#but usually you do not have every single thing in your life happen while you are In The Car

[hoonsluvr]

SHADES OF BLUE

박성훈 ꒰ park sunghoon ꒱ — genre; childhood friends to (?), forced proximity, smut, angst, reader has synesthesia ୨ৎ cw; daddy issues, emotional abuse, mental health issues (anxiety and depression mentioned), pill addiction, overdose in detail, p in v, dom hoon, unprotected sex, public sex, oral f.rec, choking, temperature play MDNI. ⟡ synopsis; it had been years since you left the world of ice skating behind. four years to be exact. and now? you’re a miserable fucking mess, numb to your feelings and the outside world. so what happens when a certain boy from your past manages to find his way into your life again? ୨ৎ wc; 10.7k — library ⭑.ᐟ inspired by; cinnamon girl - lana del rey

isla yaps; hi lovelies!! this fic contains some heavy and potentially triggering themes so please make sure to READ THE WARNINGS CAREFULLY. if you decide not to continue reading this i truly understand and i’m definitely working on some lighter fics for the future. for those of you who do read, as always, feedback is appreciated :)

You had always seen him in streaks of color. Violet, blue, green, red. He was a spectrum of hues, splattered perfectly across a blank white canvas. You usually only associated things with one particular color or shape, but Sunghoon Park was far too complex to fit in that box. 

Growing up, you never had to look to know he was there. The cold bit into your fingers and nose as you stepped onto the ice, but you barely noticed, already used to it. Sunghoon grinned at you from across the rink, mischief flickered in his eyes, his hair tousled.

You made a face at him, one you had made a thousand times before — a silent dare, a challenge — which he gladly accepted with a low exaggerated bow, almost slipping on the ice to make you laugh. You pressed your lips together, pretending to be unimpressed but the giggle still escaped you, curling into the cold air like smoke. 

You pushed off, racing towards him, the thrum of the world narrowed to the single endless circle of the rink. Just you and him. Always you and him. He waited until the last second before darting forward to meet you, your movements synced immediately. It’s an old dance by now, older than the competitions, the medals, the pressure. It belonged only to you two. 

He caught you and swung you into a wide air spiral, the force of it pulling laughter from your chest. The walls blurred, the high vault of the rink’s ceiling spun dizzyingly above and for a few precious seconds, there was no ground beneath your feet, only the electric hum of trust and flight. You hit the ground, and he almost didn’t reach you in time. 

“You’re getting slow,” you teased, breathlessly as he reeled you back in. 

He rolled his eyes playfully, feigning offense. “You’re getting heavy.” You gasped, scandalised as you punched him lightly in the arm. His laughter — low, warm, familiar — echoed off the empty bleachers and filled the air. 

You two skated side by side for a while, laps and laps in comfortable silence, the kind of silence that only existed between people who knew each other so well, awkwardness didn’t seem possible anymore. He would push you sometimes, his hands resting at the small of your back to make you speed up and you would retaliate by sticking your tongue out at him. These were some of the unspoken laws of your universe, established over the twelve years you knew each other, sacred and unchanging. 

“Come on,” he said, grinning, “we need to practice the lift.” You groaned dramatically and he shot you a look. “We’ve practiced it like a hundred times already.” 

“And we’ll do it a hundred more if we have to,” he said, the stubborn set of his jaw making you smile. “Coach said we need to stick it before regionals.” Regionals. The word hung in the air between you, weighing heavier each day that it got closer. You were both getting older and expectations were stacking up around you like walls, higher every year. Not just from your coach and the public, but also from your father. 

Still, you trusted Sunghoon. You always had. You nodded and he took your hands in his. His voice dropped, playful but serious underneath. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

You took a breath, centred your weight and skated backward, gathering speed. At the critical moment, you felt his hands close around your waist, felt the surge of adrenaline as he lifted you, almost effortlessly. For a heartbeat, you hovered above him, weightless, turning in a slow arc that made the lights blur into constellations. When he set you down, it was too fast, too soon. You stumbled, crashing into him and he grabbed your elbows to steady you. 

“At least it’s better than last time?” You giggled. 

He sighed playfully. “We’ll get there.” 

Later, when you sat in the stands, peeling off your skates, he lounged beside you, eating a candy bar he had unearthed from the depths of his jacket. He offered you a bite without looking at you, a thoughtless gesture, born of long habit, and you took it without hesitation, wrinkling your nose at the too-sweet taste. 

“You know,” he said, mouth half-full, “one day, when we’re, like, old and famous, they’ll make a movie about us.”

You laughed, leaning your head back against the cold metal of the seat. “They’ll make a movie about how you almost dropped me on my face?”

He nudged your knee with his. “Nah. About how awesome we were. You’ll see.”

You turned your head to look at him. His cheeks were still flushed, his hair sticking up in every direction, his smile crooked and stupid and perfect. There was not a single doubt in his eyes. Not about you, not about him, not about the two of you together. For one fleeting moment, you let yourself believe it too. That you would skate forever, that nothing would change, that this — the endless ice, the laughter, the quiet spaces filled only by understanding — would be enough to outlast the world.

And you loved him for it, in a way you didn’t have words for yet. In a way that lived in your chest like a second heartbeat, steady and sure. You would never tell him, of course. That wasn’t how things worked between you. It didn’t need to be said.

You laced up your shoes slowly, savoring the last minutes before the real world called you back. Beside you, he stretched his arms over his head and yawned dramatically.

“Wanna race to the car?” he challenged.

“You’ll lose,” you said, already hopping to your feet.

He shot you a wicked grin. “Only if you cheat.”

You laughed, and ran.

And he chased you, as he always would.

-

The blade of your skate caught for a fraction of a second, and the ice sent a shudder up your leg. You recovered without falling, but you felt your father's eyes burning holes into your back from the stands, sharp and dissecting. A cold flush of adrenaline surged through you, as if your body already knew, even before the mistakes happened, that he would find them.

The rink smelled faintly of iron and old popcorn from the vending machines, and the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, making the whites of the ice almost too bright to look at directly. You forced your arms higher in your routine, elbows pointed with mechanical precision, every breath a silent apology for not being perfect.

At the edge of the rink, Sunghoon watched you with a casual slouch, skate guards dangling from one hand. He grinned when you finished your spin combination, throwing a lazy thumbs-up your way, as if to say Relax. You’re fine. It’s just practice.

Your dad, however, was already on his feet. A sharp whistle pierced the air, summoning you over like a disobedient pet. You skated toward him, already dreading what's to come as the gloomy black aura hovered over his head.

“Again,” he said the moment you're within earshot. “The entrance to the triple was sloppy. You're dropping your left shoulder. It’s lazy.” You nodded mutely. Apologizing would only prolong it. “And get your damn knees over your toes when you land. How many times do I have to say it?”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, voice swallowed by the cavernous rink.

Sunghoon caught your eye from across the boards, brows knitting together for just a moment before he looked away. You finished the next run-through stiffly, mechanically, your body moving without soul. You were careful — so careful — but when you finally skated off the ice twenty minutes later, your muscles buzzed with exhaustion, you knew it still wouldn't be enough.

“Hey.” Sunghoon bumped his shoulder into yours, a conspiratorial glint in his eyes. “You want to ditch for a bit?”

You blinked at him, surprised. “Ditch practice?”

He leaned closer, dropping his voice like it was a state secret. “Not all of it. Just, like... ten minutes. Before he starts giving you another checklist.” Despite yourself, a laugh bubbled up. It's quick, half-choked by nerves, but real. You glanced over your shoulder — your father was buried in conversation with your coach, gesturing sharply at a clipboard.

You nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

Without waiting for second thoughts to anchor you down, Sunghoon tugged your sleeve and led you through the side doors, out into the cold winter air. Your skates clacked noisily on the concrete until you reached the deserted staff parking lot behind the rink, where you both collapsed against the graffitied brick wall, breathless from the small act of rebellion. 

Sunghoon hooked his hands behind his head and grinned up at the sky that was turning a pretty shade of pink. “See? Already worth it.” You tilted your head back too, letting yourself smile — a real one this time, loose and crooked. “Yeah. It is.” You glanced at him and so many colours were jumping out from within him, curling up to him in a comforting aura. For a few moments, you just sat there, breathing in the silence, feeling normal. Not an athlete. Not a disappointment. Just a girl, fourteen years old, alive under a wide pink sky.

But the peace doesn't last. The gnawing guilt curled up from your stomach, reminding you that this tiny moment of freedom has a price you’ll pay later. It always does. Sunghoon caught the flicker of worry across your face, because he turned toward you, concern softening the lines around his mouth. “Hey. You okay?”

You picked at a loose thread on your sleeve. “He's been... worse lately,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Sunghoon didn’t pretend not to understand who you mean.

“You know it’s not your fault, right?” he said quietly, exhaling a slow breath, visible in the cold air. “You’re the best skater I’ve ever met, and you don’t deserve to feel bad every time you step on the ice because of him.”

The words stung more than they soothed, because part of you thought they were lies, sweet and useless. But another part — a tiny, desperate part — folded them away carefully, like a note you’re not ready to read yet. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the cold sink deep into your bones. The wind hums against the empty lot. Somewhere inside the rink, the muffled sound of a whistle cuts through the air, calling practice back into order.

“We should go.” You breathed. 

“Race you?” He grinned, attempting to try and get some of your cheerful demeanour back. It worked. 

“Oh, you’re on.” 

The memory of that stolen afternoon clings to you days later, like frost on a windowpane. You carry it into the competition weekend like a secret talisman tucked beneath your skin as if it was proof that you can still feel lightness, even as the weight of expectation coils tighter around your spine. You thought of it during warm-ups, when the rink smells like hairspray and nerves, and coaches bark corrections from the sidelines like drill sergeants. You thought of it when you tie your skates, hands trembling just a little. You thought of it when you step onto the ice, lights blinding, the crowd a faceless blur beyond the boards.

Race you. You're on.

You whispered the memory to yourself like a prayer.

But it isn't enough.

The routine blurred past you in flashes, the rush of Sunghoon throwing you into the opening spiral, the brief moment your blade slipped on the double axel landing — not a fall, but enough, enough for his eyes to narrow in the stands. Your body moved on instinct, muscle memory overriding the terror climbing your throat. Smile. Sell it. Pretend you can't feel the mistake trailing you like a shadow.

“Seriously, that was pretty good, right?” Sunghoon smiled at you once you were done.

You offered him a tight smile, too brittle to hold. You don't say what gnaws at you — It wasn't good enough. He saw it. He always sees it.

You knew it was coming even before the scores overhead stopped flashing.

Third place.

The bronze medal from the award ceremony later hung around your neck like a noose, the ribbon itching against your skin. You clutched the little bouquet they handed you, hands numb from the cold, and smiled for the photos even though your mouth tasted like blood.

You caught your father’s face in the crowd — stone-eyed, unsmiling — and felt your stomach drop all the way to your skates.

The fight started the moment the front door slammed behind you.

“What the hell was that?” His voice cracked across the room like a whip, and you flinched even though you told yourself you wouldn't. You mumbled something — something useless — about doing your best, about nerves, about how everyone slips up sometimes. The words scattered like dry leaves.

He wasn't listening.

“You humiliated yourself,” he said, low and dangerous. “You humiliated me.”

You opened your mouth, and then closed it again. You didn't know how to tell him that it wasn’t humiliation you felt on the ice — it was fear. A fear that had settled in your chest like a living thing ever since he started screaming at you in the car rides home, ever since every routine became another battlefield you had to survive.

Your mother stepped in then, tentative, trying to cool the air. “She’s still young. Third is— it’s still—”

“Third isn’t first,” your father snapped, cutting her off like a blade. “Third place is nothing. Third place is a waste of time.”

You pressed your fists into your sides to keep from shaking. He’s wrong, you wanted to scream. You tried. You tried so hard that your body felt hollow, your knees bruised and raw under your tights. But the shame already curdled inside you, thick and black and impossible to swallow.

“Maybe if you trained the way you’re supposed to—” He pointed a finger at you, jabbing the air like you’re an object that’s failed him. “You’ve been lazy. You’ve been soft. Crying after practice like some little—”

"That's enough," your mother said sharply, stepping between you before he could spit the rest of it out.

Her voice shook. He ignored her.

“You’re never going to make it like this,” he hissed. “You think talent's enough? You think people are gonna hand you a damn thing because you cry pretty?”

You hadn’t even realized you were crying until you tasted the salt at the corners of your mouth. Hot, helpless tears spilled over, blurring everything.

“I did my best,” you whispered. “I did— I tried—”

“Your best isn’t good enough!” The shout cracked the room wide open. You shrunk back instinctively, heart thundering against your ribs. Your mother grabbed your arm, gentle but firm. “I think you need to get a hotel room for tonight,” she said to him, her voice barely above a whisper. A recurring solution to the problems that plagued your household for the past couple of months.

He laughed. An ugly, hollow sound that echoed against the empty walls.

“Gladly.”

He didn’t pack a bag. He didn’t even look at you.

He wrenched open the door, cold air flooding the hallway, and for one stupid, desperate second you thought he would turn back — that he'd say something, anything. But he just stepped out into the night. The door slammed shut behind him, and the house fell into a silence so deep it felt like a scream turned inside out. You stood there, frozen, the bronze medal heavy against your chest, the flowers wilting in your clenched hand. Your mother rubbed your back, murmuring something soft you couldn’t hear. You couldn’t hear anything.

You woke up the next morning, expecting him to be sitting at the coffee table, to give you that same look of anger he usually did. Instead, you woke up to a house that felt hollowed out, the walls too thin to contain the silence. Your mother's voice was a brittle thread from the kitchen — muttering into the phone about how he came in the morning to take all his belongings before leaving for good. 

You curled deeper under the covers, pressing your face into the pillow until the world blurred. Your skates sat by the dresser, laces tangled in lazy knots. Your practice bag still leaned against the door, half-packed from yesterday.

Everything looked the same. Everything felt unrecognizable.

The first time you skipped practice, you told yourself it was just one day. You wrapped yourself tighter in your blankets and pretended you couldn’t hear the notifications buzz from your phone. You pictured Sunghoon’s face — confused at first, then worried — and your stomach twisted violently.

You told yourself you'll explain later. You just needed a little time.

Days bled into each other, sluggish and indistinct. You didn't skate. You didn’t answer your texts. You slept through the mornings and wandered the house in the afternoons, a shadow wrapped in oversized sweatshirts and old music. 

Your mother pretended not to notice. But you heard her voice sometimes, low and strained, slipping through the walls like smoke. Talking to friends. Talking to no one. The word “depression” floated by once, sharp and terrifying, but you shoved it down deep where you wouldn't have to face it.

You kept meaning to reach out. To Sunghoon. To anyone.

You never planned for it to go on forever.

You told yourself you’d go back someday.

When it hurt less.

When you were stronger.

But years passed faster than promises.

And silence is a hard thing to come back from.

You didn’t cry. You didn't scream. You didn't rip the medals off the walls or tear up old routines. You simply turned your face away from it all — the skates, the trophies, the hollow place where your father’s shadow used to fall — and decided, with a clarity that terrified you, that you were done.

No announcement. No ceremony. No goodbye.

Just absence.

You didn't tell Sunghoon.

You couldn't.

How could you explain it? That something inside you had snapped, clean and silent like a bone under too much pressure? That the ice, once your sanctuary, now stretched out before you like a punishment? You didn't have the words. You barely had thoughts. Just this thick, unbreathable feeling in your chest.

You knew, in some cruel part of yourself, that he’d think he had done something wrong. That he would shoulder the blame for your absence the way he had always tried to shield you from everything else. You hated yourself for that. But you still couldn’t bring yourself to go back.

It was easier this way.

Cleaner.

Like cauterizing a wound you didn’t have the strength to let heal.

At first, it slipped away so quietly, you almost didn’t notice. 

The colors that used to flood your senses — bright bursts of honeyed yellow for laughter, deep indigo whenever your loved ones called your name — began to thin, fading like ink left too long in the sun. 

You caught it one afternoon, standing at the kitchen sink, when your mother hummed an old song under her breath. Once, the sound would have painted the room a soft blue, curling in the corners like mist. Now, it barely stirred the air. No blue, no warmth.

Just the hollow weight of silence pressed into a melody.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing it back. The colors, the shapes, the brightness that used to crackle just beneath your skin, but nothing came. The world had dulled around you, muted and flat, as if someone had turned down the saturation without asking.

You slowly became a version of yourself you couldn’t recognize — or worse, could recognize and grieve. And all the while, your skates gathered dust by the door, silent witnesses to everything that you had lost.

-

You’re shaking, violently. Fuck, not this crap again. You try what your therapist told you to do, one deep breath in, two deep breaths out. And again. And again. And again — this isn’t fucking helping. Instinct kicks in and you reach out for the coveted orange cylinder, shakily unscrewing the cap and letting it fall to the floor with a hollow clunk, shoving a white pill down your throat. There’s instant relief as the shaking stops. 

The time shows 6:26AM, the breakdowns had been starting earlier and earlier each day. You lie in bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling, trying to muster up some strength. A grunt escapes as you heave yourself up unsteadily — the world already spinning. Too early for this shit. 

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand — one short vibration. A message? No. Nobody messaged you these days. A reminder. Group therapy session at 8AM. God this was the last thing you needed today. You should just skip it, an endless hour of overlapping voices doing nothing for you except making the dull ringing in your skull worse. But promises to your therapist harshly pound through your head. Promises to try and get your life together, start socialising again and make an effort. 

Your movements are sluggish as you make your way across the room, pulling on yesterday’s unwashed hoodie, barely brushing your teeth before skipping a shower and heading down for the same mundane everyday breakfast of cheerios. You can hear your mother’s voice, she’s speaking to you as you toy with the cereal in your bowl, pushing it around. The sound, though, isn’t exactly in focus, it plays at the back of your head, watered down, the words slushing and melting together as her tone gargles. Until you force yourself to focus. 

“Are you even listening to me? I hope you’re going to therapy today?” She raises an eyebrow at you. 

A sigh. “Yes, I am. Can you drive me?” 

Your mother is so relieved that you’re going, she complies with your request immediately, even though she knows it’ll make her late for work. You know she just wants the best for you but you don’t have the heart to tell her that the sessions were utterly useless. That she was wasting the money your family was already running short on, just for your pill problems to be worse than ever. 

Nonetheless, you find yourself taking a seat in the dull basement of the hospital for the third time this week — apparently the only place they could accommodate for the group therapy. Each day, the attendants around the round gray table changed, all except for you. Guess they couldn’t handle it. Glancing around the table for this conclave leaves you with a quick realisation — you are not making any new friends today. The only other people around are a middle-aged man in a bowler hat who appears to be mute and a sniffling grandmother with a handkerchief who weakly tells you her name is Marge when you enter. 

Your therapist, Barbara — a young woman in her 20s with glasses that make her look bug-eyed — flashes you a smile. You think she’s nice enough, only if she was more useful. Then again, you aren’t sure if she’s being paid enough to actually care that much.

“Welcome everyone” she gestures, “today, the intentions I had while putting this group together is to focus on anxiety, considering you all have been recently diagnosed with it. Would anyone like to share a recent experience they’ve faced with anxiety?” 

Marge raises her hand and starts talking. “Yesterday I was knitting when—” You’re already drowning out her voice. Your eyes glaze over. Only one more hour. The click of the door after a rather long 15 minutes of Marge’s story makes you whip your head around, desperate for some form of entertainment.

By now, you should have realised that it’s best if you don’t wish for some things too easily because your judgement is unfortunately, usually ill-informed. The boy who walks in is definitely entertainment, but he’s also the last person you would ever want to see. Sunghoon Park. 

Your stomach twists, jerking horribly. The world freezes. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of all the colors and sounds around you. The ticking of the clock becomes louder along with the soft buzz of the air conditioner while the colors sharpen into focus. 

His eyes meet yours, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. A flicker of blue sparks around him before disappearing so fast, you think you might have imagined it. He looks at you for a moment, almost as if he’s trying to make sure you’re real. Still not breaking eye contact, he takes tentative steps around the table, finally settling opposite you and looking away with a hardened expression. 

“Sunghoon!” Barbara’s shrill voice pierces through the air, pulling you out of your trance. “I’m so glad you could join us! I was starting to think you wouldn’t come.”

He shrugs, a nonchalant motion, as though he’s used to being in control. But you can feel it, too — that hesitation.

Not exactly the response she seemed to be hoping for to her enthusiastic greeting but she adapts to the situation fairly quickly, gesturing to you as she quickly introduces you two, not that you needed it. 

“You two actually have similar backgrounds! Both ice skaters! Well at least one used to be.” She awkwardly glances at you before plastering on a smile again. “Doesn’t that open up an interesting conversation?”

Sunghoon's lips curve up in a shallow smile. “It does, you’re right.” A pause. “Funny you mention ice skating because that’s exactly what I wanted to talk about today.” 

Barbara perks up, glad that at least one of you were taking interest in the session. “Go on!” She smiles encouragingly. 

Sunghoon leans back slightly, running a hand through his hair. He clears his throat, his voice steady but edged with something. “Well recently, I've been under a lot of pressure. My schedules are crazy, my coach is a control freak and I barely have time to do anything else I enjoy anymore. So naturally, the panic attacks are getting worse.” His words are flat but if you listen closely, you can hear the slight break in it. 

“I’m sorry to hear that, so are there any ways you’re dealing with that?”

“I’m pushing through, I have no choice. Because I'd never quit without getting what I want. Quitters,” his voice becomes low as he pauses, “they’re fucking losers, arent they?” 

He’s talking about you. Fuck he’s talking about you. 

Barbara fumbles with her papers, oblivious to the tension. “That’s an interesting point, Sunghoon. But don’t you think that's a bit of a toxic mindset to have?” She looks at him expectantly. He knows that though, he doesn’t need to be told. The only reason he even said that was to get your reaction, wasn’t it?

Sunghoon doesn’t answer immediately, because he’s looking at you. You can feel his eyes burning into you but you look down at the table, refusing to meet his gaze. The familiar feeling of haziness creeps into your mind and you can feel it turning to mush again. 

The realisation is hitting you like a truck. The boy you loved your entire childhood — the one you adored the most, your best friend — hates you now. Can you even blame him? It’s true, you left without a word, leaving him all alone. And even though you’ve thought about him day and night for the past four years, that didn’t erase the damage he must have had to face — losing his best friend without warning, having to start his skating career all over again as a soloist. 

You are the villain in his story. 

The session lasted long. Too long. Longer than you remember them usually being. Your head is throbbing and your fingers are beginning to shake. You desperately need your pills. 

“And I guess that means we’re done for the day! Good job everyone.” 

You aggressively push your chair back, rushing to leave the room before the walls close in on you. Not before Barbara’s voice calls your name. Muttering a silent string of curses, you turn to face her with a small smile, trying to keep your cool as the others walk past you, Sunghoon not even sparing you a glance. 

“Yes?” 

She clears her throat. “I noticed that you weren’t too interested in today’s session. Something on your mind?” 

Yes. A million things were on your mind. None of which you wanted to share with her. So instead you settle for a quick shake of your head, accompanied with a sweet smile, growing more and more forced the longer you hold it. She purses her lips, clearly not buying the act but sighs and lets you go anyway. You shove open the door, which leads into a parking lot. 

You had never really liked the basement of the hospital. It was rather creepy, having all the signs of a cheesy horror film set location complete with flickering lights, ominous graffiti and abandoned cars. So you quickly make your way towards the exit, eager to go home. Except, he's standing there, blocking the door with the clearly marked exit sign hanging above it. Of course he’s standing there. He must’ve been waiting for you.

He says your name and the sound makes you lurch. It sounds foreign on his tongue. There’s a distance between the both of you that you most definitely were not going to be the one to close. A long pause and the weight of his gaze hangs heavy on you. 

“I didn’t think I would ever see you again. It’s been four years.” 

“Yeah, neither did I…” You trail off, afraid for what’s to come. 

“Please– just–” He looks away. “Tell me why you did it.”

Your breath hitches. You want to answer him, you don’t want to leave him guessing again but your body betrays you. Not a single sound comes out of your throat when you open your mouth, as if you’ve forgotten how to speak. 

He speaks up again and his tone is more emotional. “Don’t you think I deserve to know? After everything that's happened. After everything I've been through, you still can’t give me an answer. Why did you leave?” His voice is full of hurt. His expression even more so. But you can’t bring yourself to answer him. 

He waits, expectantly. But when he realises you aren’t going to answer, the hurt in his eyes changes into something more like quiet anger. “I thought so, I guess I’ll see you around then.” Without another word, he turns. And it’s almost a sort of twisted irony but this time, you’re the one left alone. 

And you just wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

-

You spend the next few days dreading the upcoming session. But there is no avoiding it. Barbara had already contacted your mom and told her how you’d been distracted the last session so she was firm in maintaining that you needed to be focused for the next one. 

And so your mother drives you early for the next session, while you hope — rather foolishly — that he won’t show.

When you enter, the chairs are arranged in the same imperfect circle as before. You sit near the edge, twisting the sleeves of your sweater in your fists, trying to still the restless tremor in your hands. The door opens and your heart stutters painfully.

He’s there, tall and too familiar, his expression is carefully blank. He doesn’t look at you, not directly, but you feel his presence like a blade pressed against your skin. You glance down, pretending to study the frayed edges of the rug like you don’t care, but it’s pretty much obvious to anyone that you’re freaking out on the inside. 

The session drags. Words float through the room and you say almost nothing, sparing the occasional nod and words of agreement so Barbara would buy your act. You can feel him across the circle, the bitter undercurrent of everything unsaid thickening the air between you.

At one point, you chance a glance at him.

He’s already looking at you.

The look he gives you is not sharp this time. It’s fractured. Like he’s seeing you for the first time and doesn’t know what to do with it. You look away quickly, shame burning hot beneath your skin. You don’t know how you get through the rest of it. When the session finally ends, you gather your things with fumbling hands and head toward the door without looking back.

But his voice stops you. Low. Rough. Were these after-therapy conversations becoming a common occurrence?

“Wait.”

You freeze.

You can just pretend you didn’t hear. You can just keep walking.

But something roots you to the spot.

You turn slowly.

He stands a few feet away, jacket slung over one shoulder, tension radiating off him like heat. His mouth is set in a grim line, his hands curled into fists at his sides. “I…” He trails off, exhales hard, as if the words physically hurt. “I’m sorry.”

You blink at him, startled.

“I’m sorry for—” He gestures helplessly, his voice hoarse. “For the last session. What I said— I shouldn’t have— ” He sighs, struggling to find words. “I’m sure you had your reasons for doing what you did.” You wrap your arms around yourself, not sure how to respond, not sure you can.

“I was angry,” he continues. “I am angry. But not just at you.” He swallows. “At myself, too. For not being there for you. For not— being someone you could tell when you were clearly going through something.”

Your throat closes up painfully. You want to tell him that it isn’t his fault. That you didn’t know how to ask for help, how to explain the way your world had crumbled beneath your skates. But yet again, the words won’t come. Instead, you nod. Small. Tentative. Something in him seems to unclench at that.

“Can I…?” he says, voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Can I show you something?”

You hesitate. Every instinct screams at you to say no — to avoid whatever this is before it pulls you under. But then you see the look on his face — the raw, earnest hope. And against all your better judgment, you find yourself nodding again.“Okay.”

The drive is silent. You sit rigidly in the passenger seat, your fingers twisting the strap of your bag until the leather creaks. He doesn’t try to fill the quiet. He just drives. When he pulls into the parking lot, your stomach drops. The old rink where you used to practice looms ahead, the brick building battered by time and weather, its neon sign flickering stubbornly against the dusk. You can’t move. He cuts the engine but makes no move to get out.

“I thought you should come back,” he says, voice low, not looking at you. “Not to skate. Not unless you want to. Just to see it. To remember that it’s not… poisoned. It’s still here.”

“I don’t know if I can,” you whisper.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he says. “Just come inside.”

You stare at the building, the memories crashing over you so violently you can barely breathe.

Laughter, sharp and bright against the ice.

The sharp crack of a fall.

The warmth of a hand pulling you up again.

The last time you were here, you had been a different person. Lighter. Brighter. A person who believed skating could save her.

But he is waiting. And something deep inside you — something tired of running — stirs.

Slowly, you push open the door and step out into the cold with him in pursuit. He holds the door of the building open for you to step in first. 

The smell hits you immediately — sharp, clean ice, old popcorn, worn leather. Just the way it used to be. You pause just inside the entrance, heart pounding painfully against your ribs. The rink is nearly empty. Only a few kids wobble across the ice under the bored gaze of a parent.

It should feel safe, even silly. Instead, it feels like standing on the edge of a cliff. He stands beside you, close but not touching, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He watches you, patient, unflinching.

You take a breath.

Step forward.

The sound of your boots on the concrete echoes unnaturally loud.

The boards gleam under the fluorescent lights.

The ice stretches out before you — vast, merciless, beautiful.

You walk to the edge of the rink, resting your fingertips lightly against the cool surface of the barrier.

Your reflection stares back at you in the ice — blurred, broken, whole. Without thinking, you press your palm against the glass. Tears sting your eyes, blurring the rink into a shimmer of silver and white.

It hurts. 

You let out a shaky breath as you slowly turn around, towards the stands, unable to look at the rink any longer. You almost crash onto the bench as you try to sit down, the world already feeling heavier. The air tastes like frost and regret, and somewhere, distantly, you realize your hands are shaking — not from the cold, but from something deeper, something unthawed and fragile. You can’t look at him. Not yet. Not when the flickering blue aura around him threatens to pull you into reality. All of this was really happening. 

