Sebastian gave you a pointed look. “It means when you actually don’t care about something, you normally fight back with something biting, something clever. You roll your eyes, you call me an idiot, you tell me to piss off.” His gaze flickered over your face, sharp and assessing. “You’re not doing that now.”

Your stomach twisted. Damn him. Damn him for knowing you this well.

Sebastian sighed, shaking his head. "Just tell me the truth."

You clenched your jaw, looking out at the waves instead of at him. "Sebastian—"

"No, really." His voice was steady, firm. "What’s the point of this? Of going around in circles when we both know I won’t let up?" He gave you a pointed look, eyes sharp. "You’re wasting your breath trying to lie to me. I see right through it, and you know I do. I’ve got a decade of experience, love."

His voice was light, teasing, but you could hear the weight beneath it. The concern. The care.

And maybe that was what did it. Maybe that was what made something in you snap.

Because you were so tired. Tired of pretending, of swallowing things down, of trying to act like it didn’t hurt.

So you turned to him, something bitter curling in your chest.

“Sebastian, you know why I don’t want to go in the water. Why I don’t want to eat in front of everyone. Why I haven’t taken off my cover-up. Why I don’t want ice cream.”

Your breath was heavy, uneven, your fingers curling into the fabric draped over your shoulders.

Sebastian didn’t say anything. Didn’t move.

So you shook your head, voice quieter but no less raw.

"You know." Your chest tightened. "And I know that you know, because you have eyes."

Sebastian just stared at you. It seemed, for once, you had managed to stun him into silence. A difficult feat. And yet, here you were.

The weight of his gaze pressed into you like an iron brand, unrelenting, burning. His lips parted slightly, his brows furrowing, something unreadable flickering across his face.

Hurt. Frustration. Anger.

“That’s what this is about?” His voice was lower now, but no less intense. “That’s what it’s been about this whole time?”

And when he said this whole time, you knew he didn’t just mean today. He meant the past few years.

The slow retreat. The way you had pulled away, little by little, until the girl he had grown up with—the one who had been fearless, the one who had laughed loudly and took up space without hesitation—had hidden herself away.

His jaw clenched.

“Who?” His voice was rough, barely more than a growl. “Who made you feel like this?”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Who?” You shook your head, gripping the edge of your towel like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. “Everyone, Sebastian.” Your voice wavered, bitter and exhausted. “The whole fucking world.”

Sebastian inhaled sharply, his whole body tense like he was barely holding something back. And then his voice came low, simmering with something dangerous.

“Just give me names.”

You let out a shaky laugh, running a hand over your face. “And what, exactly, are you going to do?”

Sebastian’s jaw was tight, his entire body radiating tension. “I don’t know yet,” he admitted, voice clipped. “But I’d very much like the opportunity to find out.”

Your stomach twisted, a mess of emotions you didn’t have the energy to untangle. You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “It’s not just one person, Sebastian. It’s in the looks, the comments, the offhand remarks. It’s in the way people notice, the way they always notice, the way they feel entitled to remind you, like maybe you hadn’t already noticed yourself.” Your breath hitched, throat closing up. “It’s in the way people talk about women like me—if they even bother talking about us at all.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face, dragging it down to his mouth like he needed to physically stop himself from doing something. "Merlin, you—why have you never said anything?"

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. "And say what, exactly?" Your voice wavered, edged with exhaustion and bitterness. "That every time I see someone after a long time, I can feel them sizing me up, silently comparing me to who I used to be? That I can’t eat in front of people without obsessing over every bite?" A humorless scoff escaped you. "Or maybe I should’ve told you that whenever people talk about a ‘real woman,’ it never seems to include someone like me—because to them, we’re always just a consolation prize?"

Sebastian stood abruptly, sending a small spray of sand scattering as he pushed to his feet. The suddenness of it startled you, your breath still uneven in your chest, your body tense from the weight of the conversation that had just unraveled between you.

"Come on."

"...What?"

He rolled his eyes, but there was something determined in his stance, something resolute in the way he held his hand out to you.

"Don’t ask questions. Just get up."

You hesitated, glancing from his open palm to his face—his stubborn, determined face, the one you knew far too well. The one that meant arguing would be pointless.

Still, you narrowed your eyes, skepticism thick in your voice. "Sebastian—"

He exhaled sharply, already exasperated, and before you could pull away, he reached down, grasping your wrist with a careful but firm grip. His fingers were warm, rough from years of dueling, calloused in that way you knew too well.

"Just come with me," he murmured, voice softer now, quieter.

You let out a sharp breath but after a long, weighted pause—you let him pull you to your feet.

Sebastian's grip remained steady as he led you away—away from the crashing waves, away from the shade of your umbrella, away from the book you had never actually been reading. Away from the water that had once felt like freedom but now felt like something else entirely.

Instead, he walked you back toward the beach house your group had rented, his pace unrelenting.

You followed reluctantly, the damp sand clinging to your feet as the distant sounds of laughter and crashing waves softened behind you, replaced by the rustling of palm fronds and the creak of wooden steps as the two of you moved past the deck.

"Seriously—what are we doing?"

"Patience."

You scowled. "You’re not exactly known for patience."

"Yeah, well, I’m trying something new," he muttered.

The two of you rounded the deck, past the side gate, until you stepped onto the lush grass of the backyard to where the pool remained untouched.

Because why would anyone use the pool when the ocean was right there? When the horizon stretched endlessly, inviting and vast?

But Sebastian didn’t hesitate. He walked straight to the edge, dropping his towel onto a chair before turning back to you and he reaching for the hem of his shirt.

Your brain barely had time to catch up before he pulled the fabric over his head, revealing his sun-warmed skin, broad shoulders, and sun kissed freckles.

You swallowed hard, heat creeping up the back of your neck.

"...What are you doing?"

"Getting in the pool."

"Why?"

Sebastian shot you a flat look. "Because you won’t go in the ocean. And if you don’t want to swim in front of the whole world—fine. But you’re not allowed to hide from me."

You clenched your jaw, shaking your head. "Sebastian—"

"You love swimming." His said, low and steady, like he was stating an irrefutable truth. "I know you do. And back here, it's just me and you."

You swallowed, your throat tightening.

"Sebastian, it’s not that simple—"

"Why not?"

You inhaled sharply, feeling the words clog in your throat. Because I don’t want you to look at me like everyone else does.

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to keep your gaze locked on his. "Because it just isn’t."

Sebastian exhaled sharply through his nose, rolling his shoulders. His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was barely holding something back.

"That’s not an answer."

You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "It’s the only one I’ve got."

For a moment, he just looked at you—eyes dark, searching, unreadable. Then, before you could react, before you could argue or stop him, he stepped closer, reaching for your wrist again.

"Could you, for once in your life, not argue with me?"

He said it with his usual teasing tone, but you could see the tension in his jaw, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

You sighed.

"Fine."

Sebastian blinked, as if he hadn’t actually expected you to agree.

You barely expected it yourself.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence between you stretching taut.

Then slowly, reluctantly, he let go before finally turning toward the pool and lowering himself into it. The water lapped around his waist as he submerged himself, stretching his arms out with a satisfied sigh.

"The temperature is perfect," he announced. "Trust me, you’re going to love it."

You exhaled sharply through your nose, stomach churning as you reached for the tie at your waist.

This was a mistake.

Your fingers fumbled with the knot, hesitating. Your pulse pounded in your ears. You regretted this already. The bikini—the one you had somehow convinced yourself was a good idea when you bought it—was bright fucking yellow.

Unmissable. Unavoidable. A beacon of self-inflicted torment.

What the hell had you been thinking?

You should have picked something darker, something less obnoxious, something that wouldn’t make you feel like every single part of you was on display.

Sebastian tilted his head slightly, floating lazily on his back, watching you. "You’re thinking too hard again."

You clenched your jaw. Your fingers curled around the fabric, tight, hesitant. This was stupid. This was so, so stupid.

But he was watching you. Not impatiently. Not expectantly.

Just waiting.

And that was the only reason you finally, finally pulled at the knot.

The cover-up slipped from your shoulders, the fabric pooling at your feet. Immediately, your stomach flipped, your arms twitching with the immediate urge to cover yourself, to retreat, to run—

But then, slowly, deliberately, Sebastian let his feet drop beneath him, standing fully in the water. His gaze dragged over you. Slow. Lingering.

"Sebastian—"

"Yellow."

"What?"

His lips curled slightly, tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Your swimsuit. It’s yellow."

Your face burned. "No shit."

Sebastian hummed, his brown eyes dark and unreadable. "It suits you."

Your breath caught.

"Are you coming in or what?" he murmured.

Your throat felt tight.

"Yes."

You forced your legs to move, stepping toward the pool’s edge as if you were approaching a cliff, bracing for the drop.

Every sensation was amplified—the way your thighs brushed together, the curve of your stomach, the stretch marks etched across it. The way your skin dimpled, the way your body moved, the way there was no concealing any of it.

Sebastian was still watching. You felt the weight of his gaze, and it took everything in you not to cross your arms over yourself as you stepped onto the first stair.

The cool water lapped at your ankles. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to move faster, descending step by step, letting the water claim you inch by inch.

By the time it reached your waist, you exhaled, relief flooding through you.

Safe. At least partially.

Sebastian had shifted slightly, leaning back against the edge of the pool, elbows braced along the tiled rim.

"See?" he drawled, tilting his head slightly. "Not so bad, is it?"

You rolled your eyes, trying to focus on the water instead of the fact that you were sitting in a bright fucking yellow bikini with Sebastian watching you like you were the most interesting thing in the world.

"Easy for you to say," you muttered. "You’re not the one out here feeling like a goddamn highlighter."

Sebastian’s laugh was quiet, warm. "I don’t know," he mused. "I think you make a pretty good highlighter."

Your stomach twisted, heat creeping up your neck. "Shut up."

"I’m serious."

"You’re messing with me," you muttered, dragging your fingers through the water, watching as the ripples lapped against his arm.

"I’m not," he said, and something about the quiet certainty in his voice made you hesitate.

Your breath hitched as you lifted your gaze to his.

The teasing was gone. His expression was steady, unreadable, but there was something beneath it—something weighty, something real.

Heat crept up your neck, prickling despite the cool water surrounding you. The moment felt too heavy, too close, pressing in on you in a way you weren’t ready for. So, you did what you always did when you felt yourself slipping—deflected.

"Stop looking at me like that," you scoffed.

Sebastian didn’t answer right away. His gaze was steady, focused in a way that made your stomach twist.

Then, finally, he asked, “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

Your brows pulled together. “What?”

“About... feeling like a consolation prize?”

Your stomach lurched. “Sebastian—”

“Did you mean it?”

You let out a breath, gaze flicking away as you trailed your fingertips absently through the water. “It’s not exactly something I pulled out of thin air.”

He exhaled sharply, his grip tightening where his arms braced along the pool's edge.

“So that’s a yes."

You glanced back at him, at the tight set of his jaw, at the way his fingers flexed against the tiles, like he was reining something in.

“Why does it matter?” you asked.

Sebastian let out a short, humorless laugh, dragging a hand through his hair before tipping his head back against the pool's rim. “Because it’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

You blinked, startled. “Excuse me?”

Sebastian huffed, shaking his head, his eyes sliding back to yours, darker now. “I mean, do you honestly think no one looks at you like... like you're all they bloody want?”

You frowned, shifting uncomfortably. “Sebastian—”

“I’m serious.” His voice was firm, unwavering. “You think no one’s wanted you? No one’s looked at you and thought about what it’d be like to have you under them, or against them, or—”

“Sebastian!” Your face burned, heat spreading like wildfire from your chest to the very tips of your ears.

It wasn’t like you and Sebastian had never talked about sex before—you’d been best friends for over ten years. You’d sat beside him while he’d swapped crude jokes with Garreth, rolled your eyes at his commentary when Imelda complained about whatever hopeless bloke she was entertaining that week, even endured drunken late-night conversations about past flings and failed dates when the two of you had stayed out too long at the pub.

But never—not once—had you talked about it so blatantly.

Because discussing sex in general was one thing. Listening to Sebastian drunkenly mock some disastrous one-night stand was one thing. But this—this was him, talking about you, saying your name in the same breath as under them, against them—

The thought too much, too impossible, too close to something you’d spent the last decade trying to bury so deep it could never surface.

It was unbearable. Unthinkable. Because you knew if you let yourself really hear him, if you let yourself linger on those words, on that voice murmuring them so low and rough, then you would—

You would implode.

So instead, you reacted, your body moving on instinct, on sheer mortified desperation.

Your hand shot forward, cutting through the water as you splashed hard in his direction, your heart slamming against your ribs as you tried to drown out the image of Sebastian's mouth, the sound of his voice, the way he had said it—

The water hit him square in the face, droplets clinging to his dark hair, his skin glistening beneath the late afternoon sun.

Sebastian blinked, expression shifting from intense to something unreadable as he wiped a hand down his face, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“What the hell was that?”

Your breath came out shaky, your skin too hot, your arms twitching with the urge to cover yourself, to disappear.

“You can’t—you can’t just say shit like that!” you managed, your voice bordering on frantic, your pulse hammering so violently you thought it might shake you apart.

Sebastian’s brows lifted, his face still dripping. “Why not?”

“Because!"

“Look, ’m just saying,” he said, voice rougher now, lower, “that you might want to reconsider your stance.”

Your mouth opened, then closed, because Sebastian wasn't done.

“I hear the things guys say about you.” His gaze flickered over your face, then lower—just for a moment, just enough to make your stomach flip. “I hear the things they want to say to you all the fucking time."

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like you were sinking despite being fully buoyant in the water.

“...What are you talking about?”

Sebastian exhaled sharply through his nose. "At work. When we go out. The pubs, the shops, wherever we are. Doesn’t matter." His gaze flickered over you, something simmering behind it. "I hear it."

Your pulse spiked.

“The only reason you don’t hear the shit they say about you is either because they know better,” he said, voice almost bitter. “Because they know you’d hex them into next week if they ever let you hear it. Or—”

Sebastian let out another low laugh, shaking his head.

“Because I scare them off.”

“You... what?”

Sebastian gave you a look, like it was obvious. “I scare them off.”

You just stared at him.

“You think it’s a coincidence no one approaches you when we go out?”

You felt your breath falter, your hands balling into fists at your side. "You’re making that up."

"I promise you," he asked, tipping his head slightly. " I’m not."

You swallowed thickly, your pulse hammering. “That can't be true—”

Sebastian’s jaw ticked. "I know it for a fact. And I can tell you exactly what they say, if you really want to know.”

You clenched your jaw, pressing your lips together, but it didn’t matter—because Sebastian kept going.

“They talk about your ass, how it moves when you walk, how they’d kill to get their hands on it, the kind marks they'd leave if they got the chance.”

You felt burning heat creep up your spine.

“They talk about your tits,” he went on, his eyes flickering over you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “How full they are, how they sit just right, how fucking soft they look, how they’d kill to watch them move if you rode them."

His voice dipped lower, rougher. “They talk about the way your stomach curves when you sit, how they know you’d feel so fucking good under their hands, under their weight.” His jaw ticked, his fists tightening until his knuckles went white. “How they’d bury their face between your legs and press their hands against your waist and feel all of you.”

You felt your pulse hammering, your entire body caught somewhere between stunned disbelief and mortification.

“And your mouth,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Merlin, they talk about your mouth—that sharp fucking wit of yours that makes them either want to win you or get on their knees for you.”

You made a strangled noise in the back of your throat. Your arms twitched with the immediate, desperate urge to cover yourself, to run, to deny, deny, deny—

“I know the world is fucked,” he admitted. “And it sure as hell isn’t fair to women like you. But just because you’re not plastered across a fucking Quidditch magazine doesn’t mean you’re not wanted.” His voice was softer now, but no less intense. “Doesn’t mean men don’t look at you and think about fucking you senseless."

Your breath came out uneven, your heart hammering against your ribs as Sebastian’s words settled around you like something heavy, something undeniable.

But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. You refused to believe it.

You shook your head, forcing your voice to come out.

“You’re just—” You exhaled sharply. “You’re just trying to make a point.”

“A point?”

“Yes,” you insisted shakily. “Because you’re frustrated with me, and you hate when I don’t believe you, so you’re just—” You shook your head, your throat tightening. “You’re making a point!"

Sebastian’s jaw ticked, his nostrils flaring slightly. “You really think I’d make all this up?”

You swallowed thickly, your stomach twisting into itself. “Okay, maybe you’re not making it up entirely,” you admitted, voice quieter now, unsure, searching. “Maybe they do say those things, but that doesn’t mean I’m what they want.”

Sebastian frowned, his brows drawing together like he couldn’t believe you were still pushing this.

“I’m what they go for when what they really want isn’t available,” you pressed, voice bitter, thick with something sharp and worn down. “I’m the one they settle for.”

Sebastian stilled. The air changed. His expression darkened, a muscle jumping in his jaw as something sharp flashed behind his eyes. Then he moved—

Closer. Slow. Deliberate.

The water shifted around you, rippling, the cool contrast of it doing nothing to temper the heat pressing into the space between you, heat that came from him.

He loomed, his shadow blocking out the sun, his presence so much heavier now.

“Fine,” he muttered, voice low, tight. “You want to argue? Let's argue."

Sebastian’s brown eyes flickered over you, intent, his focus sharp, almost cutting. “If that were true,” he continued, voice rough, firm, “if guys were only settling for you, then why have I spent years scaring them off?”

“You—” You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding, forcing yourself to lift your chin, to meet his stare head-on. “Because you’re... territorial.”

Sebastian snorted, something dark and frustrated flickering across his face. “Why do you think that is?”

“Because you’re my best friend,” you shot back, shaking your head, like that explained everything. “Because you're you!”

Sebastian scoffed, rolling his eyes. “If you really think that’s all it is,” he muttered, voice thick with exasperation, “that it's because I'm your friend, then you’re fucking delusional.”

Your stomach flipped, something deep in your ribs twisting, recoiling.

“Then maybe it’s because you don’t trust them,” you argued, voice more desperate now, more pleading. “Men can be pricks, Sebastian, you know that.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, they can,” he agreed, his voice rougher now. “But that’s not why.”

“Sebastian—”

“You really think I��d waste my time running off blokes if I thought they weren’t serious?” His voice was incredulous now, like he was talking to someone being insufferable. “For Merlin's sake, I know the things they say about you, and I know they fucking mean it because I’ve said the same shit!”

The world tilted. Your heart stopped. Something in your chest lurched, your breath coming out too shallow, too thin, like your lungs had forgotten how to work, like your ribs had locked up, trapping something inside of you that was too big, too impossible to comprehend.

Sebastian just looked at you. Unwavering. Unshaken. Like he hadn’t just ripped open the very fabric of your reality and upended a decade’s worth of carefully constructed walls, of every defense mechanism you had ever built to keep this exact thing from happening.

“No.”

The word was instant, instinctive, ripped from you like it had been lodged in your throat, an immediate act of defense, of self-preservation.

Sebastian’s brows furrowed, the muscle in his jaw twitching slightly.

“No?” he repeated, his voice edged with something that almost sounded offended.

Your head shook before you could even stop it, panic rising fast, too fast, crashing through you like a wave you hadn’t braced for.

“No,” you repeated, voice higher, tighter, desperate. “That’s not true, it can't be true, you—”

Sebastian let out a sharp breath, his jaw tight, his nostrils flaring slightly as he shook his head. Then he laughed—a short, humorless sound that didn’t reach his eyes, a huff of sheer disbelief as stared down at you.

“Do you really think I would say this if it weren’t true?”

His voice was low, unwavering—something dangerous simmering beneath the surface, something unyielding, something that said enough.

You could see it in the way his fingers curled into fists beneath the water, in the way his shoulders tensed, in the way his throat bobbed like he was forcing the words out, pushing past something that had been buried for too long.

“You’re just—” You swallowed. “You’re just saying that—”

"—No. I have always wanted you."

Sebastian’s voice was rough, edged with something aching, something raw, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe the words were leaving his mouth, like he couldn’t believe you were making him say this.

"For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, "I was in love with you at sixteen, and I have been every damn day since.”

Your breath came out uneven, barely a whisper. “Sebastian—”

"I don’t know where you got it in your head that you’re supposed to look like you did when we were kids, but yeah," His jaw clenched. "We’ve changed. And I, as you so aptly pointed out, have eyes—so yeah, you’re right." His brown eyes flickered over you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. "I do see it. I know you don’t weigh 130 fucking pounds anymore," he continued, voice rougher now, firmer. "And I am fucking thrilled."

You stiffened. Your chest felt too tight, like your ribs had shrunk around your lungs.

"Do you want to know why?" His voice dropped lower, something dark flickering behind his eyes.

Your mouth was too dry to answer, but it didn’t matter. Because he kept going.

"Because every single thing you seem to hate about yourself ruins me," he bit out, his hands clenching and unclenching like he was physically restraining himself. "You have no fucking idea how many nights I’ve spent thinking about this," he admitted, voice rough. "Thinking about you."

You were so hot now it felt like you were burning alive, fire coursing through your veins and settling low in your stomach, thick and dangerous.

“I’ve thought about your thighs around my waist.” Sebastian's voice was lower now, almost reverent. “How you’d taste when I spread them apart. How you’d feel pressed against me.”

Your legs clenched instinctively beneath the water.

“I’ve thought about your ass in my hands.” Sebastian shifted, his brown eyes flickering lower, dark and intense. “How it’d feel to have you in my lap, to make you ride me until you forget your own fucking name.”

“And your tits.” He licked his lips, tiling his head back slightly. “They fucking kill me. I mean, god, you were pretty before, but now? Now, they’re full and heavy and fucking perfect, and all I’ve ever wanted is to get my mouth on them."

Your breath came out shaky, your arms twitching like you needed to hold yourself together.

“Merlin, I have spent years trying to behave,” His voice turned almost gritted, like the words were physically pulling something out of him. Hhe muttered, his voice lower now, darker. “But you—fuck, you have no idea how hard it is when you’re standing here looking like this—”

His gaze dragged over you, hungry, slow, like he was devouring every inch of exposed skin, every soft curve, every part of you, like he had spent years looking and wanting, and now that the words were out in the open, he refused to hold back.

“Trust me, I’ve tried,” he admitted, voice lower now, rougher. “I’ve really fucking tried to keep this in. To pretend I don’t notice, to keep my mouth shut, to respect that you don’t see me that way, that you don’t want me that way.”

Sebastian’s brown eyes flickered over you, dark and certain. “But now I find out that you won’t even step in the water because you think you don’t look good enough?” His voice was sharper now, like the words were physically pulled out of him. “That you think you need to hide?! When you look this fucking good?! It's a crime."

The world wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be.

Not when Sebastian was standing there, saying these things. Not when the same voice you had spent years aching over, pining for, was suddenly confessing all the things you had only ever dared to dream about in your weakest, most hopeless moments.

It was impossible. It was wrong. Not because you didn’t want it to be true, but because it couldn’t be. Because you had spent years overhearing men talk about other women like this.

Women they wanted. Women who fit the mold of desirable, women they admired, lusted after, fantasized about.

You had listened to Garreth wax poetic about Quidditch players, about girls with long legs and sharp features. You had heard Imelda talk about the men who trailed after her, about how they couldn’t help themselves, about how they looked at her like she was something worth having.

But never you. Never you.

So hearing it now—like this, in Sebastian’s voice, in Sebastian’s gaze, in the way his words hit you like a blow straight to the chest—

You felt dizzy, lightheaded, the words pressing against you, into you, wrapping around your ribs, curling low in your stomach, twisting and knotting and refusing to let go.

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, his voice hoarse, desperate in a way you had never heard before. “Say something,” he muttered, “Please."

You couldn’t. You couldn’t. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out, your breath caught somewhere in your chest, your lungs squeezing tight as your mind raced, as your body fought to catch up to what was happening.

How could you accept that the same boy who had haunted your every dream, every stupid little fantasy, every sleepless night spent staring at the ceiling with want pressed into your bones— How could you accept that he had been living through the same thing?

Sebastian let out another low, frustrated breath.

“Fine,” he muttered, his voice gritted, dark. “Let me make this absolutely clear.”

