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st4rbwrry · 20 days ago

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𓊆ྀི󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠 ୨୧ ˖ ࣪ . . . 5.4k. black fem!reader ◞ countryside setting◞ lowercase intended ◞ soon to be married◞ rough sex ◞ unprotected ◞ age difference ꒰ 36 + 25 ꒱ ◞ praise ◞ oral ꒰ f. ꒱ ◞ fingering + finger sucking◞ hair pulling ◞ creampie ◞ pet name usage ꒰ darling, baby , sweetheart, old man ꒱ ◞ manhandling ◞ choking + spanking ◞ overstimulation ◞ minors aren’t welcomed! reblogs & comments are appreciated <3 𓊇ྀི

꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 ꒱ . . . my first rick fic soo i’m hoping i did his characterization well ! here’s some visuals for theme . <3 ‘n here’s the smut linkies > > ( ❤︎. ❤︎.)

the black 1967 chevy impala quietly pulled into the gravelly driveway of a small cottage nestled within a tiny town. the neighborhood’s always silent around these hours, only semi-peaceful disturbance of cicadas bellowing in the freshly mowed grass. the worn out cowboy boots on rick’s tired feet stumble up the main entrance of the home, keys jangling from the loop he had his finger secured in. when entering his house, it’s nearly pitch dark had it not been for the kitchen light being lit. an old white, floral printed couch that was usually wrapped in plastic was now pulled out to reveal a bed where two women slept peacefully in silk pajamas. your best friends, and bridesmaids.

tomorrow was a special day. a wedding was to be held at a cathedral not too far out of town. something small, something memorable. he was never one big on attention, though family was sacred. he’d already planned to have a separate gathering for either side of your families to celebrate the marriage. the thought of being wed to you tomorrow brought joy to his heart. he’s waited so long to fully make you all his. he would’ve married you from day one had you not been difficult to lock down. however, he loved the chase.

heavy feet thud up the old wooden staircase, nowhere near as quiet as he seemed courtesy to the alcohol running rampant in his veins. pushing forth the bedroom door, rick’s instantly soothed when he catches sight of you. sitting on the floors that bear the gentle patina of age by your side of the bed, a plush area rug in earthy tones providing a cozy contrast to the cold hardwood beneath. the large four-poster bed dominates one wall, its rich, arched mahogany frame polished to a warm sheen. soft, billowy curtains in a subtle floral pattern hang from the windows, filtering the moonlight into a cool glow.

in the corner, there’s an antique sewing machine that sits atop an oak nightstand. you’re surrounded by spools of thread, sequins, and scissors. occasionally, you’d sip on your mug, or his since it read ‘daddy of the year’ — containing raspberry leaf tea. the fluff of your curly ponytail swings as you turn to face your fiancé, a smile beaming bright from his presence. there’s two long tendrils of hair that frame both sides of your pretty face. lashes still curled and brushed with mascara, and lips pigmented with liner and gloss. a natural beauty.

rick notices you’ve got on a shirt of his. it’s nothing out of the ordinary, but it gets him out of character suddenly. he’s got a deep grin on his face, smile lines puncturing and blue eyes twinkling. you let him greet you with a hand patting at the top of your head, his hand easing down to cup your face before he’s plopping down on the floors before you.

“hey there, darlin'," he slurred, his speech slightly slowed from the alcohol.

calloused hands brush along your knee, your hands intricately stitching final touches to your wedding gown. his thumb absentmindedly rubs circles on your thigh, resting on his elbow as his gaze lazy drifts over your features. you always knew when he had a good time with the guys because he’d come home smiling like a lovebird just because he missed you. they were nice to be around, but nothing compared to coming home to you.

“hi, baby. how was your night?” the delicate tone of your voice instantly brings peace, rick humming elatedly.

“night was good. knocked back a few cold ones. even caught the falcons game. a damn tragedy,” rick says with a suck of his teeth at the end.

“yeah? you bet money?”

“only ‘bout twenty.”

“mm, good thing it wasn’t nothin’ too drastic,” you go to cup the underneath of his jaw, holding the needle and thread in your other. you shift his jaw from side to side, the cap on his head hiding his eyes that haze over. you caught a whiff of beer and cigs on his breath and clothing mixed with his cologne. “can smell it on you for sure. got some tea on the stove if you want.”

rick pulls back slightly, chuckling. “sorry ‘bout that. i’ll take some in a minute.”

his eyes drift along your figure, his baby blue button-up you wore hugs every curve of your body tight. a few buttons undone that shows your cleavage, a silver necklace or two swinging. the high pony on your head that’s curled at the ends sway around you heavenly.

“played pool and stuff?”

he blinks, humming, “yeah, shot a few rounds. daryl cheated though, swears he didn’t but y’know i can catch me a liar like nothin’ . — this shirt looks good on you.”

rick’s voice is a low purr, fixating on the softness of your thighs he continues to rub on, a decadent scent resembling tiramisu casting over his nose. eyes even catching some glitter on your skin. “think you could show me what’s underneath this garment, sweetheart?”

smiling, you continue sewing. “don’t try to turn this about me. you’re an hour late.”

a contrite expression overtakes as he knocks his head back to look up at the clock on the wall, now realizing it’s way past the hour he promised to be home. rick sighs, lifting the brown cap on his head to run a hand back, curly ringlets sitting at the nape of his neck. “shit, i’m sorry, sweetheart. you know i always stick to my word.”

a giggle escapes. “don’t beat yourself down, old man. it’s alright. i’m glad you had a good time with the boys.”

“you a ‘lil jealous?” he tosses his hat aside, bringing himself closer to you to kiss your knee.

rolling your eyes, you shake your head. “i was with my girls. we had a good time, too. couldn’t sleep, though. got an idea to add some embroidery to the dress.”

it didn’t occur to rick that you’d let him see the dress this early on. honestly, you didn’t care too much for old traditions. they say it’s bad luck for the groom to see the dress, but superstitions didn’t bother you none. it was already untraditional that you were being wed without family. it was a plan you had for a long time. for your first wedding, you just wanted it to be something small with each of your close friends. run away together after. come back in two weeks and have a family gathering, then a couple years in, possibly five — you’d renew your vows with a bigger setting. and by then, hopefully, a big family of your own.

“it’s lookin’ gorgeous, you did a good job.”

“thank you, baby.”

his touch maps the contours of your body through the fabric of the shirt. you’re sitting on your bottom but your left leg is folded in, foot resting on your other thigh. rick leans back a bit to adjust where he laid, catching sight of white lace underneath. he hinders himself.

“i saw a few new homes they’ve been building in the newspaper. i figured we could go view them, you know, after we find some time.”

rick nodded thoughtfully, now tracing patterns over your arm with his fingers. “yeah, that’s soundin’ good anything in particular you're looking for? big backyard for a garden? a nice kitchen so you can bake your famous pies?”

“hmm, i’ve been wanting something really vintage, something built in the 70s. ‘bout forty acres, enough to have a garden and an area for you to grill with the boys . . and the kids to play,” you smile dreamily at the thought. “i love our home here, but a bigger space would be nice. that’s always been the plan, right?”

rick nods assuredly. “right, we always talked about that. we can make that happen. i w’na make you happy. you deserve the big house with the wraparound porch, and the giant kitchen so you can bake me pies.”

“you hungry or somethin’? you keep talking about these pies,” you joke.

“i repeated myself? whoops,” rick palms his forehead, the both of you laughing. “guess i am. i need to sober up. c’mere.”

rick remains rested on his elbow, fingers trailing closer under your shirt, grazing your tummy and inching his face closer to your thighs. your back rests against the bed, biting your lip with a giggle as you clamp your legs shut.

“no, no, mister. save your energy. we gotta be up bright and early.”

“gimme one of those sweet kisses, it’ll wake me right on up,” he’s playfully biting at your hips now, the dress you held in your hands now displayed on the floor.

the quickness of heat encasing your face makes you shift back, stirring your waist unwittingly. full bearded face that grows like nothing, giving him a trim just a few days ago, patched with stubborn grays tickle your inner thighs the further he spreads them and the harder you clench them to stop him.

“nuh-uh, not when you’re like this. one kiss will lead to ‘em sneaking somewhere else. and you know it.”

“mhm,” it’s like he’s not listening. “one little kiss, huh sweetheart?” his voice was a low rumble, body practically thrumming with tension and need.

pushing away your dress and tools so neither of you would get hurt, or your dress ruined, you nod for his approval, “just one, rick.”

he couldn’t help the cocky smirk displaying as you relented, eyes glinting with triumph. “that’s my girl.”

hands roaming your body possessively, each touch inflames you both, gasping as his rough hands grope your waist and leads up to your tits he kneads in his palms. rick loves to touch you, even if it’s for a simple kiss. they encapsulate yours with hunger, whimpering into his mouth when his tongue touches yours, tasting liquor and tobacco. tea tree scent of beard butter on his facial hair still strong and it weakens you. the kiss gets messier, rick grabbing at your neck as you lean your head back and accept every rough suck of your lips he takes. the two of you are eating at each others faces like it’s the first time you’d gotten to.

he could feel the heat building between you, his restraint slowly ebbing away. he had broken the kiss to catch his breath, eyes darkening with raw pleasure, "damn, ꒰ ♥︎ ꒱',” he rasped, his voice rough. “i want you so goddamn bad right now.”

pawing at his chest, black shirt enveloping his muscles, you gnaw at your lips. “said one kiss. gettin’ greedy, rick.”

rick’s lips trailed a path from the pulse points on your neck to just below your ear, his breath giving you goosebumps. “i said i need you.”

as he sits on his knees before you, his big hands are tugging at your panties, face stern as he pulls them down your ass as you lift, the pads of his fingers digging into the plump of your ass. looking up at him in a daze, your mouth drops in submission once he’s tearing them off your skin, gasping from the air your slick folds are exposed to. without being aware, you’re full on soaked. lips between your teeth, you study the way rick lowers himself before you, crouching at your pussy’s level.

“let me see you, baby,” he whispered, lifting your legs and pressing them up to your chest. “hold ‘em f’me.”

your face is in a pout, gyrating your pelvis forward, fingers hanging in your mouth with the gleaming, princess cut diamond ring stunning in view. raising your legs, you keep them straight, high, and pressed to your chest. opening yourself up for him, head resting on the edge of the bed. rick felt the way his dick twitched from the sight, indenting his fingers into your plush skin, guiding his thumb up and down your wet slit, knuckle delicately pinching at your clit, pulling back a bit to see the string of cum follow. you always kept her trimmed clean and smooth, shiny under the lamps light.

“look at that, s’fuckin’ precious,” he grunts, your frustrated whines catching his full attention. sounding like a fragile little puppy. “oh, i get it. want me to shut up and get t’the good stuff, yeah?”

you’re staring down at him in a haze, eyelids lowered and nibbling at your nails with your mouth hung, nodding with a pant.

“don’t chew your nails like that, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice close to a growl. “givin’ me all kinds of ideas.”

“mmm, like what?” you tease back.

“like having that pretty little mouth occupied. but it’s not ‘bout me right now.” rick’s teasing, landing a soft smack on your inner thigh close to your pussy. you jump, leaking down to your ass cheeks. it’s a sticky mess he created. “she needs it bad?”

“y-yes, rick. need it now,” you admit.

rick’s huffing out a chuckle, sucking on his thumb to get a quick taste before he’s groaning, ducking his head down to give your pussy a full, sloppy, open mouthed kiss. it sounds like water, his saliva leaking onto you. “always taste so good, can’t wait till tomorrow baby.”

“yeah?” it comes out in a nasally whimper, delving your manicured nails into the backs of your thighs. “a-are you happy?”

“it’s g’na be the best goddamn day of my life, sweetheart.”

his admission makes your face heat up even more, grinding towards his in a desperate, silent plea. it gets rick off, honestly. seeing how fueled you are for touch now. the desire to eat at you is threatening to overwhelm him, so he engulfs you into his mouth without another thought. a small sob crawls in your throat, rick’s eyes primal as he catches yours while a guttural growl rumbles in his chest. teeth sinking into your lip, you whimper and continue holding yourself open for him, jaw dropping and panting heavy from every gentle lick he gives your clit. you gasp when his mouth trails up your inner thighs, spanking them on either side as he shifts his head to catch your bud into his mouth once again, pulling it between his lips gently before releasing and swallowing you up wholly.

the method of his tongue starts off soft, then transitions to teasing laps followed by firmer, more demanding sucks, determined to wring every last drop of cum from you. with your stomach caving in, a high-pitched whine escapes your lips as he devours you, hips bucking wildly against his mouth as you try to escape the intense sensations crashing over you. using your strength to keep your legs in the air, your fingers thread through his hair, tugging harshly as you grind down onto his face, chasing the pleasure building in your core. losing balance when your knees bend, rick guiding his face all over your pussy, allowing you to use his face. the disgusting noise of rick slurping you up and matted beard scraping at your skin makes you lose your mind.

“rickkk,” you’re crying softly, hiccuping and melting into his touch the more he molds at your flesh with his rough hands and sucks on your pussy.

“y’cummin’, sweetheart?” his tongue continues to work, steadily sloshing it after pulling back the hood, tears welling in your sockets and feeble, whiny sobs surpass the lewd sound of spit swapping with cum.

“mm—h-hmm. y-yes.”

“c’mon, then. fuckin’ gushin’ all over my tongue. gimme somethin’ sweet to slide into.”

with eyes rolled back, you mindlessly move your waist that stutters from every lick, sitting in a puddle of mess. frantically, your palms slam on to the backs of your thighs to hold them still as they tremble, smacking at them yourself to coax vibration towards your sensitive pussy all the while urging your fiancé to land a hit where you needed it. and he hits hard in repetitions on either side again like you love. the tickles of his beard makes you incredibly wetter as it scratches all the right parts. it’s getting creamier, and rick knows because there’s a sweeter taste on his palate, and when he goes to curl his fingers into you — pushing and pulling, and because the angle in which you sit is adding pressure to your tummy, it’s all on his hand. gooey and delicious. rick grunts, rubbing your clit with his thumb adjacent to fucking you with his fingers.

“awee, fuck! g-god, baby,” your heartbeat picks up quicker, gasps flowing in the air as you grab his wrist and clamp your legs together creating more tension as you cum.

it takes you quite a while to ease, arching your back off the side of the bed as your stomach presses into his face, rick smelling your lotion and kissing your belly. your eyes can’t help but stare in a daze, every rise and fall of your chest is followed by wheezily pants. legs shaking and skin getting sweaty. the shape of your eyes are daunting. biting your lip as you scratch at his semi-soaked beard to pull him in for a kiss, staring him down with blown sepia pupils and low lids mimicking feline.

rick takes the way you look at him as a threat.

“keep staring at me like that ‘n i’m liable to fuck you right now,” his voice is hoarse.

“g’na keep staring ‘cause i love you,” grinning, you continue to play with him. you liked making him mad.

“mhm, you love your old man?” he muttered gruffly, his grip on your hips getting tighter.

your heart skips a beat, chest tightening with emotion. eyes fluttering closed briefly, then snapping back open to stare at him intensely. “yes, i love you.”

it’s swift when rick goes to lift you up. scooping you up by the column of your underarms as if you were a small pet and placing you down onto the mattress that your body bounces onto gently. giggling in your state, you hum drunkenly as rick’s hands roam over your hot skin, turning you so you’re laying on your stomach with one of your knees raised by your side. the button-up you wear is well over hiked up your full ass, clenching your fist holding the material with visceral appetite, wiggling your butt and hearing your slick that’s glued to your inner thighs.

rick’s got his neck bent slightly to the side, eyes squinting, your act of seduction only worsening his need to roughen you up a bit. he stays silent, unbuckling the hefty black leather belt on his waist and dragging down the zipper ever-so slowly. the lust in the room rises, the alcohol still thrumming in his system as he pulls out his cock. it’s . . fat. pulsing visibly with a swollen head and dense veins — could be a replica of his forearm, really. it’s hanging halfway out of teal boxers, pubic hairs dark and unruly. pulling them further down his crotch so his balls fall out and jolt for your joy. loving the feel of them plopping against your sticky clit from behind.

the sound of him patting the heftiness of it along the plump of your butt ricocheted in the small room. rick’s palming the arch of your back, pushing it deeper so he’d get you in the angle he wanted. bent just enough so he could catch a glimpse of your cunt soddened and open.

“s' thing real pretty, ain’t it?” rick wets his lips, curls falling in front of the frame of his face as he gets a closer look like he’s never seen her before. or, like his face didn’t reside there only five minutes ago. “g’na get fucked real nice.”

being under his monitor always felt nerve-racking. he’d take his time observing your body to see what makes you react to what, or simply get a kick out of the squirming and mewling you act out when peevish. stepping out of his boots and bottoms, he’s allowing you to feel just how scorching his skin was on yours.

“rick.” there’s that crankiness he was talking about. it comes out as a solid groan, continuously swaying your legs side to side even though he’s got your waist locked.

rick lowers his chin, spitting directly on his dick before wrapping his veiny hand around and pumping over the length of it, stroking over the sensitive head before he’s aligning the tip with your dripping entrance. the pink of it showing a tight ring after careful back and forth insertions. a sharp cry ripples from your throat as he fills you completely, walls stretching to pull in his size. you can feel every throbbing inch of him buried deep, the sensation bordering on yummy in its intensity. your nails dig into the sheets as you adjust to the sudden intrusion, body trembling with the effort of relaxing around him. unable to make a noise, you bite down on the sleeve of your shirt as your eyes falter shut. after a few moments, a dull ache of fullness only serves to heighten your arousal, breathless in his possession.

“g’na fuck you so dumb, make you s’full,” rick hisses, sliding halfway out before plunging forward again.

you push back against him, encouraging him to start moving as your pussy clenches greedily around his shaft. turning your head to look at him over your shoulder,

you keep your eyes on his, lashes kissing your cheekbones delicately while you see rick shuffle his black t-shirt up his midsection a bit more, drooling at the sight of his tanned chest and hard stomach. a stripe of hair leading down from the navel, strong arms with light brown frizzy hair, and deepset eyes that lure you in to danger. you fucking loved this man.

“those eyes of yours, darling,” he announces almost with warning, wrapping his fist around your ponytail to pull your neck back for a quick, harsh peck to your full lips.

letting go, his hand finds a new place to grip, and that was your neck. holding you in place while grinding his dick into you. your vision starts to blur as his hand compresses tight around your throat, clawing at his wrist as the pressure exceeds. the weight of your ass claps back onto his groin as the two of you rock together. rick’s thrusts rough and steady, pounding his cock into your pussy depravedly.

“atta girl. take it all.”

unexpectedly, your mind goes blank from the intensity of it all, and just a few thrusts sends you hurtling towards another orgasm, eyes scrolling back and sobs ensuing. rick’s hold on your throat loosens just enough to allow you a precious breath, but the momentary reprieve only fuels his own lust. he watches, transfixed, as your face contorts in pleasure. gasps coming out in ragged breaths, the sudden influx of oxygen only serves to amplify the sensations, and you stutter out his name as you gush and cum hard. pleasure ripping through you, pussy clamping down on his dick tightly.

“ungh, f-fuck — ooh fuck.”

you go to cover your mouth to muffle the sounds, not wanting to wake your friends sleeping in the living room, almost forgetting they were here.

rick’s eyes narrow at your attempt to be silent. “ uh-uh, darling. i don’t give a fuck about waking your friends. don’t cover your mouth.”

whining once again, your favorite, rick gropes your neck to keep you fully still as he fucks harder into you. “eyes on me. look me in the face.”

doing as he says, you maintain eye contact as best you can, screwing your face up the deeper his dick hits inside of you, moaning when he goes to slap your cheek gently and clawing at the sheets in response desperately. every pound gets greedier, a sheen of sweat on rick’s forehead as he prolongs groans and grits his teeth while his hips slam against your ass. a particular noise you make full of broken moans ruins him.

“yesss, good girl,” his brows are knitted, voice getting gruff and guiding your body to bounce back on his dick.

“s’s-so — deep,” the broken tone of your voice emits, crawling your way forward for a sense of relief. just needing it a bit.

“you ain’t goin’ nowhere, girl,” rick grumbles, pulling you back so both of your legs are straight now, grinding his dick into you before removing his hand from your throat to capture your ponytail to yank your head back.

“p—lease, baby,” you beg.

“just a lil’ more. just a little more,” rick nearly pleads, voice softening and turning into whimpers as he grounds his dick into you, lifting his weight off a little before crashing his hips back down again and again. “ugh, shit.”

there’s specks in both of your visions, finding yourself sucking on your fingers as rick licks and nips at your neck, relishing the moment. the moonlight that was once outside began to disappear, clouds settling slowly into dawn. you don’t know how long it’s been since he’s stepped foot into the room, but you knew for sure that you’d both be ridiculously tired by morning.

rick builds up the strength to let you go, for now that is. pulling out tenderly, he’s bringing you up off the bed and lifting your frame in his arms. with your arms draped over his shoulders, you nuzzle your face within the crook of his neck as he goes to sit on a wide wooden chaise facing the opposite side of the room. getting comfy for you both, rick’s got two of his palms on either side of your face to give you a few more sweet smooches. joining in soon was raw, wet kisses. descending his hands to smooth down your backside before kneading the doughy flesh of your butt. manspreading, he’s making sure you’ve got enough room to move, balancing yourself above him using the throw pillows as leverage for your knees.

“drop down slow, baby — slow. listen to your cum coatin’ my dick,” rick whispers, hips stuttering, trying to find his own willpower in not fucking up into you.

the moment narrows down to the pressure of splitting yourself open on him, the musky scent of his skin filling your nostrils, and the steady pulse of his heartbeat against your palms. arousal sticky and loud all over you both. weak whimpers spew as you sink further and further down to the hilt, taking your time and grinding your hips. a soft moan escapes your parted lips as you revel in the warmth and stiffness of him inside you, your pussy clinging to every throbbing inch like a second skin.

“baby, you’re in my tummyyy. you’re so deep. feels so good.”

"you’re stuffed full, baby?”

“mmmhmm,” you murmur, eyelids drooping as you let yourself melt into the feeling of being so deeply filled by his dick. your hips continue to undulate slowly, grinding against him in a hypnotic rhythm that seems to draw him further under your spell.

switching up, you arch your chest towards his and keep your hands on his chest, driving your ass up and down on him to keep the tip of his dick nudging at your spot. it made you both feel good, rick’s touch back on your ass as you gyrate and fuck him.

“get it,” rick grunts in your ear, guiding you up and down while easing his way into thrusting his hips upward, fingers sinking into your supple hips to urge you on.

the way you fuck him is steady and mildly rough, every pop of your ass onto his muscular thighs resounds in the room along with rick fucking up into you to match rhythm. the fat of your ass claps on his skin just as loud, rick raising two hands and slamming them down together before helping you fuck him. up and down, harder. he keeps you where you want to stay, but couldn’t fight the urge to grope your brown skin ravenously before pivoting his groin and beating his dick up each time you plummet.

“r-rick, fuck babyy — mmmgh.”

rick’s gaze is riveted to your face, breathing heavily into each others mouths as your bodies connect lewdly in the quiet confinement of your shared bedroom. birds began to chirp on the outside, and the light hitting your bodies felt poetic. his hand takes your ponytail and pulls your head back, your arch getting sharper and your mewls never ending.

