#but we REALLY did knock it out of the park with that one

[heeluvv]

˗ˏˋPAID SESSION

pairingᝰ.ᐟ park jongseong x fem reader ft. lee heeseung

warningsᝰ.ᐟ unprotected sex, oral (f), fingering, overstimulation, etc.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ 3/9 completed!

──

the sky outside jay’s apartment is dull and overcast, the kind of cloudy that makes the air feel thick and unsaid things feel heavier. heeseung doesn’t knock twice—just once, knuckles dragging off the wood like he’s already exhausted by the weight of walking through the door. jay looks up from the couch when it opens, expecting the usual lazy smirk and offhand banter, but heeseung’s face doesn’t match the energy. he looks… off—not angry, not annoyed, just quiet in a way that stretches under his skin, like something inside him didn’t settle right. “you look like hell,” jay mutters, pausing his music with a flick of the remote. “didn’t think she was the type to drain you like that.” heeseung doesn’t answer. just kicks off his shoes with one foot and sinks into the couch like gravity has doubled in strength, elbows resting on his knees, head down. silence hangs in the space between them, long and stiff.

jay waits a few beats, like maybe heeseung just needs a minute. maybe he’s tired. maybe it’s nothing. but heeseung exhales—long and hollow—and when he finally speaks, it’s without looking up. “she left.” the two words come out flat, but something behind them wavers, the kind of break you can only hear if you’re really paying attention. jay’s brow twitches, arms crossing loosely over his chest. “left?” he repeats, and heeseung nods, still not lifting his head. “as soon as it ended. pulled on her hoodie and walked out like it didn’t mean anything.” jay blinks slowly. “and… did it?”

heeseung’s jaw tightens, muscles shifting beneath his skin as he finally lifts his head and leans back into the couch cushions, eyes staring at a point above jay’s shoulder like he can’t look him straight in the face. “i didn’t even talk to her before we filmed,” he says, voice quiet but full. “not really. just… hello, a few lines about consent and angles, and then—” he stops, swallowing hard. “and then we started, and everything changed.” jay studies him now, frown deepening, the smug tease he’d usually fire off noticeably absent. “what changed?” heeseung licks his lips, slow and nervous. “i didn’t wanna stop. not even when the camera shut off. i didn’t wanna let her go.” the words hang there, heavier than anything he’s said.

jay leans forward slowly, resting his elbows on his knees as he studies heeseung with a calmness that feels a little too practiced. his voice is lighter than before, careful almost, as if he knows whatever thread he’s tugging on has the potential to unravel more than either of them wants to admit. “so,” he starts, tone smooth but softened now, “who is she?” he doesn’t say it like he’s prying. not yet. it’s quieter, more curious than anything—like he’s tiptoeing into something fragile, not wanting to break it before he understands what it is. heeseung doesn’t respond immediately. his eyes stay fixed on the floor, unfocused, and his fingers twitch once against the hem of his jeans, then again, like maybe the answer is buried there in the fabric if he presses hard enough.

jay watches him, head tilting slightly. “you said she posted recently, right?” he prompts, still gentle, still casual on the surface. “just drop the name. i won’t stalk.” it’s a light joke, but it lands with a dull thud in the silence that follows. heeseung doesn’t laugh. doesn’t smile. he doesn’t even look up. he just shakes his head—small, deliberate, a tiny movement that’s almost easy to miss if you’re not looking closely. jay is looking, though. he sees it. sees how stiff heeseung’s shoulders are, how still his hands go after that single shake of the head. the shift in the air is subtle, but unmistakable.

jay leans back a little, eyebrows pulling in. “what—you don’t wanna share?” he asks, the edge of something creeping into his voice now. it’s not judgment. not annoyance. just… confusion. curiosity. maybe even a hint of something else. but again, there’s no reply. heeseung’s jaw is tense now, his gaze still fixed somewhere across the room, anywhere but on jay. his silence feels thick. weighted. like there’s something he’s protecting and doesn’t want to admit to—not to jay, not to himself.