Then, suddenly, he moved, fast. Aand deliberate.

The water swelled around you as he closed the distance in an instant, surging forward with a force that sent ripples crashing against your skin. Before you could react, his hands were on you—gripping your waist, anchoring you in place. His fingers pressed firm and unyielding against the soft curve of your sides, holding you steady, pulling you closer until there was nothing left between you.

Every inch of him was flush against you—solid, warm, inescapable. You could feel the tension in his body, the quiet strength beneath the water, the way his fingers dug in, pressing, gripping—possessive in a way that stole the breath straight from your lungs.

Sebastian’s breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling hard against yours. His jaw was clenched tight, the muscle feathering beneath his skin, and when he spoke, his voice was nothing but gravel and heat.

“You feel that?”

"Feel wha—oh."

Oh.

Oh.

Heat flooded your face, your pulse hammering, your skin burning. Because fuck, he was hard. Right there—there—pressed against your stomach, undeniable proof that every word he had just said wasn’t just frustration, wasn’t just heat-of-the-moment reassurance, wasn’t just a desperate attempt to make you see.

It was real.

It was real.

It was so fucking real.

“Yeah.” His voice was rough, strained. “That.”

Your mouth parted, but nothing came out. Your thoughts tangled, scrambled, lost somewhere between disbelief and something hotter, deeper—something that made your fingers twitch against his shoulders, your breath come quicker, your body suddenly hyperaware of every single point where you touched.

But then he went rigid. And suddenly—too suddenly—his hands dropped from your waist.

The moment he stepped back, the absence of him was like a shock to your system, your body instantly missing the heat, the weight, the certainty of him pressed against you.

Sebastian ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply, his jaw clenching.

"I—fuck. I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

Your stomach dropped.

“What?”

Sebastian let out a sharp, humorless laugh, but it sounded frustrated, almost self-loathing, his expression twisting like he was kicking himself for losing control.

“That was—” He exhaled harshly, shaking his head again. “That was out of line. I’m sorry.”

Your pulse pounded, your skin still burning where he had touched you, still hyperaware of every place your bodies had been pressed together.

He was still so close. You could still feel the ghost of him. But Sebastian wouldn’t look at you.

His brown eyes flickered away, somewhere over your shoulder, his hands flexing at his sides like he wanted to reach for you again but was physically forcing himself not to.

“I know you don’t feel the same,” he said, his voice gritted, like he was forcing the words out despite the fact that they physically hurt him. “I know you never have.”

Your heart lurched in your chest, but he kept going.

“I mean, how could you?” His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was trying to keep himself from reaching for you again. “It’s been ten years, for fuck’s sake. You’ve never—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t expect you to just, just change your mind.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Your mind was reeling. Because what the fuck was he talking about?

You didn’t feel the same? You had never felt the same?

It was so absurd, so absolutely mad, that you actually laughed—a short, startled sound of pure disbelief, because he could not be serious.

Sebastian’s head snapped up at the sound, his eyes narrowing, his entire body going tense. "What?"

You shook your head, still breathless, still dizzy, heat and disbelief and something else—something sharp—twisting in your chest.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you demanded, voice thin, incredulous. “You think I don’t want you back?!”

Sebastian stiffened then rolled his eyes, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were even trying to argue this. “Oh, come on.”

“No—no, you come on,” you shot back, your hands lifting out of the water, gesturing sharply. “Do you hear yourself right now? Do you actually believe that? You think I—” You let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Merlin’s sake, Sebastian, are you insane?”

Sebastian’s nostrils flared, frustration flashing across his face. “I don’t know, am I? Because for years, you—”

“For years, I have been in love with you, you dolt,” you snapped, cutting him off.

The words rang between you, loud and final.

Sebastian froze. His breath stopped. His brown eyes went wide.

For a long, weighted beat, neither of you moved. The only sound was the water lapping gently around you, the distant crash of the waves against the shore, the sharp thud of your pulse in your ears.

Sebastian’s mouth parted slightly, his breath coming out uneven. His voice, when he finally spoke, was hoarse. “...are you serious?”

With a surge of boldness that felt almost foreign, you stepped forward, closing the space between you. Your hands found his waist, fingers curling tight, anchoring him in place as if daring him to move, to run, to deny what was right in front of him.

You tilted your chin up, locking onto his gaze, refusing to let him look away.

“Sebastian, for ten fucking years, I have been in love with you.”

Your hands flew to his shoulders, fingers digging in, grasping, clinging, and Sebastian let out a low, desperate sound against your lips. His grip shifted, one hand sliding up your spine, pressing against your bare skin, holding you there, anchoring you to him.

And the other—fuck.

His fingers skimmed down your hip, tracing the soft curve of your side before sliding lower, gripping your ass with a reverence that made your stomach flip. Like he wanted to memorize every inch of you beneath his hands. Like he had dreamed of this—fantasized about this—but never allowed himself to take it.

A quiet, breathless whimper slipped from your lips, and the moment it reached him, Sebastian groaned into your mouth. His hands tightened, his hold possessive, his body pressing against yours, solid and burning and real. You could feel everything—the heat of his skin, the hard planes of his body, the tension coiling beneath every touch, every breath.

He was shaking. Like he was barely holding himself together. Like he was one second away from losing control.

And honestly—

So were you.

Your fingers slid into his wet hair, tangling, tugging just slightly, and Sebastian moaned. His grip flexed, his breath hitched—and then he moved.

In one swift motion, his hands pressed against the curve of your ass, lifting you effortlessly as he backed you against the edge of the pool, pinning you there, chest heaving, eyes dark and wild as he hovered over you.

“Fuck.” His voice was low, rough, like it had been dragged over gravel.

Those dark, hungry brown eyes locked onto yours, burning with something thick and dangerous, something that sent heat licking up your spine and pooling low in your stomach.

His fingers flexed against your skin.

“Do you want to get out of this bloody pool?”

Your breath hitched. The weight of the question slammed into you, wrapping tight around your ribs and squeezing. Because this wasn’t about getting out of the water. This was about what came next.

Sebastian knew exactly what he was asking. And, Merlin help you, you knew exactly what you were answering.

You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering, fingers twitching against the bare skin of his shoulders.

“Yes,” you murmured.

Sebastian inhaled sharply. His grip tightened. And then he was lifting you, strong hands braced beneath your thighs, guiding you up onto the ledge. The water sluiced off your skin, the cool air shocking against the heat burning through you.

You blinked down at him, chest rising and falling, heart slamming against your ribs.

He stayed in the water, hands still on you, grip firm, unwavering.

His gaze roamed.

You knew exactly what he saw.

Your thighs, still slick from the water, parted where he had positioned you. Droplets clung to the soft curve of your stomach, catching in the dimming sunlight, tracing slow, deliberate paths down to the plush flesh of your hips, slipping lower—between your legs. Your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, the thin, taut fabric of your bikini stretching over the swell of your breasts, highlighting every dip, every line, every part of you he had spent years trying not to look at.

His hands left your thighs for only a second. Just long enough for him to hoist himself out of the water in one fluid motion, muscles flexing, skin dripping, water cascading down his chest and stomach—catching on the waistband of his swim trunks, pooling at his feet.

And fuck, he was beautiful.

You barely had time to process before he was reaching for you again—one hand extended, palm open, waiting.

You placed your hand in his and then he pulled. Not gentle. Not soft. Claiming.

Your breath hitched as you stumbled forward, but before you could find your footing, his grip shifted, and before you could think, before you could question, he was dragging you across the deck—his grip firm, his pace unforgiving. Like he had already decided. Like nothing—not a single fucking thing—was going to get in his way.

Your heart pounded as he led you straight to the lounge chairs, his breathing heavy, uneven.

Your thighs hit the edge of the lounge, and suddenly, there was nowhere left to go. Nowhere but down.

Your stomach flipped. Your pulse hammered. Because—fuck—this was happening.

You sank onto the chair. Sebastian followed. No hesitation. No second-guessing. No pause to let you catch up.

He just moved.

Climbing over you. Caging you in. Settling between your legs, his hands braced on either side of you, thighs pressing against yours—the weight of him hovering just above, heavy, consuming.

Dripping water.

Dripping heat.

Dripping desperation.

His gaze dropped, drinking you in—your parted lips, your heaving chest, your bare stomach, the mess of your thighs spread open beneath him, the fabric of your bikini clinging to wet skin.

"Tell me you want this." His voice was rough, barely above a whisper, his fingers pressing into your waist, grounding himself in you. "Because if you don’t, if I’m wrong, I need to fucking stop before I—"

"You’re not wrong," you interrupted, breathless. "You have never been more right about anything in your entire life."

Sebastian huffed a laugh, and in the next breath, his lips crashed against yours, claiming, taking, devouring. It was rough, messy, all instinct. All heat.

You gasped into his mouth, fingers flying up to his hair, tangling in the damp curls, pulling him closer, needing him closer, needing more. Sebastian groaned, low and wrecked, shifting his weight, pressing against you, forcing you to sink further into the lounge chair.

His hands were everywhere, hot and demanding, tracing the dips and curves of your body like he was mapping them out after years of pretending they weren’t his to touch. His fingers pressed into your waist, sliding over the soft curve of your stomach, his grip firm, reverent, like he needed to feel every inch of you beneath him.

“God,” he muttered against your lips, voice rough, strained. “You feel so fucking good.”

You let out a quiet, desperate sound, fingers tightening in his hair, tugging slightly, and Sebastian growled, low and wrecked, pressing his hips harder against you, grinding down just enough to let you feel exactly what you were doing to him.

Your head tipped back, a gasp breaking free, and Sebastian wasted no time, his lips trailing along your jaw, down the column of your throat, hot and wet.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your skin, voice dark. “You’ve always been mine.”

Your stomach clenched, your entire body burning, too hot, too much, and you didn’t even realize you were saying his name until his teeth grazed the sensitive spot beneath your ear and you whimpered it, breathless and wanting.

Sebastian groaned, his hands flying to your thighs, gripping tight, spreading them wider beneath him, pressing himself between them, flush against you. His lips dragged lower, down the slope of your shoulder, his hands skimming higher, fingers teasing at the strings of your bikini top.

"Please," he muttered, voice thick, unsteady. "Let me see you."

You nodded.

Sebastian sat back on his knees. His breath came out heavy, uneven, as his eyes dragged over you—taking in the way you looked beneath him, sprawled out, wet, wanting.

His jaw tensed, and then slowly, carefully, his fingers found the ties of your bikini top.

Your breath hitched as he tugged at the strings, the knot loosening, the damp fabric clinging stubbornly for a moment before slipping, before baring you completely to him.

Sebastian inhaled sharply, his throat working, his hands freezing where they had been resting against your ribs.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just looked.

And—Merlin help you—the way he looked at you was like you were something to be worshiped. Like he couldn’t believe you were real, that you were here, that you were his.

His hands twitched.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he muttered, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud, like the words had been ripped straight from his chest.

Heat flooded your face, your entire body burning beneath his gaze. “Sebastian—”

But then his hands were on you, and you couldn’t breathe.

Fingertips, warm and reverent, traced over the breadth of newly exposed skin, slow, unhurried. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, featherlight, teasing, making your breath stutter, making heat coil low in your stomach, before he pressed more insistently, fingers disappearing into the plushness of your breasts.

Sebastian exhaled hard, his pupils blown wide, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip like he was barely holding himself back.

"Fuck," he breathed. "You’re so soft."

Sebastian cursed again, leaning in to kiss you again, deeper, rougher, his hips pressing into yours, his hands gripping, exploring, memorizing.

Your mind was spinning, your pulse erratic, heat licking at every inch of your body, and fuck, this was happening. This was really happening.

Sebastian’s hands trailed lower, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, your hips, gripping them tight before sliding to the ties of your bottoms. His hands trembled slightly as he pulled at them, loosening the fabric with each tug.

They clung stubbornly to your skin for a second before he slid it away, baring you completely beneath him.

Sebastian inhaled sharply.

His eyes traced the soft curve of your stomach, the way the dimming sunlight caught the droplets still clinging to your skin, rolling in slow, lazy paths over your navel, down to the plushness of your hips, the swell of your thighs, settling lower, lower—

His throat bobbed, a sharp inhale shuddering through him as his gaze caught between your legs, at the glistening wet heat of you, already slick, already open for him.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, his voice strained, thick with want. His grip on your thighs flexed, his fingers pressing into soft flesh, kneading, his eyes locked onto you, staring like he was witnessing something divine.

Then, finally, finally, he tilted his head up, his brown eyes locking onto yours.

“You’re soaked,” he rasped, voice wrecked.

"Whose fault is that?" you murmured, gazing up at his though half-lidded eyes.

Sebastian let out a low, strangled sound—somewhere between a groan and a curse—his grip sliding up to your hips, tightening, his fingers flexing against soft flesh like he was grounding himself, steadying himself.

"Mine," he muttered, almost to himself, almost reverent. "All mine."

And then he moved lower.

His lips brushed the inside of your thigh, slow, deliberate, his breath hot against your damp skin. His hands, one on your hip, one on your breast, pressed, kneading, gripping, holding you in place as he trailed his mouth along the sensitive skin.

Your breath hitched, your fingers twitching at your sides, instinct begging you to reach for him, to pull him closer, to demand more.

Sebastian hummed against your thigh, slow and pleased, his lips curling against your skin. “You’ve always had such a sharp mouth,” he murmured, voice like gravel, teasing.  “But now? Now, you’re going to be too busy moaning my name to run that pretty mouth.”

And before you could even react, before you could do anything but shudder beneath him, Sebastian’s mouth was on you.

A sharp, breathless sound broke from your lips as his tongue pressed against the slick heat of you, slow and thorough, licking through your folds like he wanted to savor you, consume you.

Sebastian groaned, low and wrecked, his fingers digging into your thighs as he buried himself between them, licking, sucking, devouring like he was a man starved—like he had been waiting for this for years.

Your fingers flew to his hair, tangling in the strands, pulling him closer, needing him closer, needing more.

He shuddered, his tongue flicking against your clit, slow and deliberate, before dragging lower, teasing and pressing inside.

A whimper spilled from your lips, your thighs twitching around his head, your entire body trembling at the heat of him, of what he was doing to you.

“You taste so fucking good.” Sebastian muttered, his fingers flexing, holding you open for him, his mouth moving with precision, slow and intentional, like he was mapping you out, memorizing every reaction, every sound, every tiny movement that told him exactly what you liked.

Your hips bucked, your fingers tightening in his curls, and Sebastian let out a sound that was nothing short of filthy, his grip on your thighs tightening before his tongue stroked, pressed, teased—

"Look at you," he rasped, voice thick with something dark, something possessive, something hungry. "Falling apart for me already, hm?"

You let out a desperate, broken sound, your body aching for more, for him, and Sebastian just smirked, grinned, before plunging his fingers inside you, insistent and deep.

Your body jolted, a sharp gasp ripping from your throat as your hips bucked into his hand, chasing the pressure, the feeling of him inside you. Sebastian groaned at the reaction, his fingers flexing, curling, teasing—spreading you open in the most devastating way.

His mouth was back on you in an instant, tongue flicking over your clit, slow and purposeful, as his fingers worked inside you, stroking, coaxing, ruining.

Your head tipped back, pleasure surging through you, sharp and overwhelming, And this time—

You did moan his name.

Again.

And again.

And again.

And then—

“Let me fuck you,” he rasped.

Your breath hitched.

“Wha—”

Sebastian’s grip tightened, his nails digging into your skin just enough to make your breath stutter.

“Answer me,” he repeated, his voice lower this time, more desperate. “Before I forget how to be a gentleman and do it anyway."

You huffed, a flicker of defiance sparking through the haze of pleasure. "How demanding of you," you murmured.

Sebastian's grip flexed against your thighs, his fingers still buried inside you, his mouth hovering just above where you needed him most. His jaw tensed, his pupils dark and blown, his expression twisted with want, with something near desperation.

"Answer me," he repeated, his voice thick with warning as his fingers curled inside you, imploring you to respond.

But you just smirked, still gasping, still wrecked, but unwilling to give in that easily.  Sebastian wanted an answer? He could wait.

Your fingers twitched against his shoulders before you moved, pushing yourself up. Sebastian’s gaze flickered up to yours, pupils blown, his lips still slick with you, his hands flexing against your thighs like he knew what you were doing—like he knew you were about to make him suffer.

Good.

You reached for him, your fingers curling around his biceps, pushing him back, and Sebastian let you, let you take, let you flip the balance of control.

Your hands trailed lower, down his chest, his stomach, and then your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his swim trunks.

Sebastian inhaled sharply, his entire body going rigid, his jaw tight, his hands twitching where they still braced against your thighs.

You smirked, slow and deliberate, tilting your head as you looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. “What’s wrong?” you murmured. “You were so talkative a second ago.”

Sebastian let out a breath that was more growl than exhale, his head tipping forward slightly, his entire body coiled like he was barely holding himself back.

Your fingers curled tighter around the fabric of his trunks, teasing the band, pulling just slightly.

“Let me see you,” you whispered.

Sebastian stared at you, eyes dark, lips parted, his hands clenching, flexing, aching to touch, to take. Then, without breaking your gaze, he reached down, fingers curling over yours, helping you undo the ties.

Your breath caught when the fabric slid down, when his cock sprang free, hard and thick, flushed and leaking, heavy against his stomach, every inch of him aching, straining.

"Like what you see?" he asked, voice smug despite the raw edge of need in it.

Yes.

You swallowed hard.

"I'm deciding," you managed to shoot back.

Sebastian barked out a laugh—short, strained—before he caught your chin between his slick fingers, tilting your face up, forcing your eyes back to his. "Fucking tease," he muttered.

You arched a brow, smirking, and without breaking eye contact, you leaned in.

Your lips brushed over the flushed, aching tip of him, barely there, just enough to make his entire body shudder, to make him suck in a sharp breath through clenched teeth.

His cock twitched against your mouth, a bead of precum glistening at the tip, and you—slowly, deliberately—dragged your tongue across it.

Sebastian jerked, his grip tightening on your chin, his breath stuttering, a low, guttural groan escaping him.

You hummed, pleased with his reaction, with the way his muscles tensed beneath your fingers, with the way his jaw clenched like he was barely holding on.

But you didn’t take him fully. Not yet.

You let your lips trail down his length, your tongue flicking out just enough to taste him, to tease him, your hands smoothing over his thighs, slow, measured, unrushed.

Sebastian groaned, low and dangerous, his grip tangling in your hair, tugging and demanding, his body vibrating with restraint, with the barely leashed need to take control, to take you.

“Enough,” he ground out, his voice a raw, strained command. “Either stop teasing, or I’ll fuck your mouth like I know you want me to.”

Heat flooded your stomach, your entire body pulsing at the sheer dominance in his tone, at the way he looked at you like he was losing his mind, like he was aching to wreck you.

You pulled back just enough to make him groan in frustration, enough to make his fingers flex against your scalp, enough to make his cock twitch in anticipation.

Then you licked your lips, slow and deliberate, gazing up at him through half-lidded eyes. “What’s the rush?” you asked, voice syrupy sweet, filled with challenge. “I thought you wanted to be a gentleman.”

Sebastian snapped.

A growl rumbled from deep in his chest, his grip shifting as he pushed you back onto the lounge chair, his body pressing against yours, hot and unyielding.

“You really want to test me right now?” he muttered, his voice dark, dangerous, his cock pressing hard and heavy against your stomach.

“Maybe."

Sebastian exhaled sharply, shaking his head, a rough, strained chuckle escaping him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his grip shifting to your thighs, spreading you open for him again, positioning himself exactly where he wanted to be, where you wanted him to be.

His gaze locked onto yours, dark and searing, one last time.

“You’re done teasing,” he rasped, voice raw as he pressed the thick, aching length of himself more firmly against your stomach, teasing, taunting. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll still feel me tomorrow.”

You grinned, fingers curling into the damp mess of his hair, tugging him down to kiss you. His groan vibrated against your lips, his hands clenching against your thighs as you deepened it, licking into his mouth, tasting the desperation there.

And then, you shifted beneath him, twisting, arching—attempting to flip yourself over, to press your chest to the lounge, to give him the perfect view of your ass as you braced yourself on your forearms.

But before you could turn completely, Sebastian’s hands flew to your waist, stopping you.

Your brow furrowed, confusion flickering through the haze of heat as you turned to look at him, your breath coming in short pants. “Sebastian—”

He shook his head, softly, slowly, like he wasn’t rejecting you—like he was pleading with you.

“No, don't,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked but suddenly softer.

Your brow furrowed, eyes searching his. "Don’t?"

Sebastian's lips curved into a small, strained smile, one hand reaching to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin.

"As much as I love your ass," he admitted, his jaw tightening as his gaze dipped, sweeping over the soft curves of your body—lingering, wanting. "And as much as I’d love to see it against my hips, to watch myself sink into you, to see the way your back arches, to hold onto these soft, perfect fucking hips and bury myself so deep—”

His voice broke, his breath coming out sharp, shuddering.

“That's not what I want, not for our first time.”

Your stomach flipped, something warm and devastatingly tender blooming in your chest, twisting around your ribs.

Sebastian sighed, his grip on your face tightening just slightly, his gaze flickering back up to yours, something raw, vulnerable shining behind the wrecked hunger in his eyes.

“The first time,” he murmured, voice rough, stripped down, honest. “I want to see you.”

Your breath hitched.

“I want to watch you come.” His lips ghosted over yours, featherlight, reverent. “Want to see every expression, every little fucking reaction. All of you.”

You swallowed, your breath still unsteady, your body still burning, aching—but the heat had shifted, changed.

This wasn’t just need. It was something more.

His lips brushed over yours, featherlight, his hands framing your jaw like you were something fragile, something precious. "Is that okay?"

Your fingers curled around his wrists, your pulse hammering beneath his touch.

You nodded.

Sebastian exhaled, a breath that felt like it had been trapped inside him for years. Then, so softly—so reverently—he kissed you.

Not like before.

Not feverish. Not desperate. Not a frantic chase of pleasure.

This was different.

This was tender. This was worship.

“I love you,�� he said against your lips.

Your hands slid up to his face, cupping his jaw. "I love you too."

He huffed a soft laugh, the sound breathless, almost disbelieving, like he couldn't quite process that this was real. That after everything, after years of tension and stolen glances, after all the pushing and pulling, you were here, beneath him, wrapped up in him, saying the words he'd never let himself hope to hear.

His lips found yours again—slow, unhurried, savoring—before he finally shifted, positioning himself exactly where he wanted to be. Where you wanted him to be.

He teased, barely pressing into you, the slick heat of your body driving him to the edge of his restraint. His breath fanned against your lips, uneven, ragged, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself back.

His gaze locked onto yours, dark, devouring, and his voice, when it came, was hoarse.

"Tell me if—if I need to stop."

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make his breath stutter, your own lips parting as you whispered, "I will."

Sebastian exhaled sharply, pressing his forehead against yours, his grip tightening at your waist, anchoring himself to you.

"Keep your eyes on me," he murmured, fingers flexing against your skin, voice rough, edged with something deeper than desire. "I want to see everything."

A shudder ran through you, your breath catching, your pulse hammering beneath the weight of him, the weight of this moment.

Because this wasn’t just need.

This wasn’t just giving in to years of tension.

This was love. A love that burned. That consumed. That settled into your bones and refused to let go.

Then, with a slow, steady roll of his hips, he pushed inside.

Your breath caught, a sharp gasp ripping from your throat as he stretched you open, filling you completely, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt, until you could feel him in every part of you, until there was nothing between you.

Sebastian shuddered, his grip tightening, his fingers pressing hard into the soft flesh of your hips.

"Fuck," he rasped, voice trembling with the weight of his own need. "You—God, you feel unreal."

You clung to him, your hands grasping blindly at his shoulders, his back, needing something to hold onto, needing to ground yourself as pleasure crashed over you in waves, hot and overwhelming.

And Sebastian—God, Sebastian—

His head dipped, his lips brushing against your jaw, the column of your throat, breathing you in, his hands roaming and greedy, mapping every curve, every dip, every soft, yielding part of you like he was memorizing you, like he wanted to brand this moment into his soul.