“w’na marry you right now,” you whisper out of high, giggling when his mouth laps at your collarbone.

“you’re silly, sweetheart. you’d w’na get married while i’m fuckin’ you like t-this — fuck.”

“yess, with your dick in me. i love ittt!”

rick gives your ass a playful spank, voice husky as he chuckles and keeps you grounding on his dick. his eyes blaze with unbridled lust and love as he watched you succumb and go dumb, body writhing.

“you can marry me again with my dick in you later, yeah?”

“yess, promise, baby?” you pout.

fuck, you really had a way with making him submit to your every wish. “long as you let me fill you up. c’mon, milk it baby. it feels so good. be a good girl. you’re doing such a good job.”

the more he praises you, the weaker your body grows. you wanted to make him happy, and you wanted your promise granted, so you do what he needs you to and that’s bounce on it faster. rick chokes, jaw lowering as you lift and clench your pussy tighter, fucking him good.

“mmm, fuck yeahh, just like that," rick growls, his voice strained with pleasure. "ride it nice ‘n good, darling. show me how much you want it."

he leans forward, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss as he continues to guide your movements, his tongue delving to tangle with yours. the chaise creaks beneath you, the wooden frame somewhat creaking and scraping against the tile floor with each frenzied bounce.

“i fucking love you,” you cry out, thighs trembling and close to giving out. that bubble ready to burst.

“i love you too, darling.”

rick delivers loving kisses to your lips, sucking and pulling at your lower lip and rushing tongues. he feels close to cumming as well, shoving your chest to his and planting his feet flat while leaning his back fully against the chair for sturdiness before he’s rutting up into your pussy as you claw at his skin. it wasn’t intentional for you to scream the way you did, certainly needing to apologize to the girls once they wake up — but he felt so, so fucking good. fucking you just the right way.

spurts of cum trickle down his groin and thighs as you mindlessly find yourself squirting, biting at his shoulder with tears in your eyes. from the mirror nestled in a corner across the room, he could see you dripping down his dick along with your cream.

“ooo, give it to me. give it to me.”

every spoken word is aggressive with despair, rick fucking every ounce of cum out of you that he could get you to produce before he’s nutting warmly into you. jaw clenching, fingers embedding into your skin harder as if scared to let you go. thick ropes spurting and pussy sloshing over wetly mingled.

he’s got his forearm thrown around you, cradling you into his arms warmly, and it’s comforting. resting his chin on your shoulder, he’s intaking your scent — a scent he’d have forever being married to you starting today. he had such a soft spot for you. you run circles on his back, staying put in the embrace, smiling stupidly.

rick pulls back to see your face. “are you okay, baby?”

nodding, you smile tiredly. “just sleepy.”

“mm,” rick scans the room for the clock on the wall. “it’s close to seven. i’ll make sure to get up and let the girls know you’ll need a lil’ more time before getting ready.”

pawing at his jaw, you give him one big kiss. “you’re so sweet, baby. thank you. can’t wait to marry you.”

rick smiles, adoring that you keep reminding him of that. it makes him feel ultimately secure. “twice, right?”

“mhm, twice.”

#rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x you #rick grimes smut #twd smut #rick x reader #rick x black reader #rick grimes x black reader #rick x you #rick smut #rick grimes x y/n #twd x reader #𓊆ྀི󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠 🫙 ˚⊹ 𓊇ྀི #twd x you

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dhtdesigns · 2 years ago

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Geo Series 2 - 09A on Redbubble

Transparent: https://www.redbubble.com/shop/ap/155345185

Black and White: https://www.redbubble.com/shop/ap/155345446

#design #geometric art #art #pattern #star #stickers #black and white #t shirt #shower curtain #duvet

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ilwolhongdam · 2 years ago

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Chicago Guest Mid-sized elegant guest carpeted bedroom photo with white walls and no fireplace

#bedroom #black and white patterned curtains #formal armchair #white bedroom armchair #black and white armchair #built in white bedroom shelves #black and white curtains

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zetragildcosplay · 2 years ago

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Boston Dining Room

Mid-sized transitional enclosed dining room with a dark wood floor and a brown floor, green walls, and no fireplace.

#oval dining table #green curtains #black dining table #green roman shades #white wainscoting #open doorway #patterned wallpaper

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fayelero · 6 months ago

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The morning sun filtered through the curtains of your shared apartment with Atsumu, casting a warm glow across the hardwood floors. You had just returned from your morning run when you noticed a sleek black package sitting innocently by your door. The distinct white Chanel logo made your heart skip a beat.

"No way..." you muttered, picking up the package with trembling hands. Just last week, you had casually mentioned how beautiful that new Chanel collection was while window shopping with Atsumu. You specifically remembered telling him, "It's gorgeous, but please don't even think about it. I'm happy with my regular bags!"

But as you opened the package, there it was – the exact same black leather bag you had been admiring, complete with its iconic chain strap and quilted pattern. Your jaw dropped at its beauty, but immediately after came the familiar exasperation.

"ATSUMU MIYA!" Your voice echoed through the apartment.

You heard shuffling from the bedroom, and soon enough, your boyfriend appeared in the hallway, wearing his MSBY Black Jackals training shorts and a plain white t-shirt. His blonde hair was still slightly messy from sleep, but there was a telling glimmer in his eyes that he was trying hard to suppress.

"Mornin', what's with all the yellin'?" he asked innocently, leaning against the wall with that signature smirk of his.

You held up the bag, your eyes narrowing. "Care to explain this?"

"What? That's a nice bag ya got there. Secret admirer?" He scratched his head, playing dumb, but the slight pink tinge on his ears gave him away.

"Atsumu," you said firmly, though you couldn't help but feel your heart warm at his thoughtfulness, "who else would send me a Chanel bag?"

"Maybe it was Bokun? Ya know how he gets when he's shoppin' for Keiji-kun, might've got carried away and bought ya somethin' too!" His explanation was so ridiculous that you couldn't help but laugh.

"Bokuto-san, who panicked last week because he accidentally bought premium rice instead of regular rice, bought me a Chanel bag?"

Atsumu's facade cracked as he let out a chuckle. "Okay, okay, ya caught me." He walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist. "But before ya lecture me about spendin' money, just hear me out."

You sighed, letting your head rest against his chest. "Tsum, we've talked about this. You don't need to buy me expensive things."

"I know," he said softly, his Kansai accent thickening with emotion. "But ya work so hard, and ya never ask for anythin'. Ya even pack my lunches for away games and come to every match ya can. Let me spoil ya a little bit?"

"But—"

"Plus," he interrupted with a playful grin, "ya should see yer face whenever we pass by that store. Yer eyes light up like when ya watch me serve an ace."

You couldn't help but blush. "That's different! Your serves are actually impressive."

"And my girlfriend deservin' nice things ain't impressive enough reason?" He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I got money to spend, and I wanna spend it on the love of my life. Sue me."

You looked down at the bag, running your fingers over the smooth leather. "It is beautiful," you admitted reluctantly.

"Just like ya," he said, and even though it was cheesy, your heart fluttered. "Now, are ya gonna model it for me or what? Gotta make sure my investment was worth it," he teased.

You playfully swatted his arm but couldn't hide your smile. "Fine, but this is the last time, okay? No more surprise luxury gifts."

"Sure, sure," he agreed too quickly, making you suspicious.

"Atsumu..."

"What? I didn't say anythin'!" He raised his hands in surrender, but you could see him already planning his next surprise in those mischievous brown eyes of his.

"You're impossible," you sighed, but reached up to kiss him anyway. "Thank you for the bag. I love it... and I love you."

His resulting smile was brighter than any designer purchase could ever be. "Love ya too, even when yer yellin' my name through the apartment."

"Only because you deserve it!"

"Worth it," he grinned, pulling you closer. "Every single time."

tag : @haechansbbg

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cumironi · 6 months ago

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FIRST TO ⌗POP‼’ umemiya hajime

ꨄ︎ summary : weekend, no duty, you and your boyfriend decided to spend the day in his apartment, doing nothing but tangled up in his thin, worn-out sheet that smells like him, in nothing but underwear— a head is a good way to spend the day, rightttt?

warning : established relationship, ōral ( m receiving ), dry humping, praises /kink, petnames, hair-pulling

it was a lazy sunday noon, the kind of day where time felt like it stretched endlessly. the sun spilled through the open curtains in soft, golden beams, lighting up the room in a warm glow, though the chill of the air conditioning created a striking contrast. the atmosphere was serene, quiet except for the faint hum of the tv playing in the background, though neither of you paid it any mind.

you were sprawled out on the bed, tangled up with your boyfriend, umemiya hajime. the bed was a mess of crumpled sheets, pillows tossed carelessly, and the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. the thin white sheet draped haphazardly over your bodies, barely concealing your intertwined forms.

you wore nothing but a snug baby tee, the hem so short it flirted with the top of your waist, revealing a sliver of your skin whenever you shifted. the tee was loose enough to be comfortable but tight enough to cling to your figure, and the playful pop of color from your red panties with tiny white polka dot ruffles peeked out from under the sheet. the ruffles danced along your hips, adding a hint of sweetness to your otherwise languid and intimate state.

umemiya, lying on his back, wore only his black boxers, the fabric stretched snugly over his toned thighs. his usual sleek, slicked-back hairstyle was long forgotten; his white hair fell messily across his forehead, the disheveled strands softening his sharp, handsome features. it was rare to see him like this, unguarded and unpolished, and you found yourself staring, mesmerized by how effortlessly beautiful he looked in this unfiltered moment.

your body draped over his, half of you sprawled on the mattress and the other half pressed against him. your arm rested lazily across his chest, your fingertips lightly grazing his skin in absentminded circles. your legs were tangled with his, your thigh resting against the curve of his hip, his hand occasionally brushing against your knee as if to reassure himself you were still there.

the faint chill in the room made the warmth radiating from his body all the more comforting. you felt every rise and fall of his chest, his steady breathing creating a soothing rhythm that lulled you into a blissful daze. his scent—a mix of clean soap, a hint of mint, and something uniquely him—wrapped around you like a cocoon, grounding you in the present.

neither of you spoke, no pressure to fill the silence. the tv flickered with images and soft sounds, but it was all background noise. your attention was entirely on the way his fingers idly traced patterns along your back, his touch featherlight yet grounding. occasionally, he’d shift slightly beneath you, adjusting the sheet or pulling you closer, and you’d smile faintly, pressing your cheek against his chest.

the sunlight shifted slowly, casting dappled patterns on the walls as the day continued to unfold. the world outside seemed distant, almost irrelevant. for now, there was only this moment—two bodies tangled together, hearts beating in quiet harmony, and the unspoken understanding that this simple, unhurried intimacy was everything.

umemiya shifted slightly, the mattress dipping under his movement as he turned his head to look down at you. his gaze softened as he took in the sight of your face, calm and content, resting against his chest. the corners of his lips curled into a faint smile, a rare and intimate expression reserved only for moments like this.

his white hair fell messily across his forehead, but he made no move to fix it. instead, he dipped his head, his lips brushing tenderly against your forehead. the kiss lingered, warm and delicate, leaving behind a faint tingle on your skin. it was a quiet, affectionate gesture, one that made your heart swell despite the stillness of the moment.

his arm, which you’d been using as a pillow, was tucked snugly beneath your head. his hand slid along your bare waist, his fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns over your skin. his touch was light, almost absentminded, but it carried a sense of comfort and familiarity, like he was grounding himself in the feel of you.

“it’s unusual for you to not be demanding,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, but there was a playful fondness in his tone. his words carried a gentle challenge, paired with the faintest quirk of his brow as he gazed at you.

you could feel the rumble of his chest as he spoke, the warmth of his breath tickling the top of your head. his comment made you chuckle softly, your lips curling into a lazy smile as you tilted your face up slightly to meet his eyes. the corners of his mouth twitched further upward as he watched you, clearly amused by your rare quietness.

“what? you miss me bossing you around already?” you replied, your voice muffled against his chest but laced with humor. your fingers drummed lightly against his skin, a small reminder that your teasing streak was always there, even in moments like this.

he responded with a soft hum, the sound rumbling deep within his chest. his fingers continued to trail lazily along your waist, the touch featherlight but undeniably possessive. his expression remained nonchalant, but there was a clear mirth in his eyes, a subtle sign of the contentment he found in your quiet banter.

“not exactly,” he returned, his voice tinged with faux irritation. “just curious to see how long this calm facade can be maintained.”his hand skimmed along the length of your thigh, his touch slightly firmer than before, a playful admonition for your earlier sass.

you rolled your eyes at his words, the corners of your lips twitching in a faint smirk. “calm facade? you make me sound so dramatic,” you teased lightly, but the softness in your tone betrayed the comfort you felt.

instead of firing back with another jab, you nuzzled closer, shifting so your cheek pressed against his bare shoulder. the warmth of his skin seeped into yours, a contrast to the coolness of the room. your arms adjusted slightly, draping across his chest as if to anchor yourself to him, your fingers brushing lazily against his side.

“i’m just comfortable,” you murmured, your voice quieter now, more vulnerable in its sincerity. your breath fanned lightly against his shoulder, your words melting into the shared quiet of the room. “you’re so warm, and everything just feels… nice.”

umemiya chuckled softly, the sound low and resonant, his chest vibrating beneath you. he shifted once more, repositioning his arm so that it looped around your back, pulling you closer against him. his hand grazed along the exposed skin at the dip of your waist, his touch tender and affectionate.

“just when i thought you might finally be quiet for once,” he teased back, his voice soft and warm. “now you’re going to shower me with compliments, too?” he leaned down to press a gentle kiss against your temple, his lips lingering against your skin.

you felt his lips linger against your temple, his teasing words settling in the quiet of the room. knitting your eyebrows together, you tilted your head just enough to glance up at him, feigning offense. “what do you mean by that?” you asked, your voice low but playful, a soft pout tugging at your lips. “i always compliment you.”

your fingers tapped lightly against his chest, a small gesture to emphasize your point, though there was no real annoyance behind it. instead, a flicker of amusement played in your eyes as you studied his face, daring him to challenge your claim.

umemiya raised a brow, the corners of his mouth pulling into a slight smirk. “oh, really?” he drawled, his tone laced with skepticism, though the mirth in his expression betrayed his enjoyment of your reaction. “because all i ever hear is you calling me out for every little thing.”

your jaw dropped in mock indignation, and you gave his chest a light shove, though you didn’t actually move away from him. “that’s not true!” you huffed, shifting your weight slightly so you could look at him more directly. “i’ve told you a million times how handsome you are. or how your hair looks good when it’s down like this.” your voice softened as your gaze flicked to his disheveled locks, and your fingers reached up to brush a strand from his forehead. “and don’t even get me started on how much i love your smile.”

umemiya chuckled, his eyes crinkling with genuine amusement at your mock outrage. he captured your hand as it brushed against his forehead, his fingers wrapping around your wrist with undeniable possessiveness. his grip was firm, yet tender, as if silently communicating that he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.

“you’ve indeed told me all of those things,” he agreed, his smirk widening slightly, “always in the aftermath of a heated argument. almost like you’re trying to soften me up for your next barrage of insults.”

a soft laugh escaped your lips, the sound airy and light as it filled the room. the corners of your mouth tugged upward into a sheepish smile, your expression caught somewhere between amusement and mock innocence. you knew he wasn’t wrong—of course you were the one who usually started things. but there was no way you were about to admit that outright.

“well, that’s your fault for starting the argument,” you quipped, your tone carrying a playful edge as you tried to shift the blame onto him. the grin on your face widened slightly, but the slight heat creeping into your cheeks betrayed your attempt to stay nonchalant.

his hand, still wrapped firmly yet gently around your wrist, remained steady as his thumb brushed lazy circles against your skin. his smirk deepened, and his sharp gaze flickered with amusement, as though he could see right through your attempt to redirect the guilt.

“is that so?” he murmured, his voice low and tinged with disbelief.

you rolled your eyes at his tone but couldn’t stop the grin tugging at your lips. leaning closer, you pressed a quick, almost fleeting kiss to his cheek, the contact soft and warm. your lips brushed against the slight roughness of his skin, still carrying the faint stubble he hadn’t bothered to shave off yet.

“yep,” you said matter-of-factly as you pulled back, keeping your tone casual as though your earlier kiss hadn’t just flustered him for a split second. “you’re the one who always gets me worked up.”

you nestled yourself against his chest again, as if to escape the intensity of his gaze, though you couldn’t resist the grin still lingering on your face. deep down, you knew the truth—it was always you who started things, poking, demand things and teasing him until the lighthearted exchanges spiraled into those little spats. you loved to demand things from him, whether it was his attention, his time, or something as trivial as letting you win an argument. and truthfully, you couldn’t help yourself, because he always gave in.

but admitting all of that would ruin the fun— and your dignity, so you stayed silent, feeling his arm tighten slightly around you. he chuckled once more, the sound a mixture of amusement and resignation. he knew that trying to counter your argument was futile. your stubbornness often matched, if not exceeded, his own.

in response, he lifted your captured wrist to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against your skin. his lips were warm, his touch tender yet unyielding, a subtle indication that he wasn’t falling for your attempts to dodge responsibility. umemiya shifted slightly, maneuvering so that he could capture your chin between his fingers. he tipped your face upwards, forcing you to meet his sharp gaze.

“oh, i start things?” he echoed your words, his voice laced with mock incredulity. he leaned closer, his grip on your chin firm but not painful, his gaze boring into yours. “so you’re saying that every argumentative moment between us is my fault?” he smirked, the corners of his mouth curling in a way that hinted at his amusement at your denial. his hand remained firmly on your chin, holding your gaze steady with his own.

“don’t give me that,” he replied, his voice low and firm. “we both know the truth, even if you try to argue otherwise,” he paused for a moment, his gaze flickering over your face as though he were sizing you up, before he continued. “you’re the one who starts things. everytime. you get mad, you argue, then you end up crawling back to me anyway.”

you scoffed, pulling back slightly as far as his grip on your chin would allow, a look of mock offense spreading across your face. “you’re imagining things,” you retorted, your voice sharp with defiance. “i don’t start anything. you’re the one who’s always pushing my buttons.”

his smirk widened as he leaned closer, his thumb brushing lightly against your jawline, the touch almost tender despite the teasing edge in his voice. “really? i’m imagining things, huh?” he asked, voice low and dripping with skepticism. “so, you’re saying it wasn’t you who sulked for two whole days because i wouldn’t let you borrow my bike for a five-minute ride?” he arched an eyebrow, his amusement dancing in his eyes.

your mouth opened, then closed as you tried to think of a good response. “that was different,” you finally managed to say, your tone defensive. “you promised me you would!” you added, tapping your finger to his chest as if the action would somehow make you seem more confident.

“and i had a reason,” he shot back smoothly, his voice dripping with mock patience. “but instead of listening to my reason, you threw a tantrum and refused to talk to me until i apologized. sound familiar?” his fingers slid from your chin to lightly trace the curve of your cheek, the touch sending a flutter through you, but you refused to show weakness.

“it wasn’t a tantrum,” you muttered, your voice barely above a grumble. you shifted your eyes away from his, trying to maintain some semblance of pride, even though deep down, you knew he was right.

he chuckled lowly, clearly enjoying your struggle. his hand moved slowly from your chin to rest gently against your cheek, his thumb grazing over your skin with such familiarity it almost felt like a promise. “okay, then let’s move on to the next example,” he teased, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “how about the time you demanded i cancel my plans just to stay home and watch that dumb movie you love for the hundredth time?”

your eyes narrowed, and nuzzled closer, rubbing your cheek down to his shoulder blade, hoping the defensive posture would at least make you seem less guilty. “i don’t remember that.”

“convenient,” he quipped, raising an eyebrow, the teasing in his voice unmistakable. “should i remind you of the time you pouted for hours because i said no to getting you that overpriced dessert you suddenly decided you couldn’t live without?”

you felt your cheeks flush, the memory resurfacing with all its embarrassing clarity. “that doesn’t count!” you exclaimed, your voice rising slightly, a mix of frustration and sheepishness. “it wasn’t overpriced, and i was hungry!”

“you weren’t hungry,” he corrected, his voice silky and smooth, like a predator savoring the chase. “you just wanted it because you saw someone else eating it earlier. admit it.” he leaned in just a little closer, his breath warm against your face, and the way he was looking at you—knowing, unyielding—made you squirm, but you refused to back down.

you huffed, trying to protect yourself from his onslaught of playful accusations. “you make it sound so dramatic,” you muttered, your tone sulky, trying to mask the small hint of guilt you couldn’t quite shake. you stared down at the sofa across the room, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

his smirk only deepened, his eyes glinting with affection that you couldn’t help but notice, even if you were still playing it cool. “drama is your specialty,” he teased, stepping back a little but never breaking eye contact. “you’re a spoiled little brat who gets mad when she doesn’t get what she wants. but—” he paused, his expression softening, the teasing still present but laced with affection, “that’s why i can’t help but give in to you.”

you frowned, trying to hide the satisfaction that bubbled up inside you at the admission by pushing your body deeper against him as if you desperately need to be one with him, feeling the soft material of the mattress shifting just a heartbeat. “you spoil me too much,” you muttered, even as your heart fluttered in your chest. “and then you act like i’m the one who’s spoiled?”

he chuckled lowly, his hand still lightly resting against your cheek, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin. your reaction to his words, your flustered denials and stubborn defense, only served to amuse him further, and he couldn't help but take a certain delight in riling you up.

“it’s not spoiling when it’s what you deserve,” he responded, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against your head, and despite the nonchalant tone, there was a subtle undercurrent of affection there.

“and you do love being spoiled, don’t you, puppy?” he continued, the last word laced with a touch of condescension. he was enjoying this, the way you squirmed and tried to hide your reactions. he shifted, freeing his arm from beneath you so he could reach down and give your ass a playful little smack. “deny it all you want, but deep down, you love it when i give in to you. you’re a little princess, always wanting it your way.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle at his words, the teasing tone in his voice making your heart flutter despite your best efforts to stay composed. “you know exactly what you’re getting into,” you said, your voice light but with a hint of playful challenge. “when you decided to date me, you knew you’d have to spoil me a little.”

his smirk widened at your words, and for a brief moment, you saw that familiar glint of amusement in his eyes. but before he could respond, you leaned upward and pressed your lips against his in a soft, slow kiss—an invitation for something more, an unspoken promise that despite all the teasing and bickering, this was where you both belonged.

you could feel his breath hitch for a moment, then he returned the kiss with equal fervor, his hand sliding up your back as he deepened the kiss with a fervor that matched your own, pulling you closer. in that moment, everything else faded away—no more teasing, no more playful accusations—just the warmth of his embrace and the connection between you both.

his hands roaming across your body in a possessive yet tender touch. his fingers found the hem of your shirt, and began to slowly tug it up, his calloused fingertips leaving a trail of shivers in their wake as they brushed against your skin.

he broke the kiss just long enough to whisper against your lips. “brat,” he murmured, the word more affectionate than scolding. “always getting your way.” he began to kiss down your neck, his lips warm and soft against your skin, leaving a trail of kisses down to your collarbone.

you let out a soft breath as his lips trailed down your neck, the warmth of his touch making your skin tingle. but you couldn’t help the mischievous smirk that crept onto your face as you gently pushed his head away from your neck. “as much as i’m enjoying this,” you said, your voice low and teasing, “i think i have something else in mind.”

his eyes locked onto yours, curiosity flashing in his gaze as you leaned back slightly, fingers running through your hair. “and what’s that?” he asked, his tone thick with desire but laced with amusement. you gave him a sly grin, your voice laced with confidence as you spoke. “i want to give you a head,” you said, face too serious than you intend to.

umemiya’s gaze softened slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied your face for any hint of discomfort. there was a brief silence, the air thick with tension as he tried to gauge whether you were serious or just teasing as usual. his hand, which had been resting on your waist, now moved to gently cup your cheek, the warmth of his palm a stark contrast to the coolness of the room.

he didn’t say anything immediately, his gaze still searching yours, as if he was looking for any sign that you weren’t fully comfortable with your own words. the two of you had always stayed within certain boundaries, keeping things light and playful, never quite crossing into deeper intimacy. while there had been moments when the heat between you was undeniable, umemiya had always been the one to focus on your pleasure, rarely pushing you beyond the comfort zone you two had established.

