#because at first glance it just looks like he's dancing

[rafesangelita]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ breaking the one rule he was always supposed to follow, rafe found himself sitting in the shadows of the gentlemen’s club where bitchy!pogue!reader worked at. imagine your surprise when you find out the person that paid for a private dance with you is your brother’s best friend.. and business partner.

warnings: dealer!rafe, stripper!reader, brother’s best friend trope, mentions of you and barry arguing, sexual tension, flirty banter, making out, heavy petting

a/n: this is what bitchy!pogue!reader is wearing in this btw.. i watched anora and worked on this right after lol

wc: 1.1k

rafe knew it was wrong the second he got in his truck and drove down to ‘pink sugar’ to see if you were there. he knew it was wrong when he walked in and scanned the room for you, and he knew it was wrong when he took a corner seat furthest from the stage. after overhearing you and barry arguing about what you did for work, rafe couldn’t help himself from seeing what was making you come home with a duffle bag full of cash. his curiosity got the best of him, and when he saw you emerge from behind the curtains, pink lace lingerie hugging the curves of your body, the cutest pair of bunny ears adorning your head, with a little bunny tail on your g-string to match, all the guilt he once felt melted away into nothing.

you were sin with legs. rafe watched you smile at the men in the front, the group of them emptying their wallets when you hadn’t even did anything to make them shower you with cash. then again, rafe felt the urge himself to give you all of his money just because you were so pretty. rafe swallowed thickly when your song started and the lights went low, everyone’s attention zeroing in on you as you lowered yourself to the glossy floor of the stage. he watched you crawl to the center, arching your back as the rhinestones around your eyes sparkled under the club lighting. one of the men reached out, poking the little ball that was your bunny tail, slipping what looked like a hundred dollar bill in the string of your bottoms.

rafe hated the way the men in here were looking at you right now, his fists clenching at his sides as he imagined what kind of thoughts were currently running through their heads. “that’s it, baby!” a drunken holler was shouted, the rest of the club following suit and bursting into a fit of cheers when you managed to spin around the pole in the middle of the stage. rafe watched in awe, deciding he needed to get you to himself, and away from the hungry stares of the crowded club. making his way over to the bouncers that stood outside of a concealed hallway, he handed both of them a few crispy bills. “get the one on stage with me and i’ll double it.” without another word, both of the security guards moved aside, letting rafe through.

you finished the rest of your set, blowing kisses to the men who made it a mission of theirs to spoil you rotten tonight before you made your way to the locker rooms where you refreshed your hair and makeup. “y/n?” nancy, the owner’s right hand woman walked in, “i have a private dance for a younger gentleman in room five.. he requested you specifically.” you smiled at her through the reflection of the mirror. “okay, i’ll be right over.” you nodded, giving yourself one more glance before making your way down the dimly lit hallway. the first private dance of the night always made you a little anxious, but at least you knew you were guaranteed a hundred dollars that you didn’t have to share.

you took a breath, twisting the door knob open before going in, shutting the door closed right after. “i must be special if you chose me..” you placed a hand on the man’s shoulder, walking around him before standing between his legs. looking down, you felt your heart drop to your stomach when he looked up, the face all too familiar to you. “yeah, you are.” you gasped, retreating your hand from him as if he burned you. “what the fuck do you think you’re doing, rafe?!” you nearly lost your footing when you stepped back, suddenly feeling exposed as his eyes trailed down your body. “what? i’m just a paying customer.” he shrugged, tossing back the drink in his hand.

“oh, yeah? tell that to barry. he’ll kill you if he finds out you were here.” you scoffed, your eyes meeting his. rafe stared at you for a moment, motioning for you to get closer to him. you swallowed thickly, the small disco ball in the room illuminating his features. “i’m not gonna do anything to you, i just wanted you away from everyone out there.” he spoke lowly. you took a step, accepting the hand he held out for you before he guided you onto his lap. you wrapped an arm around his shoulders like it was second nature, his large palm running up and down your thigh. “sooo.. you think you’re doing me a favor by pulling me back here so no one else can watch me dance?” your face was just mere inches away from rafe’s.

“i’m losing out on a lot of money, ‘country club..” you whispered, the slow music playing softly in the background. “how much do you want. throw me whatever number you’d like.” you smiled, your fingers slipping underneath the hem of his polo. “two thousand,” you spoke, “with interest.” rafe laughed, nodding his head as he trailed his hand from your thigh to your hip, adjusting the strap of your g-string against your skin. “with interest, huh?” he smirked, eyes falling down to your lips, “..i’d happily give that to you.” you leaned in first, just wanting to feel his lips on yours. rafe stilled for a second, a groan rumbling from his chest when he pulled you closer by your neck, returning your kiss tenfold.

“is barry home?” he was breathless when he pulled away, his hands roaming your body as if he wanted to take you right then and there. at the mention of your brother, reality seemed to grip its claws into you when you realized what you were doing right now. rafe saw the look of confliction pass over your face, his fingers cupping your chin to avert your attention back onto him. ��hey..” he whispered, “i won’t tell if you don’t.” his words echoed in your head, his cologne and his proximity overtaking your senses. as if you two were meeting on the same page, rafe watched as your eyes grew dark, a smile gracing your lips. “i don’t kiss and tell, rafe.” as if a flip switched, you two began ravaging each other once more.

time slowed when you two moaned into each other’s mouths, grappling onto one another as if the two of you would disappear if you let go. “barry’s gone for the night.” you managed to speak between kisses, rafe nodding as he cupped you through your bra. just as he was going to tell you to leave with him, the bouncer outside the door yelled that rafe’s thirty minutes were up. “what the fuck, already?” he glanced down at his watch. you sighed, letting rafe pick you up before he kissed you one more time. “get your shit and let’s go, i’ll be waiting at the front door.” he squeezed the globes of your ass, making you gasp as he walked out. and just like that, rafe never let you step foot in that club again.

[fear-is-truth]

JINGLE BELL ROCK — rodrick heffley

synopsis : you’re performing at the school’s annual holiday show, the only reason rodrick heffley bothered to show up in the first place. warnings : suggestive

THE SCHOOL AUDITORIUM buzzed with holiday cheer, packed with parents, teachers, and students. rodrick heffley, though, was barely paying attention. the only reason he even showed up to this dumb musical was because he knew you’d be performing, and he figured it couldn’t be that bad if you were in it.

still, as rodrick slouched in his seat, he tried to hide how much he was looking forward to it. beside him, his little brother was fiddling with the family’s camcorder.

“gotta get this all on tape,” greg muttered, adjusting the settings.

“yeah, sure,” rodrick scoffed, rolling his eyes. he knew his loser brother had a huge crush on you, though you were way out of greg’s league. not that rodrick was any better—he was down bad too, if not more.

the lights dimmed, and the crowd hushed. music started—a jazzy rendition of “jingle bell rock”—and you stepped into the spotlight. rodrick straightened so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. among a group of girls, there you were, rocking a santa-themed outfit—a short red skirt with fluffy white trim, a cropped top, black knee-high boots, and a tilted santa hat that somehow made you look even sexier.

“whoa…” before greg could settle on his angle, rodrick snatched the camcorder out of his hands. “hey!” greg whisper-yelled, grabbing at it, but rodrick just held it higher, leaning away.

“rodrick, give it back!”

“just shut up,” rodrick hissed, eyes glued to the tiny screen as he focused on you. “i’ve got the better shot, anyway.”

his brother glared, finally giving up and crossing his arms, mumbling, “jerk.” under his breath.

before rodrick could sock the little dweeb, mr. heffley leaned forward, giving them both a stern look. “boys,” he warned, and they exchanged a quick, scathing look before slumping back in silence.

you began with a sassy strut, each step punctuated by the sharp tap of your heels against the stage. the short skirt flared as you twirled, flashing the audience with your lacy black panties before settling into a hip sway. a few parents and teachers exchanged uneasy glances, clearly disapproving of the provocative choreography, but the boys didn’t seem to mind; rodrick’s face was flushed as he leaned forward, white-knuckling the camcorder, while next to him, greg watched with the same awestruck expression.

as the routine continued, you moved into a coordinated dance with the other girls, adding in a series of hip rolls and dips that only amplified the sultry vibe. midway through, you turned, gave the crowd a wink, and broke into a slow, very deliberate twerk, grinning at the audible gasps rippling through the audience. rodrick’s jaw nearly hit the floor, and greg mumbled a quiet “how is this even allowed,” though he as hell wasn’t complaining.

with a smirk, you leaned forward and did a quick, playful shimmy that brought scattered gasps and a few horrified “oh my gods” from the more conservative audience members. meanwhile, rodrick’s grip on the camcorder shook slightly as he adjusted the zoom to capture your boobs, before switching to your ass. all the while the crotch of his jeans was growing increasingly tight as he squirmed in his seat. god, this was straight up jerk-off material.

as you blew a kiss at the audience, but to rodrick, it almost felt like you were looking directly into the lenses, at him. the routine ended with your final pose under the spotlight, and the crowd burst into applause. greg nudged him with his elbow.

“give it back, rodrick.”

rodrick didn’t even look at him, his gaze still glued to the camcorder screen.

“yeah, right… nope.”

before greg could argue, rodrick abruptly stood up, forcing his way out of the row of seats, ignoring the annoyed looks from people he brushed past. he was already making a beeline for the bathroom, gripping the camcorder tightly as he moved.

 fear-is-truth

[rheanyraaaa]

Water Lilly Part 4

Enemies To Lovers

Robb Stark x Frey!Reader (F)

summary: Robb & You married via forced/arranged marriage between Starks and the Frey’s, yet the two of you refuse to get along.

——————————————————————————

The wind howled outside the tent, a bleak reminder of the late autumn chill that had settled across the camp. Inside, however, there was only silence, heavy and strained as you sat on opposite ends of the space you now shared with Robb. He was sharpening his sword, the steady scrape of metal against stone echoing like an accusation in the quiet. The air between you felt thick, weighted with everything unsaid, each one of you refusing to break first.

For a while, the only sounds were the crackling of the small fire and the rhythmic rasp of Robb’s whetstone. You could feel his eyes flicker to you every so often, though whenever you glanced up, he looked away, as if he could barely summon the interest to even meet your gaze.

Finally, he spoke, his voice rough and detached. “How is the child?”

The question caught you off guard. It had been so long since he’d asked you anything directly about the baby. Not even bothering to look up from your seat, you answered curtly, “Well I’m just a few weeks now. No visible bump yet, but the healer says it’s developing well.”

Robb merely nodded, his expression unreadable. “Good,” he murmured, his voice flat, almost as though he were discussing the state of his armor rather than the life of his unborn child. The lack of feeling in his tone sparked something angry within you, and before you could stop yourself, you felt the words slip out.

“Don’t pretend to care if you don’t,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “It doesn’t make you sound noble. If you’re uninterested, you could simply say nothing.”

Robb looked up, his blue eyes narrowing as he studied you with a mixture of irritation and something close to surprise. “I’m trying to show an interest, my lady,” he replied, his voice cool. “Would you rather I pretend the child doesn’t exist?”

You scoffed, setting down the small embroidery piece you’d been working on in an attempt to steady your nerves. “What difference would it make?” you asked, fixing him with a steady glare. “You spend more time planning battles and with… your healer than you do with me. I’d think I was a ghost if not for your hand on my stomach at meetings.”

A flicker of something crossed his face defensiveness or even guilt but it was quickly masked. He set his sword down, running a hand through his hair as he looked back at you with a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. “I have responsibilities,” he said, as if that were excuse enough.

“So do I,” you replied, unwilling to back down. “Or do you forget that I’m here against my will as well, playing the dutiful wife to a man who doesn’t want me?”

His jaw tightened, and he took a step closer, the shadows of the tent dancing across his features, casting him in a harsh, almost unforgiving light. “You’re here because your father made an agreement, not because I chose this,” he snapped, his voice low. “And forgive me if I’m distracted by the task of keeping us all alive.”

“And I’m here because I had no choice either,” you shot back, rising to meet him, unwilling to be looked down upon. “I didn’t ask for this marriage, this… charade. But you could at least pretend to care for appearances, or does that take too much effort?”

Before he could reply, a voice called from outside the tent.

“Lord Stark?” It was one of Robb’s commanders, a grizzled man with a scar across his cheek and a stoic expression that seemed permanently etched into his features. Robb exhaled, stepping back and shaking his head as though to clear his frustration.

“Enter,” he called, his tone clipped. he stepped in, his eyes briefly glancing between the two of you with a look of concern.

“Apologies for the intrusion, but there’s news from the south,” the man said, his tone grave. “Lannister forces are moving, and they’re cutting off supply lines through the river routes. If we don’t address it, our men could be starved out before winter’s end.”

Robb nodded, his expression hardening into a familiar mask of focus. “We’ll meet in the command tent. I want a full report.”

With a quick bow, he left, and Robb turned back to you. The tension between you remained, thick and unresolved, but there was something almost pleading in his gaze, as though he wished to say something but didn’t know how.

“If you want to join us, you’re welcome to,” he muttered, his voice softer. It was as close to a peace offering as he could manage.

But the idea of sitting in that tent, at his side as he strategized, his cold demeanor, a reminder of the distance between you, was more than you could bear. “No, thank you,” you replied curtly. “I think I’ll find my own company more pleasant.”

Robb’s gaze darkened, a flash of frustration flaring in his eyes, but he said nothing more, only turning and leaving the tent without a backward glance.

The silence he left in his wake was oppressive, and despite your anger, a pang of something lonelier, sharper, cut through you. Alone, you wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling the emptiness in the tent like a second skin.

The hours passed slowly, and evening fell. You took a walk through the camp, trying to ease your mind, but everywhere you went, you felt eyes on you, whispers trailing in your wake. The men respected you as Robb’s wife, but you could tell they sensed the distance between you two. Some even looked at you with pity, others with confusion, unsure of the bond they assumed must exist between the Stark lord and his Frey bride.

Eventually, you found yourself at the healer’s tent, where Talisa was working over a soldier with a nasty leg wound. You paused in the doorway, watching her ease his pain with a touch far gentler than the one Robb had ever shown you.

Talisa looked up, her gaze meeting yours. For a moment, she studied you, a quiet empathy in her eyes, and you wondered if she knew the nature of the rift between you and Robb.

“My lady,” she greeted, her voice warm and steady, but with an undertone of awareness. “Is there something I can help you with?”

You forced a polite smile. “No, thank you. I was just… walking. I thought I’d see how things were here.”

She nodded, sensing your discomfort, and returned her attention to the soldier. It was no secret that she held Robb’s favor, nor was it hard to see why. She was kind, assured, capable in ways that made you feel inadequate, a reminder of the gap between you and your husband.

Feeling restless, you returned to your own tent, wondering how much longer you could keep up this performance. But as you stepped inside, you were startled to find Robb already there, waiting.

He looked at you, his expression unreadable, though a flicker of something softer crossed his face.

“What is it?” you asked warily, crossing your arms.

He hesitated, the silence stretching between you until it grew almost unbearable. Finally, he spoke, his voice low. “I know this isn’t what you wanted,” he said, surprising you with the uncharacteristic vulnerability in his tone. “But I’m trying to make the best of it.”

You regarded him, the bitterness in your heart softening just a fraction, though your voice was still guarded. “If you’re trying, it’s a poor effort, Robb. You treat me like another pawn on the board, something useful only when it suits you.”

He looked down, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “This isn’t easy for me, either. I didn’t want to marry for alliance or duty, but here we are.”

The words hung between you, an uncomfortable truth neither of you had admitted aloud before. For the first time, you saw a glimpse of the boy behind the hardened lord, the man who perhaps hadn’t asked for this life of war and responsibility but had it thrust upon him.

——————————————————————————

Tags!!

@samieree @maysileeewrites

[tsams-is-my-hyperfixation]

◀ | ◼ | ▶

[NONVERBAL SUN AU: Eclipse.]

Sun's head was hurting as he walked over to the desk, sitting in a chair. It was after hours, and the lights were dimmed. Moon crawled over. "Sunny, are you okay?" he asked his daytime counterpart, who just nodded tiredly. He put a hand on his head. "Just a headache..." Sun responded. "But we're animatronics, how can we get headaches?..." Moon asked, curious. Sun actually didn't know. Maybe it was something more...

"Moon, would you mind checking my systems?" Sun asked him. Moon nodded, crawling over to Sun, who sat down on the floor. "I need you to power down..." Moon told him. Sun did as told, powering down. Last thing he heard was Moon going into his mind to check...

~~~

[MOON'S POV:]

Sunny's head was all fun and games, quite literally! Cute little strawberry plushie's jumped up and down on the trampoline, while cartons of Chocolate Milk danced in the fridge. It wss all bright and colorful. Moon loved it. "I love this place!!!" he exclaimed. Then he shook his head. He was here for Sunny, not for the fun. He saw a yellow glow from the desk. He crawled over, to see someone who looked exactly like Sunny, but glowing brightly.

"Ooh! What's your name?" he asked them. They turned too look at him, giving him a dirty look. "First, stop crawling and stand up." the glowing Sunny said. "But I don't know how..." Moon mumbled. The glowing Sunny just stared at him, dumbfounded. "How do you—" he sighed in exasperation, getting up and grabbing Moon by the arm before jerking him upwards. Moon almost fell, but the glowing Sunny caught him. He was able to stand with glowing Sunny's help. "My name is Eclipse." the glowing Sunny—no, Eclipse—said. "I like your name!" Moon told him happily. "I'm Moon!"

"Nice to meet you I guess, Moon..." Eclipse mumbled under his breath. The lights grew brighter, causing Moon to flinch and cover his eyes. Again, the light hurt him, because he was darkness. Poor guy. Eclipse looked thoroughly surprised, before turning off his glow and hugging Moon. Moon hugged back. "Are you the thingy in Sunny's head that's making his head hurt?" Moon asked. "I guess I am..." Eclipse muttered. Moon just poked him innocently. "Bye bye, Clipsy!" Moon said innocently. Eclipse looked at him, before hesitantly waving goodbye. Then, Moon went back to the real world.

~~~

[SUNS POV:]

Sun opened his eyes, powering back on. He glanced at Moon, who seemed too be fine. "What happened?" he asked his nighttime counterpart. "The thingy hurting your head's name is Eclipse!" Moon told him. "YOU GAVE IT A NAME!?" Sun exclaimed, dumbfounded. Moon just nodded. Sun face planted. "Whatever floats your boat, Moony..." he mumbled. He pat his brother's head. Innocent little Moon...

"Sometimes you're an idiot...but that's okay, because you're my little brother. You are my world..."

THE SILLIES! Tagging people who might like it even if we aren't mutuals: @goodolddumbbanana @noinoi999 @ikamigami @multifandomcutie13 @thekillermaretwinz @inkyucu @skyuvu123 @ryomaandgundhamkin @coffee-the-bat @sen-sational @dagh0stking @ilikescience-confession-blog @tsamsconfessions123 @silly-a-777 @nosleepygay @eddwardharrison @bloodmoon-da-idiot @lunarlovesbeanbags @mo0ndr0p @sleepy-hall @a-fucking-tornado @rayofmfsunshine1201 @darksuns-beloved-pet @letthebloodrunlikeariver @astrofairy06 @sunny-sourzii @upsidedownapple @yelesomeblue @deyisacherry and literally anyone else. Half the people on here are not my mutuals and half of them are. If you would like your tag removed, just ask me and I gladly will. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED!

[charliedawn]

Imagine Deadpool always being goofy around you but secretly trusting you more than anybody

Deadpool is, as usual, a whirlwind of awful decisions whenever he’s around you. He bounces in with finger guns, terrible puns, and his favorite “guess who” game (always tapping your shoulder from the wrong side). He throws around ridiculous pet names like “Buttercup” and “Snickerdoodle” and spends half the time doing terrible impressions or random dance moves just to see if he can get you to laugh.

But then there are moments—tiny, fleeting ones—when he lets his guard slip, and you see a flicker of something softer. Like when you’re both sitting in the middle of his post-fight mess, and he hands you the first aid kit with an awkward, "Hey, doc—patch me up ?" Or when he ‘casually’ invites you to join him on a job, insisting it’s only because he ‘needs someone to carry the snacks.’

One night, after a particularly close call, he actually opens up, sitting next to you in rare silence. He mutters a quiet, "Thanks for, you know, sticking around." Then he’s back to his usual self, laughing it off and talking about how he’s going to name his next bullet after you (in the most loving way, of course).

No one else gets to see that side of him, though; with everyone else, he’s always on guard, always deflecting with humor or sarcasm. But with you, he lets that mask slip—just enough to show that, deep down, he trusts you more than he’d ever admit. And even if he might not say it out loud, he knows you understand.

………………

"UUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHH ! It's so boooorrriiiiinnnng ! Why isn't there any criminal trying to chop my head off ?!"

He asks and you smile at the impatient vigilante.

"Because, it's Saturday. Even bad guys can take a break from time to time…"

Deadpool lets out another dramatic groan, slumping against the wall as if he’s just received the worst news in the universe. "But Saturdays are prime crime time ! What happened to honor among thieves ? Where’s the commitment ?"

You stifle a laugh, crossing your arms as you lean against the wall beside him. "Maybe they’re on vacation ? Even villains need some self-care."

He rolls his eyes, pulling out a stray bullet and inspecting it for no real reason. "Villain self-care ? What, like mani-pedis and aromatherapy ? ‘Oh look at me, I’m a vicious warlord but I just had to take a spa day !’" He mimics an exaggerated fancy accent, waving his arms around for effect.

You shake your head, grinning. "Maybe they got tired of all the explosions and chaos and thought, ‘Hey, let’s try a quiet weekend.’ Who knows ?"

He sighs, crossing his arms with a pout. "Well, what am I supposed to do with all this pent-up energy ?" He glances at you with a mischievous grin. "C’mon, let's go out and do something reckless ! Or mildly reckless. Or, hey—wanna play ‘Hide and Seek’ on the rooftops ? Loser buys chimichangas !"

You laugh, knowing full well that Deadpool would take any excuse to drag you along on his misadventures, even on the most boring of Saturdays. "Fine, but no rooftops. How about we just grab the chimichangas instead ?"

He perks up instantly, the pout vanishing as if it never existed. "See, that’s why you’re my favorite ! Chimichanga adventure—let’s go !" He leaps up, offering you his hand like he’s about to escort you to the finest restaurant in town. "Saturday saved !"

You take his hand, and he pulls you up with an exaggerated flourish, bowing as if he’s some gentleman from another era. "My dear snuggle-muffin, tonight we dine…taco truck style !"