“Move,” you whispered, your voice trembling, your nails scraping against his skin. “Sebastian—please—"

He didn’t make you wait.

A ragged groan tore from his lips as his hips pulled back, slow and deliberate, before thrusting forward again, deeper, dragging another gasp from your throat as he filled you again and again, his movements measured but devastating.

His lips found yours, desperate, consuming, claiming, swallowing every sound that escaped you, every broken moan, every whispered plea.

And he was watching—just like he said he would.

His gaze flickered over your face, drinking in every expression, every quiver of your lips, every flutter of your lashes, memorizing you.

"You’re so fucking beautiful," he murmured, voice thick with reverence, his hands gliding up your sides, over your ribs and gripping at your breasts.

You whimpered, your body arching into him, your thighs tightening around his waist as he kept moving, slow and deep, dragging out every inch of pleasure, unraveling you entirely.

Heat curled low in your stomach, winding tighter and tighter, every shift of his hips, every roll, every stroke against the most sensitive parts of you sending you hurtling closer to the edge.

"Oh god," you moaned, head falling back, tension coiling tighter as he stroked the bundle of nerves inside you, the one that made you see stars, the one that made your entire body tighten around him.

Sebastian let out a wrecked, filthy sound, his hands flexing against your waist, like he was barely holding himself back, like he was trying to keep himself from unraveling too soon—because he wanted to watch you come first.

He moved faster now. Rougher, deeper, every thrust dragging a desperate, broken moans from your lips, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter inside you, sharp and electric, ready to snap.

"Sebastian," you whimpered, your fingers fisting in his curls, your head tilting back, your body begging for release, needing it.

"I've got you," he murmured, breathless, his lips brushing against yours, his movements never faltering, never slowing. His forehead pressed against yours, his voice a ragged whisper. "Let go. Come all over my cock—let me feel it."

And fuck—you did.

Pleasure ripped through you, blinding and all-consuming, stealing the breath from your lungs, the world narrowing to just him, just this, just the way he held you, the way he filled you, the way he worshipped every sound you made.

Sebastian followed you over the edge, his body jerking, his thrusts turning erratic and desperate as he groaned, his fingers digging into your waist, pulling you closer, deeper, until he was buried impossibly deep, spilling inside you, hot and thick and completely undone.

You felt utterly spent, boneless beneath him, warmth pooling in every inch of your body, but you welcomed his weight, the way he sank into you like he belonged there, like this was exactly where he was always meant to be.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your chests rising and falling in tandem, your heartbeats thrumming in sync, a quiet, unspoken connection settling between you.

Sebastian finally let out a slow, shaky breath, his lips pressing against your temple, lingering there for a heartbeat, maybe two.

Then, his fingers—still gripping your waist—softened, smoothing over your skin in slow, lazy strokes.

"Holy shit," he murmured, voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. "That was—"

"Perfect," you finished for him, your voice still breathless, still heavy with everything this was, everything it meant.

Sebastian's lips curled upwards, nudging his nose against yours, his breaths still uneven. "Yeah," he murmured. "Perfect."

You smiled, cupping his jaw and tugging him down for another slow, lingering kiss—one that wasn’t filled with hunger or urgency, but something deeper. Sebastian melted into you, sighing against your lips.

"You're beautiful," he murmured. "You're so fucking beautiful, I'll remind you until the day I die."

You swallowed, your thumb brushing over his cheek as you pulled back, dazed, overwhelmed, utterly wrecked by the way he looked at you—like you were something sacred, something cherished, something he had never once doubted wanting.

“You really believe that?”

Sebastian let out a soft, breathy chuckle against your mouth, nudging his nose against yours, his hands still tracing over your body.

"I don't believe it, I know it," he murmured, pressing another kiss to your lips. "You’re the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

Another kiss.

"Perfect, really."

Another.

"Always have been."

Your chest tightened, your stomach twisting, something thick and overwhelming settling in your throat. Because God, you had spent so long believing you weren’t enough—so long shrinking yourself, making yourself smaller, convincing yourself that someone like him could never want you like this.

But he did.

He always had.

And now, with his body wrapped around yours, with the heat of him still lingering between your thighs, with the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—it was undeniable.

It had always been you.

A shaky breath left your lips, and you smiled—small, but real—your fingers tracing over the sharp edge of his jaw, feeling the tension there, feeling the way he was holding himself together, barely, just for you.

"I love you," you whispered, and God, it felt good to say it again. To let it out. To give it weight. "I will for the rest of my life—" your thumb brushed over the corner of his mouth, and you grinned, "and after that too. I'll fucking haunt you, Sebastian Sallow."

A rough, breathless laugh escaped him, and his head dropped, his forehead pressing against yours. "Good," he murmured, his voice warm and teasing but full of something deeper, something raw. "Because you're mine. Completely stuck with me."

You huffed a quiet laugh, fingers threading through his curls, nails scraping gently against his scalp.

"Obviously," you mused, voice still breathless. "I can feel you dripping down my thighs right now."

Sebastian groaned, deep and wrecked, his grip on you tightening like he physically couldn't handle what you'd just said. His forehead still rested against yours, but you could feel the way his body tensed, the way his fingers flexed against your hips, like he was resisting the urge to do something about it.

"Fuck," he muttered, and his breath was hot against your lips, his nose brushing yours. "Don't say shit like that unless you're ready for round two."

You smirked, utterly sated, utterly pleased with yourself, your body still thrumming with euphoria. Your hands trailed lazily down his back.

"Who said I wasn't?"

He groaned, half in frustration, half in amusement, and buried his face against the crook of your neck. "You have no idea how badly I want to," he admitted, voice muffled against you, breath hot and uneven. "But I’m pretty sure I have nothing left to give you."

You giggled, running your fingers through his sweat-damp curls, tugging lightly just to feel him groan.

"Nothing?" you teased.

"Love," he mumbled. "I think I came enough for three sessions in one. My soul left my fucking body at some point."

You bit your lip, holding back a laugh. "Sebastian Sallow, surrendering? What in Merlin's name am I hearing right now?"

He groaned again, lifting his head to glare at you—though the effect was utterly ruined by the small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. "I'm not surrendering," he argued. "I'm just acknowledging that I may need to recover before you completely break me."

You laughed outright this time, the sound bright and breathless, warmth blooming in your chest at the sheer wreckage of him.

"I'm serious," he insisted. "Give me, like, ten minutes. Maybe fifteen."

"You might as well use that time wisely, then," you mused, voice teasing, but laced with something softer, something full.

Sebastian hummed against your skin, pressing a lazy, absentminded kiss to your collarbone. "Mmm, and how’s that?"

You smirked. "By cleaning me up. Preferably with your tongue.”

A low, wrecked sound rumbled from his chest, somewhere between a groan and a laugh, and suddenly his grip on your waist tightened.

"You're killing me," he muttered, his breath hot against your skin.

You grinned. "Am I?"

Sebastian lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze, his pupils still blown wide, his expression caught somewhere between utterly ruined and utterly obsessed with you.

"You are," he admitted, voice rough, hoarse, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against your hip. "Because now I have to."

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. "Oh? Have to?"

His lips curved into a smirk, dark and lazy. "You asked me to," he murmured, voice dipping into something dangerous, something possessive. "And I'm a very considerate boyfriend."

You arched a brow, amusement flickering in your expression as you lifted your head slightly to meet his gaze.

"Boyfriend?" you mused, voice teasing, but beneath it was something softer, something real. "When did that happen?"

Sebastian blinked, then scoffed, like you had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world.

"Merlin’s balls, woman," he muttered, shaking his head as he let his weight settle more firmly against you. "You just let me fuck you into a patio chair, told me you’d haunt me, that you've loved me since we were sixteen, and now you’re questioning whether I’m your boyfriend?"

You grinned. "Well," you drawled, tilting your head, feigning deep thought. "You never asked."

Sebastian groaned, dropping his forehead onto your chest like he physically couldn’t handle you right now. "Unbelievable."

"You’re the one making assumptions," you teased.

He lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze again, and there was something fond in his expression, something soft beneath all that exhaustion and wreckage.

"Alright," he murmured, voice low, hoarse. "Be my fucking girlfriend."

You huffed out a laugh, amused, delighted. "Wow, so romantic."

Sebastian rolled his eyes, but the corner of his lips twitched upward. "Please be my fucking girlfriend," he corrected, smirking as he trailed a hand down your thigh, fingers teasing, possessive. "Though, given the fact that I've also loved you for a decade, and the fact that I’m about to devour you, I’d say the answer’s pretty obvious."

Your breath hitched slightly, your amusement shifting into something warmer, something deeper, something that curled low in your stomach.

But you weren’t going to let him off that easy.

"Hmm," you hummed, running your fingers down his back, tracing the hard lines of his muscles, enjoying the way he shuddered beneath your touch. "I don’t know..."

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, his smirk turning wicked, dangerous. "You don’t know?" he echoed, voice dipping low, teasing, edged with something predatory.

You grinned, thoroughly pleased with yourself, fingers still lazily tracing patterns down his back. "Mmm. Maybe you should convince me."

A deep, wrecked groan rumbled from his chest, and his grip on your thigh tightened. "You really don’t know when to quit, do you?"

You shivered beneath him, your breath catching, anticipation coiling in your stomach. You opened your mouth—maybe to challenge him, maybe to tease him further—

A sharp click rang through the air, the unmistakable sound of the gate latch unlatching.

Sebastian froze.

You froze.

Then—

"OH MY GOD."

You barely had time to process before a chorus of voices erupted from behind you, overlapping in shock, amusement, and sheer disbelief.

"Finally!"

“Sweet Merlin—”

"No fucking WAY."

"I cannot bloody believe this!"

Sebastian flinched, his entire body going rigid, his head snapping up so fast you thought he might injure himself.

A strangled sound ripped from your throat as you followed his gaze toward the entrance of the secluded deck—where your friends stood, frozen, their expressions ranging from amusement to absolute agony.

Poppy had both hands clapped over her mouth, her wide eyes darting everywhere but you. Natty looked like she didn't know whether to laugh or leave the country. Garreth, the absolute menace, was grinning like he'd just won the lottery, nudging Imelda—who was looking at the two of you like she was seconds away from hexing you both for subjecting her to this.

And then—

"Thank fucking Merlin I'm blind," Ominis declared, his expression nothing short of relieved, even as his face twisted in mild disgust. "This was the single greatest blessing Salazar ever granted me."

Sebastian dropped his head onto your shoulder, his damp hair sticking to your skin. His breath hitched—somewhere between a groan and barely-contained laughter—as you immediately scrambled to cup your breasts with frantic desperation.

Mercifully, blessedly, he was still positioned between your legs, hiding the most damning evidence from your group of unwitting, horrified spectators.

"Fuck," he laughed, voice wrecked, his arms tightening around your waist. "This is so much worse than getting caught by a professor at Hogwarts."

You let out a strangled, humiliated sound. "Sebastian, please, we need to get a towel or—!"

Garreth howled with laughter, his voice ringing loud and delighted over the deck. "We left you alone for an hour," he crowed, "and you two finally decided to stop pining and start—”

"SHUT UP," you and Sebastian both shouted at the exact same time.

Poppy let out a giggle from somewhere behind Garreth, and you could practically hear the barely-concealed amusement in Natty's voice when she muttered, "It's about bloody time."

Imelda groaned. “I just—why here?” She gestured toward the deck, still looking like she wanted to bleach her eyes. “This is communal property!”

“Technically,” Sebastian muttered against your thigh, “we were here first.”

“Oh, so that makes it better?” Imelda practically screeched.

You groaned, feeling the heat of absolute mortification creeping up your neck.

Ominis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t care how inevitable it was,” he said, voice utterly flat. “I do care that I now have to suffer through knowing where it happened.”

Poppy giggled behind her hands. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Ominis.”

“You try sharing a living space with Sebastian after this,” he deadpanned.

Sebastian grunted, finally sitting up, his broad frame still angled protectively in front of you, shielding as much of you as he could manage. His hair was a disheveled mess, his expression caught somewhere between resigned acceptance and unapologetic defiance—like a man who had been caught red-handed but had absolutely no regrets.

“Well,” he exhaled, his arm still braced protectively in front of you, still shielding as much of you as he possibly could. “Guess we’re not keeping this a secret anymore.”

Natty snorted, crossing her arms, her smirk barely contained. “You two thought this was a secret?”

Poppy giggled from behind her hands, her eyes still squeezed shut like she wasn’t quite brave enough to risk seeing something scarring. “We’ve known for years.”

Garreth grinned like he had been waiting for this moment his entire life. “I knew you two were in love, but this—” He gestured wildly to the deck, to the situation, to Sebastian still bracing himself between your legs like a human barricade. “This is beyond what I could have ever imagined.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Alright, that's enough commentary from the peanut gallery.”

Imelda scoffed. “Peanut gallery? We walked in on this absolute nightmare! You don’t get to act like we’re the ones inconveniencing you.”

“I do, actually,” Sebastian quipped, deadpan. “You’re the ones interrupting our afterglow.”

Natty’s voice was full of strained patience, but there was no hiding her mirth. "Alright, alright, everyone, let’s give them some space before they die of embarrassment."

"Bit late for that," you muttered under your breath.

There was a collective shuffle of movement, a few muffled laughs, and one last dramatic sigh from Garreth before the door clicked shut behind them. Silence settled over the space, thick and still buzzing with lingering mortification.

Sebastian snorted. "You think they’re ever gonna drop this?"

"Absolutely not," you muttered, knowing full well that the moment you and Sebastian emerged from this, you would never hear the end of it.

And yet—

Somewhere beneath the mortification, beneath the utter embarrassment, there was something else.

Something warm. Something real.

Something that felt like forever.

Sebastian shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to look at you, his brown eyes still twinkling with amusement, but soft, fond, full of something deeper than just humor.

"You still gonna haunt me?" he murmured, smirking.

You huffed a laugh, still hiding against his shoulder, pressing a quick kiss to the bare skin there.

"Now more than ever, Sallow."

Banner Credit

[thewritingrowlet]

The Road Back to You, ft. tripleS Lee Jiwoo

tags: creampie, (light) daddy kink, rekindled love

length: almost 6k words

author's note: well, here it is: one of the fics that was stuck in the WIP dungeon—have at it, you.

-

“The Cavendish Group says—oh my God, who is it?”

You look at your buzzing phone; Jiwoo’s mother is calling you. You take a few deep breaths to clear your mind before picking up the call.

“Good afternoon, this is Shin Hyunwoo,” you greet her.

“Hi, son—have you been well?”

“Yes, I have, madam. Is there anything I can help you with?”

The woman on the other side pauses for what feels like an eternity.

“It’s about Jiwoo,” she pauses again, “she’s… been quite ill for the past two weeks, and I thought maybe you should pay her a visit.”

Your heart races: you haven’t talked to Jiwoo for almost a year now ever since she walked out your door that one night, and the prospect of seeing the cause of your heartbreak is rather… unsettling.

“I know you’re busy, but if you have time, please consider visiting her.” You can hear the sincerity in her voice, and it’s getting difficult to say no. Your gaze is locked on the large monitor in front of you as you thoughtfully consider her mother’s words. Eventually, with a heavy sigh, you agree to see Jiwoo at her place.

“I’ll tell her you’ll be coming after you get off work.” You can hear the joy in her voice, and it’s getting difficult to calm your racing heart. Your gaze shifts to the window next to you, and reflected on its surface is your smiling face. Eventually, with a chuckle, you admit to yourself that you are indeed excited to see Jiwoo at her place.

-

You take exactly 6 deep breaths before knocking on Jiwoo’s apartment door. Initially, no answer is heard from the other side, but as you prepare to knock again, the door suddenly shifts.

“O-oppa, you’re… actually here…”

You offer her a tentative smile, unable to tell whether she’s excited to see you or not.

“Yes, I am—erm, your mother asked if I could visit you, so…” You trail off, hoping that Jiwoo will catch on. A smile of similar nature stretches over her face. “Please get inside, oppa.”

Jiwoo invites you to sit on the sofa with her, and after you’re seated, she asks for permission to rest her head on your shoulder for “old times sake.” With a smile on her face, you grant her that permission. “Thank you,” she mutters softly as she leans against you. Your eyebrows furrow when you feel her hot temple on your skin. “You’re that sick, baby?” Jiwoo pretends to have missed the endearment, biting her lower lip to stop herself from blushing. “Yes, oppa; it’s been pretty bad.”

You offer Jiwoo to rest her head on your thighs, and without saying a word, she takes you up on it. Not only that, but she also guides your hand towards her forehead. “Hm, hot,” you blurt. She nods slightly. “My head hurts too,” she complains, sighing deeply at the end. You bite your tongue slightly as you think whether you want to ask her this question in your head. “Ah, screw it.” The suddenness confuses Jiwoo. “Screw what, oppa?”

“Can I take you to the bedroom, baby?”

Jiwoo’s blinks rapidly; she hasn’t heard you say such a sentence in a long while, and now, merely minutes after your return, she hears it again, thus causing her cheeks to turn pink.

“Y-yes, oppa; p-please take me to the bedroom.”

Jiwoo nuzzles her face in the crook of your neck as you’re lifting her bridal-style to her room. “Mm, you still smell the same,” she comments. You chuckle a little. “I just keep buying the same perfume and cologne,” you say. She nods against your skin. “Don’t ever change them, please; I love the smell of you, oppa.” Your eyebrows rise; does Jiwoo realize she’s saying all this like she was still your girlfriend?

“Ah, whatever—not the time to think about it.”

You carefully lower Jiwoo onto her bed, and that is when she tightens her arms around your neck. “Don’t leave me—please, not again,” she begs. You sigh deeply. “What do you mean not again, Jiwoo-yah?” She looks at you in the eyes. “You know what I mean, oppa, so please don’t leave me, not when I need you most.” You sigh again. “You were the one who broke us up, sweetheart; I was just respecting your decision.”

Tears prick at the corners of her eyes as she feels the weight of regret of the decision that led to her stepping out of your door and, in turn, your life. “I-I was… reckless, to say the least—I-I’ve now realized that I can’t leave without you.” You stay silent, indirectly asking her to keep talking. “I’m so, so sorry for leaving you, oppa,” her eyes are shiny with unshed tears, “I should’ve been more patient, more understanding…”

It warms your heart that Jiwoo understands the significance of her decision to leave the relationship and is welcoming about your return. Before guilt overwhelms her, you throw her a lifebuoy in the form of a soothing touch of hand to her forehead. “Sweetheart, I think we’ve both learned our lessons—for now, let’s just focus on recovering.” She smiles slightly. “Please join me in bed, oppa.”

You slide onto the bed as she asks, spooning her from behind just like how you used to. “This is… so nice,” she sighs, seemingly in relief, “thank you for making time for me, oppa; I know you’re busy and all that.” You give her a soft peck to the back of her head. “You have a special place in my heart and mind, Jiwoo-yah—not to mention that your mom was quite good at persuasion.” Jiwoo giggles. “A chip of the old block, or something like that.”

-

Time ticks by as you spend a few hours spooning the sick woman, and now that your eyes are open again, you see that it’s quite dark outside the window.

“Jiwoo-yah,” you whisper softly, “I think we should find something to eat.” Jiwoo stretches languidly as she gets herself together. “What time is it?” You look at your watch. “Almost 9 p.m.” She exhales deeply. “Can we have food sent here, because I don’t feel like going out.” You ask what she wants to have. “Anything that’s warm like you.” Your heart jumps. “Warm like me, you say?” She nods with a smile. “Warm like you, oppa—that’s what I need right now.”

You quickly order some noodle soup for both of you. “Food will be here in around 20 minutes, sweetie, so please hang on.” Jiwoo places a hand on yours. “Thank you, oppa; I appreciate it.” Once again, you give her a peck to the back of her head. “The pleasure is mine, sweetie—thank you for welcoming me again.” She sighs deeply. “Can’t we just pretend like we never broke up?” Well, isn’t that a good question. “I don’t know, honestly. I mean we haven’t seen each other for almost a year.”

You spend the time cuddling the sick woman whose (literal) hotness gradually becoming a source of concern. Thankfully, however, you’ve received notification that the food has been delivered to her door, which means that she’ll soon be able to take her medicines and get some rest.

Jiwoo reluctantly lets you go from the embrace. “Come back quickly, oppa,” she begs, her voice barely above a whisper. You give her a nod before stepping out of the bedroom to get the food from the door. You prepare the noodle soup for her, opening the bowl-like container and putting a spoon in it.

You help Jiwoo sit and lean against the headboard to support her weak frame. “May I feed you?” She nods with a faint pink on her cheeks. You take a spoonful of only the soup for her to taste. “Is that good?” Jiwoo sighs. “Not as good as expected, but that’s probably because I’m ill.”

You tend to Jiwoo with utmost patient, feeding her carefully until she finishes her food—or not; she’s weakly pushing your hand away from her lips. “That’s enough food,” she says. It’s unfortunate that she’s calling it quit now that there’s only two spoonsful of noodle soup left. “Baby, finish it, please?” She turns her face away from you, signaling that she really doesn’t want it. “Okay, if you say so.”

You place the unfinished food on the bedside table and ask where her medicines are. “I don’t want them too.” You sigh. “Baby, please, I just want to help.” Realizing that she can’t counter-argue, Jiwoo points at the drawer of the bedside table. When you open it, you notice that she has only taken her medications twice. “You’ve been skipping your meds, baby?” Jiwoo doesn’t answer your question, and that is when you sigh for the nth time.

You carefully turn her face towards you. “Baby, what’s happening right now—you’ve been ill for almost two weeks, but you haven’t been taking your medicines.” A tear flows out onto her cheek. “I-I’m sorry, b-but I just… I haven’t been feeling so well recently, if you know what I’m saying.” You hesitantly reach to pet her head. “Will you please cooperate for now? I’ll walk out of your life again when you’ve gotten better.”

Jiwoo breaks down into tears. “A-are you listening to yourself, oppa? Y-you’re saying that you’ll leave me again—are you fucking serious?” You wipe her tears with your thumb. “Baby, that’s not what I was trying to say; I’m just saying that I need you to work with me so that you can fully recover.” She closes her eyes tightly before looking back at you. “A-alright, I-I’ll… I’ll cooperate—j-just promise that you won’t leave me after this.” You offer her some assurance that you’ll stay, and that is when Jiwoo signals that she’s willing to take her medicines.

You prepare her capsules and pills along with a glass of water. “Ready when you are, baby.” Jiwoo takes the medicines from your hands and quickly swallows them. “Are you happy now?” You shake your head. “I won’t be happy until you’re healthy again.” She chuckles. “Hard to please, as always,” she snarks. A flicker of hurt crosses your features, but you quickly shake it off; right now, Jiwoo’s health is more important than your feelings.

Jiwoo moves to lie down, facing away from you dismissingly. “I’ll be at the living room if you need me,” you say. You give her some soft pats on the thigh as you make to leave to give her space to rest. You stop at the door, hoping that she’ll call you to cuddle her to sleep, but it doesn’t look like she wants it. “Yeah, okay,” you mutter as you close the door behind you.

You take a few deep breaths after sinking your butt into the fluffy cushions of the sofa. “Jiwoo has taken her meds and is sleeping right now,” you send a text to her mother, notifying her of Jiwoo’s current condition. “Thank you, son,” she replies soon after, and with it, you close your eyes to get a taste of peace.

Just minutes into your slumber, you feel someone wrapping their arms around you from behind while placing their chin on the top of your head. “Hm? Are you okay, sweetie?” “No,” she answers weakly. “Cuddle, please?” You collect yourself and stand up from the sofa. “I’m sorry, I just thought maybe you needed some space.” Jiwoo bites her lip in uncertainty. “I thought so too, but I think it’d be better if you’re with me.”

You follow her back to the bedroom, lying down square on your back while Jiwoo puts her head on your chest. “I’m sorry for being difficult, oppa; you’re here to help, but I’m not playing along.” You pet her head softly while offering some assurance, denying her attempt at guilt-tripping herself. “I wish… we hadn’t broken up…” she trails off as she drifts to sleep.