“I didn’t quit because I wanted to,” you whisper, the words jagged and raw, the kind of words that bleed as you speak them. “I left because he left.”

An eyebrow quirks up, he's puzzled. But he says nothing and you feel him drawing closer, in a magnetic pull that you cannot fight. Your palms find the cold steel of the bench as you desperately try to ground yourself. 

“My father…” You exhale sharply, a half-laugh, half-sob. “You know how much he meant to me. You know how much he killed me inside with every cruel thing he said.” The confession tastes like rust on your tongue. You have never said it aloud before. “Every fall, every misstep, every time I missed a jump by half a second, he made me feel like I was less. Like I was wasting his time. Like I was wasting his name.”

And there you sit, pouring your heart out. You are broken. Shards of your feelings and thoughts lay on the ground, shattered. And even still, you still refuse to look at him. You can’t bear to see pity in his eyes, especially not after everything you’ve done to him. “He left Sunghoon,” you continue, softer now, “he left the day we got third place in regionals and that day, he told me I was useless. That without him, I'd be nothing. No coach would want me. No partner could trust me. And I... I believed him.” Your throat closes, but you force the next words through it anyway. “I still do, sometimes.”

The silence is heavy. Thick. Dense. Then you hear it – the scrape of his shoes on the ground, the low rustle of his jacket as he sits beside you. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t try to fix it, doesn’t tell you you're wrong. Instead, he does the only thing you didn’t realize you needed — he stays. He stays the way you didn’t. And a part of you feels like you don’t deserve it but the warm feeling in your stomach erupts anyway. 

You dare a glance at him. His eyes, when they meet yours, are not full of pity. Instead, they’re full of something else, a kind of grief, maybe, a kind of furious tenderness. And in that moment, the air between you stops tasting like regret. It tastes like rain on parched earth, like the beginning of something new.

For the first time in four years, you do not feel alone. 

His hand finds yours. He threads his fingers through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like your hands were always meant to fit together, even after years of silence and bruised memories. His palm is warm, grounding. Steady. You forget how to breathe for a moment. 

“God I didn’t know. I’m— so sorry. You never had to be perfect though,” he says, voice rough-edged and low, like it’s scraping its way out of somewhere deep. “Not for him. Not for anyone. Not even for me.”

You don’t mean to, but you flinch, just slightly, as if the softness hurts more than the cruelty ever did.

He notices. Of course he notices. But he doesn’t pull away.

“You were enough before you ever landed a jump,” he says. “You were enough the first time you stepped on the ice and fell on your ass and laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe.”

You close your eyes. You can almost remember it — the taste of laughter, the swirl of light spilling gold and blue across the rink, the boy with the crooked smile skating circles around you until you shoved him in mock fury and he fell too. You hadn’t been afraid then. You hadn’t known yet how cold the world could get.

“I miss her,” he says quietly. “I miss you.”

You close your eyes for a moment and when you open them, he’s watching you — not pushing, not demanding — just there. The pain is still raw and real though and you’re still not ready to face it

“I dont– I can’t– ,” you say, voice raw.

Confusion flickers on his features. “You can’t what?” 

“Sunghoon–” your voice breaks, “I– can you take me home?” He seems disappointed but he doesn’t fight it. A nod. 

The drive home is as silent as the previous one and the same tension brews in the air of unspoken words. The car pulls up into your driveway as you realise with a jolt that you hadn’t given him any directions — he still remembers the way. 

He gets out of the car and you follow. Your hands fumble with the keys as you rush to open the front door, trying to escape the unbearable silence. A click. You step inside, turning around to look at him. 

“Uh– I guess… I’ll see you soon?” You let out timidly. 

He doesn’t say anything, just nods. You blink, startled. Shades of blue, tendril-like, start to coil out from within him, desperately reaching for you, trying to break through the bubble you had surrounded yourself with. They were no longer flickering, no longer touching the boundaries between fantasy and reality. They were there. Clear as day. The first time it had happened, since all those years ago. You’re too scared to face it.

You shut the door.

-

It hadn’t left your mind. The rink. The ice. All the memories that came flooding back to you when you walked in. The colors that exploded out of him. You needed to go back. It’s late — but if your memory serves you right, they didn’t close the rink until 12AM. 

You hesitantly open your cupboard and rummage until you reach the very back. There they were, just as you left them — your skates — and hanging just above them, a sheer blue dress, covered in diamonds. This is crazy. But you can’t stop yourself as you reach out for the skates. The second you make contact with them, the feeling of the plush leather touching your skin ignites a spark and you know you’ve made up your mind. 

The walk to the rink almost feels like a walk of shame. The tight dress pressing against your skin with your skates dangling from your hands as you take quick strides on the sidewalk. The walk, under other circumstances would have been an easy way for second thoughts to weigh you down and make you question your decisions. But tonight, the moon shone a little too brightly and nothing could make you stop as you pushed open the doors of the brick building you had seen only the other day.

Thankfully it’s empty. The sweeping ice invites you with open arms. You can hear the wind caress its cold expanse, creating soft whispers that send shivers down your spine. If you listen hard enough, you can hear it talking to you. The ice beckons you. And you accept. 

You look tragically beautiful in this light. 

The warm blue fog envelopes your frame, diamonds on your dress shimmering. You’re still for a moment, hands crossed above your head in a starting position as the music begins to play. The soft piano notes of Cinnamon Girl echo through the rink and you gracefully start to slide across the ice. A twirl. A lutz. An axel. Even after all this time, you were perfect. 

But if you hold me without hurting me, you’ll be the first who ever did 

You falter as you realise he's standing there, leaning against the railing. Your eyes meet his and his expression is full of pain. And in that moment, it’s as if you could point out all the fucked up shit he had ever done. You look away but his gaze is still on you as you continue your routine. A painstakingly melancholic three more minutes of watching as you dance across the ice. 

Sunghoon’s breath hitches as you throw your body back for the finale, gliding low against the ice in raw elegance. The atmosphere pulses with tension and he could feel his heart in his throat as the cadence of the music starts to slow, accompanying your softening movements. The blades of your skates dig into the ice, eliciting a sharp clink as you come to a halt. 

“What are you doing here Sunghoon?” Your throat feels raw and your voice barely comes out above a whisper. 

There’s a pause.

“Came to watch you dance. I’ve been coming here every single night since I showed you this place.”

“How did you–”

“I knew.” His voice is low now. “I knew you’d come.”

“You were perfect. Even after all this time. You always were. You still are.” 

“Hoon—” The nickname naturally slips out and you notice the way his jaw tightens at the mention. 

And maybe it's reckless. Maybe it’s foolish or maybe it’s the way he’s staring at you as if you put the stars in the sky. But you’re looking at his face and you can’t stand it. You can’t stand the way he’s the most beautiful human being you’ve ever met. Your hands meet his cheeks as you cup them in your palm. You wait for him to pull back as you test the waters but he doesn’t. So you pull him in instead. And when your lips meet, it’s as if nothing else around you exists. 

A moment of ecstasy passes and you pull back to look at him. He speaks up first. “God you have no idea how long I've waited for you. How long I’ve wanted you.” 

He glances at your lips and you notice immediately, pulling him in for another kiss. It’s gentle. 

“Sunghoon. I want you.” You breathe into the kiss. 

“You want me?” His voice is imperceptibly soft, almost as if he’s coaxing you.

A nod from you is all it takes as he leads you onto the bench nearby. You lay down, setting your head back, resting it against the cold metal — a sensation that sends quivers against your skin. He unties your laces, tugging off your skates gently and throwing them to the side. The situation becomes real in this moment. 

“Shit Hoon— shouldn’t we go home? Anyone can walk in.” 

He’s pressing kisses against your ankle now. “Weren’t you the one who started this by whining about how badly you want me?” Your face burns. He laughs. “Don’t worry about it. No one will, baby.” His voice is glazed with honey and your brain is already shutting off as you nod mindlessly at everything he says.  

His gentle hands roam across your body as he peppers light kisses onto your hips. 

“So pretty baby. All for me.”

You groan softly, prompting him to toy with the zipper of your dress, teasingly pulling it down. You slip off your dress and you’re left in nothing but a pair of panties in front of him while he’s still fully dressed. He murmurs something unintelligible at the sight of you, brushing his thumb over your nipples, making them immediately harden. 

He spreads your legs apart, revealing a wet spot on your panties which he lightly runs a finger over. You gasp immediately and his eyes dart to yours, a small smirk forming on the corner of his mouth. “So sensitive already, hm?” His fingers are now rubbing more harshly and you can feel your body heat up. He slips his hand into your panties and pulls them off with ease, leaving you bare. “My beautiful girl, so pretty.” He praises and you whimper. 

“Please Hoonie—” 

“Shh, I’m gonna make you feel good, okay?” You nod pathetically, watching as he brings his head down. He starts slow, tongue licking gently at your folds. Your hands fly to his hair immediately, tangling your fingers between his waves. He moves faster, tongue slipping inside your pussy. You cry out as his nose presses into your clit, breathing becoming faster. 

You’re chanting his name like a prayer, already close to your high. It only takes a harsh suck on your clit for you to come completely undone, your hips bucking upwards as you squirt all over his face, screaming his name. 

“Holy fuck angel, that was so hot.” He grins at you. 

You whimper in response. “N- need you more.” 

He chuckles. “Patience baby. You’re so worked up for me aren’t you?”

Sunghoon flips you around with ease and presses your tits down against the cold metal of the bench, sending shockwaves through your body that makes you jerk desperately as the freezing material makes contact with your nipples. 

“Yeah, you like that?” He presses them down harder and you almost shriek, ass up in the air now. You’re getting a faceful of the bench and the sensation is unbearably cold but it just feels so good and your pussy clenches around nothing. You feel his finger move to your clit and he presses down harshly making you gasp. You look over your shoulder as he undoes his zipper with his free hand. The outline of his erection is visible through the fabric of his boxers which he tugs down by the waistband, and his cock springs up, painfully hard. He presses the tip of his cock against your wet folds, teasing. 

“S– stop being a tease.” You gasp. 

“As you say, angel.” He pushes his cock in without warning and the stretch is excruciating. Your vision is already blurring, eyes rimming with tears. His thrusts start slow but even that is too much. 

“Hoon— S’ too much please.” 

“You can handle it can’t you? My perfect girl, I’m sure you can.” 

It burns but you’re desperate to please him. “Yes! I— I can!” A strangled moan escapes you. None of you were even bothering to be quiet.  

He lays his face against the curve of your back and you can feel his breath fanning against your skin as he thrusts in and out. “Mine, mine, mine.” He groans loudly and you clench around him desperately, fingers gripping the bench harder. He’s all the way in deep now and you can feel his balls slapping against your ass. 

“Everything about you— fuck! Want to— Want to ruin you.” He rambles on, hands closing in from behind on your neck. He squeezes lightly, experimentally. And your body reacts immediately as you jerk your head up. He squeezes harder, constricting your throat and strings of moans leave your mouth. 

“Thats it— let me hear you.” 

The lewd noises from your mouth become louder and you’re drooling all over your tits now. The tears start to slip down your face from the sheer amount of pleasure and your hips buck backwards repeatedly, fucking him harder into you. “God— angel that’s perfect. You’re taking me so well. Gripping me so tight—” 

“I can’t!” You cry out, feeling that familiar knot in your stomach build up. “Hoon– I’m gonna–” 

“Come for me.” 

That’s all it takes for your second orgasm to wash over you. You scream into the bench, eyes rolling to the back of your head as waves of euphoria crash over you. Nothing comes out. It’s dry. But you’re completely fucked out nonetheless. He’s still thrusting into you, chasing his high as well which comes soon after. His hot seed fills you deep, dripping down your thighs and onto the floor. 

You almost collapse face first from exhaustion. He catches your body just in time. His fingers shove into your cunt, pushing his own cum deeper into your aching hole, eliciting a strangled raw sound from your throat. You’re panting now and he pulls you up. 

“You did so good for me— you’re perfect. My gorgeous angel—”

Your face burns from the praise and he pulls you in for a kiss, which you immediately reciprocate even though you’re confused — confused about your feelings for him. Confused about everything. Burning with something — something you can’t quite place — from this moment. But you don’t want to ruin it.

-

The second you reach your bed, you collapse into the mattress. The silence is deafening. You try to cry quietly at first, teeth clenched, chest heaving against your pillow, but it builds too fast, too violently. Within seconds, you’re sobbing — raw and loud and gasping for air.

It isn’t about him and what just happened. It’s about everything. It’s just — too much. You aren’t used to this. All these emotions are hitting you like a wave, crashing over you again and again, mercilessly. It’s more than you had ever felt all at once — the weight of the past four years pushing you down. Everything is happening so fast and you’ve never been more confused. The return to the ice. All your feelings for Sunghoon. The dull thrill of the experience you just shared. It claws at you, overwhelming you with so many decisions to make. 

Your thoughts are spiraling, too fast for your body to keep up. You sit up and wipe your face with the back of your hand, but your fingers are shaking. You don’t plan it. Not really. 

But your fingers reach for the little orange box of antidepressants to run away from it all. Because after all, old habits don’t die so fast. 

One pill.

Two pills. 

Three pills.

Four pills. 

Five pills. 

You’re on a roll now. You can’t stop.

You swallow each one dry, throat burning. It scratches going down, bitter and chalky, like punishment.

First, nothing. But then your skin starts to get feverish. A layer of warmth erupts right beneath the surface and it feels as if your insides are clawing at your skin, desperately trying to escape. You blink. The colours around you start to blur together. The lights streak. You’re suddenly out of breath and you grip the bedframe for support, swallowing harder, trying to make up for the lost oxygen. 

You stand and the world tilts on its axis. You’re trying — trying and failing — to ground yourself. Tremors run down your spine and through your arms. Your heart is thumping out of your chest and the tears are falling, thick and fast now as you clutch your chest, trying desperately, to remind yourself that your heart is still beating. It’s still beating. As long as it’s still beating you’re okay. An ache blooms in your chest — dull at first — but growing steadily like someone’s pressing a hand into your sternum, harder, harder.

Strings of rapid breaths are leaving your mouth. You try to count. Try to breathe like the therapist taught you. Four in, seven out. But the numbers are smudged in your mind and your lungs won’t cooperate. 

You’re afraid.

You call for him first.

“Sunghoon—” you croak out, but your voice is so weak, so pathetic, it barely breaks the air. He’s not here. He wouldn’t hear you even if he was.

Your mother. “Mom—” You gasp out. Just one syllable, broken and desperate, torn from your throat like a last resort.

But she doesn’t come.

Your eyes are fluttering shut now, limbs heavy. The ache in your chest is excruciatingly painful. You lie down, or maybe you fall. You’re not sure anymore.

A jolt of terror racks through you as you feel your body slowing down. I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die. Please— 

Numbness creeps in, fingers first, then your mouth. You can’t feel your lips. You try to open them, to call out again — but you can’t. The room, and your mind, are engulfed in darkness.

Darkness so deep and black that it consumes your entire being.

-

The rhythmic beeping of monitors is what stirs you from your state of unconsciousness. It plays repeatedly near your ear, annoying you enough for you to finally open your eyes. Bad decision— the harsh fluorescent lights above are too bright, too white, it burns. You blink, trying to take in your surroundings. 

You turn your head just slightly. There’s a tray near you, filled to the brim with syringes, IV bottles, gloves, masks and medication. The air smells sterile — like rubbing alcohol, latex gloves, and something sharp you can’t name. A white curtain surrounds the metal bed you’re laying on, half-pulled for privacy. Clear tubes snake from the tray to your arm and a cannula is taped tightly to the back of your hand. You notice your own fingers — red and trembling — and the faint stickiness of a pulse oximeter clipped onto your index finger. A high pitched voice pulls you out of your trance. 

“You’re awake! Oh thank God. I’ll let the family know.” 

A nurse,  maybe in her thirties, tired eyes behind bright lipstick — gives you a quick once-over before disappearing behind the curtain. Her perfume trails after her, cloying and floral. You stare blankly at the place where she was, unsure how to react. Your heart thuds dully beneath your ribs. You feel floaty. Disconnected.

Then you hear it — the rushed footsteps, uneven and panicked. Your mother’s voice, quivering, enters the room before she does.

“She’s awake? Please— where is she—?”

The curtain is drawn back too fast. And there she is.

Hair thrown into a messy bun, cardigan slipping from her shoulders, face bare and worn and flushed. Her eyes are red — not from makeup, but from crying. She stops at the foot of the bed like she doesn’t know whether she’s allowed to come closer. You can’t look at her. But she looks at you like she’s seeing a miracle. And a heartbreak. All at once.

“Oh, sweetheart…” she whispers, taking a trembling step forward. Her hands reach for you, then retreat, unsure. “You’re… okay. You’re really okay.”

You don’t say anything. The words dissolve on your tongue. What are you even supposed to say? “I’m so sorry,” she says, suddenly choking on a sob. “I didn’t know— I didn’t know it was this bad. You didn’t tell me it was this bad.”

You flinch. Not at her volume, but at the truth. Because it was that bad. And you didn’t tell her. And now you’re here — a bed, machines, IV lines, and guilt. Especially knowing, you couldn’t really afford any of this right now. Her hand finds yours, squeezing it. Your fingers are limp in hers.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” she says, her voice cracking. “They didn’t know if you’d… if you’d wake up. You stopped breathing for almost a minute. The ambulance barely made it in time.”

You close your eyes. Tears begin to slide down your temples and into your hair. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “I just… I didn’t know what else to do.”

She shakes her head, trying to wipe your tears and her own at the same time. “You don’t have to do anything alone. Not ever. I’m your mother.”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” you say, and the shame in your chest is unbearable now. “I already have. I already do.”

“Never,” she says fiercely, leaning closer. “Never say that. I don’t care about any of it. The money or the skating. I care about you. I need you. You’re my daughter. I love you. Don’t you understand?”

You don’t. Or maybe you do, but it doesn’t erase the guilt. The way her hand is shaking in yours. The way her voice is thinner now. You can’t stop imagining the phone call she must have gotten. The ride over. The waiting. The not knowing.

You should’ve said something. Months ago. Years ago. But you didn’t. You swallowed it down, like you always do. And this is where that gets you. Her lips press to your forehead. “I’ll give you a few minutes,” she says, stroking your hair back gently. “Someone else has been… waiting to see you.”

Your stomach flips. You know exactly who she means. 

She gives your hand one last squeeze before stepping away, walking toward the curtain. Then there’s the quiet rustle of movement behind the thin white sheet, and a shadow cast through it. Tall. Still. Hesitant. And then the curtain peels back again.

It’s him.

Sunghoon.

You glance at him from the hospital bed, and for a long moment, neither of you says anything.

Sunghoon sits down beside you gently, carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he moves too fast. His hands tremble slightly as he folds them in his lap.

“You’re really here,” he says finally, voice quiet. “I thought—”

You nod, your throat tight. “I know.”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. You’re both thinking it. He thought you were going to die.

“You scared the hell out of me.” His voice breaks a little. “I walked out that night and I was still thinking about you. And then I got the call and—” He shakes his head. “It felt like the world stopped.” You don’t know what to say. Instead you study his face, the way his brows are furrowed, the slight shine in his eyes, the flush of his cheeks. He speaks up again. “Can I ask you something?” 

You nod. His grip tightens slightly. He’s bracing himself.

“Was it because of… that night?”

Oh.

“No,” you say quickly. Then again, firmer. “No. It wasn’t.”

His eyes lift to yours. Searching.

You squeeze his hand. “It wasn’t your fault. It had nothing to do with you. I promise.”

He breathes out, like he’s been holding it in for days. Maybe he has.

“I just… I’ve been going over it in my head a thousand times. You left so fast, and I—I didn’t know if I pushed too far or if I scared you—”

“You didn’t.” You shake your head. “That night was real. All of it.”

His gaze falls. Shoulders drop. He looks so tired.

Your hands find his and you trace the edge of his fingers with your thumb, grounding him like he’s done for you so many times.

“Sunghoon, I love you.”

His eyes grow a little wide but he swallows. “I— I love you too.”

There's silence. You’re wondering if you should say what’s clawing at you right now. If this is the right moment. 

“Hoon— I need to get better,” you say after a beat. “Not just survive. Not just go about my life or pretend like I’m okay because people need me to be. I need to actually get better.”

“I want that for you.”

You smile, sad and soft. “I don’t know if I can be with anyone right now. I don’t want to hurt you. Or myself.”

He swallows hard. “I figured you might say that.”

“And I do love you,” you add quickly. “I really do. You’ve been the only person who’s really seen me since… since everything. And that means more than you know.”

He nods. “I know.”

There’s a long pause. The beeping monitors around you continue their soft, rhythmic song. Somewhere in the hallway, a nurse laughs faintly.

“Would it be okay if we… just stay like this?” you ask. “For a little while?”

His hand closes around yours and soft blue smoke curls out from where your fingers meet. And it says everything. 

It’s enough for you.

taglist; @kiikiisblog @jemstone01 @kristynaaah @s1rawb3rry @kookiemonster2001 @chuuyaobsessed @m1kkso @vixialuvs @dearestdreamies @soona-huh @goldendwann @bussolares @immelissaaa

[kyri45]

A final letter

Hello Everyone!

The queue is paused and everything is scheduled, which means we are ready for the finale!

I know that, in the end, this was just a silly side project for me, with everything else going on in my life. But for this occasion, I wanted to drop some words here and hope they make sense.

I started watching LMK only because a friend told me there was a "Sonadow-coded" ship. I ended up consuming the entire thing in one sitting on July 10th, 2024. At the time, I was still recovering from a bike accident that had left me with a broken right forearm—unable to draw for a little over a month. (I did try drawing with my left finger, but it wasn't exactly fun.)

Not only that, but it was summer, and I couldn’t enjoy the season or practice my main sport, windsurfing. To say I was feeling the blues is an understatement. I remember being in physical pain just from not being able to draw my sillies. But then, watching LMK did something to my brain chemistry that my little undiagnosed autistic self had never experienced before. It hit so hard that I’ve been physically unable to rewatch the show SINCE that very first day. (And y’all still call me the CEO of this fandom. Bro, I just work here.)

A lot of you have asked what inspired me to start this comic or to draw LMK fan art in the first place. While my usual answer is, "I saw Shadowpeach and thought MK could be their lovechild, given his appearance," the moment that actually started it all was THIS ONE—

(I HAD TO REWATCH THIS SCENE TO MAKE THE GIF AND IT HURT ME ON A MOLECOLAR LEVEL)

I have… a thing for characters who discover their entire identity was something else all along. It consumes my thoughts, my dreams, my every waking moment. I live for identity crises, for characters who thought they knew who they were, only to be forced to rediscover themselves, their existence, and their place in the world. If you give me a story where a character has to go through that, I will like it—regardless of how bad the rest of the story is.

Pair that with loads of trauma, daddy issues, the pressure of a legacy, and world-ending stakes, and congrats! Now I’m obsessed, and I will not stop thinking about it for the rest of my days!

At first, my brain just wanted to release some of that energy with a small, four-panel post about the monkeys discovering that MK was technically their kid.

That was supposed to be it.

But since I never seem to learn my lesson, it didn’t stay like that. Because once I started drawing, I just... continued.

And

I

never

stopped.

A lot of you have also asked how I found the motivation to draw so much, to never take a break. Well, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it one last time: I am my number one fan. No matter how much you laughed, cried, screamed, or went feral over this story, I did all of that and more. Because I got to think about the chapters months before they released. I got to daydream about them. I got to watch them come to life—first through sketches, then line art, then dialogue. And finally, I got to witness your reactions and see the incredible creations you made, inspired by my story.

So yeah, in a way, it was almost an addiction. A good addiction. Because, for the first time in my life, I actually understood what loving art means.

I’ve been drawing for ten years, working professionally for five, but I never loved art before. I just liked it because I happened to be good at it. But creating this comic made me understand why artists say, "Oh, I’ve loved drawing since I was a child!" This was the first time I allowed myself to create purely for my own enjoyment. Something I hadn’t had the privilege to do for a long time.

Other than making me feel even more single than I already was, this story somehow also helped me a little with my own family relationships. So yeah. Crazy how the gay monkeys changed my life.

Of course, I never could have predicted how much traction my AU would gain. Man, y’all were really starving to latch onto something this silly. /j

But yeah—thank you. Thank you for sticking around until the end, for having the patience and trust to follow the story even when I made you rage with angst and cliffhangers. (The statement in my bio still stands: I am not responsible for any physical or emotional damage my art has caused.)

I’m absolutely shit at thanking people, or at writing, or at talking in general, honestly. I’m the furthest thing from being good with words, so I hope the final chapter will be enough to show you my gratitude.

Through this story, I met so many wonderful, talented people. I watched as fans across different platforms found each other through memes and fanart of the AU. I saw artists start their own AUs inspired by mine, growing their own communities. I witnessed an explosion of creativity and collaboration through our takeovers. And I laughed along with you all.

And yeah—at its core, this story has always been about love. Whether it’s platonic, sibling, parental, romantic, or whatever the hell Mac and Wukong had going on for millennia.

At its heart, it’s a story about family.

And maybe, in the end… the real family wasn’t just the one in the comic, but the one we’ve found together along the way. 💛

See you all at the finale.

Love you all, freaks /affectionate

Jade

[garden0fyves]

joel miller hcs ♡ pre-outbreak

sfw

boyfriend!joel who feels his pretty young girlfriend is too good for him. he sees the way your eyes light up at the most miscellaneous of things and simply adores the way you’re the sunshine to his rainy day. he feels that you should have a chance to get settled and be happy, not be with your neighbor that just-so-happens to be an old man in need of a break. his feelings don’t matter, though, because everytime you come back from work you’re immediately at his house, smiling sweetly at him and pressing the softest of kisses to his lips.

boyfriend!joel who can’t take his eyes off of you while you take care of his sarah. the way you cook breakfast for her in his shirt and some shorts and dance around with his little girl while listening to “hey ya!” by outkast. sarah dances while mixing the pancake mix you’d ask her to, and you take care of the eggs and bacon. joel’s heart hasn’t felt this full since sarah was born. it’s on this day that joel realizes he wants to marry you. give you the kids you wistfully speak about while watching sarah fall asleep between the two of you. he wants to give you the family you deserve.

boyfriend!joel who glares at sarah’s soccer coach that keeps ogling you everytime you come to watch his little girl play. he doesn’t care what you wear, the short shorts and replica of sarah’s jersey are the least of his concern. it’s the eyes of the coach, amongst other fathers attending the game, that pisses him off. he knows not to make a scene because sarah would kill him, probably wouldn’t speak to him for days, but he can’t help the way his fist clenches and his teeth grind together. his anger clears when your sweet giggle floats through his ears, and your free hand that you’d been holding a sprite in tangles with his own. “you can’t possibly be jealous, baby.” you’d purred, grinning up at your boyfriend. “i’m goin’ home with you and my little girl after this. don’t worry about who’s lookin’ joel, they can look all they want.”

boyfriend!joel who takes pride in his girlfriend having a better job than him. you’re 28, fresh out of medical school with a doctorate in orthopedics. you work at the hospital down the street from sarah’s school and joel swears he has never been this attracted to scrubs before. he remembers the time you had to bring him lunch because he’d left it, and he can only presume you were on break or didn’t have any patients because you’d arrived in your scrubs with a happy smile on your face. “joel ‘s that your girl?” “mmmhm, that’s my doctor.”

boyfriend!joel who cannot for the life of him keep his hands to himself. it doesn’t matter what you’re doing, joel is going to have this hands on you! when you’re going grocery shopping his hand is settled on you waist, walking in step with you as you browse the aisles. sarah usually trots ahead of you two while talking about soccer or her school day if you’ve gone afterwards. when you’re at home, even if you’re just watching a movie or cooking, he’s kissing the side of your head and asking you the most miscellaneous of questions. you’ve discovered his love language is physical touch. (as if you could miss it)

nsfw

boyfriend!joel who eats you out like he’s never eaten before. he’s dragging his tongue through your folds while his fingers busy themselves with rubbing your puffy clit. he’s made you cum once already by ordering you to use him, to move your hips as you needed to cum on his face. now he’s ignoring your cries for him to slow down, your soft cry of “‘s too much” only fuels him further, makes him eat your pussy like a madman. joel knows what makes you tick, he knows what spots to hit to make that pretty cunt clench and he does it for you every. single. time.

boyfriend!joel who can’t help but to fuck you dumb. he’s never trying to overwhelm you, to make you go stupid on his cock. no that’s never his intention. but he can’t deny how pretty you look with your eyes glossed over, fingers digging into his back, and your lips parted in nothing but ecstasy. he enjoys the way his smart girl loses all her senses with a little dick. he enjoys knowing his smart girl is just a slut with a degree, and it makes him harder the more he thinks about it. 

boyfriend!joel who couldn’t control himself after you mentioned wanting kids. you’re talking with your friends that’d come over for a bit, and the statement comes out soft and sweet. “i want kids, i just don’t know if joel wants to start over.” you’d hummed, smiling softly at your friend’s 6 month old daughter. the evening passed quickly after that, and with sarah gone with her friends, joel has the entire night to make sure you have that baby you want so badly. it isn’t long before you find yourself in full nelson, pussy gushing and tears falling from your eyes. “joel- oh-” you gasp out as your eyes roll and your pussy tightens around your boyfriend’s dick. joel groans from above you, pulling his hips all the way out to snap them back against you. “aht, baby, you gotta take it all. you wanted a baby, i jus’ gotta give it to you. take it pretty mama, take this dick.”

boyfriend!joel who talks you through every orgasm. either the sweetest of phrases leavehis lips or the nastiest. joel likes to watch you fall apart with a satisfied grin on his face. “that’s it, my good girl. mmhm, let go f’me sweet girl. that’s it- jus’ like that baby.” and he’s leaning over to kiss you softly while your body shakes from your orgasm, your eyes are closed to prevent them from rolling and he finds it cute because he can still tell. he knows how good he makes you feel. it’s his pride and joy.

boyfriend!joel who knows how to use his accent. he knows you aren’t originally from texas and that southern accent simply do something to you. you believe it to be the huskiness of his voice mixed with the deep rumble of the sheer power of his voice, it all melts over you like a blanket. joel likes to whisper in your ear, deep and low. “thas’ my pretty slut, hm? takin’ this dick like she’s a professional.” and you’re moaning, clenching the sheets as he presses down on the middle of your back. his voice only becomes clearer with each stroke, and he’s practically splitting you down the middle while whispering in your ear. “come now, darlin’. there’s no way you’re cumming offa listening to me.” he laughs this low and raspy laugh that is so sexy to you. you can only whine in response, glancing over your shoulder with a little pout decorating your puffy lips. “can’t help it, baby.” you whimper out, not a thought going through your mind save for joel joel joel.  