Laughing, you let him lead you outside, where he immediately starts rambling on about his ‘top-secret plan’ to one day create a chimichanga empire that will rival all fast-food chains. He even sketches out a logo idea in the air, claiming it would be like Taco Bell but with more ‘POW !’ and less ‘corporate.’

On the way, he’s darting around every street corner and alleyway, occasionally peeking into windows. "Still no villains lurking around… they’re really letting me down today," he grumbles, but his annoyance seems to fade as soon as you reach the brightly lit food truck. Deadpool claps his hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. "Two of your most dangerous chimichangas !" he declares to the vendor, his eyes gleaming with an almost childlike joy.

As you both sit on a nearby bench with your food, Deadpool munches happily, occasionally tossing bits in the air and catching them in his mouth. After a few bites, he glances at you, his mask scrunched up slightly as if he’s about to say something serious. But then he just nudges your shoulder. "Y’know, this is almost better than fighting bad guys."

You give him a playful shove. "Almost ?"

"Fine, equally as good," he grins, taking another big bite. There’s a moment of comfortable silence, with just the city noise around you, and he looks at you with a sincerity that’s rare for him. "Thanks for sticking around, even on the boring days."

You smile back, knowing that under all the jokes and chaos, this goofy, unpredictable vigilante values you more than he lets on. "Anytime, Wade. Even on Saturdays."

He pauses, then pulls you into a one-armed hug, messy and warm. "Alright, alright—now hurry up ! Next round’s on me, and I’m feeling brave enough to try the spicy ones. Bring it on, Saturday !"

You laughed. Yeah…That promises to be a very good Saturday indeed.

[zerodaryls]

Joe Williams of Toto playing air guitar (+ keyboard)

[1 & 2: Straight for the Heart, 3: Stop Loving You, 4 & 5: Pamela, 6 & 7: Great Expectations (2015), 8: Great Expectations (2016)]

[zyafics]

CAN YOU PLEASE, PLEASE ON MY KNEES WRITE ABOUT BITCHY!READER X RAFE AND IT'S SMUT?? I FEEL LIKE YOU'LL DO IT JUSTICE!!! thank you

you literally read my mind because i was just thinking of this prompt that works so well with bitchy!reader!! hope you'll enjoy <3 (if it’s bad, look away!!)

WHATEVER SHE WANTS | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Blurb) | x Bitchy!Kook!Female Reader

Content — 18+, power/dominance play, p in v, doggy style, orgasm denial, and dirty talks

Word Count — 2.2K

lıllılı Whatever She Wants by Bryson Tiller

You always wanted Rafe.

It's your right. Since you were a child, you demanded the best in everything—toys, clothes, boyfriends. They had to be perfect. Had to be yours. And yes, it may come off a little superficial but who cares? It's what you deserve, and it'll be hell if you don't get it.

Since the first look, when you caught Rafe lounging on a chair with his friends, tipping the rim of his beer onto his lips, while his eyes scanned over the room in an attractive lazy way, you knew you had to have him. It didn't help that you were competitive, and Rafe garnered attention with women. They flocked to him and begged for a minute of his time. It became a game to you, and that heightened your need.

Everything was calculated. The makeup you wore, the outfits you curated, the glances. You always timed your arrivals—when you knew Rafe would be watching the door—and marked your exits. You knew exactly what to wear—dresses that tantalizing exposes your ass, but only as a preview—and the cosmetic style he liked. Rafe's the type of man who believes he wants a bare-faced woman, but truly, he wants something natural that enhances your features.

You came with friends. You left alone. You drank enough to loosen your nerves and danced with the crowd, but not enough to make a fool of yourself. You knew your tolerance and knew Rafe didn't like a messy girl.

At least, in public.

You caught his gaze a couple of times, flashing a flirtatious smile over your shoulders, but never lingered longer than three seconds. Rafe can't know how easy he can have you, because Rafe, like most boys, loves a chase. You're not easy, you're spoiled. He had to come to you.

And he did.

Rafe tried to introduce himself on several occasions. On those nights when you're leaving early—as planned—Rafe would cut to the door to pay a parting remark. "You're leaving so soon?" he would ask, "Alone? Again?" He would add. You always told him it was because no one caught your eye, and Rafe took that as a personal challenge. He would then try to tell you his name, as if he were different, to which you nod—detached—as if it didn't matter.

It drove him insane.

Because you didn't offer the same courtesy. You kept him guessing. He had to finally ask around to learn your name, which he would use to tease you the next time he saw you. And he did. And you laughed. But you acted like you didn't care. Like all the trouble he went through didn't prove a thing. That's when Rafe knew he needed you.

Tonight's no different. Just as you're about to leave, Rafe catches you with another smooth pick-up line. You just giggle. He studies how your eyes crinkle with amusement, the curve of your lips painted in his favorite shade of lipstick, and the lithe tilt of your head to the side as you ask him with your gaze, is that the best you got?

It isn't. But Rafe's determined to get further with you tonight. He continues to talk, asking about which men disappointed you and the reasons for your constant disappearances from these parties. And, for once, you're answering his questions with little resistance. Perhaps, it's because of the amount of cheap wines you consumed, or maybe you—for once—are tired of the games and want it to come to a fruitful end. Because when Rafe finally asks to take you home, you don't say no.

The walk to his truck is brisk. His arm wrapped around your waist, directing your path, while his fingers trail over the backless cut of your dress, producing a buzzing feeling beneath your skin. He's whispering something in your ear, but all of it is incomprehensible as you revel in the feeling of his touch and his touch alone. The feeling of your game coming to a conclusion.

And, just as you're about to reach the car, Rafe slams you into the side of the vehicle with a searing kiss.

His mouth catches yours and everything feels perfect. As if the buildup leading to this precise moment had been worth it, and every needy emotion rises to the top. His hand travels down the length of your body, to your hips, pulling you closer, and needing to eliminate all the space and wait you made him do.

Rafe's movements are swift and controlled. One of his hands props open the backdoor of his car, pushing you inside, and laying you against his leather seats. All without breaking the kiss.

"You don't know how long I wanted this, wanted you," Rafe blubbers between wet kisses. "Seeing you at every party, in these tiny dresses, not being able to touch," he rasps, bundling the hem of your dress into a tight fist. "Tell me you wear them for me."

"And if I did?" You say with a moan, tipping your head back to grant him access to your neck. "Did you like them?"

"Of course I did," he murmurs against the curve of your neck, the vibration of his words sending heat straight to your core. "You dressing up for me like my own perfect doll."

You want to retort that it's him who's in the palm of your hand, but Rafe sucks on a sensitive spot, causing your eyes to roll back and a whimper to escape your lips instead. He grabs your wrists with one hand, throwing them over his shoulder as he pulls you flush against his chest.

"So pretty, so fucking untouchable," Rafe kisses down the length of your throat, his fingers collecting the spaghetti straps of your dress before sliding it down the slope of your shoulders. "I'm going to fuck you so good."

His words snap you out of your haze. And while Rafe continues to expose more of your body, lamenting each reveal of flesh with a kiss, you withdraw enough to grab his attention.

"You're not fucking me in a car."

"What?" Rafe breaths, unable to snap out of the trace you had him in. Delirious with want, his mind warped around the idea of you being so close to attainable, that all rational manners left his system. He tries to kiss you again, to resume the moment, but you pull enough to send him a deadly glare, pouty and spoiled.

"Rafe, take me somewhere nice or we're not fucking at all."

He can't believe what he's hearing. He can't believe he's contemplating it. But Rafe doesn't understand that you have it all planned out to result in a perfect moment. You won't let it be disrupted just because Rafe can't drive the extra mile to take you somewhere nice. You'd rather leave him with blue balls.

"Are you serious?" He asks slowly, his eyes drawn to your swollen lips, the little pout, and the desperation to have them back on his. Sure, Rafe's had girls who wanted something more than a casual fling. He had them ask him for a better spot, but he never obliged. He never cared. But you're different. He wants you, and it's been a hell of a chase to get you here. He'll be damned if he lets it slip away because of a pretentious standard.

"Does it look like I'm joking?" You cross your arms over your chest, pushing your breasts further up. He nearly groans at the sight. "We're not having sex here."

"The nearest place has to be at least a fifteen-minute drive," Rafe argues. And it makes you upset, brows pinched together. "We can just—"

"I don't care," you snap. "Take me somewhere nice or I'm leaving."

You're serious. He sees it on your face. Rafe can't risk that, despite wanting to protest, because he knows he if he messes this up, he won't have another chance. Swearing under his breath, he drags himself out of the backseat and into the driver's side, pulling the car out of the parking lot.

Dangerously, Rafe speeds down the road, while you're sitting in the backseat with a self-satisfied demeanor, fixing your makeup through the rearview mirror. Occasionally, Rafe spares a glance through the same reflection, connecting with your gaze, and while there's subtle bitterness coiled in his chest, he recognizes the bigger prize at hand.

And what he can do with it.

Because, despite your bratty attitude, Rafe is a person who wants control. You want perfection. You two can have both.

That's how you find yourself in a newly-booked penthouse suite at one of the bougie hotels in Kildare, your head digging into the soft comforter of the bed, your ass in the air, as Rafe drills into you from behind.

When you reached the room, everything moved frantically. Rafe slammed you against the nearest wall to kiss you again—needing your lips, needing your taste—while his hands roamed over your dress and pulled down your cleavage, revealing your tits. Your hands wandered down his pants, unbuttoning them hurriedly, needily, and he assisted you by pulling them off alongside his boxers. His cock was big, slightly red with a pearly bead of pre-cum that rolls off the tip. And you could tell by the look on Rafe's face that he wanted you to suck it.

But you told him, "I don't do blowjobs."

So fucking pretentious.

It didn't matter. He hauled you over to the king-sized bed and pushed you onto the mattress. You landed with a soft thump, while Rafe hauled you up to your ass, pushing up your dress, until it became nothing but a bundle around your waist. His movements were urgent, and he wanted—no, needed—to be inside you because a bratty girl was going to be a great fuck.

And he was right.

You're perfect. The way you wrap around him, the way he sinks inside you. He doesn't know if it's because of the delirium of wanting you so desperately, of chasing you for so long—but he never had better pussy. And it doesn't help that your moans are sweet, breathy, and loud—begging him to go faster.

"Such a pretentious brat," Rafe grabs your throat, hauling you upwards till your spine rest on his chest, airway constricted by his harsh grip. "Making me wait this fucking long."

"R—Rafe," you mewl, eyes rolling to the back of your skull at the way he's angling his cock deep into your cervix, bullying the sensitive spot over and over again until you're seeing stars.

"Had to get the princess treatment, did you?" He murmurs hotly into your ear, nibbling a spot on your neck as you rest the back of your head on his shoulder. His thrusts grow more erratic. "Had to make me earn you, didn't you?"

"You weren't going to fuck me in a car," you persist, and despite how cockdrunk you became, and how much of an attitude you're willing to sacrifice to feel good, you were still adamant about receiving what you deemed enough. He respected that. "I'm not one of your whores."

"But I'm fucking you like my own personal slut. Is that any better?" He bites the lobe of your ear, and his other hand wanders up to grab a handful of your breast, squeezing the fat before rolling your perked nipple between his fingers. You moan louder. "What does that make you?"

You can't seem to answer him, can't seem to find your senses. The words Rafe uses are vulgar, but there’s still no regrets about this entire thing. Rafe wanted you so badly, that he was willing to spend hundreds of dollars on a hotel he probably won't even stay the night in. All because you demanded it.

You win.

"Shut up," you stammer, your stomach tightening. "Shut up and just fuck me, Rafe."

Rafe grins. The hand playing with your tits slips between your thighs to assist, finding your clit easily as he rubs it with his thumb in sync with his thrusts. Breathy moans escape you as you arch into his palm, while he pistons deeper inside of you, bottoming out.

"You sound so pretty, doll," Rafe murmurs against your heated skin, "Come on, take my fucking cock."

Everything’s so dirty. The way he handles you, the way your wetness drips down your thighs, the way his words breathe onto your skin and tighten your core. But you love it. You do, but you're not willing to give in so easily. No matter how good it feels. No matter how much he feels like a prize.

"You don't deserve me." You whisper with a mewl, body tightening with the familiar wave of your undoing.

Yet, Rafe merely grins.

"But you're sucking in my cock like you need me," Rafe taunts, pleasure coursing through his body at the way your walls grip him in a vice. The way your words spark challenge and invitation. He knows, despite your spoiled attitude and pretentious demands, he'll do anything to get another chance like this. "Now, behave like a good girl or you're not coming tonight."

IMPORTANT: if you want to follow my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

tagging @starkeysprincess bc she saw it first <3

[nighttimealone]

Cw: Nsfw (141 x fem!reader, live together)

Beside you, Kyle is the first to wake up in the morning. He’ll pad towards the kitchen, enjoying the sight of you making your morning drink silently, before moving to stand right behind you, arms wrapped around your waist as he grinds he bulge lazily against your ass. He just wants to feel your warmth, how nice your soft flesh press against his cock.

“Just want to feel you, baby. It’s so cold out here.” He’ll unabashedly slip his hands under your pajamas shirt, kneading your breasts and tugging at those sensitive buds, forcing you to stop brewing your drink because you might spill the liquid.

Kyle just want to get an orgasm from you, a gift for you two morning birds, he claims before succumbing to sleepiness and tuck himself back under the duvet, fully content with being the first man making you come undone everyday, and sleeps in 5 more minutes.

You know Johnny will drag you into the shower with him whenever he comes back from his morning jog. You chide him before he engulfs you in his embrace, lightheartedly calling him a stinky man and shush him to go shower first.

So his solution is hug you despite your protest, then pull you inside the bathroom together, stripping off your pajamas and his sports wear impatiently before jumping into the shower with you.

“We’re both stinky now, jus’ thought ye might need a shower too.” Johnny grins when you glare at him, shamelessly pretends he’s just ‘looking out for ye’ while his hands traveling across your body, groping and preparing you for his cock with his hard dick prodding at the small of your back. He’ll never hurt you, but as soon as you’re wet enough for his girthy shaft, he’ll pick you up, stretching you deeply and completely with the help of your weight, groans and growls at how good you are, how your precious pussy takes him so good, ignoring Ghost’s noise complaint coming from the other side of the bathroom door as he fucks you fast and feral, making you unable to care about suppressing your moans and cling onto him, let him keep scooping you in his arms and thrust into you till he empty his balls in your good little cunt.

Finally getting Kyle and Johnny pass out from the alcohol, John and Simon manhandle them back to the bedroom before entering the living room again. 00:13, a glance at the clock telling you it’s late in the night, but it’s just the start for the three of you. Retrieving a bottle of fine rum, John seats you between him and Simon, thighs touching with theirs as you all sip on the wine and chat quietly. “The boys will chug the rum like it’s some cheap beer, they can settle with those just fine.” John chuckles lowly and comments on the awful taste and drinking habit of Kyle and Johnny.

“Those bonkers will stick to your side the whole day and complain if they find out, old man.” Simon chimes in after huffing out a laugh at John’s words.

You snicker along with them, feeling fully content and relaxed with squished between two of your lovers, joking about the other two men you loved while the rum flows smoothly down your throat. Soon your composure slips after few nips of the wine, whining cute and groggily as Simon ravish in the kiss with you, tongues dance and tangle with each other in a slow pace, let him drink down all your syrupy moans and coos in rare gentleness, so John can slickens up your pussy with his lips and your juices, making sure you can accommodate their fat cocks later, and you can’t expect or plead him to sink his cock into you already until him and Simon can see your juices dripping down your soaked folds, praying them to fill you up.

The two men will treat you so well, worshipping their dearest girl in the world. Simon’s fingers and lips are always on you when John squeeze his fat tip into your entrance, gliding in and out slowly and heavily, so all those spongy spots of yours that can make you chant his name like a mantra aren’t missed out. When he put a load in you with a husky groan, passing you onto Simon’s lap and let you lean back on his chest, he’ll plant tiny kisses on your shoulder, murmur about how they love you—will protect you and keep you safe and sound—against your skin. Simon allows him to indulge in the heat and tightness of your pussy, grunting and praising you as he fuck John’s cum back inside you, making sure you take each drops of John’s seeds, like the reliable lieutenant he always is for his captain. The base of his length has formed a creamy froth the time he nips down slightly on your shoulder to muffle his moan, drenching your messy cunt with every bit of his release. “Atta girl.” His croon is added with John’s soothing voice “Yeah, been so good for us, princess.”

They both pick up the glass once again to finish the remaining rum, with you already drifting between your slumber and consciousness, listening to their small chatters as your own lullaby. You don’t know when they’ll finish drinking, or if one of them will nestle their cock inside your pussy again, just to feel your walls clenching down subconsciously, but you let yourself slip into a dream, because they’ll take good care of you, always do and always will.

[seumyo]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ 8:46

“Do you have dimples?”

Bakugou doesn’t understand it himself, but you always find your way back to his house after your first visit—asking these out-of-the-blue questions that seem to have no end to them. It’s like a curse has befallen him, one that follows him wherever he goes.

For a moment, his eyes snap in your direction, his head tilting ever so slightly to the side, though his intense glare never once wavers. He didn’t know what the hell you were getting at, and he wasn’t sure if he had the strength to even want to know why you were asking about something so random.

Honestly, he should be used to it by now. But the thing is, he isn’t, because sooner or later you’ll be popping out of nowhere with another of your pointless questions.

“Hah?”

“I asked, do you have dimples?” you repeated.

His eye twitches at the repeated question, and as much as he’d like to give you a snappy remark to get you to stop, he can’t seem to come up with one. So, for the time being, he decides to humor you (and hope for the best that you drop it and move onto another topic).

“Why the hell are you asking?”

“Because Kaminari and I made a bet whether you have dimples or not. I went with yes, you do have them—even if it’s a singular dimple, but Kaminari says otherwise,” you explained, tapping your finger softly against the coffee table.

He scoffs at the childish reason. “And what makes you think I do have one?”

“A hunch,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. “I also have just one.” You smiled, showing off your obvious singular dimple on your right cheek.

Bakugou glances at your dimple for a brief moment, eyes scanning over your face and the way that the dimple seemed to perfectly dip into the soft skin of your cheek. He almost found himself entranced for a moment, but his gaze returned to your eyes as he huffed out in mock disinterest.

He was about to dismiss your hunch—maybe just flat-out refuse to even show you—or come up with a lie. But Bakugou Katsuki wasn’t a liar.

“What happens if you win the bet?”

“I get 3000 yen,” you answered.

That’s a lot, he thought.

“I can pay you 3000 yen to shut the fuck up and stop with the useless questions.”

“There’s no fun in that!”

He scoffs again as he leans back against the sofa, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at your stupidity. He eyed you for a moment, his head tilting to the side as he sighed. “And what happens if you lose the bet?”

“He gets 3000 yen.”

Bakugou almost wanted to laugh at the fact that you were putting so much faith and money on a simple guess, but he managed to hold back on the amused expression and forced himself to remain calm and unbothered.

He leaned back a bit more, relaxing against the plush seats, letting out a mocking “tch” before he said, “What if I don’t show you if I have a damn dimple or not?”

“Please? Oh my god, Bakugou. Don’t do this to me now! Kaminari’s going to do a ‘victory dance’ when he finds out he won by default,” you half-whined.

He was about to give you his final choice when suddenly you started whining at him. Bakugou rose an eyebrow at you, lips quirking to a frown. As idiotic as it is to him, it looks like it was quite a serious matter to you.

“Tch. Whatever.”

You threw your hands to your face, groaning. “Pretty please, with a cherry on top? Spare me some sympathy—and be a team player for once!”

He found himself fighting a scowl at the way you acted. It was somewhat different this time around, and it was making him feel weird. Damn it. You’re a goddamn nuisance.

“Alright, fine. Just—” He motioned with his hand for you to come closer, an almost annoyed expression on his face. “If you tell anyone else about this other than Dunce Face, I’ll make sure you don’t ever see the next sunrise.”

“That doesn’t sound heroic at all—but yes, of course!” you cheered. “Just a little smile, and I shall confirm the goods.”

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up,” he muttered under his breath, already regretting giving into your stupid request but at the same time knowing that he would never let Kaminari win against you in all circumstances possible.

He let out a huff and hesitantly let the sides of his own lips quirk up into a half-assed attempt at a smile, but from the way it was so rigid, it looked more like a painful grimace.

You gave him a confused, somewhat flat look in return. “Dude, you look like you’re about to shit yourself—mmph! ” You didn’t get to finish what you were saying as Bakugou’s palms immediately squished your cheeks together to shut you up.

“Oh shut it, dipshit,” Bakugou grumbled, his grip on your cheeks tightening ever so slightly as he forced you to pout your lips. “You were asking for a smile. I give one, and you wanna give me smart ass remarks about it?”

“I didn’ even gwet toh shee anythin’! That’s how bwad ith was,” you muffled out through pouty lips.

“Are you gonna keep yapping and bitching about what you asked for, or are you gonna accept my goddamn smile?”

“Fine, fine!” you yielded, pushung his hands away from your face. “Do it one more time, and I’ll actually check this time.”

He narrowed his eyes, almost as if he were wondering if you were going to actually do as you said or go against it and keep making smart-ass comments. But as you yielded, he let out a sigh and decided he’d rather just get this done and over with. 

Less hassle for him.

He repeated his ‘smile’ from before, which looked more like a forced sneer, and he waited for your verdict. This was his last straw; he was going to murder you (not).

You had to hold back your laughter but failed to do so. “I really can’t— Bakugou, please! ” you mused, hitting his shoulder playfully. “Your ‘smile’ reminds me of that time Kirishima had to hold the biggest shit before the bell rings.”

That caught Bakugou off guard. He remembered the memory of Kirishima’s panicked expression and the weird waddle he’d walked around in as he desperately tried to find a bathroom made Bakugou snort under his breath.

“Oh my god, you’re laughing!” you gawked. “And have a dimple! Just a singular one, like mine! We’re matching.”

There it was. A singular dimple on his left cheek.

Bakugou tried to regain his lost composure and let out a scoff in an attempt to mask the slight tint of pink that reached the tip of his ears. He forced his hand onto your face, shoving you (lightly, if he may add) away from him to prevent you from getting another look at his dimple.

“It’s not a worldwide discovery, dumbass. I can fucking laugh if I want to, and it’s just a fucking indent on the cheek.”

“Still cute,” you shrugged, pulling up your phone to text Kaminari. “I need to let Kami know that I won the bet, then we celebrate with bubble tea— my treat!”