-

-

Subtle taps on your stomach stir you awake, and through your half-open eyes, you see Jiwoo sitting in bed next to you with a bottle (that’s more akin to a jerrycan) in her hands. “Can I help you?” She nods as she brings the bottle closer to you. “Can you, erm, get me some water, please?” You rub your eyes to wake up and take the bottle from her. “Sure, baby.”

You arrive at the kitchen where the dispenser is—wait, what is that hanging on the fridge?

You free the folded paper from the magnet and read the content, noticing the frequent strikethroughs right away.

“Dear ex-boyfriend,” the letter starts. "Thank you for making the time to come here and take care of me. It means a lot to me that you still care about me, and I don’t want to sound too hopeful, but I wish we can start over from square one.”

“So, can we start again?” Her voice makes you jump. “Answer me, oppa; can we start again? Will you give me another chance?" You turn to her with a sigh. “Let’s… focus on getting better for now.” Your indecisive answer disappoints Jiwoo, her eyes shining with unshed tears of unspoken dismay. “Sure, if you say so…” she trails off as she enters the bedroom again with slouched shoulders.

When you return to the bedroom, you find her curled up in bed, hugging her knees. “Jiwoo-yah, your water,” you say, hoping that she’ll get out of that position. “I’m not thirsty,” she replies, her voice barely audible. You set the filled bottle on the bedside table. “Well, it’s here if you need it.”

Your hand lingered on the bottle just a second too long, and Jiwoo is quick to find your wrist, gripping it weakly. “Stay,” she begs, “I don’t want to be alone again.” It’s disheartening to see the usually cheerful girl like this. “Alright, I’ll be in bed with you.”

Jiwoo tangles her long limbs around your body to keep you close. Not only that, but she also puts her head on your chest. “Your heart is racing,” she comments. You chuckle. “So is my mind.” She looks up at you with hopeful eyes. “I hope you’re thinking about getting back together.” You exhale deeply. “Well, I am, actually.” Jiwoo is getting excited. “So?” You take a deep breath before replying.

“Well, I think… I think I’m falling for you again.”

Jiwoo gathers her strength and moves to straddle your lap, a mysterious grin spreading across her features. “Why are you looking at me like that, baby?” She chuckles. “I want to make love to celebrate getting back together.” Blood rushes towards your cock at her words, but you don’t give into lust as you would’ve in the past. “Baby, you’re still sick—weren’t you complaining about a headache earlier?” She shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she deflects.

Jiwoo’s grin falters when she gets the signal from your stern expression. “Ah, well, I suppose I should get better first.” She then proceeds to let her torso rest on yours. “Thank you, oppa,” she mutters. You press your lips against her temple. “We will have time for celebrations, baby—not now, though.”

-

When you wake up the following morning, Jiwoo’s limbs are still entangled with yours as she sleeps oh-so-peacefully with her mouth slightly open. You carefully free yourself from the embrace, not wanting to disturb her slumber any further, but despite that, Jiwoo wakes up.

“Going somewhere?” she asks, her voice hoarse. “I have to go to work; we’re trying to strike a deal with Covington.” Jiwoo furrows her eyebrows. “Covington? The same Covington from years ago?” You nod. “The one and only.” Jiwoo offers you a supportive smile. “Go get them, then, tiger—make yourself rich.” You chuckle. “Thanks, baby.”

Jiwoo’s smile begins to disappear as she watches you put on your jacket and walk out of the bedroom. “I miss you already, oppa,” she mutters, too quiet to reach your ears. She sighs deeply when she hears your car driving away. “See you later, I guess.”

Jiwoo spends some more time rolling around in bed, and at one point, she wonders if she could pretend like her illness is coming back just so she would have a chance to call you back home. As she scrolls down on her contact list, however, she decides against it; Jiwoo remembers that you’re trying to strike a deal with Covington.

The unhappy-but-understanding Jiwoo eventually gathers her will to leave the bed, stretching around and yawning as she gets herself together. She walks over to the mirror to take a look at herself; her hair is a mess, her lips are anything but red in color, and her eyes are, well, red.

“Whatever”, she shrugs, “still good enough for him.”

Jiwoo proceeds to make her way to the bathroom for a quick soap-less shower before heading towards the living room to entertain herself while you’re away doing God-knows-what. She picks up her handheld console to play the new game she bought some days ago, but she puts it down after a few minutes of gameplay; the bright and flashing lights are proving to be difficult to bear in sickness.

Jiwoo lies flat on the sofa, her mind wandering beyond the walls of her apartment. “What are you doing, oppa, and when are you coming back,” she wonders. A ding from the door makes her jump; could it be you coming back early to surprise her?

Jiwoo rushes to look through the peeping hole in the door, and excitement instantly goes away because it’s not you who’s at the door, but rather a food delivery guy. She puts on a face that screams “I’m sick” and opens the door to accept the food. “A delivery for Mrs. Shin,” the guy says as he brings the bag closer to her. Jiwoo blushes at the reference, but before her mind scrambles even further, she quickly grabs the bag from him. “H-has m-my husband tipped you?” The guy nods with a smile on his face. “Your husband was very generous with the tip, actually.” Jiwoo smiles in pride. “That’s… how he usually is.”

Jiwoo quickly sends the delivery guy on his way, closing and locking the door behind her before high stepping towards the sofa while giggling, the discomfort of illness forgotten for a moment. She pulls out the contents of the bag, which turns out to be a large box of pizza and a side of snacks from a place named Primo, her old favorite.

Jiwoo’s forehead furrows when she notices a folded piece of paper stuck on the cover of the pizza box. “What is this,” she wonders as she unfolds it.

“Hi, baby,

I’m sorry for leaving you alone this morning, but I promise I will come back as soon as possible. That is, if you’d let me come back.

Meanwhile, please enjoy the pizza and garlic bread. I asked for extra tartar sauce because I know how much you like Primo’s tartar. By the way, feel free to finish it all.”

With a smile on her face, Jiwoo presses the letter against her chest, both touched and entertained by the gesture. “Come back to me soon, oppa; I can’t stand being away from you for too long.” She puts down the letter on the table and shifts her attention to the 8 slices of delight and deliciousness in front of her.

One slice after another enters her mouth and towards her belly, and before she knows it, there’s only one slice of pizza left while the box of garlic bread hasn’t been touched at all. “I’m keeping you for later,” she says.

-

Another ding is heard from the door, and this time, she’s certain that it’s you instead of another delivery guy, considering the current time.

Jiwoo squeals when she sees you through the peephole, and in a moment of excitement, she happens to incorrectly enter the code of the door. “Oh, are you serious right now, Lee Jiwoo,” she’s annoyed at herself, “come on, come on—there we go.”

Jiwoo greets you with arms wide open, no longer showing signs of weakness from the illness, and you’re quick to fill the space in her embrace. “Oppa, welcome home!” You give her a peck to the temple. “Thank you for welcoming me back.” She returns the peck, but it lands on your lips instead. “You’re always welcome here—after all, we’re getting back together.”

Jiwoo pulls away from the embrace momentarily and looks at you in the eyes. “Wait, we’re getting back together, right?” You chuckle. “Only if you want to; I won’t force you into giving me another chance.” She takes the turn to chuckle. “You don’t have to force me; I’m already falling for you for the second time.”

Jiwoo drags you towards the sofa, the box of reheated garlic bread waiting on a table in front of it. “I finished the pizza right away, oppa, but I saved this for you.” Her cute joyfulness makes it irresistible to not smile. “Thanks, but can I ask you something first, baby?” She nods. “Ask away, oppa.”

“You didn’t forget your meds, did you?”

Jiwoo’s gaze strays away from yours at the realization that she forgot to take her medicine twice today. “I-I forgot, oppa…” she trails off, no longer as joyful as earlier. “You forgot, huh?” She gulps to swallow the anxiety that’s stuck in her throat. “Y-yes, oppa; I-I forgot, a-and I’m sorry.”

You get on your knees in front of her. “What could you possibly have been doing that made you forget about your meds, hm?” Jiwoo’s chin gets stuck to her chest as tears begin spilling out. “O-oppa, p-please don’t get angry.” You sigh. “I’m not angry, sweetheart—I’m a bit disappointed, though.”

You ignore Jiwoo’s sobs momentarily to get the bag of medicine from the bedroom, and with it in hand, you kneel in front of her again. “Take them, please,” you say, placing the bag on her thighs. She holds the bag tightly, still unable to calm herself down from getting the brunt of your stern attitude.

You carefully reach for her cheeks, wiping her tears with your thumbs. “Baby, you know I mean well, right? I just want to help you recover as quickly as possible.” Jiwoo sniffles. “B-but you’re still as s-scary as you used to be, oppa.” You sigh again, and you can feel anger dissipating from your mind. “I’m sorry, baby; I didn’t mean it like that.” Jiwoo suddenly hugs you tightly. “Leave your businessman charade at the door; I-I need my boyfriend right now,” she begs. You nod. “Of course, baby.”

You lift Jiwoo on one shoulder—while your free hand grabs the box of garlic bread—and carry her towards the bedroom. You then lower her onto the bed, positioning her to sit right on the edge of it. “Can I entertain you with some garlic bread, baby?” She nods feebly. You guide a piece of bread towards her lips while using your other hand to pet her head tenderly, and Jiwoo rests her head against your shoulder as she munches.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart; I didn’t mean to scare you like that.” Jiwoo hums. “I know you meant well, but there’s something about that stern look of yours that always scares me shitless.” You chuckle a bit. “Yeah, anyway,” you stand up and hand her the bag of medicine, “I want to see you take these meds right now.” Jiwoo does as you demand and takes her pills together with one swig of water from the glass you’ve provided. “Satisfied, my lord?” You scoff. “Yes, I am.”

“Now,” Jiwoo’s voice drops to a sultry tone, “don’t you think I deserve a reward for being such a good girl?” You exhale deeply. “A reward, you say—what kind of reward are you seeking, my sweet?” Jiwoo palms your crotch with one hand. “One that will make me scream until I lose my voice.” She smirks when she notices the way you’re getting hard under her touch.

“Please, daddy.”

Jiwoo beams when your suit jacket falls off your shoulders, going as far as biting her lip—quite sexy, admittedly. She follows your hands as they undo the buttons of your shirt from the top. She halts your movements when your fingers land on your belt. “That’s mine, daddy.” She unlatches your belt and swiftly zip down your trousers.

“Daddy,” she looks up at you with big eyes, “may I…?” Your permission comes in the form of a wordless nod, and that is when Jiwoo yanks your boxers downwards. Her jaw drops when your sizeable and hard cock is laid bare right before her eyes. “I’ve missed you, daddy.” You scoff. “Me or my dick?” Still enamored with your cock, Jiwoo answers, “Yes.”

You gently push Jiwoo backwards, thus making her land on her back on the soft mattress. Jiwoo invites you to touch her further by parting her legs as wide as she can, and you take this most welcome opportunity by placing a finger on her nub. “Oh, fuck.” Jiwoo arches her back at the first contact. “More, please,” she begs. You continue your teasing ministrations for some time, making Jiwoo’s moans become louder.

“Oh, I’m so close, daddy—God, how am I so close already?” With a smirk on your face, you remove your finger from her nub. Jiwoo screams in agony as orgasm eludes her. “No, no, no, please,” she begs tearily, “w-why did you do that, daddy? H-how could you be so mean to me?” You chuckle. “I’m the mean one? Remind me, who decided to break us up?” Jiwoo slams her head onto the pillow in frustration. “I-it was me, daddy; I-I was so selfish and immature.”

Jiwoo moves to sit and guides your hand towards her cheek. “If you want to slap me, oppa, then slap me.” She tenses as you lift your hand, seemingly to prepare to slap her, but she quickly relaxes again when your touch is a soft one. “You know I would never harm you like that.”

Jiwoo rubs against your hand like a cat. “That doesn’t change the fact that it hurt so bad, though,” you say. She nods. “I understand—hell, I still ask myself as to why I decided to leave.” You smile a little, hiding the pain behind a simple charade. “Well, you said you were looking for something I didn’t have.” Jiwoo looks up at you with shiny eyes. “I’ve learned that the safety and comfort you provided were second to none—you were the right person who came at the wrong time.”

For some reason, her declaration sends shiver down your spine; you swear you’ve heard this somewhere before.

“So, what convinced you to take another chance to be with me, baby?” A tear escapes Jiwoo’s eyes. “I long for the warmth and love that only you can provide, my love,” she answers, her voice thick with emotions. “And I just—”

Before she can finish, you crash your lips into hers, thus interrupting her speech. “I love you, Lee Jiwoo; I love you so, so much.” Jiwoo nods as more tears come out of her eyes. “I-I love you too—t-thank you for giving me another chance.”

Jiwoo suddenly pulls you onto the bed with her. “Hold me close, oppa,” she begs, and you comply right away. She lets out whimpers into your chest, showing vulnerability like she would in the past.

“I don’t know if this will help make you feel better, but I never saw anyone when you were away from me,” you confess. Jiwoo looks up at you. “R-really? Y-you kept yourself, erm, clean?” You nod at her question, and that is when she hugs you more tightly than earlier. “You knew we’d get back together, didn’t you, oppa?” You give her a peck on the top of her head. “I guess I did.”

After crying to her heart’s content, Jiwoo pulls away from your embrace. “Now, where were we before you made me cry, oppa?” You chuckle. “Well, I denied your orgasm,” you say. Jiwoo reaches for your arm, grazing it with the tip of her fingers. “Would you be so kind as to let me have an orgasm, daddy?”

“Only if you’ll ride me.”

Jiwoo agrees to your term, straddling your lap without being told twice. “You know, daddy,” she licks her bottom lip, “I didn’t see anyone when you were away from me either.” She bends down until her mouth is next to your ear. “It will feel like you’re popping my cherry again, daddy.”

Your grip on her hips fastens at the prospect of feeling her tight walls around your cock. “Excited, aren’t you, daddy? I know I am—after all, I haven’t felt your glorious cock in so long.” You pinch her waist. “Just get on with it already, hm?” Jiwoo chuckles. “What daddy wants, daddy gets.”

Jiwoo guides you towards her entrance and slowly impales herself on your shaft. “Oh, fuck, I feel like a virgin again.” She moves her hips up and down along your length at a relaxed pace, taking her time to get reintroduced to your size. “Fuck, daddy,” she moans, “fuck, you’re… stronger than before.” You groan heavily at the feeling of being gripped by her tight walls. “And you’re… tighter than before.” Jiwoo’s aroused face is decorated with a satisfied grin. “All for you, daddy.”

After getting used to your shaft, Jiwoo picks up the pace, and it’s getting harder to ignore her cute, bouncing tits. You pull her closer towards you so your lips can reach them. Jiwoo gasps loudly when you nibble her nipple. “Oh, yes, daddy; suck it, nibble it, bite it—do anything you want, daddy.” With her urge in the back of your mind, you increase the stimulation on her tits; you take turns putting each nipple in your mouth to make sure one doesn’t get jealous of the other.

While you’re busy playing with her tits, Jiwoo is busy riding your shaft while moaning loudly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—oh, I’m so close already,” she announces. With an ear-piercing scream (that you’re certain can be heard by her neighbors), Jiwoo comes undone on your lap. In her weak state, she crashes into you, panting so heavily because of the intensity of her orgasm. “I… I’ve missed you, daddy—I’ve missed us.” You grit your teeth as her silky walls spasm wildly around your shaft, as if trying to make you blow inside her. “I-I’ve missed you too, baby,” you reply amidst the heavy pants.

After getting down from the high of orgasm, Jiwoo pulls away slightly; her hair is a mess, her eyes are shiny, but her smile is sweet and soft as always. “Oppa, I want…” she trails off as she tries to string together some words. Your eyebrows rise, urging her to continue. “I don’t know,” she sighs, “I just… I want to be tied to you, if that makes sense.” You think about the meaning of her words. “You want something more serious, baby?” She nods, and your brain comes up with an idea.

“Well, in that case, will you marry me, Lee Jiwoo?”

Your sudden question has her in tears.

“Yes, oppa—a million times yes!” She crashes into you for a tight hug. “I will marry you in this life, the next, and the one after that.” Her answer is as good as you hope, making you shed tears of your own. “I will truly be yours, oppa; your queen, your friend, your everything.” You nod, your cheek rubbing against hers. “Thank you, my love—thank you so, so much.” Your embrace grows tighter as you bask in emotions. “Thank you to you too, oppa,” she replies.

Now that the tears are starting to dry up, Jiwoo rises from your lap, thus letting your still-hard cock slip out. She lies square on her back next to you. “Come on, my king; make love to your queen.” You waste no time to take your rightful place between her spread legs. “Can I—” “Yes,” she interjects. “Come inside, my love; fill me with your essence and make me bear your child.” You chuckle. “Alright, let’s not get ahead of ourselves now, sweetheart.”

Jiwoo was about to say something else, but before the first syllable could leave her lips, your cock invades her lower ones. “Oh, yes, just like that,” she moans out, “make love to me just like that, my lovely king.” You move your hips at an unhurried pace, savoring the sensation of her tightness. “Oh, God, how are you this tight, baby,” you wonder out loud. She chuckles lightly with a blush on her face. “That’s just how much I love you, oppa.”

Jiwoo closes her eyes as the calm lovemaking progresses, finding it more intimate and enjoyable than kinky or rough sex. Quiet hums of approval also leave her lips occasionally amidst the soft moans. “Mm, yes, my love,” she mutters. “But a bit faster, if you don’t mind?” You smile. “Of course, baby.” You turn up the speed of your movements a few notches, thus earning a smile from Jiwoo. “Yes, that’s perfect, love—now, let’s run to the gates of orgasm together.”

Jiwoo’s sexy moans serve as fuel for you in this final stretch of the sprint towards completion, and the signs of orgasm are getting more apparent; you’re starting to throb inside her. “Fill me, my love.” With her permission in the back of your head, you lodge yourself inside her entirely and just… let go.

In your post-orgasm bliss, you fall limply onto Jiwoo, who is also as weak. “Thank you,” you whisper. A soft peck lands on your cheek. “Thank you, oppa,” she returns the gratitude. “It’s now clear to me that I can’t live without you—I mean, no one can understand me like you do.” You hum. “Promise me that you won’t get bored of me again.” Jiwoo sighs. “Saying it was a huge mistake anyway,” she adds.

-

“It is with utmost joy that I introduce to you, Mr. and Mrs. Shin. May their love grow stronger with each passing day.”

The hall that is filled with family members and closest friends explodes into deafening cheers, as those present are as happy as you and Jiwoo are for the new status.

You and her turn towards the crowd, waving at them, and you happen to spot your brother and his wife giving you four thumbs-ups. You put your hand on your chest to express gratitude to them for their wonderful, restless support for the past few months during the preparation of the wedding.

Jiwoo steals your attention by turning your face towards hers. “I love you, my boring husband.” Her words make you burst out laughing. “Boring means safe, yes?” She nods with an eye smile on her face. “Yes, I feel safe with you,” she says. You quickly capture her lips with yours.

“I feel safe with you too, baby, and I love you more.”

[jayparked]

go big or go home | lee heeseung / nishimura riki

PAIRING:pitcher!heeseung / batter!riki x concession worker!female reader GENRE: comedy AU: strangers to ???, love triangle, baseball RATING: 18+ (my blog is 18+ but this is sfw) WORD COUNT: 4.2k WARNINGS: strong language, riki is kinda an egotistical jerk LOL, old man heeseung with creaky joints, good ol rivalry (i might be missing more) A/N: SURPRISE!! i kept staring at the photos when the boys visited my home town and went to a mariners game and then boom this idea bloomed in between writing my other wips! also omg what snail posts a fic that isn't just porn without plot??? craazzzyyyyy. anyways i love baseball, i grew up going to mariners games (maybe jay and i were at the same game at one point sfjkaldj) anyways i'm rambling this is a different writing style than what i normally do but thought i would experiment a bit! i hope you enjoy it ♡ SPECIAL THANK YOU TO: @sungbeams for making this sexy banner and for helping me figure out some details in this fic ily always

It's the bottom of the fifth inning and Heeseung cannot wait for the day to be over. It's hot, more so than ever before and it feels like he has to wipe the sweat off his forehead every twenty seconds or so. Soon enough, he won't be able to see where he's pitching.

Spitting out a buffalo flavored sunflower seed to his right, he re-positions his cap, nearly taking over his eyebrows. It can't possibly go any lower and he's wasting valuable time stalling with it.

The catcher has been throwing out basic plays that Heeseung has seen and done a million times. The kid knows his pitcher can't throw a decent changeup or slider anymore due to years of muscle strain and poor self care habits. Hell, it’s even difficult for him to throw an accurate knuckleball now. His specialty has switched to a ninety-seven mile-per-hour fastball. At least, that’s how fast it was two years ago.

The mitt smells sour against Heeseung’s nose as he finally nods his head, accepting his teammate's suggestion for a basic splitter. The catcher, Yang Jungwon, readies himself, rocking his body slightly as his knees adjust, giving his own mitt a few playful smacks as he does so.

Deep breath, the roar of the crowd stills into a faint white noise in the pitcher's mind as he lowers the mitt and the ball to his chest. As a pitcher, it's important to have a signature move. Something subtle, yet eye-catching that drives the fans crazy. Some have claimed his technique is too predictable; but those who comment, aren't usually the ones on the field.

Heeseung rocks back his left shoulder, his right rolling up towards his ear before making a rowing motion with the mitt and ball back to the right, the ball in his left hand leaving the comforts of the mitt. Left knee kicking up in front of his body, Heeseung releases his breath and winds up, the last of his energy exploding as the ball leaves his hand and spirals down towards home.

"STEEEEERIKE THREE! YOOOOU’RE OUT!"

Stomping feet of the fans in the stadium and the inspiring roars of his teammates from the dugout fills Heeseung's ears all at once. When he was first starting out in his career, all the excitement would make him jump right there on the mound. Now, the noise is comforting and he smiles fondly to himself. At this point, it's hard to concentrate without it.

Two batters down. One to go.

The next player that approaches the plate is someone Heeseung has been excited to compete against. With stats higher than any fresh new recruit the league has ever seen, Nishimura Riki is a force to be reckoned with. It’s midseason of the kid’s first year. Riki has never struck out. The batter struts out of the dugout with the bat over his shoulders, taking long, slow strides towards the plate with his chin held high.

The breeze picks up as Heeseung uses his mitt to hide his face, discreetly popping in some more sunflower seeds into his mouth, concentrating hard on Riki's broad, wide, confident stance. The kid is glaring right at Heeseung, the bat now held just next to his left ear, raising an eyebrow with a smirk.

Rolling his shoulder a couple of times, Heeseung tries to ignore the growing ache inside his joint or the way his smile is naturally pulling into a frown. It helps to see that Yang has a newfound fire in his eyes, his first-hand signal is one Heeseung hasn’t seen in a very long time. And oh, does that simple hand signal excite the fuck out of the pitcher.

“Let’s take this newbie back old school style.” Heeseung chuckles to himself, his mitt covering his mouth as he gives a short nod to Yang.

The ritual restarts.

“STEEEEERIKE ONE!” The umpire hollers. The crowd screams as the tension builds in the stadium. Riki has had strikes before, so Heeseung isn’t phased by the hype of the crowd. Unless he smiles, they think that he will be the pitcher to knock the kid down a few pedestals. Riki did have a delayed swing reaction for that first pitch which isn’t how he usually reacts at base.

Yang quickly tosses a new ball to Heeseung.

Wasting no time, he winds up again, this time with a little more gusto and confidence laced in his fingertips.

"STEEEEEERIKE TWO"

Pride swells quickly in Heeseung's chest, how could it not? Riki grimaces, stepping back from the plate and hitting the end of his bat against his cleats. This time, he swung too early. Heeseung watches as the batter rolls his neck, shaking his upper body before comically bouncing up and down - the same way Heeseung used to do. Stepping back up to the plate, Riki sticks his tongue into the side of his cheek and narrows his eyes at Heeseung.

Another ball is tossed to Heeseung who catches it casually and without much effort, barely even giving it a glance.