[yujisdreamgirl]

boyfriend!yuji itadori who loves you loudly. yup, none of that nonchalant shit. i’m talking gifts, bragging about you to his friends, having you as his wallpaper on all his devices—homescreen and lockscreen, photo in wallet… the list goes on.

yuji itadori who is super strong he could pick you up so easily! you know that one trend with sabrina carpenter’s song ‘slim pickins’? yuuuuuup.

yuji itadori who looooooooves staying in with you and cuddling all day. no missions, no errands, no nothing! this is the dream life.

yuji itadori who actually cannot spend even 0.0001 second away from you. how could he when his girlfriend is so amazing, kind, beautiful and loving?!

yuji itadori who tries to cook for you, but unfortunately he’s just not that good at it… his determination for other things make up for it though!

yuji itadori who loves organising dates with you :3 it’s his favourite activity! after, of course, actually going on those dates. the most recent one you guys did was a lego date, something both of you have been wanting to do waaaay before you guys even met!

yuji itadori who is always there to comfort you. no matter how small—from everyday life problems to aftermath arguments between you two. even though you guys argue, the night always ends with you in his arms. he is not letting you sleep without him by your side.

yuji itadori who is the dad to your plant children! he will literally water them and is the type to praise them as if they were humans.

“how’s my favourite shrubs today?^_^”

“look at you!! did momma trim you recently? you are adorable.”

“rosetta, you are glowing! it’s obvious who you take after!”

yuji itadori who admires everything you do. you could literally be vacuuming and he’s entranced.

yuji itadori who listens to everything you say, paying attention to every single detail.

“and then- are you even listening?” you pout.

“mhm. she made a wish while holding the dream house Matt made for her and turned back to her 13-year-old self, right? so what happened next?”

you smile, continuing rambling about the film.

yuji itadori who wants to spend his whole life with you. one time, he saw soooo many cute babies and children at the park; immediately he thought about you. usually, when it’s eepy time and you guys are cuddling, he’d mumble sweet words into your neck as he pecks you: ‘we’ll get married, and… and have as many children as you want! then we’ll raise them, and love them, and grow old together and-’

yuji itadori who just loves you so much, he’s a whole green flag! he tries his best to be the best for you, but little does he know you love him in all ways—flaws included.

finally living up to my name!!🙂‍↕️

͙͘͡★ divider by @cafekitsune 💐

[bunnis-monsters]

Incubus Husband Angst(GOOD END)

Pt1

WK: 1.7k

warning: mentions of a womb tattoo, breeding, make up sex, tail use

A/N: the yandere and no forgiveness ending will only be available to my kofi members! I’ll post a link to each ending when I finish writing them ^^

It was later in the evening, and you were just getting home from work. The day felt like it went on forever, and not just because your boss was being hard on you for missing a few days of work.

No, you couldn't get your mind off of your husband... if you could even call him that still. Your entire heart ached every time you pictured his smiling face in your mind, and it made focusing on your tasks nearly impossible.

Seeing his things littered across your apartment, or smelling his perfume in your car as you drove home was just another reminder of what had happened.

At times you wondered if you had been too harsh... and then you remembered his words. The heartbreak suddenly turned into fury, making your hands clench around the wheel before you settled back into an emptiness that threatened to consume you.

Did you still love him?

That question was something you didn't even want to answer. You knew you did, after everything not only did you love him, you adored him. He had made you feel beautiful after years of hating yourself and others too.

Why did he have to do the very thing that made you dislike yourself all over again?

Jealousy... what an ugly emotion. All your life you had always been jealous. Jealous of other women, of the way they looked themselves in the mirror with a smile instead of contempt, of how they were able to love someone without being looked at with disgust…

He had made you forget what jealousy even was for a while. His eyes were always on you, and you even thought that you were all he wanted.

Then he started flirting with other women, always sending you a knowing look. Even if you knew he was just trying to make you jealous, you still felt hurt and... ugly. Every woman he flirted with was perfectly thin, beautiful, and looked nothing like you.

What if he really was into them?

As you pulled into your driveway, you raised an eyebrow when you noticed your front door was ajar. You could have sworn you closed and locked it… but you had been super forgetful as of late.

Since you sent him away…

“Must’ve forgotten…” you murmured, setting down your bag and walking in. It was dark, which wasn’t unusual. Lucian left all the lights off besides the one in your bedroom when you weren’t home. He didn’t want to make the light bill go up…

Lucian wasn’t there anymore, though. So you didn’t expect your bedroom light to be on when you walked in…

Not only was the light on, but on your bed was the one person you wanted to see the most, and yet dreaded speaking with.

“Lucian? What are you doing here?”

He flinched when you used his full name. For most of your relationship, you called him Luci. “Don’t be angry, love, I just wanted to talk.”

Your heart thumped against your ribcage. He was here, his soft lilac colored hair tied back so you could get a good look at his face.

Lucian was even paler than he usually was, his golden eyes a bit puffy and red. Had he been crying?

“Not much to talk about…” you murmured, hanging up your coat. “You’re single again, so there’s no need to hold yourself back. Go talk to all the women you want.”

Lucian clutched his chest, as if your words had hurt his heart. “(Name)… please, don’t say that. You can’t just end things like this.”

“I already did, Lucian. You just don’t know how to take a hint.”

The incubus stood, his tail swaying in either annoyance or anxiety. “Please, before you kick me out… just allow me to talk. All I ask for is five minutes of your time…”

He reached out and held your hands in his, squeezing gently. A shiver went up your spine when his skin made contact with yours.

“2 minutes, alright?”

You didn’t miss the way he perked up when he noticed your flustered appearance, but he didn’t comment on it.

Lucian took a moment to compose himself before he began. “(Name)… I want to apologize. I hurt you and what I did, talking to that girl and teasing you… it was stupid.”

It took everything in you to keep your eyes on his face. You wanted to turn away and cry just from him mentioning what happened…

“…”

He sighed, his tail drooping. “Being apart from you… it’s been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to experience. I…”

His eyebrows knit together, tears threatening to spill from his watery yellow eyes. “I love you more than anything, I’d never cheat on you, ever. Flirting and trying to get you jealous… It was selfish of me to not even think about how that could hurt you. Not just this time, but every other time, too.”

The two of you were quiet for a moment. Lucian’s tail swayed nervously, his claws clicking together as he waited for your answer.

When you looked over his face, you noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the slight redness to them. It was clear he had been crying, and your husband wasn’t getting much sleep either.

In the past, he had always clung to you desperately when it was time for bed, nuzzling and cuddling into you. The sudden lack of your warmth during bedtime probably left him feeling cold and tired…

A rumble came from his belly, and he clutched his belly with a wince. That meant he hadn’t been with anyone while he was gone!

Your eyes widened at the realization. He had gone without sex, unable to eat or sleep without his wife near.

Your insecurities slowly started to melt away, the jealousy ling forgotten about. “… I forgive you, Luci.”

That broke the dam, and he couldn’t hold back his tears. Lucian sobbed as he spring forward, wrapping his arms around you. Kisses were left along your face and neck as he blubbered.

“Th-thank you… thank you so much, my love. God, I missed you…”

You simply hugged him back, playing with his long black hair. He was starving, and you missed him too, so you smiled when his tail moved up your skirt and pressed against your panties.

He bit down on your neck, growling lightly. Lucian needed to fuck you, he hadn’t eaten in a week at this point.

It didn’t take long for him to lift you into his arms and carry you to bed. Some hot make up sex would do both of you some good.

“I love you more than anything…” he said between kisses, his tail rubbing against your wet panties. “You’re the only one I want to make love to, the only one I feel anything for…”

That was truly an honor. Incubi and succubi were incredibly careful with who they chose to become mates with.

Once mated with someone, they could no longer gain sustenance from other people, and were tied to them for the rest of their partner’s life.

Lucian’s tail slipped past the damp fabric and began rubbing against your clit, his tongue tangling with yours. He was desperate for you, his cock already leaking precum onto your belly.

“Beautiful…” he cooed, squishy your plump hips and soft tummy. “Don’t you ever doubt that, love. I chose you…”

You let out a breathy moan as his mouth latched onto your nipple, suckling eagerly as his tail pushed into your needy cunt. It wriggled around inside of you, making you cry out in pleasure.

“L-Luci!”

He placed his hand over your womb, smiling down at you as a womb tattoo was placed there. It was one of his powers as an incubus.

You had played around with them before, but the effect began immediately.

“This one enhances your pleasure and makes you more fertile…”

Lucian nuzzled his face against your neck, the slight movement causing you to cum around his tail. “That’s my girl, I’m gonna make it all up to you…”

He pulled his tail out, letting you suck on it and clean off your juices while he positioned his cock at your hole. It was clenching around nothing, and he was happy to know you were ready to be fucked.

“Shh, baby…”

He caressed your cheek as tears of pleasure fell from your eyes. “That's it, let me take care of you… it feels good, doesn’t it?”

Lucian moved his hips slowly, fucking into you just enough to relieve some of the pressure building in your belly, but not enough to completely satisfy you just yet.

“Mmm, you look so cute when you’re all needy…”

Usually, he’d tease you for a good bit, but today he wanted to focus entirely on your pleasure.

His hands gripped your plump hips, squeezing lightly. You were so damn soft and warm, it made him want to cum inside you and give you the baby you had been asking for.

You came around his cock several times, and all he needed to do for your walls to tighten up for another orgasm was gently flick your perky buds.

The womb tattoo made you extra sensitive, every touch and caress made you cum, and you were getting overstimulated, fast!

“F-fuck, sweetheart… so tight, you’re squeezing me like crazy.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him in for a kiss as he came inside of you.

The night was full of lots of creampies and lovemaking. By the end of it, his hunger was satiated and you were full of cum.

“You’re really ready for a baby..?” you asked, tracing circles into his naked chest.

“Mhm… I am now.”

All he knew is that he didn’t want to play around and tease you anymore, you were everything to him. If you wanted a baby, so did he.

So the two of you went at it again the next night. You walked in to see Lucian in his favorite set of lacy lingerie, waiting for you on the silk sheets as if presenting himself to you like a gift.

“Let’s try again, love. I missed you while you were at work…”

——————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @anonymouskiwi @flamefoxx @sandramalikstyles-blog @breathingstarlight

[dumbbitchgalore]

Single Dad!Price with Nanny!Reader 🐰🎀 (🌽 Link)

Single Dad!Price is usually all over the place trying to take care of work and his two baby girls so when you volunteered to accompany the girls to their annual school book fair John was beyond ecstatic having one more thing off this plate. 

Morning of the book fair, John’s girls were dressed like fairy princesses with the help of you doing their hair and makeup, laughing along with them and kissing the tops of their heads as the three of you were getting ready together. 

John doesn’t interfere, deciding to watch from the comfort of the doorway as you acted like the mother they never had, a better mother than John’s ex-wife could ever be. His mind becomes buzzed filled with scenarios of you and him, taking care of the kids and being a perfect happy family. 

He pictures you in his worn-out t-shirt in the kitchen making pancakes for the girls with a soft smile on your face. John comes up behind you, pressing himself against you back as she presses soft kisses along the side of your neck as you giggle pulling away from it playful touches reminding him that his girls are watching the both of you. John’ll huff reluctantly pulling away, standing by your side as he helps you with breakfast. 

With an hour or two to spare after the girls have gone to school, John will coax you onto the couch to spend time with him before he goes to work, slowly tracing every part of your body before kissing you senselessly. 

His daydreaming comes to a screeching halt as you bring him back to his senses announcing that you’ll be taking his precious girls to school. John runs a hand through his hair and simply nods, unable to say anything as the shame of fantasising about his nanny begins to kick him in the arse. And it surely doesn’t help when you sweetly call him ‘Mr Price.’ 

What John didn’t expect to ever imagine about was what happened after you came home. Not only did you buy John’s daughter’s princess costumes but you also happened to buy yourself an outfit too, a cute bunny get up with shorts and a tank top. John couldn’t help it, it’s not like he wanted to intrude, the door was already open a jar and he simply peaked inside to see if you were okay. He did it out of concern of your safety and what he was doing right now was also for your betterment. 

Now, he’s no barbaric man but what he is is an absolute manipulative bastard. ‘Accidently’ walking in on you while you check yourself out causing you to shy away and as you try to cover yourself up while John gives you a half-hearted apology shamelessly checking you out.

No doubt there was already underlying tension between the two of you, stolen glances, compliments with sexual innuendo and all he needs to do is to be the bigger man and address the heavy atmosphere between the two of you leading to you shamelessly fucking yourself on his cock as he pummels inside of you from underneath all while repeating the same four words over and over again as John tries to manifest his life with you from that moment.

“My pretty bunny wife.” 

[lunarxcity]

Why him? (Part II to Why me?)

azriel x rhys' sister! reader

angst/eventual comfort (Buckle up bc this part is in Azriel's Pov after reader left him for Autumn. I swear the comfort will come eventually)

Summary: When you walk in on Azriel and Elain the mating bond snaps leading you to flee to Autumn with Eris so you can be free of Azriel. Your absence causes Azriel to come to some drastic realisations, but is it already too late and has your time in Autumn led to you moving on?

Part I if you missed it

-

Azriel has never been more confused in his long fae life. You guys have been perfectly in sync for hundreds of years, had seen each other at your bests and worsts and now it seems like everything is crumbling down and he doesn't even know what's happening. First, it had begun with his almost kiss with Elain, which Rhys had interrupted with probably the meanest thing he had ever said to him. Then, his shadows tell him that you're getting ready to leave for Autumn immediately without telling anyone.

He begins to tell Elain this when his first shadow, the one that had reached out to him in the depths of his father's dungeon, begins crying. He feels his shadow break away from himself and run to stop you from leaving. His shadow lets out a melancholic cry, unlike one he's ever heard from them. He feels the shadow's emotions, the panic and the fear of you leaving. You guys have never left for a mission without at least corresponding to one another.

He tells Elain that he that he thinks something is seriously wrong and he needs to see you right now to make sure everything is okay. He runs to your room and when he gets there, he sees it's already full of the rest of the inner circle minus Rhys. He watches as they go silent in his presence, each one a deer caught in the headlights.

The room immediately became thick with tension and he didn't know why. It couldn't have been because he brought Elain with him? He looks to you and you look almost sickly, trembling and heavy breathing with bleary, dull eyes that look drained of the life he had become accustomed to. Something was seriously wrong.

While Autumn had been one of the more problematic courts as far as diplomacy goes, it had been relatively stable recently. Beron's reign of terror has been suprisingly quiet lately. There shouldn't be any reason to send you there. Besides it wasn't a particularly safe court and Azriel would rather be sending 50 spies to their death than to put you in jeapordy.

The entire time he was in the room he felt that you had been off. For cauldron sake you had snapped at him when he had only been concerned for your safety. You don't do that. Well, not without reason of course, and he wanted to know the reason so he could fix it because that's what you guys do for each other. How was he going to do that when you wouldn't even look him in the eye.

It didn't help that he couldn't get a grip on his frantic shadow that was holding you down. It also didn't help that Eris appeared out of nowhere and whisked you away to Autumn before he could say anything. He was going to go after you when Rhys had shown up and told him to stand down. Rhys, who had said deplorable things to him about the Elain situation. But nevertheless, he choked down the hurt he had regarding his whole argument with his brother.

You had left so suddenly and now everyone in the room had gone quiet, the weight of your absence felt by everyone immediately. He didn't even get to give you your solstice gift.

Speaking of Solstice, everyone would usually stay up late drinking and laughing but the minute you left it felt as if someone took a bucket of ice water to every single person in that room. Rhys announced he was going to bed and everyone else agreed and followed. They said their goodnights in the most polite fashion, the way they would to a courtier not their brother on Solstice. Nesta dragged Elain away before she could retort that she needed to stay with Azriel.

All the warmth had seeped out of the room with your absence and he wondered if this was how it was going to be from now on without you. Although you hadn't been glued to the hip as you guys usually were, due to him spending more time with Elain he knows he would've noticed if there was something wrong. Deep down in his heart, as shrivelled and marred it had become, Azriel knew that something was seriously wrong and he committed himself to finding out what it was.

The spymaster is the perfect person to have been chosen to solve the mystery of your sudden switch up, and Azriel swore he would get down to the bottom of whatever it was. Him and Rhys have been vying in the competition of who knows you best for centuries. He decides to start his investigation by searching your room. Yes, it's technically an invasion of privacy but anything that puts you and your happiness or safety at risk is an emergency in Azriel's book.

He has his shadows scour around and nothing seems to be out of the ordinary minus the missing stuff you had packed. A dozen or so books missing, a quarter of your closet gone, and all the trunks you had in the closet were absent. You had packed a good amount of your stuff, enough to last you a month at the least and years at the most.

He begins to look for more clues, and he notices that you had left the stationary that he had gifted you on your 400th untouched on your desk. It started off with a simple stationary set with a gold-tipped quill and obsidian star-flecked ink, then when he saw your eyes light up he would find excuses to get you more ink and pens over the years. Now your giant desk is sprawling with different inks, wax seals, stamps, pens, quills, you name it it's there. You have never left the Night Court without at the very least the original set in tow. Even during the war, you packed the gold-tipped quill in your small bag.

Azriel's stomach dropped. He knew it probably wasn't malicious, and you had probably just been in a rush and had simply forgotten, but the idea that not even a small part of him was with you left an ugly feeling spreading throughout him.

He continued to look around the room and saw that you had left everything Azriel had ever given you. The training boots he had especially made for you sat worn out on the floor next to the bookshelf, which he now noticed only housed the books that Azriel had given you, which he had noticed was a substantial amount. The travel pack he had made for your measurements, since the Illyrian one's were quite large and heavy, was left on the floor with nothing but the first aid kit that he had requested Madja to make you in case of emergencies in it.

Azriel had spent countless hours in your room, but never realised how much he comprised it, but maybe that was because all traces of you were now gone. You took the jewellery that Mor had given you, books Nesta had lent you, even the blanket that Feyre had given you made from the Coat of the elusive WinterBeast. It doesn't even get cold enough in Autumn for you to use it. You even took the apron that Cassian sewed you the one time Nesta dragged him to a sewing class on date night. For Cauldron's sakes you even took the enchanted ruby ring that Amren gave you, why would you do that when you prefer Saphire. He had noticed that when you had left, you changed out your regular sapphire jewellery in exchange for the purple diamonds and starlight emblems that Rhysand had given you.

Yes they were Night Court family colours, but it was the first time he had seen you without any blue for a while. He didn't like it. You were a sentimental person and had brought pieces of everyone in the family with you, except for him and Elain. Maybe this was your way of protesting their sneaking around, especially with talks of a Blood Duel coming into play, but you have never outright avoided him before.

He continued to pace around the room, trying to come up with solutions and possibilities, when his foot hit a box that had been hiding under your bed. Perfect cobalt blue wrapping with a silver bow, Azriel knew he had just found his Solstice present.

Hiding Solstice presents from Azriel had always been hard work. The shadows would see and get excited and tell their master of the gifts long before they were wrapped and under the tree. You, however, were somehow the only one who could surprise him. You refused to let him find out, leading to you not even putting your present under the tree. He would receive his gift late at night when everyone had gone to bed, and the stars in the sky were fighting to stay up, the threat of sunlight imminently close. You would creep around in the shadows of him and steal leftover Solstice cookies and have your own gift opening either in one of your rooms or next to the embers of the fire that had been roaring all night.

Azriel had committed many atrocities in his life, his line of work almost required it. He didn't know what came after this life, and every day, he wondered if the Mother would even let him go on knowing all that he had done in this one. To go against the Mother was one thing, but to go against you was another. Azriel knew that he would forsake the Mother a hundred times over before he would forsake you. Even if this present was meant to be his anyways, you aren't here to give it to him so how does he know he can take it? But what if this present is actually a clue, and you purposefully hid it to spite him. You were still Rhys' blood, you guys can get a little petty at times.

Besides he did technically give you your Solstice present. Azriel always had an easy time with gifts, he listens in on conversations about what people want and gives it to them. While there is a lack of sentimentality there, everyone is happy so why does it matter?

But you always give the most thoughtful gifts, the gifts people didn't know they wanted but needed. He tries to keep up with you, but he just isn't sentimental enough to be good at those kinds of gifts. He gifted Elain a necklace, because that's what the jeweler said that women liked. For you though, he knew he had to come up with something big.

He came up with his gift months ago when Azriel had to go on a month-long mission to help keep the Spring Court from falling. When he came back, his first shadow darted to you, swirling around you happily. It had been whispering about you constantly during his time away and had only calmed down in your presence. It clicked for him, and while this shadow is the most important to him, the one that had reached out in the darkness when he was at his lowest, he knew deep down that it in some way it had belonged to you. Always preferring your company to his, always asking about your whereabouts, always calming down in your presence. He told his shadow and the shadow was elated the shadow came up with different ideas to always be with you, as a bracelet, in your hair, even as a part of your shadow.

While others had always been weary of his shadows, you treated them like a pet. Talking to them, petting them, and never missing an opportunity to call them cute. While the shadows are sentient, they are a manifestation of himself, and where others cowered in fear you embraced them wholeheartedly. It was probably the most intimate thing that Azriel had ever done for anyone he even had a mini speech written down about how grateful he was to have you in his life, but he never got to give it to you because you left before he had the chance. He didn't realise that the shadow had managed to escape with you until after you were gone.

You had just left but he missed you. The lack of knowledge of your return had him spiraling. He needed to know why you left because then he could know how to bring you back. In his desperation for answers and current lack of a better judgement he decides to open the present.

He rips open the cobalt wrapping paper to find a navy box littered with silver stars that looked like the night sky. He takes off the lid of the box and starts ruffling through the shiny paper you stuffed the box with, an extra layer of protection to block his shadows from seeing what was in the gift.

The first thing he had pulled out was a matching blade and sheath. The hilt was intricate, it started blue and bled into a violet littered with specks that he could only see after turning it over, pure starlight. The hilt had little stars and swirls engraved in it, an Illyrian design, but the actual shape of the blade and craft of the blade hailed from Dawn.

The blade of a Peregryn general was the sharpest and lightest blade that you could find in Prythian. The craftsmanship is a very regulated process and no one is able to get them. No one else is allowed to wield them and the blade dies with the Peregryn, they are blood bound. They are heavily enchanted and are basically a lifeline for any peregryn soldier. They only break when warding off a death blow.

There usually a bit smaller, no bigger than a throwing knife. He pulled out truthteller to compare the size and it was a perfect match. The matching sheath was gorgeous, all dark leather and intricate designs. More swirls of shadows and stars and little specks of blue and purple, a mix of you and Azriel.

He was aghast. He had mentioned being bitter about the Peregryn blades and made a joke about how Illyrians were the better winged fae in the past Mother knows how long ago, but he never thought you would actually be able to acquire one, let alone customise it to his liking.

He was touched, but he tried to suppress his feelings so he could maintain his control and continued to look through the box. The only other thing was a pair of gloves, but knowing you, they must have been a lot more than a pair of gloves. Also from the Dawn court, they had the same level of intricacy in their design and appeared to match the rest.

Azriel put a glove on and felt immediate relief. You knew that the cold would sometimes aggravate the scars on his hands and while he was still able to function for all these years, it wasn't comfortable to say the least. Azriel hated asking for help, he couldn't do it, so he has suffered in silence, enduring like he always does. You had these gloves imbued with a healing magic, from the Dawn Court, the court with the best healers in Prythian.

He knew that you had likely spent years crafting these gifts and working with blacksmiths and healers, calling in favor after favor, swaying high lords all for his sake. No one has ever done something like this for him.

His heart swells and then breaks. You had done all of this for him and now he had let you down without knowing why. You gave him a lifeline and he was going to waste it on a Blood Duel with Lucien Vanserra. He was going to waste years of work you had put into this surprise trying to take someone’s mate away from them, the very thing he had always wanted. Shame fills him and the thoughts begin to flood his mind.

The thoughts of how he doesn't deserve you. Thoughts of how he has failed you and will never be able to fix that damage that he unknowingly did. Thoughts of how you finally saw the faults in him like everyone else and you had decided that enough was enough and you decided you didn’t want anything to do with him. Thoughts of how he had lost the one person who had always been unconditionally there for him.

The thoughts just keep coming and he doesn’t know how to stop them. His shadows frantically swirled around him unable to deal with the distress of their master. Mental distress becomes physical and the weight of existence is heavy on his chest.

Azriel falls to his knees and holds his new blade, your blade, to the left side of his chest. He crumples in on himself and the shadows surround him. Wetness begins to stream down his face and he can’t even begin to comprehend why. What is this agony he was feeling.

His vision blurs, not that it matters since his shadows surround him and block the light. His breathing is erratic and his heart is nearly pounding out of his chest. His chest swells with emotion heavy as pain, almost as if there was a phantom knife lodged in his chest. He had never felt this way before, he was very good at keeping his composure but right now he was a complete and utter mess.

Trying to get himself together before he completely falls apart he’s able to prop himself up against your bed. Your scent immediately hits him and a wave of comfort rolls over him. Even in your absence you’re taking him down off the ledge. The minute he picked up your scent it was like he was finally able to think clearly.

He was emotionally and physically spent from all that had happened tonight, he needed the small comfort of whatever part of you he could get. You would laugh at him for this and scold him for not writing a letter, he would give anything for you to walk in and say something like how he’s a big illyrian baby who can never ask for help. You would laugh and stay with him until he feels like he can be alone again. You were meant to be here laughing with him and crying over how touched you were by his gift, instead he was here by himself crying because of how touched he was by yours and how he wishes you were here.

Like a child that just had a nightmare, he crawls into your bed and wraps himself up in the blankets and your scent. His body relaxed, his heart rate steadies, his breathing evens, and his shadows calm. Everything instantly feels better and what seemed like the end of the world moments ago now seems manageable. Your scent lulls him to edge of sleep and he drifts off with thoughts of you on his mind.

part III

-

taglist: @chaosabroad @bbontenswhhore @tele86 @ashblooddragons

note: I really tried to get this out in 24 hours so it may be a bit rushed and completely unedited... but thank you everyone for your support and thank you for everyone on the taglist! This may be a bit of a boring chapter, but I feel like it's necessary to flesh out the relationship between the reader and Azriel. Until next time!

[sevsgiirl]

— show her what you’re all about

sevika x jealous!reader. men and minors dni.

synopsis: sevika didn’t think bringing you to one of her meetings with the chembarons would go south. then again, she probably should’ve mentioned that one of them happens to be her ex. something you didn’t take lightly when you found out.

word count: 4k words.

tags: jealousy, established relationship, margot is sevika’s ex, overstimulation, sub!sevika, top!reader, strap-ons, explicit sexual content.

note: this was inspired by lana del rey’s jealous girl hence the title reference, and also because I got a req from a reader requesting jealous sevika and although I’ll be coming back to that I wanted to do jealous reader first because I’m insane <3

it took a while for you to convince her to have you tag along at work.

it’s not that sevika was against it. if she could have an excuse to bring you with her wherever she went - whether it was to run one of silco’s collections or to ensure that some of his shipment got transferred smoothly - just as long as you’d be safe no matter what, why not?

but considering her job isn’t the safest, she’s had her doubts about letting the people in that part of her life know about her relationship at the risk of endangering you, and she’d rather be the one who gets harmed before anyone even touched a single hair on your head.

nevertheless, you persisted. telling her that people at the last drop were likely aware that she wasn’t single anymore. with her nights of gambling, drinking, and visiting the gardens becoming less frequent, they’ve probably begun to speculate that something, or rather someone, had snatched her away from her usual proclivities.

plus it’s not like you two have been discreet. on nights when sevika stayed out too late, stressed from the missions silco assigned her and where she felt the need to drink her problems away until it was well past midnight - you’d always be the one to go and fetch her from the bar.

even if you tried to convince yourself that no one had seen the two of you stumble out of the last drop together, chances were a wandering eye lurking in the shadows still managed to catch a glimpse or two.

fast forward to earlier this morning, sevika tells you that she’ll be the one taking over the assembly with the chembarons as silco had other matters to attend to.

knowing him, she already knew he was either off to make sure the enforcer who kept an eye on jinx’s sister was doing his job right, or to deal with jinx himself. as the girl couldn’t be left alone for more than five minutes without causing trouble.

and he would’ve brought sevika along hadn’t the chembarons insisted on doing a meet-up to discuss trade, shipment or stocks. which honestly, was something you didn’t bother knowing too much about.

it was common knowledge between you two that sevika’s way of living isn’t something that you agree with. it was a cesspool of violence but she’s disputed many times that the ends justify the means. that what she does for silco only works to propel zaun’s liberation and at that point, you could only keep your mouth shut because if there was one thing both of you could agree on is that the city deserved better.

for sevika, if that meant working under silco, no matter how questionable his strategies were, then sure. but it’s not like it was easy for you to let go of your lover every single day, dreading whether or not she’d come back home from work or not at all. that’s why you insisted on tagging along.

ever since the two of you met, sevika’s been the one to provide for you and that’s given you the luxury to stay at home. she’s given you the freedom to do whatever it is you want to do with your time while she’s gone, just as long as you don’t stray further away from home. but you’d be lying if you said that after a while, just being by yourself worrying if she’s okay while at work hadn't become isolating.

so you’ve been asking her for a while if you could come just to keep a watchful eye, which she turned down. even going as far as to laugh at the suggestion.