they sit like that for a moment, the quiet stretching long between them.

and jay doesn’t need him to say it.

because they’ve all had their moments. they’ve all talked about their collabs, laughed about awkward edits, swapped notes on lighting and pacing and what works. but they’ve never dropped usernames. it’s always been an unspoken rule—don’t ask, don’t check, don’t pry. the anonymity protects everyone, keeps it from getting personal. and if it’s not personal, it can stay simple. professional. clean.

but this? this silence?

this is not simple.

and jay knows—whatever happened between heeseung and that girl?

it’s not just content.

the realization creeps in slow. jay’s brows lift, lips parting as he exhales through his nose and lets the tension stretch between them. “wait…” he says, the edge of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “no fucking way.” heeseung doesn’t budge. “dude.” silence. “you’re not giving me the name because you’re into her?” still nothing. jay leans back in disbelief, blinking at him like he’s seeing him for the first time. “bro.” heeseung’s jaw flexes. “you caught feelings?”

and that’s it. no witty comeback. no scoff. no smirk. just stillness.

heeseung goes completely still.

jay lets out a low whistle, leaning back into the cushions with his arms spread across the top of the couch like he’s trying to fill the space with anything but the silence. “that’s crazy,” he laughs, shaking his head like he’s heard something ridiculous, even though the grin on his face doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “mr. freakshow himself, down bad for a girl he doesn’t even know much of?” he tries to keep it light, playful, the kind of jab he usually throws without thought, but this one lands weird. heeseung doesn’t flinch. doesn’t argue. doesn’t roll his eyes or laugh with him. he just sits there, unmoving, like the weight of the truth is too heavy to shift around anymore. jay glances at him again, this time longer, the humor starting to fade from his mouth. “you serious right now?” he asks, quieter now, the air settling. “like… actually serious?”

heeseung doesn’t answer. doesn’t need to. his silence says everything, thick and loud and final, and jay leans forward again, elbows on his knees, the playfulness draining from his posture. “you’re really not gonna tell me who she is?” he presses, and this time there’s something different in his voice—something caught between curiosity and disbelief. heeseung shifts slightly, finally dragging a hand over his face, and mutters, “no.” jay tilts his head, trying to get a read, but it’s hard to see through it—the silence, the distance, the weird swell of something he can’t name growing in the pit of his stomach. “you think she’s the only one who made you feel something?” he jokes half-heartedly, but there’s a bitter edge beneath it now. “there’s, like, dozens of new creators every week.” heeseung glances up at him then, and the look in his eyes is so bare, so unguarded, that jay has to look away.

he shrugs like it’s nothing, standing to stretch and move toward the kitchen, even though there’s nothing waiting for him there. “you’ll move on,” he calls over his shoulder, like it’s fact. “you always do.” the words echo a little, float into the stillness like he needed to hear them aloud to believe them. heeseung doesn’t reply, and jay opens the fridge, stares inside like he’s suddenly deeply interested in the half-empty energy drink shelf. the longer the silence lasts, the heavier it feels—off, unfamiliar, like the ground has shifted just a few inches under both of them. jay grabs a can, pops the tab, and leans against the counter without turning around. “she must’ve been really good,” he says after a moment, voice quieter again, like the thought is sticking more than he expected it to. “or maybe you were just overdue.”

jay’s apartment feels too still once the door clicks shut behind heeseung, the weight of his silence lingering long after he’s gone. the couch feels cold, the echo of that final look he gave still playing in jay’s head, and for some reason, jay can’t stop pacing. he walks into the kitchen. opens the fridge. closes it again. stands by the window like the answers might be written in the clouds outside. but they’re not—so he does what he always does when something gets under his skin. he sits down, boots up his account, and scrolls through the new creators tab with idle swipes of his thumb, trying to let the algorithm distract him. names flash by, previews blur together, but one stops him cold. @babydollxo.