“Hey wait— You—“

He tried to protest against your sudden celebration, wanting to tell you that he wasn’t going to let you treat him for anything. This whole damn thing started because of a stupid bet, and he doesn’t really find joy in gaining something from it, but as you pulled out your phone and began to text Kaminari, he sighed and leaned back again with his arms crossed tight against his chest.

“Whatever. You’re fucking annoying.”

“Kay,” you answered. “Also, your actual smile is pretty charming, if you ask me. It’s different from the usual sneer you have on your face. That’s just my opinion, though.”

Bakugou’s face grew a bit warm at your unexpected compliment, but he quickly tried to hide it and turned his head to avert his gaze away from you. His mouth opened to reply with a snappy remark or something like that, but he found himself hesitating.

He eventually scoffed and muttered a low, “Tch. Stop spouting nonsense.”

“Bakugou Katsuki has a singular dimple,” you sing-songed aloud, though you knew that no one would hear since his parents weren’t even home.

Bakugou felt his eyes twitch at your teasing, resisting the urge to tell you off and even going as far as to just punch your shoulder lightly. “Shut the fuck up, dipshit.”

He later found out that there was no bet, and you had just made up the whole scenario to confirm your curiosity. That Bakugou Katsuki does have a dimple, a singular one at that.

Could you imagine how furious he was?

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[yuujispinkhair]

Attending a formal family event with Sukuna

Modern!Sukuna x Reader (female). Fluff with some sexual implications. 1.3k words. Minors don't interact. Divider @/plutism

You didn't want to go to your great-aunt's 80th birthday party, where you only know about a third of the people, but they all seem to know you, and you are expected to do awkward small talk. But you couldn't back out, and now you are here in this fancy hotel, wearing a party dress and uncomfortable shoes with heels that make you feel wobbly on your feet.

But luckily, Sukuna is next to you, letting you hold onto his strong arm so you won't make a fool of yourself by falling in front of everyone. When you think about it, it was very easy to convince your boyfriend to accompany you. You even got the impression that he was happy that you wanted to bring him along to such a big family event, letting even the most distant family member know that Sukuna is the man in your life.

And surely, everyone knows by now. Sukuna has all eyes on him. He stands out with his imposing figure, the pink hair, and the face tattoos and various piercings. You can see the curious glances he gets, but Sukuna is someone who doesn't give a fuck, and instead even basks in the attention he gets, always grinning smugly at everyone who looks his way. And he never lets go of you, making sure everyone knows who he is here with.

It makes you feel strangely proud, too. You won't say it so as not to feed your boyfriend's arrogance even more, but you are beginning to enjoy the looks Sukuna receives. It feels good to show him off as your boyfriend. He looks sinfully good in his black pants and the black dress shirt that sits so snugly on his athletic figure, accentuating his broad shoulders and all the firm muscles.

But it's not just that Sukuna is sexy eye candy on your arm. You are grateful he is by your side because you feel much more at ease with him keeping you company. As boring and awkward as events like these can be, Sukuna is making it better, just like he always makes everything better.

He stands behind you close enough so you feel his tall, firm body brush against you, giving you comfort and security. And providing constant entertainment.

Sukuna leans down to rest his chin on top of your head, hugging you loosely and watching the crowd with his cat-like eyes, analyzing everyone in this room and sharing his deductions with you in his sexy, low voice the whole time.

You laugh and sometimes exclaim in mock outrage, but you find Sukuna's comments very fitting and funny. Your boyfriend is always a first-class shit-talker, and at least the hours pass faster when he is here to make you laugh with his surprisingly accurate character studies of each and every family member.

You catch yourself leaning against Sukuna, resting more of your weight on him, knowing he can easily take it. And he hums approvingly.

One strong arm is wrapped around your waist, Sukuna's large hand sprawling casually and yet possessively over your stomach, high enough so he can feel your heart beating under his fingers. A heart that is currently picking up speed because you can feel Sukuna's firm muscles press against your back, and his breath is ghosting over your neck before he places a soft kiss right under your earlobe.

The band starts to play, and all the older couples gather on the dance floor and wave at you to join them. You shake your head apologetically, but Sukuna takes your hand firmly in his and tugs you along, making you complain all the way to the dancefloor, telling Sukuna that you can't dance, but he just laughs and grins that boyish grin at you,

"Doesn't matter what you can or can't do, princess. I'll take the lead, so don't worry."

Sukuna spins you around the dance floor amidst the elderly couples as if he is doing this for a living. You stare at him with big eyes, while Sukuna smirks smugly and informs you that his grandpa taught him and Yuuji how to dance because he said a man needs to know how to take his girl dancing.

You realize you have already relaxed in Sukuna's arms, letting him take control and trusting him blindly to keep you upright. You see several nods of approval from the couples around you as you dance past them - or rather, your boyfriend steers you past them.

"I think you are winning their hearts, baby."

"Of course I am."

After a few more songs, Sukuna leads you back to your table, and you lean into his side and whisper a thank you to him, not even knowing what you tank him for right now. For dancing with you, or for making an effort to get your family to like him, or just for being here with you.

Sukuna answers it with one of his rare dazzling smiles and a whispered, "I love you," which you return with an equally whispered, "I love you, too," and a soft smile.

Your great-aunt pulls you to the side later and tells you that your boyfriend is such a handsome young man. She doesn't really like the face tattoos, but oh, it doesn't matter, right? If that is what young people do nowadays, and he looks good with them and is so handsome and so tall! Such a charming young man!

"Does he make you happy?"

You nod and beam at your great-aunt, unable to stop smiling from ear to ear,

"Yes, he does. He makes me very happy."

And she gets that cheeky expression on her face and nods knowingly,

"Oh, I bet that goes for every aspect of your relationship, huh?"

She winks at you, leaving no doubt about what she is implying. And you feel your face heat up, stuttering nervously and trying to laugh it off while your great-aunt pats your arm and tells you,

"Make sure to keep him, honey. A handsome, tall man who makes you happy and looks like he can protect you is always a good choice!"

You walk back to Sukuna, who is leaning casually against the wall with his hands shoved into the pocket of his suit pants. There's a shit-eating grin on his beautiful face, and you roll your eyes as you stop in front of him and tilt your head to look up at your boyfriend's face.

"What did your aunt say about me, princess?"

"Basically that you are very handsome and that she thinks you are good in bed."

The smug smirk on Sukuna's face grows even bigger, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer to him, making you sway a bit on your heels, so you stumble against him and end up bracing yourself with both hands on Sukuna's chest. He sounds far too conceited when he says,

"Well, she is right. Wouldn't you agree?"

Sukuna cocks his head, waiting for your confirmation, and you laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, getting on your tiptoes with a matching teasing grin on your face. You slowly lean closer to Sukuna's tattooed face, pressing a little kiss on his cheek before you look deeply into his amused maroon eyes,

"I don't know, baby. Maybe I need a little reminder."

And Sukuna laughs softly,

"Oh, don't worry. I'll refresh your memory all night. And I promise to be very thorough."

His tongue flicks out to lick over your lips teasingly before it pushes into your mouth, and Sukuna kisses you deeply while his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you even closer to his tall, muscular body.

Maybe that 80th birthday party wasn't so bad after all.

I AM SIGHING SO LOUD 😭😭💗💗 I have no idea why I thought of this scenario, but it wouldn't leave my mind anymore, so I HAD to write it. The thought of bad boy Sukuna being able to charm your family into liking him makes me very soft for him :((

I hope you enjoyed it!! Thank you so much for reading! Reblogs and comments would be very sweet 💗

[reilemon]

🍷Ambrosia🍷

♡︎ synopsis: You give Sylus a private pole dance show.

♡︎ pairing: Sylus x fem!reader

⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒MINORS DNI (18+ ONLY)⭒˗ˏˋ𓆩 ⚠ 𓆪ˎˊ˗⭒

♡︎ cw: pre-relationship, pole dancing, lap dance, cowgirl, missionary, creampie

♡︎ word count: 4.2k

♡︎ a/n: If you don't like how I wrote Sylus pls don't say anything. 😭

♡︎ a little gift for my dearest friend and my beta reader ♡︎@its-de♡︎

divider by @cafekitsune

"Why are you walking by yourself in the city at 1 am?" Sylus asks you over the phone.

You look around, searching for Mephisto. You sigh when you fail. "I just wanted to sober up on my way home."

"You can sober up in my car." And as if on cue, a familiar black car pulls up next to you.

The other line cuts off and Sylus exits, walking around and opening the passenger's door. "Get in, sweetie."

You cross your arms. "I don't wanna get car sick."

"You won't. I'll drive slowly."

"But I'm like five minutes away from my apartment." You look around at the empty street. No people and no surveillance cameras. You did pick out a weird route, but it was in a peaceful neighborhood. "Why don't you walk with me?"

Sylus' shoulders slump at your request. Not because it's unreasonable, but because he hoped the car ride would be more than five minutes long.

After parking the car, he returns to you carrying a water bottle and a paper bag with a logo of a donut shop. He hands them over, and you accept, feeling guilty.

"Did you get these for me?"

He shrugs. "I always drive by that place, so I got curious and bought some."

"Oh... Oh?" Your eyes land on a stain on his shirt. Blood? No - "Is that jam?"

He glances down "Right, I tried one and it spilled on my shirt. I can just get a new one."

You roll your eyes. "Of course you can. I have something that can remove the stain."

When you turn to start walking, he grabs your hand and loops your arm around his. "Slow down, I don't want you to trip."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Just when you locked the doors of your apartment, it hit you that Sylus, the infamous leader of Onichynus, your friend (?), is in your apartment. At 1 am, for the first time. The apartment isn't messy, but you still would've prepared it more. For instance, you would've put away the pole standing in the middle of your living room.

Of course, that's the first thing Sylus notices. "You like to pole dance, kitten?"

The question sobers you up immediately. Your face and ears burn in embarrassment, and you can feel sweat forming on your back. "Um, sometimes. When I have time." You scurry away to the kitchen to put away the food, Sylus chuckling behind you. You wouldn't be so flustered if you knew those cool, energetic moves. No, instead, all you know is the sensual, seductive ones. They're like a breath of fresh air, given the nature of your job.

You go back to Sylus who made himself comfortable on your sofa, taking in the new environment. "I have a men's t-shirt that could fit you, and I'll return your shirt the next time I see you."

With a slight glare he responds "I'm not wearing another man's clothes."

You sigh "It's mine. I like to wear baggy clothes around the house." Although, you can't help but smile a little at that display of jealousy. Was it, though? Or are you just being delusional?

You wish it was.

His face returns to the neutral relaxed state, with his usual amused smirk. The face, you noticed, he only has when he's around you. It wasn't like that in the beginning (let's not talk about the beginning), but the more time you spent with him, the more you got to see his gentle side.

Lost in your daydream, you didn't notice that he was almost done unbuttoning the stained shirt, revealing he doesn't have anything underneath.

When he completely takes it off, your eyes are glued to his torso. This is your first time seeing him completely shirtless, leaving you unable to peel off your gaze from his chiseled muscles, broad shoulders-

"It's rude to stare, sweetie."

You blink, snapping out of the shameless ogling, taking the shirt that was lingering in his hand for a moment as he was trying to hand it to you.

"I wasn't staring." You, again, make a run for it, this time to your bedroom to fish out a clean oversized t-shirt for him. When you return to the living room, your eyes are fixated on his face, fighting the urge to look down and stare at his physique.

He thanks you and puts it on. It fits almost perfectly, and although he's covered, the sight is making your heart flutter.

He takes a whiff of the fabric. "Smells nice."

After a brief chat about laundry (of course Sylus doesn't do it, but knows how to, apparently), you turn towards the bathroom, claiming "Trust me, I'll make that stain disappear."

"I bet you can't."

The accusation makes you stop in your tracks. "I bet I can! And if I win, you'll get me something pretty."

Sylus chuckles, eyeing you from head to toe. "If you lose, you'll dance for me."

Fell right into his trap.

With a shaky voice you refuse, "I don't think so. Pick something else."

Sylus raises an eyebrow, genuinely surprised at your declining of the bet for the first time. "Oh?" He notices how you're shifting where you stand, averting your gaze. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

You shake your head "You didn't, it's just that - " You trail off, an idea popping up in your head. By now, Sylus can read your face with ease, so he smirks when your eyes light up and he listens intently. "How about, if you actually want me to put on a little show for you, you buy me a bottle of my favorite perfume?"

You've been running low, and it's currently out of stock literally everywhere you looked. If he actually wants to see you dance, he'll have to put in a little bit of work. Not only is the perfume out of stock, he doesn’t even know which one is your favorite. At least you never told him. And even if he, by some miracle, finds it, you'll just do a few spins and take your perfume. It's not like he asked you to give him a lap dance. You probably wouldn't be opposed to it, though.

He raises his eyebrows before nodding. "Deal."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

As you shut the door of the bathroom, Sylus slowly sneaks his way into your bedroom. Actually, it’s not sneaking in if you left the door open, right?

However, he's not a creep who uses this opportunity to go through your underwear drawer. No, he goes straight to your vanity and takes a sniff of every fancy looking perfume, remembering almost every single scent and occasion you wore them on.

The water stopped running in the bathroom. He needs to wrap this up. There's one more bottle, the printed logo and letters worn out, almost empty. He chuckles, as he wonders if this is the one since you're running low and want him to replace it. You could've just asked him to and he'd get you ten more.

His eyes roll back as the ambrosial scent hits his nose. That's it, that's the one. Oh, how he adores it. It smells intoxicating when it's on you. And you're wearing it tonight, him catching a hint of it when you met up and he had to fight every fiber in his body not to bury his face in your neck, taking in your perfume and the feel of your soft skin.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

At the doorway of Sylus' bedroom, you stare at the pole installed in the middle of the room. When he said to take the now stain-free shirt to his bedroom, you thought it was odd since, well - why would you go into his bedroom? The last time you were here, was to search for that brooch and he kicked you out every time. Except for the last time, when you succeeded in finding it, the moments on his bed that you fantasize more often than you'd like to admit, where you wish it led to something more.

"You know you're allowed to enter?" Sylus' teasing voice appears behind you.

You peer at him over your shoulder "You already have the pole installed? Without even getting the perfume first?" After all, it's only been a few days since you last saw him, and when you gave him the challenge.

"Take a better look, sweetie." He nods in the direction of the desk.

You take a step inside to get a closer look, with Sylus trailing behind you to stand next to you. Of course, there it is - the bottle of your favorite perfume waiting for you. Sylus smirks in self-satisfaction as your face is too easy to read now, you can't lie your way out of this.

Nor do you want to.

"Well," Sylus gestures towards the bed, "I took the liberty of ordering some outfits for you."

You then eye the clothes that you didn't notice earlier, gawking at the stunning pieces that ranged from coverage to more provocative, and all in your favorite colors.

You turn to him, eyes wide "I - " You don't even know what to say - you want to thank him, but at the same time you didn't expect him to do all this. You know that he is as generous as he is wealthy, but his thoughtfulness always catches you off guard. One of the main reasons why you like him so much.

He chuckles at your cute reaction and pats your head. Then he takes the shirt that was still in your hands and walks towards the door. "I'll give you half an hour to pick out an outfit and warm up."

"Wha - ?"

He shuts the door behind him.

Fuck.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ♪ ฅ₍ᓀ‸ᓂマ ੭ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

You took more time trying on your new pole outfits than warming up, leaving you with only five minutes to frantically pack them in an empty box you assumed was for the clothes, and to actually warm up. There was nothing underneath the skimpy outfit you picked out, since you had to get rid of your underwear that was ruining the look. There were even some heels waiting for you, and even though you didn't have to wear them, you couldn't resist. You put some of your favorite perfume on, of course, and in the middle of the brief warm-up you thought of one more detail.

There's a soft knock on the door and you frantically exit Sylus' closet, almost tripping in your high heels as you go back to the pole.

Sylus enters the room and you can see that he's stunned for a brief second, as he sees you wearing heels and one of his silk robes.

He closes the door behind him and comments with an amused smile "I don't remember displaying my robe on the bed."

You fidget the soft fabric of the belt, trying to ignore the thumping of your heart as the reality of the situation is starting to settle in. The pole next to you, Sylus asking you which playlist he should play, your nose picking up the familiar scent of his fabric softener.

You must've looked like a deer in headlights, because Sylus' concerned frown as he calls your name snaps you back to reality.

"Are you okay? You don't really have to do this -."

"No, I'm fine!" You clear your throat, steeling your resolve. You want to do this. "I was just trying to remember the song..." You grab your phone and hand it over to him to connect it with the stereo and go back to wait by the pole.

You may have fantasized about dancing for him more than you'd like to admit - and not just in these few days since you last saw him. You also may have more than one song that reminds you of him and that you created choreographies for.

While setting up, Sylus sits down on the sofa in front of you.

He can feel your eyes on him.

"What?" He asks, still setting up.

“Nothing.” You look away and do some of the last warm up moves. You wanted to jokingly ask if he expected a lap dance, but you chickened out. The deal was for you to just show off some of your pole dance moves, that’s it. No striptease, no lap dancing…

You collect the courage to make the joke anyway, but just as you open your mouth the first notes of the song you picked out hit your ears.

He puts your phone away and makes himself comfortable in his seat - legs spread, hands resting on his thighs, lips pulled in that smirk, his eyes fully focused on you.

So you give him your most confident-looking smile, grab the pole with one hand and start walking around it. You drag the platforms of your shoes across the floor, just gliding around before getting into the show-off moves. Your movements are fluid, making it looks so easy - from spinning around to air walking. The music and the dancing soothe your anxiety and lift your mood. You know you look good. After a few spins, the silk robe starts getting in the way. With your back turned to him, your hands untie the belt and slide the robe off your shoulders. You look back at him with a playful grin, and you can't help but feel smug at how immersed he is in your performance, one arm now resting on the backrest, eyes raking over your whole body and face, anticipating your next move.

The robe slips off completely and you toss it away somewhere. You feel your cheeks heat up as the air hits your newly exposed skin. This is the first time you've showed so much of yourself to Sylus, and you couldn't help but feel a little shy. But then you see him shifting in his seat, face a little more serious, the attention giving you butterflies. With so much of your skin exposed, you show off some of the advanced moves, and you feel a new boost of confidence. You know it’s stunning - the way you look in your revealing outfit and how you perform these moves with ease.

The other half of the song starts playing, and you decide to shift from the pole to the floor. Fixing your gaze to the side, on Sylus, you go down on all floors, slowly gliding your upper body, your butt propped up, giving him a perfect view of your silhouette. Red eyes follow every step and take in your expressions that go from focused to playful and a little flirty.

Maybe more flirty than you realize.

You lie on your back, lifting your legs and move your hips side to side, making slow waves with your legs. With every next move, you're bolder, more provocative, locking eyes with him as you move.

In the brief silence between the songs, Sylus chuckles "Is that all, kitten?"

You know he's teasing. After all the time you spent together, some of them literally tied to each other, you know how to recognize the slight differences in his tone.

You know how to tease too. Smiling mischievously, you get on all fours, back arched, and slowly crawl towards him, cat style.

Sylus' lips stretch into a half grin as he watches you close the distance, with you now on your knees by his feet. He loved every second of your performance, his admiration for you only growing, always unconsciously proving to him that you are worth every second of his time and every bit of effort to be more patient. But every moment of that performance made his patience run thin. The craving, the need for you – it’s starting to overtake him. The sensual moves, the most provocative outfit he picked out but thought he was pushing his luck with, they made your body, made you, irresistible. He needed to deflect. He loves teasing you because your reactions are always so cute and amusing. He expected a pout or a snarky comment but instead you started crawling towards him and-

You graze your hands over his thighs, feeling the muscles under the fabric of his pants twitch with your touch and stopping just around his hips. Then, you gracefully stood up and turned around, arching your back and moving your hips to the rhythm, giving him a nice view of your butt. As you look over your shoulder, you have to bite back a self-satisfied grin when you catch his gaze raking over your body, not being subtle about it at all. You turn to face him, hands grabbing onto his shoulders as you position yourself to kneel over him, and with every fiber in your body, you fight the urge to just sit on his crotch, to feel if he's hard at all. So you lean back, arms behind your back and holding onto his thighs as you stretch your torso and you roll your hips, your eyes locked with his.

With the second song almost over, you lean towards him, your lips tickling his earlobe, your eyes catching the goosebumps on the skin of his neck and the redness on his ear. "I guess this is all I got."

And just when you're about to push yourself off the sofa, Sylus' strong hands grab you by the hips, pressing them down on his clothed erection, a yelp escaping your lips upon contact.

"Are you sure?" His red eyes, illuminated by the low lights of his bedroom, are on you, lidded with lust.

Just a bit more.

You sigh innocently and avert your gaze, resting your arms on his shoulders, your hips moving lazily over the rock hard erection, earning a choked grunt from the man under you, his hands gripping the soft flesh of your hips and butt.

"Well..." You trail off, steadying your breathing as arousal started rapidly coursing through your body, making your mouth dry and pussy wet. "I think - !?"

Sylus' hand wraps around your jaw, making you look back at him. His lips are parted, cheeks flushed, and you don't think you've ever seen his eyes looking at you with such intensity.

Out of breath, he asks you, "Can I kiss you?"

"Y-yes."

His lips take yours in a searing kiss, the hand on your hip trailing over your back and pressing between your shoulder blades, while the hand on your jaw finds its way to the back of your head. It feels like an out of body experience to finally kiss Sylus, to feel his soft lips you've been eyeing for so long, to bury your fingers in his silver hair, to taste mint and red wine on his tongue, to feel the pulse on his neck under your hand. Your clothed pussy was fluttering, desperate for some attention, so you started moving your hips again, grinding against him, drawing out a low groan from the man.

"If you keep doing that I can't hold back any longer." He warns in a low voice against your lips.

You take his 'warning' seriously and suddenly sit up, kneeling above his lap once again. A flash of confusion (or disappointment) on Sylus' face gets quickly overwritten with surprise, followed by a cocky grin as your hands go to his belt.

He puts his hands over yours, making you look back at his eyes that softened a little. "Are you sure?"

You nod and try to shift your attention back to his belt, but he grabs your chin, his face a breath away from yours. "I need you to use your words, kitten."

You swallow thickly, the blood rushing under your cheeks and ears "Yes, I can't wait anymore."

Sylus gives you one more breathtaking kiss before he opens his belt and unzips his pants, hissing in relief as his hard cock is freed from his underwear. Your eyes widen as they stare at the sheer size of it, your pussy fluttering in anticipation.