“are you sure?” he finally asked, his voice low and slightly uncertain even though the glint of desire flaring in his eyes. he knew you were teasing him with your usual playful attitude, but something in the way you phrased it made him pause. he wasn’t used to you making such an open advance like this, and part of him still wondered if you were joking.

his thumb traced a slow, thoughtful line along your jaw, his expression softening as he searched your face. he wanted to make sure this was what you wanted, that you weren’t just trying to test his boundaries or teasing him for fun.

you nod slowly, your gaze steady as you meet his eyes. there’s no teasing, no uncertainty—just calm assurance. “i’m sure,” you say softly, your voice steady. “i wouldn’t say it if i wasn’t.”

you feel his thumb continue its slow trace along your jaw flattered just a beat, and you can see the hesitation in his eyes, but you can also tell that he’s starting to believe you. the tension in the air shifts, softening as he registers your seriousness. your hand moves to rest gently on his chest, a silent reassurance before dancing over his skin to the waistband of his boxer and umemiya’s breath hitched.

“you can see i’m not joking,” you add quietly, the words more to affirm yourself than to convince him. the calmness in your voice is enough to make him realize you really mean it, and that you trust him completely in this moment. his heart rate increasing as he heard the honesty in your words and there was no doubt now. your certainty, your trust, it was all too clear. he nodded, his hand on your cheek briefly tightening, thumb gently caressing your cheek before pulling back.

he opens his mouth to respond, the start of a protest on his lips, but it’s quickly silenced as your hand moves lower, causing his eyes to flutter shut for a moment. he lets out a shaky exhale, his hand clenching against the sheets. and he was silent for a moment, his eyes searching your face for any sign of hesitation once more. “okay, then,” he finally said, his voice softer than before, a hint of eagerness now in his tone.

you murmur softly, your voice tinged with a hint of nervousness despite your earlier confidence. “but… you should teach me how,” you say, your cheeks flushing a deep red. the words slip out before you can stop them, and your gaze drops to avoid his eyes, a wave of embarrassment washing over you.

you shift slightly, feeling the heat rise in your face as you nervously tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. this was a lot more real than you expected, and the thought of being vulnerable like this makes your heart race. the intensity of the moment makes you self-conscious, but there’s a quiet resolve in your voice, as if you’re trying to convince yourself as much as him.

“i don’t really… know how,” you admit in a quiet murmur, your gaze flicking back up to meet his.

umemiya’s brows furrowed in genuine surprise at your confession, his expression a mix of surprise and, if you looked closely, a hint of tender affection. he’d always assumed you weren’t fully inexperienced—you had enough knowledge, enough sass, to feign confidence. but now, the fact that you were admitting you didn’t know how caught him off guard.

he reached up to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face, his touch tender despite the earlier tension. “oh,” he murmured, his voice thick with surprise. “you’ve never…?”

he trailed off, his mind working to process your words, his expression a mix of surprise and realization. he’d always assumed you were more experienced than you actually were, and now that he knew the truth, he felt a rush of protective concern and tenderness wash over him.

he shifted slightly, sitting up a little straighter on the bed, his hand moving to cup your face for another one time, the touch gentle but firm as he coaxed your face towards him. he leaned in, his voice low and reassuring, “you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with, you know that, right?”

you nod, feeling a mix of vulnerability and desire wash over you. the gentle pressure of his hand on your face reassures you, but the urge to show him how much you care pushes you to be more open. with a soft breath, you shift slightly, moving to lie back on the bed, your body aligning with his as you face him directly.

you reach for his hand, fingers intertwining with his as you bring it to rest against your chest. umemiya lets out a shaky exhale as you pull him closer, his body pressing against yours as you guide his hand to rest against your chest. your gaze is steady, but there’s a softness in your eyes that conveys your sincerity. “i want to,” you say quietly, the words full of meaning as you look up at him. “you always take care of me, always pleasure me… i want to do the same for you.”

the sight of you lying beneath him, your eyes so earnest, your words so sincere, it makes his heart skip a beat, his thoughts and doubts fading into the background as he focuses on you. he’s still a little hesitant, his protective nature making him hesitate, but the softness in your gaze, the vulnerability in your voice, it makes him melt. he swallows hard, his throat feeling tight as he nods, “okay.”

you sit there, your knees pressed together, posture open yet vulnerable, looking up at umemiya with a gaze that makes his breath hitch for the countless time. there’s a softness in your eyes, a quiet trust that pulls him in, but it’s the faint hint of mischief in your expression that sends his thoughts spiraling. his hand trembles slightly as it reaches out to you, his thumb brushing against your cheek with a tenderness that contrasts the intensity of his gaze. his lips part as he swallows hard, trying to steady himself, his usual composure teetering on the edge.

“you don’t have to swallow, okay?” his voice is low, husky, and filled with concern, his protective nature breaking through even in a moment like this. you lean into his touch, the warmth of his palm grounding you as your eyes meet his. “i know,” you whisper, your voice soft but unwavering.

his jaw tightens, a mixture of emotions flickering across his face—desire, hesitation, and an overwhelming need to take care of you. “i mean it, baby,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing along your jawline, his touch feather-light. “don’t push yourself. i just—”

you cut him off with a small smile, your hand coming up to rest over his. “haji,” you say softly, your tone filled with warmth, “i want this. i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t.” umemiya’s breath stuttered slightly as you cut him off, his mind suddenly racing with a mixture of emotions. your hand on his, your soft voice, the gentle smile on your face—it all made his heart ache, his protective instincts warring with his desire.

he hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to see past your reassurances and read the truth in your gaze. but there was no hint of doubt, no hint of hesitation. just trust and affection, and the genuine desire that he so often saw in your eyes.

his blue eyes darken with desire as he gazes down at you, drinking in the sight of your nearly bare form. the air between you feels charged, electric with tension and unspoken want. he takes a shuddering breath, trying to maintain some semblance of control even as his body responds eagerly to your proximity.

slowly, almost reverently, his large hands come to rest on your shoulders, thumbs tracing idle patterns on your skin. “i know you do, sweetheart. but i need you to understand, baby, that your comfort, your pleasure— they’re my top priority. always.“ one hand slides into your hair, cupping the back of your head gently as he leans in closer. his lips hover just above yours, not quite touching, his warm breath mingling with your own. “if anything feels uncomfortable or scary, you tell me right away.”

you nod slowly, your eyes locked with his, seeing the depth of emotion swirling in those blue depths. his words wash over you, a soothing balm to any lingering nerves. you trust him completely, knowing he would never push you beyond what you’re ready for.

your hands come to rest on his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath his smooth skin. slowly, hesitantly, you start to trail your fingers downward, mapping the contours of his torso. “i trust you, haji,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. “with everything.”

emboldened by his gentle encouragement, you lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to the base of his throat. you can feel his pulse jumping beneath your lips, his quickening heartbeat matching your own. your tongue darts out, tasting his skin, savoring the flavor of him before closing the distance to his lips.

a low groan escapes him as your lips meet his, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. his arms wrap around you, pulling you flush against his body as he kisses you back with fervent intensity. one hand tangles in your hair, holding you close, while the other roams the curve of your spine, fingertips skimming the sensitive skin where your crop top rides up.

when you finally break apart, both of you are breathing heavily, chests heaving against each other. his eyes are dark with lust, pupils blown wide, but there’s still that underlying current of tender care in his gaze as he looks down at you. “you’re doing so well, baby,“ he praises softly, his voice rough with desire. “just like that.”

his hips shift subtly, drawing attention to his growing arousal straining against the confines of his boxers. you look down and your eyes widen slightly as you notice the prominent bulge tenting his boxers, a thrill of excitement and nervousness coursing through you. you lick your suddenly dry lips, heart pounding in your ears as you reach out a trembling hand.

hesitantly, you brush your fingertips along the length of him, marveling at the heat and hardness beneath the thin fabric. you glance up at him from under your lashes, seeking reassurance in his expression. “like this, baby?“ you breathe, your voice small but curious.

encouraged by his earlier praise and the way he’s watching you intently, you become bolder. you hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and slowly, teasingly tug them down inch by inch, revealing more of his pale skin and the trail of happytrail leading downwards. a sharp hiss escapes his teeth as cool air hits his exposed flesh, his cock springing free, already fully erect and flushed a deep red. his abs clench involuntarily under your touch, muscles rippling as he fights to keep still and let you explore at your own pace.

“fuck,” he groans, voice strained with pleasure. one hand comes down to cover yours on his hip, guiding you as you pull his boxers lower. “you’re being so good for me, baby.”

once his boxers hit the floor, he kicks them aside impatiently, now fully nude before you. his impressive length juts out proudly, the swollen head already glistening with precum. he’s bigger than average, thick and long, and you can see every vein and ridge clearly defined against his pale skin.

your eyes widen as you take in the sight of him, fully revealed and aroused before you. a shaky exhale leaves your lips as you drink in every detail— the heavy weight of his balls, the thick shaft pulsing with need, the pearl of moisture bead at the tip. it’s intimidating in its size, but also beautiful in its raw masculinity. you never saw a cock in your life, and you glad the first time you did was your boyfriend’s cock with his massive length.

tentatively, you wrap your small hand around his girth, marveling at the silky steel feel of him. your fingers don’t quite meet around his thickness and you give a tentative stroke, watching in fascination as more precum leaks out at the contact. looking up at him through your lashes, you lean in, your hot breath ghosting over his sensitive skin. “haji...“ you breathe, your voice a needy whimper. “what. . . what should i do next?”

his breath catches in his throat as your small hand wraps around his aching cock, the contrast of your delicate fingers against his throbbing hardness sending sparks of pleasure racing up his spine. he has to bite back a moan, not wanting to overwhelm you with the intensity of his reactions.

at your breathy question, he looks down at you with hooded eyes dark with lust, but also filled with tender affection. “shhh, it’s okay baby,” he soothes, one hand coming up to cup your cheek. “we’ll take this nice and slow.” he guides your hand in a slow, firm stroke from base to tip, showing you the rhythm.

“just like that, sweetheart. use your hand however feels natural.” his other hand tangles in your hair, not pushing, just resting there as if to anchor himself.

you follow his guidance, stroking him with a gentleness that belies the fire building inside you. your thumb swirls around the weeping tip, smearing the slick fluid and easing the glide of your fist along his shaft. you watch, transfixed, as his cock pulses and twitches in your grip, the velvety skin sliding smoothly over the rigid core.

a shudder runs through him at your words, his cock jerking in your hand as if reaching for your mouth. he looks down at you, eyes blazing with desire but also filled with a deep, protective tenderness. “oh god yes, baby,” he breathes, voice husky with need. “i’d love nothing more than to feel that pretty mouth on me.”

as you work him, you lean in closer, nuzzling into the juncture of his thigh and hip. before you place open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin there, to taste the salt of his sweat and something uniquely him, you stop mid air, look up to him as a question roll down from between your lips, “can i taste you?”

“whenever you are ready and just use your mouth on me, sweetheart,“ he coaxes softly, voice rough with need. “lick and suck wherever you feel comfortable. don’t worry about technique right now— just want to feel your lips on me.”

one hand slides from your hair to the back of your neck, not pushing, just resting there in a gentle caress. the other hand remains splayed across your lower back, holding you close. “but remember, we go at your pace, okay? if it’s too much, just say the word and we stop. ’m here to make you feel good too.” he shifts his stance slightly, giving you better access to his straining erection. he looks down at you, his blue eyes blazing with hunger but also shining with adoration. slowly, giving you all the time in the world to change your mind, his impressive length juts out mere inches from your face, the musky scent of his arousal filling your nostrils.

you take a deep breath, steeling yourself as you gaze upon his magnificent manhood. with a final glance up at him for reassurance, you lean in, dragging the flat of your tongue along the underside of his shaft from base to tip in one long, slow lick. the taste of him explodes across your senses— salty and musky and distinctly male. you moan softly at the flavor, the vibrations humming against his sensitive flesh.

a guttural moan tears from his throat as your warm, wet mouth engulfs him, his hips bucking forward involuntarily to push himself deeper. “f-fuck, your mouth feels incredible,” he gasps out, one hand fisting in your hair while the other grips your shoulder. he’s trying to hold back, to let you set the pace, but the sensation of your lips and tongue exploring him is almost overwhelming.

emboldened by his soft groan, you part your lips and take just the swollen head into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it to lap up the copious precum beading there. you savor the unique flavor, letting it coat your taste buds as you gently suckle. your hand continues its slow pump along his shaft as you work just the tip, setting a steady rhythm. you hollow your cheeks slightly, increasing the pressure, before releasing him with a wet pop.

his cock throbs against your palate, the thick veins pulsing with each heartbeat. when you release him, a string of saliva connects your bottom lip to his spit-slick tip. he looks down at you with eyes blown wide with lust, pupils nearly swallowing the blue irises. his chest heaves with ragged breaths, a light sheen of sweat making his pale skin glisten.

“that’s it baby, just like that,” he praises breathlessly, voice strained with pleasure. “you’re doing so well, taking me so nicely. such a good girl for me.” his hand in your hair tightens slightly, not pulling, yet.

he’s trembling with the effort of holding back, of letting you control the pace despite his body’s desperate urge to thrust. a low, drawn-out groan rumbles in his chest as you continue your ministrations, the dual sensations of your hand pumping his shaft and your mouth working his sensitive tip driving him wild with pleasure. his abdominal muscles flex and jump beneath his skin, a visible testament to how hard he’s fighting to maintain control.

you relax your jaw as instructed, allowing him to slide deeper into the warm, welcoming cavern of your mouth. you take a moment to adjust, breathing steadily through your nose as he suggested. then, emboldened by his praise and the obvious effect you’re having on him, you begin to bob your head, taking him incrementally deeper with each downward motion.

“if it helps, try relaxing your jaw a bit more,” he suggests hoarsely. “and don’t forget to breathe through your nose. take as much as you’re comfortable with, no rush.” he looks down at you, expression softening despite the intense lust darkening his eyes, drinking in the erotic sight of your lips stretched around his girth, your cheeks hollowing as you suck.

the obscene wet sounds fill the room, mixing with his grunts and moans of bliss. one hand cradles the back of your head almost reverently while the other traces the line of your jaw, feeling where his cock disappears past your lips. “you look so beautiful like this, worshipping my cock with your sweet mouth. i’m so lucky to have you.” his expression softening despite the haze of lust. he rolls his hips subtly, not thrusting but just grinding shallowly against your mouth, seeking more of that exquisite friction.

your tongue works along the underside of his shaft as you move, tracing the prominent vein there. you can feel him pulsing against your palate, growing even harder as you stimulate him. the musky scent of his arousal fills your nostrils, the taste of his skin coating your tongue. you bring your free hand up to fondle his heavy balls, rolling them gently in their sack. and he sees stars. his thighs tremble, muscles jumping and flexing as he fights to stay upright. pre-cum flows freely now, coating your tongue and making the glide easier. the obscene slurping noises seem to echo in the charged air between you. you can feel them drawing up tighter as your ministrations intensify, signaling his growing excitement.

“baby, if you keep this up, i won’t last much longer," he warns, voice raw with need. his hands tangle in your hair, gripping tightly enough to sting deliciously as he holds on for dear life. every muscle in his powerful body is pulled taut, coiled tight with impending release. the tendons in his neck stand out in sharp relief as he throws his head back, exposing the elegant column of his throat.

a strangled cry escapes him as you take him deeper, his head falling back as he loses himself to the incredible sensations. his hips start to rock subtly, matching the bobbing of your head, pushing himself further into the wet heat of your mouth. “oh fuck, oh god, y-yes, just like that,” he pants out, voice breaking on a particularly high note as your tongue traces that sensitive vein.

“you’re going to make me cum if you keep sucking me like that,” he grits out between clenched teeth, hips stuttering erratically as he tries to hold back. a fine tremor runs through him, his whole body thrumming with tension. the hand on your shoulder slides down to grip your upper arm, squeezing almost desperately.

“last chance to pull off if you don’t want me to finish in your mouth,” he manages to get out, words punctuated by harsh pants and groans. knowing it was your first time ever sucking a cock, he didn’t want to overwhelm you.

you double down, determined to bring him to completion. you relax your throat and take him to the hilt, burying your nose at the base of his cock. you swallow around him, massaging his length with the rippling muscles of your esophagus. the bulbous head pushes against the entrance to your stomach, stretching you impossibly full.

at the same time, you increase the pressure and speed of your hand by stroking what isn’t in your mouth, twisting slightly on the upstroke.

you look up at him, eyes watering slightly from the depth but filled with determination and desire. you want to taste him, to feel him pulse and twitch as he spills down your throat. a roar of ecstasy tears from his throat as you take him to the hilt, the head of his cock lodging firmly in your throat. his eyes roll back, fluttering shut as pure, unadulterated bliss crashes over him. “fuuuck! your throat... it’s squeezing me so tight!” he bellows, voice echoing off the walls.

his hips surge forward, burying himself as deep as physically possible. the hand in your hair becomes almost painful in its grip as he holds you in place, grinding against your face. tears stream down his cheeks from the intensity of it all, muscles straining and quivering with the force of his impending climax.

he continues to grind against your face, riding out the intense sensations. his grip on your hair loosens slightly but he keeps you in place, ensuring you take every last drop. the taste floods your senses— salty and slightly bitter, with an underlying muskiness that's uniquely him.

your other hand moves from his balls to rub firm circles over his perineum, applying just the right amount of pressure to heighten his pleasure without being too much. and apparently, it’s the final straw for umemiya. with a guttural shout of your name, he comes undone. his cock pulses violently as he starts to come, thick ropes of hot seed shooting directly down your throat. his whole body convulses, back arching sharply as wave after wave of mind-numbing pleasure crashes over him. “cumming! fuck, i’m cumming so hard!” he roars, voice cracking with the force of his release.

as the initial peak subsides, he starts to thrust shallowly, chasing the aftershocks. each twitch and pulse of his spent cock sends little jolts of pleasure through him, drawing out his orgasm.

you swallow rapidly, working to gulp down every drop of his release. some leaks out the corners of your stretched lips, dribbling down your chin obscenely. you continue to suck and lick, coaxing out every last shudder and twitch until he's completely spent. as he starts to come down, you slowly ease off his still hard cock. you sit back on your heels, looking up at him with a satisfied smile, despite the mess on your face. your jaw aches pleasantly and your throat feels used in the best way.

umemiya’s body is still trembling, his eyes closed as he struggles to catch his breath. his chest rises and falls heavily, each inhale a ragged gasp as he tries to recover. his hands clutch the sheets, his fingers clenching and unclenching as the aftershocks still shudder through him.

he can feel your gaze on him, his eyes opening slightly to see you looking up at him with a satisfied smile on your face. his brain is still fuzzy and dazed, his thoughts sluggish as he takes in the sight of you—messy-haired and messy-mouthed, your jaw sore and your throat raw, your swollen lips, the satisfied and slightly mischievous look in your eyes.

he swallows hard, his throat feeling dry, and he reaches out to gently cup your chin, his thumb brushing lightly over your lower lip. “fuck, you’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick.

umemiya’s gaze softens as his thumb gently taps your chin, his breath still shaky from the intensity of the moment. he watches you closely, his fingers lingering on your skin, his mind racing but struggling to catch up with the surge of emotions flooding him. the aftershocks of what just happened seem to reverberate through him, and even in his dazed state, there’s one question that nags at him.

his voice is still hoarse when he speaks, low and full of uncertainty. “did you—did you swallow it all?” his eyes flicker to your lips, a slight tension in his expression, almost like he’s bracing for the answer.

you meet his gaze, and a slow, mischievous smile curls on your swollen lips, your eyes gleaming with a mix of satisfaction and playfulness. instead of answering with words, you open your mouth slightly, just enough for him to see, and let the faint trace of what’s left linger on your tongue.

his breath catches in his throat, the sight of it making his heart race again. he stares at you, his thumb still resting on your chin, the world around him feeling blurry and unreal. the control he thought he had slips further away, replaced by the intensity of the moment.

“god,” he mutters, his voice thick with both disbelief and admiration, “you’re something else. i told you, you don’t have to baby.” you close your mouth, your smile widening at his reaction, enjoying the effect you have on him. there’s a quiet power in the way you’re able to leave him speechless, and it only makes you want to push him further.

“you told me not to,” you tease softly, your voice is a playful lilt. “and i just can’t help it but curious with how you taste.”

umemiya’s throat worked, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard at the sight of your tongue, the evidence of what you just did clearly visible on your lips. he let out a shaky exhale, his hand gripping your chin just a little bit tighter, his thumb tracing a line over your lip as if he couldn’t help himself.

hearing you admit how curious you were made something shiver through him, a mix of arousal and disbelief and a thousand other emotions he didn’t have the brain power to process right now. “you’re killing me,” he murmured hoarsely as he tugged you closer, pulling you up so you were straddling him once again. he leaned back on the bed, his gaze never leaving your face, his hands moving to grip your hips, his thumbs tracing slow, circular patterns over your skin.

“you’re so goddamn stubborn,” he grumbled, his voice still roughened, but his expression a mixture of awe and desire. “never follow my advice, do you?”

you hum softly, the satisfied smile never leaving your lips as you lean closer, feeling his breath hitch in anticipation once you straddle his waist. your hand moves to cup his cheek, your thumb grazing over his skin gently, the touch almost tender despite the fire between you both. your heart pounds as you lean down, just enough to let your lips hover over his, the warmth of your breath mingling.

with a quiet laugh, you close the distance, your lips pressing against his with a slow, deliberate kiss. you part your lips just enough, sliding your tongue inside, the action deliberate as you let him taste the remnants of what he’d left on you. his breath catches at the sensation, and you smile against his lips as you pull back slightly to look into his eyes.

“i never said i would,” you tease softly, the words almost a whisper. “but you didn’t tell me not to enjoy it either.”

umemiya’s grip tightens on your hips, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he pulls you closer again, desperate for more. his thumb slides along your skin with more urgency now, a sharp contrast to the tenderness of your kiss. the mix of his desire and disbelief floods his senses, and he’s left breathless, struggling to keep his composure as you continue to tempt him with your every move.

“fuck, you’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters again, his voice thick with desire, as he deepens the kiss, unable to resist you any longer.

umemiya’s hand slides up from your hips, his touch a mixture of gentle and rough, his fingers gripping your sides tightly as if he’s trying to steady himself. his breath hitches against your lips as he feels the weight of your body against his, the way you deliberately move against him igniting a fire in his chest.