the profile is nothing flashy—no thirst traps, no bio full of emojis or promises—just a clean layout, a single post, and a display name that’s more suggestion than scream. it’s the thumbnail that makes him click—low lighting, soft curves, a still shot of thighs parted just enough to tease but not enough to show. he doesn’t recognize her. not even close. but something about it feels… personal. the video opens quietly, and what hits him first isn’t the visuals—it’s the sound. her breathing. her pace. the soft, near-whispered moan like she’s trying not to be heard. “fuck,” jay mutters, leaning closer, one hand braced on his jaw as the video loops back to the beginning. “who are you?”

he taps through her page, skimming the stats—no verification, barely a few thousand followers, but the engagement is insane. comments already pouring in, tips stacking, new subscribers flashing in real time. jay scrolls again, watching the preview once more before his fingers move on instinct—hitting follow, and typing out a message without even hesitating. 

you’ve got good rhythm. ever thought about collabing? 

it’s casual, confident, and quick—sent before he even second-guesses it. he settles back in his chair, lets the video loop again, and lingers longer this time, eyes trailing down the curves of her body. he doesn’t know her. doesn’t need to. he just knows she moves like she’s got something worth chasing.

he lets the video loop again, slower this time, volume just a bit louder, thumb hovering over the play bar like he wants to rewind and memorize every second of the way her hand moves. there’s something about her pacing—unrushed, unbothered, like she’s not performing for anyone but herself—that makes it worse. hotter. more real. she doesn’t show her face, but the shape of her mouth is visible in the soft outline of the mirror behind her, parted, pink, whispering something too faint to hear. jay’s hand slips beneath his waistband before he even realizes it, fingertips brushing over his cock already half-hard from nothing but her rhythm and the sound of her moans. “shit,” he mutters under his breath, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he starts to stroke himself slow, eyes locked on the way her fingers dip between her thighs. he watches the tension in her body, the way her hips roll, the way her knees twitch just before the clip cuts. it’s barely 40 seconds long, and it has him already grinding into his palm like it’s been hours.

he strokes himself slow, thumb dragging over the head, using nothing but the weight of her movements to guide his pace, lazy and deliberate. he imagines her beneath him, same lighting, same breathless moans, but this time his hands are the ones between her thighs—his name the one falling off her tongue. his hips lift slightly off the chair, chasing friction, fucking into his fist in slow, tight rolls that match the rhythm she set on screen. his breath starts to fog the screen, but he doesn’t care. he leans in anyway, watching the arch of her back, the twitch of her thighs, every small tremble that gives her away. “who the fuck are you,” he whispers again, voice strained now, knuckles tightening with each stroke, precum leaking warm across his hand. he’s close, but not rushing—just breathing, just fucking into his hand like she’s watching him right back. and then it happens—just as his eyes start to flutter shut, just as his cock twitches against his grip—

buzz.

his phone lights up in the corner of the screen, and he blinks, chest still rising fast, fingers stilled mid-stroke as the name flashes clear.

────୨ৎ────

the car ride home is quiet, the soft hum of the engine the only thing keeping your mind from spinning completely out of control. you stare out the window the whole time, watching buildings blur into neighborhoods, storefronts into trees, your reflection ghosting back at you every time the light hits the glass just right. your body feels heavy in a way that isn’t just physical—like you left part of yourself back in that bed, wrapped in sheets and tangled in someone else’s breath. your thighs are still sticky, your hair still smells like his detergent, and your phone hasn’t stopped buzzing since he posted the video. you don’t check it. not yet. you know what’s waiting for you there. attention. validation. noise. and none of it feels like enough to quiet the ache still blooming beneath your ribs. you just want to be home. you just want your bed. you just want this night to stop echoing.

you thank the driver and climb out quietly, your fingers trembling as they grip the strap of your bag. the air hits different now—colder, clearer, like it’s trying to sober you up from whatever high your body’s still crashing down from. the building looms in front of you, too familiar, too grounding, and your feet feel too loud on the stairs as you climb. you don’t expect nari to still be awake. you don’t expect her to be sitting on the couch in her hoodie and shorts, blanket over her lap, hair tied up and a mug of tea forgotten on the table. her head lifts when she sees you, eyes widening, expression soft and sleepy but instantly alert. “hey,” she says gently, not like she’s prying—just like she knows. you blink once. twice. and then the tears start rising up too fast to swallow.