“baby,” she cooed “I don’t need you to keep an eye on me. I’m capable of looking after myself.”

you huffed “I know you can. it’s just that… it gets lonely sometimes, okay? and when it does I can’t stop myself from thinking about what weird crap silco’s put you through and if you’d be able to come out of it unharmed.” you explained “it doesn’t help that you come back some days so beaten up.“

“we’ll, you should’ve seen-“

“-the other guy. I know.” you sighed, cupping her cheek “I just get worried, vika.”

sevika couldn’t deny her heart squeezed at your words. no one’s expressed that much concern over her. she’s always been expected to bite the bullet in almost all situations - her left arm, or rather the lack thereof, being a prime example of that.

no one’s felt the need to offer anything beyond the usual ‘are you good?’ whenever she got herself into a dilemma, so to say it was hard to accept that your constant fussing stemmed from a place of genuine love and worry, would be an understatement. it felt disorienting. she wasn’t used to it.

but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel flattered. so after a while, she had finally caved in and brought you with her to the assembly. walking alongside her hand in hand as you strode through the eerie corridors of the last drop’s headquarters, walking into the elevator as sevika opened the heavy metal doors for you to step through.

she gripped your hand tightly on the journey up to the assembly room “if it gets overwhelming or uncomfortable, you tell me, okay?” she said in a soft but commanding voice.

you nuzzled closer to her and kissed the underside of her jaw “yes, boss.” you replied playfully.

she scoffed and rolled her eyes, but when you looked, the slight curve of a smile teased at the corners of her mouth.

you were glad that she brought you on this specific day where silco was absent because although you’d never admit it, that man scared the living daylights out of you. you’ve had your fair share of interactions and as far as you know, he was the only one out of the people sevika worked with who’s always known about your relationship, he just never commented on it.

he’d briefly acknowledge you whenever he’d see you at the last drop but that was about it. aside from that, you had no intention of knowing more about the notorious drug lord and even though sevika told you he’s the last person you should be afraid of, you found it hard to believe.

but as you arrived at the top and walked into the assembly room where the chembarons were all gathered, perhaps sevika was right when she said silco wasn’t even the worst one out of all of them. when your eyes scanned the room, you could only squirm from where you stood as the scrutinizing gazes of the chembarons shifted between your partner and you.

one of them a grotesque, wrinkly rodent with a ridiculous top hat and sharp claws eyed you and chortled “who’s this, magpie? your new arm candy or something?” he gestured to you, his words degrading “where’d you find her? at the gardens? you can only get a pretty little thing like that from down there.”

you scowled at the implication and before you could give him a piece of your mind, sevika beat you to it “fuck off, smeech. we’re here to discuss business. not so you could run that mouth of yours talking shit you don’t know about.”

you felt her flesh hand squeeze your waist and you quickly relaxed, her protectiveness never failing to soothe you.

she turned to look at you and cocked her at the corner “you can sit there for me, baby. this won’t take long.” she muttered and you nodded. your hand stroking her forearm one last time before you let her go and made your way to the side of the room where a dusty velvet couch was situated.

you sat silently as you watched sevika start the meeting. all the while, you felt a hot, piercing gaze drill holes into the side of your head and when you looked up, you caught one of the chembarons watching you. her elbow on the table and her chin prompted on her knuckles, she stared at you with a heated glare that made your skin prickle because really, what the fuck was she looking at you for?

she was a petite, pale-skinned woman with blonde hair that had green dye at the tips. four metal piercings could be seen on her forehead along with a clasp around her nose and two more piercings below her lips. her outfit was revealing, a black sleeveless top that showed off the deep plunges of her neckline that was only accentuated by the choker around her neck.

she wore black eye shadow and you couldn’t deny that the baroness exuded a seductive aura, her thin lips forming into a mocking grin when she noticed the way you ogled at her appearance.

you quickly turned away, uncomfortable by the unwanted attention and no wonder sevika didn’t want to bring you along to these things. the atmosphere was too unsettling and you couldn’t help but fidget from where you sat, wanting the hours to pass by already and it seemed as though sevika felt the same.

with an exasperated look on her face, the chembarons kept probing her about silco’s absence, specifically the hideous rodent from earlier “how are we even supposed to take this shit show seriously when he let one of his goons do his dirty work for him?” he said, his tone condescending.

sevika’s jaw clenched “I could care less if you want to listen to me or not, smeech. silco’s already made it clear that the lost inventory is going to be replaced and that you’ll get your money back. for now, we’ll just sign over an agreement with a deadline ensuring we’ll get the stolen cargo back.”

smeech took a hit from his cigar, the purple smoke billowing through the room and you couldn’t help but scrunch your nose at him “you better make sure, hot shot. silco’s been slipping lately and we all know it’s because of baby blue. who was the reason the firelights even got hold of the previous cargo that was misplaced, by the way.”

you remembered that incident, sevika came home that day the angriest you’ve seen her, your thighs involuntarily clenching at the memory of the rough sex that ensued when you offered to take her mind off it.

sevika grunted at the reminder “we told you that was the first and last time. jinx lost her shit. end of story.”

“oh come on, smeech.” the blonde baroness chimed in “you could tell darling sevika here is doing her best. so lay off her, will you? she’s more than just silco’s number two. plus she knows better than to be just some lost, kicked puppy who follows the big man around. not knowing how to be her own person.” her eyes were on you as she said the closing statement, and your eyebrows furrowed. excuse me?

however, sevika was oblivious to the subtle jab thrown at you. muttering to the baroness that sat near her “thanks, margot.” so that was her name.

you couldn’t help the ugly, prickly sensation that clogged your insides at the sight of them being friendly with each other. too friendly to be exact, given how sevika seemed to be fed up with the other chembarons.

meanwhile, her attitude towards margot held a stark difference that you just couldn’t ignore. it made you dig your nails on the sides of the couch, wanting to swallow back down the acid that suddenly churned in your throat. no, perhaps you were overreacting.

the assembly lasted for a couple more minutes until finally, sevika called it off. saying silco would be present in the next one and while the other chembarons got up to leave, margot lingered in her seat as sevika gathered the paperwork on the table.

standing up with a slight sway of her hips, your stomach twisted as you observed how she walked up to sevika and placed a tentative hand on her bicep. making your partner raise an eyebrow but making no move to shrug her off.

sevika wasn’t the type to make you jealous. she didn’t find any enjoyment in eliciting a reaction out of you by entertaining other people and you thanked her for that because although you’d never admit it, you were extremely prone to jealousy. so much so that the feeling swallows you whole and practically burns you alive. you hated the feeling more than anything.

which probably didn’t help that margot was relishing in bringing the green-eyed monster out of you. you stood up with your fists balled before you unclenched one of them to reach for the switchblade that was strapped to the holster just above your thigh.

it was something sevika gifted you on your birthday, a weapon to protect yourself with and although this wasn’t a situation you’d ever imagine you’d be using it, you couldn’t stop yourself. especially when margot dared to caress a finger over sevika’s arm, her intentions clear as day.

“how you’ve been sevika, my love? it’s been a while, no? I’ve missed you.” margot purred, grasping sevika’s bicep “I didn’t think you’d already moved on so quickly. especially since it wasn’t long since we, you know…”

your heart pummeled to the pits of your stomach. margot is her ex?

why the fuck didn’t she mention that to you? and it seems as though it wasn’t a big deal to sevika given how she only let out a tired breath at the baroness’s words “it was never serious, margot. I don’t know why-“

you didn’t even let sevika finish before your hand curled at the handles of your switchblade, your temper rising when margot didn’t cease with her invasion of sevika’s personal space and how sevika just didn’t make a move to fucking stop it.

without thinking, you grabbed the dagger in your hand and swung it across the room. the blade aiming directly between the small gap that separated the two as they jumped at the sharp object that suddenly flew past them and onto the wall, creating a noticeable dent.

your nostrils flared as sevika turned to you, her eyes wide but you dismissed her. you made your way towards them and glared menacingly at margot, but she seemed undeterred.

“I think the meeting’s already extended for far too long, don’t you think?” there was a bite to your tone that made her smirk.

margot’s gaze shifted between you and sevika before she let out a hum “hm, no wonder you chose this one.” she said before turning on her heel and walking out of the room.

your heartbeat was still pounding violently against your chest even when she left the room, the air thick with tension as you turned to sevika and she couldn’t mask her shock at the fiery look in your eyes. you look like you wanted to eat her alive and then spew her out.

“we’re talking about this when we get back home,” you said and sevika could only stay silent at the warning.

𐙚 ˙ ⋆ .˚

the apartment had never been more silent.

you trudged your way inside with sevika following close behind, tossing the keys onto a nearby table while the sounds of your footsteps echoed in the small space.

once the door closed and was clicked shut, you let out a stuttering breath when you finally turned to look at your perplexed partner.

she only stared back at you “can you tell me what the fuck happened earlier?” she asked and you could only laugh at how painstakingly oblivious she was. but at the same time, it agitated you because really?

“it’s one thing not to tell me that one of the chembarons you regularly meet up with happens to be your ex,” you began and the light bulbs inside sevika’s head finally lit up “but for you to allow her to get that chummy with you is another.”

she cringed at the slight edge of your tone. she’s never seen you this pissed off before.

“baby, it’s not-“

“not what? that important? or is it because I’m just not that important to you?” you hissed and she took a step back at your words because really, it wasn’t that big of a deal.

margot didn’t mean jackshit to her. they had sex on a few occasions and even tried the whole relationship thing until sevika realized they just weren’t compatible. it lasted about a month until they decided to call it quits. sure, they’d still hook up every once in a while back then but it immediately stopped as soon as you came into the picture.

but of course that wasn’t enough for you.

“you know she doesn’t mean anything. if she meant that much to me I would’ve told you and hell, I wouldn’t even acknowledge her. and even if she did mean something to me it’s not like I would’ve tried anything with her. what do you take me for?” she was genuinely shocked you’d even feel mildly threatened at the idea of margot stealing her away because that was about as plausible as her growing her arm back.

nevertheless, you weren’t pleased by her explanation “do you know how much it pissed me the hell off seeing that wench cozy herself up to you as if you two were still a thing?” you scoffed “she’s lucky that blade didn’t cut through her fucking skull.“

she’d never seen you act this way before, what’s more surprising is not that it was out of character, but that the sudden switch in your attitude turned her on.

she’s always perceived you as someone gentle and nurturing, the complete opposite of her who oftentimes lets her anger the best of her. you were never like that. you always made a point to approach things cordially. never violent. so to see the way that you’re acting now, almost leveling with her hostility made her core clench.

an undeniable heat pooled at her insides at the way you were looking at her as if you were ready to maul her.

“baby…” she took a step towards you, and you didn’t miss the shift in her tone “come on, look at me. she doesn’t mean anything. you’re the only girl for me. you know that.”

you didn’t budge even when she started pressing kisses down your throat, palms grabbing the meat of your hips as her tongue darted to lick your neck.

“hm… fuck. I never thought you’d be the type to get so jealous.” she muttered.

you scoffed “I’m not jealous.” you pushed at her chest, creating some distance between you two “why would I be jealous of someone I know could never compare to me?”

sevika hummed at that, grinning “then why are you so angry?”

your eyes squinted as you pulled her by the collar of her shirt and tugged her closer “because it seems like you forget sometimes.”

𐙚 ˙ ⋆ .˚

sevika grunted, squeezing your sides so tightly you were sure she’d be leaving bruises on your thighs, but despite that you didn’t falter with the frantic bouncing on her strap.

the bed creaked in a violent back and forth as you threw your head back and moaned, placing your hands on sevika’s shoulders while you continued to grind against her. the ridges of her cock sliding deliciously against your tight walls “t-that’s it, baby…” she rasped, her pupils blown wide at the sight of you using her to get off “god, your pussy’s taking me so fucking well.”

you let out a chuckle, your breathing labored “no one’s gonna be able to fuck you as good as I can, vika. I hope you know that.”

she nodded, hypnotized by the way your tits bounced in front of her face while the wet squelching of your folds filled the room.

the back of the strap continuously hitting her clit and she couldn’t suppress the groans that slipped past her lips when you showed no signs of slowing down “b-baby, I’m gonna cum, holy f-fuck.”

with that, you slid off her, not being able to contain the grin on your face at the way her eyes popped open when she realized you had suddenly stopped.

“w-what are you-“

“I don’t think you deserve to cum, actually,” you said as you glowered at her, fingers reaching down to play with your clit and sevika was about as close to losing her shit when you decided to play with yourself instead.

thumbing the hood of your clit before you slipped one to two fingers in, grinding against them while sevika desperately tried to pull you back down.

you jerked yourself away from her prying hands, shaking your head at her attempts to get you to ride her again “after the stunt you pulled today, not telling me about margot-“

“she doesn’t fucking mean anything!-“

“-and not stopping her when she flirted with you in front of me?” your tone was patronizing as you observed her panicked stricken face “what makes you think you deserve to cum?”

sevika didn’t know whether to lash out or cry at this point, but knowing you, you wouldn’t succumb to her pleas unless she gave you what you wanted.

“baby, p-please. I’ll never do it again. fuck every other girl who isn’t you, okay? I only want you. you and your tight fucking pussy. I don’t want anyone else. shit. the way you squeeze around me and the way you bounce on my cock, I’d rather fucking die than lose that.” she babbled and you bit your lip at how nonsensical she sounded.

you leaned down and slipped your tongue inside hers. humming as you kissed her slowly and her eyes fluttered shut at the taste of you while you drank her moans in.

without warning, you sank down on her once more and she immediately detached her mouth from yours to let out an obscene moan when you resumed riding her.

your pace frenzied and you stared at the way her heavy breasts moved with the speed of which you rode her. her fingers clawing at your hips as she aided you with your bounces.

“you feel so good f-fucking, vika. cock so big.” your eyes rolled at the back of your head, the build-up of your orgasm approaching meanwhile sevika took in the view of your flushed cheeks and parted lips.

she then started frantically bouncing you on her strap, making you scream while your juices dripped down from your thighs.

“v-vika, I’m gonna cum!-“

“that’s it, baby. cum for me. cream all over my cock.” she groaned as your body started trembling in her hold.

your orgasm hitting you like a punch in the gut and you couldn’t stop the cries that spilled out of you when sevika didn’t stop with her relentless thrusts.

practically using you as a fleshlight and your nails dug into her forearms when you started to feel overstimulated “v-vika, please, oh my god. b-baby stop, I c-can’t…”

“a bit more…” she stuttered, her pace never faltering “I’m so sorry, b-baby. you just feel s-so fucking good.”

after a few more minutes she joined you as she came, body shaking. you fell in her arms and hugged her loosely, her cunt gushing behind the harness around her hips, humming when you started leaving little bite marks around her jaw.

you two stayed like that for a while, just relishing in each other’s presence.

“I know I said I wouldn’t pull the same shit I did with margot earlier…” she mumbled in the crook of your neck “but I’d be lying if I said seeing you jealous didn’t turn me the fuck on. not to mention the sex. jesus.”

you could only let out a snort at her fucked out state “don’t push it. next time I might actually not let you come.”

“take back what I said then,” she said quickly, making you laugh as you held her close.

[golddustwomanwins]

Say Yes to Heaven

Innocent Art Donaldson x Experienced Reader

18+

This turned out so much different from what I imagined and it might have more parts since I'm incapable of writing short stuff. Need to warm up Art a bit. Really unsure if I like this or not.

Art was a good kid. He prided himself in his faith and his ability to stay away from temptation. He was focused in his classes, dutily writing every single word down the professor uttered. While he did have a social life (Patrick) he rarely went out, rather staying in his dorm and finishing his essays early.

He caught your attention in one of your shared classes. He sat in the front row, only his golden locks in view. His eyes were trained on the board, nothing could deter his attention from the lesson. A golden crucifix dangled at his neck, the only thing out of the ordinary about him. The light of the lamps caught a reflection in it and for a moment it looked like it was on fire. When you asked your friend if she knew him, Tashi laughed.

“That’s Art Donaldson. He’s not your type, sweetie.”

You turn surprised to her. “Why do you say that?”

“He’s a faithful boy. Doesn’t look at any girl longer than would be polite. Real uptight.”

You looked back at him. How his long fingers gripped the pen tightly, veins running through his hands. As if feeling your gaze he turned slightly, wide eyes meeting yours.

His cheeks flushed furiously crimson as he caught you staring. You only smiled, wiggling your fingers at him in a wave and he quickly turned his head again.

Tashi laughed. “You’re diabolical.”

“I didn’t do anything,” you mocked her and you both broke out into quiet giggles.

*

This wasn’t Art’s usual scene. He spent his Friday nights in his dorm, reworking his essays and rereading his notes from his lectures. But ever since he saw you looking at him in class he couldn’t stop thinking about you. He knew who you were, of course he did. Everyone knew you.

One of the most gorgeous girls on campus. Despite your popular party girl persona, you still had good grades. He saw you mostly with Tashi, arm in arm walking around campus. Once he started to notice you, you seemed to be everywhere.

Writing his essay, sitting on campus ground, you and Tashi walked by. A way too short skirt swished around your tan legs, the gentle breeze lifting the fabric once again and he flushed when he saw the edge of your panties.

He looked away immediately, cheeks flushed but he couldn’t help his eyes from jumping back to you. A pit of disappointment opened in his chest when he saw that your skirt was back down.

And he surely wasn’t the only guy noticing you. Half a dozen eyes were trained on you every time you walked by or sit in class. He overheard some of them talking about you, saying vile things that made him sick. And some things that made him listen in secretly. He didn’t know if the things people said were true. That you’d liked your fair share of men, a man eater some would say.

Forbidden thoughts consumed his mind day and night. He was laying in bed late at night wondering what you were doing at the moment. Dressed in a silk slip dress hands traveling beneath the skirt and into your panties.

Art groaned at the imagery, cock growing hard. He refrained from touching himself, groaning and moaning as if he was in pain. He’d have to change his boxers every time, too much precome oozing out of his tip and making a mess out of it.

It happened over and over. He’d see you in a short dress bending over, at table talking to Tashi and he was immediately hard. He cried himself to sleep every night trying to refrain himself from easing his anguish. This was his punishment for his lewd thoughts. It was good that he was in pain, he didn’t deserve anything else.

One night he couldn’t stop himself. He would never touch himself. Instead he started rutting into his mattress, groaning your name until he came in his boxers, cum soaking the fabric. He cried again at the sticky feeling, doubling his prayers that night.

Now he was standing here. The music was buzzing around him uncomfortably, people pushing their sweaty bodies together, grinding their hips in desperation. It smelled like cheep beer and perfume and Art wanted nothing more than to go back to his dorm and bury himself under his comforter.

But there it was, his sole reason to stay. You were across the room, pupils blown wide from the liquor swishing in your cup. Pink glitter littered your eyelids sparkling like the gloss swiped along your plump lips. You had one of your short dresses on again and he swallowed hardly at your cleavage almost spilling over.

Art was standing in a corner awkwardly, hoping no one would notice him or try to talk to him. A few girls sent him flirty looks but he either ignored or didn’t notice it.

Art’s eyes were stuck on your form, talking to a frat boy, his hand on your waist, leaning down to talk in your ear.

You nodded your head enthusiastically at whatever the guy was saying but your eyes were wandering around the room. It struck him in his chest when your eyes found his across the room.

To his horror he felt himself flush again and his eyes widened when you parted with the guy and started approaching him.

“Hey, Art.”

You knew his name. How did you know his name? Art melted slightly as you smiled up at him, your cheeks flushed and lips glossy. There was a foreign sparkle in your eyes, your pupils dilated and gaze not entirely trained on him. It kept flitting up and down as if you weren't able to focus properly.

And he still hadn't said anything.

The smile on your lips tilted slightly the longer he didn't say anything. Finally, he managed to get something out. "H-hi." What a way to go Donaldson.

Despite his complete inability to talk, the smile fixed back on your lips. One hand of yours found his bicep and you suddenly leaned up to talk in his ear. A soft cloud of perfume hit his senses and he stiffened in his jeans as his eyes focused on your carefully manicured nails on his skin.

"I was just heading out for a smoke. Do you want to join?" You turned your head to look at him, face far too close.

No. That was what he should have said. Decline politely but surely. In no way would it be a good idea to be alone with you in such proximity.

"Y-yeah, sure."

You beamed at him, lighting up your whole face and he couldn't regret agreeing to join you in that moment. Your fingers found his wrist and you dragged him after you. People parted for you naturally, some of them throwing surprised looks at you both. What did you have in common with prissy Art Donaldson? Nothing.

Art flushed at the attention but kept going his fingers reaching for yours. You turned and shot him a sweet smile as you entertained your hands.

Once you stepped outside the music grew quieter, only the dull thrum of the bass shaking the ground beneath your feet. The cold night air hit Art's flushed face and for a moment it was easier to form a coherent thought.

He watched you step out of your high heels, kicking them to the side before pulling him down to sit on the patio. You buried your naked feet in the soft grass, due drops trailing along the green blades.

He almost sighed when you pulled your hand from his, putting the cigarette between your lips. Your lips gloss stained the brown part as you cupped your hands to light it up. For a moment the flame flickered along your face, opening a pit in Art's stomach. He should leave. He will leave. Just a moment longer. Just for one cigarette.

"I didn't think you a party goer," you spoke up after inhaling slowly. You pulled your knees up to put your cheek on them, watching him closely.

He smiled embarrassed, only one side of his lips tugging up. Your eyes caught on the half smile. "This is my first." You grinned. "Your first party, huh?" Taking another drag you kept watching him, making Art squirm in his seat. You were different from what he imagined. Much more softer. Gentler. Still, there was something inquisitive in your eyes that made the alarm bells ring in his mind. Danger, danger, danger.

"What changed your mind, to try it out?" you asked, smoke passing along your lips. You noticed him glancing down once and again, small dimples forming in your soft cheeks.

Art glanced down at his fingers, pulling at a thread of his shirt. He had pulled out his best shirt, ironed it and tried in on in front of a mirror before deeming it perfect for the night. Unknowing of how must guys came in lazy attire, t-shirts and old henleys.

"I don't know," he whispered. He looked up surprised when you laughed.

"Don't lie."

The flush on his cheeks travelled down his neck when you caught him in a lie. Your eyes snagged on the necklace dangling from his neck. You reached out, nails scraping along his skin as you took the pendant in your hands. Art shivered and watched you inspect his necklace.

"It's pretty," you said, smiling softly up at him. Art inhaled shakily as you watched him through your impossibly long lashes.

"My nan gave it to me," he mumbled.

"She did? So it's true, you're a faithful boy." You put the cigarette back between your lips. Art's eyes dipped again. "Yeah."

"What a shame," you mumbled. Suddenly, you got up, letting the half smoked cigarette fall to the floor.

"What--" Art shot up to his feet surprised that you were leaving. He watched you bend over to retrieve your shoes, quickly looking away as a flash of pink greeted him.

"Where are you going?" Art asked desperately and you smiled up at him, shoes still dangling from your hands. "Back inside."

"I-it's nice out, isn't it? We can stay a bit. I don't mind," he rushed through the words. He said he'd stay with you for one cigarette but you hadn't finished it. It was half done, lying on the ground, sad smoke still billowing up from it.

"You're a nice guy, Art," you said. "Go home and do whatever you usually do on Friday nights. This isn't your scene."

Art deflated. This was the first time he was genuinely interested in a girl and she turned him down. What was he thinking? It was good that you were turning him down. Nothing could've happened anyway.

He inhaled slightly, hands tugging at his crucifix. "I like talking to you. Let's just stay out here for a little," he begged. You eyed him warily.

"I'm not the right girl for you," you told him. Your cheeks were growing flushed and he didn't know if it was from the cold or not. Your words had a deeper meaning. Did you think you weren't worthy of him? That you would ruin him?

"We can talk," he persisted and you smiled sadly. "Just say yes."

"Usually boys don't just talk to me," you said. His heart sunk at your words, knowing exactly what you were implying with your words. Your eyes dipped back to his necklace. "But you can."

Art beamed at you and for a moment it looked like a halo glowed from above him, golden curls lighting up with his joy. You both sat down again, shoulders brushing, your shoes dangling from your fingers.

It was an unfamiliar sight. A few of the party guests looked out of the glass doors offering a strange look on the patio. You're silhouette sinful, shadows dancing along your curves, swallowing you. Art was submerged in the moonlight, features soft and relaxed. The only point where shadow and light touched were your shoulders, brushing against each other shyly.

Part 2

[simplygojo]

Cheater! ⸺ Suguru Geto

author's note ⸺ Wrote a cheating fic!! WHOOPS! lmk your thoughts on this!! I hope you all enjoy cheating on your deadbeat husband with your daughters sexy ass teacher <3 pairing ⸺ teacher!Suguru Geto x parent!reader word count ⸺ 4k content warnings ⸺ 18+ only - mdni!, adultery!, grey morals, reader uses female pronouns, reader has a vagina, fingering, p in v intercourse, nipple play, rough grip?idk, not edited teaser ⸺ "You’re a married woman, after all. You’re loyal, and I respect that. But..." He pauses, his lips curling into a knowing smile, the hint of something far more dangerous in his eyes. "It would be wrong of me to let you leave here tonight without telling you... that you deserve more than this. You deserve to feel wanted, to feel desired." Something inside you snaps.

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Your husband wasn’t always like this.

Or maybe he was, and you just didn’t notice it at first.

There was a time when you believed in the love you shared—the way he used to pull you close without needing a reason, the way he promised that no matter what, it would always be both of you against the world. And for a while, it felt real. Then life happened. Then the baby came.

And slowly, little by little, you started doing everything alone.

At first, it was small things. He worked late, so you handled bedtime. He forgot to grab the groceries, so you took care of it. He stayed home when your child had a fever, but somehow, you were the one up all night, holding them while they cried.

Then, the little things became everything.

You started managing schedules, meals, school functions, doctor’s appointments, PTA meetings—every single thing that kept your child’s world turning.

And your husband? He was there, technically. He existed in the house, he took up space in the bed, but he was more like an afterthought in your life than a partner.

You’d hear other moms talk about how they split responsibilities with their husbands—how he got up for night feedings, how he packed lunches in the morning, how they took turns being the “fun parent” so the other could have a break.

You stopped talking in those conversations.

Because what would you even say?

That your husband doesn’t even know your child’s teacher’s name? That you’ve gone to every parent-teacher night alone for the past three years? That sometimes, when you wake up next to him, you feel more alone than if the bed was empty?

You tried to fix it. You really did. You asked him to come to school events—he always had an excuse. You asked him to help with homework—he’d forget. You asked him if he was happy—he shrugged.

And eventually, you just stopped asking.

Instead, you did what you always did: you handled it.

You got up every morning and made breakfast. You checked backpacks, signed permission slips, scheduled playdates. You listened when your 6 year old came home talking about her day. You made sure they felt loved, seen, safe. You gave them everything you never had.

And you told yourself, this was enough.

You told yourself you didn’t need to feel wanted.

You told yourself you didn’t need someone to look at you the way that he used to.

You told yourself you didn’t need more than this—but you knew that none of that was true. 

The clock ticks past 9 PM. The school halls are eerily quiet now, save for the soft hum of the overhead lights, casting long shadows along the walls. It’s well past the usual time for parent-teacher conferences, and once again, you’re the last parent left.

The usual scenario.

You check your phone for the fifth time—no texts, no calls. Your husband’s absence from this school event doesn’t surprise you anymore, but it still stings in ways you can’t shake. There’s a lingering resentment there, buried beneath the routine, hidden in the cracks of your patience.

You tap your foot against the tiled floor, feeling the exhaustion deep in your bones. It’s been a long day of running from work to school pick-up, to soccer practice, to dinner, to bedtime—only for your husband to still be nowhere to be found. 

He’s present physically, but emotionally? Mentally? Nowhere.

You’ve long since stopped asking him to show up at these meetings, to participate in the day-to-day, to even make an effort. You’ve grown used to doing it all, but some nights, like tonight, the weight of it feels like too much. 

The door to the classroom finally opens.

And there he is. Suguru Geto.