“i love you,” he mutters between breaths, his voice hoarse and gruff, filled with both desire and frustration as you continue to tease him. “god, i love you so goddamn much.”

you feel the weight of his words, the heat in his voice sending a thrill through you as you press closer, your body moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm. you can sense the tension building in him, the way he's holding onto you like he's trying to keep himself together, but barely managing to do so.

you pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes playful but filled with something deeper, something that mirrors his own intensity. a smile tugs at your lips, and you tilt your head slightly, your voice low and teasing as you speak.

“am i doing a good job for a first timer?” you ask, your words dripping with just the right amount of playful innocence, your fingers brushing along his jawline. the question is laced with both mischief and a knowing challenge, as if you’re daring him to admit the truth.

umemiya lets out a shaky exhale as he looks up at you, his eyes dark and heated as he takes in your smirk, the way you’re teasing him again, always pushing him to lose control.

he swallows hard, his jaw tensing under your touch, his grip on your waist tightening. his brain is already starting to feel mushy again, your words and your touch sending a surge of arousal through him. “you’re a fast learner,” he finally manages to reply, his voice a low rumble.

you hum softly, a satisfied sound that lingers in the air as you pull back just slightly. your fingers tap gently against his bare chest, teasing him with the lightness of your touch before you slowly slide off him, your movements deliberate and calculated. as you make your way down, you glance back up at him with a playful smirk, your eyes gleaming with a knowing look. “maybe you should put your boxers back on,” you suggest casually, the tone of your voice playful but with just a hint of challenge. your gaze lingers on him for a moment, clearly enjoying the effect your words have on him.

the air between you is thick with tension, your smile widening as you watch him, knowing he’s trying to keep his composure. leaning back slightly on your hands with a quiet chuckle as if you’re savoring the moment of control, gazing down to his still semi-hard cock.

umemiya lets out a shaky exhale as you slide off him, his hand instinctively reaching out to grab your arm, as if reluctant to let you go. his skin is on fire and he’s achingly hard again as you look back at him, your eyes gleaming with that playful smirk that drives him absolutely insane.

and when you suggest he put his boxers back on, his eyes darken, his hand reflexively clenching the bedsheets. he’s already starting to lose his composure, his breaths coming out ragged and shaky.

“you don’t wanna continue?” he asks, his voice rough and low.

“why’d you have to stop?” he asks again, his words sounding more like a plea than he would’ve liked. his eyes are dark, his expression a mixture of desire and vulnerability as he gazes up at you, his body tense and rigid with unmet needs.

he leans forward slightly, a hand reaching out to grab your hip, his grip firm as if trying to pull you back towards him before rolling you around. “i’m not done,” he murmurs huskily. “i need you.”

you bite your lip, barely able to contain the surprise that flutters through you at his sudden move. your breath catches in your throat as his hands quickly slip beneath your knees, tugging you closer to him with a strength that leaves your heart pounding. your face flushes as he hovers over you, his hungry gaze never leaving yours, and the air between you thickens with tension.

“oh, really?” you murmur back, your voice low, teasing, yet unable to fully mask the shiver that runs through you at the closeness of his body. his grip tightens, pulling you even closer as his eyes darken, and you can’t help the way your heart races, your body betraying you as you respond to him, both eager and hesitant.

umemiya lets out a soft growl as he hovers over you, his hands sliding up your sides, his touch rough but tender at the same time. “really,” he grumbles, his voice low and gruff as he takes in your flushed face, the way your breath hitches in your throat.

he can feel you shivering underneath him, your body responding to him in ways that he knows you can’t fully control. it only makes him crave you more, driving him wild with a hunger that’s quickly spiraling out of control. his eyes rake over your face, taking in every little detail before he finally speaks again

“you look so goddamn beautiful like this,” he mutters, his voice low and gravelly as he trails his fingers over your collarbone. his touch is a mix of gentle and rough, a contradiction that mirrors the war of emotions inside him.

he leans down, his mouth ghosting over your skin, his breath hot and heavy against your neck. “i need to touch you,” he murmurs, his hands gripping your hips as he moves lower, his lips leaving a trail of burning kisses down your throat.

you shiver at his words, the intensity of his touch sending heat rushing through you. your voice barely a whisper, but it’s all he needs to hear. “i need you to,” you breathe out, your hands reaching up to pull him closer, fingers threading through his hair as you wrap your arms around his neck making umemiya feels a thrill run through him. your fingers threading through his hair, your arms wrapping around his neck. he can feel the desire radiating off of you, the way you respond to his touch, his kisses.

the moment your words sink in, you see the smirk tug at the corner of umemiya’s lips, and you know he’s in control now. without a word, he pulls the blanket over both of you, enveloping you in darkness and warmth. the world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you, hidden beneath the soft fabric, your bodies pressed closer together, every touch more desperate than the last.

his hands roam over your body, tracing the curves of your waist, your hips, your thighs, each touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. his mouth moves down your chest, his kisses growing more urgent, more demanding, as he sucks and nips at your skin, leaving a trail of marks in his path.

he can feel you trembling under him, your breath coming in ragged gasps as his hands and mouth explore your body. he knows he should slow down, take his time. but the need inside him is too fierce, too powerful to deny. he wants you too damn badly.

he lifts his head, his eyes locking with yours. they’re darkened with desire, a storm of emotions raging just beneath the surface. his voice is rough when he speaks, filled with the intensity of his need. “i want all of you,” he whispers, his fingers clenching against your skin. “every. single. inch.”

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dazedhyu · 5 months ago

Text

Focus 𓂃 💧 ldh

:¨ ·.· ¨: paring ー ex!haechan x fem!reader (ft 7dream)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ warnings : angst, smut, slight noncon (he pressures her into consenting at first), light exhibitionism, fingering, oral (fem rec.), mentions of cheating, pet names (angel, princess, etc), lmk if i missed any ^_^

★彡 5.9k wc!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ authors note >< : my first post here :D!!! this is the second fic i actually decided to attempt to write.. so im so so so sorry if the pacing is off or the writing is weird LMFAO,, it took me way longer than id like to admit to finally finish this.. literally has been in my drafts since july of last year 😭 this was supposed to be inspired by focus by nct 127, unfortunately though i definitely went a little off track.. hopefully whoever reads this enjoys it as much as i do!! any and all feedback is welcome :3 psa.. though this was proof read like 89 times pls ignore any spelling errors im dyslexic ok

It’s been almost a year since you and Haechan broke up. You’ve spent every second since despising him. You hate the way he steals glances when he thinks you won’t notice. You hate the way his voice still lingers in the back of your mind when the room is too quiet, and more than anything, you hate how much you still find yourself craving the warmth of his touch at times.

You do your best to ignore him. You guys share the same friend group and hang out often. The last thing you’d want to do is make your shared friends feel tied up in your weird relationship drama. But it was hard when Haechan would joke around with them and slip in snide comments about you, glancing over at you with that stupid shit-eating grin plastered on his face, desperately trying to get a rise out of you.

Though you’ve convinced yourself you’re over him, completely given up, you sometimes wonder if he ever stops hating you. If, for even a second, he lets himself remember what it was like before everything fell apart. If he ever regrets the way he cheated on you and left you confused, and broken.

As the long-awaited spring break weekend arrived, you and your six friends — plus Haechan — found yourselves at Chenle’s summer estate, a secluded getaway nestled between towering pines that you all tended to visit every vacation you got. The midday sun filtered through sheer white curtains, casting warm patterns across the wooden floors of your designated room.

You wasted no time unpacking, barely bothering to fold your clothes as you stuffed them into the nearest dresser. The trip had only just started, and you already knew you wouldn’t be spending much time in this room, not when the sun was high, the water was cool, and the pool was calling your name.

Slipping into a simple black bikini, you gave yourself a once-over in the mirror. Satisfied, you grabbed your phone and headed for the door, the distant sound of laughter drifting up from downstairs. Voices overlapping, doors opening and closing. It was familiar, easy, the kind of noise that made the place feel lived in.

You exhaled, relaxation finally overriding your system. You were here to enjoy yourself, and nothing, not even the lingering tension of past mistakes, was going to change that.

In the kitchen, Mark and Renjun were hunched over the island, deep in some conversation you didn’t care enough to eavesdrop on as they cut up fruit. Everyone else was out by the pool, laughing, sunbathing, and just having a good time overall.

Everything felt easy, weightless, like nothing mattered beyond this weekend, beyond the warmth of the sun and the cool relief of the water.

Unfortunately for you, though, you saw him, and your mind immediately started to wander.

Haechan sat at the edge of the pool, legs submerged, an unreadable expression on his face as he stared out at the water. There was something detached about his gaze, like he wasn’t fully there. Like he was completely lost in thought about something else.

You rolled your eyes and turned away before you could linger too long. You hadn’t spoken to him once since getting here, and you weren’t about to start now. It was bad enough you had to share this weekend — just like every other moment with your friends — with him. He wasn’t going to ruin this for you. Not like he always did. You refused to let him get under your skin whatsoever.

Without a word, you walked past the kitchen, past the open doors, and stepped onto the sun-warmed patio, quietly taking a seat on a secluded sun lounger. The laughter, the sunlight, the cool water, all of it should have been enough to soothe you. And for the time being, it was.

You weren’t going to let him be the thing you noticed most.

A few hours had passed, the sun just barely starting to dip below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow across the patio. You and your friends were deep in discussions. Yet, despite the carefree energy surrounding you, your attention kept flickering toward the empty space where Haechan should’ve been.

You hadn’t seen him for a while now — not that you cared, but you could definitely tell something was on his mind, slowly eating away at him. Usually, he would do everything in his power to irritate and annoy you, take every opportunity he had to glare so intensely you swore he was trying to burn holes into your skin, but today he was quiet. Too quiet.

You told yourself it didn’t matter, that he’d probably just had a rough day and called it quits, going back to his room. Yet the longer you sat there, the more you found yourself unconsciously searching for him.

Shaking off the thought, you stretched your arms above your head, sighing as the stiffness from sitting too long settled into your shoulders. Deciding you needed a break, you made your way inside, stepping into the dimly lit kitchen. The faint hum of the fridge filled the quiet space as you reached for a glass, the cool sensation of condensation forming against your fingertips while you poured yourself a drink.

Just as the first sip of cold juice touched your lips, a sudden grip on your hips sent a sharp jolt up your spine. Your breath hitched, fingers tightening around the glass as a shiver coursed through your body. The grip was firm, possessive even, harshly pushing your back against their chest.

For a split second, your mind raced. The silence behind you felt heavy, the presence lingering close. Immediately, you knew it was Haechan, the fear in your body being quickly overridden with irritation as you grabbed his wrists and forced his hands off your body.

“Don’t touch me, Donghyuck.” Your voice was a weird mix of soft yet stern, it only made his smirk grow wider. His hands immediately moved back to your hips, fingers digging in so harshly you were sure it would leave bruises. A small hiss slipped past your lips before he rested his chin on your shoulder, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.

“Why not? I know you miss my touch, baby.” He whispered sweetly, his hands pressing you further against him. Your ass flush against the bulge in his swimsuit made you wince, the pressure of his fingers digging into your hips sent an intense pain through your body. You hesitated for a second, your breath catching in your throat, before you reluctantly set the cup down on the counter.

“No need to get all dumb and quiet, you're shaking so much… just let Hyuckie take care of you the way he always did. Yeah, angel?” He spoke again, his hands abandoning your hips to slide down to your thighs, gripping them tight as his lips pressed hot, hungry kisses down the back of your neck and shoulder. You shook your head, a small, desperate "no" slipping from your lips, barely more than a breath.

Too many emotions surged within you, too disoriented to make sense of them all. A mixture of irritation, confusion, and fear gnawed at the pit of your stomach. You could feel the heat of his body behind you, his every movement making your pulse race even faster.

Something inside you screamed to get away, but another part of you… made you hesitate, made your mind make excuses telling you to stop trying to squirm out of his grasp. Maybe it was the slight yearning you've had for his touch since you've broken up, but you couldn’t admit that to him. Let alone yourself. You hated everything about this interaction, it made you sick to your stomach and you wanted nothing more than to get away and forget all about it. Everything about this made you feel so vulnerable.

“No? Not something my pretty girl would say… You don’t have to lie, baby, I know deep down this is what you want. Isn’t it, yn?” He spoke smoothly, his voice low and almost commanding.

You hated the way his words rang in your head, you especially hated the way your body reacted to his voice. Your legs subconsciously squeezing together before your breath caught sharply in your throat once more, feeling his hand slide from your thigh straight to the lining of your bikini bottoms.

Gently yet urgently he tugged the cloth aside, the cool air brushing against your warm core making a small whine leave your mouth. He chuckled deeply ー his fingers wasting no time circling painfully slow motions to your swollen bud.

"C'mon, angel, say it." He cooed softly into your ear, his chest somehow pressing even more into your back. His breath, warm and unrelenting against your skin, it made goosebumps rise across your arms and legs. You felt a chill despite the heat of his presence, your body instinctively tensing under his touch.

You knew, deep down, that no matter what you said, he wouldn't stop. That was how these situations always played out after all. But you also knew Haechan, you know the one thing he hates most is not getting what he wants, the thought of saying no and the lingering uncertainty of what he might do next made your stomach churn.

Not knowing what else to do besides pray that one of your friends outside just a few feet away would walk in and end this before it went any further. You hesitated, your body trembling ever so slightly as you nodded, almost unwillingly.

“I… I want this,” you murmured, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them. “Hyuck…”

He hummed softly, his warm breath fanned against your skin, sending another shiver down your spine as his lips trailed lower, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. His pace was slow, deliberate as if he was savoring every reaction he pulled from you. His teeth grazed the delicate skin just below your jaw, a teasing bite followed by the soothing heat of his tongue. All simultaneously followed by his fingers moving faster against your poor clit.

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest, the sound low and pleased as he tilted your head further to the side, exposing more of your neck to him. His hands, warm and pace steady. You did everything in your power to fight back the little whines and moans escaping your lips, you couldn’t stand how much you loved the way he touched you, you wanted to hate this, wanted that escape still but your body completely told him otherwise. Your legs slightly shaking and hands tightly gripping the counter in front of you.

Your noises had him smirking against your skin, his grip on your thigh tightening as he pulled you closer like he couldn't stand the thought of any space between you. His hips now rolling against you in his own desperate but steady motions.

"You like that, don't you?" he murmured, voice dipping into something lower, rougher. His teeth grazed over the fresh mark he'd left on your skin, a silent claim, before he moved lower, trailing kisses along the curve of your shoulder.

His hand on your leg slid up your back, fingers tracing lazily over your spine before tangling into your hair. He gave it a soft tug, guiding your head back just enough for him to meet your gaze. His eyes were darker now, half-lidded as he studied you the way your lips parted, your chest rising and falling a little faster than before.

"You're always so sensitive," he spoke, his voice dripping with amusement as he added more pressure. The pads of his fingers rough against your clit made you whimper louder than intended. "You need to be quiet, baby. Want all our friends to hear how good i make you feel?"

You weakly shook your head, your mind far too dazed to comprehend anything he was saying. The heat between your legs was unbearable, every nerve in your body still buzzing from his touch. But before you could even catch your breath, the sound of the patio door sliding open made your stomach drop.

Haechan didn't hesitate. In one swift motion, his hands were off your aching clit and immediately readjusting your swimsuit bottoms back into place, hands pulling away from you like he hadn't just been driving you insane seconds ago. His expression didn't falter, not even a flicker of guilt or hesitation crossing his features as he reached for your glass on the counter, bringing it to his lips as if this was just another casual moment.

Renjun barely had time to take in the scene as he stepped inside, his gaze flickering between the two of you. His eyes briefly landed on you— your messy hair, your flushed cheeks, the way your arms instinctively wrapped around yourself like you were trying to shrink into the background. Embarrassment weighed heavily in your posture, but Haechan? He was completely unbothered, standing there with the same nonchalant douchebag grin you were used to seeing him with.

Renjun blinked, his confusion evident for a moment before he shrugged, deciding not to question it. Haechan, who was proud of himself for getting away with this, stepped away from you with an easy stretch, barely sparing you another glance as he made his way past Renjun.

And just like that, he was gone, slipping back outside to join the others without so much as a second thought, leaving you standing there messy, breathless, and weirdly turned on.

For the rest of that night and the entire next day, you did everything in your power to avoid Haechan. The situation alone left you unsettled, a shiver running down your spine whenever you thought about it. You hated everything about it — the way it happened, the way it made you feel. But what you loathed most was yourself. How you let him take advantage of you like that. How fear had rooted you in place, keeping you from standing your ground.

Now, late into the night, the house was quiet. Everyone had retreated to their rooms, either fast asleep or winding down from another relaxing day. But you were restless. Lying in bed, replaying everything over and over, had become unbearable. Eventually, you’d had enough.

Slipping on a clean bikini, you made your way outside to the hot tub by the pool. The cool night air contrasted with the steam rising from the water, the moonlight reflecting off its surface in shimmering waves. The soft hum of crickets mixed with the bubbling water, a gentle, rhythmic sound that finally eased the tension gripping your body. As you sank into the warmth, the heat wrapped around you, melting away the stiffness in your muscles, a contented sigh leaving your lips.

Your eyes fluttered shut, head tilted back as the soothing warmth of the water surrounded you. You didn’t notice the soft, subtle sound of the patio door sliding open or the quiet patter of footsteps approaching you. Your mind was too consumed by the quiet, the weight of everything else you had been trying to push aside.

But then, you felt the shift in the air as legs brushed against yours. Your head snapped up in surprise, only to meet Haechan’s gaze. A cold rush of panic ran through you, and your body tensed instantly. The chill spread down your spine as the faintest shiver of fear crawled up, uninvited. The instinct to run surged, but something about the way he was looking at you, something almost… apologetic, stopped you cold. You stayed rooted to your spot, too nervous to speak, your heart hammering in your chest as his eyes locked with yours.

Haechan studied you, his gaze narrowing slightly as he noticed the stiff tension in your posture. It hit him, a soft pang of regret, that you might be afraid of him right now. The thought twisted in his chest. He shifted, eyes dropping to the bubbles swirling in the water, giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts. When he looked back at you, his voice was gentle, almost too soft, a stark contrast to the way he last spoke to you.

“Why are you so scared? You know me better than anyone… I would never do anything to hurt you.”

His words made your stomach churn, the sudden tenderness sending an unsettling ripple through you.

The way he said it, so calm, so careful, it made your skin crawl in the worst way. It was all wrong— this soft tone wasn’t the one you were used to. Either he was always cocky and annoyed when he talked to you, or you truly haven’t heard this tone from him since you guys dated.

You could barely manage to hold his gaze as his words hung in the air, thick with something you couldn’t place, something that felt all too fragile. Your eyes shifted back to him, your lips twisted into a small, tight frown. “Your actions say otherwise, Haechan.”

Haechan’s eyes flickered with regret. Softly, he shook his head. “I know. I’m sorry, okay? I just… I lost control. I let my thoughts get the best of me. You didn’t deserve that.”

“What’s with the sudden change? How do you go from loving me to hating me to… doing what you did and now being sorry for it? It doesn’t make sense at all.”

The words hit Haechan harder than he expected. He leaned back slightly, running a hand through his hair, frustration building.

“I never hated you.”

“Felt like you did. And the feeling was strongly mutual.”

“No, come on, you know that’s not true.” Haechan’s voice was pleading, but it was strained with his own guilt. “You ended our relationship, your own free will, because in your words, you ‘couldn’t take this anymore.’

The fear in your demeanor quickly faded, immediately being replaced with irritation. You exhaled sharply, staring at the water for a moment to ground yourself. “You literally cheated on me,” you finally said, your voice trembling but still firm. “How do you expect me not to hate you?”

Haechan froze for a moment, his heart sinking. He knew he had done something unforgivable. He couldn’t deny that. But hearing it out loud, it was still a punch to the gut. “You cheated on me first,” he shot back, but the words felt hollow, even to him. “I just… I wanted you to feel the way I felt.”

Your expression twisted into disbelief. “What are you talking about? I never cheated on you?” You turned fully to face him now. “Even if that was true, how the fuck would two wrongs make a right?”

Haechan bit his lip, staring down at the water, avoiding your gaze. He had nothing to say to that. “I didn’t know better. I just did the first thing that came to mind. But I know the truth now, yn. You don’t need to lie about it.”

“Donghyuck,” you said softly, but it was almost like a warning. “You don’t know anything. Why would I cheat on you?”

The silence stretched for a moment, thick and heavy. Finally, Haechan looked up at you, his face softened with regret. “You tell me. I saw you unblock your ex on Instagram. His name was constantly popping up on your phone, and you were going out more often. Obviously, I assumed the worst.”

Your eyes narrowed at him once again, desperately trying to make sense of his words. “Okay… so you could’ve talked to me like a normal person?” You paused for a moment, sighing softly.

“I unblocked him because we ran into each other at a café, and honestly, we had a nice conversation. He started texting me more because he wanted to apologize for the way he treated me and ask me how I was doing. I only started going out more because you were always hanging out with Mark, and I wanted to be with my own friends as well.”

Haechan swallowed hard, his hands now gripping the edge of the tub as if to anchor himself. “So you guys never met up again?”

“No,” you replied, your voice laced with annoyance and slight disbelief that he’d even ask. “God, fuck no. I didn’t even accept his apology. My replies to him were so dry, and I kept mentioning you so much that he gave up and stopped talking to me.”

Haechan’s face flushed with shame. His eyes softened as he let out a quiet, “oh… I’m so sorry, yn..”

You looked at him for a long moment, as if assessing him, as if trying to decide if you could still be mad. You shook your head softly, your frustration still there but it was slipping. Your shoulders sagged, as you let out a breath you didn’t realize you'd been holding. “Yeah, you should be. I can’t believe you didn't just talk to me in the first place.” Your words were more tired than angry now, but they still carried weight.

But despite it all, despite the anger and the hurt, there was a crack in your resolve. You missed him, he missed you too, and you knew that. The silence between the two of you grew heavy again as your gaze softened, just a little.

He inched his way closer, the warmth of his palm grazing your skin as he cupped your cheek with delicate hesitation. His pleading searched yours, as if he was begging for your forgiveness.

“Yn, let me make it all up to you…” His voice was barely above a whisper, thick with something between regret and desperation.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to put distance between his touch and your resolve. “Hyuck, I don’t—”

“Please?” he interrupted, his thumb ghosting over your cheekbone. There was no force in his touch, only quiet insistence, as if the weight of his remorse alone could change your mind.

You let out a small breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your resolve crumbling at the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing that mattered. With a slow nod, your fingers found their way to his shoulders, pulling him slightly closer to you.

That was all the permission he needed.

Without hesitation, his lips crashed onto yours, desperate yet careful, as if he was scared you’d pull away. His hands trembled slightly as they found their place, one still cradling your cheek, the other gripping your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. You could feel the way his fingers dug in, not enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear that he wasn’t letting go.

The kiss was deep, laced with something far more potent than just lust. There was an unspoken desperation, a need to feel, to forget, to forgive. Quiet hums and breathless moans melted into each other's mouths, the heat between you building with every passing second. Your fingers slipped into his hair, tugging just enough to make his breath hitch, a quiet groan vibrating against your lips.