The sun feels warm at the nape of Heeseung's neck and on his forearms. He’s definitely walking away from this with a wicked sunburn and he just knows the long bath he’ll sink into later will feel so nice on his aching bones and singed skin. It's the perfect weather for a game. It's the perfect weather to win a game.

And, for the final time (he hopes), Heeseung winds up to pitch. Every muscle in his body feels relaxed and ready as he eyes his target: the center of Yang's mitt.

Right as Heeseung is about to release the ball from his hand, there's a yell in the crowd.

"COTTON CANDY! GET YA COTTON CANDY HERE! FIVE SMACK-A-ROONIES! COTTON CANDY!"

For just a moment, Heeseung looks to see where the noise is coming from. A girl is waving around blue and pink bags of cotton candy above her head. By the drastic movement of her jaw, Heeseung guesses she's chewing a big wad of gum. She tosses a pink bag towards a man in the middle of a row and collects the money promptly. Something about her energy is captivating, hell, the way her voice was even able to carry out all this way past the roar of the crowd is something Heeseung has never seen before in all his years on this mound.

And then, she turns towards the field.

It feels like time stills as Heeseung notices her features. With long hair swooped up in a messy bun, held captive by a home team baseball cap, the craziness of all the wisps floating with the breeze somehow makes the features of her face stand out even more. She’s smiling wide with each short interaction with the customers around her, glancing to the field every now and then to see the action going on. Every time she turns to the field, her eyes glisten slightly and that smile widens.

She's absolutely beautiful.

He feels it– the quiver throughout his body making him lose his focus. The baseball leaves Heeseung's fingertips all too soon as that quiver offsets the direction of the pitch. Riki watches the ball confused as it thumps against the green tarp just about five feet to the left of home base.

Silence.

"Raaah!" Heeseung yells and kicks at the mound, coughing instantly as the dirt rises up to his mouth. Everyone in the arena is confused as to what just happened. Heeseung has thrown walks before, sure, but nothing even close to this drastically bad.

Then suddenly, Yang calls for a timeout and runs up to the mound to meet Heeseung.

"Dude, Lee, what the hell just happened? Is it your shoulder?" His voice sounds muffled behind his catching mitt that covers his lips.

Words escape Heeseung, but his mouth moves anyways. Inaudible sounds manage to sneak out and Yang stares at him with a concerned look in his face before waving one of their coaches over.

Mitt also in front of his face, the coach tries to find his words before blurting, "What's going on? I've never seen a pitch that bad since we tried you out for pitcher." The coach laughs as he bumps shoulders with Yang who only grimaces back.

"I don't know, Coach, I think he's having a stroke or something." Concerned, Yang sticks out a finger and aims to poke at Heeseung's nose.

Heeseung shakes his head and grabs Yang's finger, pushing him away, still not meeting the younger player's eyes.

The coach follows Heeseung's line of sight and immediately smacks the pitcher on his non-throwing arm. "A girl? You have got to be shitting me right now. You are not being paid to ogle at stadium workers! Acting like a real rookie right now, Lee. Get your shit together, you’re about to make history!"

Heeseung barely feels the smack. He's too busy looking at the girl juggling massive bags of cotton candy like a professional. There's a wave of grace as she rolls a pink bag of fluff down one arm and into her hand, only to flick it towards a customer seconds later. Fascinated, Heeseung has never seen anything quite like it. She’s not like the other concession workers he’s seen throughout his years; one’s that always have that dark cloud following around them as they sluggishly drag their feet around the stadium rows. Strands of hair from her bun are coming undone, the wind slowly untangling the strands with each gentle push.

Finally, she turns towards the field again.

Underneath his team’s cap, her eyes flick to meet his.

She doesn't stay facing them long, yelling about cotton candy left and right, customers eagerly trying to get her attention. As she spins around, Heeseung feels like fainting seeing his name painted in bold letters on the back of her baseball jersey, his lucky number 49 also printed largely on the back.

The air suddenly feels stiff and musky. Heeseung feels sweatier than before and can't seem to focus on the words his coach and teammates are saying to him, a smile blooming on his face meanwhile his cheeks start to burn, and it’s definitely not from the sun.

"AYO, Lee!"

Heeseung shakes his head and turns his attention back towards home base, instantly annoyed at the sight of the batter, Riki. The newbie has his shiny oak bat resting on his shoulders, one hip casually jutting out, looking bored as ever. Heeseung can see from the mound how flat Riki's eyes look as the younger man smacks his bubblegum.

"We gonna play some ball or something?" Riki waves a hand up in an annoyed fashion.

Clenching his jaw, Heeseung nods his head, prompting Yang and the coach to head back to their spots.

Two strikes. One ball. It's an easy out at this point. Heeseung has the rage fueling him and he always throws faster and harder when there's something to target. Plus, it would be pretty cool if he could strike out the un-strikable in front of the pretty girl.

Stealing one last glance, Heeseung sees the cotton candy girl leaning against the metal banister upfront and close to the field. She's focusing hard on Heeseung with an intensity he has never seen before. It's clear she's looking at him, waiting for something to happen.

Gulping down a lump of nerves, the angry fire that was bubbling within quickly becomes dormant.

Wind up. Breathe.

Release.

Riki swings, catching the baseball with the tip of the bat. Instead of going forward, the ball spirals behind him. A perfect foul.

Two balls, two strikes.

When it comes down to the wire like this, Heeseung feels his strongest. And the intensity coming from Riki only reminds Heeseung of how it used to be when he was first starting out in the league: exhilarating, adrenalizing, a never-ending insatiable hunger. Heeseung sees that same drive in the batter in front of him. It’s rejuvenating to see that raw emotion can still exist in the newcomers. 

Hopefully, for the final time, Heeseung winds up and prepares to strike out Nishimura Riki’s ego for good.

It couldn’t have been a more perfect pitch. The baseball leaves Heeseung’s fingers tingling with the sheer force of the throw. When his leg kicks up from the momentum of the throw, Heeseung can feel the speed of the ball as it barrels in a perfect line towards Yang’s mitt.

So, imagine Heeseung’s anger and confusion when the ball sinks into the catcher’s mitt and the umpire is dead silent.

Uproars from the home team fans go crazy with insults as replay after replay shows on the jumbo screens. 

“Timeout! Timeout!” The coach of Heeseung’s team yells furiously as he runs onto the field. The coach grabs Heeseung by the arm and drags him to the dugout, quickly thrusting a water bottle into Heeseung’s hands and puts an ice pack on his shoulder. Heeseung winces at the impact, his sun kissed skin not prepared for the harsh contrast so quickly.

“Fucking umpires I swear they’re out to protect this Nishimura’s reputation. That was a strike if I’ve ever seen one! A textbook, picture perfect strike!” The coach enunciated the words with his pointer finger jamming into his other palm, and continues to grumble as he applies more pressure to Heeseung’s shoulder.

The cold does feel great against his joints after a moment, but sitting inside the dugout does not feel ideal. He’s not meant to be a bench warmer, especially not in the middle of an intense moment. Walking away from the mound has anxiety bubbling deep within his chest. He’ll rest after all of this is good and over with, no matter the outcome. So, wordlessly, Heeseung waves his coach off, takes the water bottle, takes a long swig, stepping back onto the field wiping the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand.

The feeling of the ice-cold water going down his throat felt more refreshing than he was expecting as his eyes gaze around the field, casually trying to find the girl from earlier.

Unknowingly, Heeseung walks closer to home base before finding the cotton candy girl just a few rows away. She looks beautiful as she smiles at the customers, the pinks and blues of the cotton candy bringing out the blush in her face and the sparkle in her eyes. Heeseung leans against the padded wall, reaching into his pocket to pop a few more sunflower seeds into his mouth.

Following Heeseung's glance, Riki scoffs and turns back to him. "Really? The cotton candy girl? Buddy, friend, you do realize what kind of people we are right? We have million-dollar contracts. She makes minimum wage. Those classes don't mix."

Heeseung has never been more grateful and proud of his own self-control than in this moment. If he were any other place, he would have socked Riki right in the jaw with as much might as humanly possible. Preferably right in the spot where the edge of his smile forms a lined dimple. Instead, he spits out the sunflower seed shells as close to Riki as he can without it being called unfair sportsmanship. The kid doesn’t even notice.

"Despite the class difference, I guess she is kind of cute," the younger boy continues, "I wonder if she's ever dated a baseball player before." There's something hidden behind that seemingly harmless statement, challenging almost, and Heeseung has a weird feeling, enough to make the hair stand on the back of his neck and his nose to scrunch.

Wordlessly, Heeseung looks back and forth between the cotton candy girl and Riki.

"What's it gonna be, old man? Do you really think she would pick you over me?" The kid laughs and adjusts his helmet to fit over his ear better, squaring up to bat and locking gazes with the pitcher. 

Unspoken words thrash across the field between the two players while Heeseung walks back towards the mound, tired of waiting for his coaches to be done bickering with the umpires. He can't decide if he wants to call the rookie's bluff or not.

Actions speak louder than words, Heeseung tells himself and casually throws the ball into his mitt a couple of times, finding a rhythm that feels right. Riki is still waiting for him, the umpire now back in place and Heeseung’s coach fuming against the railing in the dugout.

Quiet.

Suddenly, the ball is no longer in Heeseung's hands.

It's like he blinked and didn't even feel his body move. But Yang has left his crouched position and is picking up the baseball on the far, far right side of home plate.

Heavy groans arise from the sea of fans, growing louder and louder as their doubt in Heeseung sets in more permanently. There’s a faint sting in his wrist that makes him want to shake it vigorously.  That wouldn’t go unnoticed by the coach, though, so he refrains. 

Looking at the sky, Heeseung immediately notices a change in the weather. The sky is now filled with dark purplish clouds, casting a dark shadow over the field. At first, it seems that the universe is mocking him, telling him that his wonder years have officially come to an end. But then, a flash of white lights up the sky, and Heeseung’s melancholy attitude fills with annoyance.

“God dammit!” 

Maybe it was a one time strike. Maybe no one else saw it. If there’s lightning they will cancel the game immediately. And that means he won’t be able to see the look on Riki’s face once he finally strikes him out.

For a few moments, nothing happens and it seems like the perfect chance for Heeseung to wind up again. As quickly as the thought came to mind, another streak of lightning hits the sky, this time, more noticeable than the first. To make matters worse, Heeseung is hit in the forehead with a juicy raindrop, the contents sliding down his nose and across his cheek.

“Everyone, due to unforeseen weather, we will have to postpone the rest of this game. Please evacuate safely to your vehicles. Updated game information can be found on our website-”

Shaking his head, Heeseung walks off the mound and heads towards the locker rooms. 

Up ahead, he sees Riki leaning against the wall with one elbow, his other hand placed on his hip. There’s a look in his eyes that makes Heeseung follow where the rookie is looking. Devastation hits when he sees that Riki is flirting with the cotton candy girl.

Jogging over, Heeseung can feel the rain increase in intensity, his jersey starting to cling to his skin.

“This lighting is way too dangerous, babe. Why don’t you and I get out of here? I’ll keep you safe.”

Heeseung wants to gag at Riki’s words. The younger generation just has no problem being so blunt these days.

“Have a little class, rookie,” Heeseung grits his teeth before turning to the cotton candy girl, “I can walk you to your car. You’d probably be safer with the lightning than with this guy.”

“Says the old geezer,” Riki laughs, “she’d be walking you to your car if anything!”

Tired of the old man jokes, Heeseung can’t help but jut his lower lip forward as he says, “I’m only a few years older than you, you know. Just because I’ve been in the game longer than you’ve held a baseball means nothing.”

Taking his elbow off the wall, Riki faces Heeseung fully, setting his shoulders back as he sizes up his opponent.

“You’re just mad that I got to Y/n before you did. Yeah, that’s right,” Riki crosses his arms over his chest and takes a few more steps towards Heeseung with a newfound smugness on his face, “I learned her name before you could even guess it.”

“Oh, yeah? If you think you’re so in, then why is she wearing a jersey with my name and number on it?”

The next five minutes are a blur of insults and jabs between Heeseung and Riki, the cotton candy girl long forgotten while the rain comes down harder. Heeseung has never been in a fight with someone like this before, and, in the back of his mind, he’s kind of worried about if Riki is the type to get physical or not. Heeseung definitely can’t afford to injure his shoulder more than he already has throughout his years in the game. Even just bruising his knuckles would throw him out for the rest of the season. 

Their voices increase with the sound of the thunder.

“You two!” Heeseung’s coach yells from the other side of the field. “Quitcha arguing and get to safety! I’ll be damned if my best pitcher gets electrocuted on the field!”

Smugly, Heeseung turns to Riki, raising an eyebrow as he soaks in the unintentional praise from one of the world’s most decorated coaches. Success hits when Riki furrows his brow, his mouth tightening to a white line with frustration.

Victory won in his own mind, Heeseung turns to say something to the cotton candy girl, only to find that she’s long gone.

Riki is also looking around him, annoyance evident on his face as his tongue pokes the insides of his cheek, his jaw muscles setting a little stronger than usual.

“You…” Riki growls and swiftly reaches for Heeseung’s jersey, fisting the material tightly as the younger player tries to find the right words to express his anger. Defensively, Heeseung grabs at Riki’s biceps, trying his best to hold him at bay. He really doesn’t want to fight in the middle of a lightning storm over a girl who isn’t even around to witness the outcome.

As more players are leaving the field, making jokes at the two guys about to pummel each other, Riki loosens his grip, his gaze focused on the other side of the field.

Heeseung barely sees you walking away from the field with someone else beside you.

Riki still holds onto the front of Heeseung's jersey, but Heeseung has since dropped his arms to his sides as he sees one of his own outfielders reach for the cotton candy girl's hand, lifting it, and pressing a soft kiss to her skin.

"She's...laughing..." Heeseung pouts, his shoulders drooping slightly. Another crack of thunder booms lightly in the distance, closer than the previous one.

Riki finally turns around, promptly releasing Heeseung from his grasp. "Damn," he mutters as watches, “guess she does date baseball players.”

"You guys didn't know?" Laughs one of Heeseung's teammates. "They're engaged, bro. Have been for a couple of months now." He pats Heeseung and Riki on the back simultaneously before walking off, not even turning as he waves his hand goodbye.

Disbelief and embarrassment overwhelm Heeseung all at once as he watches you leave towards the stadium doors with Jongseong. Before this point, Heeseung had barely paid any attention to the outfielder. His skills were average at best, his batting stats about the same, he wasn’t great enough to be a fan favorite, but also not bad enough to be the outrage of the fans and team. They’ve never really connected on a personal level either and have just kept things professional these past few years. And it just doesn’t make sense how someone as average as Park Jongseong could find love and not himself.

Noticing the cease in your bickering, the cotton candy girl turns back to them with a wide smile, “Now you guys can walk each other to your cars! Be safe!” She yells and winks, turning back to her fiance.

“Maybe she’s allergic to greatness,” Riki tuts, shaking his head before adjusting his hat. His hair is greasy from sweat and rain, curling at the ends. 

Wordlessly, Heeseung begins to walk towards the locker rooms, Riki following close behind despite having his own team’s locker room behind him. The first few trickles of rain glide down the nape of Heeseung’s neck, leaving him feeling chilled and uncomfortable. Something about what Riki said keeps playing over and over again in his mind. And the more he thinks about it, the angrier he gets.

“If she’s happy, let her be happy. Maybe he’s great in her eyes and has more going for him outside of this stupid game.”

Riki scoffs and laughs, barely stopping before he continues towards the locker room.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, old man. Just know the next game, I won’t be going easy on you. And there sure as hell won’t be any lightning or girls to stop me.” He turns to flash a toothy grin at Heeseung, who can’t help but laugh in return. There’s a fire in the kid's eyes, one that Heeseung remembers he himself had when he first started out. It’s become more of a rare thing to see; genuine passion from newbies who are in it for more than just fame, money, and status.

With that realization, Heeseung can’t help but feel some sort of respect for the obnoxious guy.

It’s too bad he’s on a rival team, Heeseung thinks. Imagine the chaos the two of them could have created if they were on the same team, how well they could push each other.

“Until next time! You better bring it!”

“Only if that’s a promise, old man!”

♡ pls like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed! ♡ masterlist ♡ all rights reserved jayparked 12/14/24 do not copy, repost, or translate

[4th-make-quail]

IWTV Fic Recs - Old Man Daniel Focused

I've been meaning to put together a list somewhere for this, and since I just sent a bunch to someone, here it is finally! it's a mix of Armand/Daniel, Daniel/Louis, Armand/Daniel/Louis in various configurations - please enjoy!

if you read and enjoy these fics, please make sure to leave a comment for the authors on ao3!

Daniel/Louis

Conflict of Interest, by hereticas - T, 2000 words

Louis comes by Daniel's room the morning after they recover their memories of San Francisco.

Very very cute kissing post s02e05 fic!

Daniel/Louis, Daniel/Louis/Armand, Armand/Daniel, Armand/Louis (combo of all)

it seemed the thing to do (what made me think I could start clean slated?), by fastcarmp3 - E, 3900 words, WIP

Louis asked Daniel if he wanted to… now. It wasn’t an empty offer.

Danlou with Armand watching which is SMOKING HOT

Terza Rima, by nothing_but_paisley - E, 1700 words

Daniel finally gets what he came to Dubai for, but the aftermath brings even more questions.

INCREDIBLY hot threesome with stellar character voices, bit of Armand Voyeurism (THE GOOD SHITE), bit of Daniel being a slut for being bitten

That's It, Mr. Molloy, by anonymous - E, 4900 words

Daniel finds himself distracted, during the interview. Rashid comes to help, and invites Louis along, too. He snaps his gaze away, clearing his throat. “So, are we, uh…talking about that? Or…” “Talking?” Rashid cocks his head, amused. “Is that what you would like to do, Mr. Molloy? Talk?” As he speaks, he steps forward, walking Daniel backwards until his knees hit the edge of the bed. Daniel looks back, startled, as though he hadn’t realized he was moving, at all. “Won’t you sit down, Mr. Molloy?” Rashid asks, gesturing.

that old man gets PROPERLY FUCKED!! bit of a Rashid!Armand situation, bit of massage, very very hot

Push it away but it all comes back again, by butchybats - E, 5400 words

“'Let me get this straight. You left me for dead,' Daniel addresses Louis, who very pointedly does not make eye contact with him. This time Daniel turns slightly to face Armand. 'And you saved my life in the most erotic way possible?'” Or: All Daniel wants is to resume the interview like normal after finding out about the supposed "love of Louis' life". Louis and Armand have better plans.

Threesome sex VERY HOT (includes a bit of flashback to 70s era) with a really fucking excellent Daniel Voice!

Armand/Daniel

were the flowers orange?, by andrealyn - T, 6700 words

Years ago, Daniel cut out the love of his life to save himself from choking on tiger eye, daylily, bird of paradise. Now, in Dubai, suddenly the disease returns even though the only thing that's changed is Rashid became Armand. And yet, the flowers tell him something -- whoever he cut out is fighting like hell to be remembered.

Absolutely DEVASTATING hanahaki fic, this shit is really fucking good!!!

the fog eating the night, by tei - E, 3700 words

If Louis had wanted him alive, he'd have escorted him out himself. But he hadn't. He'd left Daniel standing there stunned, and walked out like none of this had mattered to him at all. Whether he meant to or not, Louis had given Daniel to Armand.

Very tasty post s02e08 turning fic! Really damn good Daniel Voice.

At Close of Day, by nothing_but_paisley - E, 1700 words

On a frigid Christmas night, Daniel and Armand celebrate being alone together as they explore their budding relationship.

Really hot with human!Daniel! A top Armand who absolutely ADORES him, it's very fucking cute

Only a Name, by nothing_but_paisley - E, 1500 words

In Dubai, Daniel is visited in dreams by an opinionated young man--but there's something terribly familiar about him.

More Rashid!Armand fic, very very fucking hot

strange mutations, by leavethebes - E, 11000 words

Armand’s done it to him once before—gored him through the stomach, gutted him like a fish, snipped his gills off, and drained him right down to the fluttering valves of his heart. Left Daniel little more than a shriveled husk of a person, and somehow Daniel is back here anyway, on his knees in front of Armand and begging for the oblivion that was promised.

Post s2 but before Armand turns Daniel, really fun Armand interfering in Daniel's life post-Dubai and another excellent Daniel Voice!

Devouring, by verimeru - Mature, comic

An 11-page IWTV (2022) fancomic about the vampire Armand facing his worst nightmare.

OUGH, MY FEELS.....

Daddy, by GreyGiantess & verimeru - Mature, comic

“What's with the face?” Daniel asked. Armand’s eyes widened slightly, which was probably meant to make him look innocent, but it only made The Face worse. “This is just my regular face, Daniel.” “Yeah, right. You’re up to something.” In which VERIMURU and GRAYGIANTESS team up to give you the Armandaniel age difference COMIC you didn't know you needed! Very loosely related to Baby.

VERY cute age difference comic with human Daniel! Appreciated him still having his parkinson's, and their relationship and dynamic is SO cute

whip in my valise, by firstaudrina - E, 3100 words

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” Armand said. “Yeah,” Daniel said, the word an aggravated pull. “Well.” Old Man Daniel goes to Night Island.

Very very good, VERY VERY HOT, excellent level of fucked up with some delicious voyeurism also

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

make you mine 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, age gap, possible abuse, alcoholism, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father is strict but his authority is challenged by the boy in town and the man at his door.

Characters: Arvin Russell, Lee Bodecker

Note: you know what, why shouldn't I?

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You keep your head down as you near the store. That group of boys is smoking at the corner again, their stained white tees and dusty old flannel jackets smell of sawdust and oil. Your daddy always tells you not to talk to strange men and except for him, they're all strange. 

"Hey, doll, where you in a rush to?" One of them flicks a cigarette away as he breathe smoke behind you. 

You hurry up as he whistles, "yeah, walk faster, girl. Wiggle them hips." 

"Quiet," another hisses and you hear the heavy thump of a slap against his shoulder, "ain't no way to talk to a lady." 

Footsteps rush after you and before you can reach the door, it opens, the bell jangling above as one of the men pulls it back. You look at his boots, grimy, laces fraying, slouching around the ankles. His other hand dangles by his side, cap folded in his grip. 

"I'm really sorry about Jethro, miss, he's got a real nasty mouth," he says, "you alright?" 

You nod and say nothing as you continue inside. 

"You're scarin' her, Arv," another man calls over, "look at her shaking in her shoes." 

He sighs and lets the door close between you as he turns back to respond. His words are muffled as you take a basket and flit into an aisle. Mr. Canavan is behind the counter, flipping through a newspaper as the radio crackles. You pick out the few staples running low in your pantry and add on a bottle of rum for your pa. 

"Afternoon, miss," Canavan greets in his piggish snort. You return the sentiment as you wait for him to tally up your order. "How's your daddy?" 

"Good, good," you answer as you peek towards the window. The men cross the street and disperse, some still walking in pairs. 

"He got a thirst?" he comments on the bottle. 

"Doesn't he always?" You count out the money and hand it to him. 

"Yeah but he usually takes care of that down at Hal's." 

"Lost too much on the table last time," you shake your head as he gives you back the change. 

He packs up a paper bag and you thank him, sliding it off the counter. It's heavy and makes your shoulders ache. You shouldn't have waited so long. 

You push the door open with your hip and turn, nearly colliding with another. The same man chuckles as he puts a hand on your elbow to keep you from toppling. You bite your lip and his eyes fall to his touch, dropping his arm guiltily. 

"Sorry, miss," he says as he sweeps back a curly lock that droops down his forehead, putting his cap over his hair to hold it back, "didn't mean to scare ya." 

"It's fine," you nearly whisper. 

"I wanted to say sorry again for my friends, if I can call them that. They don't see ladies often and they forget their manners." 

"Really, it's okay," you insist with a squeak. 

"Nah, it isn't," he counters, "but I told 'em to leave you alone." 

"Oh, thank you," you look past him. 

There's a pause. Awkward as he digs his heel into the ground. He chuckles and rubs his hands together. 