You move the bottoms of your outfit to the side, making him groan as he catches the sight of your naked pussy lips, "Fuck, you had nothing underneath this whole time? You'll be the death of me."

Your chuckle is replaced by a soft whimper as he grabs his cock by the base and guides you by grabbing your hip, the tip sliding along your wet folds, grazing your clit. It slides right against your entrance, dipping in and out of your hole, each time a little deeper, before the tip is fully inside and you're already seeing stars. Now both his hands are on your hips, slowly guiding you down as he watches your face intently, a single drop of sweat sliding down his temple.

"You can take it, pretty girl." He chokes back a groan as your walls squeeze around him as he enters you deeper. It takes him every last bit of restraint not to thrust up into you and fuck you senseless.

He rubs soothing circles on your bud, making your legs twitch, the stretch of his dick already stimulating enough to send you over the edge. With a few shallow pumps, he fully enters you.

"That's it, you're doing so good." Pulling you into a tight embrace, his lips find yours, teeth nipping and tongue licking your bottom lip before he trails over your jaw to the sensitive skin of your neck. Holding onto his broad shoulders and nails digging into the fabric of his shirt, you slowly start moving your hips, sweat starting to drip from your back and your chest. He takes off your top, leaving you with only your bottom and the heels on your feet, while he's still fully clothed as you ride him. His tongue drags over between your breasts, drinking up your sweat, his lips then latching onto your pebbled nipple while his fingers play with the other one.

Your sensitive swollen clit keeps rubbing against his pelvis, as you roll your hips on his length.

Sylus hisses against your breast, "You're squeezing me so tight." He grabs you by the back of your neck, his face now close to yours. With his other hand squeezing your butt cheek, his hips thrust up, meeting your pace. "You gonna cum, darling?"

You can only mewl and nod in response. He notices your leg muscles shaking and hips staggering in their movement.

"Let me take over." He knows you're getting tired, but too lost in pleasure and probably too proud to admit it. He slides further down in his seat, letting your body rest completely on top of him. He holds onto your ass in a bruising grip, holding your hips in place as he starts vigorously thrusting up, the blunt tip hitting all the right places and the base and pelvis hitting your clit over and over until you're a panting moaning mess on top of him. His teeth latch onto the flesh between your neck and shoulder as your intoxicating smell, your voice, and pulsing cunt bring him closer to cumming too.

Just when you're about to come down from your high, Sylus suddenly sits up and throws a pillow from the sofa onto the floor.

"Hold onto me." He instructs and you do as you're told, wrapping your arms and legs around him, allowing him to, as gently as possible, lay you onto the floor with the pillow under your head.

He adjusts himself between your legs and continues the relentless pounding. The view on top of you makes your pussy flutter again - strands of his silver hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, lust dazed eyes fixed on you, pupils dilated you can barely see the ruby red irises, wide shoulders and his whole fucking hot face and body you could stare at forever. But you need to feel his weight on your body.

As if reading your mind, he lies down completely on top of you, using one elbow for support while the other arm sneaks behind you and grabs your butt. "I'm so fucking close." He grunts against your lips, but you're too lost in pleasure to say anything back, only moaning and burying your face in his shoulder as your walls clench around his throbbing dick, the pressure of another orgasm building up.

The hand moves to grab your face, thumb tracing over your cheekbone, the gentle touch contrasting with his ruthless hips, "Let me see you, darling." His voice is both soft and strained.

You're the first one to break the eye contact as another orgasm crashes through you. Sylus' orgasm comes only seconds later, enhancing the intensity as his twitching cock spurts hot liquid inside your pussy.

With the last lazy rolling of his hips, you come down from your own highs, foreheads pressed together as both of you catch your breath. He gives you a soft kiss on the lips, and then just gazes at you with a tenderness you haven't seen before. His fingertips trace over the features of your face. "I hope you can spend the night here."

Of course, you accept the offer. And of course, you didn't sleep at all that night.

[jezebelblues]

home | h.s

requested!! thank u anon, i hope u can enjoy :)

summary: the entirety of y/n’s pregnancy with their son, atlas. [nov’18–may’19]

cw: unexpected pregnancy, labor + labor pains, fem!reader. i think that’s it!!

word count: approx 12.3k

| hope yall don’t mind that i included louis in this. i miss him fr. also, thank u again anon <3 hope this wasn’t too long

Life had slowed, but only just—somehow still breezy with that undercurrent of momentum that carried him from One Direction fevered heights, to the steady rhythm of his own solo journey. Fame was no stranger, but this? These moments were the ones he cherished most. He glanced at his wife, her eyes twinkling as she sat with their son. The simple joy of this evening reminded him of how far they had come. The quiet, intimate wedding in Holmes Chapel five years ago, the shockwaves it sent through the internet because they had managed to keep it so private, and then, only a year later, the unexpected news that YN was pregnant with Atlas.

He could still remember the exact moment he found out about their little surprise, how the world had seemed to tilt on its axis when she told him. It had been unplanned, a complete shock, but one that had filled him with a profound sense of love and responsibility.

Five years ago felt like a lifetime ago, yet it also felt like yesterday.

Five Years Earlier �� November first, Holmes Chapel

The cold was sharp outside, but the small cottage Harry and YN had rented for the holiday season felt warm, cozy even. A fire crackled softly in the fireplace, and YN sat curled up on the couch, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. Outside, a gentle snow, the first of the season, had started to fall, covering the village in a blanket of white.

Harry had been out all day, helping his mother with some last-minute holiday preparations. The quiet of the house felt calming to YN, but there was something on her mind, something that had been gnawing at her for the past month. Her period was late—later than it had ever been.

She had noticed other small things too. A slight queasiness in the mornings that she initially brushed off as stress from the hectic, upcoming holiday season. But now, as she sat there, the weight of realization started to sink in. She might be pregnant.

Her heart pounded as she thought about it. They hadn’t planned for this. They had only been married for about a year, and though they had talked about children, it had always been a vague, distant future sort of conversation. But now, the possibility was staring her in the face, and she wasn’t sure how Harry would react.

Would he be excited? Nervous? Overwhelmed?

She glanced at her phone, considering whether to text him and ask him to pick up a pregnancy test on his way home. No, that felt too impersonal.

She had paced the empty hallways of the cottage, occasionally texting her husband back or scrolling through instagram. She knew Harry like the back of her hand, he wouldn’t be upset—perhaps a bit overwhelmed, but upset? No, from the years they’ve known each other, he loved children. She couldn’t count on her fingers the amount of dance sessions, hide and go seeks, and cartoon watching she’d walk in on when he was with the children of his family or friends. And from the discussions they’ve shared of their own future children, she knew he’d be ecstatic—she just didn’t think it’d be so soon.

A few hours later, the front door creaked open, and Harry’s voice echoed through the small cottage. “Lovey, y’here? S’cold as hell out there.”

She stood, wrapping Harry’s sweater tighter around her frame, trying to keep her nerves in check as she walked towards him. He looked so carefree, a light dusting of snow in his hair, his cheeks rosy from the cold, a grin already stretching across his face when he saw her.

“Got y’favorite mince pies from the bakery,” he announced, holding up a small paper bag as he walked towards her. “Mum says we need to fatten you up f’the winter.”

YN laughed softly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She could feel the words bubbling up in her throat, but she didn’t know how to say them. Instead, she took the bag from him and set it on the counter.

He began to shuffle around the kitchen, searching the cupboards for a few glasses. He absentmindedly hummed a tune his wife didn’t quite recognize as he floated toward the freezer, pulling out a frosted glass bottle of rum with a smile. “Mum said she would’ve made it herself but–” He laughed, shaking his head as he set the bottle down on the counter with a heavy clank. “She’s decorating the house. Looks like autumn threw up in there.”

YN only responded in a gentle chuckle, one that made him look up with his eyebrows furrowed. Harry frowned, immediately noticing the shift in her demeanor. He paused, his eyes scanning her face with concern. “Everything alright, sweet girl?”

She swallowed hard, trying to steady her voice. Her eyes burrowed into his, shifting gaze from one eye to the other. Her lips parted, unsure of how to form the words that sat heavily in her throat. She exhaled, managing a smile as she shook her head. “Just a bit tired, thats all.”

She couldn’t tell him until she was sure. If he were to be overjoyed, she didn’t want to get his hopes up on the off-chance she wasn’t pregnant.

Harry paused for a moment, not fully convinced, but he didn’t want to push. If something was wrong, she’d tell him when she felt ready. So, he only smiled back as he unscrewed the rum and poured into the square glasses. He looked at her expectantly as he raised his eyebrows, bringing her a glass.

She stared at it as if it would jump out at her, her reflection waning in the amber liquid. She pulled her lips between her teeth, shaking her head as her cheeks flushed. “Not feeling it tonight.”

At that point, Harry knew something was wrong. He furrowed his eyebrows, setting her—well, what was supposed to be hers—drink on the counter before he took a sip of his. “You sure y’alright?”

She brushed it off with a laugh, stepping toward him as he remained leaning against the counter. YN pressed a gentle kiss on his rum-slicked lips, cold to the touch. “You worry too much.”

He wrapped his arm around her head, pulling her into his chest with a sigh. “Rightfully so, m’love. Stubborn as a mule, you are.”

She scoffed, though only humor was laced in her tone. She pushed back from him, folding her arms over her chest with a feigned frown.

“What?” He smiled, taking another sip. “Should be titled an archeologist the way I dig for your heart.”

“Oh shut it, Styles. You’ve done no such thing.”

He laughed, placing his glass on the counter behind him and gently holding onto the edges. “You’re only proving my point, lovey.”

She rolled her eyes, flicking his chest before she began to step off toward the bedroom. YN looked over her shoulder expectantly with a sly smile. “You’re not gonna join me?”

She didn’t need to ask him twice.

He tugged his shirt off, tossing it aside as his wife’s laughter echoed down the hallway. She darted toward their bedroom, her giggles trailing behind her like music. Grabbing his glass from the counter and kicking off his shoes, he chased after her, a wide, mischievous grin lighting up his face.

There was a gloomy, gray sky the next morning, the kind where the clouds stretched thick across the sky, holding back any hint of sun. YN had woken up before dawn with a gnawing queasiness—a feeling that had been creeping up more often lately. She pressed her hand to her stomach, trying to calm the discomfort.

She reached into the plastic bag, pulling out the small pregnancy test she ordered from doordash before the sun rose. She had tipped the dasher generously before staring at it in the restroom for what felt like hours. Her mind buzzed, unsteady with thoughts she couldn’t quite wrangle. The idea of being pregnant had only crossed her mind like a shooting star. She was nervous. They were still basking in the simplicity of their life, the unexpected quiet of their year-old marriage. This hadn’t been in the plan.

But here she was, two minutes ticking by like hours as she stared at the test resting on the edge of the sink.

And then, there it was.

Two blue lines.

Her heart raced, a mix of emotions she could barely process flooded her chest. She didn’t know what she was supposed to feel—excitement, worry, fear? It was all tangled together in a knot she didn’t have the strength to untangle. She felt a hint of guilt wash over her; how could she feel uncertain about something so beautiful? But it was real, and she knew it. This was so real.

She sank to the edge of the clawfoot tub in the small bathroom, hugging her arms around herself. She let herself sit there for a while, just breathing in and out, letting the realization wash over her like waves on a shore, eroding her hesitation bit by bit. Eventually, she felt a warmth begin to spread, a tentative but growing love, a sense that maybe, just maybe, this was meant to be.

Oh, god—but Harry.

Mere discussions about a hazy future never felt so prophetic.

Footsteps on the old wooden floor outside the bathroom brought her back to reality. Harry’s voice called from the kitchen, warm and sleepy, a mug clinking on the counter. “Love, you up?”

Her stomach twisted again, this time more with nerves than nausea. She took a deep breath, tucking the test in her hand and opening the door. As she stepped out, she found her husband leaning against the counter, his hair tousled from sleep, a soft smile on his face as he sipped from his mug.

“Couldn’t fall back asleep,” she murmured, her voice just above a whisper.

Harry raised an eyebrow, setting down his mug as he studied her face, his expression shifting to one of gentle concern. ”You’ve been off since yesterday, please, just tell me what’s wrong?”

YN took a breath, feeling the weight of the words she was about to speak. She crossed the small space between them, the floorboards creaking softly under her bare feet. Her hands trembled as she reached for his, and he immediately stilled, sensing her unease.

“Don’t freak out, okay?“ She said, her voice breaking ever so slightly.

Harry’s gaze softened, his fingers curling around hers. “Alright,” he murmured, his thumb gently brushing over her knuckles. “Swear it.”

She swallowed, her eyes dropping to where their hands joined, and finally, she managed to say it. “I’m–” she sighed, “I’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air between them, and she felt his hand go still, his thumb pausing mid-stroke. She dared a glance up at his face, and in his eyes, she saw the shock she’d been expecting. His mouth opened slightly, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

It was the longest silence she’d ever felt.

And then, slowly, a smile began to break across his face, soft at first, hesitant, but growing. His eyes sparkled with something she hadn’t expected—something gentle and pure, and so, so warm. “You’re… serious?”

She nodded, a soft laugh escaping her lips, a mix of nerves and relief. “Yeah. I know it’s not what we planned, and I—”

Harry pulled her into his arms, wrapping her up tightly as if he never wanted to let go. She felt his heartbeat racing against her cheek, felt the slight tremor in his breath as he held her.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes glassy with emotion. “This is… I mean, I wasn’t expecting this, but…” He paused, his voice catching. “But, YN, this—this is everything.”

A smile broke across her face, the warmth in her chest growing, all her fears melting as she looked up at him. “Are you sure?”

Harry laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his thumb lingering on her cheek. “I’m sure.” His eyes held hers, full of something she could only describe as love beyond anything she’d known before. “I mean, look at us. We’ve done everything backwards and upside down, haven’t we?” He chuckled, his dimples deepening. “Why not this too?”

They laughed together, and in that moment, all her worries felt so small, so distant. Harry pressed his forehead against hers, his hands holding her gently. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered. “We’re going to be parents?”

YN nodded, her own laughter mingling with tears she hadn’t realized were there. “I guess we are.”

Harry wrapped her up again, his arms strong and sure around her. “Our little family.” He looked around, a spark of excitement lighting his gaze. “The start of everything, right here.”

They stood there, wrapped up in each other, in the quiet of the small cottage, a peacefulness settling over them. The morning light had started to creep in through the windows, casting a soft glow over them, and for a moment, the world felt perfectly still.

But as the initial excitement settled, the reality of the situation hit her hard. Morning sickness, which was more like all day sickness for YN, kicked in with a vengeance. She wondered what crime she may have committed in a past life to deserve such a karma.

She spent most of her mornings hunched over the toilet, her stomach in knots, while Harry hovered nearby, rubbing her back and murmuring soothing words. “It’ll pass, baby.” He would say, though there was a flicker of worry in his eyes every time she retched.

The first trimester was rough. YN felt exhausted all the time, her body aching and her emotions all over the place. There were days when she could barely keep food down, and the nausea was so overwhelming that she couldn’t even stand the smell of Harry’s cologne.

But through it all, he was a constant source of support. He made her ginger tea in the mornings, rubbed her feet when they swelled, and stayed up late with her on the nights when she couldn’t sleep. He even held her hair back during the worst bouts of sickness, never once complaining or losing his patience.

Still, telling their friends and family was daunting. Anne had been thrilled, of course, immediately launching into grandma mode, talking about knitting booties and baby blankets. But YN worried about telling the public. Harry had always been fiercely protective of their privacy, and the idea of sharing something so intimate with the world felt overwhelming.

“I don’t want people to think anything bad of me.” She admitted to him one night as they lay in bed. She had spent the entire day feeling nauseous, and her nerves were frayed.

Harry propped himself up on one elbow, looking at her with a gentle smile. “No one’s going to think like that, baby.. And if they do, then screw ‘em. This is our family. No one else’s.”

His words, simple as they were, helped ease some of the anxiety gnawing at her. They would announce it when they were ready, and in the meantime, they would enjoy these private, intimate moments together.

A few weeks later, when YN was finally starting to feel a little better, they gathered their closest friends and family to tell them the news. Harry’s friend’s were among the first to know. They had gathered at their place in London, a casual get-together that didn’t feel too obvious or formal.

Jeff had been the first to catch on, his brow furrowing as he noticed YN sipping ginger ale instead of her usual glass of wine on occasions like these. “Wait a minute…” he began, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he glanced between them. Oh God, you’re pregnant aren’t you?”

The room fell silent for a moment as Harry and YN exchanged a glance, a grin tugging at Harry’s lips. “Surprise!”

The room erupted into chaos. Mitch nearly fell out of his chair, laughing and shouting congratulations at the same time. Pauli looked like he might cry, and Sarah immediately started teasing Harry about how he’d better get used to sleepless nights.

“You two are gonna be knackered for the next eighteen years,” she quipped, though there was a deep affection in her eyes as she clapped Harry on the back. “But you’ll be great parents. I know it.”

As the weeks continued to pass and YN’s belly began to show, Harry’s excitement seemed to grow right along with it. He took over more and more of the household chores, practically hovering over her with a devotion that was both endearing and—just occasionally—a little over the top. But that was Harry; he never did anything halfway, and preparing to become a dad was no exception.

One evening, after a long day, they lay in bed, YN nestled against Harry’s chest as he rested a hand on her belly. His fingers traced slow, absentminded circles over her small bump, his gaze softening as he looked down at her.

“Have y’thought about names?” he asked quietly, voice almost a murmur. There was a trace of wonder in his eyes, as if he were asking the question for the first time.

She smiled, shrugging lightly. The idea of names had been floating around in her mind for a while, but nothing had quite felt right yet. “Mm, I’ve got a few in mind,” she said with a teasing glint in her eye. “Think I’m just gonna call ’em Fetus for now.”

Harry let out a laugh, his face lighting up as he shook his head. “Poor kid,” he said, voice full of warmth. He shifted lower, pressing a soft kiss to her belly. “Fetus Styles,” he whispered against her skin, his lips brushing her gently, sending a spark of laughter through her.

Her smile never faltered, fingers combing through his curls as he settled his head on her bump, gazing up at her through his lashes. He held her gaze for a moment, then suddenly broke into a grin, blowing raspberries onto her belly with glint in his eye.

She laughed, Harry faltering into her growing tummy as his phone began to ting with a mess of texts. He grabbed his phone that lay upon his wife’s thighs, sitting up beside her against the headboard with a wide smile as the phone illuminated his face.

She knit her eyebrows together, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Who has you smiling?”

He unlocked his phone, “Lou. I told him I had to talk to him tonight.”

She laughed as Harry clicked on the contact, pressing the facetime icon as the ringing filled the air. “It’s what..?” She trailed off, flickering her eyes in thought. “Noon in LA? Surprised he’s even up.”

After a beat, the screen flashed to life, and there he was—Louis, bleary-eyed, half-sprawled across his couch, nursing a mug of tea. He squinted at the screen, a smirk forming as he took them both in.

“Bloody ‘ell, look at you two all cozy!” He drawled, taking a sip. “Thought I was interrupting somethin’.” He chuckled, giving them a teasing wink.

Harry rolled his eyes, holding the phone between them. “Shut up. We’re just havin’ a quiet night in.” He glanced over at YN, then back at the screen, his grin a little wider. “‘Nd I needed to talk t’you, yeah?”

Louis’s smirk softened, curiosity lighting up his expression. “Right. What’s this then?”

He took a quick breath, almost unable to keep the smile off his face as he turned the phone back to YN, who gave Louis a warm smile before glancing at Harry. He squeezed her shoulder, then looked back to the screen, letting the words tumble out. “We’re havin’ a baby!”

For a moment, Louis just stared, the mug paused halfway to his lips as he absorbed the words. His mouth broke into a grin, and he let out a laugh. “Oi, you’re pullin’ my leg!” He leaned closer, shaking his head. “Wait, wait, you’re serious, aren’t ya?”

“Dead serious,” YN said, her voice gentle as she leaned in closer to Harry. “We’ve known for a few weeks now, but wanted to tell you ourselves.”

He sat up straighter, rubbing a hand over his face as he took it in, his grin somehow widening. “Jesus, Haz. A dad,” he mused, a playful sparkle in his eye. “I mean, didn’t see this comin’ back when you were too busy worryin’ about a pair of blue suede shoes to think about nappies.”

Harry let out a laugh, playfully nudging YN. “See, I’m just followin’ y’example, mate.”

Louis snorted, giving a mock scowl. “Better be—Freddie’s halfway to graduating high school it feels like. You’ve got some catchin’ up to do.” He settled back into the couch, softening as he looked at them both. “But seriously, this is brilliant, you two. Gonna make one hell of a mum and dad, aren’t ya?”

Harry glanced over at YN, his gaze lingering, soft and full of a quiet pride. “Hope so,” he said, smiling down at her before turning back to Louis. “Just been… sittin’ with it. So many things I wanna teach ’em, y’know?”

“Best get started on that lullaby playlist, then,” Lou teased, though there was warmth in his tone. “Bet you’re already plannin’ that first guitar lesson.”

YN laughed, rubbing a hand over her belly. “It’s just been a whirlwind, honestly. We haven’t even found out the gender yet.”

Louis grinned, raising an eyebrow. “Surprise ’n all? Makes it even better. Though if y’need tips on anythin’, I’ve got all the dad tricks—like what not to say when they’re askin’ questions in front of their mum.”

“Great,” Harry chuckled. “Start a whole book for me, will ya?”

Lou winked, lifting his mug. “Already makin’ notes. First chapter’s on nappies and the art of avoidin’ baby food on your shirt.” Then, his expression softened as he leaned closer. “Nah, for real. Couldn’t be happier for you two. And for that kid, too. Already got the best start with you both.”

Harry swallowed, his hand finding YN’s, giving it a gentle squeeze as he held his friend’s gaze through the screen. “Means a lot, you’ll be his grumpy, old uncle, yeah?”

Louis grinned, nodding with a playful glint in his eye. “Best be—I’ll have ’em singin’ the chorus to No Control by the time I’m done. YN, darling, don’t you worry—I’ll keep him in line.”

YN chuckled, leaning her head on Harry’s shoulder. “I’ll hold you to that, Lou.”

“Damn right you will,” Louis shot back, settling back against his couch, eyes full of pride and a mischievous excitement. “And when I’m back over, s’gonna be you two doin’ the nappies, while I teach that kid how to annoy his dad.”