His grip on you tightened. His hands roamed, one splayed against the small of your back, the other trailing up your side before settling just beneath your ribs, as if he needed to feel every inch of you. He let out a shaky exhale before his tongue slid past your parted lips, deepening the kiss, making it messier, hungrier. His lips moved against yours with urgency, like he was afraid to let go.

The way his body pressed flush against yours sent a heat straight to your core, your legs instinctively tightening around his waist. He couldn’t help but moan at the feeling, his restraint slipping with every desperate press of your lips, every soft gasp that fell from you.

His hands gripped your waist, lifting you effortlessly onto the edge of the hot tub. The cool air met your damp skin, sending a shiver down your spine, but his touch, his mouth on yours, burned hotter than the water that lapped at your calves.

His lips never left yours, kissing you like he could pull you deeper into him, like if he kissed you hard enough, it would erase the distance that had once existed between you. His fingers kneaded into your hips, thumbs rubbing slow, teasing circles against your skin. He swallowed your whimper, his own breath coming out unsteady as he pressed himself closer, needing more, needing you.

"Missed you so much, pretty girl... could never forgive myself for letting you go." His words were whispered against your lips, each syllable dripping with regret and longing. His voice was low, raspy, barely holding together the emotions threatening to spill over.

Before you could respond, his lips left yours, trailing soft, lingering kisses down your jaw, moving slowly and deliberately, as if savoring the moment. His breath was warm against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as he nipped at the delicate flesh of your neck.

Instinctively, you tilted your head back, granting him more space to roam, your grip tightening in his hair as breathless pants and whimpers spilled from your lips.

His hands, firm yet reverent, traced down your sides as he continued his descent, mouth exploring every inch of you like he was trying to memorize the feeling all over again. Lips pressed against your shoulders, slow and sensual. His teeth grazed over your collarbone before he kissed his way lower, down the swell of your chest, your stomach, your thighs, taking his time, as if each kiss was an unspoken apology.

He missed this. He missed the way your body reacted under his touch, the way you shivered and tensed, the way your breath hitched with every kiss. His fingers caressed your skin with a delicate kind of desperation, like he was afraid you'd slip away again.

“God, you're so beautiful," he murmured against your thigh, voice drenched in need. His hands squeezed at your hips, holding you in place as he looked up at you, eyes dark with lust. He wanted to worship you, to love you in every way possible, to make you feel just how desperate he was for you, for your forgiveness.

You looked down at him, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, lips parted softly as you tried to steady the emotions rushing through you. Your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“I missed you just as much, Hyuck," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, thick with longing. “I needed your touch more than anything."

A slow, satisfied smile curved at his lips before he leaned in, pressing delicate kisses up your thigh, inching closer, making sure you felt every lingering second of his touch.

"You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that," he murmured against your skin, lips grazing over sensitive flesh.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he pressed a sweet, lingering kiss straight to your clothed core. The gesture was both reverent and teasing, a silent promise laced in the way he held you, the way his fingers squeezed at your sides like he was grounding himself in your presence.

"Let me take care of you, baby," he whispered, voice deep and filled with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. "I'll be gentle, the way you always liked."

His fingers traced slow, featherlight patterns along your thighs, his lips followed soon after, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses, leaving warmth in their wake. Every motion, every touch, was deliberate like he was savoring you, worshiping you, determined to make up for every second you'd been apart.

You shivered at his words, your fingers instinctively threading through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan softly against your skin. The heat pooling in your core only grew as he pressed another kiss over the dampened fabric between your thighs, his nose grazing against you in a way that had you biting back a whimper.

"Hyuck," you breathed out, barely able to keep yourself still under his touch.

His hands gripped your hips tighter, anchoring you in place as his lips moved deliberately, teasing, testing your patience. "Shh, baby," he murmured, his voice sending shivers straight through you. "Just let me take my time with you."

Another slow, lingering kiss against the sensitive spot between your legs had your back arching slightly, a needy whine slipping past your lips. He chuckled lowly at your reaction, pressing his mouth to your inner thigh, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark. His tongue soothed over the spot immediately after, his free hand sliding up your stomach, fingers tracing over your ribs like he needed to feel every inch of you under his touch.

"So pretty," he murmured against your skin, "Missed touching you... missed tasting you."

Your breath hitched at his words, your body reacting to every bit of his attention. His touch was gentle yet possessive, his lips slow and deliberate, as if savoring the way you trembled beneath him. His hands roamed, memorizing every dip and curve, pressing soft, warm kisses along your hips before his fingers toyed with the waistband of your soaked underwear.

"Tell me you want this," he whispered, his lips ghosting just above where you needed him most. His voice was soft, pleading, as if he needed to hear you say it, to know you wanted this just as badly as he did.

You looked down at him, eyes hazy with need, your fingers tightening in his hair as you gave the smallest nod. "I do, Hyuck," you whispered breathlessly. "I need you."

His eyes darkened at your words, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly. "That's all I needed to hear, baby."

And with that, he wasted no time sliding off your bikini bottoms, tossing them aside carelessly before spreading your thighs apart, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of you. Without a second thought, he dipped his face into your heat, his lips brushing the sensitive skin with an intensity that made you gasp.

You could feel the heat radiating off him as his breath fanned over you, a soft shiver running through your body. His fingers sunk into your thighs, keeping you steady as he kissed you slowly, teasingly, taking his time to savor every inch of you. You couldn't help the soft moans that escaped your lips as his tongue finally made contact with your aching clit, warm and relentless, moving in slow, deliberate strokes that had you bucking against him instinctively.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, "You taste so fucking good," he murmured against you, his voice husky and laced with need.

He was quick to pick up his pace, lapping at your pussy like his life depended on it. The way his mouth moved against you made you forget everything time, space, the world around you. All that mattered was the heat that coiled inside you, building with every passing second as his hands tightened their grip.

You felt yourself unraveling, the pressure in your chest mounting, the tension in your core winding tighter and tighter until you couldn't hold back any longer. The way he drove you to the edge without hesitation, without mercy, was maddening. You gripped his hair, tugging him closer, your body unable to stop itself from reacting to him.

"Hyuck.." you gasped, your voice breathless, barely a whisper as you dug your fingers into his scalp.

"Please..."

He smirked against you, the feeling of his lips curving into a grin sending another surge of heat through your body. "Please what, baby?" he teased, his voice low.

"I need you," you whimpered, barely able to keep your composure. "so bad.."

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your sensitive skin, lifting his head just enough to lick his lips with a sly grin. "Be patient, angel," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "Can you do that for me?"

You whined softly, the sound barely escaping your throat, before nodding eagerly, your body desperate for him, hips arched forward instinctively, silently begging him to continue.

He smirked, the dark gleam in his eyes full of satisfaction as he saw the way you squirmed under his gaze. "Good girl," he praised, his voice smooth like honey, almost cruel in how calm it was. "Just sit there, keep making those pretty little noises for me."

And with that, he dove back in, his mouth moving against you with newfound urgency, his tongue working you over with perfect precision. The wet sounds of his lips against your cunt mixed with the breathless moans spilling from your mouth, the pleasure so overwhelming it left your head spinning.

Your hands gripped at his hair, tugging sharply as your hips rocked forward, meeting his movements in a desperate attempt to chase the high only he could give you. He groaned at the sensation, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure shooting through your body.

Then, without warning, you felt his fingers tracing along your folds, teasing you with slow, torturous strokes.

"So wet for me," he mumbled, his breath hot against your slick skin. "You want more princess?"

You nodded frantically, your grip tightening on him.

"Please, Hyuck," you whined, your voice trembling.

A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest before he finally slipped two fingers inside you, slow and deliberate, letting you feel every inch of him. Your walls clenched around him immediately, a sharp gasp leaving your lips as he curled his finger just right, pressing against that perfect spot that had you seeing stars.

"There you go," he cooed, watching your body react to him. "Always take me so well, pretty girl."

His lips quickly made their way back to your clit, tongue flicking gently as he wrapped his lips around it, sucking you with a newfound passion.

The sensation was overwhelming, the combination of his mouth and fingers sending a hot, electric pulse through your veins. Your legs trembled, your breath coming in ragged gasps as the pressure in your core built higher and higher, coiling so tightly you thought you might snap at any second.

"Hyuck-" you choked out, your thighs tightening around his head.

He hummed against you, the sound vibrating through your entire body as his fingers quickened their pace, fucking into you with more intensity, more purpose. He could feel you getting closer, your body tensing, your moans turning into desperate, broken cries.

"That's it, pretty," he murmured against your heat, his voice rough with desire. "cum for me, baby."

And with one last flick of his tongue and a perfectly timed curl of his fingers, you shattered. The pleasure crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing as your release hit you with blinding force. Your back arched off the edge, a strangled moan tearing from your throat as he worked you through it, not stopping until your body was shaking from the overstimulation.

Only then did he finally pull away, his fingers slipping out of you slowly, as he pressed one last kiss against your sore soaked pussy. He looked up at you, his lips glistening, a cocky smirk playing on his face.

"That's my girl," he murmured, bringing his fingers up to his lips and sucking them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

"I’ll never get enough of how good you taste."

love letter from mae 💌 augegsgshsj 😵‍💫,, i wanted to add more to the end but i physically cannot bring myself to.. maybe one day a pt2 will be in the works if people actually enjoy this! lmk lmk lmk!

ty for reading!! ♥︎♪ヽ(*´∀｀)ﾉ

#mae fics #nct smut #haechan smut #nct x reader #haechan x reader #nct imagines #haechan hard thoughts #nct hard thoughts

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this-is-tiny-mia · 22 days ago

Text

Do you believe in fate? | Chapter 1

General Masterlist famous!Harry x fem!reader / flowershopowner!reader

Summary: After losing his wife, Harry struggles to navigate his grief, An encounter with Y/N, a kind florist, who shares the same experience.

A/n: Hello, everyone! I’d like to welcome you to this new series. I want to give credit to @harrys-baby —I stumbled upon her page. She’s a bot creator, and one of her openings (I think that’s what it’s called?) caught my attention. I asked for her permission to turn it into a story 🥰. If you’d like, you can check out her bot page!

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: Angst, A slightly rude Harry—he’s just mad at life. Mentions of loss and grief.

“Yes, Mum. I just got to the flower shop I told you about. I’ll head to the cemetery as soon as I buy them.”

Harry stepped into the quiet shop, his phone pressed to his ear. A sigh escaped his lips as the soft jingle of the door faded behind him. A long black coat wrapped around his tall frame, his sunglasses still on despite the overcast London sky. He hadn’t realized he was still wearing them—he’d left in a rush.

Today wasn’t easy. It never was.

It was July 25th, 2024—two years since Sophia had died. Two years since his world had shattered.

They’d only been married for a year. Breast cancer had stolen her away fast—too fast. He’d tried to fight time, to pause the tour, to be there—but she’d insisted he finish what he’d started. He listened. And then he lost her.

Harry spent the first year after her death shut inside their home. Curtains drawn. Photos of her scattered across their bed. His guitar untouched. Bottles piling up more than notes written. The world moved on—he didn’t. Therapy helped, eventually. So did silence. And now, slowly, painfully, Harry was returning to life. He wasn’t healed. But he was showing up.

He couldn’t write music yet. But he could walk. He could feel the sun. He could buy the lilies Sophia loved.

On the other end of the call, his mum was reminding him, “White lilies, Harry. You know those were her favorite.”

He barely nodded when a soft voice broke through the silence of the shop.

“Can I help you?” you asked.

It startled him.

He turned—and there you were. A stranger. Calm. Kind-eyed. Something about you made the world pause.

“Are you looking for something specific? Or maybe a bouquet?” you asked again, offering a smile. You knew immediately who he was: Harry Styles. Your sister, a college student, often wondered when he’d return to music. But you weren’t much of a fan—not because you disliked his music, but because you simply didn’t follow much outside of flowers. You were a bit of a nerd that way.

“I’m... I’m looking for lilies,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Of course! Right this way…” you said, leading him to the lilies. “We have pink, orange, and white, or I can make a mix,” you offered.

“White. Only white, please. In a bouquet. Maybe some foliage?” he replied.

“Foliage it is,” you said with a smile. Selecting about twelve white lilies, you moved to another section to pick out foliage. You worked with care, knowing not all foliage paired well with lilies. They were big, open, expressive flowers, so you chose discreet, delicate greenery—small but perfectly complementary.

“I’ll wrap the bouquet over here and ring you up,” you said, walking back to the payment area. He followed silently.

These days were hard for him—hard to breathe, hard to talk, hard to feel safe. But something about your energy calmed him.

You grabbed a piece of branded paper, its subtle pattern adding charm. Your hands moved with practiced precision, as though you could do this in your sleep. A snip here, a tie there. You adjusted a slightly wonky bloom, turned the bouquet, and ensured the heights were balanced. It was clear to anyone watching: you were doing what you were meant to do.

“Like it?” you asked with a smile, your radiant personality shining through as always. You noticed he seemed off, but maybe you thought he was just a very serious guy.

“Perfect,” he replied, his gaze fixed on the flowers.

“Do you want a card?” you asked, flipping through your price book.

“Um… sure…” he said, not giving it much thought.

“Do you want to write a message, or should I?” you offered, glancing back at him.

“Yeah… a message…” he hesitated. His mind was elsewhere.

You grabbed a pen and a card, leaning on the counter for support, then looked at him expectantly.

“Rest in Love, forever yours — H,” he said, his voice breaking slightly on the last word.

That’s when it hit you. You suddenly remembered your sister’s endless chatter about him—how he hadn’t released new music in two years, and how she understood, knowing he’d lost his wife. A knot formed in your throat. Your steady hands felt clammy, and you quickly wiped them on your apron before writing the message.

Taking a deep breath, you glanced back at him. His expression was unreadable, the same stoic mask as before.

“I’m sorry…” you said softly. Was that rude? Nosy? Maybe. But you had your reasons.

And you had a promise to keep.

Placing the bouquet and card in front of him, you said, “It’s on the house.”

He frowned, confusion and irritation flashing across his face. “I don’t need pity. I need to pay for this bouquet,” he said, his tone sharper than he intended. He’d had enough pity to last a lifetime.

“Sorry, yes…” you said, feeling a bit embarrassed. You’d had clients like this before, so you knew another way to keep your promise if things went south. Glancing at the iPad, you tapped your way to the final screen. “It’s 34 pounds,” you said softly, your previously confident demeanor now replaced with a shy and anxious one.

“You should mind your own business,” he said, tapping his card.

It wasn’t like him to snap, especially not at a stranger, let alone a woman. But today? Today was different. He knew he could react poorly, even unfairly, and he didn’t care.

“Yes, sir,” you replied almost instantly, your voice small as the room seemed to close in on you. “We’re just… considerate with loss.”

“Loss? Bet you don’t know a thing about loss,” he shot back, his tone cutting.

Your breath hitched. His words struck deep, and you looked up at him, frowning, your eyes narrowing. Anger flickered in you—a rare emotion, very rare in you, but he’d managed to hit the one nerve that could ignite it.

“You’re right,” you snapped, your voice trembling. “What do I know about loss? Maybe you should ask my dead fiancè about it.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and heavy.

You both froze, staring at each other. Neither of you was acting like yourselves—this was pain speaking, raw and unfiltered. The kind of pain that left no room for kindness.

The silence stretched, time seeming to stop, until he closed his eyes, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry… I…” He trailed off, his words faltering as he realized just how cruel he’d been to someone who clearly didn’t deserve it.

“As you said… I don’t need pity,” you replied, looking away to avoid letting your tears fall.

“Of course… I said that…” he murmured, his voice tinged with regret. “Thanks,” he added, taking the bouquet without another word and walking out in silence.

The door jingled softly as he left, and you stood frozen behind the counter, staring at the bouquet paper scraps and ribbon remnants on your workbench. You hadn’t meant to snap, but he’d pushed you to the edge—an edge you rarely let anyone see.

With a shaky breath, you turned away from the counter, leaning against the wall as the weight of the interaction hit you. Your chest felt tight, and your hands gripped your apron to steady yourself. Loss. It was such a fragile, devastating thing, and yet today it had been thrown around like a weapon.

A muffled gasp escaped your lips, and you quickly wiped at your eyes. Not here. Not now.

Outside, Harry walked briskly, bouquet clutched in his hand. The lilies were beautiful—too beautiful for the anger he felt. He stopped at the corner, glancing down at the flowers. What’s wrong with you? he thought. He’d seen enough of life to know pain took many forms. He hadn’t needed to lash out at someone trying to be kind. His hand tightened on the bouquet.

But what could he do now? He wasn’t great at apologies—never had been. His words always fell short. Turning around, he debated going back inside, but a lingering sense of shame kept his feet planted on the pavement.

Inside, you finally steadied yourself, your hand reaching for a bottle of water under the counter. As you took a sip, the door jingled again.

Your head snapped up, and there he was—standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“I…” he started, his voice softer now. He took a hesitant step forward, holding the bouquet awkwardly in his hand. “I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

You blinked, unsure how to respond. The anger you’d felt earlier was already fading, replaced by the awkwardness of the moment.

He stepped closer, his gaze dropping to the bouquet as though it were the only thing keeping him grounded. “I don’t have an excuse. I’m sorry.”

You hesitated, the lump in your throat returning. “It’s okay,” you said quietly, though your voice wavered. “We all have bad days.”

He nodded, his hand brushing through his hair. “This is… a bad day for me.”

“I figured,” you replied, offering a faint smile. “Loss has a way of making every day harder than the last.”

His eyes met yours, something unspoken passing between you—a shared understanding of grief, raw and unpolished.

“You’re right,” he said softly. “And I’m sorry if I brought up anything painful for you.”

“I’m sorry if I brought up anything painful too”

Neither of you said anything more, but as he turned to leave again, something in the air felt lighter. And when the door jingled shut, you didn’t feel quite so small in your shop anymore.

🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻

A few days later, after the strange tightness in your chest had finally faded, you were busy doing inventory. You were organizing supplies, preparing to place flower orders for the upcoming week, and trying to keep everything running smoothly. Claire was there with you—your rock during tough times.

You’d met her a few years ago at a crafting convention, and she’d known Alex before he passed away. When grief had threatened to overwhelm you, Claire had stepped in, making sure the flower shop stayed afloat while you found your footing again.

“I’ll take this to the back,” she said, picking up a large bag filled with dead flowers and other organic waste that needed to be disposed of.

“Sure,” you replied softly, focused on your clipboard.

The soft jingle of the front door caught your attention, and you instinctively turned your head. “Welcome to…” The words froze on your lips as you saw him.

It was him again.

For a moment, you weren’t sure what to make of his expression—it was unreadable, guarded—but you managed to offer a small, sincere smile.

“Welcome back,” you said gently. “Can I help you with anything?”

“I’m looking for some flowers… and a big apology,” he said, his voice softer this time.

“I do sell flowers,” you replied, “but I’m not sure apologies are in stock.” You chuckled lightly, teasing him just a bit.

He smiled—small but genuine. He could tell you weren’t mad. “Can we start over?” he asked.

“Of course,” you replied softly. “So… flowers? What are you looking for today?” you asked, brushing off your apron with a quick motion.

“They’re for my mother. I’m visiting her, and I want something colorful,” he said, his voice lighter than before.

“Of course. I can make an arrangement with a mix of flowers,” you said, walking toward the displays.

You began selecting blooms, your movements seemingly random to the untrained eye. But you knew exactly what you were doing—each flower carefully chosen for its color, balance, and meaning.

"Is this okay, or would you like something more?” you asked, holding up the medium-sized arrangement you’d just finished.

“Perfect,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips as he admired the vibrant bouquet.

You nodded, satisfied with his response, and began wrapping the bouquet in your shop’s signature patterned paper. “Your mom must love bright colors,” you said casually, tying the arrangement with a matching ribbon.

“She does,” he said softly, his gaze lingering on the flowers.

“Then I think she’s going to love these,” you said, offering a gentle smile as you handed him the finished bouquet.

He accepted it carefully, as if it were something precious. “Thank you,” he said, his tone sincere. “For this… and for not holding a grudge.”

You chuckled softly. “Life’s too short for grudges, don’t you think?”

He nodded, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Yeah, it is.”

“It’s 27 pounds,” you said, tapping on the iPad.

“Sure,” he said, pulling out his phone and tapping it on the terminal.

You hesitated for a moment, then spoke, your voice a little uncertain. “I know it’s totally none of my business, but…” You reached into a drawer, pulling out a small card and sliding it across the counter to him.

“What’s this?” he asked, frowning slightly as he picked up the card. The bold letters across the top read: Potterapy.

“It’s something that helped me a lot,” you said, fiddling with the corner of your apron. “It’s… like a pottery-slash-group-therapy-slash-club?” You gave a small laugh, unsure how to explain.

He looked at the card, then back at you, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “Pottery and therapy?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I know it sounds odd, but it helps”

He stared at the card for a long moment, then tucked it into his coat pocket. “Thanks,” he said, his voice quieter now.

“Anytime,” you replied with a warm smile. “And, well, no pressure. Just thought you might… I don’t know, I find it helpful.”

He nodded again, his expression unreadable but no longer closed off. “I’ll think about it.”

The bell jingled softly as he left, and you watched him disappear down the street, bouquet in one hand, card in the other. A small sense of hope flickered in your chest—maybe, just maybe, you’d helped.

🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻

The familiar creak of the gate greeted Harry as he stepped into the garden of his childhood home. His mother’s house always smelled of lavender and freshly brewed tea.

“Harry?” Anne called from the kitchen as she heard the door open.

“Yeah, Mum. It’s me,” he replied, his voice soft as he stepped into the warm kitchen, the bouquet of vibrant flowers in hand.

Anne turned, her face lighting up as she saw him. “Oh, those are beautiful!” she exclaimed, walking over to take a closer look. “You didn’t have to, love.”

“I wanted to,” he said, handing her the bouquet.

She took it gently, admiring the vivid colors. “They’re perfect. You always pick the best flowers.”

He smirked faintly. “I had a bit of help.”

As she turned to place the bouquet in a vase, her eyes caught on the small card that had slipped between the blooms. She picked it up curiously, reading the bold letters aloud. “Potterapy?”

“Oh sorry, that’s mine, The florist gave me that. Said it’s a pottery-slash-therapy group or something.”

Anne turned to him, eyebrows raised. “And why did the florist give this to you?”

“We had a bit of a conversation, I found out she lost her fiancé, so we kind of understood each other's pain” He shrugged, trying to seem indifferent. “She said it helped her. Thought I might want to give it a try.”

Anne studied him for a moment, her gentle gaze cutting through the walls he so often tried to put up. “And do you?”

Harry sighed, leaning against the counter. “I don’t know, Mum. Maybe.” He looked down at his hands, fiddling with the hem of his coat sleeve. “I mean… it’s been hard, you know? I’m trying, but it’s…”

“Overwhelming,” Anne finished for him, her voice soft but knowing.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Anne stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. “Harry, you’ve been through so much. There’s no shame in finding help wherever you can. Sometimes, it’s the unexpected things that bring the most peace.”

He looked at her, the faintest hint of a smile touching his lips. “You think I should go?”

“I think you should do whatever feels right for you,” she said simply, placing the card on the table. “But if you do go, maybe bring me back something you make. I’ve always wanted a new teapot,” she added with a teasing smile.