His eyes soften when he sees you standing alone in the hallway. It’s nearly 9:30 now, and he has that gentle look on his face, the one he always wears when he’s speaking with you. There’s a warmth there, but tonight, you can’t help but feel like he’s been watching you for longer than you realize.

"You’re the last one," Suguru says, his voice smooth and calm, as though he’s already made peace with the late hour. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

You offer a tired smile, trying to mask the fatigue that’s clearly weighing on you. "It’s no problem," you say. "I’m just used to it."

He steps aside to let you into the classroom.

The soft glow of the desk lamps and the smell of chalk and paper fill the air as you sit down, the worn-out chair creaking slightly under your weight. Suguru takes his usual spot at the desk, but instead of diving into the paperwork, he looks at you with a level of attention that makes you feel like the only person in the room.

“Everything going okay?” He asks, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of concern. You think he’s been asking you that for weeks now, and for weeks, you’ve given the same nonchalant answer.

“Yeah, just the usual,” you reply, keeping your gaze steady on the desk in front of you. “Busy. You know how it is.”

Suguru nods, but his eyes don’t leave you. There’s something about the way he’s looking at you that makes you feel exposed, like he sees more than just the tired mom who’s barely holding it together. He watches you as if he’s picking up on the subtle cracks in your composure, the ones you’ve been trying to hide for so long.

“I’ve noticed,” Suguru says, his voice steady, yet his eyes seem to soften with understanding. “You’re here for every parent meeting. I don’t think I’ve ever seen your husband at one.”

You stiffen slightly, but not enough to make it obvious. Of course, Suguru would notice. He’s always been observant, always so aware of the details. He’s never commented on it before, but the fact that he does now makes something inside you ache.

Your gaze flickers to the side, focusing on anything but him.

“Well,” you start, your voice quieter than usual, “he’s always… busy with work.”

Suguru’s gaze doesn’t falter. “I get it,” he says, his voice even, but there’s a knowing look in his eyes. "Work can be demanding."

You feel a flush of embarrassment creep up your neck, and you try to laugh it off. “Yeah, it’s just... me, really. I handle everything at home, too.”

There’s a long pause as Suguru silently assesses you. His eyes narrow slightly, not in judgment, but in a way that makes you feel seen. Really seen.

“You’ve been doing it all alone for a while, haven’t you?” He asks it softly, like a statement more than a question.

The words hit you harder than you expected. You swallow, the pressure in your chest growing heavier. It’s not like you haven’t noticed it yourself. You’ve been doing this on your own for a while now—balancing everything, carrying the weight of your family’s responsibilities while your husband remains detached. But hearing Suguru say it, hearing him acknowledge it, makes you feel more vulnerable than you care to admit.

You nod slowly, avoiding his gaze as your throat tightens.

"Doesn’t seem fair, does it?" Suguru continues, his voice still calm, but his eyes darken ever so slightly, an intensity that wasn’t there before.

You don’t know how to respond. All you can do is sit there, feeling the weight of his words hang in the air between you.

“Sometimes, people don’t realize what it means to be present,” Suguru murmurs, his tone laced with something more than just professional concern.

And in that moment, you realize just how much you crave someone to acknowledge the effort you’ve been putting in—to see you as more than just a mother, more than just someone who’s keeping everything together by sheer force of will.

The silence stretches between you two, but Suguru doesn’t look away. It’s almost as if he’s waiting for you to say something.

And for the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re on the verge of saying something that you definitely shouldn’t.

The weight of Suguru's gaze is palpable, drawing you in like a magnetic force. For the first time, you're not looking for validation from the outside world, from your husband or anyone else. You’re looking at him, and his presence seems to fill the entire room, suffocating yet somehow liberating.

"Sometimes, I wonder if it’s worth it," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "I mean, all of it. The constant doing, the giving... but it’s never enough. It feels like I’m just... waiting. For someone to notice. For someone to... care."

Suguru’s expression shifts, and he leans in just slightly, as though he’s pulled by some invisible thread. There’s something in his eyes that’s far from the calm teacher you’ve known. It’s deeper, darker—filled with a quiet understanding that makes the air between you both thick with unspoken emotions.

"You deserve more than that," he murmurs, his voice low, almost intimate. “You deserve someone who sees you. Not just the mother, not just the wife. But you.”

You take a shallow breath, feeling the rush of emotions swirl inside you. 

You’ve heard those words before, but from him, they hit differently. The way he’s looking at you, the way his words seem to reach right inside you, it’s too much to ignore.

Without thinking, your gaze flickers down to his lips, then back up to his eyes. And you see it then—the shift. The barely perceptible tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders tense as if he’s fighting some invisible current pulling him toward you.

You stand abruptly, the sudden movement shaking you from the haze of desire that had slowly clouded your mind. Your pulse races in your ears, and you feel a rush of heat flood your face, the intensity of the moment unsettling you.

You attempt to gather yourself, your mind a chaotic storm of conflicting emotions. 

“Is there... anything my daughter needs to work on—uh, outside of school?” You ask, your voice lacking the usual certainty, the question tumbling out awkwardly as if to distract yourself from what’s happening between you.

Suguru stands slowly from his chair, the chair legs scraping against the floor as he glides around the desk with measured steps, his gaze never leaving you. Every movement of his feels deliberate, calculated, and yet somehow fluid, like he’s in complete control of the space around you.

He comes to stand directly in front of you, just close enough that his presence fills the air, thick and charged with an undeniable tension. 

You can’t help but notice the way his body moves, the subtle power in the way he stands, shoulders broad, chest rising and falling in time with his deep, steady breaths.

“Your daughter?” Suguru repeats, the corners of his lips curling up slightly as he leans in just enough for you to feel the heat of his breath against your skin. “You’re not really thinking about her right now, are you?”

You want to pull away, to say something, anything that could snap you out of this, but his presence is overwhelming, and your body betrays you with every passing second.

"I..." you try to say something, anything to pull yourself together, but the words falter in your throat. The part of you that knows better, the part of you that remembers you’re married and committed to someone else, is struggling to assert itself. 

But the other part of you, the one that’s been ignored for so long, is screaming to be heard, to finally feel seen, to be touched like how he could touch you, to have someone care.

Suguru watches you carefully, sensing the internal conflict as his fingers twitch at his sides. He takes a small step closer, his hand brushing against your arm just lightly enough to send a ripple of heat through your skin.

"I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do," he says softly, his voice almost a caress. 

You notice the way his body towers over yours, his broad chest just inches from yours, making you feel small in comparison. The warmth of him radiates against your skin, and it’s hard not to notice how much bigger and stronger he is than you. 

The sharp, intoxicating scent of his cologne wraps around you like a blanket, mingling with the faint trace of cigarette smoke that clings to him, adding a dangerous edge to the allure of his presence. 

It’s impossible to ignore how every inch of him feels commanding, even in the way he stands so close to you.

"You’re a married woman, after all. You’re loyal, and I respect that. But..." 

He pauses, his lips curling into a knowing smile, the hint of something far more dangerous in his eyes. "It would be wrong of me to let you leave here tonight without telling you... that you deserve more than this. You deserve to feel wanted, to feel desired."

Something inside you snaps.

Maybe it’s the exhaustion, the loneliness, the months—years—of feeling like you married a bum who couldn’t give a damn about you. 

Or maybe it’s the way Suguru is looking at you now, those sharp dark eyes, like he already knows how this is going to end, like he’s been waiting for this moment just as long as you have.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, you’re in each other’s space, the tension breaking like a dam. 

His mouth is on yours, firm and demanding, swallowing the sharp, needy gasp that escapes you as his hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him.

Your fingers find the front of his black button-up, fisting the fabric like it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. His lips part against yours, a low sound vibrating in his throat when you arch into him.

His hands are everywhere—on your waist, your back, sliding down to your hips, fingers pressing in like he needs to memorize the feel of you beneath them. He walks you backward with slow, deliberate steps, forcing you to move with him, until the edge of his desk digs into the backs of your thighs.

A sharp inhale is all you manage before he lifts you effortlessly, his hands gripping your hips as he hoists you onto the desk.

He steps between your legs, crowding you, his breath hot against your lips. His hands spread over your thighs, fingers pressing into the soft flesh as he tugs you forward, drawing you closer with a grip that’s firm, possessive. 

One hand drifts upward, sliding to the back of your neck, his fingers curling there as he tilts your head back slightly, deepening the kiss with a slow, consuming hunger.

“This is what you need, isn’t it?” Suguru murmurs against your mouth, his voice rough, thick with something dangerous. “Someone to take care of you for once?”

You nodded weakly in response, your breath hitching as you let his mouth roam yours.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly, and the low groan he lets out makes heat pool deep in your stomach. He presses himself between your legs, the firm drag of his body against yours making you gasp into his mouth.

Suguru breathes against your lips, his voice a low rasp as he rolls his hips into yours, just enough for you to feel how hard he is through the fabric of his slacks. "Feels good, doesn’t it?"

A soft whimper slips past your lips before you can silence it, your nails grazing his scalp as you clutch him closer. 

His response—a low, guttural mix of a groan and a growl—rumbles against you, sending a sharp jolt of heat through your body.

One of his hands slides up your thigh, slow and deliberate, his fingers ghosting over the sensitive skin until he reaches the hem of your skirt. His touch is light, teasing, his fingertips barely skimming beneath the fabric before he grips the material and pushes it up, baring more of you to him.

"You’ve been running yourself ragged, haven’t you?" Suguru murmurs, his lips moving to your jaw, trailing heat along your skin as he speaks. "Taking care of everyone else while no one takes care of you."

His other hand stays firm at the back of your neck, keeping you exactly where he wants you as his lips drag lower, grazing over your pulse point before he nips at the sensitive skin just enough to make you gasp.

His fingers, deft and sure, find the first button of your blouse. He flicks it open with ease, then another, and another—each one undone with deliberate precision, as if savoring the act of peeling away the layers you’ve hidden beneath for so long.

"And all this time," he continues, his voice like silk laced with something darker, "you’ve been aching for someone to touch you like this."

You should push him away, should tell him this is wrong, but when his teeth scrape lightly against your throat and his fingers slide higher, your resolve shatters completely.

"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, though his grip on you says he already knows you won’t.

Instead, you tilt your head back, baring your throat to him in silent invitation. A satisfied hum rumbles from his chest as his hand finally finds the heat between your legs, fingers pressing against the thin fabric covering you.

As he pops open the final button, the fabric parts, slipping from your shoulders as he slides the blouse down your arms, letting it pool behind you on the desk. 

His gaze darkens as he drinks you in, his thumb brushing against the newly exposed skin, tracing slow, lazy circles over your collarbone before dipping lower.

"Fuck," he groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as he feels how soaked you already are. His fingers flex, teasing over the damp fabric, and when you arch into his touch, he exhales a shaky breath. "You’re dripping for me, aren’t you?"

Your hips jerk instinctively, chasing the friction, but he pulls his hand back just enough to keep it out of reach.

"Be patient," Suguru murmurs, his lips brushing your ear as he presses down even further on your panties. "I’m going to make this so fucking good for you."

And when his fingers slip beneath the fabric, finding your bare skin, you realize—he’s going to ruin you.

A shaky breath stutters from your lips as he works you open, his fingers sinking deeper, curling just right. The sensation is almost too much, a slow, aching pleasure that makes your stomach tighten, your nails digging into his shoulders.

"Does this feel good..?" He breathes against your mouth, his voice laced with something tender, something reverent. "Because you fuckin’ deserve it."

You barely register his other hand moving until you feel the warmth of his palm smoothing up your stomach, then higher, slipping beneath the lace of your bra. His thumb drags over your nipple, a soft, teasing brush that sends a shudder rolling down your spine.

You gasp into his mouth, your body arching into him as his fingers press deeper inside you, a slow, deliberate stroke that has your thighs trembling around his waist.

His fingers curl just right, pressing into that sweet, aching spot inside you, and the cry that leaves you is swallowed by his mouth as he kisses you deeper, his tongue sweeping over yours in a slow, intoxicating rhythm.

The slow, insistent roll of his fingers inside you has you spiraling, pleasure coiling tight in your stomach, and when his thumb finds your clit, circling with just enough pressure, your breath stutters, a choked whimper slipping past your lips.

His thumb strokes over your nipple again, this time pinching lightly, rolling the sensitive peak between his fingers, and the sensation sparks through you like a live wire. Your hands clutch at his broad shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as a sharp gasp escapes you. 

The dual sensation—his fingers working you open with slow, deliberate strokes while his other hand teases your breast—has your body arching into him, desperate for more.

Suguru chuckles, low and pleased, his lips brushing against your jaw. “So sensitive,” he murmurs, giving your nipple another slow roll between his fingers before soothing the sting with a warm, open-mouthed kiss against your throat.

Your head tips back against the desk, thighs trembling around his waist. “Suguru—” you gasp, a desperate plea wrapped in his name.

He groans in response, the sound low and wrecked, vibrating against your skin. His fingers retreat suddenly, leaving you empty, and you whimper at the loss. But before you can protest, he’s shifting, straightening up between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs as he pulls you closer to the edge of the desk.

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmurs caressing the side of your cheek, his voice thick and warm against your kiss-swollen lips. His fingers find the waistband of your underwear, hooking into it as he tugs the fabric down, his knuckles brushing against your thighs as he bares you to him.

His dark eyes flicker up to meet yours, filled with something deep, something hungry—but there’s tenderness there too, something almost reverent as he takes you in.

His hands smooth over your thighs, parting them further as he shifts between them, his own clothes rustling as he undoes his belt, his zipper—getting ready to help you where you need him most.

“‘M gonna take care of you,” he promises, low and fervent, his fingers curling around your thighs, hiking them up just a bit as he lines himself up. "Gonna make you feel so fucking good."

And then—he pushes inside, stretching you, filling you, tearing a gasp from your lips as your fingers claw at his shoulders.

His mouth finds yours again, swallowing your moans, his pace already deep, deliberate—like he’s set on making you feel every inch of him, making sure you know exactly what it means to be wanted.

Suguru’s grip tightens on your thighs as he lifts them higher, angling you just how he wants, and then—he drives into you, deep and unrelenting. 

Every roll of his hips knocks the air from your lungs, every deep, deliberate thrust sends another ripple of heat cascading through you.

You can barely think, barely breathe, your mind foggy with the heady mix of desire and disbelief—disbelief that this is happening, that you let it happen, that it feels so impossibly, devastatingly good.

Suguru groans low in his throat, his grip tightening, his fingers pressing bruises into your thighs as he holds you exactly where he wants you, giving you exactly what you needed. 

His lips brush against your jaw, his voice dark and hushed when he murmurs, "Not so bad for a parent-teacher meeting, hmm?"

The desk creaks beneath you, the sharp edge digging into your back, but you barely register it over the heat flooding your veins, over the way he stretches you, fills you, drags pleasure from you with every purposeful thrust.

Your fingers claw at his shirt, desperate to ground yourself against the overwhelming sensation. His name spills from your lips in a breathless gasp, your body arching into him, chasing more, more, more—

"That's it," he murmurs, voice rough, almost reverent. "Taking me so well."

His hands pull your legs even further up, deepening his angel, holding you open as he moves harder, faster, his breath hot against your cheek. The sharp, rhythmic press of him inside you has you unraveling, pleasure curling tight in your core, so close you can taste it, so close you can feel yourself slipping—

And then?

Well.

You never complained about going to parent-teacher meetings alone again.

a/n ⸺ I may or may not already have half of a choso version drafted if anyone wants to see that PLS LET ME KNOW

[nonsensology]

Later at the wish granting ceremony, CEO Magnifico announces he’s greenlit Ice Age 6 and five more live-action remakes.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _

There are so many cancelled and unrealized projects that Disney is sitting on, that they do not benefit from in any way by keeping them locked up tight. They really ought to just let them go if they don't have any intentions of doing anything with them.

Incidentally, I could never agree with the mentality of “Magnifico is actually the hero, and Asha is the TRUE villain” that a lot of people seem to have. I drew my comic based on this post. I feel like if more people had been aware of this possible interpretation, they wouldn’t have sympathized with Magnifico.

Does Wish have bad writing? Yes, it does. And it’s because of that bad writing that every single character suffers. What I think happened is that, as a result of said bad writing, Asha became a character that’s so uncompelling and lacks uniqueness that she ends up a blank slate for audiences to project their frustrations with the movie onto. King Magnifico on the other hand, is probably the most interesting and entertaining character, due in no small part to Chris Pine’s performance, and so the audience is much more sympathetic towards him and willing to ignore his flaws.

One of Asha’s problems as a character is that she doesn’t really contribute much to the story. By contrast, Magnifico’s downfall is brought about entirely as a result of his own actions. Magnifico is in fact not a good leader, because he gives in to paranoia and temptation, acts in a very unprofessional manner, and escalates the conflict to an absurd degree.

Please note, Asha does not get upset that Magnifico refuses to grant her grandfather’s wish, nor does she ever demand that Magnifico needs to grant every wish. She gets upset that he insinuates that her grandfather might have dangerous intentions, and because he does not have a convincing reason why he doesn’t return wishes that he won’t grant. Rather than calmly explaining his reasoning to her, Magnifico rudely dismisses Asha and then blows up at her.

If Magnifico were a good leader, he would have explained to each person WHY he won’t grant their wish, and given them advice on alternatives. As it stands, he knows full well that everyone expects their wish to be granted. It’s why they even came to Rosas in the first place, it is the literal reason he even built his kingdom. He clearly makes a big spectacle out of the wish granting ceremonies, which every citizen visibly goes wild for. He never elaborates to anyone his specific standards for the wishes he chooses to grant, other than a broad statement of "for the good of the kingdom". In his regard, Magnifico reminds me of bureaucratic systems that never provide every option or solution upfront, with their logic being "you didn't ask".

Not to mention, he literally tells Asha, "People think wishes are just ideas. But no, no, they are a part of your heart. The very best part." He knows, for a fact, how important wishes are to everyone. But the movie's awful writing makes him think the best solution to dealing with wishes that MIGHT have dangerous consequences, is to just hoard them. All that returning the ungranted wishes will accomplish is returning the memory of what the wish even is, that's literally it, and the people will be no better off than they were before they gave Magnifico their wish.

I dunno about you guys, but whenever I watched stories that preached “be careful what you wish for”, my takeaway was never “your desires could be dangerous and you should never pursue them for fear of disaster”, I always thought the stories were telling us, “beware of anything that promises instant gratification, because it’s usually too good to be true, and will cost you more than you will gain”. While the things you want in life may have disastrous consequences, you won’t really know until you try to pursue them through your own honest efforts, and not through “magical” shortcuts. That’s how we learn and grow, through trial and error. 

As it currently stands from my point of view, when people say "Magnifico has every right to keep ungranted wishes" it looks like they're unintentionally saying, “The Disney Corporation has every right to keep your work and ideas, because you willingly and legally handed them over. Tough luck if you regret the deal you were given. No takesies backsies!”

While I have found no evidence to confirm that the filmmakers intended for Magnifico to be a criticism of Corporate Disney, considering the inclusion of the animation sweatshop scene in Pixar's Inside Out 2, I think the probability is likely. (Not to mention, when Asha shows Magnifico her little flipbook animation, he dismissively remarks “Do we consider that a talent?”)

Please note, everyone is free to rewrite and reinterpret Magnifico however they want. He's just a fictional character after all, and fan content is supposed to be for fun. I just think it's funny how defensive people get over him a he appears in the final movie. They say he deserved better, and I agree, but we have very different ideas of what "better" means. In fact, I think every character in Wish deserved better, because again, they were all victims of bad writing. My problem isn't that they took a good man and made him arbitrarily "evil", it's that they didn't make him evil enough from the very beginning. Remember those deleted scenes featuring a villainous Magnifico with better writing, along with an evil Amaya that he can play off of? I'm fairly certain that everyone unanimously agreed these deleted scenes were much better than the final movie, and yet some still insist that Magnifico should have been a hero all along. I dunno, it's a funny dichotomy. 

EDIT: A few days after posting I came across this video essay supporting the interpretation of Magnifico as a critique of Corporate Disney and I loved it. Please go watch it!

[cimmanonrowl]

Cyber Sex

You can only put up with so much as Aaron Hotchner's girlfriend. Busy office hours? Case files scattering your usually neat living room? Rescheduling appointments? Impromptu dates? Fine. But what about ovulating while he's out of town?

Pairing: aaron hotchner x writer!reader

Theme: smut heaven

Contents: age gap, soft dom!aaron, cam sex, daddy kink, dirty talking, powerplay: older man/younger woman relationship, squirting, guided masturbation.

The soft mattress of your shared bed dipped against Aaron’s weight. On a normal day, you would’ve greeted him excitedly downstairs. He’d gotten used to seeing you first thing with your curls tied in a messy bun, only wearing your skimpy underwear under his old and oversized Law School shirt; all with a warm, angelic smile on your lips as you hugged him tightly.

Tonight, however, was different.

When he stepped inside the bedroom, you quickly felt his hand on your waist, the pad of his thumb tracing soft circles on your bare skin. Another stifled sob escaped your lips at the contact. Your eyes already stung after hours of crying, blood rushing down your head as you were forced to swallow the lump in your throat.

You heard Aaron heave a deep sigh before cautiously inching closer to your trembling figure, your back facing him.

“Sweetheart…” His voice was quiet and rough, obviously twinged with exhaustion. “I know you’re awake, baby. Look at me, please?”

You scooted away from the warmth of his hand, letting another set of warm tears cascade down your cheeks.

“Sweetheart,” He called out softly, shuffling towards you. “I know you’re mad and I can understand why. And I know that I deserve it, but at least let’s talk about what happened.”

“Go away, Aaron.”

“Hmm?”

Instead of being offended, Aaron just pursed his lips. He carefully placed his big, calloused hand on your waist again, rubbing soothing circles on your skin as he silently watched you. His heart clenched at the state you’re in, fresh tears dripping down your face and straight to your pillow, your shoulders racking in a quiet sob.

“Darling, you know we won’t fix anything without having to talk about it. You have to tell me what you feel and help me fix this…” He urged gently.

The room was quiet for a moment, just the sound of the whirring of the AC and your wet sniffling could be heard on occasion. Your brain flew back to the memories of today’s events. Waking up early and excitedly preparing Aaron’s lunch, kissing him goodbye with his promise of taking an afternoon off from work for your date, you anxiously waiting for him to arrive at your book event, then spending the rest of the day all by yourself.

No reply nor callback from him, not even a single notice that he won’t be able to fulfill his promise. You even had to call Garcia to know that your dear boyfriend was called to an emergency meeting.

Your heart aches even at the mere thought of it.

Of course, you’re aware of the consequence of being with Aaron. When you introduced him to your parents, both of them sat you down and talked to you about the possible dangers of being with a Federal agent. The criminals he’d thrown in jail might get their revenge on him through you, or that you might be targeted as a mere collateral damage. The idea lingered in your brain— it still does every now and then, if you’re honest. But you trust Aaron with your life so much that you know even with those possibilities, Aaron will do his best to protect you.

But it was different when you told your friends about your new relationship. Ever since they’ve been vocal about their concern about your setup: Aaron Hotchner is a busy, busy man. They were worried about you being neglected, or for your efforts to go unnoticed and taken advantage of. Regardless, you fought for him and convinced them that as much as Aaron is a man with a high sense of duty, he is a good partner who always tries to spend as much time with you, with the little free time his job can ever offer.

And for three years, it was enough.

Just not for today.

You sniffed quietly, your voice hoarse when you spoke again. “I rescheduled three reservations since last week, Aaron. I had a book event today and you promised to accompany me.”

“I know, sweetheart…” He whispered regretfully, combing through his hair in frustration. “I’m sorry.”

“You always say that.”

You felt him stiffen at your words, and his thumb stopped its movements in accord. You could almost sense the dread washing over him. “I know, baby, and this isn’t what I wanted you to feel. So let me make it up to you, sweetheart. Work’s just been…”

“I don’t want to hear about your work right now, Aaron.” 

The pleading in your voice caught him off-guard. That was the truth. You’re too upset and pissed to listen to his work problems. And he knows that’s one of the things you loved doing. Normally, you’d let him vent out to you about the things that worried him, stressed him, or angered him for the day— and it usually ends with his cock deep down your throat or pounding in and out of your willing cunt.

But not right now.

He won’t even bother spending an afternoon to support you and your work. Why would you listen to him, right? Right.

After another beat of silence, Aaron nodded in understanding. “Do you want me to sleep on the couch, sweetheart?”

You quickly shook your head.

“I prepared—” You swallowed thickly, almost choking on your own tears. God, you missed him so much.

As much as you felt neglected and hurt by his recent actions, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop caring for him. The image of him spending his night cramped on a couch, and not being able to rest properly isn’t something you can easily stomach. Maybe you’re too in love it’s almost pathetic.

“Yes, sweetheart? What were you saying?”

“I prepared the guest room. S-sleep there.”

“Oh…” His words came out like a whisper, so comforting you almost let yourself melt into it. “Thank you, baby, but I’d like to stay here in our bedroom. I can take the couch if you don’t want me near—”

“Aaron.”

“Yes?”

He waited for you to continue, his warm hand continuously rubbing soft circles on your waist. 

“You’re getting on my nerves, Aaron. Leave me alone.”

As soon as he heard the words come out of your mouth, you instantly felt the subtle change in his grip; it turned firm and rigid. And you couldn’t help but bite your lower lip and expect whatever was about to come.

Aaron exhaled a little sharply.

“I don’t appreciate this attitude, little girl. I’m trying to talk to you.”

“And I just said I don’t want to talk!” You argued back, your voice still hoarse from crying, now raising a tad.

“Lower your voice down. I don’t want to start a fight.”

“Yeah, how noble of you.”

“Jesus…” He mumbled under his breath. Even with your back facing him, you can imagine the look of disbelief on his face. “I’m trying to solve this before this night ends but all I’m getting is this attitude.”

“If you don’t leave me alone, I’m leaving.”

“And where would you go at this late hour, huh?”

His challenging voice infuriated you even more. “I don’t know, some dude maybe. The one who can spend time with me and maybe fuck me—”

“Oh, so is that what this attitude is about? You’re so horny that you’re willing to knock on a stranger’s door and let him fuck you with his small dick, just to get back at me?”

“Whatever you say, old man.”

With a tender yet forceful grip on your waist, he was able to flip you on your back. You watched him as he stood, his hand quietly traveling down his belt and deftly unbuckling it.

“You don’t mean that, little girl.” He pointed out calmly, shaking his head a little. “I think we both know your pretty, little cunt was too ruined by my cock you won’t ever feel satisfied with anything else.”

“You’re so full of crap, Hotchner.”

He raised an eyebrow. 

“Am I now?”

“You’re so full of yourself. There’s a lot of guys out there—”

“Oh, really?” He tugged his necktie from side to side, loosening it before swiftly taking it off. You saw the glint in his eyes as he smiled at you in amusement. “Then why are you scrambling to remove your soaked underwear, sweetling? I thought there’s a lot of guys out there?”

Heat crept on your cheeks as your eyes wandered down your body. Your pink cotton underwear was already pulled down on your ankles, with an obvious wet stain on the fabric.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Aaron smiled as he flicked his pointer finger, urging you to come closer. “How about I eat you out, make you cum over and over again until you squirt on my face? Would my little girl forgive me then?”

You scrambled on your knees, your plump lips shut as you shuffled closer to him. He chuckled softly as you glared at him with your rimmed red eyes. In his eyes, you look heavenly; your hair messy and tear-stained cheeks glowing with a soft hue of rose.

He ran the pad of his thumbs on the remnant of tears on your cheeks before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“You’re so pretty even when you’re crying, doll…” He whispered softly, his apprehensive eyes wandering all over your face. “But I hate making you upset. I’m so sorry I hurt you. Let me make it up to you, sweetheart.”

You sniffed with a nod, whispering. “Okay...”

“Okay what, sweetheart?”

“Eat me out, daddy…” You demanded in a soft tone, staring at him through your lashes, blinking almost innocently at him. “I want your tongue inside my pussy. Let’s see if I’ll forgive you after that.”

He smiled a little. “Oh, I’ll make sure you will, little girl. I will fuck you dumb on the balcony you’d be ashamed to face our neighbors.”

He pressed a sweet kiss on your lips, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering on your cheek.

“Sounds good, daddy,” you smiled back, subtly rubbing your thighs in need.

Sunlight filtered into the room, casting a warm glow on the walls and floor the next morning. You stirred, feeling the warmth of the sun on your face and the coldness of the mattress. Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the light, your eyes quickly wandering around the room to look for Aaron who was no longer lying beside you. 

Instead, the sound of hurried footsteps and rustling clothes filled the air.

“Aaron?” You called softly, sitting on the bed as you stifled a yawn.

You turned towards the walk-in closet, noticing Aaron moving frantically around the room, already dressed in his work clothes. A frown unknowingly lidded your expression as you glanced at the bedside table, seeing that your digital clock displayed it was only 9 AM.

“It’s Saturday,” You couldn’t help but point out. “It’s your day off.”

Aaron turned to you guiltily. “I know, sweetheart. But Strauss just called; we got a case. I need to gather the team, you know how she’s been lately. With budget cuts and everything she’s complaining about.”

“Where are you off to this time?”

You watched his reflection as he effortlessly knotted his tie. He looked so good and professional you can’t even bring yourself to feel upset. From a short distance, you can smell his perfume and body wash. The sight was enough to stir your lustful thoughts and send tingles down your sore and well-spent cunt.