Harry feigned a groan, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Cheers, mate.” Louis raised his mug, a glimmer of something genuine in his gaze. “Can’t wait. Love you both, yeah?”

Harry grinned, feeling the weight of Louis’s words. “Love you, too, Lou. Cheers.”

And as they hung up, YN nestled closer, both of them feeling the joy of sharing their secret with someone who’d been there for it all.

A few months had passed, and YN was officially eighteen weeks pregnant. The kitchen was quiet, filled with the warm scent of vanilla as Harry carefully set a single white cupcake on the counter. He’d insisted on something private, just the two of them. No big reveal party or confetti—just a simple cupcake with the surprise hidden inside. YN stood beside him, hands resting on her bump, a grin tugging at her lips as she watched him fuss over it.

“You’re really gonna make me cry over a cupcake, aren’t you?” she teased, nudging him lightly.

Harry’s eyes sparkled as he looked over at her, dimples deepening. “Just y’wait.” He handed her the small knife, his fingers brushing hers, and his voice softened. “Ready?”

She nodded, her heartbeat picking up as she sliced through the cupcake. Slowly, she pulled the two halves apart, then stared down at the filling inside.

Bright green.

For a moment, they both froze, staring down in complete confusion. Harry tilted his head, mouth slightly open, brow furrowed as he looked at her, then back at the cupcake. “Uh… m’pretty sure green wasn’t one of the options.”

YN snorted, a laugh bubbling out as she lifted the cupcake up to inspect it. “Maybe they’re tellin’ us we’re having a little Niall?”

Harry’s eyes crinkled as he burst into laughter, clutching his chest. “God help us if there’s a little Irish guitar player in there.”

She grinned, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye. “You think they’ll come out singin’ ‘Mull of Kintyre’?”

Harry laughed, covering his face with his hand. “First words’ll be potato, just y’watch.” He shook his head, still chuckling. “This is what we get for trustin’ a bloody cupcake.”

She rolled her eyes, reaching for her bag on the counter. “Should’ve gone with the doctor’s letter instead of dessert.” After a moment of rummaging, she triumphantly held up the small, folded envelope, smiling. “Alright, now you ready?”

Harry nodded, moving closer, his hand resting gently over hers as she slowly unfolded the paper. They both took a breath, glancing at each other before reading the bold, printed words inside.

Right underneath a blurry ultrasound picture printed onto the visit summary, there it was written.

Fetal sex: Male

For a heartbeat, they both just stared at the words, the realization washing over them like a warm tide.

“A little boy,” Harry murmured, his voice filled with awe as he shook his head in disbelief. “We’re gonna have a son.”

YN’s eyes sparkled as she looked at him, a wide smile breaking across her face. “A son,” she repeated softly, her hand covering his on her belly. Already, she could see him—a little boy with Harry’s eyes, his laughter, his kindness.

Harry swallowed, his own eyes misty as he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, then resting his against hers. “Think we’re ready for him?”

She let out a soft laugh, brushing away a tear. “Not even close,” she whispered, her fingers lacing with his over her belly. “But I think we’ll do just fine.”

It was mid February by this point, a few weeks after celebrating Harry’s twenty-fifth birthday. The air had a sharp chill, and YN readjusted Harry’s oversized hoodie that hung off her growing frame, something that hid her bump well. They were dressed comfy and warm, Harry in a pair of sunnies with his hoodie pulled over his head. She nestled closer into her husband as they walked through the quiet side streets of London. They’d just finished lunch at their favorite café, savoring the rare chance to slip out together unnoticed. She pulled the hoodie over her head as a gust of wind brushed by.

“Wish we had days like this more often,” Harry murmured, his fingers lacing through hers as they made their way back to the car. “Just us, y’know?”

She smiled, leaning into him. “You mean just the two of us and fetus?”

Harry squeaked out a laugh that sounded like the ones from his early days in the x-factor, squeezing her hand. “Right, fetus. Can’t forget our little tagalong now.”

But as they turned onto the next street, something shifted—a distant hum of voices, then a sharp click of a camera. Before they could react, the quiet street filled with flashes, and a group of paparazzi materialized around them, spilling onto the sidewalk.

It wasn’t a swarm, just about five or so that were tipped off about Harry walking about the city in a pair of sunnies, as if that could keep him hidden.

“Harry! Harry! Just one photo!” A bald man shouted, pushing forward. The camera flashes came in rapid succession, blinding in the midday light.

He immediately shifted, drawing YN closer to his side, his hand protectively resting into her waist as he tried to steer her forward. “Alright, mate, that’s close enough,” he called out, his voice tense but calm.

“Harry, are the rumors true?” another voice shouted, barely inches from them, more cameras held up like a barrier.

“Just please let us through, yeah?” Harry’s voice was firmer now, his hand moving to shield YN’s face, pressing her into his chest as the crowd closed in tighter.

A jostle from the side sent her stumbling, and Harry’s arm tightened around her, his jaw clenched. “Hey, enough!” he barked, his voice sharper than she’d ever heard it. He guided her forward, his body acting as a buffer as he tried to clear a path.

“Just one shot, Harry!” a paparazzo persisted, his lens pointed squarely at YN, his hand cupping her cheek as he pressed her face further into his chest, her heart pounding as she held onto Harry.

He shot a glare of his shoulder, jaw clenched as he remained silent, maneuvering his wife past the cameras, his hand never leaving her. He kept his eyes trained ahead as he led her through the last stretch to his car.

Finally reaching the door, he opened it for her, a quick but steady gesture, ushering her in and following right after. The cameras pressed in one last time as he shut the door firmly, finally sealing them off from the swarm outside.

Inside, the car was quiet, insulated from the chaos that still buzzed outside, windows tinted as legally possible. YN let out a shaky breath, her hands in her hoodie pocket as she glanced over at Harry. His face was flushed, a mix of worry and lingering frustration in his eyes.

“You okay?” He asked, his voice gentler now, his hand pulling hers out of the pocket, thumb brushing over her knuckles as he studied her face.

She nodded with a faint smile, trying to steady herself. “Not our first rodeo, H.” She tried to joke. And it was true, it surely wasn’t the first time they’ve been bombarded by paps. YN wasn’t famous prior to meeting Harry, a smart girl as beautiful as she, he simply couldn’t ignore.

She was a friend of Anne’s best friend’s daughter, bumping into each other at a family gathering in 2014, immediately becoming close friends. He offered her a ride home that night, and when she thanked him profusely and offered to give him gas money, he knew then and there he was going to fall in love with this woman.

Fans and paps galore started delving into her life in late 2015, when a grainy picture of them kissing at a bar after a London show exploded on twitter. Since then, she always known about the lack of privacy in Harry’s life. And honestly, she’s still trying to adjust to it.

He exhaled, his fingers tightening around hers. “Hate that they got that close to you. Wish they’d just..” He trailed off, clenching his jaw as he glanced out the window, his gaze hardening when he saw the cameras still lingering in the distance.

She squeezed his hand, her voice soft. “It’s alright, baby. I’m alright.” She could see the tension in his shoulders slowly easing, though he still held her hand as if anchoring himself. “They don’t know, and that’s okay for now. It’s just us, remember?”

Harry nodded as he pulled from the curb, driving down the narrow street toward the red light. He turned back to her, his green eyes softening, and he nodded slowly. “Just us. Right.” His shoulders relaxed a little more, a trace of a smile returning to his face as he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead while the light was still red.

But before he could pull away, she let out a small gasp, eyes widening as she felt a firm, insistent little nudge low on her belly. She looked up at him, her own hand moving instinctively to her bump.

Green illuminated over them, a honking echoing from behind as he froze in concern. “What?” He breathed, turning a corner to head to the grocery store in the distance, seeking a temporary refuge in the parking lot. He glanced between YN and the road, heart beating in his ears. “Baby, what’s wrong?” He raised his voice, though it wasn’t out of anger, just an anxiety that threatened to boil over.

She shook her head, her face breaking into a soft smile. “Nothing’s wrong, Harry. He just kicked.”

Harry’s eyes lit up instantly, his frustration melting away as he stared at her, a grin forming slowly. “He did?”

She nodded, pulling his hand to her belly as he parked. “Right here. Just now.”

He held his breath, his palm pressed against her bump, waiting. And there it was again—a tiny but unmistakable kick, nudging firmly against his hand.

Harry’s face broke into a radiant smile, his whole expression softening with awe. “Oi, there’s my little striker,” he mused, his voice thick with affection as he looked down at her belly. “We’ll have you in a Man United kit before you’re out of nappies, won’t we?”

She laughed, his words melting away the last traces of tension from the encounter outside. “Getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren’t you? Picking his team and all?”

He grinned, his eyes crinkling with pure excitement. “No chance he’ll be an Arsenal player.. First kicks mean we’ve got a future midfielder on our hands, yeah?” He grinned, “Dads gonna make sure y’got the right colors on you, bub.”

YN couldn’t help but laugh, her heart swelling as she watched the joy take over his face. She reached up, tucking a curl behind his ear, her fingers lingering against his cheek. “He’s already got you wrapped around his tiny little foot.”

Harry chuckled, leaning in to kiss her, his hand still resting against her belly, feeling another small nudge. “S’pose I’ll let him get away with it. Just this once.”

*

March arrived in a blink.

It was early, the kind of early that still belonged to the night, when Harry’s phone buzzed on the bedside table. The world outside was still draped in darkness, the streets silent, as if London itself hadn’t quite woken up. Harry stirred, slowly pulled from the depths of sleep by the vibration of his phone. He squinted in the dim light, his vision blurry, barely able to make out the name on the screen. Jeff.

With a quiet sigh, Harry picked up the phone, pressing it to his ear and trying to shake off the last bits of sleep that clung to him. He glanced over to YN, who lay nestled beside him, her breathing soft and even, lost in a peaceful slumber. Gently, he reached out and brushed his fingers along her cheek, a tired but adoring smile tugging at his lips. She stirred slightly, her head nuzzling into his hand, and he felt a warmth rise in his chest. Moments like this felt sacred, untouched by the outside world.

But then Jeff’s voice broke through the stillness, sharp and apologetic.

“Harry,” Jeff said, his tone low and serious, as if he wished he were calling for any other reason. “Listen, I hate to do this to you, but we’ve got a situation.”

Harry straightened, a cold feeling settling in his stomach. “What is it, mate?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, unwilling to wake YN just yet. He kept his hand on her cheek, his thumb brushing gently along her skin, grounding himself as he listened.

“There’s a magazine,” Jeff continued with a hesitant sigh. “They got photos of you and YN leaving the clinic yesterday after the ultrasound. They’re planning to release them tomorrow—noon sharp.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Harry’s jaw tightened after he took a shaky breath, his eyes falling back on YN, still blissfully asleep. They’d planned everything so carefully, wanting to share the news of their son on their own terms. They’d waited for the perfect moment, wanting to protect this piece of their life from the relentless intrusion of the outside world. And now, it was slipping out of their hands.

“Tomorrow?” he murmured, his heart pounding. He felt a surge of anger rising, and he closed his eyes, trying to steady himself. Jeff waited in silence on the other end of the line, letting him process the news.

“Yeah,” Jeff said softly. “I wanted to give you a heads-up. Figured you’d want to tell people yourselves, do it in a way that feels right.”

Harry nodded, even though Jeff couldn’t see him, his fingers still resting on YN’s cheek, feeling the soft warmth of her skin. “Thanks, Jeff,” he finally whispered, his voice tight. “I’ll–erm–we’ll figure it out.”

He ended the call and placed the phone back on the table, his shoulders slumping as he tried to process what to do next. He looked down at YN, her face peaceful in the darkness, and he felt a pang of guilt at the thought of waking her. She deserved this moment of rest, free from worry and the weight of the world pressing in on them. But he knew he couldn’t keep this from her. Not when it was about their son.

Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his hand moving to cradle her cheek as he murmured softly, “Baby, wake up.”

She stirred, her brows knitting together as she blinked up at him, still half-asleep, a faint smile gracing her lips as she registered his face. “H?” she whispered, her voice groggy and warm. “What time is it?”

“Too early,” he murmured, his own voice weighed down by the news he had to deliver. “Sorry t’wake you, but there’s something we need t‘talk about.”

Her eyes focused, a flicker of concern replacing the drowsiness as she sat up a bit, her hand resting on his. “What’s wrong?”

Harry took a deep breath, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “It’s the pictures,” he paused with a sigh, “from yesterday, after our appointment. Paparazzi took photos, and they’re planning to release them by noon tomorrow.”

The weight of his words settled over her, and she let out a quiet sigh, her gaze dropping to the bed. They’d known this was a possibility—their lives were never entirely private—but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow. She leaned into his touch, her fingers lacing through his as they both sat there in the stillness of the early morning, grappling with the realization that their hand was being forced.

“What do we do?” she asked softly, looking up at him with a mixture of worry and sadness.

Harry’s hand moved to hold hers, his grip gentle but steady. “We tell everyone ourselves. Today. We’ll release it before they can, on our own terms.” He paused, his voice softening. “It’s not what we planned, but, at least we can still share him with the world our way.”

YN gave him a small nod, her eyes meeting his with a quiet resilience. They both knew they didn’t have any other choice. She leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as they took a moment to steady themselves, finding strength in each other.

“Okay,” she murmured after a beat. “I trust you.”

They spent the next hour in the quiet sanctuary of their bedroom, talking about how to share the news. Eventually, Harry decided on something simple, something that would feel personal without giving too much away. He reached for his phone and opened the photo gallery, scrolling until he found the ultrasound image from their last appointment. It was a grainy black-and-white shot, but to him, it was beautiful—a glimpse of their son, small and precious, already loved beyond measure.

He glanced at YN, who gave him a reassuring nod, and then he took a deep breath, opening Instagram. With his fingers hovering over the screen, he crafted the caption, choosing each word carefully, his heart pounding in his chest.

I’ve been waiting to share this part of our journey with you all for a while now. YN and I are expecting a son, and we couldn’t be happier to welcome him into the world soon. Thank you for your love and support—can’t wait for you to meet him.

Love, H

He read it over, then looked at YN, who leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder. She gave him a small smile, her fingers brushing his arm. “It’s perfect, baby”

With a final deep breath, he hit post, setting the phone down and letting out a long, steadying exhale. They sat there in the quiet of their room, wrapped up in each other as the reality of what they’d just done settled over them. This was the first time they were sharing their son with the world, and it felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

Within moments, notifications began to flood in, messages of excitement, love, and support from fans around the world who had been waiting eagerly for news like this. Harry glanced at YN, his hand finding hers once more as he gave her a small, relieved smile.

”Cats out’v the bag.” He laughed softly.

She leaned into him, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. “They love you, H. They’ll love him, too.” She reassured.

As the sun finally began to rise outside their window, casting a gentle warmth over the room, Harry held her close, feeling a sense of peace he hadn’t expected. Despite the forced timing, despite the circumstances, they had done this together. And from this moment on, they would continue this journ, hand in hand, as a family.

Weeks passed by, and it another chilly March evening, and soft candlelight flickered in the bathroom, casting a warm glow over the walls as steam rose lazily from the tub. The couple sat tucked into the water, surrounded by a mountain of bubbles that floated between them. The bathroom was cozy as Harry’s arms wrapped around her from behind, she leaned back against his chest, her bump nestled between them.

He’d insisted on running the bath for her, adding just the right amount of lavender oil to soothe her muscles, and now they were enveloped in that warm, calming scent, the soft sounds of water lapping around them. Harry’s hands rested gently on her belly, his fingers tracing light circles over the stretched skin as he hummed contentedly, clearly lost in thought.

After a few minutes of quiet, he dipped his head to press a kiss to her shoulder, murmuring, “You know, we haven’t really settled on a name yet.”

YN grinned, biting back a laugh. "Sure we have. Fetus Styles—don’t you remember?”

Harry groaned dramatically, his head falling back against the tub. "God help this boy."

She chuckled, turning her head to look at him. "Fine, fine. So, what do you have in mind, love?"

Harry hummed thoughtfully, his fingers still tracing light circles over her bump. "I dunno. Something that isn’t Fetus or something basic, like David.”

"Otis?" she suggested with a playful smirk. She knew he hated the name.

He snorted, his chest vibrating against her back, shaking his head. "Baby, Otis is the name of that big slobbery dog at the park. Our son deserves better than being named after a drool machine."

She playfully splashed a few bubbles toward him, her laughter filling the room.. "Alright, alright. So, we're vetoing Otis and Fetus, oh wise one.”

“Good,” he said, lowering his head ever so slightly and nibbling her shoulders gently. “So, what else is on your list, then?”

She leaned her head back against his shoulder, looking up at the ceiling as she tried to recall some of the names she’d been turning over in her mind. “I do like Ezra.”

“Ezra,” he repeated, as if tasting the sound of it. “It’s alright. But it sounds like he’d be in a jazz band or something.”

“Maybe he’ll be in a jazz band,” she countered, grinning as she nudged his arm. “A little musician just like his dad.”

Harry hummed, his fingers lightly drumming a rhythm against her belly. “Alright, fair point. Ezra can be a maybe. What else?”

She let out a thoughtful hum, swirling her hand through the bubbles. “What about August?”

“August’s alright I guess,” he said slowly, tilting his head as he considered it. “But I don’t know. August Styles..feels like he’d be a mischievous little troublemaker.”

“Like his dad, you mean?” she teased, glancing up at him with a knowing smile.

He grinned, shrugging. “If he takes after me, he’ll definitely be one,” he admitted, pressing a kiss to her temple. “But I dunno. Still doesn’t feel quite right. But I do like the idea of an A name.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, each of them lost in their thoughts as the water lapped softly around them. Harry’s hands moved back to her belly, his touch gentle and reverent, as if he were trying to connect with their son through the warm water and the growing curve of her bump. She closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the warmth of the bath and the feeling of his arms around her.

After a while, Harry spoke again, his voice soft and thoughtful. “What about Atlas?”

YN opened her eyes, blinking up at him, a smile tugging at her lips. “Atlas?”

“Yeah.” He shifted slightly, his hand still resting on her belly as he looked at her, his eyes warm. “It’s strong, y’know? Unique. I like the idea of him having a name that feels like he could carry the world if he wanted to.”

YN let the name settle, repeating it to herself, and feeling it take root, becoming more than just a word. “Atlas Styles,” she said softly, letting the sound roll off her tongue. “It fits him, I think. Strong like his kicks.” She giggled.

Harry’s face lit up as he grinned down at her, his dimples deepening, a twinkle of something unspoken sparking in his eyes. “Exactly,” he murmured, trailing a hand gently over her bump. “Atlas Styles. Got the name of a proper legend already. Manchester United should be countin’ themselves lucky.”

YN laughed again, rolling her eyes as she turned to face him. “Oh, really? Our boy is still going to save Manchester United, is he?”

“Obviously,” Harry said, his grin widening. “Just imagine it—Atlas Styles, midfield maestro, dominating the pitch. The crowd chanting his name.” He mimics the sound of a roaring crowd in a hush, “‘Atlas! Atlas!” He chanted in a whisper, “United will have never seen anything like him. They’d be winning the league every season with a name like that.”

She shook her head, fighting a laugh as she slipped a few bubbles onto his nose. “Right, because he won’t be busy enough carrying the world. He’ll just take Manchester United on his back too?”

Harry shrugged, brushing the bubbles away with a look of mock seriousness. “Our little Atlas can handle it all. With a name like that, he’ll be unstoppable.” He leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. “But, if he’s not into football, I s’pose that’s alright too.”

YN smiled, squeezing his hand, warmth spreading through her as she thought of their little Atlas and all the dreams they had for him—footballer or not, world-bearer or not, he would be loved beyond measure.

*

The rain pattered softly against the window as April rolled in, casting a gentle gray light over the nursery. YN stood by the door, watching Harry wrestle with the crib pieces scattered across the floor. She cradled her belly, which had grown significantly in the last month. Her due date was set for mid-May, only a few weeks away, and she could feel the weight of their son settling lower, as if he, too, was getting ready for the journey ahead.

Harry sat cross-legged on the floor, brow furrowed in intense concentration as he squinted at the instruction manual. The crib, which he had eagerly declared would be a breeze to assemble, now looked more like puzzle pieces that lay scattered around him, screws and wooden slats in disarray, as he muttered under his breath.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help?” YN asked with a soft grin, leaning against the doorway as she watched him struggle.

He looked up, shooting her a playful glare. “I’ve got it, thanks,” he insisted, though he seemed far from convinced himself. He twisted a screwdriver, only for the wood to creak ominously in protest. Harry’s cheeks flushed, and YN bit her lip, stifling a laugh.

“Sure you do,” she teased, crossing her arms over her bump. “Maybe our son will be crawling by the time you figure that out.”

Harry chuckled, dropping the screwdriver with a resigned sigh. “Alright, alright,” he said, running a hand through his curls as he gave her a dramatic pout. “Go on, laugh at the man trying his best to be a good dad. Just what I need, huh?”

She laughed, stepping into the room to get a closer look at his progress—or lack thereof. “You’re doing great, honey,” she said, her tone light. “Maybe just… not great at building cribs?”

He rolled his eyes, but the hint of a grin played at the corners of his mouth. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to argue,” he mumbled. Then, before she could respond, he reached out, gently tugging her down to sit beside him.

“Hey!” she gasped, though she let him guide her down, leaning into his arms. Her back rested against his chest, and Harry wrapped his arms around her middle, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

He maneuvered her gently onto the carpet, hovering over as his hands resting on either side of her, leaning close, his face only inches from hers, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Maybe I should distract you so y’can’t mock me,” he murmured, his voice teasing.

Before she could respond, he started peppering her face with kisses—one on her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, her chin. She squealed, laughing as he continued, his lips brushing against her skin, his stubble tickling her and sending her into a fit of giggles.

“Harry!” she gasped between breaths, her hands on his shoulders as she tried to squirm away. “You’re ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous?” he repeated, grinning as he planted a kiss just above her lips. “Maybe. But it’s working, isn’t it?”

She gave him a playful shove, but he only laughed, pulling her closer as he trailed his kisses down to her neck, the weight of him comforting as he hovered over her, his hands gentle on her sides. Finally, when her laughter had softened, he leaned back just enough to look into her eyes, his gaze warm and full of affection.

God, how he loved her.

After a moment, he brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, his thumb lingering on her cheek. “Alright,” he said with a sigh, glancing over at the mess of crib parts. “Maybe I could use those hands of yours.”

YN smiled, brushing her hand down his chest. “Hm,” she hummed, “where?”