Harry chuckled softly, the weight in his chest lifting just a bit. “We’ll see.”

Anne returned to arranging the flowers, the bright blooms bringing life to the room. As Harry sat at the table, his gaze fell back to the card, its bold letters staring back at him. Maybe, just maybe, he’d give it a try.

🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻🌷🌻

Harry stood outside the small studio, its painted sign reading Potterapy in bold, colorful letters. He shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets, feeling the weight of hesitation pressing on his chest.

“Just go in,” he muttered to himself, taking a deep breath.

Pushing the door open, he was greeted by the warm scent of clay and the faint hum of soft music playing in the background. The space was cozy, with shelves lined with handmade pottery—cups, bowls, and vases in every color imaginable. A handful of people stood around a large central table, their hands working the clay, their conversations easy and light.

“Hi there!”

Harry turned to see a woman in her mid-40s with short, curly hair and clay-smeared hands walking toward him. Her apron bore the same colorful Potterapy logo.

“You must be new,” she said with a bright smile. “I’m Elaine, the guide here. Welcome!”

“Uh, yeah,” Harry said, awkwardly pulling his hand from his pocket to shake hers. “I’m Harry.”

“Well, Harry, you’re in the right place,” Elaine said warmly. “No pressure here. Just grab a seat, and we’ll get you started.”

He nodded, his nerves still buzzing as he made his way to an empty seat at the table. A block of clay sat in front of him, along with a small set of tools. He glanced around, observing the others. They were of all ages and backgrounds—some chatting, others focused on their work.

And then he saw you, sitting directly across from him. When you turned around to hang your bag on the back of your chair, your eyes met his.

“Hey, Harry,” you said with a warm smile. “You came.”

“Hi…” he replied, then frowned slightly. “I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name. I just realized that.”

“Y/N,” you said, still smiling.

Before you could say more, Elaine clapped her hands gently to gather the group’s attention. Both of you turned to face her.

“Alright, everyone, let’s take a moment to check in before we start shaping our clay. If you’re new, don’t worry—it’s just a chance to share how you’re feeling today. No pressure.”

One by one, the group went around, sharing simple updates about their week or their current mood. When it was Harry’s turn, he cleared his throat.

“Uh… I’m Harry,” he began, his voice quiet. “This is my first time here. I’m… not really sure how I’m feeling, to be honest.”

Elaine smiled encouragingly. “That’s perfectly fine, Harry. Sometimes it’s enough just to show up.”

The group nodded in agreement, and the check-in continued.

When it was your turn, you cleared your throat. “I’m Y/N, for those who don’t know me. I had a busy week at the flower shop. His birthday’s coming up, so I’m feeling a bit on edge. I hope this class helps me work through those feelings, and I hope the new ones here find some comfort.” You finished, glancing briefly at Harry.

When the check-in was done, Elaine began demonstrating how to work the clay, her hands moving with practiced ease.

“Clay is forgiving,” she explained. “You can shape it, press into it, and if it doesn’t turn out the way you want, you can start over. It’s about the process, not the product.”

She paused, her tone softening as she continued. “Force and strength are crucial virtues here. You have to learn to manage the force within you—how it shapes your feelings and how those feelings manifest in your life. Too much force, and you’ll have to start over. Too little, and nothing changes. Focus on finding that balance.”

Harry listened carefully, her words resonating more deeply than he expected. He picked up the clay, its cool, firm texture unfamiliar but oddly grounding. Slowly, he pressed his fingers into it, experimenting tentatively. The shape that began to form wasn’t anything recognizable, but it was his.

Harry’s hands moved clumsily over the clay, his brows furrowed as he pressed and pulled, unsure of what he was doing. The clay didn’t seem to respond the way Elaine had demonstrated, and frustration began to bubble up inside him.

You glanced at him, noticing the stiff way he worked, his jaw tight with concentration.

“Hey,” you said softly, leaning slightly toward him. “Do you want some help? It looks like—”

“No, I can do this, I don't need help,” he snapped, his tone sharper than he intended.

Your smile faltered, and you quickly straightened up, feeling the heat of embarrassment creep up your neck. “Oh… okay. Sorry,” you mumbled, turning back to your own clay.

Harry froze, the sharpness of his own words hitting him like a wave. He hadn’t meant to lash out, especially not at you. The way your face fell made his chest tighten with guilt.

For a moment, he sat there, staring at his clay, his hands still. Then he cleared his throat awkwardly. “I, uh…” He hesitated before glancing toward you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

You looked at him.

“I just…” He sighed “I don’t know what I’m doing, and I guess I’m a little… frustrated.”

Your shoulders relaxed slightly, and you gave him a small, understanding smile. “It’s okay. It’s not easy at first.”

He met your gaze, his expression softer now. “Do you think you could show me? I mean, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,�� you said, your voice warm again as you turned your chair slightly to face him. “Here, let me show you.”

You reached out, showing him how to press the clay gently while keeping the base steady. “It’s all about small, intentional movements,” you explained, your hands brushing his briefly as you adjusted the pressure he was using.

Harry watched closely, following your instructions. Gradually, the clay began to take shape, and his frustration eased.

“See?” you said with a grin. “Not so bad, right?”

He chuckled softly, the tension in his shoulders finally melting away. “Yeah. Thanks”

“No problem,” you replied, turning back to your own project.

As you worked side by side, the air between you felt lighter, and Harry silently vowed to keep his temper in check. He didn’t want to ruin the fragile sense of peace he was starting to feel here—with the clay and with you.

As the minutes passed, the tension eased, and the soft hum of conversation filled the studio. Harry glanced over at you, watching as your hands skillfully shaped the clay. The movements seemed almost second nature to you, each press and pull deliberate and confident.

“So, what are you making?” he asked, his voice breaking the quiet between you.

You glanced up at him with a small smile. “A vase,” you replied. “What else would a florist make?”

He chuckled softly, leaning back slightly. “Fair point. Is that, like, your go-to project?”

“Kind of,” you said, focusing on the curve of the vase as you spoke. “I like making different shapes—ones that aren’t perfectly symmetrical. It’s like every vase has its own personality, you know?”

Harry tilted his head, intrigued. “Do you use them in your shop?”

“Sometimes,” you said, pausing to inspect your work. “I’ll display a few, but most of the time, I give them away. Customers, friends, anyone who might appreciate them.”

“That’s… nice” he said, his tone softening.

You shrugged, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks. “It’s nothing, really. I just think handmade things have a way of making people feel special. Like someone put a little extra thought into it.”

He nodded, running his fingers over his own misshapen project. “I get that. There’s something about creating something with your hands. It feels more… real.”

You smiled at his comment, nodding in agreement. “Exactly. Even if it’s not perfect, it’s still yours. That’s what makes it special.”

Harry’s lips quirked into a small smile, and for the first time, he felt a little more at ease. He glanced back at your vase, admiring the smooth curve and unique shape.

“It’s really good,” he said, motioning to your work.

“Thanks,” you replied, glancing at his clay. “Yours isn’t too bad either. What are you making?”

He let out a short laugh. “Honestly? I have no idea.”

You laughed with him, the sound light and easy. “Well, that’s the fun of it. Sometimes, the clay decides for you.”

He smiled at that, feeling a strange sense of comfort in your words. For the first time in a long while, Harry felt like maybe he didn’t have to have everything figured out. PART 2 --------

General taglist: @hermionelove @mads3502

Let me know if you liked it! 💖 there will be more chapters soon.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles writing #harry styles x you #harry styles fiction #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles writers #harry fanfic #harry edward styles

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mydearestbeloved · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter 26 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

Content Warnings: This chapter is Red, Igris, & < Devourer > butterflies-centric—sorry, little to no JinwooxReader in this one; this chapter also contains some elements of gore—this is a work of fiction and I do not condone or glorify violence in real life; my attempts at magical anatomy—'cause college is still kicking my ass when it's the holidays, so I must apologize if this chapter might be boring; & experimental writings—a.k.a. me trying out a different style of being more descriptive and new p.o.v.s shifts.

See more in the < End Note > in case the descriptions in this chapter do not deliver as well as I had hoped + extra funsies.

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

——oOo——

{ < Children of ‘Trial Player’ >

File 001# - Quick Status Window

< Red >

Lv. MAX

"The Ducchess"

Would you like to initiate < Title Change >?

<<Yes>> <No>

Initiating < Title Change > . . .

< Red >

Lv. MAX

“The Devourer”

< Title Change > successful!

Specialty Passive Skill: < Crimson Carnage > is activated!

*In the duration of < The Feast >, user will gain 3× the energy and experience points from consuming lifeforce. Both can still be distributed to fellow < Children of ‘Trial Player’ >.

Stats: < HP >, < Stamina >, and < Mania > are now boosted.

Special Note: “Sustain the flesh, blind the soul.”_ }

——oOo——

At the center of the morbid tableau, Igris saw her.

A study in grace—a slender silhouette clad in velvety white and traces of black, the intricate patterns of her wings shimmered like molten rubies on flowing sleeves and coat tails. Every little movement was deliberate yet seamlessly flowed amidst havoc, out of place yet undeniably captivating.

Amid the blood-soaked carnage, she seemed untouched by the grime and chaos. Unhurried steps so light, the heels of her boots left no imprint on the sodden earth. She weaved through devoured carcasses left and right with the same grace as she would have when flying in her butterfly form.

A rapier on one hand, her crimson eyes, languid yet sharp, fixed on the dungeon boss his Liege had felled—once a towering centaur-like beast, its body now laid on the ground with its neck slashed open. Red approached its head, its purple blood pooled under, yet there was not a single splash when she stepped on it, only calm ripples.

The thin silver blade emitted wisps akin to flames as she got close enough. At the same level of its eye, it was clear that the beast’s vacant optic that stared into the void was larger than her head.

Shing!

Igris caught the quick circular slash of metal, and at first, there seemed to be nothing amiss. At least until—

Gush!

Viscous liquid burst out like a jet stream, becoming a heavy downpour as it fell. In a split second, Red’s figure was swallowed by the waterfall, the blood pooling underneath widening in size.

It was not until a few seconds later that the curtain of purple lifted enough for everyone to finally get a glimpse, the outline of the figure in it. As the stream progressively lessened in its intensity and amount, Red didn’t move a single step from her position, and it was revealed later that she remained as pristine as ever, not even her pants were soiled by the icky violet. She stood there under an umbrella where her rapier had been, the white material unstained as the droplets of blood dripped down from the lace decorated with red gems.

When the outburst of blood around the beast’s eye finally ran out, the remaining little amount of liquid cascading down the orb, the unseeing eye shifted. Red took a step to the side as the beast’s eyeball rolled out of its socket onto the purple ground, following it were the blood vessels, nerve optic, and tendons with their detached ends cut short.

When the eyeball stopped rolling, there was a swarm of butterflies at the ready, and soon, the globe was surrounded and began to be gnawed on by the voracious insects.

Red remained unbothered. She went to close her umbrella, and then pulled at its handle, revealing that it was a scabbard as the thin blade came to view once again. The umbrella disappeared in red wisps as Red jumped onto the beast's massive head and began to chop away. First at his antlers, the bony branches fell to each side with its cut-edges blackened, and began to glitch away until the whole antlers vanished into air, presumably stored into your inventory.

Igris also caught her next slash: a horizontal one, and then a vertical that was instantly followed by a backflip—Red landing on the beast’s upper body behind the detached head.

Something similar to before happened, it took a few seconds after the initial swing of her blade for the blood to burst, first from the horizontal cut that detached the snout and the next was from the rest of the head splitting into two halves right in the middle. Igris recognized this delayed reaction, it was the body that didn’t realize it was cut the moment it was when the cut was done far too quickly for it to respond in time.

Igris knew this because he was also capable of doing such. However…

The rapier was not a blade meant to slash like other swords typically. It was meant for prioritizing speed and precision, capitalizing on its user’s dexterity and finesse. And Red had proven she had all of these qualities when she had done exactly thrusting attacks when they fought together moments prior.

A rapier was a sword meant to pierce.

So how in his Liege’s name did she was able to cut through flesh and bones so easily with that same slender and pointed blade?

The only possible explanation Igris could think of was the use of magic, the red wisps as the proof. It was not unlikely for swordsmen and swordswomen capable of magic to use them to enhance their attacks, be it the body or the weapon itself. Perhaps she used magic to give the blade sharper edges and fortified it to not break under heavier pressure? Then she also needed more strength to accomplish that clean cut.

But was that all there was to it when her stances were just as odd?

As though caught in an endless waltz, even in combat, Red’s steps were odd. It wasn’t practical; it was theatrical, the combination of sheer extravagance and fluidity of it all.

It wasn’t the typical disciplined efficiency of a warrior’s training. No, her movements carried the flair of high society, the sway of aristocrats at frivolous galas.

{”I am aware that you do not fancy such occasions,”}

It reminded Igris of the rare instances when he had been forced to attend those annoying noble gatherings in life—when he could’ve been fighting on the battlefield instead—standing stiff and indifferent at the edge of opulent ballrooms, enduring the swish of gowns and the hum of violins for the sake of duty.

{An upturned of plump lips glistened, as though painted by blood, something he was more familiar with—}

Or perhaps it was more akin to the high-end performances he had glimpsed while on patrol, the kind that packed theaters and sparked envy among the masses unable to afford. The kind where tickets were scarce and disputes over seating made so much ruckus and his duties more complicated—stagnating his training, the progress to his goal—in the past.

{”However…” An extended hand delicately hidden under satin glove.}

Those fleeting moments were far from meaningful to him, but they had left enough of an impression for him to recognize the same artistry now.

Her moves weren’t a metaphorical dance of the blade, the way swordsmen sometimes fought with an almost artistic rhythm.

No, Red was dancing—truly dancing.

{—she was more familiar to him than anything else in this godforsaken room.}

Every pivot was a pirouette, every sweep steeped in poise, every sway she put her heart into it. A face so serenely doing her calling, not caring who was watching or what the world might think of the unconventionality. She moved as though the battlefield was her stage and she its prima ballerina.

And, to Igris’s astonishment, it worked—brilliantly, might he add.

{”Can you humor this lady just once,”}

A match, a complimentary to his own.

He had never seen anything like it before.

{”Sir Knight?”}

“How fascinating.”

Even before Red had taken her current form, Igris had always been intrigued by the red butterfly that had inexplicably taken a liking to him—or so you had claimed.

To him, she had always carried an air of refinement that set her apart. Every flutter of her iridescent wings was not without purpose, Red had always been peculiarly polite and oddly dignified for a summon. When the shadows discovered they could communicate with the butterflies—a feat made possible, apparently, through a telepathic mechanism Igris only vaguely understood as a mix of their mimicry of shadows and some illusions—Red’s demeanor stood out for her articulate and courteous responses.

Now, that same poise radiated from her in full force.

As Red continued to cut away the dungeon boss’s body into smaller pieces so the other butterflies would have an easier time to eat, an acrid smell wafted. Igris caught the sight of blackened spots and edges on some chopped fleshes. Only when a bone fell with its cut-side directly visible to him did Igris have his answer.

Fire.

The surface of the cut on the bone was completely blackened—no, charred.

Not every chopped part was; the fleshes mostly remained fresh which Red might have enough strength to cut through. But when it came to a harder material like the bone, the cut was always completely burned. And the fleshes that did have that discoloration must’ve been the skeletal muscles, the closest one to the bones—that meant Red had control over when and how much heat was needed.

Red landed back on a puddle in the ground with grace—again, no splash, just ripples—her rapier disintegrating into the same red wisps as her magic, the motion was like a ballerina’s reverence. As the dungeon’s boss body fell in neat cubicle pieces behind her, the red butterflies closing in to eat like a curtain-call.

A step accompanied by a ripple.

Another followed.

Red walked towards a minion’s corpse, significantly smaller than the boss’, but was still noticeably larger than her own. While the body below the neck was already getting chewed on, the head was left untouched. With deliberate care, Red knelt beside it, her tailcoat pooling around her like spreading wings.

Right hand took off the left’s glove, the remaining other pulled by teeth until the delicate and pale fingers underneath was revealed. As both pieces of dark leather vanished into thin air, black nails trailed along the beast’s jawline in an almost gentle gesture, as though caressing a long-lost lover.

She began to hum, a calming melody that sent chills through Igris. It wasn’t a tune he recognized, but there was something uncomfortably intimate about it, as if she were singing a lullaby for a child.

A small ornate dagger materialized, fingers curling around its handle in firm. The ornate blade gleaming in the muted light as she raised it high—

Stab!

Igris flinched—a reaction he hadn’t experienced in years—as the silver tip plunged into the beast’s unseeing eye.

Similar to the new… feeding routine of the butterflies, he had no problem with the act of stabbing itself—it was the way the scene unfolded, like an oil painting came to life. The illustrated content long debated between the brutality it actually depicted behind strokes of beautiful paints, pure white among vivid reds and deep shadows.

Red pulled the dagger free with practiced ease, and with it came the beast’s eyeball.

The strings of optic nerve and blood vessels stretched from the force; the other end clung stubbornly to the socket. With a flick of her wrist, they broke in the middle, the orb held aloft like a precious gem while the bundle of fibers dangled from it, swaying like a clock’s pendulum.

The dagger, now acting as a makeshift fork, brought the eyeball to her lips. Her sharp canines peeked through as she bit into the orb. A brief sight—a single rivulet of viscous fluid trickling down the corner of her lips to her chin—was almost immediately hidden behind a palm, as if the act of showing the sight itself was most impolite. An accidental stroke in the otherwise masterful portrait.

Despite the slight hiccup, Red maintained her composure. The dagger in her right replaced by a materialized handkerchief that she dabbed over her lips daintily, catching any stray pieces as she quietly chewed. Her carmine gaze closed to savor, as though she were merely fine dining at a dinner gala, the orchestra of carnage its backdrop.

“Hm...” She swallowed delicately, her voice a dulcet whisper that carried through the stage. “A bit too earthy for my taste.”

The corner of her mouth lifted in a serene smile, and the usual sight of her upturned lips would’ve been captivating—it was still—but now, Igris didn’t think just one word would do the scene in front of him their due.

“Well?” Red turned her head slightly, vermillion orbs opening with a glint.

“What do you think, children?”

——oOo——

The red kaleidoscope seemed to simultaneously pause mid-feast, a brief change in their pattern, a different flutter. Distant bells in the wind, like twinkling stars given voice.

Chime. Chime. Chime. Gurgle. Chime—

‘Gurgle’?

A tremor ran through the swarm. Their luminous bodies wavered, light bending strangely around some, as if space itself recoiled. The chimes grew discordant, warping into something wet and bubbling, like air escaping through viscera.

Squish…

A single butterfly convulsed midair. Tiny form curling in on itself, shrinking—no, collapsing. Wings folded inward with a schlk, dissolving into a raw essence of erratically pulsing mass of light. And from that quivering cocoon, something grew.

SQUELCH!

A spine unraveled; a spider’s threads pulled taut from unseen tether. Bones spiraled into existence, each piece of vertebrae locking into place with a sharp click. From there, the thin golden tendrils further expanded the structure like a time-lapsed birth—simultaneous yet seamless.

Upward, forming the trachea, jawbone snapping into place with a muted crck. The smooth curve of a skull, hollow sockets yawning open, vacant.

Downward, the pelvis solidified, grinding against before anchoring the extending femurs and other bones that would shape the legs, feet, and toes. Similarly for the upper extremities, from the shoulder bones, lengthening arms, hands, and down to the phalanges that made up each finger.

Inward, ribs sprouted from the spine’s embrace with a slow, deliberate snap-snap-snap, spreading like curved thorns, forming a cage locked by the sternum. And nestled within that hollow prison, a small thing took shape, suspended in the air just like the rest, a crystalline jewel held between unseen fingers.

Motionless—silent.

{How far can an imitation of life go?}

Like roots seeking soil, nerves branched out, mapping, in search of something to anchor to. Alongside them, veins crawled along the ivory framework, seeking to create the intricate web to feed, growing from that very same confined still-mass at the center.

Like ink spreading through water, a deep crimson bloomed then—

Ba-dump.

A pulse rippled through the arteries as blood surged outward, painting the spectral shifting-mass with life as raw organs came into being. Lungs, pinkish and fragile, swelled as if on the verge of their first breath, filling the rest of the ribcage. A brain placed snug within the skull where the eyeballs popped in their sockets. The liver slid into place with a damp plorp, intestines coiled like serpents, slick in the dim settings.

The stomach, kidneys, and so forth, each instrument settled into their place perfectly between the smooth walls of bone while sinew knitted around them like a loom at work over shifting joints. Nerves and veins threaded through all as muscles stretched over them in a weave where limbs twitched to life. True skin followed suit from behind, covering the exposed curves of the body and face with the same abnormal growth, each feature smoothed into an eerie, flawless symmetry.

For a time, what were under were still just as see-through even with the steady appearance of the outermost layer. At least, until the translucent skin neared its completion of sealing over the body. What should be the healthy complexion creeping in as the flesh and dermis closed over the last exposed area—a last glimpse over the beating heart.

{If you lie long enough—}

As naked as a newborn, a maiden’s bare feet kissed the slick, viscous blood pooling beneath. The deep purple clung, stark against the rain-watered surface, too pristine, like a being sculpted rather than born. Her wings, now immense as they adjusted to the owner’s new form, stretched one final time before shuddering. As if exhaling their last breath, the glittering membrane melted into the smooth planes of her back, disappearing as if they had never been there.

As if the one left standing was undoubtedly just a mere human.

And more followed.

A notable number of butterflies went through the same collapse. Delicate bodies unraveling, twisting, blooming like life in fast motion. Their arrival was heralded by the symphony of growth—cartilage cracking, skin sealing with quiet, wet whispers, the sickeningly organic sounds of something becoming, of creating features to each of their own.

Save for the rain, the silence of a field of mannequin settled after.

Until one threw her head back, auburn locks following her every movement, a new set of green eyes catching light under the drizzle.

The undeniably rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, making motions with her rosy lips—the sound light and airy, almost melodic.

{—won’t it become the truth?}

Following the lead, a second one, black of hair, brown of skin, and hazel for eyes, also started tittering. Joined by a third, white-haired and red-eyed, clapping gleefully. A fourth followed, and then a fifth, sixth, and the rest—small delighted laughs that grew louder and louder—a crescendo.

The first to move wobbled slightly on her feet, crouching beside the nearest carcass, fingertips tracing its ruined hide with something akin to fascination. Then, with a motion of deceptive ease, the beast’s skin peeled away with a wet rip.

She stumbled back, losing her balance and landing onto her haunches with a childlike-“Oof!”, even as the spray of warm, sticky blood came into contact with her side. She clutched the torn chunk in her bloodied cradle—like a prize, fresh crescent marks forming under digging nails—uncaring of the fleshy part still dripping onto her lap.

She lifted it to her mouth, a peek of growing canines between parted lips before teeth sunk into meat and tore them away under. Icky purple painted her chin, ran down the pale column of her throat as she chewed, staining the pristine surface that magic had so carefully perfected.

The very first taste on her tongue, of iron thick and rich.

When she eagerly swallowed, the others followed.