“i did it,” you say, voice cracking before you can catch it, dropping your bag to the floor like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. “i filmed with someone. like… all of it. everything.” your eyes sting as you move to sit beside her, pulling your legs up on the couch, hugging your knees to your chest like you’re trying to hold yourself together with your own arms. “it wasn’t supposed to feel like this,” you whisper, breath hitching as her hand comes down gently to rub your back, slow and reassuring. “it was supposed to just be money. content. like… a transaction. but then—he was…” you trail off, shaking your head. “he made me feel things i didn’t expect. he made me forget it was even being recorded.” nari doesn’t say anything yet. just keeps rubbing your back, waiting.

“he was sweet,” you continue, voice barely above a whisper now, “and careful. and so good—like, not just at the physical part, but… the way he looked at me. like he actually cared.” you laugh then, bitter and soft and full of disbelief. “and then i got dressed. and i left.” you press your palms to your face, shoulders trembling with the weight of everything crashing back down. “i told myself it was business. that’s what i kept saying in the car. it’s just business. but it didn’t feel like that. not for one second.” nari doesn’t rush you, doesn’t try to talk over your spiraling. she just pulls you in, arms wrapping around your shoulders as she rests her chin against the top of your head. “i didn’t want to admit it,” you breathe out, “but i think… i liked it too much.”

nari pulls back just enough to look at you, her brows drawn, voice soft and steady. “do you regret it?” she asks, and the question doesn’t come with judgment—just care. you pause, really thinking about it, your heart still aching, your body still buzzing from everything he touched, everything he said. you shake your head slowly, fingers tightening into the sleeves of your sweatshirt. “no,” you say. “i don’t regret it. i just don’t know what to do now.” the truth settles between you like steam—warm, fragile, lingering in the quiet space nari always creates for you. she nods once, like she understands. like she already knew. “then we figure it out,” she says. “together.”

you stay tucked into nari’s side for a while after that, the quiet between you comforting in a way that nothing else has been all night. her arm stays around your shoulders, warm and steady, thumb tracing small shapes against your arm like she’s grounding you with each pass. your breathing evens out eventually, and the ache in your chest settles—not gone, not even dulled, but wrapped in something that makes it easier to hold. the light from your phone catches your attention when it buzzes against the cushion beside you, and you glance down without thinking. the notification flashes once—

@jayafterhours replied to your message. 

your stomach flips. not from nerves, not from guilt, but something sharp and new and electric. you hesitate for half a second, then pick it up and unlock the screen.

the app opens instantly, and the message lights up clean beneath your own.

@jayafterhours: depends. how good are you at following directions?

it sits there like a dare. no emojis. no filler. just those words, sharp and smooth, wrapped in heat. you read it once. then again. and then a third time, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as something unfamiliar sparks low in your stomach. jay’s message isn’t careful or warm or soft. it’s cocky. bold. full of the kind of energy that doesn’t ask—it challenges. and it should be easy to ignore, should be nothing more than another opportunity—but after the way tonight left you exposed, this message feels like armor. like escape. like exactly what you need right now.

you’re still staring at jay’s message when your phone buzzes again—this time softer, quieter, like it knows it’s interrupting something private. nari’s still next to you, her hand resting gently on your arm, both of you folded into the silence after your confession. you don’t realize how tense your body has gotten until her thumb strokes over your sleeve, grounding you like she always does. “everything okay?” she asks softly, and you nod—too fast, too automatic. you glance down, thumb dragging over the edge of your screen, and your breath stalls when you see the name.