“Oi!” The brunette giggled, swatting her wandering hand away as he sat up, shifting to be beside her. “Wicked woman, you are. Get to work.”

She huffed, although there was no anger residing in her. Maybe an ache between her thighs, but that’s something she could sort out with her husband later. She sat up, sitting cross legged beside Harry as he reached for the instruction manual.

The two of them sat side by side on the nursery floor, her hand resting over his as they sorted through the crib parts. Harry studied the instructions once more, pointing out the next few steps with a renewed confidence that was helped by her steady presence beside him. YN held the pieces steady while Harry carefully tightened each screw, the two of them working together, their laughter filling the room whenever something went slightly wrong.

Finally, after some teamwork, a bit of trial and error, and more than a few shared smiles, they placed the last piece into place, and the crib stood finished in front of them. They both sat back, admiring their handiwork, their hands intertwined as they took in the sight of the nursery coming together, piece by piece.

Harry looked over at YN, his gaze soft as he took in her face, still flushed from laughter. “Not bad for a couple of first-timers, huh?”

She leaned her head on his shoulder, holding her hands out in front of them and wiggling her fingers. “Thanks to these.”

He snorted, gently taking her chin in his grasp to force her to look at him. “Shut up and kiss me.”

As time passed by quicker than ever, spring took the city by full force, it was finally May. Flowers bloomed in their garden, trees shook with the delicate breeze of a looming summer. The sun fell behind the hills later and later, still offering a golden glow as they ate dinner.

A gentle rain drummed against the windows as YN and Harry shared a cozy dinner on the sofa, the warm light of a movie and fading sunlight flickering across their faces. They were nestled together, plates balanced on laps (and bump) as they laughed at an old comedy. Outside, the world felt comfortably distant. Everything about this moment felt ordinary, like the calm before a long-anticipated storm.

But YN hadn’t been entirely honest with Harry tonight. She had felt a dull ache creeping into her lower back and belly since late afternoon, a sensation she had brushed off as yet another round of Braxton Hicks contractions. Her OB had warned her that false alarms would be common in these final weeks, and she’d already had a few where they’d rushed to the hospital only to be sent back home. So tonight, she’d told herself that it was nothing—just her body practicing, nothing more. But as they watched the movie, she found herself shifting uncomfortably, her breaths deepening whenever another wave rolled through her.

The contractions had grown stronger as they ate, each one hitting her lower back with a dull, throbbing ache before tightening sharply across her belly. She bit her lip, forcing a smile whenever Harry glanced her way, trying to play it off. But she couldn’t ignore the way her body tensed or the cold bead of sweat she felt on her brow as she worked to stay composed.

As they finished their dinner, Harry stretched and stood, gathering their plates with a grin. “Think I’ll wash these up. You just sit there and relax, yeah?”

She smiled, nodding as he carried their dishes into the kitchen. He hummed softly to himself as he washed the plates, oblivious to the intensity of the pain building within her. She took a deep breath, gripping the edge of the sofa as a new wave hit, this one sharper than before, radiating from her lower back and spreading between her hips, each pulse making her muscles contract and tighten. She fought to keep her breathing steady, her mind racing as she tried to convince herself it was nothing.

But then, as she watched Harry rinse a glass, her vision blurred with another wave of pain—deeper, sharper, as if her body was tightening from the inside out. Her breath hitched, and this time she couldn’t hide the small gasp that escaped her. She braced herself against the sofa, her fingers digging into the fabric as she fought to breathe through it.

Harry looked over, his brow furrowing as he noticed the tension on her face. He set the glass down in the sink, wiping his hands on a towel as he stepped back into the living room. “Love?” he asked, a hint of worry creeping into his voice. “You alright?”

She forced a smile, trying to play it off, but her voice came out strained. “I’m fine. Just–“ She grunted, “Braxton Hicks, I think.” But even as she spoke, it was like an aftershock of an earthquake, stealing her breath, the pain sharper than before. Her hand flew to her belly, fingers pressing down instinctively, and she had to close her eyes, focusing all her energy on breathing through it.

Harry’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he knelt beside her, his hand moving to rest on her knee. “That doesn’t look like Braxton Hicks,” he said gently, his voice laced with concern. “How long’s this been going on?”

She hesitated, looking down as she tried to keep her breathing composed. “Since– since earlier this afternoon,” she admitted, wincing as the pain reached its peak, leaving her feeling helpless and raw. “I thought it was nothing, really. But it’s–I dunno– it’s getting worse.”

Harry’s face shifted from concern to something closer to alarm. He was quiet for a moment, clearly trying to process her words, before his gaze softened, and he slid his hand to hers, squeezing it gently. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice steadying. “We’re not going to take any chances.”

YN nodded, relief flooding her at the calm resolve in his voice, but as she tried to stand, another contraction gripped her—this time harder than any before. It started as a dull ache that quickly sharpened into an almost searing pressure, as though her whole belly was clenching in waves she couldn’t control. She gasped, her knees buckling slightly as she clutched Harry’s arm.

Harry’s eyes widened as he caught her, his face shifting into a worried frown. “It’s happening, isn’t it?” he whispered, almost to himself, before shaking off the shock and focusing on her. He wrapped an arm around her, guiding her back down to the sofa with a gentle firmness. “We’re going t’breathe through this one, yeah? Just like we practiced.”

She clung to his hand, squeezing hard as she fought to steady her breathing, but the pain was relentless, each wave feeling sharper than the last. Her body felt like it was working against her, every muscle tightening until she was gasping, unable to fully catch her breath. She buried her face against his shoulder, her voice a shaky whisper. “H, this hurts more than I thought it would.”

He brushed a hand through her hair, his voice soft but unwavering as he held her close. “I know, baby. You’re doing so well. Just focus on breathing, alright? I’ve got you.”

As the contraction faded, she managed to catch her breath, slumping slightly against him, feeling a mix of exhaustion and dread for what was coming next. She felt his hand at the small of her back, steadying her, and she was grateful for the warmth of his touch, the calm he radiated even as she could see the worry flickering in his eyes.

“We’re calling the OB,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “This doesn’t feel like false labor, does it?”

She shook her head, unable to deny the reality that had settled in. “No..I think this is real.”

Harry’s face softened, a mix of pride and worry as he watched her breathe through everything. When the pain passed, he took her face in his hands, his thumb brushing lightly over her cheek. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice steady. “We’re going to get you through this, love. One breath at a time.”

With that, he stood, reaching for his phone and dialing their OB, staying right by her side as the call connected. He answered each of the doctor’s questions carefully, glancing at YN between each answer, his hand never leaving hers. After a few minutes, he hung up and turned back to her, a mixture of excitement and resolve in his gaze.

“She says it sounds like early labor,” he told her softly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “We’re going t’the hospital. Just you and me, hm?”

YN nodded, taking a steadying breath as she leaned into him, his strength anchoring her. With Harry’s arms wrapped around her, she knew that she had everything she needed to get through this.

The rain had softened to a gentle drizzle as Harry helped YN into the car, settling her carefully into the passenger seat, his hands gentle but steady. Her breaths were deep and focused, each one an effort to keep herself calm as the contractions continued, not close enough to urge a rush but strong enough to leave her nerves buzzing with anticipation. Harry buckled her in, his gaze warm and reassuring as he brushed his hand over her shoulder.

“You’re doing great, sweet girl,” he hummed, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Next stop, hospital. Just you, me, and our little Atlas.”

YN managed a faint smile, squeezing his hand as he lingered beside her for a moment before closing the door and sliding into the driver’s seat. The car pulled away from their quiet street, its headlights cutting through the misty drizzle, as they made their way into the city. She leaned her head back against the seat, focusing on the rhythm of the rain tapping against the windows, letting the steady sound settle her mind.

As they drove, Harry glanced over at her frequently, his hand occasionally drifting from the wheel to hold hers. “Let me know if you need anything, yeah?” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Or if I need to pull over. Anything at all.”

He rambled when he was nervous.

YN nodded, keeping her eyes closed, breathing slowly. Another contraction started, gripping her with that same deep ache that radiated from her back to her belly. She clenched his hand, squeezing as she focused on her breathing, her fingers white-knuckling against his. It was painful, but she willed herself to relax, to breathe through the intensity, letting her breath match the gentle rhythm of the rain.

Harry squeezed her hand back, his thumb tracing small circles on her skin. “Out of all women in the world who gave birth, you’re the most beautiful.” He smiled warily. His stupid compliment even made him want to smack himself upside the head. But he looked at his wife expectantly.

When the contraction passed, she released a shaky breath. Part of her wanted to shoot daggers into him with a glare, but looking at that goofy smile she fell in love with, the way his cheeks flushed pink and eyes looked unsure, she couldn’t. She mustered out a weak, breathy laugh.”Shut up.” She whispered.

They reached the hospital, and Harry pulled up to the lot, parking the car before rushing around to help her out. He wrapped an arm around her, guiding her through the automatic doors, his gaze steady and protective as he led her to the reception desk. The lobby was quiet, lit by soft fluorescent lights that made the polished floors gleam. Harry gently rubbed her back as they reached the counter, where a man with glasses and a walkie looked up with a polite smile.

“Hi,” Harry said, his voice calm but firm, “we’re here for an admission. Our OB requested it.” He grinned lightly, seeking to be polite despite his nerves. He gave his wife’s name through his smile.

The receptionist nodded, typing something into the computer before glancing back at YN, who was gripping Harry’s hand, her face pale and tense. After a moment, the man looked up. “Alright, we have you here. Just a moment.”

He picked up the phone, speaking briefly with someone before hanging up and nodding toward them. “Patient transport is on the way. We’ll get you into a wheelchair and up to the maternity ward to get settled.”

Harry thanked him, his hand resting on the small of her back, he murmured, “y’doing so well, my sweet girl.”

She leaned into him, exhaling a shaky breath as another mild contraction started to creep in, but before she could fully brace herself, a transport worker arrived with a wheelchair.

Harry helped her ease down into it, kneeling beside her and brushing his thumb over her hand. She looked down at him, her expression a mix of pain and determination. “I’m alright,” she whispered, her words braver than she felt.

He met her gaze, his eyes full of pride and unwavering support. “I know you are,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her knuckles before he stood and walked beside her as they made their way to the elevator. The ride up was quiet, each floor lighting up in sequence as they ascended to the maternity ward, and she found herself counting each breath, each second, each floor, until they finally reached the unit.

Once inside the labor and delivery ward, they were greeted by a nurse who led them into a dimly lit room that felt strangely peaceful, its walls painted a soft pink, the lights warm and low. The nurse introduced herself, her voice calm and soothing as she helped YN settle onto the bed, helping her into a hospital gown before taking her vital signs and asking a series of questions, jotting down notes while Harry sat by her side, holding her hand.

“Let’s get you as comfortable as we can,” the nurse said gently, adjusting the bed’s settings. “Now, you’re still in early labor, so we’re going to monitor you closely, but it could be a while yet.”

YN nodded, feeling both grateful and anxious at the prospect of waiting. The contractions continued, rolling in like waves, growing in intensity but not yet regular enough to signal active labor. Each one required her full focus; she found herself closing her eyes, breathing deeply as she squeezed Harry’s hand, centering herself with each wave of pain.

Hours passed, the pain deepening with each contraction as her body adjusted, stretching and preparing for the arrival of their son. The nurse checked in periodically, taking notes, adjusting her position, and checking her dilation with gentle reassurance, but progress was slow. The contractions were more frequent now, each one a sharp, relentless pressure that seemed to radiate from deep within her, pulling her to the very edge of her endurance.

Harry never left her side, his hand a steady anchor as he held hers, his voice low and soothing, guiding her through each breath. “I love you,” he whispered, his forehead resting against hers as they breathed together. “Just a bit longer, yeah? You got it.”

At one point, the pain became so overwhelming that she couldn’t bear to sit still. Harry helped her stand, wrapping his arms around her as she leaned into him, her face pressed against his chest. Her arms draped over his shoulders, clinging to him as she rocked back and forth, swaying through each contraction, finding relief in the gentle rhythm. He whispered words of encouragement, his hands rubbing her back as she trembled against him, each wave of pain stealing her breath and leaving her gasping.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his voice a steady hum that she latched onto, focusing on the warmth of his words as the pain pulsed through her. “Just lean on me. I’ve got you.”

She clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as the pain reached a peak, her knees weakening under the weight of it. But Harry held her up, his arms strong and steady, supporting her fully as she swayed, letting the movement carry her through each contraction. She pressed her forehead into his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek, grounding her, keeping her anchored in the storm of pain.

When the nurse checked again, the news was disheartening—only a few more centimeters dilated. YN felt exhaustion beginning to creep in, the hours of labor sapping her strength, but Harry was there, brushing damp strands of hair from her face, whispering soft reassurances as she closed her eyes, her head resting against his shoulder.

As the hours ticked by, the contractions grew sharper, more intense, each one like a wave crashing against her, forcing her to draw deeper into herself just to withstand the pain. Harry eased her back onto the bed, pulling a mask toward her face, releasing a gas that would help the pain. Her mind blurred under the relentless rhythm of labor. Yet, every time she opened her eyes, he was there—his gaze steady, his hand in hers, his words like an anchor.

She held the mask to her face with her other hand, breathing it in deeply. As backward as it sounded, even laboring and pushing out a baby, the thought of a seven inch needle being put into her spine scared her even more. The thought of an epidural was tempting, being numbed from the waist down—but it made her stomach churn with anxiety, too. She had enough of that already, so she stuck to the gas.

YN lifted the gas from her nose, staring at Harry through half lidded eyes. “Can’t wait to have sex with you in six weeks.” She mumbled, her voice hazy.

Harry eased the mask back onto her, his cheeks growing red from her clouded words. He let out a breathy laugh, “Okay, one step at a time, hm?”

At last, as dawn began to break outside, the sunlight bleak, barely there. The nurse’s expression shifted as she checked YN’s progress. She smiled, looking up with gentle relief. “We’re almost there,” she said softly. “Just a little bit longer.”

Harry’s face lit up, his eyes shining as he looked down at YN, his voice soft and full of pride. He pressed a kiss to her sweaty forehead, brushing strands of her hair back. “Hear that? Final stretch, baby.”

YN nodded, too exhausted to respond, but the warmth in his eyes gave her the strength to keep going. With every ounce of willpower she had left, she faced the final contractions, the pain almost blinding but her determination carrying her through, and Harry’s voice guiding her every step of the way.

Once she was ten centimeters, a team rushed in. Two nurses and the OB. Her legs were placed into stirrups, her gown bunched up over her tummy.

It was the longest, most intense thirteen hours of her life, but as she felt the final waves of pain, the medical staff guided her through the last moments, she clung to Harry, his hand a lifeline, his presence a comfort that wrapped around her like a shield. And with one last surge, a cry filled the room, and she knew it was all worth it.

“Oh.” She whimpered, her own cry emitting from her as her son was placed onto her bare chest for the first time. A nurse wiped him down as he wriggled against YN, Harry leaning down by her shoulder, staring in awe.

That was his boy, his son. A piece of him and the love of his life brought forth into the world. He wouldn’t be able to explain the feeling he felt as he flickered his gaze between his wife’s and Atlas’s.

Sparse stands of brown locks sat atop his head, a color matching his fathers. He gently placed his hand atop it, his thumb rubbing against his forehead as the little boy continued to cry.

His eyes resembled his mothers, as did his nose. But everything else? That was all Harry. He cooed at him, whispering soft nothings to to his baby boy before the nurse approached him with medical scissors. “Would you like to cut the cord, dad?”

Dad.

Butterflies surged through his tummy.

He drew a deep breath, looking at YN for silent encouragement, to which she only smiled at him. Her husband, the father of her son.

He gently grabbed the scissors from the nurse, hesitantly approaching where he was told to cut. He looked at his Atlas who seemed to calm down a bit, slowly coming to terms with being brought out into the world. He steadied himself, and then with a delicate snip, he cut the cord.

As he handed them back to the nurse, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the enormity of the moment settling over him. He looked down at the two he loved most in the world, lightly grasping onto his little feet and silently counting his tiny toes.

“Sit.” YN softly ordered, holding the boy against her chest with one hand and patting the small spot beside her with the other.

He nodded slowly, easing himself down into the spot after lowering the right side bar so he’d fit. He leaned against YN, his feet still upon the floor.

The baby was swaddled into a pale blue blanket before she handed him over to Harry, his heart melting instantly. He cradled him against his chest, tucking his head down to place delicate kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his nose. “I love you so much.” He whispered, hesitantly ripping his gaze away from his son onto his wife.

His lip quivered as he placed a kiss against her sweaty hair, “Thank you so much.” His voice was delicate, a murmur. “I owe you everything.”

This was all he needed. His heart swelled with a love so profound, it felt almost overwhelming, as if the sheer depth of it might consume him. It was a love that stretched beyond anything he’d known, powerful enough to break him apart and put him back together all at once. But he embraced it, letting it fill every part of him, savoring each precious drop. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt exactly where he was meant to be.

This was home.

[tbaluver]

The Love And DeepSpace Men- Boyfriend Headcanons + Scenarios/ Imagines Pt. 2

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader requested: myself bc i craved writing something sweet genre: perhaps tooth rotting fluff fluff warnings: none unless you want cavities a/n: every day i wish they were real and every day i have a lads brain rot and i would gatekeep these ideas but i would never so here ya go ! lmk if i should write more of these ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა enjoy reading ! first part is here if you haven't read it! Pt.1 any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

The type of boyfriend who will finish your food whenever you can't finish it. He'll let you eat his food even when you say you're not hungry or you don't want anything. If the food he gets isn't something you would want, he'll make sure to buy something for you even if you say you don't want it.

You can expect his hand to always sneak into your lap when you lay in bed together after a long day. Gently embracing your lower stomach and whispering sweet nothings into your ear before you both fall asleep.

If you can't sleep, he'll try to join you for midnight snacks and watch whatever's on TV. He's trying his best to stay awake but you can already see him dozing off, clutching the stuffed plushie you won at the arcade.

Scenario:

You two sat on the soft grass, surrounded by a blanket of stars that painted the dark canvas of the night sky, eagerly waiting for the shooting stars to streak by.

"Xavier do you have anything in mind for what you're going to wish for?"

He turns to you, his gaze softening and a gentle smile spreads across his face. "I don't need to wish for anything else if my wish has already come true- I'm looking right at her."

Zayne:

He keeps all the little trinkets you've given him by his nightstand at home and his desk at work. That way when he wakes up you're the first thing on his mind, not that you left his mind in the first place. Each time he glances at them, he's flooded with happy memories and filled with anticipation to return to your embrace.

The type of boyfriend who puts a blanket over you if you fall asleep on the couch and eventually carries you to your shared bed.

Puts a ridiculous amount of sugar in his coffee that kind of leaves you concerned for your lover's sweet tooth.

Scenario 1:

You two lay in bed together, enjoying the lazy morning, not wanting to get up as if doing so would mean the day truly had to begin. You trace the outlines of his bare chest, your fingers dancing over the area where his heart beats.

“What are you doing?” he asks curiously as he watches you glide your fingers gently around his chest.

“Finding your heart and seeing who lives there,”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, a smile curling on his lips. “No one is there right now.”

You frown at his response, a playful pout forming on your lips. He cups your cheek, finding your reaction to be amusing and adorable. “That’s because the owner of my heart is currently right in front of me.”

Scenario 2:

As Zayne rushes to get ready for an emergency call from the hospital, his glasses are perched on top of your head.

“Zayne, aren’t you forgetting something?” you hinted, leaning in for a goodbye kiss.

“Ah yes, thank you.” He retrieves his glasses and you mock a pout. But he leans down, brushing your lips with his with a sweet kiss, amusement sparkling in his eyes. “I love you. Please don’t stay up waiting for me again.”

Rafayel:

Sometimes he can be your boyfriend but sometimes he's also like your child from how much you baby him

He needs to be close to you at all times. The type of boyfriend who is all over you all the time. He needs to be close and touching you at all times. If you got hot from cuddling, he'll have either his hands or legs over your body because if you were apart for more than a second he thinks he might explode.

The boyfriend who stays up making something special for days and stays up overnight just to make it perfect just for you.

The type of boyfriend who adjusts your do not disturb on your phone so only his notification pops up whenever you're on do not disturb.

Imagine swimming in the ocean, you're enveloped in his embrace as you both gaze at the moonlight and stars above. He holds you close, resting his chin gently on the top of your head while you nestle your hand and head against his chest. It’s perfect like this. Just two of you near his homeland, the sea. Just him and you in your own world where you both find peace with the gentle sounds of the waves surrounding you both.

Sylus:

At the beginning of your relationship he redecorates his entire home so that you'll like it more and feel more inclined to stay over and stay the night at his place.

He only has a soft spot for you and only you. You see a side of him no one else does and not just that but his super silly side.

Sometimes he'll lift you onto the counter or lift you up to get what you need on a high shelf just because he wants to hold you.

The type of boyfriend who gets on his knees or sits down to be on the same level as you when you don't want to look up at him anymore. If he was sitting, he's definitely pulling you to his lap because you're not going to be the only one standing!

The type to hold all of your shopping bags and pure for you when you’re out shopping together. He does not complain about holding your purse at all, not that it would ever bother him in the first place. Also does not complain about holding all of your shopping bags, it’s literally light work for him and he would encourage you to buy more things of whatever you wanted.

Imagine after a long night at an auction, you two stumble back into your shared home not breaking the kiss. Your hands rest on Sylus’s neck, slowly sliding down as he murmurs sweet phrases against your lips. His strong arms wrap around your waist as he carries you bridal style, guiding you both toward your shared bedroom.

[kalims]

scribbles

"( – ⌓ – ) ⎯⎯ he lets you draw on his skin, yeah thats pretty much it.

ft. malleus, vil

malleus

it was... a breach of your patience.

the lesson, was awfully boring. the more you listened to the apparent 'heroic' doings of certain individuals. the more it strips away your attentiveness to the words spilling out of professor trein's mouth. no matter how many times you will your ears to make out the incoherent lecturing of the man... it remains deaf.

so you decide to sate said boredom.

how? of course you need to bother your seatmate!

your intentions remained within the circle of yourself of course. your eyes stuck to the stray marker over your paper so you silently twisted the cap off and scribbled on your paper—then it was your palm—and now, malleus' arm.