The butterflies—those still in their original form—perched alongside their newly reborn kin. Together, the feast began anew, of chimes and tearing flesh, of lips smacking against dripping muscles, of mirthful hums between gulps. Until each was bathed in the mix of blood and rain, violet dripping from fluttering wings and tresses from head to toe.

And at the center of it all, Red’s smile lingered, sealing her sight once more—content.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [25/02/2025]

I'm back y'all! 🥳

For a short while at least. 🥹

I might've gone overboard writing the descriptions for this one. 😅 I'm not so sure on how well I am at describing action sequences, I still want to add them, so I'm learning as I go! 🫡 And so sorry if the magical anatomical sequence felt like a lesson, it's definitely NOT a real-life lesson okay? Please note the ✨️fantasy✨️-elements!

I'm already out of ideas on what more to edit to make this chapter better, so let me know your thoughts on this! 🥰

And just for clarification, what I want to depict for Red's fighting style is not true swordmanship. Igris stated that her moves are more theatrical, not efficient. The butterflies are not meant to surpass the shadows in direct combat, with few exceptions. They can hold their ground long enough if push comes to shove. 🦋💀

As for Red's dance-based fighting style, I would like to add that it will not be copy-paste Cha Hae-in's. I would like to think Hae-in's is like "she fights like she dances", while what I want for Red's is more like "she uses dances to fight". This will correlate to Red's other title by the system that will be revealed in the future, but what I can say now is that Red won't have or in any way take Hae-in's title. Our lovely Hae-in will still be the only one nicknamed "The Dancer" as she deserves, and I will NOT take that away from her 😤❤️

I also took my chance on writing Igris' backstory from what we know of him right now, mainly from the brief info I got from reading the Solo Leveling: Arise wiki, so plus some creative liberties to match the story. I DO NOT play the game—interested, but don't exactly have the time to try it out—so feel free to send corrections if I got any info wrong. 🙏

Anyone interested in theorizing what's up with Red and Igris? 🤭

Also, I mentioned 3 new humanoid butterflies here with more physical decriptions than the rest, but still less than the leaders of kaleidoscopes (the main 8 butterflies, i.e. Red, 'Bel', Trick, Neonie, Blanche, Sol, Gale, & Aria).

The 3 mentioned here—

Auburn-haired, green eyes, with olive skin;

Ravenette, hazel eyes, with brown skin;

White hair, red eyes, albino

—are meant to be background characters kinda easter egg. So, for funsies, can any of you figure out which 3 shadows soldiers these butterflies are supposed to be counterparts of?

Hint: They are only mentioned in the Solo Leveling anime's media, as far as I know. 🤔

And last but not least, in celebration of this chapter being Red-centric, a dear friend of mine and fellow beloved Reader of Trial Player AU, @eternadreeblissa, who somehow predicted this chapter being Red-centric (just kidding, but it's still very good timing since I don't remember ever spoiling her on this chapter until AFTER she sent her gift), sent me this absolutely fucking gorgeous panel of Red from Chapter 20 😍

I'm dying from happiness ASDFGHJKL

Boo, I love you so much. ❤️❤️❤️

Please check it out y'all! And better yet, check out her blog, her arts are so 🩷❤️🖤

Feedbacks are very much appreciated. Thank you for reading. 🙏💕

194 notes · View notes

the-case-book-of-fanfiction · 2 years ago

Text

Crawl Home To Her

Ship: Astarion x fem!Tav/reader

Summary: As awful the feeling of blood on the skin is, sometimes it can be helpful, you have to admit. At least, when it comes to Astarion, blood is always helpful. You'll have to take his word for it—and that's oh so easy bathing with him.

Word Count: 5,461 words

Warnings: sexual content (18+) blood, gore, nudity, sexual & non-sexual touching, bathing each other, soft Astarion, established relationship, brief mention of past sexual encounter, dealing with past trauma, teasing from Karlach, mention of dismemberment, fluff & smut mix

18+ Warnings: brief fingering (f receiving), tiny bit of a hair kink, sensual touching, semi-public sex/nudity

Note: Part 2 of Burns Like Rum is coming soon! But here's a little something to tithe you over until the sequel (Sweet Like Rum) is ready!

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Shafts of pale sunlight fell on your face as you walked through the forest, your arms swinging at your sides, small critters running amok in the bushes around you. Birdsong filled your ears, pleasantly light and summery, reminding you distantly of a childhood memory you couldn't quite reach. The weather was warm enough that you were thinking you might have to change into something lighter. The few weapons you had on you were already starting to make you break out into a sweat.

For a day that had started with murder, the weather was surprisingly nice.

You hummed as you walked—the song pulled from your childhood, the words long forgotten but pieces of the melody clunking around in your head. You strung them together the best you could, tapping out a rhythm against your leg.

You were on your way to the waterfall you'd spotted several days ago while hunting. It was small and nothing too violent. The pool it fell into wasn't deep enough to drown you, nor was the flow of water all that fast. You trusted it—and the rock ledge behind it—would suit your purposes quite nicely.

Coming upon the pool was like stepping into one of the fairytales you had heard in your youth, sitting upon your father's knee in a tavern, listening to a traveller tell a story you weren't sure was entirely true.

It was guarded by willow trees with branches that swayed in a breeze you hadn't felt until you came upon them. Pushing the curtain of branches away revealed an almost perfectly circular clearing, the ground covered in vibrant green moss that squished delightfully beneath your feet and sprung back up when you stepped off of it. Patches of flowers sprouted all around, pink and yellow and purple blooms that grew up to the sun. The pool was as blue as the sky above, clear and shallow, surrounded by a few feet of soft white sand. The water shimmered in the sunlight, rippling over the pebbles that covered its floor. From the pool, the water flowed into a thin river that could hardly be called a river and out into the woods.

You sat by the pool's edge and pulled off your boots. They were just as bloody as the rest of you, the sticky and quickly drying substance staining the black leather. You splashed water over them and scrubbed with a cloth you had designated for this purpose that had once been grey.

Only after your boots were clean did you stand back up and step into the soft sand. You wiggled your toes, smiling at the feeling. You breathed in the crisp, sweet air. It smelled faintly of flowers and citrus, a scent that was familiar, though you couldn't place it.

You stripped slowly, hissing and wincing as you tugged at the places where blood had stuck the fabric to your skin. It acted like glue when dry, staining your skin and leaving a mottled pattern across your flesh. The fabric of your shirt had grown stiff with semi-dried blood.

One by one, you pulled off belts and straps holding weapons, the gloves you protected your hands with, your shirt, your trousers—until you were standing naked at the pool's edge. You gave yourself a cursory inspection, searching for any wounds you had acquired in the fighting this morning that you hadn't noticed; it wouldn't be the first time you'd walked away from a fight and realized you were injured only hours later. But, this time, there was nothing.

Usually it was Astarion who noticed you were injured, catching your smell in the air when it shouldn't have been. But you were drenched in so much blood already that you imagined it would have been very hard to pick out your distinct scent.

You waded into the pool, taking your clothes with you, and sat at it's deepest point. Standing, it reached your knees; sitting, it almost came to your shoulders. You scrubbed the blood from your clothes, using the soap you had brought with you.

You watched the blood and soap swirl together in the water and flow toward the river, a thin stream of red and bubbles slipping away from the crimson cloud surrounding you. You almost felt bad to ruin the clarity of the water, but the others—back at camp—were taking far too long to wash the blood from themselves with your limited store of water. This was better, in the long run.

Astarion would have a field day with this if this wasn't goblin blood, you thought to yourself, staring at the blood drifting just below the surface. He would drink it, from time to time, but never happily.

You scrubbed at your clothes until your fingers were stiff and sore and the blood was no longer coming out of the fabric. You inspected them and deemed them clean enough to put back on the moss, spread out so they would dry faster.

To clean yourself, you headed toward the waterfall. You climbed up onto the stone ledge behind it, reveling in the surprisingly gentle spray of water that reached you and the stillness of the water that it fell into, high enough to reach your knees.

You stepped under the water. It cascaded over you, dousing you in its coolness that reminded you of the first time Astarion had ever touched you—

—gentle hands, cascading down your sides—fingers lifting your chin so you would meet his gaze—a kiss to your forehead—a hand on the small of your back—his lips on your own, warmer than you had anticipated—his fingers in your hair, keeping your head off the ground—his hand slipping between your legs—his little giggle when you shuddered beneath him—the pleasured sigh from his lips as he slid inside of you—

Stepping out from underneath the water, you shook your head, banishing the memory. You had spoken recently about all of this. He'd told you, "I don't think I want you to think of me in terms of sex." He'd said, "I don't want to be just a body for you, darling." And though he'd teased you that you were more than welcome to "sustain yourself" (his words) with your memories of him while he took time away from intimacy, some part of you still felt like you violating his wishes any time it was his body that you thought of, rather than of, well, just him.

You wiped the water from your eyes and knew your tears had mixed in with it; Astarion had been very vulnerable with you, so you knew his reasons for it all. You had two responses: either unbearable sorrow that he had been forced to endure it all (which the current cause of the crushing weight in your chest), or blinding rage that birthed the desire to see Cazador's head on a spear.

You carded your hands through your wet hair, trying to work out the tangles. Your fingers came away covered in watery blood.

"Mind if I join you?"

You jumped, eyes flying open, and looked up. Leaning against the stone wall was the vampire himself, a gentle smile on his face. Gods, how you loved that smile. In this light, you couldn't tell his eyes were red and his fangs were hidden. If you didn't pay attention to how pale he was, you could imagine he was just an elf again—the life he deserved.

Astarion still wore his clothes, which were slowly darkening as they soaked up the spray of water and splattered with as much blood as his handsome face, but his boots were placed neatly next to yours on the moss. He'd cleaned them already; how had you not heard him before?

While he waited for your answer, aware of your admiring gaze on him, he pulled his shirt off over his head, mussing the curls you loved so much. He stripped quickly, nearly falling over when his trouser leg caught on his foot, and left his clothes in a pile on the rock ledge. Perhaps you were imagining things, but his skin looked paler than it had this morning, when you'd been rudely awoken by a horde of goblins invading your camp.

You held your arms open to him. "I'd like that very much."

He stepped into your arms, wrapped his own around your waist, and buried his head in your neck, breathing in deeply. "My love," he whispered, his lips against your skin. He kissed your neck softly and pulled away, cupping your face in his hand, to look into your eyes. "Are you alright?"

You nodded. "I'm okay."

"No injuries this time?" Astarion's eyes slid down your naked body, examining, his gaze concerned when it had once been sensual. You felt yourself relax in his arms, at ease with his concern. It felt real, honest in a way you hadn't had a chance to be yet. It was natural, somehow, to be checking each other for injuries in the time you finally caught together, away from the others.

"Not this time," you said, leaning into him. More watery blood dripped from your hair and across his chest, leaving streaks that made it look like he'd just returned from a rather messy feeding.

He kissed the top of your wet head. "Good." He leaned away to smile at you. "I was worried you'd run off to take care of your injuries by yourself, if only to keep me from smelling the blood."

You shook your head. "If only we'd been attacked by something you could drink from, satisfy your hunger for a few days." He smiled weakly and you knew the thought had been on his mind, too. "What about you? Are you okay?"

He spread his arms and did a little twirl for you. You giggled at his antics, glancing over his skin, pleased he was comfortable enough to even be naked with you. "Yes, darling. Not a scratch on me."

The two of you looked at each other, your hair already damp and clinging to your head, and his curls slowly being matted down by the thick mist of the waterfall. His ears poked out, more noticeable than normal.

Astarion bent and picked up your bar of soap. "May I help you wash off all this grime?"

"Please," you said, your voice soft but as loving as you could make it, your eyes fixed firmly on his.

He lathered his hands with soap and scrubbed gently at your skin. His nails, kept trimmed and neat, were hardly more than a light sensation as he worked at the dried blood until it crumbled away from your skin and ran down your body in red rivulets. His touch was soft, caring where it had once been lustful and groping. You leaned into his touch, enjoying the sensation of his fingers digging into your tired muscles, and held him. You adjusted your hold on him as he moved across your body—an arm draped across his shoulders, a hand on his bicep, your fingers against his chest, your head on his shoulder.

You looked up at Astarion, blinking quickly to keep the water out of your eyes. His gaze remained fixated on your hips as he gently washed off the blood, but he smiled, aware of your stare.

"See something you like?" he asked, tone playful.

"Someone I love," you corrected. He looked up at you, a tender smile growing on his lips. "Someone I love dearly." You leaned close, cupped one side of his face, and kissed the other. "I love you, Astarion."

He kissed your cheek, too. "And I love you." His lips found yours. He kissed you with a sweetness that simultaneously broke your heart and mended it. You wrapped your arms around his waist. He hummed happily into your mouth and cradled the back of your neck.

The pair of you fell into a tight embrace. You felt the adrenaline drain from you and leave you limp in his arms, your hot skin going cold under the water. Despite how suddenly you must have slumped against him, Astarion held you with ease. He gave the crown of your head a quick kiss, then made an unpleasant sound of surprise from the back of his throat.

"Darling, do you mind if I wash your hair? There's an awful lot of goblin blood in it."

You forced yourself to stand up straight on your own, still holding his sides for support. "Oh, yes—that would be from Karlach throwing one she'd just chopped into over my head." Even as you said the words, you felt the blood splattering into your hair again and shuddered.

Astarion grimaced. "Let me help you with it, then." He lathered his hands and put them in your hair. As he fell into a rhythm, you closed your eyes and let him doing the work, your thoughts drifting...

At first, you weren't sure why you had even woken in the first place. The light coming in through a crack in the tent's opening was still the watery and grey color of pre-dawn, much earlier than you usually woke. You frowned and pushed back into Astarion, his arm squeezing you tighter, sleep once again tugging at your eyelids.

And then you heard a shout, vicious and loud. It was close to camp, maybe even in camp. The shout came again and you realized it was Lae'zel's war cry.

All at once, the sounds of a battle filled your ears. You jerked awake in an instant, clambering onto your knees and shaking Astarion awake next to you. Of course the one day Astarion decided to indulge in the very human activity of sleep was the day you and your friends were attacked.

"What's going on?" he mumbled as his eyes flickered open, his words slurred together.

"Come on, grab your knives," you said, pulling your lightest set of armor on over your clothes. You were suddenly very relieved Astarion had decided skin to skin contact was a bit too much for him last night. "I think we're under attack."

He woke just as quickly as you had. He swore, dragged a quick hand through his hair, and grabbed his knives. He waited until you had your own weapon in hand before he opened the curtain flap of his tent.

The camp was a sight to behold. Already it was trashed and overflowing with goblins. Some were already on the ground, their blood oozing everywhere in the dirt and grass. Gashes from Lae'zel's sword seeped blood and gristle, if she hadn't horribly disfigured the corpses and turned them into little more than lumps of flesh. Many of them bore scorch marks that ranged from minor burns to melting flesh. It smelled horrendous and nearly acidic; you bit back the bile in your throat.

A dismembered arm fell at your foot. You kicked it away on instinct, looking up to see Karlach ripping a second goblin limb from limb.

"Now that's just vile," Astarion said, still looking at the arm, a fang poking out over his curled lip.

"Complain about it later," you said, grabbing his chin and giving him a quick and customary 'good morning' kiss. "We've got to help the others."

"If you insist."

Astarion ran to Karlach's side; you headed for Shadowheart and Gale. Wyll was approaching, too, cutting a path through the goblins.

"Morning, you two!" you said cheerily. "How'd this happen?"

"We're not sure," Shadowheart said, kicking a goblin in the face as it ran at her with a scream. "Lae'zel said they came from the north, just over those hills."

"Odd. I wonder if we camped too close to them for their liking, and now they're trying to do something about it. Are goblins territorial creatures?"

Gale grunted, casting another fireball. "Enough chatting. Let's just kill these things and figure out where they came from and why later. Got it?"

"Fair enough," you decided. "Whoever kills the most chooses dinner for a week."

"I'll take you up on that," Wyll said from behind you. "I'm dreaming of a good meal for once."

Astarion's hands sliding out of your hair abruptly brought you back to reality, to his body pressed against yours and the waterfall at your back, shielding the two of you from the world.

"Where'd you go?" he asked, voice soft. You could feel his fingers toying with the ends of your hair, curling it on his fingers.

"Back to the fight," you admitted. "I just keep wondering how they snuck up on us."

"No matter now," he said. "We'll let Lae'zel criticize us all for not anticipating every possible disaster when we get back, but not yet. Not here."

He went back to massaging your scalp, despite the blood being long gone, and your sighed happily. He smiled and kissed your forehead, adding pressure. A content whimper slipped from your lips and you blushed instantly as his eyes lit up; he'd heard far more obscene from you, yet still the slightest sounds you made embarrassed you and delighted him.

"My, my, the noises you make for me, lover," he teased, giggling. He wrapped his hand in your hair and tugged, hard enough to draw a loud moan out of your chest.

Astarion covered your mouth with his hand, his eyes playfully wide. "Shhh, unless you want the others to come looking. We're not that far away from camp."

Heat rushed through your body. "Oh, gods, Astarion, I'm— I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to— And I certainly didn't expect it to be that...that loud—! I..."

He swallowed your frantic apologies with a kiss. Against your lips, he whispered, "If you can keep quiet, though...I can grant you all the pleasure you want. You need only ask, darling."

Your heart skipped several beats in your chest. You put your hand up to his face. "Oh, I don't... Star, I don't need you to, I wouldn't want you to...feel obligated." He pulled his forehead away from yours to see your face. "We agreed not to do anything until you're ready. And that wasn't that long ago, so... I don't want you to be uncomfortable—"

Astarion cupped your chin with his hand, dragging his thumb across your lower lip. The words died in your throat. He met your gaze, his crimson eyes open and honest, and said, "Your pleasure is a gift. Even if I don't want to be touched yet, that's not stopping me from touching you. Only you can stop me from touching you."

"Star..."

He pulled you into a tight hug. You wrapped your arms around him, suddenly too aware of the raised scar you felt against your arms. "I trust you. Wholeheartedly. I trust you to...to respect my boundaries. To check in with me. To see when I'm uncomfortable. You've already done it, again and again, and proved that you're worthy of that trust. And do I look uncomfortable now?"

You studied him. His pupils were blown. His eyes told a story of contentment. The tenseness you had once noticed laying deep and dormant in his muscles was gone. He looked at you with a fondness you realized now was a profound trust and he stood utterly relaxed in your arms.

So you answered him honestly. "No."

"Exactly, darling. I'm not uncomfortable. I want to do this for you, if that's what you also want. I feel...safe with you. I've never felt like this around anyone before," he admitted, a bit of sadness creeping onto his face, "and I don't want to ruin it. I don't know... I don't know what I'm doing, but I'm going to try to do right by you. So if you want me..." He placed his hand low on your abdomen. Your stomach did flips. He put his lips against the shell of your ear. "Tell me, darling, because I certainly want you. All I ask is that you not touch me, not just yet."

You whimpered. "Please, Star. I promise not to touch you, I promise. But please touch me."

"That's my girl," he whispered. "Spread your legs for me, no need to be so nervous."

You readjusted your stance, widening the space between your previously clenched thighs. His hand filled the gap, cupping you gently. You sighed, leaning your head against his chest again, looking down to watch his ministrations.

Astarion pressed his palm to your clit. You watched his wrist move as he slid his fingers along your slit, teasing you and never quite touching you where you needed him. You whimpered as his fingertip lightly ghosted your entrance, just barely dipping inside before he moved his hand back up, his fingers toying with your clit.

"That's it," he whispered in your ear. "Make those quiet, pretty sounds for me. Show me how you feel."

You rocked your hips against his hand. "Astarion, please..."

He kissed your temple. "Feeling good?"

Your broken moan was your answer. He chuckled, sliding his hand up your side, taking your breast in the palm of his hand. He rolled your nipple between his fingers, making you gasp and buck your hips against him. He closed his lips around it and sucked gently.

"More," you whispered. "Please. I need...I need you."

"Alright, darling, alright," he said against your skin. He rubbed your entrance for another moment, then slid his finger inside you. You clenched down on him as you sighed your pleasure. He curled his finger inside you, rubbing away at your walls, and you gasped loudly.

Astarion grinned. "Make those noises. Moan for me. I want you to show me how good this feels, show me you want me." You gripped tightly onto him, one hand on the back of his neck and the other on his hip. Your breaths grew heavy and your whimpers louder. "Yes, that's it! Be loud for me, my sweet, the loudest you've ever—"

A branch cracked in the forest. A voice called out your name, then Astarion's. You jumped a mile and Astarion's finger slipped out of you. You stared at each other with wide eyes.

"D...did you hear that?" you asked. "Or am I hearing things?"

As if an answer, the voice—Gale's—shouted again, "I know you're over here, I can see your boots!"

"Shit," Astarion sighed. He craned his head to peer around the curtain of water. "What the hells do you want?"

"Is she with you?" Gale asked. "Shadowheart sent me to find you both, the rest of us have all finished washing up! There's water left for you."

"That's what we're trying to do, Gale!" you called, reaching an arm through the waterfall and waving at him. "Use the water for something else, we'll make do here."

He harrumphed. "If I had known this was just a few minutes away from camp, I would have come to wash up here ages ago."

You and Astarion exchanged a look. So much for a secret getaway spot.

"Be back soon, or Karlach will start worrying," Gale said, in the tone of a chiding parent. "And no funny business!"

"Oh, shut up!" Astarion shouted, the tips of his ears turning a deep pink. He ducked behind the water again and holding you close. You barely held back your giggles while the two of you listened for Gale to walk away. One slipped out and Astarion hurriedly covered your mouth with his hand. You licked his palm and he pulled it away quickly. "You weirdo!"

You wrapped your arms around him and leaned into his chest. "Yes, but I'm your weirdo. You love me anyway."

Astarion pushed a strand of your wet hair behind your ear. "I love you anyway," he admitted, with a fondness that turned you into mush in his arms. He held you close for several moments, then asked, "Do you want me to continue?"

You thought about it, then shook your head. "Not just now. I suspect Karlach will be on her way to investigate the waterfall I didn't have the decency tell anyone about very soon."

"Very well," he said. "I'll finish you off later in my tent, then. As long as you can keep quiet for me, darling." He gave you that charming smile that made your stomach do flips.

"I thought you liked me loud," you teased.

Astarion rolled his eyes, playful and flirtation in such a comfortable way that it warmed your heart more than any of his touches ever could, delightful as they were. "Only when I have you all to myself, lover." He nipped at your neck, his fangs scratching but not breaking your skin. "Your moans are mine."

You stood together like that for several more moments, his hands on your hips and your arms looped around his neck, your foreheads pressed together. You exchanged dainty kisses, basking in each other in the few minutes left you had alone.

At last, you planted one firm, lingering kiss to his lips. "Let me clean you off," you said. "Though you're going to have to crouch for me to get your hair." Most of the blood and grime had been washed away by the waterfall's spray, but his silver hair was still speckled with it all, and you could taste it on his lips—sour and gritty. No wonder he only drank from goblins as a last resort.

Astarion bent his head down, pressing his forehead into your shoulder and holding you by the waist. You ran your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp and smiling (but saying nothing) every time your touch managed to pull a soft whimper or moan from him without him realizing it.

You washed his body anyway, wiping away the remaining grime and massaging his muscles. You enjoyed the way he relaxed in your arms, quietly asking for more or less pressure.

"My back," he said, voice quiet and almost timid. "Can you...?"