“You okay, angel?” He called out, watching you tentatively in the mirror. “I’ll be home in a few days, don’t worry.”

“You said you’ll take me out on a date later…”

Aaron took a deep breath, contemplation plastering his face. You listened to the sound of his footsteps coming closer, the morning sunlight enveloping you in its warm embrace.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorr—”

“It’s okay, Aaron. I understand,” You smiled in assurance, reaching for his tie to straighten it. “People need you.”

“I want to be here with you, too,” He pressed his forehead against yours. “I’m really sorry, angel. I’ll come home as quickly as I can then file for a leave. We can go on a vacation together.”

You hummed with a small smile. “Okay.”

“Just like that, sweet girl?” He laughed teasingly. “Oh. Is it because of last night? Did daddy remind you how he kept true to his words?”

You blushed at the question. “It’s too early for this talk, Aaron.”

“Well, I did tell you I’ll fuck you so good you’d be pliant on my wants.”

“I saw Mrs. Moore smoking on her balcony last night, she definitely saw us…” Your blush deepened. “I can’t face her ever again.”

Aaron’s eyes lit in humor, and he leaned down to press a quick, gentle kiss to your forehead. “What a whore you are, baby…” he whispered before straightening up. “I really have to go, angel. I’ll call you later, alright?”

You nodded, watching as he grabbed his go-bag and headed for the door. “Hmm. Come home safe and quick.”

“Will do, angel,” he replied, giving you one last look before disappearing down the hallway.

You spent the entire day working and tending to house chores. Aaron called you the moment they landed, assuring you once again that he’d be home as fast as he could. The house was quiet for hours, only the sound of your fingers occasionally hitting the keyboard lingering in the air.

Aaron’s office was cloaked in a soft glow of corner lamps. You sat at Aaron’s desk with your laptop open in front of you. The book you were writing was already coming to a climax, the cursor blinking on a blank document, waiting for words that refused to come.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you stared at the screen. You had been trying to write for hours, but the scene in your head just wouldn’t translate into words. It was as if the characters were mocking you, their actions vivid in your mind yet stubbornly silent on the page.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, tapping out a few words before deleting them in frustration. You leaned back in your chair, closing your eyes in an attempt to visualize the scene more clearly. Your characters were supposed to have a slow, intimate moment. But for some reason, all you can think about is Aaron’s tongue buried down your dripping cunt, his thick fingers pounding in and out, his thumb rubbing your clit; desperately chasing your high. 

Last night, by the third orgasm, you squirted on his mouth. And he happily lapped your release, whispering encouragement and how he’s so lucky to be able to please you. Then he fucked you near the balcony door, putting on a show for anyone to see.

Minutes crawled by and you found yourself browsing your laptop, scrolling through the locked folder you shared with Aaron, the one containing your sex videos. You eagerly scrolled down, your free hand rubbing slow circles through the thin fabric of your cotton underwear.

You settled with a video Aaron taken just a month ago. It was a close-up shot of his cock pounding gently, slowly, inside your cunt— his cum dripping out with every thrust. With a sharp sigh, you quickly removed your underwear and propped both your legs on the armrest of Aaron’s swivel chair.

You rubbed your clit in a teasing movement, watching the video with wide eyes. Arousal was slowly dampening your cunt which only triggered the pace of your fingers. Heat was slowly licking your skin, a coil tightening in your stomach, watching how Aaron was filling your pussy with his seed, almost too much that some of it spilled out after his shallow pounding.

“Look at this pussy, angel. Fuck. It’s so warm… feels like heaven…” Aaron moaned on the video, his voice rough, his thumb pressing hard circles on your aching cunt, making you clamp your legs a little.

“Moan louder, baby. I want to hear your pretty voice...”

You thrust in your middle finger in desperation, your eyes focused on your laptop screen. “Daddy… Oh my god…”

The camera focused on Aaron’s face as he caged his head in between your thighs. With his cum dripping out of your pussy, he gave your cunt a few teasing licks before finally slipping his tongue inside, moving it around with such expertise. As he continued tongue fucking your hole, his thumb was incessant on abusing your clit.

Once satisfied with your reaction: moaning like a whore and tugging on his hair, he thrusted in his cock once again.

“Daddy! D-daddy! I’m cumming!” Your hysterical moaning rang in the four corners of the room. “Gonna s-squirt. Fuck, daddy– yes! Yes, there, there! Oh m-my god, faster!”

“Oh, this spot right here, little girl?”

Your teeth sank on your bottom lip as you continued watching. Aaron suddenly took out his cock, slapping it against your clit with vigor. You eagerly watched how that pushed you on the edge. You squirted so hard some of Aaron’s cum dripped out, your legs trembling and tightening in so much pleasure.

The lewd sound of your wet cunt squelching was accompanied by your shameless moans. The video already ended on your screen but you can’t bring yourself to stop, too desperate to reach your incoming orgasm. Your fingers were already cramping in effort. God, how you wish Aaron was here to fingerfuck your pussy instead.

But a notification startled you out of your wits. Grounding you back to the reality that you’re actually fingering yourself in front of your laptop. You even forgot to block your camera.

The notification, luckily, was a FaceTime call from your boyfriend.

You quickly propped your legs down to the ground and fixed yourself. Trying to slow down your ragged breathing, you found yourself accepting Aaron’s call almost instantly.

“H-hi!” You greeted excitedly, combing your hair as you saw yourself on the screen. Hell, you looked fucked out. “Hi, love. Done for the day?”

Aaron’s eyes seemed to harden at the sound of your voice. His hair was damp as if he just got out of the shower. You can tell that he’s not wearing a shirt yet, beads of water cascading down his neck down to his chest.

“Yes, gorgeous. Am I interrupting something?” He prompted shortly, making you blush.

“N-no, not really… I was just writing…”

He hummed, shuffling on his bed. “Yeah, right. That’s exactly what I just saw, sweetheart.”

“What—” You frowned a little; until realization dawned on you. You quickly whipped your head in the direction of the CCTV. “Oh— you were watching?”

He chuckled softly, enjoying the look of embarrassment on your face. “You didn’t reply to my texts so I checked the security cameras on my laptop. And to answer your question, yes, dirty girl, daddy’s watching.”

“I’m sorry, daddy. I just missed you…”

“It’s alright, my love. I’m the one who should be sorry…” He assured you with an adoring smile. “Have you orgasmed yet, angel?”

You shook your head bashfully. “Not yet, daddy… you called so...”

“So it’s my fault again?” He teased, chuckling. “I can’t let my little girl not orgasm now, can I?”

You shook your head eagerly, unconsciously rubbing your thighs together as you listened to his mesmerizing, deep voice.

“Can you go back to your position earlier and show me your pretty cunt, little girl?”

You didn’t have to be told twice. You spread your legs in his command and propped it on both armrests, running your pointer finger up and down your wetness.

“I’m so wet, daddy. Was watching our videos…” You confessed sultrily.

A groan rumbled from Aaron’s chest with that. “I saw, baby. What were you watching exactly?”

“The one with— the one in the hotel. You shot a video of my pussy dripping full of your cum and you’re fucking me slowly…”

“I remember that…” He answered shortly, his piercing eyes focused on your fingers tracing slow circles on your aching cunt. “You squirted twice, didn’t you? One from daddy’s cock and one on my mouth. You taste like heaven, little girl. You’re making daddy hard.”

You blushed at his words. Aaron has always been good at talking in bed, he never failed to push you to orgasm with his dirty mouth. “Can I see, daddy, p-please?”

“See what, pretty girl?”

“You big cock, daddy, please? W-wanna see…”

“Rub your clit faster, baby. Go on…” He encouraged softly, palming his hardness through his sweatpants.

Carefully, he laid his laptop on the mattress, giving you a full view of him. Indeed, he was topless, and to your surprise, he was wearing gray sweatpants.

“Daddy…” You plunged in your middle finger, moaning at the sudden intrusion in your pussy. “I miss you. N-need you here…”

“I know, baby. I’ll be home quick,” He said assuringly, still rubbing the hardness outlining his pants. “I spent almost 4 hours fucking that pussy last night and I still can’t get enough. Fuck, angel, if only I can taste that wet cunt—”

A series of pained moans escaped your lips, adding another finger as you saw Aaron finally taking out his cock. With curious eyes, you watched as Aaron spat on his palm before rubbing the wetness on his veiny cock.

“D-daddy… Want your cock down my throat… then my pussy…”

You feel so wet the only thing you can almost hear in the room is the lewd squelching of your fingers assaulting your pussy. Aaron groaned at the sound.

“You’re so wet, baby. I want to suck on your clit as you cum from my fingers,” His eyebrows were tugged together in a frown as he matched the pace of his hand with your fingers. “Then I will fuck you with my big fat cock until you’re a drooling mess. Faster, baby. That’s it. Good girl…”

“Da... daddy!”

“Yes, angel. That’s it... faster, baby. You’re so pretty like that. God, look at that pussy, dripping and desperate to be filled...”

“Need you inside me, Aaron... want your cum...”

“You like that, baby? Like putting on a whore show for daddy?”

“I l-love it d-daddy… wanna p-please you always— oh god, Aaron!” Your legs trembled as you finally hit the spongy spot inside.

“Fuck… I want to pound that fucking pussy until it’s full of my cum…” His voice sounded breathless and restrained, throwing back his neck with his eyes closed to savor the dirty sounds you’re making. 

“O-oh! Want your cum inside… want you t-to breed me, daddy. Want your babies inside–”

“Fuck, angel. I’m not going to stop fucking you until you’re pregnant. Wait until I get back...” He moaned, thrusting on his fist hard and fast. “You’re such a good girl for daddy, baby… Cum for me, come on. Make me proud.”

Your vision blurred as your orgasm ripped through your body. You felt a wave of arousal leak through your pulsing cunt, squirting so hard it almost reached your laptop. Catching your breath, you clamped your legs together as your cunt clenched tightly around your fingers.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You’re going to be the death of me.” You heard Aaron mumbled quietly. And you could only giggle in exhaustion, voice too raw and fucked out to reply.

I suck at tagging, I know. As always, every thoughts and reactions are highly appreciated. Drink your water, babes, and slay!

[polakina]

how they fuck you

red dead redemption headcanons #2

hc masterlist // masterlist

on my third playthrough of rdr2 and i cannot bring myself to play low honour. why do i put myself through this?

also this is ridiculously long, got a little carried away but i shall not apologise

rating: explicit

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is always gentle with you at first

delicate touches, lingering kisses, gazing eyes at your every movement or ministration

"what do you want, mi amor? tell me"

loves to hear you beg for him, want him

it just turns him on even more

dirty talk through the ROOF

this man knows how to talk you through it

"fuck you feel amazing, hermosa. yeah, just like that, huh? anything for you"

will eat you out for days if he could

never really tried it before, even when he lived in Mexico, he never really gave it a go

but with you, he wanted to try everything. whatever you wanted, he was up for it

so when you first asked him, he was nervous as hell, but willing to try

he found out he loved it and does it every single fucking time he had you all to himself

buries himself between your thighs like a man starved, his arms wrapped tightly around your thighs to keep you still

his tongue worked fucking wonders on your pussy, knowing exactly where to focus his attention, loving how you always moaned a little softer when his tongue dipped inside your cunt

fucks you slow, savouring the moment when he can

loves to have you riding him. seeing you on top spurs something inside him

his hands grip your waist fiercely, guiding your hips to grind against him, pulling sweet, elicit moans from your throat

loves to cut your clothes from your body with his knife

it's so much more satisfying than just taking them off with his hands

kinda likes quickies. prefers taking his time but there's something about pulling you away for a few minutes to have his way with you behind the protection of a tree or something that he loves

usually happens out on missions, so there's risk of the gang seeing you guys, but what's life without a little risk?

you could be on watch beside your tent while everyone sleeps, and javier will come over to keep you company

but it doesn't take long for his hand to slip into your pants as he whispers all sorts of things in your ear as he sits behind you while you try and continue your watch duty

was terrible at aftercare before, never really understood the in's and out's of it

but learned eventually with you, when you explained it to him

now he's at your beck and call whenever you need it

wear this man's hat around camp and that's all he needs to pull you to a secluded tent

but wear it while you fuck him? arthur would die happy in that exact moment

likes to call you 'cowgirl' when you ride him. you always roll your eyes at how stupid it sounds, but it doesn't stop him

the two of you don't have all the time in the world. being one of dutch's most trusted members, he's needed away from camp a lot more than anyone else

so you've both learned the art of being fast

and it doesn't take long for him to make you cum

never asks for them, but loves blowjobs

he likes to draw in his tent when he's got time to himself, so when he sees you come in and sink to your knees in between his lap, he can't think of a better sight

the absolute king of praises (have you heard how he talks to his horse?? imagine him talking to a woman oml)

not a fan of degrading, he never saw the appeal, but uses other methods to 'punish' you

"what do you want, darlin?" he'd say as he's fucking you from behind, your face pressed into the pillow to stifle your moans, your ass in the air held up by his hands on your hips. "oh babygirl, you wanna cum, huh? then you can beg me for it, can't you?"

will edge you for days

especially when he knows he's going to be away for a few days afterwards

definitely grabs the headboard

mainly for his own stability to be able to thrust into you harder as you moan his name into the room

has his hands on you at all times

holding your hands above your head by your wrists, holding your face against the mattress with his hand on the back of your neck, curling his fingers in your hair and gently yanking your head back when he pounds into you

when you do get a night away from camp, he wants to make it last the whole night

takes his time with you to the point where he's practically teasing you for hours

takes his time undressing you, kissing every part of your body, touching every part of you until his fingerprints were practically imprinted into your skin

give this man some guidance or it's like walking through a maze blindfolded

learned a lot with you

figured out really quick what you liked and what you didn't like, what places he could touch you that would send your head spinning

this eventually led him to learn how to be very sneaky in public

he could touch you in such simple places, in such an innocent way that no one else would think anything of it

but you'd know, and you wouldn't stop it

you like the way he touched your neck? he was all over that shit, cupping your cheek, his fingers tickling your neck

you liked his hands in your hair? his fingers tangled at the base of your neck, pulling your hair slightly to tease you

his hand would rest on your thighs, fingers slowly creeping up your thigh while you were all sat around the campfire

you'd always give him a little glare, which he would ignore, a goofy smirk on his face

and the way he fucked you was no different

he had mastered the art of teasing your body and your limits, and put that knowledge in every time he had you alone

"come on, marston. stop teasin' me like this"

he'd always smirk, working his way down your body in a painfully slowly manner

"i'm takin' my time with you, sweetheart. you just lay back and relax. lemme take care of you"

loved to make you feel good before he even thought about himself

but when he was too pent up, he came a lot quicker than he wanted

but he made up for it when tending to you afterwards until you were practically pushing him away, too sensitive for his expert fingers

not the best at going down on you, but makes up with experience

but what he's really good with is his hands

his fingers

they know exactly what they're doing when he pushes them inside your soaked pussy

curling at that devastating spot inside you that makes you crumble to your knees

loves to be on top of you, seeing your face contort when he pushes inside you slowly, deeply

he's basic, a lover of missionary, but seeing your face and watching your body writhe under his grip is really what turns him on

[lokidjarin-7567]

The Alchemy

Hwang In-ho (professor AU) x Reader

Your chemistry professor caught your eye the moment you walked into class, and as time went on, you couldn’t deny your feelings anymore. Did he feel it too, or were you doomed to heartbreak?

fem!reader x Professor Hwang In-ho, smut, fluff, a little angst and everything in between, badly edited, multiple POV, 18+ MDNI

8.5k words (sorry not sorry)

And here it is!! I’ve been obsessed with him for a while now, so very glad Squid Game is giving him the recognition he deserves from a Western audience. Decided to da a Professor AU because yum, so hope you enjoy x

Taglist: @nicki-lovesolderfictionalmen @jamiewritesfanfiction-blog @nunita23

TTPD Contents | General Masterlist | AO3

You knew it was wrong. Your obsession with him. Everything about him was thoroughly captivating to you: the way he spoke, the way he dressed, the way he walked around the lecture hall with such confidence. You were enthralled every single lesson, so attentive and studious, hanging on his every last word like it was some kind of spell for everlasting life. Really, if you thought about it, it was actuallly a good thing. Your grades were better, you hadn’t missed a single lecture since the term began, and you were putting more effort into your studies in a desperate effort to impress him. And the cherry on top of the cake was that he had noticed. He knew you by name, he always picked you first if you had your hand up, and he even added complimentary comments to your papers. Even if he was old enough to be your dad, even if there was a power imbalance, even if nothing could ever happen between you, your crush only continued to grow stronger.

“I know, I know, class is nearly over, but we’ve got a few more things to cover, so let’s wake you all up with a little organic pop-quiz.” A few groans echoed around the room, but you smiled. Organic chemistry was your favourite, especially when he taught it, so you watched as he drew a few molecules on the whiteboard. A formula, and a damn easy one.

“Can anyone tell me the primary product here?” Your hand was up before the question was finished, but you tried to limit your keen nature - only half-raising your hand lazily as you doodled the finished equation on your notepad. You liked to think you were quite good at hiding your adoration for him. Yes, you could listen to him talk for hours, but you knew when to watch him and when to take notes. You knew when to speak up and when to stay quiet. You could control your face, aside from the occasional blush, never sitting there with puppy-dog eyes or biting your pen like they do in the movies. You were subtle - small smiles after a compliment, gazing with admiration when he wasn’t looking, answering any questions quickly but with professionalism and confidence. The perfect student. But you never, ever flirted. You knew that was academic suicide, especially with a Professor as influential as him. You were content with detached obsession. For now, at least.

Your heart did flutter, though, at the smile and small chuckle he gave when he saw your hand.

“Of course, the only student I have that actually enjoys organic…” You heard a few hums of agreement from the students behind you, saw the nods from the ones in front. You smiled at your reputation.

“What can I say, at least you always have someone to answer your questions…” Another laugh, music to your ears.

“That is true. Go ahead.”

“Well, that’s ethanol and that’s ethanoic acid so you would produce ethyl ethanoate.”

“Ah, I made it too easy for you! Should have mixed up the length of the polymers so you would have to think about which prefix came first.” Another flash of a smile.

“Rookie error.” You joked, and it was the closest you’d ever been to flirting. The back and forth was making you blush, the way his eyes were fixed to you from the front of the classroom. You were in your usual spot in the third row - the perfect distance to see him clearly, but not too close to look keen. Although, that point was kind of defeated by the amount of times your hand was first up, no matter how nonchalantly you tried to do it. His eyes were glittering with a slight playfulness now, head slightly cocked and you were bewitched as a few locks of his neat hair fell across his forehead.

“In that case, come and draw it for me please.” Fuck. He looked pleased with himself, hand brushing the fallen strands back, small smirk playing across his features. You sighed, heading to the front of the room in defeat. He handed you the whiteboard pen, fingers brushing yours just slightly. They were soft, delicate and warm, and his eyes were firmly fixed on you as you muttered a quiet thank you. You didn’t get to see him this close often, but you didn’t have time to take him in beyond the deep brown of his eyes, his height compared to yours, and the light scent of sandalwood that seemed to cling to the air around him even after he had walked past you back to the front of the room.

“While she’s doing that, can someone else tell me the uses of this ester please?” You were grateful your back was to the rest of the class, a furious blush spreading across your cheeks at the proximity. He glanced back at your shorthand sketch, giving you a small nod of encouragement.

“Good, and in full please.” You obeyed wordlessly, just finishing the second bond on the oxygen when the bell rang.

“That’s it for today then, everybody. Check the online portal for the homework.” He called out above the sound of bags being packed. “Oh, and there are more practical classes this term, so your timetables are also on the portal for those. I know they’re boring, and I know you’ve done them all a million times, but you have to do them again to pass!” He sighed, half the class already gone by the time he finished his sentence. He turned back to you, holding his hand out with a smile and you passed the marker back to him, careful not to brush his hand this time. As much as you wanted to feel his skin against yours again, you would blush too obviously to get away with it. “Thank you,” he said to you quietly, “I know at least one student will show for the practicals.”

“No worries.” You didn’t want to leave yet, allowing yourself to enjoy the being around him a little now the rest of the class was clearing out. He was wearing your favourite suit today - charcoal grey wool - with a soft, baby blue shirt and a navy tie. He was meticulous as ever: understated silver tie pin perfectly level, tie itself knotted immaculately, hair brushed back neatly. Even his shoes were perfect, not a single scuff on the leather. Being around him like this was intoxicating, and you couldn’t help but talk to him just a little more as the last student filed out of the room. “What will the first practical be, out of interest?” You asked, forcing yourself to move back to your desk and slowly pack up your things.

“Just a distillation, I think...” He replied, trailing off and absentmindedly flicking through a few papers on his desk. You nodded, sensing his loss of interest, slinging your bag over your shoulder with just a hint of disappointment.

“Ok, sounds good. Thank you Professor…” You turned towards the door, but froze when you heard him call your name. You turned back around to see him looking at you slightly expectantly, a nervous energy buzzing from him that you’d never seen before.

“Before you go, I was just wondering if you’d picked an advisor yet? I know the decision is coming up in a few weeks.”

“No, I haven’t actually…” In all honestly, you had two options. And he was one of them. Of course he was. He was the best in the university, not to mention one of the best in his field. You learnt the most from him, you had the best relationship with him compared to the rest of your Professors. There were only two reasons why he wouldn’t be a perfect choice. Firstly, he was very picky with who he takes on, but if this conversation was going the way you thought it was, problem solved. The second, and much bigger, issue was your little obsession. If he was your advisor, you would see him one-on-one every two weeks at least, on top of class time, practicals time and in between all of that if you had questions. And for most people that had a crippling crush like you did, they would be jumping for joy at the opportunity to spend more quality time with them. But you didn’t want that. You didn’t want to make a move on him, or make your feelings for him obvious because it could destroy everything you had worked so hard towards. But equally, having him on your side was a great accolade, and it would do you wonders in your academic career.

You were a big girl. You could handle a little crush.

“Well…” He continued, hand running through his hair again before starting to pack up his own things. “I would very much like to fill that role unless you had anyone else in mind. You’re incredibly talented, and passionate about the subject in a way I don’t see often. You don’t have to decide right now, of course…”

“I would love that.” Your mouth had answered before your brain caught up, but his wide smile solidified your resolve.

“Excellent. Well, how does Friday sound for our first meeting? I think that’s when you’re scheduled for the practical, so that makes it easy…”

“That sounds perfect. Thank you, again, Professor Hwang, I appreciate the opportunity…”

“Not at all. The pleasure is all mine.” His wide smile warmed your heart thoroughly, and you left before you could melt into a puddle on the floor at the nature of his words.

It had been a couple of months now, and dear God, it was driving you insane. You’d made a huge mistake, and unfortunately for you, it was an unfixable one. He was the perfect advisor in every way - attentive, intelligent, willing, passionate, everything you could ever want. But being so close to him was driving you crazy. Once a fortnight, it was just you and him in his office, talking for an hour, joking, laughing, fighting every urge in your body to climb across the desk and give in to your desires. You had even started to dress up for him - purposely putting in extra effort the days you knew you had a meeting. The crush was getting much worse too, obsession starting to take over. For days after your meeting, all you could do was analyse every tiny interaction you had, every time he looked at you or spoke to you or even breathed differently. And fucking hell it was driving you insane.

You were sure it was getting harder to hide too. Before, it was less of a crush, more an admiration. Yes, you were aware he was attractive, but more than anything, you were capitavated by his teaching and passion. Now, all of that was still true, but all you could think about was how much you wanted to fuck him. Twice just that week you had missed half the class caught up in a daydream, not even being able to answer him when he called on you, too busy thinking about him bending you over his desk and having his way with you. Your last paper got a B because every time you tried to write, all you could think about was him reading it. What he would be wearing when he graded it at home. Comfortable clothes, surely, hair messy and uncouth. What he would think of it, whether he would smile at your words and add little notes when he agreed with what you were saying. Whether he truly thought as much about you while reading it as you thought of him while writing it.

You’d fucked up. You’d gotten too close, irreversibly so, and now, you had to see him today. You knew he would have something to say about your grades dropping. It was getting too obvious. You just hoped he would accept whatever bullshit you managed to invent on the spot. Your knuckles rapped against his office door, heart stuck in your throat.

**

She had caught his eye the minute she stepped into his lecture hall that first day of term. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly about her, whether it was her eyes, or hair, or lips. Or maybe it was just her. The confidence she seemed to exude, her sense of style, the studious and determined look she always seemed to have on her face. She was the most active participant in his classes, and every time he called on her, she would answer with such enthusiasm and excitement. He could tell how much she genuinely enjoyed the subject from the very first lesson, and even as the term continued, her passion didn't waver like some students’ did. She hadn’t missed a single lecture - always there in the same spot on the third row, and he was grateful for her choice of seat. It was close enough to see her, not too close to make it obvious that he was staring, and it was also far enough into the classroom that he had time to admire her while she made her way to her seat. To watch her while she was focussed elsewhere - namely, walking down the stairs without falling over. He enjoyed the time it gave him to work out how she was feeling on a day, whether she seemed dejected or excited, shy or outgoing. He liked how easy it was for him to read her.

And, if he was honest with himself, he liked the attention too. The first time he saw her, he knew he would be head over heels for a little while, and he accepted that. She was his student, and nothing could happen, so he buried it and got on with his lectures as usual, with only a few extra glances thrown her way when he knew she wouldn't be looking. But then he noticed it. The coy smiles, the extended glances, the occasional time he caught her biting her lip or pen. The way she blushed furiously if he ever caught her in the act. The first few times, he wrote it off as coincidence and wishful thinking, but eventually, it clicked that there was something there. Something charged. And he thrived off that energy.

That was why he had put forward the idea of being her advisor. If he was honest, he knew it was a terrible idea. That it could get messy, that he could get too close, that he would hurt his own feelings. But ultimately, he wanted to be near her as much as possible, and at the end of the day, in every scenario of shit hitting the fan, he was always the one that got fucked over. His feelings were clearly stronger than hers - something he had noticed recently swelling in his heart unreciprocated - and he was the one with his job on the line. He was the only one at risk, and he was willing to take that risk to be closer to her.

Recently, though, she’d seemed different. Distracted. Stressed. Avoidant. Her grades were dropping, she was barely talking in class and when he spoke to her one-on-one, he would catch her shrinking back into herself if she laughed too much, as though she was second guessing everything she did. He’d done everything to hide his feelings, and honestly, he thought he was doing a good job, but maybe she felt uncomfortable around him. Maybe he was being obvious and he’d misread her feelings. Or maybe she was just going through a rough patch in her personal life.

He had a meeting with her today, and he couldn’t think of anything but seeing her for the whole day. What she would be wearing, how or if he would broach the topic, what he should even say to her… He was struggling to concentrate on his lectures, mind wandering to her.

The relief washed through his body when he heard her knuckles softly knock against the door. He was worried she wouldn’t even come.

“Come in.” She opened the door cautiously, small smile on her lips. She looked more beautiful than she ever had somehow. She wasn’t wearing much makeup, just some natural blush and mascara, and her hair was down and framing her face perfectly. Her outfit was simple but classy; all black, simple satin skirt and skintight tee, chunky knit cardigan over the top.

“Hi Professor.” She replied cheerily, but there was a hint of something unreadable in her voice. Weariness, maybe? Stress? “How has your day been?” He smiled as they fell into their usual chatty routine, mind slightly at ease.

“Not too bad, thank you, although a few too many lectures for my liking. How was yours?” She laughed lightly, the sound warming his heart.

“Same problem for me too. A lot of lectures, none of them particularly interesting…” it seemed as though she wanted to say something else but bit her tongue, and he couldn’t help but feel himself deflate. He wanted her to be able to feel more comfortable around him, but she was holding herself back.

“That’s because I wasn’t teaching them…” The words fell from his lips before he could stop them, but to his relief, she smiled, a small chuckle escaping from her.

“Something like that.” She paused for a beat, seeming awkward and unsure. “Look, Professor, before we get into the stuff about my dissertation, I just wanted to talk to you about something…” The serious nature of her tone made his heart lurch, and he wanted to reach out and hold her hands, to drain away her evident nerves. She wasn’t even meeting his eyes, just wringing her hands in her lap as she tried to say what she needed to.

“Of course, my office is always an open space to talk about whatever you need to.” He hoped his words were comforting, and by her small smile, they had at least offered some small reassurance.

“I just wanted to apologise. I know my grades have been slipping a little the past few weeks, and I just wanted to make sure you knew that I’m on it and I’m doing everything to get them back up. I think I’ve just been a little distracted, and I don’t know really…” She was rambling, and his heart hurt for her. Yes, he had noticed her grades slipping a little, but it was from an A to a B for maybe two papers and a quiz. It wouldn’t affect her overall grade, and it certainly wouldn’t affect his opinion of her. He couldn’t help but wonder why she felt the need to apologise or explain herself.

“You have no reason to apologise. Everyone has better weeks than others, and it’s not going to affect your performance in my class or anything like that…”

“But…” she looked confused, as though she was genuinely trying to figure out why he wasn’t annoyed with her. “You’re Professor Hwang. I mean, you’re the best in your department, maybe even in the whole university. You pick your students that you want to advise because they’re the best, and I’ve not been…”

“First of all, I definitely am the best Professor in the *whole university*, thank you, but more importantly, that’s not why I pick people to mentor. I pick people based on their passion, talent, and work ethic. Not because they’re a machine who churns out A* papers every single week and has nothing else going on in their life that might affect that.” Once he’d finished talking, he looked up at her to see her close to tears, still staring at her hands in her lap.