"child of...?" man. malleus finishes in his mind, his attention suddenly snapped away at the sudden tug of his arm. definitely not his own decision to even make it move in the first place. usually it would remain stiffly beside his body like usual and even if someone tried to pry it to them it would remain still. but without his attention, his body lets you.

without another word. you peel open his fingers, palm open to you and it's a notion he allows. and he stays silent when you tug his gloves off. perhaps with a curious huff, malleus drifts closer to you. to accommodate your actions that he's yet to get an explanation for.

... and suddenly there's very bright flowers drawn on his palm.

said owner of the palm might just be toe darkest person in the room so it's quite out of place.

but it's from you so he likes it.

he peeks at it, with a fond smile on his face. I should enchant it to remain there forever. he thinks to himself, the curve of his lips growing wider at his thoughts, like he'd proud of the idea. the idea of being able to carry around something made exclusively by you might as well shove him into a cannonball and send him to cloud nine.

it's adorable. you're adorable.

his world grows a little more blue the more he stares at you. and if it weren't for the searing glances the professor sends your way malleus would just let his eyes engrave you into his memory forever, so he laments over it and reluctantly peels his gaze off you. mind speaking a thousand memories, the very same reason he somehow can't hear anything trein says.

you draw a strange looking lizard beneath his ring finger, one that looks a little like him and he thinks that you're asking him for marriage.

that can be arranged... he ponders, oblivious.

vil

drawings, doodles, painting— art. a reflection of the soul.

vil is great at makeup.

every brush on your face, a step to beauty. that is his reflection. you are his soul. he wants to make you look—no, make you feel like you're beautiful cause the canvas he's standing in front of is his greatest piece of art, he'd want to put you on the tallest pedestal there is. the grandest one just so the rest knows your beauty is parallel to none, something they can see and admire but not reach.

but he also wants to keep you in his own room, because only he knows what he felt when he painted you. only he should be the one given the grace.

this... he doesn't know what to consider.

perhaps vil should be bothered, if not then a little peeved at the several colors across his skin. a myriad of doodles, some words, and some simple drawings. a poor portrait of him is drawn next to one he assumes yours, the 'fairest' word on the right side of his hand, and flowers.

he's sure though. you're definitely no artist.

the thought cracks a smile at him, and you steal a glance midst the cool tip of the pen dancing along his skin. "I'd thought you wouldn't even let me do this," you admit, chair having been moved over closer to him so you wouldn't have any leaning problems. a suggestion by vil you gratefully took up, though you doubt it was just another excuse to have you closer.

"why?"

"dunno," you shrug. "it looks unseemly compared to you."

he huffs, flashing you a light smirk. "so my face is, hmmm..." vil ponders for a moment, and your face twists to the realization that you possibly just exposed what you think. but you suppose it isn't really a problem since it was basically common sense that vil is...

"gorgeous." you finish for him.

his aura brightens. (probably will be for the rest of the week.)

your hand retracts from him, the marker gripped between your fingers. and he takes a look at your 'art.' he doesn't know if he should consider it as one since there are a heap of sloppy lines, and the color bleeds into his skin. some smudges that you accidentally brushed against that makes it seem like a messy picture of chaos.

vil strives for perfection, but it's only natural there are flaws. to love oneself, you must love all parts. and to love you, he loves whatever the ink on his skin is.

well, what the heck.

"pass it to me," he stretches his hand, and you quirk a brow. questioning but curious so he indulges you. "I'll show you how it's done."

note. ngl idk what I wrote for vil it's currently 12 AM rn ☠ <- newer note, this has been rotting in my drafts for weeks and I couldn't decide whether to post it cause I wasn't sure about vil's but here hehehe

[defmaybe]

J’adore

5.2k words

aespa’s Yoo Jimin/Karina x Male Reader

Prequel to Not Shy

A/N: Kind of extension to Not Shy! Also, this is my last sprint before the midterms lol, I’ll be back after that and try to write something good. Kinda rough bc there’s no beta-reading lol. Thanks for reading as always!!!

—

Spring

“You? A student council member?”

“It’s just the treasurer!”

It’s the easiest position, according to your seniors, which seems to be much, much more credible sources than Kai, the friend you got caught in a debate with.

“Just the treasurer. Mate, have you seen the lads from last year? I swear that one of them almost died.”

“I have to build my portfolio, man. You even have your dance club!” You retort, trying to grasp on something.

“Well, it’s because I like to dance.” Kai says in a mocking tone. He doesn't mean to be condescending, of course. He’s your best friend, after all. “Do you like to work with Excel?”

“I mean–”

“Board games? No, too nerdy. Cheerleader? No, too demanding. And then you fucking jumped onto the student council? I swear, man, you definitely have some kind of death wish,” he says.

You sigh, surrendering to his points. Still, you're too deep in the application process to turn back now. You look back at your phone, seeing all the completed questions in the form.

“I’m not leaving you behind, still,” Kai says, patting your back. “I’ll give you caffeine when you need it.”

Do you think you’re qualified to be a student council member?

Yes.

“I’m sending it now.”

“Good luck.”

Submit

Thank you for your submission. We will announce our selection by May 1st.

—

Summer

Maybe it was how the last year’s council members turned out to be. You were the only one who applied for the treasurer's position. Hell, even the other ones aren’t any more popular either. There was no one in the head of first aid, and they had to roll out another round of applications for that.

The fresh faces of the new student council members are all standing inside this meeting room—so determined, so passionate. Their chatters fill the room up with life.

You glance around the room. You’re familiar with some of them, walk-pasts in the hallways, sitting-fars in the classes, until one woman catches your eye.

Yoo Jimin, you’ve heard that she beat the second place applicant for president by quite a margin. Her confidence is probably what makes her so alluring to the students. Also, her face, fuck, her face, she’s the fucking epitome of perfection.

Maybe it’s the way you stare at her for just a little too long; she starts to walk towards you, and that’s when you fell into her trap for the first time.

She stops just a step away, offering you a handshake—firm, assured.

“Yoo Jimin,” she declares—stern, expressionless.

“Pleasure to meet you, Jimin.” You accept her grip, lips curling inward, letting out a minuscule smile—relaxed, reserved.

“We’ll be working together for the next year. I’m looking forward to it.” She keeps it professional in the expression she makes. There’s nothing to be made of it, except for the fact that she’s very reticent with her face.

You force out another small smile. “I’m also looking forward to it, Jimin.”

—

“Areas! I need two tables and four chairs. Parcels, get your equipment ready.”

The first meeting between the freshmen and their seniors is always the hardest to perfect. There’s the idea that the first impression defines the future of the relationship between the two. So, here you are, in your faculty’s First Meet event. You’re lucky that they let you use the air conditioners on the d-day. Those fucking run-throughs got you all melted.

You have little work to do today, having managed the proposals and preparing to do the post-production stuff. So, you’re at the core team’s table, playing whatever your old laptop can handle, until—

“Are you free?”

You look up from your screen to see the angelic figure that is Yoo Jimin standing in front of you, towering you with ease with you sitting in your seat.

“Uh–,” you can only let out a hesitation.

“I guess you’re—” she bends over the desk to see the gaming screen, before letting out a small laugh. “—free?”

“Y–Yes, Jimin.” A slight view of her cleavage can be seen with her posture, and you have to do your best to find something else to look at.

“Good. Can you help us carry a few tables?”

You look at your frail arms—should’ve done some more work at the gym. “If you want me to tear my biceps.”

Jimin chuckles, before closing on your ear, left hand pressing on your right thigh, “Don’t worry that you wouldn’t be able to jerk off, treasurer. I can do it for you.”

You freeze, not believing the words coming out of her mouth. Did she just say that? Such lewd words?

Jimin, sensing your tensed up body, pulls back from you and laughs. “Oh my god, look at you. I was just fucking with you!”

“Good grief, Jimin. You could’ve killed me,” you huff.

She shoots back a beam. “Come on, let’s get to work.”

—

Fall

The clicking sound of your keyboard and the scratches of the bills you’re arranging permeates the room this evening. Jimin is sitting on the other side of the trash-ridden table—stationeries, snack wraps—eyes unfocused as she swipes one short video after another. Her thoughts seem to be elsewhere now. Dinner? Bed? Someone? You’ll never know.

“Fucking hell, this bitch again,” she mutters under her breath, which you catch. You look up from the budget plan you’re working on, meeting her eyes.

“Sorry, Tinder stuff.”

You return her a tiny smile before going back to inputting the bills. Still, you can hear Jimin’s tossing and turning in her chair as she seems to type something into her phone, before smashing her thumb on the right side of its poor screen. You can’t help but let out a chuckle, one that she catches.

“Yeah, it’s pathetic, isn’t it?” Jimin rhetorizes, placing her phone on the table. “A student president that just can’t find any partner.”

You shrug, still typing, “Well, the work is gruelling.” And she chuckles at your statement.

“Yeah, I guess so. But it’s just, how to explain?” She furrows her eyebrows, tapping her chin to seek the right word in the air, before coming to an answer. “I just can’t find the right person, you know? Half of the line is gone once I show any bit of confidence, and the other half are, well, clingy ass bitches.”

You smile back at her, trying to give her some solace in solitude. “I’m sure you’ll find the right person soon, Jimin. You like–have the whole faculty in your hands.”

She gives you a weak smile. “You always have pleasant words for everyone, treasurer.”

You smile back before returning to your accounting work, unbeknownst to the light bulb brightening up inside her head.

“So, how’s your love life?” She asks, rising from the other side. She leans forward ever so slightly, hands supporting her frame on the white table, slightly revealing the valley of her breasts.

You break yourself from the laptop, once again, meeting her cleavage in your line of sight for a split second. It’s magnetic, but you’re able to resist it, for now.

“Hmm?”

“I mean… you don’t seem to be an awful choice for women, or men, judging from… how many months?”

“Four,” and you gulp.

“Yeah, four months with you, my treasurer. But I’ve never quite caught you being involved in anything,”—she stands up straight, before slowly striding towards your seat, hips swaying at each nifty step—“romantic.”

You clench your eyes ever so tightly at her alluring motion—the swaying hips, the crossing steps—as if there’s anything to examine but her burning lust. “Well, Jimin, I don’t think the passive mid-table guys get much,” you state.

“Is that so? Because you don’t seem to belong at the mid-table.” The distance between you two is shrinking, slowly. And with a few more small steps, you find her towering over you, chest basking in front of your face.

Jimin bends down slowly, revealing just a slight sight of her gorgeous cleavage. The poor crop top is struggling to hold her supple flesh within, even with the workshop shirt helping. You shift just slightly in your seat.

Your eyes are doing their best to resist the magnetic force, but her big brown eyes aren't a sanctuary, either.

“Thanks, miss president.”

Her Dior J’adore is enrapturing you.

“You know, I notice the perfume you wear every day, even if it’s just CK One.” She forces sultry into her perceptive words, and to say, it works. She drags her right middle finger along the length of your arm, lighting a fire in its trail.

You try to keep your composure; it works, for now. She doesn’t seem to notice the sweat hanging off your forehead yet.

“Or how you dress so damn well to class, even if it’s some fuckass subject,” Jimin continues, tracing her hands up to your forearm now.

Your breath hitches, and you can just connect the dots so easily.

“W–Why me, though, Jimin?”

“Oh, clever boy, I just need the real thing, that’s all,” she coos. Her digits are playing with the line of your collarbones now. 

“See, I’m just so fucking sick of my—well, what’s the word, devices. They’re pleasurable, sure, but unlike a real person, which in this case—is you—” Her hand grabs your chin from behind, and you can’t find any resistance. Her sonic reduces into a sensual whisper into your ear. “—they lack warmth.”

“S–So, do you want to have—”

“Sex? Yes, I want you inside me, baby. I want you body clashing against mine, while you moan my name like you’re some common whore.”

It’s haywire, your mind. You are lost in her—her voice, her face, her body, everything that’s about Jimin. Is she really inviting you to have sex with her? Is this interaction even real?

“So, what do you say, wanna go somewhere after this? Somewhere—small, somewhere—private.” Her voice dives into a whisper beside your ear, and you can feel a smile forming beside it. “I’m sure you can work on your bills—anywhere.”

You stare forward, trying to look unfazed to cover your crumbling composure.

“I–I can work on the bills anywhere, Jimin.” Your voice betrays you.

She gives a quiet laugh, “Good to know, treasurer,” before lightly grabbing your chin, with her index and middle finger resting on your lips. Are they seeking silence or entry?

Slowly, they push your upper lip ever so slightly, eliciting a whimper from you. Fuck, is she trying to—

“You know what to do, baby.”

Rejection.

Hesitation.

Submission.

You open your mouth for her—now courtesy of Yoo Jimin. You take in her fingers. They’re cold from the air conditioner. Bite. Lick. Swallow. You close your eyes while doing so, absorbing her taste with your tongue. You feel you’re under her control—so submissive. It’s ecstatic.

“God, do you like being called a whore? Because you’re acting like one right now,” Jimin asks.

You profusely nod at her statement, continuing to suck on her fingers.

“Then keep doing it, whore.”

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you can hear her giggle. And as your vision comes back to her, the free hand is rubbing against her clothed core now. Mewling sounds can be heard.

“God, keep sucking it, baby. I’ve never cummed as fast as this before.”

“Ngh.” And you keep sucking her fingers.

A sound of the door stops you in your tracks though.

“Guys, I need a few chairs–am I interrupting something?”

Ning Yizhuo, head of student welfare, barges into the room. She stares straight at you two. Good thing Jimin pulls her digits out and puts them behind her back before Yizhuo’s eyes catch sight of you glistening on her, leaving you stranded in your burning desire for your president.

Maybe it’s the way your eyes are still fluttering. Maybe it’s the way your mouth ever so slightly hangs open. Maybe it’s your quick breaths.

Yizhuo wants to know what’s up.

“We’re just–” Jimin tries to find the right word in your eyes. Her blinks are rapid. She’s concerned. She’s afraid.

“You’re–what?” Yizhuo isn’t a patient figure. She’s trying to gauge something out of Karina.

“I–I’m adjusting his posture! O–Our dear treasurer has a bad sitting posture and–”

“Cut the shit, Jimin. What the fuck did you guys do?”

“S–See, he’s sitting a lot, you know? B–Bills. Accounting. Excel stuff.” Jimin’s brows hint at the concern within her chuckle. She pushes the middle of your back to set you straight up. As you follow her move, Yizhuo clenches her eyes.

“Just get me some chairs and don’t fuck inside this room.”

—

Jimin swings her door open, and as expected, every single bit of it is immaculately kept clean. There’s not a single piece of trash on the floor of her white room; the table is meticulously arranged; the bed is folded. There’s a Meteora vinyl placed on her shelf. God, what a tasteful woman.

“Drop your bag.”

You comply as she also does so.

And she immediately pounces on your body, consuming your taste and scent at your nape. Her lips are wet, sending shocks through your pliant frame.

“Mmph, keep this perfume, baby. I just wanna have this scent of you every day.”

It’s CK One.

She plants her kisses along your neck—standing up straight—ever so determined to make you hers. Her hands lock your shifting, shaking body in place, despite being so eager to feel every inch of you—up and down.

“So—pliant, so—submissive,” she whispers.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you deflect, trying to have a hold of the battle. There’s a glint of brattiness inside you that wants to resist her just a little, just before you give in.

“Is that so?” Jimin mewls, before pushing you onto the bed.

“I’m not letting you have me that easily, miss president,” you say with your back against her soft cushion. Jimin is straddling her lean, lengthy legs over yours. She looks so damn tall from this view—you lying beneath her.

“Sucking my fingers, then decide to be a bratty bitch right now—” She lightly taps the tip of your nose, also scrunching hers. “—I like that.”

You say nothing, giving her just a wink from below.

“Oh, baby, I’ll have you scream my name so many times.”

“Fucking make me then.”

And fires ignite in her eyes.

She dives onto your left ear—nibbling, biting, swallowing, whatever she can do with her mouth without tearing your auricle off. Her deep moans send suppressed shudders through your neurons.

Jimin spreads saliva all over your ear, no sign of relenting. Slurping sounds of her flesh ring in your head. She plants each lick with purpose, and it sends jolts and jolts through your body. Still, you’re far from falling apart—tethered on the ground.

“Tsk, i–is this the best y–you can do?”

“Oh, baby, you’re already stuttering? I can do more if you want~,” she tastefully threatens. Then, she brings her right hand into play, tilting your chin up. Your mouth is right beside her neck. The pale smoothness of her skin is presented in front of you, and you just can’t help but—

“F–Fuck!” Jimin yells, clearly enraptured with the swipes of tongue you are giving her. Still, she keeps spreading her saliva on your ear as if it’s hers (it’s hers).

“Oh, b–baby boy, maybe you can use your t–tongue on other things instead,” she whines.

“Your cunt?” You keep stretching your tongue onto her nape, getting a taste of her sweat.

She pulls back from you, robbing the sensations away from your throat. “Clever, now just lie like this. I’m riding your pretty face.”

Jimin then takes off her purple lace panties, giving you a hint of her wet cunt—unshaved—as she lifts her leg, before stuffing the garment onto your nose. Fuck, her musk is so intense; you can just die happily right here.

“You just love it, don’t you?”

You sheepishly nod, pressing her panties against your nose even tighter, eliciting laughs from her sinful mouth.

“I think that’s enough, baby. I wanna fuck your face now,” she says, before tossing away the filthy garment.

Jimin then moves forward on her knees, bringing her heat closer and closer to your face. God, the fact that she’s unshaved only brings you higher. You need to slurp her juice; you need it on your face, you–

“Ready?”

Her cunt is hovering above you now, she’s pulling her skirt up, letting you see her face for the last time before being buried under her.

You nod.

And she sinks onto your face.

The first contact is soft, so, so soft. You’re practically making out with pussy, as she shakes above you erratically. There isn’t much light, with her skirt darkening your vision of what’s around, but it’s like you’d complain. You’re eating your student president out in her room, and you’re doing it so, so well that it sends shivers through her body, again and again.

“Ngh, f–fuck!” Jimin shouts from above—the things you’d do to see her face right now, to see an effect you’re having on her.

You say nothing, just keep lapping up her folds enthusiastically. Her juice drips into your mouth—sweet.

Jimin starts to grind her hips, as the moans grow louder. She’s getting wetter, and you’re still happily drinking her sugary nectar—drunk with it.

“Ah, ah, y–you’re doing well, my treasurer.”

You give her a thumbs up. You keep licking her cunt as if your life is depending on it. She moans so loud; everyone on this floor is probably going to hear that, but you don’t care anymore. The only thing in your head right now is to please Jimin—only Yoo Jimin.

And you can feel her thighs tense, shaking with pleasure. She’s going to cum. Her moans grow more chaotic and shorter than they were.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, fuck!”

She cums hard, collapsing onto the bed, cunt still on your face, ass up in the air. Her core clenches and clenches on your face, and she just forgets to breathe as her hips convulse.

“No squirt today, huh?” you joke from below.

She snaps back into the situation she’s in, sneering, “Fuck off, don’t fucking play stupid with me, wh–whore.”

You laugh, “Alright, alright, let’s get to the main course, shall we?”

“Y–Yeah.”

Jimin lifts off from you, leaving a string of her lubricant between your lips and her cunt.

“God, that’s hot,” you just can’t help but say it.

She giggles, and you can now see the sweat forming on her forehead; there’s beauty in it.

You two, in a haste, discard all of your clothes until you’re left with nothing—just bare bodies on the bed together. You’re sitting opposite of her, expecting her to say something.

She looks ethereal under the room light. The messy hair, the perfect features, the bare body, they all combine into the epitome of perfection right in front of you. Fuck, she’s gorgeous.

“Can I suck your tits?” you mutter. Fuck reticence, you need her, now.

She chuckles. “Sure, but only if I’m on top of you.”

“You just have to find a way to dominate me, don’t you?” you huff.

“Don’t say it like you don’t like it, baby.” She caresses your cheeks, and you shiver at her touch.

You lie down, as she slowly eclipses the light above both of you. Her large breasts are hanging down so close to your face. And—

“F–Fuck!”

You latch your mouth on her right breast as if it’s innate, with your hand kneading on the other. She lets out empyrean moans that only makes you want to suck on them even more. God, you can do this all day.

And not wanting to wait anymore, she impales her cunt with your cock, and you can only moan into her tits. This sensation, it’s overwhelming. Her velvety walls are hugging you so, so tightly. It’s so warm. She’s warm.

“Fuck,” she groans, eyes rolling into the back of her head. “Your cock is so well-bent, baby. It’s hitting my g-spot so good.”

“T–Thanks, J–Jimin.” Your mind is so damn clouded by the pleasure that you can say nothing but her name right now.

And a crack starts to form when she moves—up and down. Her unshaved cunt dragging along your digit, emanating pleasure all over your body from the core.

“B–Babe, c–can you stop s–sucking my tits?” she pleads.

You pull yourself out of her mounds, as she’s still riding you like there’s no tomorrow, and you let out small moans at each contact. “W–What? Ngh.”

“I wanna kiss you.”

You freeze under her. She’s still motioning herself to squeeze the cum out of you, whimpering each time your cock hits the hilt. Is it a confession? Does she love—

“B–Babe,” she brings you back to the mortal world.

“Y–Yeah, kiss me.”

She invades your mouth as if it wasn’t already hers at the second she sits on your face. Your tongues intertwine in a quest to declare their feelings of their owners.

Your hands are still squeezing her breasts. It’s addictive. You press and press into her flesh just to feel her as much as you can. This might as well be the only body you want to have just to yourself, as you dedicate yours to her. Every curve, every contour, every limb, you want her; you want her to want you; you need her. This kiss, fuck, it’s doing wonders to you.

She’d be the one to break off from the kiss to pant above you, hips still smashing into yours in a perfect rhythm.

“W–Wanna go out with me?” she asks.

She’s desperate, all the Tinder dates, all the–

“Babe, I–I fucking know that it’s desperate, yes or no. Fuck those Tinder dates, fuck those guys and girls, I–I want to go out with you, t–treasurer,” she pants.

Maybe it’s her J’adore that’s permeating all over you. Maybe it’s the way your hips are clashing into each other. Maybe, just maybe, it’s the glint in her eyes.

But if you have to recall, it’d be the confidence she’s radiating in clashing your flesh together just right now.

You nod.

Jimin smiles, pulling you into another kiss. You swear it can tear you apart if you have to let this woman go—figuratively.

She pulls off, her breaths becoming shorter and shorter again. “C–Can you cum with me, baby?”

Again, you nod, smiling. It’s inside your loins, building up, building up. Your body tenses up beneath her, same as hers. It’s there. It’s there.