"That looks heavy, can I help ya with that?" he asks. 

You look at your armful. You don't know if you should. Would he be mad if you say no? He hasn't been mean. 

"Just halfway," he offers, "not tryna creep on ya or nothing, I'll just walk you to your corner." 

You press your lips together. Your daddy wouldn't see him at the corner.  

"I really feel bad about those other jerks," he continues, "so least I can do is carry your groceries." 

"Okay," you utter. 

You stand stupidly as he grins at you. You catch a glimpse of his dark eyes and crooked smile before your eyes return to the ground. He gently reaches to shift the bag out of your arms and lifts it easily. He steps back and you feel his gaze hanging over you. 

"Which way am I goin?" he asks. 

"Oh, uh," you point past him. 

He turns and waits for you to come up beside him before he starts off. He's shorter than the others but his shoulders are broad. He's still got a couple inches on you, though he's much trimmer. You catch up and focus on keeping pace with him. 

"I'm Arvin," he says. 

"Um," you breathe and muster your name in return. 

"I like that. It's pretty. Hope you're husband wouldn't mind me sayin' so." 

"Husband? I'm not–" 

You stop at the corner as you wait for several cars to pass before crossing. A brown and white cruiser rolls past and you watch the bumper disappear down the next street. You continue on as Arvin kicks a pebble unwittingly. 

"Not married?" he finishes for you. 

"I live with my pa," you answer. 

"Course. You must be young then." 

"I'm grown," you insist.  

You hate how your daddy teases you in the same vein, especially when he has friends over. It felt worse coming from someone nearly your own age, or looks to be. 

"Ah, just wonderin'," he assures. 

You're quiet as you carry on. You know you shouldn't still be at home. Lots of girls in Knockemstiff marry before they finish school. You haven't even had a date, not a kiss, or a look in your direction. 

"Just up here," you point to the next corner. 

He nods and carries on, stopping at the end of the street as he turns to you, "you sure I can't walk you all the way?" 

"My pa wouldn't like that." 

"He loves you, huh?" 

"He's my pa," you shrug and reach for the bag. He hands it over reluctantly. 

"I hope I see ya around. I work down at the mill. For Mr. Haroldson. Case you're wonderin' where to find me." 

"Thanks," you hug the groceries. 

He gives a tight-lipped smile. Disappointment twitches in his cheek. 

"See ya ‘round then." 

"Maybe," you answer as you turn away. 

You continue down your street. Halfway, you look back. Still watching you, he waves and slowly walks back the way you came. You spin back along the old country road, houses speckled over flat fields. You pass the rusty old brown truck at the edge of your pa's property, the sheriff's cruiser parked closer to the shed. 

You didn't expect company tonight. It must've been the same cruiser you saw at the corner. Your dread bubbles up but you quickly tamp it down. The sheriff always makes you nervous. He's talkative and you're... not. 

As you go inside, you hear your pa grumbling. You put down the groceries as the screen door clatters and take off your tweed jacket. You hang it as you step out of your boots. 

"You know we miss you down at the station," Bodecker's voice nears as his footsteps lurk, "there she is." 

Before you can retrieve your haul, he has it in his arms, "how ya doin', baby girl?" 

His usual pet name makes you squirm. Your pa says it's just him being nice. You never say anything against it. 

"I got it–" 

You try to take the bag but he holds it away from you. 

"Nah, what kinda man would I be, let alone a sheriff, if I didn't help a lady?" 

He winks and turns away from you, leading you past the doorway of the front room. You peer over at your father as he scowls and gulps from a can of beer. The sheriff likely brought the appeasing six pack to ease his presence. 

"What's for dinner tonight?" Bodecker asks as he puts the bag on the counter, peering inside. 

"I'm making a meat pie," you explain as you go to the fridge, "be more than enough for company, if you like?" 

"Now, how'd such a sweet thing like you come from that old coot?" He smirks over as you take out the beef wrapped in brown paper. 

You shrug and take the cutting board from against the wall. He doesn't move as you set up around him. You hate how his eyes follow you. Every time he's around. 

"You don't gotta work?" You ask as you reach for the bag. He pushes it towards you as he steps closer, looming over you. 

"I'm off duty for the night. Think I might indulge with your daddy," he reaches into the bag, his belly brushing your elbow as he lifts out the rum, "good brand." 

"Pa likes it," you step away as you search the cupboard. 

"You're old enough, you could join us after dinner–" 

"I don't like the taste and my pa don't want me drinking," you kneel to pull a pan out from the drawer. 

"Good habit not to take up," he clunks the bottle on the counter and rests his hand on the neck, "that boy you were walkin' with, he your friend?" 

"Boy? No, he was being helpful is all." 

"Was he, now?" He comes closer as you stand, "I know that boy, he ain't helpful." 

You glance at him. His blue eyes cling to you and you don't miss how they wander to the top of your blouse. You put the pan down and turn to grab your apron.  

He comes up behind you and takes the string, tying them tight as you wince in surprise. 

"Well, you're young. I'm sure you're fixing to find a husband soon. I'm just lookin' out for you." 

"I'm not looking for a husband," you draw away from him, "thank you, sheriff." 

"Well, your daddy won't live forever. Who's gonna take care of you, then?" 

You face him and frown, "I don't wanna think about that, sheriff, and I got dinner to make." 

"I'm sorry, baby girl, I worry about you. How long have I known you? I can't help it." 

"Thank you, sheriff, for worrying, but I'll be just fine." 

He tilts his head, bemusement sparkles in his vibrant irises, "I'm sure ya will be, baby girl… very fine." 

He sidles away and you return to the counter, pulling a knife from the block. The sooner dinner's on the table, the sooner you can go hide. 

🍽️

You clear your plate first, dinner’s made less appetizing by the sheriff and his leer. Your father doesn't help as he drinks more than he talks and you're left to entertain Lee's comments about your cooking and the same blouse he'd seen you in a dozen times. 

As you stand, the sheriff slurps from his beer and watches you. His lips shine as he puts the can down and smirks, "baby girl, you mind gettin' me the ketchup?" 

You swallow and nod, "certainly, sheriff." 

You turn and carry your plate into the kitchen, clunking it down on the counter before pulling open the fridge. You take the glass bottle of Heinz and return to the dining room to set it down.  

"Pa, you need anything?" 

"Dammit, Marcy, leave me be. I told ya… patrol's been busy," he waves his hand at you dismissively, your mother's name giving you pause. Lee hesitates as he twists off the metal lid. 

"I… pa, I…" 

"Is this what you're gon' do? Pester me?" Your daddy slurs, "'cause what? She was only being nice, ya know? I was too, I couldn't say no–" 

"Jack," Lee reaches over and pats your father's arm with his knuckles, "ain't there a game on soon? That old radio still work?" 

Your father blinks drunkenly and scowls. He shakes his head and hiccups, swearing as he tries to drink from his empty can. He tosses it so it bounces off the edge of the table. 

"Course it does," he sneers. 

"You got twenty on the home team?" Lee goads, "I should lock ya up for gambling." 

"Ah shut up," your father glowers into a dark chuckle, "it's you that's gon pay me fifty anyhow. Can't lock a man up for winning." 

"Ah sure, Jack," Lee stands and claps your father's shoulder, "come on. We’re missing the first." 

You don’t miss how the sheriff shifts his grip and lurches your father out of his chair. He gives him a nudge toward the front room and glances back at you. You should be grateful for the redirection, yet the leer in his eyes only makes you nervous. You know he’ll be wanting thanks for that for a long time to come. 

“How about you bring some of that rum out with dessert?” Lee smirks as he follows your father towards the den. 

You don’t mention that you didn’t have anything planned for dessert. He doesn’t wait for you to say so. He chuckles and teases your dad again about the wager. 

You’ll have to come up with something. You might be able to spare enough for cream puffs. Those were always ma’s specialty. 

[wajjs]

🌠☄️HAL JORDAN'S BIRTHDAY PARTY: BINGO EDITION!☄️🌠

Inspired by @setsailslash, check out the post here!

From the Gay Lantern Corps Discord Server, we want to honor our beloved Hal by sharing our appreciation for all fan writers and artists that bless us with their works every single day 💚✨

For this reason, we've created this bingo card as a way of celebrating both Hal and all his fans! And just so that everyone can participate at their own pace, we're posting this before his birthday on the 20th of February ⭐

(More info under the readmore)

💚General Guidelines💚

There is no time limit, so don't rush through each box! Take your time to enjoy things

The bingo card prompts are meant to include both artists and writers, but feel free to pick either of them if you'd like

If you don't like the prompts given, we're sharing an empty bingo card for you to fill out as you'd like and tweak to your heart's content

You can share your progress on your socials as you complete the bingo card! You can use the tag #halbday2025 for this purpose

If you have any questions/doubts/concerns, please don't hesitate to reach out to me via ask and/or dms

Have fun!

✨🌠Bingo Card Prompts:

Reach out to a fan creator asking about your favorite work of theirs (Bonus: off anon!)

Comment on the newest work in the feed

Comment on a work that's 2+ years old

Comment on a wip! (without asking for an update)

Reblog/reshare the work (and give it a like!)

Free space

Share a rec list with your fav works (fic & art) (Bonus: say why those are your faves!)

Ask about details of a specific work you want to know more of

Pick a detail and leave a comment talking (or ask!) about it

Comment on a work you've already commented on before

Reshare a commission post

Ask a fan creator of your choice how their day is going

Send a fan creator a song you think matches their style

Ask a fan creator what's their favorite thing about Hal Jordan

Comment on 2+ works by the same person

Share your own Hal Jordan fics, art, headcanons, playlists, etc. Have fun!

[writersdrug]

Ghost x Reader x Konig: I Don't Need You (Ch. 10)

<- Previous - Next ->

Summary: Thankfully, things have been resolved between you and Konig. You start to settle in more with your team, and Roze shares a few thoughts with you over a smoke. The memories are still there, but just like the winter around you, they're cold and unwelcoming. You and Konig open up to each other a bit more, more than you had ever opened up to anyone.

WARNINGS: implications of masturbation, cursing, angst (if you squint?), plot building, graphic depictions of animal torture and death (PLEASE CONSIDER ALL WARNINGS BEFORE READING THIS, I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MEDIA YOU CONSUME thank you kindly)

Notes: Yes! Hello! I exist!! I've been in a slump, and I really do apologize for that. Many of you have been very patient with me and I love and appreciate you all for it! I had to intake as much CoD literature as I could in the past few weeks to get me motivated, which helped a LOT (not to mention I discovered no fewer than ten works that currently have a hold on my heart). But it's here! I forced myself to write over half of the following chapter so that it would be less daunting to finish up. I also plan to make a wip post for yall, just to share will everyone what goes on in my rat brain.

This was edited at 3 am (god it's 4 am now, i just saw that), so if there are any grammatical or spelling errors you have my full consent to call me out on it! Please enjoy!

(sidenote, I completely didn't research how old you need to be to become a navy SEAL, so reader's age is a bit inaccurate in regards to that. pls ignore lol)

(last sidenote then you can read, does anyone have tips for customizing the layout of their fics? I see so many cool ways to style the font and cute banners and errything but I have no idea how nor what to do)

- - - -

The sky hung low with a blanket of gray. It looked like it was about to snow, although the threat was soon dismissed when noon came around and there wasn’t a single flake. The air was cold and dry, forcing me to zip my jacket up all the way and tuck my nose into the collar. I blew steady, warm breaths into my jacket and tried to soak up the heat into my bones.

It was as if the incident had never happened.

Konig and I ended up driving to the liquor store, which was a blessing, since I had run out of Yeungling (and I didn’t understand enough Turkish to converse with the clerk, nor did I have any of the appropriate money – Konig was graced with both of those necessities). We talked like there had never been a week and a half of silence between us. He talked about how he had nearly forced Ridgeback to drag me out of my room and into the common area, “… but it would have been too early for that.” He commented. That, and I would have rather died.

So life went on as normal: dreary, aside from shooting people and getting shot at. Nonetheless, it was normal, and there was a peace to be found in that.

I leaned against the building to the training room, with Roze to my left. I had intended to come out and soak up whatever natural light I could – when I saw her standing there, possibly trying to do the same, I felt the instinct to play it off as if I was just leaving the building. But she cocked her head in a greeting, and a part of me took an interest in her worry-free aura. Out of everyone, she always seemed to be the least-stressed person in the room, even in the middle of a warzone. It was the balm to my anxious mind that I never knew I needed, but gratefully stood by.

We remained together in a comfortable silence (one I would most definitely would not have been comfortable with a while ago), staring ahead, watching the indecisiveness of the brooding clouds above. I wondered what the rest of the world was doing – if they might have been as calm and carefree as us, or if they were in some kind of peril, and the horrors of it were blocked out by the clouds.

I was drawn back to the present when I heard the click click click of Roze’s lighter. I turned my head and watched as she shielded the weak flame from the wind, lighting the cigarette that hung loosely from her lips.

“You smoke?” I asked.

“Sure do.” She replied nonchalantly. “Want one?” she extended her pack of cigarettes towards me.

I glanced at the box, feeling a sour taste in my mouth.

I lay on my stomach, my muscles still twitching and shaking as I tried to even out my breaths. Ghost had tossed a thin blanket over my lower half. I hadn’t even moved from the position he had ruthlessly fucked me in – my body ached too much to even try, and my mind was still recovering from the past hour.

I watch Ghost as he reclined next to me, pushing the bottom of his mask up to place a cigarette between his lips. It was the first time I had seen any part of his face all day. He grabbed his lighter from the pocket of his pants that were discarded on the floor, lighting the end of the cigarette and inhaling. He tossed the lighter back down to the floor as he tilted his head back, exhaling a long stream of smoke. I watched it swirl in the lamplight, settling in a cloud around us. He continued puffing, staring at the wall across from the bed as I lay beside him, although I felt worlds away from him.

He'd started off the night with a mountain of stress from a mission gone sideways. Instead of the usual slow build, where he would run his hands under my shirt and kiss my lips slowly and tenderly – he had walked in and immediately demanded I remove my clothes while he began stripping out of his. I had assumed tonight was going to be a passionate one, until he threw me onto my stomach and shoved my face into the pillows. It wasn’t the first time he’d been rough with me, but it wasn’t just rough – it felt dehumanizing. An hour of constant, merciless thrusts, and a hand around my neck that restricted both my blood flow and my oxygen, and I had fallen into a state of shock.

But, in the end, I was happy to be caged in by him again.

I was happy.

He turned his eyes towards me, seeming to sense that something was off. He exhaled another puff of smoke. “Everythin’ alright?” he asked, completely void of any genuine concern.

I met his eyes with my own. I felt like I shouldn’t have to answer the question, and it stirred up a bitterness in me. But I didn’t feel like arguing with him, and I certainly didn’t want him to leave – so I nodded my head, slowly blinking my eyes. “Just tired.”

He hummed and faced the wall again. He brought one of his knees up and rested his arm against it. “Want a smoke?” he asked, still looking away.

I shook my head as much as the pillow beneath me would allow. “No.” I replied.

He sighed disappointedly. Apparently, my lack of enthusiasm after being used like an old fucktoy was irking him.

To be fair, I never spoke up about how I felt.

He grunted and rose from his position, snuffing out his cigarette in the ashtray by my bed, and picking up his clothes and pulling them on. My heart ached slightly as I watched him slide his shirt over his torso. I felt the threat of tears sting in my eyes as I wished his hands were holding me instead, keeping me warm and grounded. He pulled his jeans on and fastened them, buckling his belt rather quickly; and all while he faced away from me.

“Well, I know you probably need some alone time.” He muttered, sliding the skull attachment over his mask. “So I’ll get going. I’ll see you around.”

He grabbed his tactical vest and jacket and slung them over his shoulder. He paused by the door. “Thanks for tonight.” He mumbled, before finally leaving the room and softly closing the door behind him.

My eyes lingered on the ashtray with the half-smoked cigarette. A thin trail of smoke plumed into the air – I wanted to throw the tray across the room and shatter it. But it was Ghost’s, so I couldn’t; I couldn’t regardless, because it was a piece of him that remained with me, even when he left.

That, and the smell of smoke.

“Nah, I’m good.” I replied, facing the cold, empty base ahead of me.

“Good.” She said, pinching the cigarette and blowing a stream of smoke. “Stay that way. Did you know these bastards give you cancer?”

I chuckled into the collar of my jacket. “Do they, now?”

She hummed affirmatively, sucking another breath in through the cancerous bastard. “Who would’ve thought…”

We fell back into silence. I continued watching the stillness of the base, trying to see if the sky would follow through with its promise to fall. Now that my free time wasn’t spent holed up in my room, it somehow felt like there were fewer ways to spend it. With another mission on the horizon – a simple recon, yet dauntingly close to a heavily-guarded compound – no one was out and about when they usually were. Finding Roze outside and seemingly not worried was usual, however, and a warm sight, compared to how the rest of the team was on edge. Even Askel seemed grumpier than most days.

I hadn’t been seeking out someone to spend time with, no… that I would never do (or admit). But talking to a familiar face provided a comfort I had grown to need over the past couple of months. And, frankly, I felt like Konig might be getting tired of how much I ran to him when I craved social interaction. Though he had never said anything about it, I felt like I needed to branch out to other team members than just my Colonel. One might think I was trying to kiss his ass (I knew the accusation had already crossed Juno’s mind, but the young soldier was good at holding his tongue – when Konig was around, at least).

“You ever think about how ‘little girl’ you would react to this?” Roze asked, and I turned to face her. She had her nose scrunched, and a tinge of pink dusted over her cold cheeks. “Guns, war, no playdates or days at the beach…”

I sighed. “Probably would have cried.” I replied, allowing my freezing nose to poke over the collar of my jacket. “Especially if I had known that being a princess now adays meant spending more time worrying about becoming a hostage than anything else.”

Roze chuckled. “It’s a good thing we didn’t know then.” Her face was mostly blank, but I thought I noticed a hint of bitterness in the way her gaze landed on the ground. I watched her flick her cigarette with a bit more aggression than usual. “I would’ve tried to convince my entire family to run away to Scotland, live in hiding and pretend the rest of the world was a dream.”

“Scotland?” I asked. Soap’s cocky grin and heavy Scottish accent stirred in my mind, but it felt like nothing more than a small cloud of dust.

“Yeah – heard it’s fucking gorgeous over there.” She waved her cigarette in no particular direction. “Now, I don’t know how peaceful it is in terms of politics and war, but it’s pretty spacious. Simple, too. I feel like if I talked about throwing all my shit away and becoming a fisherman for a living, I wouldn’t get people trying to talk me out of it like I would in the States.” She took another drag, and laughed out the smoke.

“Fisherman?”

“Yeah.” She chuckled, a hardened smile gracing her lips. “I don’t know why it sounds so appealing… it just does.”

I hummed and looked back out at the compound. I wondered about Roze’s past; she had never said or done anything to indicate that it was particularly rough, as it was for the majority of us (us – I still wasn’t used to including myself, but it was becoming more of a habit each time), but the weariness in her eyes when she spoke about her younger self made me question what that girl had been through. Maybe it was just nostalgia. A yen for simpler times. Roze seemed to appreciate the simple things in life.

“You know Askel goes ice fishing?” she said suddenly.

I smiled underneath my jacket. “Seems like something he would do.”

“Every winter.” She continued. She dropped her cigarette to the floor and crushed it into the gravel. “He takes about three weeks of leave, if we’re lucky enough to get it, and goes to Norway. Sits on a frozen lake for hours a day, just waiting for a fish.”

“You make it sound like he’s never caught one.” I point out, my eyes lingering on the cigarette.

She shrugged her shoulders. “So does he. Every time I ask him what he caught, he just laughs. Says he’s never expects to get a bite.”

I closed my eyes and hummed in response. It was easy to picture the scene – Askel, sitting on a thick layer of ice, nursing the hoppy beers that he and Konig loved so much and waiting for a fish to bite. I wondered if he even bothered to reel the line in when he did catch something. Or if he even went fishing at all. Maybe he just went out there to get a sense of peace, to pretend that war and death didn’t exist.

The motion of thick, heavy snowflakes falling from the sky caught my attention. They landed on the skin of my nose, resisting the warmth for a few moments, before they eventually melted into trickles of water. A sudden gust of wind blew a flurry of them towards us, making the both of us flinch.

Maybe fishing doesn’t sound too bad.

- - - -

The shooting range was mostly silent, save for the occasional conversation between me and Konig. The lights were low, easily illuminating the gunpowder and dust swirling in the air. Konig and I stared at the paper target as we analyzed my shots. A few hit dead center, although most of them were clustered around the lower left of the bullseye. My lips were pursed into a scowl as I glared at my sub-par aim – it wasn’t typically so awful, but of course it was while Konig had been watching.

“Eh, are you sure you didn’t lie on your paperwork about being a sniper?” Konig asked as he stood behind my left shoulder, taking the target from my hands and looking at it closely. “You weren’t even ten yards from it. This is very poor marksmanship.”

I scowled in embarrassment, taking my pistol to the counter and pulling out the mag. “Rough day.” I answered bluntly as I started packing more bullets into the small compartment. It wasn’t a lie – I had barely gotten any sleep the night before. I was in the middle of a rather interesting dream involving me and Ghost, until my alarm woke me up before anything of importance happened.

“Very bad…” he mumbled to himself. I clicked my tongue in annoyance.

“Y’know…” I grumbled, loading the mag back into the gun and shoving it in my holster, “I don’t like stereotyping, but the boot really does fit you.” I walked past him and out into the hallway, not waiting for him to follow.

“Hmm?” he made an indignant noise, momentarily stuck in his spot, before he came jogging after me. “What does that mean? What stereotype?”

I chuckled. “Haven’t you ever how Germans are extremely blunt?” I asked.

“Austrian.” He retorted. “Do I need to brand that onto my face for you?”

“Wouldn’t do me much good, with the mask ‘n all.” I replied.

He laughed – rather snorted, as usual – “Ah, you’re right. Maybe I am blunt – just as much as you are defensive.”

I stopped at the end of the hall, right in front of the exit. “Defe-“ I turned on my heel to scowl at him. “I am not defensive! Where did you get that idea?!”

He stopped behind me, his eyes widening. He gestured an open palm in my direction. “This.”

I huffed, turning back around to punch the door open. The snow from earlier that day had ceased, blanketing the base in a thin layer of white. The moon seemed that much brighter against the crystalized ground, and the yellow lights scattered across the compound made parts of the snow look like sandy dunes. My nose tingled from the nip of the chilly air, and I pulled my jacket tighter around my body as the door fell shut behind me and Konig.

“Well, what am I supposed to say when you call me defensive?”

“You could agree.”

“But I don’t.”

“Which proves my point.”

I huffed in frustration, despite the smirk curling on the edges of my lips. “So, either I have to agree with you, whether I really do or don’t, or you’ve corralled me into a paradox.”

I can practically hear the gears turning in his head. “A what?”

“A paradox, like a – y’know, never mind. It’s too difficult to explain.” I let him fall in step next to me, although he was the one who needed to slow down to match my pace. “We can just agree to disagree, how’s that?”

“Agreed.” He nodded, and I chuckled. “It won’t change the fact that I’m right, you know.” He added.

I bit my lip and tried to keep my smile from growing ridiculously larger. I looked up at him and patted his shoulder – he looked down at me, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled back. A stray, reddish-brown curl poked through the side of his balaclava, and I found the miniscule detail warming my heart through the cold air. He felt real, and in this moment, too human for this kind of life.

“Why did you choose the military?” I asked, turning back to look at the ground as we walked.

He hummed. “Isn’t that every boy’s dream?”

“Well, yes – but most of the time, it never becomes more than that.” I responded.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, mimicking my own position. “I’m not really sure what made me push so much for it. I almost didn’t make it, for obvious reasons.”

I chuckled. “Size does matter, huh?”

He looked down at me with a deadpan gaze, one that I refused to meet. “It almost did, in a bad way. And I almost backed out before they could be the ones to turn me away. But, of course, they knew they would find some use for my size – so they took me in.”

“And what did they do with you?” I asked, looking back at him.