@heefreakshow: i’m outside

no punctuation. no lead-in. no warning. your stomach tightens. your chest tightens, breath catching hard as you blink at the message once, then twice, like it might go away if you look long enough. but it doesn’t. it just sits there—steady, waiting, pressing heavy against your ribs. “nari,” you say suddenly, voice softer now, “can you grab me that tea from earlier? i think it’s still on the counter.”

she nods easily, no questions, just kindness, slipping up from the couch and padding toward the kitchen in her socks. the second she’s out of sight, you grab your phone, the grip of it cold against your palm as you move toward the door on autopilot. your heart thuds unevenly as you reach for the handle, and for a moment, you hesitate—what are you even doing?—but your hand moves anyway. you open the door slowly, half-expecting to see no one there—to tell yourself you imagined it, that maybe the message wasn’t meant for you. but he’s there. standing just a few feet away in the hallway, hands in his jacket pockets, hood drawn halfway up like he’s trying to shrink into the shadows. his eyes meet yours instantly, and the world seems to stop moving. it’s the same face. the same mouth that kissed your shoulder, the same voice that whispered your name until you came undone. but it’s different now, too. softer. sadder. there’s something unreadable in his expression, something that pulls at you, something that says i’m not here just to see you—i’m here because i can’t stay away.

you step back without a word, letting him in with a tilt of your chin, your fingers tightening around the doorknob before you close it softly behind him. he’s still watching you—same mouth, same eyes, but something about him feels different now. more exposed. less in control. like the walls he held up on camera don’t follow him into your apartment. “i wasn’t gonna come,” he says after a second, voice quiet, husky at the edges, “but i couldn’t stop thinking about it. about you.” you freeze. not because of what he said—but how he said it. no teasing. no performative confidence. just the raw, stripped-down truth of a man standing in front of someone he wasn’t ready to lose.

“i don’t want to make this complicated,” he adds, eyes dipping away from yours for a heartbeat, “i know you’ve got your reasons. i know what this was supposed to be.” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the envelope—thick, sealed, heavy with every cent the video made. “this is yours,” he says. “all of it.” your fingers curl instinctively, but you don’t reach for it. “i just…” he trails off, shaking his head like he hates himself for even being here. “i haven’t been able to stop thinking about how you sounded. how you felt. how you looked at me when the camera turned off.” his voice drops even lower, and when his eyes meet yours again, they’re raw. “you keep showing up in my head—and i don’t know how to turn it off.”

heeseung exhales like something inside him’s cracking open—like the silence you’re holding is slowly tearing through his chest. his fingers twitch at his side, still gripping the envelope he hasn’t let you take, like it’s the only anchor he has left. “i used to think people who said love at first sight were full of shit,” he says suddenly, voice low, almost ashamed of the words as they fall out. “like it was just something people told themselves when they were lonely. or desperate. or drunk.” his throat works around the lump sitting in it as his eyes flick back to yours, soft and vulnerable and scared. “but then i looked at you. and everything i thought i knew stopped making sense.” the envelope lowers. his hand opens. and now it’s not money between you—it’s him.

he steps forward slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid if he moves too fast you’ll vanish. you don’t breathe. don’t speak. your entire body’s frozen under the weight of what’s unfolding in front of you. his hand lifts, fingers brushing gently beneath your chin before tracing upward, knuckles grazing the line of your jaw. “you’re the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen,” he murmurs, thumb pressing against your cheek like he’s trying to memorize the softness of your skin. “not just because of how you look. but the way you breathe. the way you speak. the way you left me speechless without even trying.” his forehead nearly touches yours now, his breath warm and unsteady between you. “i don’t want this to be about the fucking camera anymore.”