"Are you sure?" you asked, frowning.

He nodded and turned in your arms, exposing his back to you. You started slowly, massaging his upper back and shoulders before working your way down, giving him plenty of time to tell you to stop if he needed to. But he leaned into your touch and responded with more of those gentle and timid—but happy—sounds.

You kissed the nape of his neck when you were finished, rested your head against his back, and wrapped your arms around his waist. His hands found yours and laced your fingers together.

"Thank you, my love," he said. "I've never... No one has ever done that for me before."

You hugged him tighter. "Any time you need me—I'm here. I will always be here." You stepped away and guided him out of the water with a hand. "Come on, we should head back."

The pair of you helped each other dress, though neither of you were wearing anything that required the help. You suspected Astarion just wanted to keep you close; when he got into his cuddly moods, it lasted for hours at a time. You would sleep wrapped up in your vampire's arms, safe and comfortable, tonight.

You were both pulling on your boots when Karlach found you.

"There you are!" she said. "Why didn't you tell us where you'd run off to?"

You shrugged. "I wanted the peace and quiet," you said honestly. "Besides, you all take forever to clean off."

Astarion snickered. "She's right about that."

Karlach sat on the moss, staring at the waterfall. "Well, you're right about one thing, soldier—this place is peaceful."

You hummed your agreement. "Yes. I'm glad we camped near it, or I never would have found it."

"How did you find this place?" she asked.

"Hunting," you said.

"Really? I assumed it must have been when you and Astarion sneak out so the rest of us can't hear you having sex." You choked on air and she laughed. "What? He found it easily!"

Astarion spluttered. "Because I could smell her!"

You sighed. "Karlach, we stopped sneaking off ages ago. We don't need to, we sleep in the same tent now. Rest assured, if anything is happening, it's happening silently and the rest of you are none the wiser to it."

"That doesn't make me rest assured."

You laughed. Astarion smiled at you, the kind of smile that made his eyes seem a little less dark and made you really remember that he was an elf.

"Well, I don't know about you two, but I'm going back to camp," he said. "I'm sure there's much to discuss about these...impertinent creatures who keep attacking us." He kissed your cheek and whispered into your ear, "I'll see you tonight, darling. What we do is up to you."

Before he could leave, you reached over and held his cheek, kissing him firmly on the lips. He smiled into it.

"Lovebirds," Karlach groaned, rolling her eyes, "will you please get a room?"

"The next time we stop at an inn—yes," Astarion said, winked at you, then disappeared into the woods.

You gulped. "I pity whoever is in the room next to us."

Karlach snorted. "I pity you and your poor cervix!"

"Karlach!" You splashed her with water and she roared with laughter.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding! Only slightly."

You huffed, scooped up your weapons, and started back to camp. Karlach followed.

"I mean, in all honesty, you two were so loud that first time we all heard you at camp, even though you snuck away. Kept us all awake, but you sounded like you were having a good time. So clearly he's doing something right, but can you take all of that every time? You were walking with a limp the next morning—"

"Okay, let's change the subject," you said loudly, heat racing through your body. Remembrance pulsed through you again, ghostly touches and reminders of just how easily Astarion made you scream.

She giggled. Gods, she was spending too much time with you and Astarion; he was rubbing off on her. "Oh, yes, because what would poor Gale say if he heard?"

You rolled your eyes. "It's not Gale I'm worried about, it's Astarion. If he hears you, he's going to become insufferable."

"Isn't he already?"

You whacked her with the flat end of your sheathed dagger. She laughed, putting her hands up in surrender.

The others were cleaning up camp when you arrived, scrubbing blood from tents and carpets and hauling away corpses and severed limbs.

Gale waved when he saw you, then jerked his thumb toward Astarion. "Didn't he just wash?"

You looked over at your vampire, only to find him feeding on a goblin. He looked up at you and grinned sheepishly, a trickle of blood sliding out of his mouth and down his neck.

"I just washed him, actually," you said dryly. "Astarion, you aren't that messy of an eater. What on earth are you doing?"

"Oh, so now you deign to eat the goblins," Karlach scoffed.

He shrugged. "What? I'm hungry!"

You spluttered. "You could have just asked me!"

Astarion wiped his mouth with a feral grin. "Well, I'll keep that in mind later, darling." He winked at you and then blew you a quick kiss. He shoved the carcass into the woods and went into his tent, closing the flap behind him.

Gale sighed heavily before looking back at you. "That one. Are you sure you want to choose that one?"

"Yes, Gale, I want that one."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

~❊~

Night fell. One by one, the others retired to their tents. Only Karlach and Gale remained awake when you left the fire and slipped into Astarion's tent.

He was laying on his side, reading and drinking blood, the picture of leisure. He closed his book immediately when you laid beside him and pulled you flush against his body.

"There you are," he said, snuggling into your shoulder. "I was beginning to wonder if you were coming."

You reached up and dragged your fingers through his perfect curls. "You don't have to wonder about that ever, Star. As long as I live, I'll be coming home to you. Even if I have to crawl."

"Gods, I love you," he said, wrapping himself around you. You kissed the top of his head.

"I love you, too," you whispered. He sighed happily and cuddled into you, sliding one of his legs between your own and settling there. A few minutes later, you felt the pressure of his knee against your clothed crotch. "What are you doing, mister?"

He grinned at you, showing both fangs. "Finishing what I started," he said cheekily. He began undoing the lacing at the front of your pants. "Now, just lay still for me, dear. And please do your best to keep quiet—I'd hate to have to cover that pretty mouth with my hand. Again."

☞ ❊ ☜

[Image Caption: I do not give permission to repost, translate, or publish my work on any other site or app by anyone except myself. I do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI (for audio, art, or writing).]

Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Acunin

Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the Astarion taglist!} @wayward-hel @cheeslyy @ofmyth-andmagicart @neetheslayer @whispering-depths @freesidexjunkie @lightsinmycity @the0ldmann @gobbodoggo @oooof-ifellforyou @beeblisss @fangboner @aquaarietes @fiercest-eigengrau-skies @niqhtfell @call-me-nyxx @lueji-m @ceres-xiv @tricksy-trinity @graynstairs @rosa-rubus @ynisthatyou

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gallifreyan85 · 4 months ago

Text

Scare me up (a little bit of love)

pairing: Agatha x reader

summary: this is the bring your mentor back from the dead mother's day fic you never knew you needed

Next part (and last) here

A/n at the end of fic.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆

When you reached Westview it was early morning. The sun had just come out, and by the time you stepped off the bus and made your way into town, walking alone by the lonely winding road, eyes squinting from the sunlight peeking through the trees, you felt a familiar tug in your bones. The old sign at the edge of town was still there, big, white, faded letters against a scraped teal background, and you passed it in a hurry, quickening your steps in hopes of reaching your destination faster. Though once you did, you didn’t go in at once.

You stood in front of her house, taking in the view. The front door was missing, askew on its hinges and crammed sideways across the doorway, a steady reminder of what happened before you, your mentor, and her so called makeshift coven decided to walk the Witches Road. It was an eventful day, so unlike the one you were having now. You took a step off the cement driveway and opened the latch on the white wooden fence. It didn’t creak, but the paint was stale, and you had to lean against it with your full body to make the hinges budge. The grass was soft beneath your sneakers, a little slippery from the early morning dew. You quietly made your way towards the entrance, and then, with a final, shaky breath of determination, ducked underneath the skewed front door and slipped inside.

The house was silent. Old wooden tiles groaned as you stepped into the hallway, then the living room. It wasn’t very messy, but the air was thick and stale and you went to open the nearest window. All the curtains were drawn, leaving the rooms shrouded in half darkness, streaks of light zig-zagging across the dark television screen, an old bookshelf, the worn patterned couch. You sighed. There was an ache in your lungs from being back here, a house you’d spent so many years in, studying magic and listening to Agatha talk about her chaotic adventures, tease you about everything and then make some witchy herbal tea you always drank with her. You missed it. All of it.

But most of all you missed her.

The Road was a messy adventure, you’d joined her of course, without question, eager to talk with her after the three long years of nothing, and once you made it out--

You wondered if the yard was still strewn with pieces of wreckage from that fight she and Rio had had. You shook you head quickly and set yourself straight. You were here for a reason.

To bring her back.

It took a while, a long, long, long while, but you finally found it. A way, a combination of tricky, long, dreary and demanding spells and enchantments, all ingredients in bringing back a life. Well. Not quite. She was a ghost. All you’d do was get her back into her body, set things straight. Although with her, things rarely seemed to go straight. You sighed, dropped your backpack onto the sofa, and went into the kitchen. After making a black coffee-- you rarely drank it black but there was no milk in the fridge and the cabinets were quite empty, you went into the basement.

Señor Scratchy came hopping into the light from some dim corner, his little nose twitching in recognition. You bent down to pet him, running your fingers through his soft fur. You’d missed him too. You were relieved that he was alright, because after you’d stormed off and left Agatha and Billy to their adventures you wondered for a while if someone had come in to check on the bunny.

“Are the neighbors feeding you well, buddy?” you murmured into the quiet stillness of the room.

He stayed under your hand, whiskers moving curiously, and then pressed his nose against your mug. You realized then that you’d taken one of hers. You hadn’t even noticed.

“I know buddy…” you said softly, “I miss her too.”

You stayed there on the floor, crouched down with him and petting him until your coffee went cold, and then pressed a kiss to his furry head and stood back up again.

You set your mug on her desk, dark mahogany from whatever old century she got it from, and started to go through your books. You opened every needed page, got all the ingredients, luckily her basement still had some herbs and gems stashed away in glass jars, and it took you over fifteen minutes to locate the candles stashed in a wooden crate above the washer and dryer-- you really missed all the enchanted and creepy vibes of the room. It looked so bland like this. Like a normal suburban basement, even though you knew it was everything but. You missed the magic. How many tireless evenings you’d spent in that same room, whining that you couldn’t do the spells, that it was too hard, and Agatha teasing you and sighing and explaining everything from the beginning. After everything was ready, you went up into the backyard.

A soft breeze was blowing, making your hair fall into your eyes and mouth, and you tied it back before pulling out the spellbook. You set it down beside you and looked through the garage. You found a shovel. It was heavy, really heavy, but you managed it just fine. Back in the yard, you stood over the right spot, and started to dig.

The ground wasn’t too hard but it was cold, and you had to put all your strength into pushing the dirt away, slowly piling it into a heap by the side. It took a while. Not like in the movies, where the main character digs up a grave in twenty minutes without breaking a sweat. You were exhausted by the end of the first half hour, and went back inside to finish your coffee. Then you went back at it again. Continued digging. You weren’t in a real hurry, it wouldn’t be a huge problem if you did it tomorrow, but you wanted it to be done today. It was important to you. If it worked. And you really, really hoped it would.

When it was finally done, you took one long look-- at her, and sat back, sweaty and aching.

You inhaled. Took a deep, long breath. And said the words.

Clearly, evenly, a steady, perfect spell. Just like you practiced. Just like Agatha was there beside you, watching your movements and giving you corrections.

You finished the first half.

“Agatha?” you asked into the breeze.

Nothing.

Then--

A whizz of movement from behind you, and her spectral form appeared, just the same as last time you’d seen her. It had been a few weeks.

You felt your throat tighten.

“Well, well.” she drawled, a smirk at her translucent lips. “Look who decided to finally summon me. Are you missing our lessons, dear?”

You looked at her. Took a breath. Nodded faintly. She was doing small talk. You didn’t think you had it in you to follow along.

“Good.” she said, “I’m glad to see at least someone was missing me.”

You looked away.

She watched you, still hovering a few feet away, and then sighed.

“Oh don’t tell me you’re still hung up on me being dead. I’m still here, darling, aren’t I? Still here to annoy you.”

You gave a weak smile. It didn’t reach your eyes.

“It’s not the same as being alive.”

“Yes, well we’ve passed that point. I got used to it, and so should you.”

“You’re still dead.” you said, more harshly than you’d have liked.

She waved a hand.

“No-- don’t do that, don’t pretend like—”

She disappeared. Reappeared behind you, said a soft boo into your ear.

You huffed and swatted at her, and your hand went straight through.

She grinned.

“What’s this now? Did I teach you to resort to violence, student mine?”

You gave her a look.

“Please stop teasing me and focus. I called you over for a reason.”

She tilted her head, and looked around. Her smirk faltered when she saw the body on the grass, her own body. She looked back up.

“Dabbling in necromancy now? I thought we agreed to save that for last.”

“Yeah, well I did some of my own research the past few weeks.”

She spoke with exaggerated emotion. “Oh joy. I’m in such good hands now.”

You closed your eyes.

“Agatha.”

“What?”

“I’m being serious.”

“Oh I can see that.” she said, floating over to look at her body. “You’ve been so busy… How long did it even take you to dig me up, hm? Hours? Days? You’re a bit lacking on the practical side of things.”

You wanted to throw something at her. You knew it wouldn’t work but that didn’t stop you from trying. You hit her with a pebble. It went straight through her robes and bounced off the shovel. She chuckled.

“You’re determined, I’ll give you that.”

“Would you just—” you were slowly losing your patience, “Just stop teasing me and listen. Please.”

She sighted deeply, and finally looked back up at you, expression a little more serious.

“Fine. What was so important that you had to—” she waved a hand around.

You knew she knew, but like yourself she wanted you to say it first. Outloud.

“I’m,” you paused, “we’re gonna bring you back.”

She raised a perfect, silvery brow, arms firmly crossed. “Are we now?”

You nodded. Tried to seem reassuring and firm. “Yes.”

She chuckled. “Great then. Let’s get weaving, I want to get this over with so you can have a piece of mind and I can run away before you get all miserable on me like last time.”

She gave you a pointed look. You swallowed. The last time you’d seen her had been quite a mess. Billy was there, and he had the front row seat to witnessing your tearful meltdown over your mentor being dead and not doing anything to fix it. Not even trying. Not once.

As if she simply didn’t... care.

But as much as that thought hurt, you cared. And you were going to show her.

You picked up the spellbook and lowered yourself on the grass a few feet away from her.

“When I finish reading this part you’re supposed to try and get- get back into—”

She let out a gruff chuckle. “You want me to try and possess my own body? Hun, I know you had some ideas that were out there but that is never going to work. There are rules—”

“I know the rules.” you said, firmer, “And I found the right spells, and if we do it correctly it won’t be-- it’ll be okay. Just trust me. Please. Just try.”

She sighed.

“Fine. But if you start crying when I stay all-- un fantasma after you speak your little part I will leave. If you want lessons you got em’ but I ain’t sticking around as your emotional support spirit guide or some other nonsense.”

You swallowed thickly. Pressed your lips together. Half of you felt how this was going to end. You couldn’t keep from crying if it didn’t work, and you knew it probably wouldn’t. But you had to try. You owed it to her, even if she didn’t believe in you.

“Fine.” you said, opening the book.

She watched you, and for a moment it seemed she was going to say something else, but she stayed silent. Just hovered around the yard, watching you, those blue eyes now even more piercing than before.

You inhaled. Exhaled. And started to read.

One part done. Spell. Movement. A charm. Another spell. Then--

You spoke the final bit of written words in a quick but clear ramble, and finally stopped.

You looked up at her. Gave her the go ahead. Nodded.

She did what you asked, begrudgingly floating over to her body and then sinking down, out of your sight until the tips of her glowing robes disappeared beneath the surface of the ground. You watched. No movement. Her chest wasn’t moving. Nothing stirred. Not a single sound came from her, or yourself. A flicker of magic glowed, flickered briefly, and then died out.

You held your breath, felt it stick in your throat.

“A-agatha?” you called out tentatively. Your voice sounded quiet and unsure in the calm of the afternoon. The sun was low in the sky, hiding behind bright clouds. You felt the anticipation and hope from earlier drain from you, slowly replaced with a hanging dread.

Had you--

What if it went wrong? Had you-- what if you accidentally banished her?

It would mean you’d never see her again, ghost or otherwise, at all, not ever. You felt your throat tighten. Tears pricked at your eyes, your vision slowly blurring.

No.

You hadn’t--

You couldn’t have--

“Agatha.” you said again, a bit louder this time. “Agatha, are you there? Please say something.”

Nothing.

“Agatha!” you yelled.

And still not a single sound. Birds were chirping quietly. The white picket fence gate creaked from the front yard. You felt your chest tighten with panic. Fear. Dread. Guilt. So much guilt. Had you ruined it? All of it?

You didn’t bother stifling the sob that slipped past your lips, a sort of half-whimper, half-plea of her name. You started to cry. The grass was cold and damp against your stained knees, your jeans half-covered in dirt and fresh earth, your face a sweaty mess of exhaustion and tears and loneliness.

You felt desperate. Alone.

So alone.

And then--

A loud, wheezing gasp, startling you so harshly that you literally jumped backwards, scooted with a flinch into the shovel behind you that sent you wincing. You blinked and tried to clear your blurry vision.

Agatha’s body was still in front of you, but it wasn’t just her body, she was--

You watched with wide, teary eyes as she sat up, coughing and spluttering and looking very much like she was ready to hex someone for disturbing her in the midst of a very pleasant, relaxing afternoon.

You blinked.

Watched her take a shuddering unsteady breath, then another one, then another. Your hands felt numb. Tingly. Your fingers moved on their own accord, as if to grasp- to reach for--

“A-agatha?” you managed out.

Silence.

Then-

“That was very unpleasant.”

You stared. Tried to keep in the tears.

She opened her mouth to speak, probably some sarcastic, teasing remark-- you scrambled to your feet so fast you nearly slipped and threw yourself at her in the tightest hug ever, clinging to every part of her you could reach, holding on for dear life.

“What in the—” she spluttered, winded, and tried to shrug you off of her, but you clung tightly. Didn’t let go. Didn’t dare to look up into her face, her finally colourful, alive face.

You kept crying.

Into her shirt. Pressed your head into her chest and inhaled through sobs, feeling the damp smell of freshly dug earth and a faint, very faint but there, whiff of her perfume. It just made you sob harder.

She tried once more to get you off of her but quickly realized it was hopeless and instead rested her arms gently on your back, pulling you a little closer.

You kept crying. “You’re alive—” you sobbed out, “you’re b-back-- please-- Ag—”

She held you tighter against her. Vaguely you felt her chin come to rest on your head, messing up your already disheveled hair and you felt her breath against the top of your head.

Her breath.

She was breathing.

“Alright, hun, I’m here.” she murmured hoarsely.

You couldn’t tell if the cracks in her voice were from held back emotion or being literally dead, but you didn’t care. She was talking to you. She was alive. So alive.

You sniffled against her sweater and felt her grumbling above you, something along the lines of ‘if you get snot on my shirt I swear I will—’ but you didn’t find it in you to care.

She was back.

You had her back.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, sobbing and sniffling and holding onto her like a lifeboat in the midst of stormy sea, but eventually you felt your tears slowly but surely slow.

You looked up. Raised your head just a little. Her face was slightly dirty and pale and she looked rarely fragile for a moment, but her gaze landed on your and she smiled.

Briefly.

You realized there were tears in her eyes too.

You sniffled, and finally spoke, in a shaky, trembling voice. “You’re back.”

“Seems so.” she said, and you could hear she was trying to sound nonchalant, but there was an undertone of genuine emotion in her voice, something thin and bittersweet and maybe long-forgotten.

“You’ll stay this time?” you murmured tearfully.

She nodded. “I will. No more dying for anyone. Not even for you.”

You just hugged her tighter. She huffed, mock-breathless, and muttered, “Easy there, toots, I just came back from the dead, I’m not planning on doing a return trip just yet. I need air now.”

You started crying again.

She sighed, lips tight. “Too soon?”

You nodded against her, your cheek against her chest. You could feel her heart beating, slowly, softly but surely, a steady heartbeat. You smiled.

“I thought I’d never get to hug you again.” you mumbled.

She scoffed, pulling away briskly and dusting off your shoulder.

“Now now, I know you missed me but let’s not get too sentimental here, hun.”

You smiled up at her. You didn’t realize you were still crying but she slowly wiped away the tears from your face with her sleeve, a move that made you want to burrow back into her arms and stay there forever.

“I missed you.”

“So you keep saying.”

“Cause I did. I missed hugging you.”

She looked...pained. Slightly uncomfortable. Like she hadn’t been expecting such a high amount of affection coming her way so soon. But still, you heard her say clearly,

“I... missed you too, pet.”

You smiled brightly. Sniffled. She huffed at your expression and tried to get up but just ended up stumbling back onto the ground.

“Now that I’m here and all I’m gonna need my legs, you know. Can’t float out of this astoundingly very tight hug.”

You didn’t budge.

You felt her sigh, a bit more like herself now already.

“Fine-- fine- see, five minutes go by and this is what I have to deal with? The clinging, the neediness-- what are you, an octopus?”

You chuckled through a stuffy nose.

She swatted the top of your head gently and you giggled at it, still not letting go.

“Alright, now, what do I have to do to get you off of me, huh? Can I bribe you?”

“….no?”

“Thought so. Why do you insist on being so difficult?” but there was no evident bite in her voice, and you could’ve sworn you saw her trying to hide her smile.

She nudged you. Then shoved you a little harder, then finally pulled you off of her while holding your arm and stood up, letting out a reluctant, exasperated sigh when you glued yourself right back to her, arms around her waist.

“Alright, kid, listen, I just rose from the grave—”

“Uh-huh.”

“I should at least shower.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m not taking you in the shower with me, get off.”

“Just one second more, please—”

She groaned but softly wrapped her arms around you.

“You really are something, you know that.”

“Yeah.”

She laughed. It sounded softer than you remembered.

“Yeah.” she echoed quietly, pressing her lips against your hair once more.

You felt the moment stretch.

“Come on, kiddo.” she spoke against your forehead. “Let’s go back inside." her hand found your own, "And I better not find that you made my house into some suburban, dainty—”

Suburban?

You thought about the mug that stood wrapped with a bow in your backpack, the card you'd brought with you, the one you bought and wrote in, and then erased the text five times before settling on the right words.

“It’s just dusty.” you said into her arm.

She huffed.

“I’ll be the judge of that. If I see one single live love laugh quote I’m going back to being a ghost and haunting your ass for all eternity. I’m not kidding.”

You laughed and wiped your eyes, pressed your face back into her sweater with a smile, and let her guide you both inside.

A/n: ....hey. so i just finished this, first off, i wrote this purely out of self indulgence but i really liked it and it's been a while since i felt confident about liking something i wrote this much so this was important to me. anyway. title is from Little Ghost by The White Stripes, and i'll be honest i do not know the song but when i saw the lyrics i thought of agatha at once. so... yeah. hope you liked this. a sorta part two will happen at some point. Also forgot to mention I def borrowed the phrase 'student mine' from one of my favorite ever fics of AAA, it's by @justaboot on ao3, and it is one of the best characterizations of Agatha and her dynamic with Billy- you should definitely go check it out if u want something good to read. have a wonderful day y'all. <3

Taglist 💜 @milflovers4 @senhorita-girassol @dandelions4us @kaymariesworld @ahintofchaos @atlasimagines

#agatha all along #agatha harkness #marvel #mine #reader insert #agatha harkness x reader #agnes of westview #marvel cinematic universe #mentor agatha harkness #ghost agatha harkness #senor scratchy #agatha coven of chaos #ghost agatha #post wandavision #post agatha all along

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