“A ‘human battering ram,’ as my superiors had so nicely called it.” He framed the description with his hands in the air, as if it had been written on a plaque. I laughed and looked back down at my feet.

“Seriously?” I asked. “So they just had you breaking down doors, and then what?”

Konig laughed with me. “Well, I still had a gun, so I was able to shoot, thank goodness. And I had a bit more gear so I wouldn’t break my bones against the doors – I still dislocated my shoulder a few times, however…” he rolled his left shoulder, as if there was still a lingering pain from how often he had thrown himself at doors. “It was actually during a period of recovery when I proved that I could still be a sniper. My shoulder was still healing, so I had to give up being a battering ram for a while. I was sat with Horangi on the side of the mountain to give him cover. Of course, he was ambushed – he had to fight the Arschgiege right when we were given the order to shoot, so I had to take position behind the gun.” I noticed that his chest was puffed out a bit from pride. “That really knocked their pants off.”

I chuckled, choosing to ignore the inaccuracy of his phrase. “Did it now?”

“It did.” He replied, then looked at the ground. “For a moment. I got a good earful for overstepping boundaries that day, but it’s what ultimately landed me here – so I’m grateful for it.”

I nodded and hummed. “What was Horangi picked for?”

Konig shrugged, his hands now back in his pockets. “He never said what he and Commander had spoken about in his office. But, even if he wasn’t chosen – I like to think we come as a package. If I go, he goes, if he doesn’t, I don’t.”

I felt my heart warm at his words. The memory of how Juno had described Konig couldn’t be farther from my mind. It almost felt like I was talking to someone I briefly crossed paths with in my youth – not a war criminal, not the bloody and stiff soldier who had stepped onto the heli after our first mission. I envied his ability to separate his work stress from the time he had in between missions.

“Why did you decide to join?” He asked, catching me off guard.

It was only fair that I opened up to him, since he was so willing to do the same. Always the one to go first, too. But I had to be careful. I didn’t want this to turn into a pity party, and I didn’t want to dig anything up that I had worked so hard to bury deep beneath my subconscious.

“I was… a weird kid. Like you.” I said, making Konig scoff and roll his eyes. “Looking back now, I hate my younger self. I was so sensitive to what people thought about me, and I just wanted to be independent and strong. I wanted to be a ‘different girl.’” I gritted out the words that left a sour taste in my mouth. “I think I just wanted attention at first – of course, when I heard how everyone said they hated how annoying teenage girls were, and how gullible and weak they were, it just – it made me change. I wanted to prove everyone wrong, it wasn’t just about being different anymore. So, as soon as I turned old enough, I enlisted. Didn’t get to Navy SEAL right away, of course… but I joined every program I was allowed in until I could submit my application.”

I sighed, then chuckled. “Thought my family would say they were proud, that I was successful, that I was doing a good job… they were just angry. Said I was throwing my life away for business that didn’t involve our country.” I opened my mouth to say more, but I ended up scoffing and closing it once again. I felt like I had shared enough.

I looked at Konig, expecting him to acknowledge what I said. “That’s how the story goes…” he would say. But, when I met his gaze, I only saw concern. His brow was creased with what I imagined was pity, and my stomach churned. It was the exact opposite of the reaction I had hoped for. I only wanted to share stories with him, and now it was… this.

“I think you made the right choices.” He said, and I looked away.

“You don’t need to make me feel better, Konig. I appreciate it, but-“

“I’m not just trying to make you feel better.” He said, his accent slightly thicker from his exasperation. “You’re good at what you do. Your parents are just probably worried for you, and they don’t know how to show it.”

I bit down on my tongue, my eyes settling on the building in front of us with a hard expression. If only.

“Maybe that’s it.” I muttered, hoping he would drop the subject. He seemed to understand, and turned to look ahead with a disappointed sigh. My heart sank the tiniest bit at the sound, and I internally scolded myself. Still a people-pleaser, apparently.

We continued walking in silence, the buzz of the lights above us mimicking the static of a communication system that had been severed in a time where it was needed most. The edge of the barracks appeared into our view, just around the corner of the arsenal sheds that stood between us and our destination. I continued to stare at the ground, pretending to watch my steps and try to not slip on the snowy asphalt. My heart twisted with each second of silence that sat thickly between us. It wasn’t technically a fight, but somehow, it felt worse. It felt like the first time I had pissed him off, the first time we had spoken to each other – and god, did I already hate myself for the way I had acted towards him during those first few weeks. I didn’t want to drive another wedge between us, not after the ones that had already been worked back out.

I exhaled heavily through my nose. “Sorry.” I mumbled quietly, but loud enough that I knew it reached his ears. “Sensitive topics.”

He flitted his eyes in my direction, but didn’t bother to move his head. He sighed, and I nearly jolted when I felt his wide hand on my upper back. It rubbed back and forth, and it took me an embarrassingly long time to realize that he was comforting me. Or, trying to, at least.

“I know.” He said, and his hand rested on my shoulder. “I’m sorry for pushing you.”

I didn’t know how to respond. I was stuck on the feeling of the roughness of his palm, which I could gleam through the fabric of my jacket. How his fingers squeezed gently and released twice. There was no hidden meaning, no forced contact or any kind of attempt to put context into the touch. It was… natural. Warm, comforting, and it spoke a thousand words that I wouldn’t have been able to stomach if he had said them. It broke past my self-hatred and walls of ‘don’t be weak’ that I would have used as my defense if he had tried to verbally convey any sort of consolation. It was the first time I didn’t feel awkward about being so close to him, let alone when he was touching me. I wondered if he did this on purpose, or if he had no idea what he was doing at all.

I let myself stand nearer to him, almost tucked under his arm. I looked up and smiled as genuinely as I could – not that it was hard for me, but because I wanted to make sure that he really knew how much I appreciated the gesture. Although, if he knew that this simple act of comfort would pierce through my outer shell, was it really necessary?

“Thank you, Konig.” I said.

He looked down at me and smiled. That damn smile. I wondered how much more refreshing it would be when he wasn’t wearing his mask. It was already too much for my soul to bear when it was just the crinkling in his eyes that I could see.

“Anytime, Bonnie.” He replied, patting my shoulder before tucking his hand back into his pocket. I grieved minimally at the loss of the touch, but I was happy for what it was. “And I mean it. Anytime you need to talk – or not talk, and do that empty staring that you do – just come find me.”

I quirked an eyebrow in his direction. “Anytime?” I asked amusedly.

“Mhm!” Konig replied, his eyes on the ground as he watched his steps. Then, the realization hit him, and his eyes went wide with panic. “Oh- well, eh- I guess, not anytime-“

“You gonna tell me when?” I joked, and he laughed. “You need an open/closed sign on your door.” I jogged ahead, trying to reach the door to the barracks before he did.

“How about this?” he called out, and I could hear the grin behind his mask. “I’ll nail a chalkboard to my door, and if I’m busy, I’ll draw a stick guy jerking off in his bed!”

My cheeks burned after I heard him. “No!” I shrieked, laughing nervously. “You’ll traumatize Juno!” I quickly tried to pin this on someone other than me.

“Juno, hah?” Konig teased, and I had half a mind to run into the building and leave him on the quad. “I don’t care about him. Kid needs to be traumatized.”

I laughed and threw my head back, turning the corner around the arsenal shed. “That’s not very-“

Immediately, my heart leapt into my throat, and I gasped. Konig nearly ran into my back as he skidded to a halt.

Sick, sick, what the fuck, I feel sick-

“Stimmt etwas nicht?” he asked, concerned. “What- oh, scheisse-“

We both stared at the bird on the ground. A crow from the looks of it, though it was hard to even decipher that it was a bird in the first place, due to the state it was in. Its belly had been cut open, entrails and bloody bits pulled from the abdomen and strewn to either side of the bird. Its wings were stretched to their full capacity and most likely beyond it, crushed and missing a large number of feathers. Both of the legs appeared to have been ripped off and tossed to the left of the crow. Its beak was the worst of it all: pried open, the jaw probably broken from how wide it was spread. A haunting look of terror in the crow’s red, glossy eyes made a violent shiver run up my spine.

I exhaled shakily, my eyes still glued to the horror. “Holy shit – what the-“

Konig quickly walked around me and knelt in front of the crow. I shifted to look over his shoulder, still fearfully curious, but he held a hand out behind him, urging me to stay in place. With his other hand, he pulled at one of the bird’s wings, stiff and heavy. Whether it was frozen from the cold, or this was the effects from rigor mortis, I couldn’t tell.

“How – did a fucking fox do that?!” I asked. Are there even foxes in this area? How the hell did one get on base?

“Nein.” Konig replied, still looking at the corpse. His gaze fell upon it with a sense of… familiarity, maybe? “Not a fox, no.”

“Then what? It – whatever it was didn’t even eat-“

“I’ll take care of this.” Was all Konig said. He stood up and marched past me – I was barely able to catch a glimpse of his furious expression. His eyes were hard and narrow, and as he walked away, I noticed that his shoulders were tense and his hands were balled into fists. I didn’t dare say anything to him; he almost looked the same way he did after our first mission together, except this time, his anger seemed to be directed at something, instead of just a post-mission adrenaline high.

“I’ll see you later.” He said over his shoulder. There was an obvious fury to his words, and although I knew it wasn’t intended towards me, it still made me freeze where I stood – almost as if I might anger him more simply by taking a step after him.

Whatever it is… I thought, watching him disappear into the compound, he’s sorting it out. I can take care of myself. Although, with such an abrupt and tense departure, I was at a loss on what to do next. I looked back at the bird; its terrified eyes locked onto the sky above it, frozen in its last wish to fly away from whatever horror it endured.

A shiver ran up my spine, prompting me to look away.

- - - -

Taglist: @igotmajordaddyissues @princekonig @vixionix @v3lv3tvampir3 @theoneandonlykymberlee @luvvnightingalee @dillybuggg @sun-joo @perfectus-in-morte @evilive @satakingslime @comfortless

Please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist!

[pimosworld]

Read it again- part I

I wanted to start a list of recs that I find myself going back to when I’m happy or sad or just in need of something to distract me from the crazy world we live in. This will be multiple parts so consider this the first installment. These will be old/new/current wips and fics.

Please head the warnings in each fic or series.

Triple Frontier

The devils backbone- @ezrasbirdie

Feed your ego- @whatthefishh

War makes thieves and peace hangs them- @brandyllyn

Messy Pile of Affection Series- @flightlessangelwings

The homecoming series- @astroboots

Awakening Series- @romanarose

Switch to channel 2- @autumnleaves1991-blog

My best friends girl- @tropes-and-tales

Moon Knight

Prized possession- @melodygatesauthor

Third ones the charm-(part I, part II) @missdictatorme

Egg Fried Rice- @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

The Jake problem- (part I, part II) @bensolosbluesaber

For science- @projectionistwrites

Joel Miller

Pink- @netherfeildren

The checklist- @thetriumphantpanda

Trick or Treat- @morallyinept

Meet me in the back- @atticrissfinch

Honey do- @kiwisbell

Take care of you- @theidiotwhowritesthings

Javier Peña

It’s never too late- @javierpena-inatacvest

Paranoid heart- @goodwithcheese

Late night texts- @undercoverpena

D.I.Y.- @swiftispunk

Please comment and reblog the authors works that they pour their time, heart and soul into.

Feel free to leave a comment with your favorite re-read or message me directly to include in future installments.

[sweet-s0rr0w]

day 18 of @hprecfest - a fic that makes you laugh

Little Red Courgette, by @blamebrampton - T, 31k, 2009

Summary: When this season's purple courgettes are woefully thin, Draco Malfoy thinks it amounts to small beans. Next thing he knows, the Department of Standards is over-run with leeks, Brussels sprouts all sorts of legislative difficulties, and somebody appears to have put a roquette under Harry Potter. Can Draco seize a marrow victory? Or will his plans for peas be squashed?

All along, Kingsley Shacklebolt finds himself pining for the good old days, when, instead of governing, all you had to worry about were Dark Lords and imminent death.

Excerpt:

They each made it through a bowl of chocolate with sundry other flavours garnishing it. And three large glasses of wine. This was the only excuse Draco could find for the fact that he found himself asking Potter: 'So what's your game?'

'Quidditch,' Potter replied instantly. 'Or Exploding Snap.'

'Here. What's your game here.'

'I'm not with you.'

A part of Draco's brain screamed at him to stop, but the alcohol-soaked part, in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Smythe's, encouraged him to go on. 'Are you working with Kingsley to enlist me as your pawn in a clean out of the Ministry? You were very quick to agree when I asked you to warn The Quibbler off, was it all a ruse?'

'I thought you were engaged in your own hands-on grass-roots Ministry reform, making the one department work well, with an eye to expanding in the future,' Potter rebutted.

'Well I am, so you needn't try making use of me in your nefarious scheme.'

'I don't have a nefarious scheme.'

'So is it all a complicated plan to take some highly personal and embarrassing revenge for the Potter Stinks badges? Because that was years ago. And although I feel a little badly about it now, they were excellent work for a wizard that age.'

'They were, I was impressed. I still have one at home, you know.'

'Really?'

'Yup. I thought you were a wanker at the time, but I have to say, that was a quality Charm.'

'Thanks. So what's left? You're in the hire of someone keen to assassinate the last of the Malfoys; it's all an elaborate if somewhat clumsy plan at seduction; or you're desperate for someone to talk to now that all your friends are getting married and having children.'

'Those are my options? I'll take two, clumsy seduction.'

'Really?'

Back in 2019 when I rediscovered the joys of fanfic after over a decade out, I started off the way any (less tech-savvy) millennial would, by googling 'Drarry fanfiction'. blamebrampton's works were some of the first that I found, and I was immediately entranced. They're such an incredible variety, from the Muggle World-set Doing the Lambeth Walk, to travel fic Beneath Boundless Skies, to wartime epic (and longtime @tackytigerfic obsession) And Save Me From Bloody Men. No matter what the topic, though, blamebrampton's sense of humour always shines through in her sharp observations and witty dialogue, and in Little Red Courgette she's able to showcase this to the fullest extent. It's a hilarious examination of government bureaucracy from the world-weary point of view of one Draco Malfoy, an employee of the Office for the Volumetric Standardisation of Edible Wizarding Greengrocery Produce. The veg related puns are numerous, and excellent, and both Draco and Harry are incredibly endearing. Big rec, for all her works!

If you read it, and especially if you love it, please do let me know! And as always, please do take the time to leave the author a kudos/comment <3

day 1 - first fic you remember reading

day 2 - a fic rated G

day 3 - a fic not on ao3

day 4 - a comfort fic

day 5 - a romantic fic

day 6 - a fic for a ship you don’t normally read

day 7 - the best of your OTP

day 8 - a fic that was recced to you

day 9 - a WIP

day 10 - a fest/event fic

day 11 - an underrated fic

day 12 - a fic from your favourite author

day 13 - a rare pair

day 14 - a fic rated T

day 15 - a fic over 50k

day 16 - a podfic

day 17 - a fic that makes you cry

[shadowkoo]

The Ex Text

→ Summary: The 2 AM texts have started again. It’s a bittersweet familiarity that you can’t run away from, and despite wishing to forget him: no one will ever measure up to the exceptional standard set by your ex, and you’ll never have anyone as good as him either. Like a permanent mark on your heart, Jungkook’s presence has become an insatiable craving, an addiction you'll never outgrow or cast aside.

↠ jungkook x f.reader | 3.2k words | 18+ ↠ genre: smut, pwp, ex with benefits, minor fluff & angst

→ Warnings: swearing, explicit sex, protected sex, scratching, breast play, spit/saliva play, infidelity (in the case that reader just started dating someone new), soft kissing, soft choking, rough kissing, ball squeezing, fingering, handjob, blowjob, cunnilingus, sloppy oral sex (female & male receiving), squirting, praising, teasing, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, doggy, deep dicking, posessive!jungkook has a hard time dealing with his feelings

→ Author note: This is an update of a fic I posted in January that desperately needed some editing (anyone else ever read their old fics and cringe??), I hope you enjoy the newest version bc i personally believe it’s so much better! If you’d like to read this on ao3 instead it’s been crossposted here! As always, all likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated <3

⋆˙⟡ m.list ⟡⋆⟡ ao3 ⟡⋆⟡ wips ⟡⋆⟡ updates ⟡⋆⟡ shadow realm ⟡˙⋆

The pillow vibrates beneath your head as the notifications on your phone add up. Knowing it’s nowhere near time for you to get up, you roll over, choosing to ignore whatever, or rather, whoever is trying to reach you. Your plan works for another several minutes as you attempt to drift back to sleep, but your phone soon buzzes again, signaling another notification.

You groan and clumsily reach to turn the ringer off, but instead, your curiosity wins. After a couple of slow blinks, your eyes adjust to the blinding light and are able to focus on the screen; a couple of likes on your latest tweet, a new follower request for your insta, and three new texts from ‘The Ex’…

You groan again and check the time. 2 AM.

“Mmm, right on schedule, ‘Kook,” you drone sleepily to yourself, “Glad to see nothing’s changed.”

Invested now, and unfortunately awake, you unlock your phone to read the full texts.

2:03 AM

‘hey, u awake?’

2:07 AM

‘come over pls’

‘I’ll leave the door open’

Leaving the messages on read, you think about the two ways this could go.

One, you ignore him, just as you have been for the last month, and pretend like he means nothing to you.

Or two, you text him back, agree to come over, and wind up in a self-hate spiral the following days for allowing him to weasel back into your life.

A third groan leaves your body, realizing your heart is clouding your mind, having already made the decision. You type out your message and hover your thumb over the send button, before pressing firmly, unable to take it back.

2:11 AM

‘i hate you…i’ll be there in 5’

His response pops up just seconds later.

‘i’ll be waiting’

This routine is nothing new to you, as much as you hate to say it.

It’s not the first time since your break up that he’s asked you over. And it’s not the first time you’ve rushed to see him, to relive the good times spent between his sheets.

As promised, Jungkook left the door unlocked for you. His tall pup, Bam, meets you with a happy face and a wagging tail the second you crack the door open.

“Hi Bamy-Boo, I’ve missed you so much. How’s my good boy doing?” you ask after stepping into the quiet apartment, bending at the knees to give him a quick kiss on the head and some chin scratches.

“He’d be doing a lot better if you joined him in bed.”

Turning your head, your eyes land on Jungkook. He’s leaning against the wall outside his bedroom, with one of his hands combing through his tousled hair. And he’s wearing the beige-colored sweat set he knows drives you wild.

Damn him.

Your eyes wander to the waistband of his pants, where the faintest patch of skin shows through with his raised arm, before moving upward towards his face.

He’s grinning now.

“We need to stop doing this,” you sigh, not even attempting to deny that you were ogling him. He’s hot, you both know it. No point in sugar-coating or avoiding it. “You can’t keep texting me this time of night and expect me to come over.”

“You can leave any time you want, you know that,” he says taking a step closer to you, “Just like you know you don’t have to text me back. But you do.” He extends a hand, which you accept, and you stand up, letting him pull you up against his chest. “Because you want to come over. Because you know you want this.”

Jungkook doesn’t waste another second before placing his lips on yours. He’s warm and comforting, smelling of sage and citrus, just like always.

He pulls you away from the front door, which he locks, and leads you towards his room. Even in the dark, you remember the path to his bed, your body has it practically memorized.

“Come here,” he whispers softly while his fingers dance along the edge of your wrinkled pajama shirt, before lifting it over your shoulders.

You didn’t even bother changing out of your stained and slept-in pjs. Jungkook has seen you in far worse conditions. Plus you figured they wouldn’t remain on for very long, and much to your pleasure - you’re right.

Jungkook admires your breasts with his hands once your shirt is on the ground. “You’re gorgeous like this,” he whispers, cupping them and letting his thumbs rub across your nipples. Between his touch and the cool air, they harden almost immediately.

You lean into his body and your lips collide, meanwhile, his arms move around your body, crushing you against his chest.

He moans into your mouth, loving the way your fingers run through his messy hair. He doesn’t hide the fact that his cock twitches against his sweatpants when you tug lightly on his locks.

Jungkook could come in his pants just from simply kissing you and having you play with his hair, but he needs more. So much more.

He reaches for your pants, ready to remove them next. He’s desperate to undress you, to have your naked body pressed up against his. You’ve been ignoring his texts for too long lately. Even though he would never admit it, he’s missed you. A lot.

You help him take off the rest of your clothing until you’re bare before him, and Jungkook looks at you like he’s always looked at you. Like you’re the only person in the universe, you captivate his entire attention.

Nothing else matters when he’s with you.

He tears only his sweatshirt off before sitting down on the bed. Stretching back, he pats his lap with that same old smirk you’ve grown to love and hate simultaneously and motions for you to climb on top of him.

You do as he requests, resting each leg on either side of his hips so you’re straddling his waist.

“Come here,” he says quietly, pulling you closer to him, so he can leave wet kisses trailing down your neck from your earlobe to the dip above your collarbone.

His hands travel down your side as his lips move closer and closer to your breasts, his hot breath tickles your skin as he hovers over your sensitive nubs. He flicks each with his tongue, before closing his lips over one of your soft peaks, sucking it in between his teeth.

The sensation pulls an explicit moan from deep within your core. Jungkook’s ears perk up, loving the sounds coming from you, wanting to hear you make sounds like that all night.

Your thighs tense around him as he does it again to the other side, and you massage the growing tent in his sweats to tease him just the right amount.

Jungkook digs his fingers into your hips, pushing your bare center up against his hardness as you continue your circling torture. It’s his turn to lose himself. Fuck, he can feel your heat through the thin fabric, your readiness soaking into his sweatpants. His hands curve around the swell of your ass as your tongues twist together in harmony.

Grabbing his face, you kiss him deeply while slowly moving off the top of him, your hand replacing where your opening was previously. You moan into his mouth this time, feeling how hard he is for you as you rub him through his pants.

Your hand dips underneath the waistband and wraps around his velvety length. His length throbs in your hand while your thumb glides over his needy head. You’re stroking him slowly enough to drive him into a maddening frenzy.

“Fuck baby, I need more,” he rasps.

You give him exactly what he begs for.

He cries out when your hand dips lower to squeeze his balls without warning. You smirk, watching the emotions overtake his face as the pain mixes deliciously with pleasure while you hold him tightly in your hands. You wait a few seconds before releasing them and then work to take off his pants.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasps, catching his breath from your dangerous game. “What was that for?”

You take a mouthful of him to avoid answering. He doesn’t press the issue further as you gag over his thick cock.

Jungkook grabs a fistful of your hair as you bring him closer and closer to the edge. He helplessly watches as your reddened lips glide over him, your saliva dripping everywhere in the process.

“Mmm, just like that,” he hums, caressing your cheek as you bob your head up and down.

Pulling yourself from him to catch your breath, your mouth then leaves wandering kisses that lead you to his balls next. Sucking each into your hollowed cheeks, you take your sweet time and watch intently as Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow together.

“Shit baby, I’m about to lose it,” he breathes deeply, before moving your bodies so you’re below him.

You smirk, your legs open and ready with your fingers teasing your wet and inviting opening. “Then lose it.”

He groans. Leaning across your body, Jungkook opens the drawer on his nightstand and rummages through until his fingers land on the very familiar foil packet. He smirks for a moment at the thought floating around in his head, and then lets the male urge win and rips it open with his teeth.

“You did not just do that,” you laugh, “That’s so cheesy. What are you, a horny teenager?”

He grins wolfishly as he rolls the condom on, “Might as well be.”

The scent of your arousal has now filled the room, engulfing Jungkook, and making him ravenous for you. He’s starved and only your heat will tame his hunger.

Unable to wait any longer, his thick length dips inside you just enough to wet his tip. He pulls back out of you, sliding your wetness through your folds, preparing you for what is to come. Then, without a moment’s notice, he takes you hard and fast, thrusting into you with all his power.

Your nails dig into his back, leaving red trails from where they slide down his back and grip his ass.

The veins in Jungkook’s neck pop out as he slams into you again and again.

“Holy fuck, ‘Kook! Oh my god,” you cry out, holding onto him.

He looks so fucking hot with his hair stuck to his damp forehead. Your eyes follow the bead of sweat dripping down his temple.