“Fuck, baby, breed me. I’m yours, just breed me, just–ugh!”

And her whole body freezes, juices flowing onto your crotch. Her face is contorted by the pleasure coursing through her. Again, she forgets to breathe, back arching. You don’t slow down, though. Your orgasm is coming too.

“B–Babe–ah!”

It breaks. You busy yourself inside her to the hilt. Just like her, you forget to breathe. You shoot spurts of your seed deep into her womb, intending to breed her as her wish. Your cock shakes inside her, as she moans at each twitch.

It subsides, eventually. The shots get softer and softer to the point the cum just dribbles off the tip of you now. Fuck, your juices even leak out of her cunt onto your crotch, mixed together.

“F–Fuck,” is all she can say, before collapsing onto you, chest pressed up against yours.

“The plan’s still up?”

“Yeah.”

And she slips to the side, embracing you from behind, as you two doze off in the nocturne.

—

“Can I use your toothbrush?”

A long drag of uncertainty comes from the outside. Sun has risen hours ago, yet you two are still in the drowsy state.

“Or do I have to kiss you again for the answer, Jimin?”

“Put your morning breath away from me!”

At least she’s quick with her riposte.

As you brush your teeth, naked, she saunters into the bathroom, still similarly bare from last night. Her breasts bounce ever so slightly with each step in the mirror. Despite the disheveled appearance, her natural beauty shines through the mess—a seraphic being, one might say.

“Ha, yeah, I know I’m pretty, baby,” she says. “People would kill to have a body like me.”

You finish your clean up, before saying, “You’re insufferable, you know?”

Jimin laughs, before giving you a quick peck on the cheek, emanating mellow all over your face. Fuck, you can feel the blood rushing to your erection now.

“You too, babe.” She smiles, before grabbing her mouthwash for a gargling.

Your cock, again, finds the condition to rise in front of this woman. It’s twitching, and you just have to turn back before she notices it.

Still, her sharp eyes find you, and she gives you a small slap on your bare ass, sending pleasure rushing through your body.

“Hey!” she growls with the mouthwash, before quickly disposing of it. “You’re fucking hard again?”

“I–I–I–uh–”

Jimin then presses herself up against your back, arms ever so tightly trapping you from behind in a hug. It’s warm. She’s warm.

“Let me, baby,” she whispers against your wobbling right ear. “I can’t have my co-workers’ needs go unsated.”

“F–Fucking hell.”

In one careful motion, Jimin slides her arms down to your erection, right hand grabbing the length. “Wouldn’t mind some respect from my baby boy~” Her grip and the languid, careful strokes make your legs wobble.

“Tsk, n–no fucking way, J–Jimin,” you muster any inhibition you have left to deflect.

“Well, then.” Jimin then tightens her hold on your cock, transpiring both pain and pleasure to you. “How about now?”

“Nghhhh, f–fuck,” you cry out, the contorted expression appears in the mirror.

“Just like that, baby, moan for me. Show me who owns you,” Jimin coos, loosening her hold a slight, still keeping the adagio tempo.

“Nnnh, J–Jimin.”

“Good boy, good boy,” she murmurs.

She drags her filthy hand up and down your cock so leisurely, finding the rhythm for your pliancy. She strokes and strokes to build you up to the second release with her, this time by her hand.

It feels like eternity—the way her unhurried digits find the pace that would make you want so much more, or how she whispers ‘good boy’ into your ear every time she wants a whiff of reassurance of control. It’s like she needs one, anyway, judging by how you’re moaning like a bitch right now.

“God, you’re making so much sound for me.” The way she swipes her index finger at the tip of your cock on each stroke, fuck, you can fall onto the floor right here and now. “Wanna see your face in the mirror, baby?”

You turn your head leftwards to find reflections of a contorted face and a grin side by side. Her hand is diligent as ever—building you up to your inevitable release.

“What do you say, baby? Wanna see our faces in the mirror?” she inquires again. You can feel a mischievous smile beside your ear.

“Ngnh, a–alright.”

With ease, she forces your body to turn into your image of the ball of lust—the shower of kisses on your neck; the hand sliding up and down your cock; the thigh pressing up against your ass. You shift and shift within her restraint, and that seems to only fuel her fire.

“Moan some more for me, baby. I wanna hear your voice. I want my men moaning.”

You comply, letting out a series of whimpers just for your student president. The sensation of her hand is so damn enthralling—each slide, each nick of a finger, each twist of her wrist, they are all designed to make you surrender to her.

“Good boy. Your moans are so pleasing to hear, you know that?”

“Nngh, t–thanks, Jimin.”

“Wanna up the ante, baby? I can do it faster~” As if her languid tempo isn’t already doing its job in trapping you inside her overflowing lust.

You hesitate, finding yourself wanting this act to go on to such lengths, maybe even when the sun sets again. Being under her comforting warmth is too satisfying.

“I–I don’t know, Jimin.”

“Oh, this baby can’t decide? Guess I’ll just have to–”

She suddenly lets go of your length, cutting your string of desire so easily. You whine, as Jimin lets out a laugh.

“Don’t!” you say in a rush, and letting go the hand you haven’t realized you’ve been holding—hers.

Jimin giggles. “Say please, baby.” She tightens her hug on you, squeezing the plea out.

Your eyes meet hers in the mirror.

“Please, Jimin.”

“Good boy.” And she wraps her hand around your erection again, casually stroking it.

“Ngh.”

The sound of her jerking your shaft fills the room. It’s heavenly—her voluptuous chest pressing up against your arching back with right hand busy sliding on your rod. She does it so cleanly—the technique, the pace. You swear you will cum by the second she whispers another ‘good boy’ into your welcoming ears.

As if she knows your inevitable release, she seeks a higher speed on your cock, stroking it with a swiftness that tries to draw out your moan and your cum as much as she can.

“Ngh, J–Jimin,” you whimper.

“Oh, gonna cum already, baby?” Jimin giggles at your crumble, before giving a peck on your left cheek. “Go on, cum for me. Cum, just like you did last night inside me.”

White spots start to form within your vision. Your breaths become more erratic. It’s there. It’s there.

“Jimin~”

And you explode all over her mirror, painting white streaks on it. You are left with ecstasy on your face as Jimin smiles at your release. Your body shrieks and shudders in her embrace. Your cock twitches in her hand, sending flying ropes of cum everywhere. Fuck.

“Yes, baby, just like that.” Her voice is deep—so seductive.

You continue to shake in her hold, not being able to subside from your high so quickly. Your release grows lighter and lighter in her hand, until it comes out in drops, finally letting you catch your breath.

“Good boy,” Jimin says, before forcing your body towards hers. You are spun around, and she gives you a kiss.

It’s short, but it’s powerful—no tongue fighting for dominance, no slurping sounds, just a kiss.

And she pulls back from it once she’s satisfied, judging from the smile on her face.

“Wanna do this again?” she asks.

“Definitely—well—maybe. You know Yizhuo would beat our asses if she catches us again, right?”

“Just shut up, babe. She won’t know if you’re good with secrets like me.”

You pout, bringing out a laugh from her.

Winter

“It’s going well, isn’t it?” Kai asks.

You give him a small smile. “It’s bearable, yeah.”

“Good to know, good to know.” He then takes a sip of his latte from his cup, looking outside.

“Fuck, I forgot to ask you this,” you say. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Oh yeah! In fact, there’s a woman I've been seeing recently, Yizhuo. You probably know her, right? You guys are working together,” Kai answers.

“Oh,” you utter. “Oh.”

He chuckles, before continuing, “Yeah, I know it’s weird–”

“No, no, not at all, bro,” you deflect with a chuckle along with him. “I’m happy that you’re happy.”

Kai, still chuckling, inquires, “How about you? It’s gotta be more than ‘bearable’ for you to be all happy like this.”

You give him a smile.

[k-hotchoisan]

coming home with me

<san x fem!reader>

under the dim lights, Choi San realises that he just can’t keep this casual when it comes to you.

genre/warnings: pwp, smut, furcoat!San, is San being toxic??? I guess we’ll never know!, jealous dom! San, unprotected sex, reader is commando, car sex, fingering riding, breeding kink, spanking

a/n: ahoy!! y’alls gotta thank @bro-atz & @skteezcursed for the fic concept 😘 have been overwhelmed with life so I’m presenting this as my compensation ~

w/c: 3.1K

Under the dim lights, your eyes slowly adjust, and much to your delight, you spot the man you’ve been eye candying at a booth. Of course, you knew he was gonna be there considering you’ve been stalking his socials, and casually asking your mutual friends about his favourite hang-out spots. 

He’s cute, you think, stealing glances at him from afar, wondering how you should approach him. A coincidence? Maybe stage an accident? 

“And what’s the end goal for you with him?” You hear your friend’s voice piercing into your thoughts. 

Well, initially, it was mostly a light-hearted flirty thing. You just thought he was cute. All romance sparks started off with the thrill of liking someone. It just hadn’t reached to that point with him yet. 

“Maybe play around? I don’t know”, you reply. 

Or maybe it was just a farce to keep a certain guy off your mind. 

“You know, you don’t have to force yourself”, your friend reminds you, her palm on your hand comfortingly. “You should be direct with him.” 

You force a smile back to assure her.

“It’s fine. I’m not gonna do anything foolish.” 

You don’t notice the confused expression she’s making at your answer because now you’re thinking if you should just let things unfold naturally. Amidst your pondering, your friend’s elbow nudges you. 

“And he’s looking at you”, she says. Your eyes glance up—and she’s right—your little eye candy has seemed to catch your gaze. He smiles even though he’s on the other side of the room. You give him a small wave and he waves back. Then he gestures for you to go down to the dance floor. You’re wondering if you should too as you watch him leave his booth and down the stairs to the crowded floor. 

Unfortunately, you let the thought sit for a little too long because when you decide to leave the booth to the floor, you’ve lost him. 

Letting the flashing lights and lasers with the decent music from the DJ doesn’t sound like a bad idea. 

Soon enough, your eyes filter through the people and you catch your prey. He seems to be talking to someone but he also seems to have noticed your stare before he fully turns to you. 

But as you’re steadily maneuvering the crowd to reach him, your eyes meet another man’s—sharp and all too familiar—and it seems as though he’s caught you too. 

Your eyes widen and you immediately turn away, fishing your phone from your chest, opening your phone book to speed dial.

You bring your phone up to your ear, turning away from the approaching male deliciously styled in a black fur coat walking towards you, panic obvious in your tone while your friend picks up. You look up at her from the dance floor, eyes wide. 

“Babe, you did not tell me that he was here?!” You whisper-shout. You watch your friend’s face widen her eyes before she shrugs. 

“Who the hell did you think I was referring to just now? I was talking about Choi San!” 

Choi San has had his eyes on you since you settled in your booth. He never thought he would see you out of all the clubs that existed in this town. But despite the slight scowl present on his face when he realises you’re flirting with someone else at the same level booth he is on, there’s a seed of desire that’s lodged in his heart, that maybe he has a chance. 

But first, he has to get rid of your little eye candy. 

San’s eyes trail your movements carefully—from the way you bat your eyelashes at the other male from the other booth, then to the way you stare after him as he walks down to the floor. 

How have you not noticed him yet? 

He stays put on the sofa, silently counting down how much longer it’d take for your eyes to rake over the rest of the booths to reach him. 

Unfortunately, it only leaves him frustrated, and even tenfold when you leave your seat while your eyes search for him on the dance floor. 

Guess he has to do it his way then. 

He pushes past the wave of people, still locked onto you under the dim lights

The satisfaction that floods into his brain when your eyes meet his, his ears slowly tuning out the music, and he watches the way you eyes widen when you finally take notice of him from a distance. 

And then you turn away. San cocks his eyebrow in confusion and irritation, and his footsteps towards you quicken. 

Then he stops in his tracks once more. 

Dear god, something might break today if he gets interrupted one more fucking time. 

Your attention is stolen by your little eye candy. He got to you before San could.

You’re well-aware that you’re being stared down by a certain male from your peripherals, and that certainly wasn’t stopping you from pretending that he’s part of the air molecules, although not the easiest task when he’s boring a hole into your head. 

You look back at your eye candy, plastering a pretty smile. 

The both of you sink into small talk, leaning in closer in an attempt to hear each other over the music. You’re listening to him, but your attention remains on someone else. Someone who’s not hiding that he’s stealing glances at you. 

“Do you wanna go somewhere private?” You hear him ask into your ear. His arm is snaking around your waist, and your interest is waning. 

You’re ready to reject him, and you jolt slightly when you feel a bigger pair of hands slide across your back replacing the unfamiliar warmth. 

“She’s got afterparty plans”, San answers curtly. It’s an automatic response that you swallow hard when let your eyes rake over San. His hair is slicked back, letting a couple strands fall past his eyes. He’s smug with the corner of his lips curled up. Maybe it’s the confidence that you hate about him, but like a moth drawn to a flame, you can’t seem to stay away from him. 

You see the way the male tuts, then force a smile. “No worries. We’ll see each other soon, yeah?” 

You nod, already losing him in the crowd, mostly because Choi San has your full attention. 

Even under the dim lights, Choi San looks stunning. You realise you’re royally fucked when your eyes trail to the star of the show—the fact that San isn’t wearing anything underneath his fur coat. That piece of apparel somehow makes him look bigger, and it’s driving you insane. Well, if the tension escalates, he might get a surprise if you’re feeling generous enough. But right now, he’s eyeing you down like a predator, and it’s making you fall into his spell. 

His arm isn’t leaving your back. He’s leaning in closer, making sure you hear his words loud and clear in your ear. 

“That’s your type?”

You do your best to hide the effects he’s having on you—ignoring heat pooling between your thighs.

Your fingers play with the soft fur as he leans in and waits for your answer. He smells so fucking good. 

You shrug, and that only bubbles his irritation further. His grip on your waist tightens slightly.

“Answer me, darling”, he pushes, his palm sliding lower down. 

“Maybe. We had a nice chat before you cut in. Seemed like a decent person.”

San furrows his eyebrows. 

“What if he’s not a good person? Does that mean any guy that has a nice conversation with you a good person?”

His other arm is snaking around the back of your neck and he definitely feels your goosebumps. He’s forcing you to look at him. 

“San”, you huff, mentally bracing yourself from falling for his charms again. “And on what grounds do you have to be saying all of this?” 

“As your best friend?”

You scoff, with a roll of your eyes. Painful to tear away from his chiseled body just peeking out. 

San can’t seem to pinpoint it—for some reason, the interaction you had with your eye candy pricked him so much. But why? You and he have always been fooling around, leaving feelings at bay so it wouldn’t “complicate things”. But obviously after tonight, something clicked, and San is very sure he doesn’t like you to be around other men that aren’t him. 

“I’m leaving, Choi San. It’s hard to hear you with all these people around”, you make up the excuse, smacking his arm away with much reluctance, only for him to snatch you back once more. San makes sure you hear him loud and fucking clear when he leans into your ears. 

“We should go somewhere private then.”

Your moan in the kiss sets him off. Your hands trail up his bare body, and his hands are on your thighs. 

Fucking you in his car wasn’t San’s preference—he prefers a little more space— but he’s not complaining when he has you slowly unravel right before him, forced to press yourself against him even with the seat reclined and his thick erection is just shameless pressing against your body con dress. 

His fingers slip under your dress, and he groans when he feels your bare pussy—wet, puffy and just ready. 

And for some reason, it pisses him off when thought of your eye candy being the one to discover this instead of him. 

“Just how much of my buttons are you gonna push tonight, princess?” He asks rhetorically, his sharp eyes locked onto yours, trying not to snap from how wet you are.

You steady yourself on his lap, your mind slowly growing blank whenever his thick fingers graze your clit and past your sopping hole. 

“You were just begging to be fucked, huh?” San asks with his fingers circling so close to your pussy. 

“San!-“

“Tell me then: who were you hoping to fuck you stupid tonight?”

Your begs come in the forms of soft whimpers, and a sob rips from you when he plunges two thick fingers in, filling you up so fucking full.

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

His fingers fucking your cunt isn’t helping you think. 

You know there’s no way around this. As much as you hated to admit, San always seemed to have the upper hand. Nonetheless, your unintentional plan had roused a side of him you’ve never seen before. 

“I’m waiting.” 

It takes almost all of your strength to focus on answering him, and it’s making you frustrated because he’s intentionally missing the spot that he knows can send you seeing the stars. 

“You”, you answer meekly.

“Can’t hear you, sweetie.” His fingers press against your g-spot, and you lean closer to his body on reflex, your hands gripping his fur coat. You could just smack the smug look off Choi San if he didn’t have two fingers stuffed in you. 

“You! Oh, fuck-” You cry out when he misses your g-spot on purpose once more. 

“Right answer, sweetie. You deserve a reward for being a good girl, hm?”

You can’t even answer. His thumb is rubbing on your clit, it sends electricity all over in the best way possible on top of his fingers hitting your sweet spots over and over again. The wet sounds of your pussy squelching only bring up the thick tension. 

“Look at you, tightening up like this. Are you gonna cum for me?” His voice drops an octave, lulling you closer to your impending orgasm. You hate the way he knows every nook and cranny of your body as if it’s his. You just really cannot escape him. 

His words continue to edge you closer. 

“Oh, that’s a good fucking girl. Keep squeezing my fingers like that. I’m the only one who makes you feel this fucking tight, right?” 

You fucking hate Choi San. 

Cream seeps past his fingers from your hole when your orgasm brings your vision to white. Your moans fill up the car when it wrecks your body in waves, your nerves flooding with pleasure over and over. 

And San isn’t letting you leave the damn car, not until you’re screaming his name. 

He’s not faring any better himself and he could just get off just by watching you cum all over him like that. 

His fingers leave your soaking cunt, slightly pruning with strings of your cum in between his fingers. While you catch your breath, San forces you to watch him lick his sticky fingers clean while his free hand shifts your fingers to his bulging erection that’s just begging to be let out. He’s grown so fucking hard that you wonder if it hurts. 

You unbutton and unzip his trousers, then push yourself to the side towards the car door to give him enough space so he’s able to fully remove his trousers. You can’t help but worry if the both of you would be caught, even though San assured you that he parked at a secluded spot. Your eyes dart to the windows, noticing how it’s beginning to grow foggy.

Oh. It’s about to get a lot more foggy. 

San’s touch pulls you out of your thoughts. Although you’ve fucked many times, the sheer fucking size of his cock never fails to make you swallow hard. 

Your hands wander up his tits as you settle back down onto his thighs. The realisation hits you then—the only clothing article Choi San has on right now is his fucking fur coat. 

He catches onto your stare and smiles in response. 

“Why? Is the thought of getting fucked by your favourite person wearing a fur coat getting you excited?”

You narrow your eyes at him, and you palm his bare, thick, and sticky cock, making San groan in reply. 

“Favourite? What makes you think you’re my favourite?” 

He chuckles and makes your heart flutter. 

“Many things, sweetheart. Just as you’re mine.”

You’re really gonna end up losing to him, huh? 

You lift your hips instead, lining up to his cockhead, and then letting San guide your hips down his fat cock, making you take him inch by inch. You bite your lip at the feeling of his cock filling you up so disgustingly good, and San has his eyes screwed shut, a strained groan leaving his lips when your warmth envelops him so fucking good. 

“That’s it. You’re so fucking warm and tight for me”, San mutters in pleasure through half-lidded eyes. 

Riding San sometimes feels too much for you, in the best fucking ways possible because he’s all the way in, and he knows that very well—how easily you get sensitive and squirmy just from sitting on his cock. 

You slowly bounce off his cock, grabbing his shoulders for leverage. He likes that you have to lean into him while he fucks you from below so he can whisper the most dirty things into your ear just to make you clench around him.

His palms slide down your ass, following the momentum of you bouncing off his cock, then landing a tight slap against your skin to hear your gasp and feel you tighten on his cock. 

The sting feels so fucking good that another slap has your pussy leaking cream all over his cock once more. 

“S-San! If you keep doing that-“ you cry, another slap to your ass making you jolt, sinking even deeper into his cock. 

“That’s your punishment for flirting with another man in front of me like that”, his voice buzzing in your ear. 

Another smack. 

Your thighs are trembling from the overstimulation. 

One more smack. 

Your mind is about to shut off. San’s cock is pressing against your g-spot with even more pressure than his fingers. 

The windows have completely fogged up.

“San, please. Oh my fucking god. Gonna fucking cum”, you whine, arms tight around his neck, intoxicated with the smell of his musk mixed with his cologne. 

San’s grunts fill your ears when your second orgasm drowns you again, your cunt pulsing uncontrollably around him, cream just pooling at the base of his cock. He groans and buries his nose into your neck, his mind fuzzy from how close his orgasm is. 

“I’m gonna cum in you. Wanna plug your pussy hole full of my cum. 

And you’re gonna take all of it like a good girl.”

“Yes, please”, you reply, much to his pleasant surprise. So his large hands hold your legs down, listening to you whine while his cock fills you up endlessly with warm and thick cum with moans escaping his lips every few seconds from how fucking good he feels. 

He pushes you off his body gently, his eyes reflecting the hearts in your glazed-out eyes. His thumb brushes against the corner of your lips and he pushes his thumb past your lips. 

“Such a good fucking girl, letting me fill you up with my load. Does it feel good?”

You nod, twitching slightly from the overstimulation since he still has you stuffed full of both dick and cum. San wants to keep this sight of you in his brain forever—sucking on his finger, sweating with him post-orgasm, staring down at him with watery eyes while his cum just leaks past your puffy pussy hole even though his cock is plugging your cunt. 

San pulls you into a deep kiss, and you reciprocate it in between breathless pants and sighs. 

“Fuck. I think I’m in love”, he mutters loud enough for you to hear. 

You don’t know how to answer to that, but you feel your face flushing. He grabs the tissues stowed in the storage compartment and quickly cleans the both of you up after he lifts you off his softening cock. 

You instinctively shift to the passenger seat, and San removes his fur coat to cover you. You watch him grab a black tank top from the back seat, then fit his trousers over his thighs. 

He rolls down the windows despite the air-con running, just to rid the smell of sex.

You wrap his coat closer to you when the night breeze kisses your cheeks. 

“So, are you gonna send me home?” There’s a strange tint of hope you have that he’d decline. 

San stares at you with an expression that confuses you—one that makes you wonder if you had said something weird. Then he smiles after that. 

“You’re coming home with me, sweetheart”, San tells you as he loops his tank top over his head before he switches gear to move out. 

“It’s gonna be a long night for the both of us.” 

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