“I, um…” she cleared her throat, finally meeting his eyes with a gratefulness he hadn’t seen in her before. A vulnerability he didn’t recognise, but wanted to see more of nonetheless. “Thank you for saying that. Really. None of my other Professors seem to think in that way.” Then under her breath, barely audible, she added something extra. “Neither do my family for that matter.”

“Well, as I said, my office is always open. If you ever have something you need to talk about, I’m here.”

“Thank you, truly.” She replied earnestly, and found himself struggling to reply as his heart swelled. He hadn’t realised how protective he felt over her until he saw her upset, but now, hand clenched by his side at the thought of someone making her feel unworthy over a few grades, he realised that maybe his feelings had blossomed a little more than he wanted them to.

The day after was another practical class. Just a titration, a check box more than anything with the calibre of his students. They knew what they were doing. Especially her. It would hopefully be an easy half hour; just let them do their thing, tick it off in the system, and be finished with it.

What he hadn't banked on, however, was the student that seemed to spend his whole time flirting with her.

She had been the first in the classroom that afternoon. She seemed tired, the last lesson after a likely busy day, but even more so than usual, her normally flawless makeup doing little to hide the puffy bags under her eyes. Her outfit was clean and put together, but a lot more basic than what she usually wore, just jeans and a baby tee, with none of her usual quirky flourishes. He was about to ask if she was ok, to talk to her more than the perfunctory hello she had thrown his way at the door when another student entered the classroom close behind her. The whole space was empty, but he decided to sit directly beside her. She seemed annoyed, making polite small talk but not much else and he just didn't seem to be taking the hint. He was leaning too close, laughing too loud, looking at her for too long…

His own jealousy surprised him. It was rage, pure and simple, white hot and blinding. He felt inordinately possessive, wanting nothing more than to shove him across the classroom and teach him a lesson about personal space, but as more students piled in to the space, all he could do was glare and hope he got the hint. Eventually though, she solved the problem herself. He had been so close to interfering, so blinded by anger he had started to move towards her bench, but she just stood up, and walked away from him mid sentence, ignoring him completely. The look of shock on his face was priceless, but the joy it brought him was quickly replaced with anger once again as the kid shifted in his seat, blushing red and muttering ‘bitch’ under his breath. If In-ho had a knife, he genuinely could have killed him in that moment. Because how fucking dare he.

But instead, he breathed in deeply before moving over to him calmly and giving him a menacing, tight-lipped smile. The student met his eyes with a perplexed look, but he just spoke over him before he had a chance to say anything else.

“If you ever talk about one of my students, let alone a woman, like that again, you will be barred from my class and the entirety of the chemistry department for the rest of your academic career, both at this school and wherever else you may choose to study. Is that crystal clear?” He said it so calmly, so coldly, that the kid just sat there in stunned silence for a moment, and he had to raise his eyebrow to prompt him to answer.

“Um… yes… yes Professor.” He stammered, and he smiled again without any warmth.

“Good, now find a new desk and complete your practical, or else you’ll have to retake my class, and you really don't want that, do you?” He shook his head frantically, scrambling away with his things and finding a space near the back of the room.

She looked confused for a moment when she got back to the now empty bench, but on glancing around the room and meeting his eyes, she smiled warmly at him in gratitude, blush spreading across her cheeks. He would do anything if it meant she smiled at him like that.

It had been an hour, and apart from one broken conical flask, there had been no major mishaps, and almost all of his students had finished their titrations. Except for her. She was on her fourth attempt now, the last student apart from her silently filing out of the classroom, and she was getting increasingly frustrated each time. He was trying to be subtle, to not make her feel pressured at all, but he couldn't help but watch as she turned the stopcock so slightly, letting a single drop fall into the flask, and he watched it turn colour perfectly… until the stopcock wasn't closed properly, another few drops sneaking through and pushing it past the end point colour.

“Fuck!” Every other attempt, it had been a quiet frustration, hidden under her breath, but this time she couldn't help it, cursing loudly and slamming her hand on the table. He could hear her heavy breaths even from across the room, her hand dragging through her hair in annoyance. She almost looked close to tears, just staring at the failed experiment. He muttered her name in concern, standing up ready to help her, but she just shook her head, grabbing the flask and heading to empty it.

“I’m so sorry for my outburst, Professor, my language was completely inappropriate…”

“No that’s not it at all, curse all you want…” He moved over to her desk as he spoke, but she was busying herself setting up again, not meeting his eyes. So he said her name again, firmly but kindly, garnering her attention without upsetting her. It worked, and she stopped moving for a moment, slightly out of breath in frustration. “Are you ok? You don’t seem yourself at all…” She was grinding her jaw as he spoke, trying to hold her emotions back, but a tear fell from her eye regardless, rolling down her cheek. She huffed loudly, wiping it away quickly and looking to the ceiling, trying to blink back the other tears that were threatening to spill.

“I’m fine.” She insisted, but her voice cracked as she did, another tear escaping as she muttered another curse under her breath. “Sorry, I’m just wasting your time today…”

“Never.” He said firmly, moving to her side of the desk. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t know what going on, I just can’t seem to…” another tear rolled down her cheek, his heart broke for her.

“Hey, take a second, just breathe, ok? Sit down, cry if you need to, just take a moment.” She nodded, sitting down on the lab stool with a snuffle. He sat down too, tucking his stool slightly closer to her and waiting until she was ready.

“I’m sorry, I think I’m just overwhelmed. I didn’t sleep too well last night, so I’ve been exhausted all day. One of my professors gave me shit for being late even though the bus broke down on my way here, and that ruined my mood. Another lecture turned out to be some surprise test thing nobody had prepared for so that was horrible. And… well I’m just rambling now and I don’t know if I’ve told you this yet but I might as well at this point because I guess it’s something you should know as my advisor - I have general anxiety disorder and…” she paused, catching her breath and scoffing slightly as she continued speaking quickly, “well, and a whole host of other things I don’t have time to go into but I’ve spent most of the afternoon warding off panic attacks hence the…” She trailed off, holding up her hand which was shaking like a leaf. “So I can’t focus, I can’t control the equipment even though I’ve done at least 30 titrations in my academic career and I was honestly just looking forward to seeing… to doing something practical with my day but…” He didn’t think she’d even noticed the tears starting to fall, but he did immediately. He also noticed the way her voice was getting breathier, and the increasingly frantic look in her eyes. He was worried. She seemed worn out, way too thinly strung and now here she was, crying over an experiment he knew she could do in her sleep. She needed to take care of herself for a bit, to take it easy. But right now, maybe he could help.

His hand moved to her face, brushing the tears away before moving to her shoulder and squeezing.

“Hey, slow down. Look at me. Breathe.” He took a long deep breath, his eyes fixed firmly to hers as she copied, repeating the action a few times. He watched as she slowly seemed to calm, shoulders dropping and tears drying up. “That’s better.”

“I’m so sorry, this was only supposed to take like half an hour. I’ve derailed your whole afternoon, I just don’t know what’s come over me today.” He sighed. The way she felt she had to be sorry for being human made him feel so protective of her, so willing to hurt anyone who made her feel this way.

“You’re stressed, you didn’t sleep well and your anxiety is flaring up. None of that is something you have to apologise for. And you definitely don’t have to apologise for derailing my day - my evening consists of grading papers and getting an early night. Both of those things can wait even if this titration takes all night.” She laughed, wiping away the last of her tears with a grateful smile.

“Thank you.” Her hand moved to rest atop his, which was still sitting on her arm, squeezing slightly. His breath caught briefly at the contact, and it took all the self control in his body to not lean into her touch, to kiss her then and there.

“Always…” he muttered, smiling softly, and after another beat, he slid his hand away, feeling cold at the lack of warmth from her. “Now,” he took a deep breath, grounding himself to reality. *Student, teacher, do the maths - not a good idea.* “Let’s finish this practical.”

**

His presence was so calming to you. After four failed attempts, you were already doing a lot better - hands steady, breaths even, a serenity you hadn't felt all day. He wasn’t even helping you; just being nearby was enough. He’d grabbed a few papers from his desk and was quietly grading while you worked, the occasional turn of paper and scratch of pen relaxing you. It was starting to get to the difficult part now, but your hands didn't fail you, adding the titrate drop by drop, swirling the flask until… it stayed pink. Just enough, a soft wash of magenta, and you couldn't help but grin.

“See…” he muttered, not once looking up from his papers, “I told you you could do it.” You smiled even wider, holding back every urge within you to hug him.

“Thank you.” You settled on the sentiment instead, jotting down the final measurements. “And…”

“I swear if you try to apologise again, I will kick you out of my class once and for all.” God he knew you so well. You chuckled lightly, biting your tongue to stop you from apologising for that as well.

“Never again, I promise.”

You had packed up, moving as quickly as possible to ensure you didn't waste any more of his time, but honestly, you wanted to be around him just a little longer. Today had taught you that maybe your ever-growing feelings might not be a problem, but a help. He was so calming to be around, so good at putting your doubt and anxiety at ease, and talking to him was easy, terrifyingly so. His company was soothing, and on bad days, at least you knew you had a place to go.

And now, you had to face the long bus to your off-campus apartment, followed by an evening alone with your thoughts.

You had sorted your things, putting on your coat and pulling up the hood, bracing yourself to head out in the dark and rainy evening.

“Thank you again for everything, Professor, I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Wait…” he called out your name as you opened the door, and you paused, internally sighing in relief. “How are you getting home?”

“Just the bus from campus, its not far to the station from here…”

“I’ll take you, I’m leaving here anyway.”

“No, I couldn't ask you to do that, Sir…”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering. Where am I taking you?” You blushed at his comment, heart leaping at the authoritative tone, but telling him anyway. “That's only a few streets away from me, it’s not out of my way at all.”

“Only if you’re sure…”

“I wouldn't have offered otherwise.”

You had made it to the awning of the building, the last moment of peace before you were bombarded by the rain. He followed you out, sighing slightly.

“Do you smoke?” He asked, and the question surprised you slightly. He’d never struck you as the type, but now, as you turned around to see him standing with a cigarette dangling between his lips, you couldn't believe how natural it looked.

“Yeah…” You were relieved. You had been desperate for one all afternoon, but hadn't had a chance. You moved to open your handbag, unsure of where you'd left them, but he had already extended his pack out towards you. You smiled.

“Thank you…” He lit yours first, shielding it with his hands for you, and you couldn't help but notice how close he was to you. He lit his own, and you watched it awe at his beauty as the lighter illuminated his face. His first drag was long and desperate, the deep sigh he let out when he breathed echoing your own relief. You wondered if that's what he’d be like when you were on your knees for him quiet but needy, hand running through his hair and…

“What are your plans this weekend?” You blushed, not at the question but what it had distracted you from, taking a drag while you composed yourself.

“Not much, just studying, finishing a few papers, the usual.”

“No plans with friends? A boyfriend?” He asked almost shyly, then blushed profusely. “Or girlfriend, or partner… sorry I didn't mean to assume.” You laughed at his embarrassment.

“No, no plans. Friends are all out of town or doing the same as me, and no boyfriend to have plans with.” You weren't sure why you felt like you had to clarify that. It was an instinct more than anything, something in you felt like he should know. “What about you? Any plans?”

“Nope, no plans either. Friends are all married with children, so they don't have weekends anymore. And my brother is out of town with work, so that just about rules out everyone.” Your heart sung at the lack of a girlfriend or wife mentioned, but you somehow managed to control your face. “I got a new jigsaw I might try…” You couldn't help but laugh out loud at that, and he laughed with you. “Sorry, I know thats like the oldest old person thing I could've said…”

“No I just… I was thinking the same thing but didn't want to seem old.” His turn to laugh loudly, a sound that warmed you through.

“You don't have to worry about that…”

“Neither do you.” You had replied quickly, without thinking, and suddenly the air was charged. He was looking you in a way that was unreadable, almost curious but there was something else brewing just under the surface. His eyes were locked onto yours, and you found yourself unable to look away, not letting yourself to be the first to break contact. You weren't sure what it was about today - maybe just because of how shitty you’d felt the last few days, how kind and caring he had been, how many times you’d been in touching distance of him - but you wanted him to know you were an option. Even if it was a bad idea, if it could ruin both of you, if it could destroy everything you'd ever worked towards… you suddenly didn't care. You needed him to know you were here, arms open and waiting, if he ever wanted you.

The car ride was quiet, silence only broken by the occasional attempt at small talk. It was as though the look you had shared earlier had shattered your ability to speak to each other normally, a cloud hanging over the both of you, threatening to pour. Eventually, you pulled up outside your building, and your heart broke that it was over. You had to leave now, to be alone in your flat, to try and relax without thinking about him. His touch, his laugh, his smell.

“Thank you for the lift.” You managed to croak out after sitting silent for a moment, voice laced with disappointment you didn’t have the energy to hide.

“Anytime.” He muttered back, and your hand moved to the door, eyes glazing over at the sight of the raindrops hitting the car window. You weren’t sure why you didn’t just leave, open the door and run inside, out of the rain, out of the tension. Maybe it was the weather, pushing you to take comfort somewhere warm and welcoming. Or maybe it was the scent of sandalwood and cigarettes that clung to the leather surrounding you. Or maybe it was the way your arm was still tingling where he had touched you earlier, his hands warm and expansive and calming. It didn’t really matter though. Regardless of the reason, you still chose to open your damn mouth one more time.

“I don’t want to wait until Monday to see you again.” Your voice was barely a whisper, barely audible, but from the way he muttered your name warningly, he heard. You flushed furiously, feeling so fucking stupid. You’d ruined everything. He was your advisor, your professor, your whole support system felled in one swoop. God, you were an idiot. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I’ll go.” You reached for the handle again, tears springing to the corners of your eyes.

“Wait.” His voice was… well, you weren’t sure. It sounded frustrated, sure, but also, there was a desperation in it. A need. He didn’t want you to leave either. “God, I’ve thought about how this might go so many times and never once landed on what I’d want to say.” There was a lump in your throat, and your hands fell back into your lap, turning to see the slightly pained expression on his face, almost pleading. His hair was messy, one hand raking through it as his eyes met yours. “There’s obviously… I mean it’s undeniable the way I… but I just…” He was so nervous, eyes scanning across your face frantically. “I’m your advisor. I’m your Professor. I’m in a position of authority here, its a power imbalance and I’m old enough to…” You had sat calmly listening to him ramble, so grateful that your feeling weren’t unrequited that you didn’t care what other excuses he would try to come up with.

“I don’t care.” He whispered your name again in warning, but softer, and you could see his resolve eroding with every second he was in your presence. “I mean it. You said it yourself, it’s undeniable. And now we’ve addressed it… what’s the harm in trying?” He still looked confused, pain wrought into his features as his eyes locked onto yours. And then, it was like you could see him accept that he couldn’t stop this now. That he didn’t want to. The fear gave way to longing, his hand cupping your jaw in a way that made your breath catch in your throat.

“I need you to…” The nerves were still clear in his voice, but his hand was definite, thumb brushing your lips and you leant into the touch, body naturally caving towards his. “Please tell me your want this. I need to be sure.”

“I want this.” You were so firm in your response, so final, he had no choice but to believe you.

He leant in, cupping your face in his hand, touch so strong, so definite, that any residual doubt melted away as his lips touch yours. It was fleeting, unsure, but not a moment before he had pulled away, you pressed back into him. Your kiss was desperate and bruising, hard and needy and full of months of pent up desire. He returned so fervently you sighed into his mouth, relief and arousal washing over your body. His hand moved to grip your hair, keeping you close, and you cursed internally that you were still in the car, centre console blocking your body from his. You were desperate to touch more of him, to feel his skin under your fingers, to run your hands across the ridges of his chest and up his arms. His grip was still strong in your hair, but you broke for air, watching with a smile as his lips chased yours. His evident need spurred you on, hand moving to rest against his chest and grip the pressed fabric of his shirt as you shared the air in the space between you.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” He muttered half-heartedly, but his blown pupils and subtle smile told you differently.

“Do you want to come upstairs?”

The elevator ride was tense, hand gripped in his, half expecting him to run away, but as soon as your door was open, his lips smashed into yours once more. His hands explored your waist, pressing you to the now closed door, body touching yours slightly. His mouth was saying something different to his body language: lips hungry and needy, body cautious. You were more confident, hands falling to his back and pulling him as close as possible to you. He groaned in response, a low guttural sound that left you panting into his hot mouth. You wanted to gasp his name, but you realised you didn’t know it, embarrassment clouding your mind. You pushed it away immediately, hands snaking round his solid form to his tie, loosening it like a woman starved and throwing it to the side.

“Hey…” he muttered alongside a pant of your name, fingers tracing your face in a tender way, “are you sure you want this?”

“More than anything.” The answer fell from your lips without you even thinking about it. You needed him. He smiled against your lips, hands trailing from your waist to your hips, an invitation. You started to undo his shirt buttons, hands finally coming into contact with his warm skin, hips bucking towards his. A moment of insecurity washed over you. You were young, younger than him by a long way, and while it didn’t bother you, you couldn’t help but wonder if being with someone with so much less experience would bother him. He’d asked for your assurance twice now, and you had just assumed he wanted the same. Maybe he was just here so he didn’t lose his job…

“Is this what you want too?” You whispered, so shy and unsure you could feel the blush spreading across your cheeks.

“More than anything.” His fingers traced your lips, eyes meeting yours, and he must’ve sensed their slightly hesitant nature. “Since the minute you walked into my classroom, I’ve wanted this.” He smiled slightly sheepishly then, eyes flitting down to scan your form. “You were wearing cord flares and a white tee, leather jacket slung over your bag. You looked so confident, so excited to be in my class… you weren’t even looking at me yet, but I saw a glint in your eye that reminded me of myself in my youth. Everything about you intoxicated me from the moment I locked eyes with you. I want this.” The last statement was so final, so raw, you gave in fully. You smiled, looking deep into his eyes to see them unwavering.

“In that case..” you muttered, puling away from his just slightly, pulling your shirt over your head before unbuttoning your jeans, letting them fall to the floor. He stepped back while you were undressing, eyes darkening as they scanned your whole body with desire.

“Fuck…” he muttered the word quietly to himself, continuing to look you up and down in a way that made you blush profusely. He followed suit quickly, slowly undoing the rest of your shirt buttons with a slight smile. You couldn’t help but gaze half-lidded at his bare form, muscles rippling with every deep breath he took. “Where’s your room?”

Your bra and his trousers were long discarded, your bare form pressed to his as he laid above you, hand resting by your head, holding him up as he devoured your mouth. His kisses were getting lower, pressing against your neck and chest as you could do nothing but pant at his every touch.

“Sir, are you…” you didn’t even finish your question, words lost in your tongue as he bit down softly against the pillowy flesh of your breast, a groan escaping his lips against you at the name you had chosen in the heat of the moment.

“Shh..” the soft sound escaped his lips as he continued to move his lips lower until his fingers hooked your pantries, pulling them down slowly, savouring your squirming.

“What are you…” your words were lost yet again as his mouth enveloped your bare pussy, tongue pressing a firm stripe through your folds. You moaned loudly, the sensation enveloping you as you pressed your hips further towards his mouth. He hummed in satisfaction at the movements from you, hands gripping your hips tightly as your thighs surrounded his head. His tongue was expert, circling your clit with perfect precision and you bucked into him again with a whimper, desperate for some direct contact. He chuckled against you, smiling up between your thighs and you could’ve cum there from the sight of him.

“Relax…” he muttered, surly tone immediately forcing your muscles to loosen, pressing into the bed. His tongue flicked across your clit, and you squirmed, pants and whines filling the room as he continued his assault on your sensitive nerves. “Good girl…” his voice rumbled against your cunt, almost pushing you to the edge there and then.

“Please…” was all you could force out, words jumbling in your mind as the pleasure started to take over. One hand released from your hips, and you barely registered as two fingers pushed inside you, thick and deep. You groaned, an animalistic noise drawn from the back of your throat as he hit the spot inside you that made you sing. Every inch of your body was on fire with need as his fingers filled you, tongue continuing its relentless attack on your clit. You were all but an incoherent mess of moans and pants as he kept going, pleasure building and building close to the point of being too much, nerves burning with desire as he feasted on you like a man starved. It didn’t take long for your orgasm to arrive, fast and brutal, blinding you as your thighs squeezed around him, sobs and whines falling from your lips as you rode out the waves on his tongue.

By the time you had caught your breath, his face was an inch from yours, pressing sloppy kisses your jaw and neck. You whimpered softly, feeling the slick he had left between your thighs. You wrapped your legs around his, blinking up at him stupidly.

“I want you…” his lips cut you off, deep and passionate as your words were swallowed by hood’s mouth. He tasted like you.

“You have me. Body and soul.” Your heart leapt at the sentiment, hand brushing through his hair with affection.

“Then fuck me.”

He was pressed against your back, and was impossibly deep inside you, hitting that spot that made your back arch. His hand was tangled in your hair again, lips to your neck as he somehow pressed deeper, and your hand found his thigh, holding him there.

“You feel so good.” You whispered, fucked out and satisfied, already multiple organs in from his perfect cock.

“I’m close baby,” he muttered against your ear, grinding against your ass as you whined for him so beautifully. He fit so perfectly inside you it felt handcrafted, and he groaned softly as he pulled out quickly, slamming back inside as his hips started to stutter. “So pretty, so perfect for me…” his hand reached around to your used clit, pressing gentle circles as you cried out. You would do anything for him, but you were exhausted and overstimulated, a few tears brimming in your eyes at the bliss and pain it provided.

“Please..” you whispered for the uncountable time that night, hips backing into his as he groaned, deep and animalistic. Your orgasm washed over you as he finally came, moaning against your neck as his teeth clamped down carefully.

“So fucking perfect…”

You felt so effortlessly relaxed beside him, sleep encroaching quicker than it ever had. You were exhausted and spent, but happy. Everything you’d wanted for months but refused to admit to yourself had come true, and tomorrow, you’d have to face the reality of it all. But for now, you were at peace, head rested against his chest and feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breaths. Your slumber had started to take you, eyes fluttering closed, when you heard his voice speak softly, as though trying not to disturb you.

“I hope this moment last forever.” You thought confirming his sentiment would somehow diminish him, or scare him off, pretending your sleep had pulled you under, but your heart swelled in agreement. You never wanted to leave this place.

[twistedpink]

Hiya hiya it's me again! (And I hope you are having a good night/day) So where I was left off, house wardens taking care of your back because they left so many scratches after a spicy night 😳 but also maybe with different reactions and how they noticed the scratches??? I can't think of any scenarios 😭 but I would love to hear your opinion 👍

TYTY IM FREED

I just KNOW Riddle is an A+ scratcher. NOTHING is off limits. Your only saving grace is with how groomed his nails are, you’re practically mark free! Goes bright red and sighs a lot (GUILTY 🫵🤯) when the time comes to apply antiseptic, but is overall v thorough and gentle, 7/10. Usually notices if you sleep naked or he’s fixing your collar/hair!

Leona is the second worst, and not because he needs a lot of grounding, but his nails are LONG LONG for no reason,, God your poor legs,, 5/10. Prone to scraping you up during play fights, but isn’t very guilty about it unless you express a fear of infection or scarring.. Lowkey blames YOU for not cutting his nails, but only because he doesn’t want to hurt his pookie <3 (laughs at you for having thin skin. Secretly wants you to get him back x10.)

Refuses to have long nails. Being very much a “real men only have clear coats” guy, Azul doesn’t scratch, but it’s the hitting that’s bad,, He can’t help it, but that doesn’t make it BETTER!! No matter how gentle he goes about it, the little pinches and punches against your skin’ll bruise eventually, but he’s always open to massages! 6/10. V pathetic and cute about it. (Please don’t eat him)

VERY SWEET! VERY DEMURE! Kalim only scratches on purpose!! With all the oils and creams you’re slathered with it’s a challenge to get any real grip, but sometimes you’ve gotta scratch that mental itch with a physical one,, Straight up LATCHES so it’s just crescent moon after moon on your biceps and back, but he makes a point to kiss and soothe every. Single. One. So you can’t stay toooooo mad :D,, 9/10!!

Vil cares too much about the both of you to “mark you up” in that way- Of course he has moments of weakness where your hair and neck pay the price, but cat scratches just aren’t in the cards for you,, You KNOW that’ll mess up his manicure, and do you want to spend an hour getting patched up?? Okay maybe you do,, But that’s besides the point! He has things to do that don’t involve cleaning sweat and grossness from under his nails. 5/10 for cleanliness. Might as well bang in a hospital bed. There’s no advanced sloothing for how he finds them, just that your nightly back scratch turns into a horror movie pretty quick,,

One accurate word describes Idia and his gamer nails. Grooooooooooooooosssssssssssssssssss,, The ONLY way to trim them is to hold him down like a dog getting clipped, and even then he’s still whining about how they’ll break on their own time- He knows they’ll get all snaggy, but doesn’t he look cool? (Don’t encourage his delusion) Very much cultivating claws rather than human nails, but is emotionally attached to your mangled back. 4/10. Doesn’t have to “discover” them, knows EXACTLY what he’s doing.

The one true exfoliater to trump them all,, Malleus may not have experience or sex appeal on his side, but he has HOOKS in you, and that’s a sure way to keep you loyal!! He gasps like a murder witness whenever you get naked because “my word however could this happen??” while crying a little and trying to stop his lip from quivering :( Basically wraps you in bubble wrap and puts himself in a chastity belt, but not before having the worst phone call of your life and getting his dad to patch you up!! Lilia KNOWS what you’ve been up to and couldn’t be prouder! Just learn how to use a nail file for next time, alright? 8/10!! <3

@bju3c0re @kyokills

[eu-nicola]

one night

summary: one night with Max left a problem that you didn't talk to him about

warnings: pregnancy, and idk you tell me

word counter: 8005

author’s note: english is not my first language

The night was charged with a strange electricity that you didn't know how to explain. It was one of those improvised meetings in the house of a mutual friend, where laughter and talk mixed with the low sound of the music. You had known Max all your life, shared years of friendship, confidences and mutual support. He had always been your refuge, the kind of person who could read you with a single look.

That night, however, everything felt different.

Max was sitting next to you on the couch, closer than usual, and you couldn't help but notice every detail of his presence. The way his fingers played with the edge of his glass, the sound of his deep laughter when someone told an absurd joke, and how his eyes seemed to look for yours more than necessary. You tried to ignore it, attributing everything to your imagination, but it was useless. There was something there, something that both seemed to feel but did not want to admit.

The night advanced and the hours became more blurry. Most of the guests had left, leaving only a small group of close friends. But even they began to disappear, until you found yourself alone with Max in the dimly lit room.

"Another glass?" he offered you, getting up to fill your glass of wine.

"I don't know if I should," you replied, laughing softly, but you accepted anyway.

The conversation became more intimate, the topics more personal. They talked about the moments they had shared, how they had changed on time. At some point, Max leaned towards you, his expression more serious than usual.

"Have you ever wondered...?" he began, but left the phrase in the air.

"What?" you asked, feeling how your heart was racing.

He shook his head, as if he had decided not to say it. But his eyes told you something he couldn't put into words. Then it happened. A moment of courage - or madness - led you to close the distance between the two. The kiss was unexpected, intense, full of years of repressed feelings that finally found a way out.

The night continued between caresses and whispers, the outside world disappearing completely. For a few hours, everything felt like it was fine, as if this was what both had been waiting for without knowing it.

But the next morning, reality struck like a bucket of cold water. Max was in the kitchen when you woke up, his movements tense, avoiding your gaze. They barely spoke, an uncomfortable silence that looked nothing like the dynamics they had had for years.

"Last night..." he began, scratching the back of his neck, "it was... unexpected.

"Yes, it was," you admitted, pretending to feel a tranquility that you didn't feel.

They both knew that something had changed, something they couldn't ignore, but they didn't know how to handle it either. So, slowly, they began to move away. Messages that were previously constant became sporadic, and then non-existent. The calls stopped. His absence hurt, but you didn't know what to do about it.

Weeks later, while trying to move on with your life, you realized that something was not right. Morning sickness, constant fatigue, and the absence of your period led you to buy a pregnancy test at the pharmacy, your hands shaking while you waited for the result.

Two lines. Positive.

Your mind was filled with questions, fears and doubts, but one thing was clear: the baby was Max's. And although your first instinct was to call him, reason prevailed. Max had been in a serious relationship with Kelly for a while, a woman who had a little daughter whom he had accepted as his own. You knew he was committed to that life, and you couldn't ruin it all.

You decided to keep quiet. You would raise your baby alone, without complicating anyone else's life. But deep down, you knew that this secret would not be easy to carry. The life you had shared with Max felt like a distant memory, a "and if" that would never have a response.

You refused to think too much about what it implied. The more you thought about it, the more you sank into a whirlwind of contradictory emotions: fear, sadness, pride, and a kind of determination that you didn't know you had. You knew that your life would change drastically, but you also knew that you didn't want Max to be part of this new chapter. Not because you didn't trust him, but because his life was already defined, and you didn't want to be the person who broke it to pieces.

The decision was clear to you: you needed space, distance, something that would help you start again without Max's shadow and his responsibilities. So, little by little, you began to prepare your escape.