Jungkook’s soft moans tickle your ear, while one of his hands creeps up to wrap around your neck. The pressure is gentle but firm, his fingers are placed exactly where they need to be to make you feel lightheaded and slightly delirious - everything you want and more.

“Do you still love me?” he pants as he thrusts into you harshly.

You blink, hesitating to answer that question.

“Fine, then answer me this, do you still love my cock?”

“Jungkook…” you sigh, tilting your head to the side. “Please don’t go there.”

He pretends he doesn’t hear you. “Tell me you’ve never had better,” he demands after flipping you over. Pulling your ass up towards him, he realigns his length with your center and thrusts back into you. One of his hands wraps around your waist, the other gets lost in your hair.

“Tell me how much you’ve missed me and my cock,” he growls into your ear as he slips out of you, only to ram back into you with all his strength.

Each thrust pushes you further into the bed and brings you closer to the edge. You’re biting the sheets to stop yourself from screaming out from the sinful pleasure.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this.” You moan uncontrollably while Jungkook continues his sweet torture. Lust, and possibly another L emotion, dripping off the words spilling from your mouth.

You couldn’t lie if you tried at this point. You’ve really missed this and him. And holy fuck, his cock too. “Oh my god, oh god!” you cry out. Waves of euphoria wash over your quivering body as you unfold around him.

The coil snaps deep inside you, your walls pulsating around him, sending shockwaves through his body as he finishes.

Jungkook moans your name one last time before feeling himself swell, and he fills the condom with his load. His thrusts slow down but don’t stop just yet.

It’s almost too much to handle, yet it’s still not enough. Jungkook knows this and reaches down to rub his thumb along your swollen clit, causing you to see starts as your next release comes, it sprays out of you involuntarily.

You freeze, not sure if you should embrace it or be embarrassed.

He grins, “That was fucking hot. I’ve never made anyone squirt before.” You feel a sense of pride hearing that. Good. You don’t want him to have it like this with anyone else. Woah, where did that thought come from?

Without missing a beat, Jungkook lifts your legs over his shoulders as he bends down so he’s face level with your heat. He admires your slit that’s still slick from his undoing. You moan uncontrollably the second he licks through your damp folds, lost on cloud nine while he buries his face in between your legs, hands on either side of them, holding you in place.

You’re writhing beneath him from the glorious torture of his tongue teasing your entrance, his nose purposefully rubs against your sensitive nub and two of his long fingers slide into you, curling at the right pace.

His rhythmic licks turn you into a quivering mess. Your insides twist and clench around his fingers as you come again, unashamed and all over his face this time.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” he pants, moving back up toward the top of the bed and collapsing next to you, totally spent.

You kiss him messily, tasting yourself on his lips, and cuddle into his side as you both drift off into the night, sweaty and exhausted, just how it should be.

It’s early. You’re not sure how long you’ve both been in and out of sleep, but you know it’s almost time for you to leave. This is the longest you’ve spent in his bed since your break up. All the other late-night extravaganzas we’re just a couple of hours, if that.

You’re laying on his chest, listening to the sound of his steady heartbeat and your synced breathing, working up the energy to sit up. His fingers draw small circles on your back as you two rest. It’s surprisingly…peaceful. These are the moments you miss the most when you’re apart.

“I have a thing with the guys around tomorrow, well technically today. Want to come?” Jungkook asks out of the blue, his voice cutting through the silence.

“Can’t,” you decline, worried about where this conversation is about to go.

“And why is that, exactly?” he asks, even though he very well knows. You know he knows. He knows that you know that he knows. Which is frustrating, to say the least.

The previous peace you felt is short-lived. You sit up and lean on your elbow to look at him. “You know I’m going out with Taehyung now. You liked my Instagram pic of us together from earlier this week.”

“Well, I’m sorry to say that if you’re here with me, that must mean he’s either very boring or is terrible in bed. Or maybe both?” He leaves the question open-ended for you to answer.

You roll your eyes and start to get up, not in the mood to discuss this with him tonight, or ever really.

You don’t need to explain to him that Taehyung deserves so much more than someone who’s willing to cheat on him, and with an ex-boyfriend at that. You two haven’t exactly made things official but it’s still unbelievably inconsiderate of you to waste his time while you pine after Jungkook, a guy who dumped you four months ago but still refuses to give you up.

“No, don’t go,” he groans. “What I’m trying to say is-” he pauses, fighting whatever is going on in his brain. “I don’t want you seeing him anymore,” he says bluntly.

“Why?” You press, begging for any sort of answer.

“‘Cause…,” he says, holding back.

“Because why Jungkook, I need you to say more than that. I need you to be more, we can’t keep going on like this.”

“Because I love you, dammit!” He runs a hand through his hair and huffs. “Can’t you tell? Isn’t it obvious? I’m still hung up on you and don’t like seeing you moving on when I’m, I’m…stuck,” he breathes.

He loves you.

A moment passes.

He. Loves. You.

“Please say something. Anything.” He’s nervously searching your face for any sort of answer.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say that you’re still hung up on me,” he whines, pulling you back onto his chest.

Your voice softens, “You know that I am.”

He kisses you gently, making your heart flutter with the possibility.

“Then what’s stopping us?” He asks once your lips part from one another.

It’s your turn to huff, you have so much to say yet it’s all lost on you at this exact moment. Funny how that works, isn’t it?

“You’re the one who ended things.”

The streetlight shines in through his window, its light illuminating your body, highlighting your beautiful features that he just can’t get enough of. Why did he end things again?

“Yeah, well, I’m an idiot. What’s new?” he jokes, crawling over top of you, completely mesmerized by how gorgeous you are beneath him. He kisses you sweetly, his lips massaging yours as his heart pounds loudly in his chest. You didn’t say no. To Jungkook, that means there’s still a chance, and he’ll gladly take it.

One of his hands holds the back of your neck, tilting your head just the right amount for him to deepen the kiss. He moans into your mouth, his tongue playing with yours while his other hand finds its way between your legs.

A soft gasp escapes your lips when his fingers dip inside you. They twist and curl with perfect accuracy, bringing you closer and closer to bliss.

He has you practically begging for more, you’re already a panting mess. You reach for him, craving more, needing him closer but he refuses.

“Nope,” he grins playfully, pushing your chest gently so you lay back onto the bed, “I want to watch you come undone this time. I want to see you lose it when you come for me.”

Your back arches off the bed as you dance along the edge, squeezing your eyes shut you let his words do their magic.

“Be a good girl and come all over these fingers.” Your hips move helplessly, matching his speed as you chase the high.

“You’re luminous, absolutely divine, and all mine. Nobody can worship you as I do. Nobody else can make you feel this good.”

“No one compares to you,” you moan sensually as pleasure overtakes your body yet again, turning you into the mess he wants to see.

Your lips touch again after what feels like an eternity. “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispers, leaving another lazy kiss on your cheek, before moving to clean up the aftermath of your pleasures.

“Me too,” you say sleepily, pulling him back into your arms after he disposed of the condom. You feel yourself drifting off, about to fall into a soft slumber with your bodies entwined.

Jungkook grins, knowing he’s one step closer to convincing you to try again. He kisses you softly, lovingly, one more time before you both drift off into the early morning light.

⋆˙⟡ m.list ⟡⋆⟡ ao3 ⟡⋆⟡ wips ⟡⋆⟡ updates ⟡⋆⟡ shadow realm ⟡˙⋆

©shadowkoo 2024. All rights reserved.

[archivewriter1ont]

I've seen a couple of posts in my feed today that were discussing commenting on old Ao3 fics, or how authors feel about someone fic-bingeing and leaving comments on every or every other fic.

My take is.... NOTHING MAKES ME HAPPIER than to see comments and kudos! On old stuff too, because just because it wasn't posted today doesn't mean I didn't pour my heart and soul into it. If I see my inbox full of comments from one person who apparently read my entire portfolio at 3am, it makes me grin like a mule eating briars. I have one reader who found a WIP late in the game, and left a comment on every chapter as she read. I was writing at the time and had my inbox open, so I was watching as she guessed what would happen next and commented on each chapter. And it was great! TDLR: Please comment if you like a fic, no matter how old it is or how long or short the feedback is. It's encouraging to authors like you wouldn't believe. It's a digital dose of motivation. We don't get paid to write and even though I personally try to write for my own enjoyment, seeing that someone else likes my work is smile-inducing like nothing else.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blurred Lines 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your relationship with your boss takes an unpredictable turn.

Characters: Nick Fowler

Note: some more Nicky for the girlies.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The next day, you arrive to an empty house. After Nick’s stormy mood, you’re grateful for the respite. Despite your efforts to forget his comments, to not let them seep too far into your head, you spent most of the night thinking of your marriage; of your widowhood. You’ve worked through most of those emotions but you’ll always miss your husband.

Around noon, you receive the crate of bottles you ordered the day before. The man who drives the large truck offers to bring them inside. You’ve noticed that as you get a few finer lines and a little more cushion, others tend to treat you as fragile. You don’t complain. Liquor is heavier than you would assume at a glance.

You thank the driver and send him off, returning to the den to sift through the box. You keep the glass cabinet open and pluck out the empty glass, or those with barely a sip left in them. Nick does the same with the milk; if there’s even a drop left, he’ll put the carton back. Not his problem, a new one always just appears.

You take the decanter and swish around the dregs of scotch. It wouldn’t be much of a waste to dump it, that amount will barely cover the bottom of a glass. You set it aside with the matching crystal glasses. You need to wash them.

As you line up the newer bottles on the shelf, you feel a buzz in your back pocket. You pause and wiggle your phone free, putting it to your ear as you work with one hand. Clunk, slide, clink.

“Hello,” you trill as you squint at another label. You’re supposed to wear glasses to read but you consistently leave them by your couch.

“Mom,” your daughter greets bluntly, “what are you doing?”

“Uh, Joey?” You lower the bottle in your hand, “everything okay?”

“Y-yeah, I just... I’m on my break and wanted to call you while I have the chance.”

“Break? You’re at your internship?” You ask brightly, “how is it? Amazing?”

“Erm, sure,” she utters.

She sounds disappointed. Concern trickle down your neck, she’s only ever been excited about school and her future. It’s what you admire in her. She’ll go so much further than sorting out liquor and dump spoiled almond milk for some rich guy.

“What’s going on?” You prompt again, facing the cabinet as you set down another bottle.

“I... I don’t know if I’m cut out for this. It’s a lot of work,” she mutters and you hear her biting her nails. An old habit she hadn’t had since middle school.

“Honey, your nails,” you gird, “it’s new. You’re learning. Give yourself a bit of patience. I’m not saying it isn’t hard, but don’t be so hard on yourself. You can do it but you know what, even if it isn’t for you, I’ll be proud. You know I only want the best for you.”

“Yeah, I know,” she grumbles, “I just don’t want to let you down.”

“Never,” you assure her. “Take a few breaths, have some water, and no more caffeine. It will only make your anxiety worse.”

“Yeah,” she sniffs, “yeah, I did have an extra shot in my latte.”

“Alright, well, you call me later. Take your break for yourself. You know I’m always here for you, honey.”

“Love ya,” she resigns with a sigh.

“Love you too. Hey, if you need a break, let me know. We can make it work.”

“No, no, I can do this,” she insists, “it's only week two. I'm just being a baby.”

“My baby,” you tease and she gives and ‘ech’ which makes you laugh, “alright, we'll talk later.”

“Yep, bye, mom.”

“Bye,” you tap the red button and look down at your phone.

For as much as got nostalgic about your youth, you don't miss the uncertainty. You slide your phone away and something scuffs. Nick clears his throat and draws your attention.

“Sir,” you greet, wondering if he'd heard any of that, “just in time, I'm sorting your cabinet.”

“Mm, so you are,” he struts over, a hand in his pocket. He wears dark slacks and a button-up without a tie. “Family emergency?”

“Nope, everything's under control,” you shrug and take out a bottle of cognac. You place it with the rest.

You hear glass clink and turn. Nick uncaps the crystal decanter and drains what's left of the scotch. He eyes the container and puts it back on the table.

“What's your poison? Wine? Cocktails? You seem the type,” he muses.

“I only drink on special occasions,” you say. “Whatever's on special.”

“Mm, and Saturday? You sounded like you had a few. Pretty early too.”

You wince and look at him. You hadn't thought you were that obvious, especially over the phone. Well, he did say he reads people. You suppose you're not that hard to decipher.

“Two dollar mimosas,” you slip the empties into box and close the flaps.

“Mm,” he scoffs, “bubbly.”

“Gives me heartburn,” you say dismissively as you pick up the box. “Did you need anything, sir? Should I make lunch?”

He squints as you and sucks in his cheeks, emphasizing the squareness of his jaw.

“I'm having people over,” he states.

“Right, I'll get the good porcelain out,” you say.

“Work,” he intones. “You can't be here.”

“Yes, sir. I'll have the food done and kept warm in my absence.”

He nods. You don't ask questions. It's part of your job. Just do what he tells you and be on your way.

“Sure,” he says dully and spins on his heel.

He walks off and you carry the box through to the backroom. There's nothing unusual and yet it feels abnormal. Those last few days just feel off.

Work. The word echoes with an edge in your head. Ah, well, that's the crux of most human stress. You suppose, much like your daughter, Nick must be feeling the pressure. He might be your boss but someone up the line is his. That's just the order of things.

🥃

A night to yourself is welcome. Joey messages to say she’s okay now and she won’t bother calling you. You know by her Insta that she’s found friends to keep her company. You hope they can also offer some reassurance.

You settle in with a book on the sofa, eager to retrace your way through the last chapter you can’t quite recall. You don’t get further than a few paragraphs before you pass out. You sink down into motley dreams that sway between reality and fiction; the villain of the novel resembles your boss a bit too closely in your mind.

You wake with a start at the steady rattle of your phone against the end table. You reach up blindly, feeling around to still its buzz. You check the display, expecting your daughter, but instead you’re met with ‘Private’. You already know.

You check the time. It’s close to two in the morning. You sit up and yawn as you let the call roll through to your voicemail. You bend forward and rub your eyes, groggily rubbing your forehead. You’re stiff as hell. You know better than to sleep on the couch.

The phone starts again, shaking your hand. You answer it. If he’s trying a second time, it means he must really need something.

“Hello,” you creak out through your dry throat.

There’s rustling on the other end and some murmurs, but nothing clear. You tilt your head and press the phone closer, hitting the volume button with your thumb as you try to discern the noise on the other end. What is going on?

“...baby...” Nick’s tone is silty and low and met with a fluttery moan. You gulp. It can’t be. Flesh claps and he growls, “you like that, huh?”

You hang up before you can hear anything else. Oh god. You throw the phone across the room and shake out your hands. Yikes. You’ve been the victim of a pocket dial but nothing ever like that. You wonder how it even happened.

Well, you try not to think about it too much. You get up and move your book onto the table. You don’t even dare to touch your phone, leaving it on the seat of the chair. You’re too tired for all this. Hopefully, sleeping in your own bed will wash it all away.

🥃

You talk in with Nick’s dry cleaning over your shoulder. You’re not shocked to find the house in disarray. Social nights are often met with grim mornings. It seems of late that both come more and more frequent.

You set down the garment bags on hangers and stop in the kitchen to put on a brew of coffee in anticipation of another of your boss’ hangovers. The aroma rises as you cross the tile floor and snatch up the suits and shirts. You hesitate at the bottom of the stairs. Like days before, you suspect he also has some lingering company. You wonder if it’s better to wait and put away his clothes once you are certain.

A long rumble distracts you from your dread. You turn and walk towards the broad archway that opens into the front room. Somehow you hadn’t noticed the body on the couch and now you regret that you have. Nick’s bare ass flashes you from across the room as he lays with his shoulders curled forward and his head under a pillow. He must’ve had quite the work dinner.

You tiptoe across the room and pick up the mussed throw from the floor. You drape it around his waist to cover the most intimate part of him. He groans and brings his arm up over the pillow.

“Baby,” he mutters and roles onto his back. You swiftly catch the blanket before it can expose him further and keep it over his middle, letting it fall across his pelvis. You can only do so much as his dick springs up beneath the waffle knit. “Why don’t you get on it?”

You nearly choke at the suggestion. He still has the pillow over his head as his hand crawls down his muscular torso, reaching for... that.

“Baby is gone,” you cross your arms, “coffee is on, sir. Would you like a cup?”

He grunts and retracts his hand, pulling the pillow from his head and hugging it to his stomach. He blinks, his brow furrowed in surprise and chagrin. He stares at you and lets his head loll.

“Mm, guess it’ll wake me up just the same,” he mutters as his eyes flick up and down. “Morning, honey.”

“Morning, sir,” you hike up your armful, “let me get these hung and I’ll get your coffee.”

You turn as he sighs and the couch creaks beneath him. You don’t look back, wary of seeing more than you already have. It’s not unlike him to have his little get-togethers and to indulge but it’s a bit much. If you thought he’d be honest, you might ask if something’s wrong. Then again, your his maid, not his therapist.

“And Advil,” he calls after you, “maybe put some whiskey in the coffee, too.”

You nod and march to the stairs. Minding your boss isn’t too much different than raising a child, though you think Joey was much easier to deal with. And not so demanding.

[mmelete]

Hi! Thanks for the tag @sprite-and-the-bunnydragons!!

How many works on ao3? 30.

Total ao3 wordcount? 166k. That's a lot more than I thought!

Top 5 Fics by Kudos?

Twilight Loves his Kids! (Goat kids. baby goats) - this kind of surprised me. This was my first fic in the "Who has Kids Again?" series, and I was nervous about posting it. Then I remember checking it an seeing that it had so many kudos and I was like WHAT.

The 'Wise Old Man' is actually not Old (Or Wise) - First time-centric fic of mine, I enjoyed writing it.

As Ancient as the Sky Itself - ugh. This fic...I don't really like this one at all, I took so long to finish it (barely), I honestly could NOT figure out how to end it....the fic ended up bleeding into the Four-centric one...askjdhksaljhf. no comment.

Four (Young) Mice - ASDKAHSFHSAJ THIS IS THE FOURTH ONE. I'M DEAD SERIOUS. this fact alone made me smile sadfhashdf well deserved. I love my four fics <3

Legend and the Baby Rabbits - my least creative title, but my proudest work. I loved writing this, it was so fun and reading everyone comments made my entire week!

4. What fandoms do you write for? Linked Universe and Legend of Zelda.

5. Do you respond to comments? I used to be pretty diligent about it, but then I got busy over the holidays and just...stopped. There's so many unread comments in my inbox now...sigh. I still appreciate every single one! I love comments <3

6. Fic with the Angstiest Ending: Ooooo...the first and last chapter of my Febuwhump. First chapter is Malon hearing about Time's death, and the last chapter is Legend getting teleported to an alternate reality where Marin and his Uncle are alive, he can't stay and has to leave them, again.

7. Fic with the happiest ending: umm....er maybe...Number One Hero? Ravio is mistaken for Legend, and the town throws a party for him. Lots of fluff and brotherly bonding.

8. Do you get hate? ...i wouldn't call it hate, but I unfortunately am a panster and often I forget what I had planned, so details get jumbled and i update sporadically, so I've had like maybe one or two comments about that. I also didn't understand how to moderate comments earlier and got a hate comment and I just deleted the chapter and reposted it 💀

9. Do you write smut? No.

10. Do you write crossovers? ...not yet. FMAB is rotting in my brain and i have an idea for an LU x FMAB crossover but it's going to stay in my drafts for a while lol.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? ...not that I know of lol.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Not yet, but I wouldn't mind at all as long as the person credited me!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic? No. I'm not a very good planner, so I feel like it would be difficult to collaborate on that, but I'm not against it though!

14. All-time favorite ship? Uh...of all time? Serena x Ash Ketchum (coughs). But in loz...MALINK!! My beloved. And Spirit Track Zelink, SKSW Zelink...lots of zelink lol.

15. WIPS you want to finish but doubt you ever will? ...I don't have a good track record for this, but I'd like to finish all of them before I leave the LU fandom (which probably won't be anytime soon).

16. Writing strengths? Unlike real life, my dialogue is very banter-y and witty. It's easy for me to write.

17. Writing weaknesses? ACTION. SPECIFICALLY BATTLES. ohh my god...I don't undersatnd how people write such fantastic and epic imagery while I stare at my docs like "swords. blood. sweat. ok monsters are dead now"

18. Thoughts on mixed language dialogue? I like it. Not in giant paragraphs that I have to google translate, but the occasional phrase can be fitting for a particular character or situation.

19. First Fandom you ever wrote for? Linked Universe!

20. Favorite Fic you've ever written? Oh...Number One Hero did not get as much love as I expected but I loved that one and enjoyed writing that...and Four (Young) Mice is good (it's LU Four, so obviously lol). I also loved And You, My Prince (fable/legend <3)

phew that was a lot! No pressure tags! @poposusz @fithesworddweller @crazylittlejester @readingismyhobby24 @kilgoreontralfamadore @raycatz and anyone I forgot!

[the-invisibility-bloke]

fic writer interview

Thanks for the tags, @galaxostars, @microdamage, @shoopsthereitis, and @wolfpants! I love your deep dives, so much of y'all's on my TBR.

How many works do you have on ao3? 40

What is your total wordcount? 468,229

Top 5 stories by kudos: (please don't perceive these, I loathe my old work) now we walk, manie sans delire, Five Times Walter Meets Jesse and One Time He Says Goodbye, don't give me your heart i can't take it, blindsight

Do you respond to comments? Always <3

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending? ​Hmm how 'bout the Starcest where Reg DIES​ (don't come for me it was by request)

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending? Most have happy endings (heh), but I think this one's extra sweet bc Teddy's a lil honeybear (which sounds dirtywrong so all the better)

Do you write crossovers? Not unless you count the one in the next question

Have you received hate for a fic? Rarely because I disable guest comments. 😅 The artist and I both got death threats for this blip on the radar, which is especially hilarious because it's hardly my most problematique work. (It also scared the artist out of the fandom, which is. Less hilarious. Fuck antis.)

Do you write smut? With great disdain (my style is ill-suited to action/logistics)

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Reposted but not plagiarized, I’m way too niche to attract that attention 😂

Have you ever had a fic translated? My Breaking Bad fic, randomly enough

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Kinda, or do artist collabs count? Those are the frosting on fandom cake.

What is your all-time favourite ship? A multishipper's nightmare. Gotta be the Sirry > Heddy or Sirry > Drarry > Tedrarry pipeline. Sirius died so Tedrarry could live.

What's a WIP you want to finish but don't think you ever will? ​My Gauntcest... it's all outlined, but I have to go where the hyper fixates

What are your writing strengths? ​Turn of phrase, dialogue​, ​cadence, emotion

What are your writing weaknesses? *cracks knuckles* Plot, action, pacing, versatility (I am not as well read as many of my counterparts because yep I’ll admit it, most tradpub bores me), the balance between ​poetic prose and character voice. I get Artax-swamped in descriptors, I recycle metaphors, I'm a cringey tryhard in the face of transitions, never know if they land and I can't ever leave a sentence bare. I know, I know sometimes you can just say "He walked to the door" but good sir no I cannot.​ I could parse my shortcomings at the dissertation level... oh... oh maybe a ppt... El’s Insecurities: A Treatise.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in another language? I love the immersiveness and/or hotness, but I’m biased because I usually only run across French and I can muddle through. If you’re unfamiliar with the language it might be hard to follow. (I’ve seen translation footnote links, which, genius, can a tech-savvy gen Z teach me this?)

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written yet but would like to? ​Jalbus. Dralbus. Scarry. Drarry/Scorbus OT4. (Does Draco/Scorpius have a ship name? Scorco and Drapius are… yikes. Malfoycest it is.) Drarry as a two-wheeler and not a tricycle (soon soon soon).

What's your favourite fic you've ever written? ​Passion cools fast for me, but I like my Tedrarry. It got the biggest dose of my wit and sold me on Drarry (which, fail, given I wrote it for a rarepair exchange).

Everyone's already done this, I think? If you haven’t, tag you’re it, @ me. 🩵