First, you stopped frequenting the places where you knew you might meet him. You changed your phone number, blocked almost all mutual friends on your social networks and pretended that you needed "time for yourself" when someone asked about your disappearance. Weeks passed, and your pregnancy began to be harder to hide. You looked in the mirror every morning, noticing the changes in your body and reminding yourself why you were doing it.

One day, after a visit to the doctor, you sat in your car and made the final decision. You looked at the familiar streets around you, the places that had always been your home, and you knew it was time to leave them behind.

London. You had always wanted to live there, and now it seemed like the perfect opportunity to start over. Without telling anyone but your boss, you submitted your resignation, packed your things and booked a plane ticket. The plan was simple: you would settle in an apartment, work in your family's company as they had wanted so long, and raise your baby away from any possibility of Max discovering the truth.

When you arrived in London, the city greeted you with a cold and humid air, typical of early autumn. You moved to an apartment in a quiet area, with enough cafes and parks nearby to keep you busy.

Then you had disappeared from the digital radar for months. Your social networks, which used to be full of spontaneous photos, updates and everyday moments, had been left in absolute silence. You hadn't posted anything for a long time, and although you kept looking from time to time, reviewing the stories and publications of others, you made sure not to leave any traces of your presence. It was as if you had become a ghost that I watched from a distance.

People began to notice your absence. You knew it because, when reviewing your old posts, you found endless comments asking you where you were. "Everything okay?", "We miss you", "Why haven't you uploaded anything?" some said. Others simply left emojis, hearts, or words of support. But even when nostalgia for your previous life invaded you, you still didn't respond.

It wasn't exactly fear, but a feeling of wanting to protect this very personal stage. The pregnancy had been a roller coaster of emotions: illusion, uncertainty, and moments of loneliness that you fought remembering why you were doing this. Your little world in London had become your refuge, and sharing it with the rest of the world still didn't seem necessary to you.

But everything changed when the month came in which you decided to know the gender of your baby. The doctor's appointment was marked on your calendar, and you couldn't deny that you were excited and a little nervous. It was a strange feeling, as if knowing the gender made everything even more real, as if the baby that grew inside you began to take the form of a person you would soon meet.

The doctor's room was lit with a warm light, and the constant sound of the monitor filled the air. You lay back on the stretcher, taking a deep breath while the doctor applied the cold gel to your belly. The screen in front of you showed the blurred silhouette of your baby, and you felt that knot in your chest that always invaded you when you saw it.

"Do you want to know the gender?" the doctor asked, with a smile.

"Yes, please," you replied, your voice barely a whisper.

The moment they told you was unforgettable. A child. A child who would soon become the center of your world. You smiled as tears accumulated in your eyes. For an instant, all the doubts, fears and difficult decisions vanished, replaced by pure and simple happiness.

That same afternoon, while you were walking back to your apartment, you decided it was time. For the first time in months, you felt the impulse to share this part of your life with others. It wasn't out of pressure, or to please anyone, but because you wanted to celebrate this little miracle you were waiting for.

You took a couple of pictures, wearing a white dress that highlighted your belly. The brightness of your skin, the pride in your eyes and the shy smile on your face were more than evident. You weren't the type to plan great revelations, but you knew you wanted to do something special.

You sat on the edge of your bed, carefully selecting the images and writing a description that reflected how you felt:

"After months of silence, I finally want to share the reason why my world changed. I'm expecting a beautiful baby, a boy who will arrive soon to light up my life. I can't explain in words the joy and love I feel knowing that I will be a mom. Thank you to everyone who has been asking about me and worrying in silence. I'm fine, better than I've been in a long time. 💙”

You took a breath before publishing it, hesitating for a moment. What would happen if this reached Max's ears? You knew I would do it but you pushed those thoughts away from your mind and pressed the publish button.

Within minutes, notifications began to flood your phone. Comments of surprise, love and congratulations appeared one after another. "Congratulations!", "You're going to be an amazing mom!", "A child? What a thrill!". The answer was overwhelming, and as you read them, you felt a warmth that enveloped you.

You allowed yoursellelless to smile again. For the first time in a long time, you let the world know a part of your new reality.

You didn't expect all that to go so far. After posting the news on your social networks, you felt a mixture of relief and vulnerability. You had shared your truth with the world, but you couldn't control who could see it, how they would react or what they would say behind your back.

Then Max's message arrived.

It was almost ten o'clock at night and you were on your couch, with your legs crossed and a bowl of ice cream in your hands, responding to the hundreds of comments that kept coming. Your phone vibrated, and when you looked at the notification, you felt how the air left your lungs.

It was a message from Max.

"Congratulations to you and the baby's father. I hope you are well. Really, I'm glad to know that you're happy."

You were frozen, reading and rereading the message as if you were unable to process it. How did he get your number? Who had told him? Why had I decided to write to you after so long? All these questions crowded into your mind, but none had an immediate answer.

You didn't know what to do. The most instinctive part of you wanted to ignore it, as if you had never seen the message. But another part, more emotional, I knew that would not be fair. He had been kind, had respected the distance, and had not hinted at anything that could complicate things.

You put the phone aside, squeezing your eyes as you took a deep breath. You had to answer, but what to say? You couldn't reveal the truth, that was clear. But you didn't want to sound cold or distant either. So you took your time, thinking about every word, every semicomon, before writing:

"Thank you, Max. I'm fine and so is the baby. I'm glad to hear from you."

You hit "send" before you could regret it, your heart beating hard while you waited, not knowing if he would answer. Every vibration of your phone made you jump, but the minutes passed, then the hours, and nothing else arrived.

Silence was a relief and torture at the same time. On the one hand, you were grateful that he didn't insist, that he didn't ask questions that you couldn't or didn't want to answer. But on the other hand, you wondered what he would be thinking, if he had really believed your version.

That night, before going to sleep, you thought about his message over and over again. It was so typical of Max: courteous, respectful, but letting out that closeness that had always existed between you. You knew him well enough to know that he must be curious, even if he didn't say it.

Max didn't write to you again. There were no more messages, calls or contact attempts. And although one part of you hoped it wasn't like that, another, more practical, deeply thanked him. The conversation had been at a neutral point, without complications or confrontations, exactly as you wanted.

The days passed with a strange tranquility. Since Max's message, you had not heard from him again, and life in London was on course. Your daily routines had become a kind of comfort: working from home, walking through nearby parks and mentally preparing for the arrival of your baby. But that calm was suddenly broken when your family called you with news that you did not expect.

You were lying on the couch, reviewing a list of things for the baby, when your mother called you. Her voice sounded excited, almost as if she was holding herst out so as not to scream with joy.

"We have something to tell you," he said, without even saying hello first.

"What happened?" you asked, anticipating that something important was coming.

“Your father and I have decided to go back to Monaco. The company is doing better than ever, and we believe it is the perfect time to return home. We've been away too long.”

The news hit you like a gust of cold air. Monaco Your lifelong home, the place where you had grown up, where you knew everyone and everyone knew you. But also the place you had left behind when you moved to London, in search of a new beginning.

"When do you plan to move?" you asked, trying to sound calmer than you felt.

"In a few weeks." We want you to come with us, of course. It's time for us to get back together, especially now that you're expecting a baby.

The proposal left you silent. You knew that your mother didn't say it with bad intentions; she was excited about the idea of having her first grandson around. But for you, the decision was not so simple. London had become your refuge, the place where you had managed to rebuild your life away from everything that tied you to your past. Returning would mean facing everything you had been avoiding, starting with Max.

Monaco was not a place where you could easily hide. Your family was well known, with important connections in the business and social circles of the city. If you came back, everyone would be behind you with questions. And even worse, there was a high probability that you would cross paths with Max during the Formula 1 break.

The following days were a storm of thoughts and emotions. On the one hand, the idea of being alone in London terrified you. With the baby on the way, you knew you would need support, and your family had always been by your side in important moments. But on the other hand, returning to Monaco meant opening a door that you had closed with so much effort.

You sat in front of the window of your small apartment one night, looking at the city lights while reflecting. You were mature enough not to worry about what people would say, but facing Max was something else. You knew each other, and you knew that his presence had an effect on you that you had never been able to fully control.

Finally, after days of thinking and rethinking, you made a decision.

You would return to Monaco.

It wouldn't be easy, but you were tired of living in fear. You didn't want your child to be born in a place where you felt isolated and vulnerable. Your family was important to you, and you knew you could trust them to support you, even if they didn't fully understand why you had made certain decisions.

The next day, you called your mother to give her the news.

"I'm going back with you," you said, your voice firm but with a touch of nervousness.

She couldn't hide her joy. He started talking about the plans for the trip, how they would organize everything so that you were comfortable. His enthusiasm made you smile, although a part of you was still restless.

The weeks passed in the blink of an eye. You packed your things, silently saying goodbye to London and the small shelter you had built there. When the day of your departure came, you looked for the last time at the streets that had become your temporary home, promising yourself that, whatever happens in Monaco, you would be strong.

The plane landed in Monaco at sunset, and the view of the city filled you with a mixture of nostalgia and nervousness. It was as if a part of you had never really left. But you knew the real test was yet to come. Max was there, somewhere, and sooner or later, you would have to face him.

It didn't take long for that, "The event" as your family used to say was something typical: a great meeting in one of the most exclusive lounges in Monaco, where the closest families could live together. Your parents had organized it as a kind of welcome to resume old connections after returning to the city. From the invitation, you knew that it would be inevitable to cross paths with people from the past, but you didn't think too much about who might be. There were so many names, so many familiar faces, that you assumed you could stay on the sidelines without drawing too much attention.

You dressed up with care that night, choosing a simple white dress that enhanced your figure. The fabric flowed gently over your growing belly, marking it delicately without being too flashy. You left your hair loose, with natural waves, and applied light makeup. You wanted to see yourself well, but without trying too hard.

When we arrived at the event, the room was already full. Laughter and conversations filled the air, and the children ran back and forth while the adults met in small groups. There was something familiar in the atmosphere, something that transported you to the years when you had also been a girl in those meetings. It was at one of these parties where you met Max.

Years ago...

You were a restless girl, full of curiosity and not afraid to talk to anyone, even if they were older than you. Max, on the other hand, was more reserved, even a little grumpy for his age. However, somehow, you found a way to break his serious facade. With your energetic personality, you managed to let my guard down. To everyone's surprise, he, who always seemed uncomfortable in these meetings, got along with you from the beginning. In those days, both became inseparable, exploring together every corner of these events while the adults chatted.

Returning to the present...

That memory made you smile a little, but it also made you feel a knot in your stomach. You tried to shake the nostalgia and focus on the night. You walked among the guests, chatting with those who approached you, most of them congratulating you on the pregnancy. Although you felt out of place, you tried to stay calm.

That's when you saw it.

Max was standing near one of the tables, dressed in a dark suit that sat him spotlessly. He was accompanied by Kelly, and her little daughter. The air seemed to disappear from your lungs instantly.

He also saw you.

For a second, your eyes met, and his expression changed. He seemed surprised, maybe even uncomfortable, but he immediately regained his composure. You, on the other hand, felt that your heart was beating so hard that it was hard for you to breathe. Instinctively, you turned on your heels, looking for a way out. You weren't ready to face him, even less with Kelly by his side.

But Max was faster.

Before you could disappear into the crowd, he and Kelly approached you. His every step made the panic inside you increase. You wanted to run, excuse yourself, anything to avoid that moment, but there was no escape.

"Hey!" Max said, with a smile that seemed contained, as if he was also dealing with something internal. His voice was warm, as if the months of silence between you had not existed. He pointed at Kelly and said—: “This is Kelly, my girlfriend.”

Kelly smiled politely and held out her hand.

"Nice to meet you," she said. Max has told me that you two have been friends since you were little.

Your mind was going a thousand per hour, but you managed to force a smile and shake his hand.

"Yes, that's right. For... many years” you replied, striving to keep your voice stable.

Max, as if he wanted to relieve the tension, added with a more relaxed smile:

"It's amazing to see you here, and congratulations again, both for you and for the baby's father.”

The words "baby's father" echoed in your mind like an echo. Kelly also congratulated you, and although there was nothing in his words that sounded malicious, you felt that your whole body tensed up.

"Thank you," you managed to say, nodding with a shy smile.

You couldn't take it anymore. You made up the first excuse you could think of.

"Excuse me, I need to go get something to drink." It has been a pleasure to see you.

Before they could say anything else, you walked away with quick steps, feeling the eyes of both of them fixed on your back. You didn't stop until you were far away, in a corner of the living room where you could catch your breath.

Your heart kept beating hard, and your hands were shaking. You had managed to get out of that conversation, but the meeting had removed all the emotions you had tried to bury. Max was there, and although you hadn't admitted it out loud, seeing him had made everything feel real again.

The night continued as a blur of superficial conversations and forced laughter. Every time Max and his little family appeared in your line of sight, you found a way to dodge them, pretending that someone else required your attention. You kept busy talking to acquaintances, checking your phone and serving yourself lemon water in an attempt to distract yourself. All in vain. His presence weighed like a cloud on you, a constant that you could not ignore even if you tried.

As soon as you finished pretending to be interested in a business conversation, you decided you needed a break. The bustle of the living room began to suffocate you, and the fresh air outside seemed like the perfect solution. You walked towards the gardens, feeling the relief of the silence as you left the music and laughter behind.

The sky of Monaco was clear, and the city lights were reflected in the nearby water. You recharged against a railing, closing your eyes and letting the breeze caress your face. For a moment, the world seemed calmer, less complicated.

Until you heard his voice behind you.

"It's not very typical of you to escape from the party."

You turned quickly, with your heart racing. Max was there, with his hands in his pockets and an expression that you didn't know how to interpret. He seemed relaxed, but there was something in his eyes that made you feel that he had come with a purpose.

"I didn't escape. I just needed a little air” you replied, trying to sound casual while your hands fiddled with the railing.

Max approached, leaving enough space between you, but enough to make his presence impossible to ignore.

"It was nice to see you today. I didn't expect to find you here," he said, his words loaded with something you couldn't define.

"I say the same," you replied, looking at the horizon instead of him.

There was an awkward silence before he spoke again.

"Your family must be excited about the baby and his father too. I'm sure they're spoiling you a lot.”

You smiled slightly, although his tone made you feel a pang in your chest. You decided it was better to be honest before he continued to assume things.

"They are happy, yes. But my baby doesn't have a father.”

Max seemed to stop in his tracks. His expression changed, and for a moment he seemed to be looking for the right words.

"I'm sorry... I didn't know."

You looked at him then, meeting his look that seemed sincerely hurt.

"Don't do it," you told him, your tone firm but without hardness. “Don't be regretted. I'm happy, Max. My family is happy. I can't ask for more. This child will be surrounded by love, and that's all that matters.”

Max nodded slowly, but his eyes continued to reflect something else, something he didn't say out loud.

"I always thought you would be an incredible mom," he said after a moment, with a small smile.

You forced yourself to smile too, although his comment stirred you inside. You wanted to change the subject, prevent the conversation from taking a more emotional turn, but Max was the one who spoke first.

"I want to be in your life again."

His words were like a direct blow to the chest. You looked at him, stunned, trying to understand exactly what he meant.

"Max..." you started, but he raised a hand, interrupting you.

"I'm not saying that I'm going to get into something that doesn't belong to me. I just... I want to be part of your life again, as we were before. I could be a good uncle for that little one," he added, with a smile that seemed sincere, although also somewhat sad.

That was too much for you. His words, his tone, the way he seemed so sure of wanting to be close but at the same time setting limits... It was a reminder of what had been and what it could not be. You felt your heart tighten, as if the air became denser.

"I would love to have you back in my life, Max. You've always been a good friend” you managed to say, although it was hard for you to keep your voice stable.

He nodded, his eyes fixed on yours for an eternal second. Then he looked towards the house, as if something was calling him back.

"I'm glad to hear it. See you inside," he said softly, before turning around and walking towards the living room.

You stayed there, watching how his figure disappeared between the lights of the party. You felt a mixture of emotions that you couldn't fully decipher. There was something reassuring in knowing that he wanted to be in your life, but also something deeply painful in hearing the words "good friend" come out of his lips.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the lump in your throat. You knew that the best thing was to return too, but before you needed a few more minutes to pull yourself together.

When the night finally came to an end, and while you were helping your mother say goodbye to the last guests, you felt the exhaustion creep into every fiber of your body. Between smiles, short conversations and the unexpected meeting with Max, everything had been a whirlwind of emotions. You went up to your room, closing the door behind you and letting out a long sigh. You had succeeded. You had survived that night without collapsing, although the cracks in your facade were deeper than you wanted to admit.

You took off your dress carefully, letting the fresh air ease your skin. You put on a comfortable nightgown and got rid of the makeup with slow movements. Every step of your nightly routine was an attempt to distract you from the only thing that really occupied your mind: Max. The conversation outside, his insistence on wanting to be back in your life, his words loaded with a meaning that you refused to interpret... Everything kept spinning in your head.

When you got into bed, you took your phone out of habit, checking notifications and messages before going to sleep. That's when you saw it. A message from Max.

Max: "Good night. I liked seeing you tonight."

Your heart skipped a beat when you read it. You didn't expect me to write to you, not after what they had talked about. You thought about ignoring him, but you knew you couldn't. Something inside you drove you to respond.

You: "Simely. It was nice to see you."

You sent the message before your mind could stop you, and just a few seconds later his answer came.

Max: "I don't know if this sounds weird, but I feel like I've missed you more than I thought."

You bit your lip, your fingers floating on the screen as you decided what to say. Finally you wrote:

You: "It doesn't sound weird. I've missed you too."

The conversation flowed with a naturalness that baffled you. Talking to him was like returning to something comfortable and familiar, as if the months of distance had not existed. They talked about trivial things at the beginning: how he was, how you were, small anecdotes of the event that had occurred while you were escaping to the garden. But then he wrote something that made you stop.

Max: "We should have a coffee or something. Really catch up."

Your first reaction was to doubt. You knew it wasn't a good idea. Seeing him was to risk letting your guard down, saying something you shouldn't have, opening doors that you had closed for a reason. But, at the same time, the idea excited you. You wanted to see it. I wanted to see it.

"I'd love to," you finally wrote, almost with fear.

Almost instantly came his answer:

Max: "Tomorrow? I have something in the afternoon, but I'm free at night."

You bit the inside of your cheek, weighing your options. You knew you shouldn't accept, but your fingers were already writing.

You: "It's okay. Tomorrow night."

They quickly confirmed it, deciding the place and time, and after a few more messages, he wrote:

Max: "Sleep well. See you tomorrow."

"You too," you replied, even though you knew that sleeping was the last thing you would do. You put the phone aside, but your mind was still at full speed.

As you settled in bed, you looked at the ceiling with a sigh. You had done something you knew you shouldn't have done, and the anxiety of what could happen consumed you. But, at the same time, a small spark of emotion lit up inside you.

The idea of seeing him, of talking to him face to face after all, made you feel like you were playing with fire. And yet, you found yourself counting the hours for the next day.

The next morning the day began in a rather routine way, although you felt a slight tingling in your stomach when you remembered your plan for later. After a light breakfast, you made sure to review your to-do list, and among them was the doctor's appointment. Although all the previous reviews had gone well, it always gave you a little anxiety to attend. You wanted to make sure that your baby was perfect, that everything went as it should.

You put on a loose and comfortable dress, choosing a pastel shade that highlighted the shine that lately your pregnancy had given to your skin. You looked in the mirror quickly before leaving, noticing your already noticeably rounded belly. You had reached that point in pregnancy where it was impossible to hide it, and although you felt proud, there were times when that reality made you think about everything that was to come.

The clinic was calm when you arrived. After signing some papers and waiting a few minutes in the room, they called you to go to the doctor. She was a kind woman, someone you fully trusted and with whom you had developed a good relationship since you arrived in Monaco.

You lay down on the stretcher while they did the routine ultrasound. The screen lit up with the image of your baby, and as always, your eyes filled with tears of pure emotion when you saw it.

"Everything looks perfect," said the doctor, smiling as she checked the measurements and heartbeat of the little one. “He is growing well and has a lot of energy, as always. Have you felt good?”

You nodded.

"Yes, although he's been a little restless today. I don't know if it's me or him.”

The doctor laughed softly.

"Probably a little bit of both. They feel our emotions, did you know? If you're anxious or nervous, he feels it too.”

You were thoughtful with that comment. It was true that you had been nervous since you woke up. The idea of seeing Max again, of sitting in front of him after so long, had you in a constant state of anticipation.

"I guess he's right. Today I have... an important day.”

You didn't go into details, but she gave you an understanding look.

"Well, try to relax." He's fine, you're fine. Enjoy your day and make sure you rest.

When you left the clinic, the mid-morning sun greeted you warmly, but you still felt some restlessness in your chest. You knew there was no reason to worry about the baby, but the conversation with the doctor left you thinking. Your little one was connected to you in a way that no one else could be, and his well-being was completely up to you.

The rest of the day was spent in a blur of domestic activities and small errands, but your mind always returned to Max. You wondered what it would be like to see him again, this time in a more intimate environment. Would he be nervous like you? Would it still be as easy to talk to him as it had been last night?

As the afternoon progressed, you noticed that your baby kept moving. Every time you tried to sit down for a moment to breathe, he kicked or settled down, as if trying to get your attention.

"What's wrong, little one?" you murmured, placing a hand on your belly. “Are you also nervous about tonight?”

The thought made you smile, although you felt a knot in your stomach. You caressed your belly with gentle movements, trying to calm it down and calm yourself down in the process.

You sighed as you looked at the clock. Every minute that passed brought you closer to the meeting, and although you were nervous, a part of you couldn't wait.

The afternoon was sliding into the night, and with each passing minute, you felt how anxiety was taking over you. You repeated to yourself over and over again that everything would be fine, that there was nothing to fear, that it was only Max. Max, your lifelong friend. Max, who was now much more complicated than you had ever imagined.

When it was time to get ready, you went into the bathroom and looked at yourself in the mirror. There was something different about you, a mixture of emotion and tension that made you feel like you were about to cross an invisible line. The dress you chose was simple but elegant, a dark blue tone that highlighted your skin and concealed your belly. You left your hair loose, falling in soft waves on your shoulders. The makeup, just enough to give a touch of color to your cheeks and highlight your eyes. You wanted to look good, but without looking like you had tried too hard.

While you were putting on the last touches, your phone vibrated on the table. You took it with slightly trembling hands and read the message.

"I'm outside. I'll wait for you."

You toom a deep breath before answering.

"Ok."

You picked up your bag, taking one last look at your reflection before leaving the room. You went down the stairs calmly, although your heart was beating hard in your chest. When he opened the front door, there he was. Max Verstappen, waiting for you next to his car with a smile that, despite all the time that had passed, was still the same you remembered.

"Hello," he said softly, his eyes running over you for a moment before returning to your face. “You look... good.”

You smiled a little shyly.

"Thank you. You too”

Max was dressed casually but flawlessly, a dark shirt and jeans that fit him perfectly. I had always had that ability to look good without much effort. He opened the car door for you and, once you were inside, he circled the car and sat behind the wheel.

The journey was comfortable, although full of silences that spoke more than words. Through the reflection in the window, you watched him sideways. His firm hands on the steering wheel, the way he concentrated on the road, everything was so familiar and at the same time so distant.

Finally, they arrived at a small secluded, discreet and cozy restaurant, a place that Max had chosen carefully to avoid curious glances. Upon entering, you were greeted by a warm atmosphere, dim lights and tables separated enough to ensure privacy.

"It's a quiet place," he said while helping you sit down. “I thought we would be more comfortable here.”

You nodded, grateful for your consideration.

"It's perfect."

You both asked for dinner, and for a few minutes, the sound of the cutlery and the soft background music filled the space. But soon, the conversation began to flow.

"So..." you said, breaking the ice. “How is everything? Life, the team, your relationship?”

Max took a sip from his glass before answering.

"Life... is fine. Busy, as always. The team is doing well, although this year has been more complicated than I expected. And Kelly...” he paused briefly. “We're fine. Things are stable, which is good for me, for P.”

He mentioned his girlfriend and stepdaughter naturally, but you couldn't help but feel a pang in his chest. You forced yoursellsel on your smile.

"I'm glad to hear that. You know I've always wanted you to be happy.”

Max looked at you with an expression that seemed to contain more than he was willing to say.

"And you?" he asked, leaning slightly forward. “Why did you disappear like that? One day you were here, and the next, you were gone. Without a word.”

You tensed up a little in your chair, fiddling with the edge of your glass. You had known that question would come, but you were not completely prepared to answer it.

"It was something... I needed to do," you finally said, choosing your words carefully. “London was an opportunity to start again. And... I didn't want to complicate anyone's life.”

Max frowned slightly, his eyes looking for yours.

"Complicate life for whom? To me?”

The air seemed to become denser between you. You avoided his gaze, concentrating on the napkin that you now held between your fingers.

"You already had many things in your life. You didn't need... more complications.”

Max was silent for a moment, but his eyes didn't turn away from you.

"We were always friends, remember? No matter what happened... that doesn't change.”

The sincerity in his voice disarmed you, and for a moment, you felt that the weight of the last few months was about to collapse on you. But you stood firm, smiling softly.

"I know. And I'm glad we can talk like this, like before.”

The conversation continued, returning to lighter topics: childhood memories, career anecdotes, moments they shared before everything got complicated. But, deep down, they both knew that there were things that remained unsaid.

When dinner ended, they both left the restaurant, the night in Monaco unfolded calm and cool, with a gentle breeze that caressed your skin. You felt strangely light, despite everything that dinner had moved in you. You thought the night had come to an end, but Max, standing next to you in front of the car, seemed to hesitate before saying goodbye.

"Are you tired?" he asked, with a look that contained more than what his words said. “Because... if you're not, we could go for a walk.”

You were surprised by the invitation, but a part of you, the one that was still looking for any excuse to prolong the moment, did not hesitate to answer.

"No, I'm not tired. I would love to walk a little.”

Max smiled, a soft smile that lit up his face for a moment. He walked by your side, and soon they both left the restaurant behind and went into the quietest streets of the city. The night in Monaco was a spectacle in itself, with the lights reflected in the sea, the distant sound of laughter and music, and the constant murmur of the nightlife that unfolded around it. But at that moment, nothing seemed to matter more than the presence of the other.

The silence between you was not uncomfortable. On the contrary, it felt almost like a conversation in itself, a pause that allowed both of them to think about everything that had been left unsaid for so long. They walked at the same pace, their steps synchronized, and from time to time your fingers brushed his, which caused a small chill that ran through your body.

Finally, it was Max who broke the silence. His voice was low, almost a whisper, as if he feared to alter the stillness of the night.

"I like walking with you at night," he said, with a sincerity that took you by surprise. His eyes looked at you sideways, looking for your reaction.

Your heart turned upside down, and you bit your lip before answering, allowing a soft smile to form on your lips.

"I like it too. I enjoy it.”

And you meant it. There was something intimate at that moment, a connection that didn't need words. The world seemed to have reduced to you two, walking together under the dim lights of Monaco. The breeze was fiddling with your hair, and Max noticed it, because his eyes stopped a second longer on you, before looking away.

Both continued walking in silence for a few more minutes, until both of you reached a small viewpoint that overlooked the port. The lights of the yachts and the soft waves of the water created an almost magical atmosphere. You leaned on the railing, contemplating the landscape, but aware that Max had come closer, until he was a few centimeters from you.

"It's beautiful," you commented, trying to stay calm, although your heart was beating hard.

"It is..." he replied, but when you looked up, you realized that he was not looking at the landscape. He was looking at you.

The atmosphere became denser, loaded with electricity that seemed to envelop them. You felt trapped between the desire to maintain that closeness and the need to step back, to protect yourself from what that moment could mean. But you didn't move.

Max leaned slightly forward, resting his arms on the railing next to yours. His fingers brushed yours, and this time he didn't move away. Neither do you.

"I missed this," he murmured, with a voice so low that you barely heard him. “I missed being with you.”

His words disarmed you. You felt a lump in your throat, but you tried to stay calm.

"Me too..." you admitted, almost in a whisper. I missed this, you.

Both stayed like this, in silence, letting the moment last, feeling the closeness of the other. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you had saved for months, but you held in. You didn't want to ruin it. Not yet.

Max turned his face towards you, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. His blue eyes, intense and full of contained emotions, met yours. The world around him disappeared, and all that existed was that look, that instant in which the past, the present and the future seemed to collide.

"I'm glad you're here," he said, with a softness that almost made you lose your balance.

Your breathing quickened slightly, and without looking away, you replied:

"To me too."

The silence that followed was different. It wasn't uncomfortable or empty.

But before either of them could do or say anything else, Max took a step back, breaking the spell.

"We should go back," he said, his voice a little more controlled. “I don't want you to get too tired.”

You nodded, grateful and at the same time disappointed. Both began to walk back, this time more slowly, as if prolonging that walk could change something.

When both got to the car, Max stopped before opening the door for you. For a moment, he seemed to doubt, as if he was about to say something important. But instead, he just smiled.

"Thank you for tonight. I needed.”

"Yeah. Me too..." you murmured. “Thank u.”

He leaned slightly, as if he was going to say goodbye with a kiss on the cheek, but he stopped halfway. Instead, his fingers gently brushed your hand before opening the door. You got into the car, still feeling the warmth of his touch, and when he left you at home, they both said goodbye with a smile that said more than words could express.

That night, while you were lying in your bed, with the breeze of Monaco coming in through the window, you thought about every detail of that walk. In his gaze, in his words, in the touch of his fingers. And for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to dream about what could have been... and what it could still be.