“let me in,” he whispers, and it’s so quiet, so desperate, that it barely holds itself together. “let me know you. i’m not asking for everything. i just want… something. something real.” your lips part, but no sound comes out—your chest rising hard, your pulse loud in your ears, your mind too full to form words. his eyes flick down to your mouth, then back up, searching you, waiting for permission you don’t know how to give. you could push him away. you could lie. you could tell him this is too much, too fast. but before you can speak—he leans in.

his mouth presses to yours with a softness that stuns you—nothing rushed, nothing demanding. just him. trembling, open, real. his hand cups the side of your face like he’s afraid you’ll break beneath him, his lips moving slowly against yours like he’s trying to tell you everything he doesn’t have the words for. your breath hitches. your lashes flutter. and for one suspended moment, there is no camera. no contract. no inbox. just him. and the way his mouth is kissing you like you’re the first thing that’s ever made sense

his lips move against yours with an aching kind of care, like he doesn’t want to rush it—like he wants to memorize every part of your mouth before the moment slips away. his hand tilts your chin just slightly, thumb brushing along the edge of your jaw as his other hand hovers at your waist, not pulling, not forcing—just holding, like you’re something he’s scared to lose. you lean into him before you can stop yourself, your fingers brushing lightly against his chest, catching in the fabric of his hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. the kiss deepens naturally, your mouths molding together with more weight, more heat, until his breath is tangled with yours. he exhales shakily into the kiss, lips parting just enough to let his tongue flick against yours, soft and slow and searching. you gasp quietly, your body pressing just a little closer, like the gravity between you both is impossible to resist. his thumb traces beneath your cheekbone, slow and reverent, like he still can’t believe you’re letting him do this. everything inside you is warm and light and crumbling.

the taste of him lingers sweet on your lips, heat blooming through your body in waves as the kiss stretches out longer than you mean it to—longer than it should. his tongue slides against yours again, a little deeper this time, a little more sure, like he’s just starting to believe this is real. your fingers clutch at the edge of his hoodie, pulling him closer without thinking, your chest pressing flush to his, your breath stuttering against his lips. you hear the softest, tiniest sound from him—almost a whimper, half-swallowed, too quiet to be on purpose. and it makes your stomach twist. makes your knees feel weak. his mouth moves lower, dragging to the corner of your lips, then kissing softly along the edge of your jaw like he can’t help himself. and it’s all too much. too good. too full of feeling you’ve been trying to deny since the second you walked out of his bed.

your hand lifts to his chest to ground yourself, fingers splayed over the beat of his heart that’s racing just as hard as yours. heeseung’s breath hitches, and he pulls back just enough to look at you—his mouth swollen, eyes dark, lips still parted. “i mean it,” he says again, voice rough and wrecked and so soft. “i want to know you.” your heart stutters. your mouth opens—but before either of you can speak again—

“y/n?”

the voice comes like a slap. bright. clear. and cutting straight through the warmth like a blade.

you freeze.

your body jerks back like a switch flipped under your skin, like your name being said aloud burned straight through the fantasy. you stumble out of his grip, lips still parted, breathing hard, your fingers releasing his hoodie so fast it feels like you just realized what you were holding. your eyes go wide as your mind scrambles to catch up, to remember where you are, who you are, who is in your apartment right now. “shit,” you whisper under your breath, heart hammering like it’s trying to punch through your ribs, like your pulse forgot how to settle. heeseung straightens a little, blinking, his expression shifting fast—from warmth to confusion to that same guarded tension you saw at the door. you turn quickly toward the hallway, barely able to process what you’re supposed to do next. “just a second!” you call back to nari, your voice thin and breathless, like you’re trying not to sound like you were just kissed like someone’s favorite memory.

she doesn’t answer right away, but her footsteps pad closer from the kitchen—slow, unaware, still far enough that you can breathe but not for long. you whip around to face him, panic laced in every inch of your movement. “you have to go,” you say, too fast, too tight, the words leaving your mouth before you can soften them. heeseung’s brows pull together, the smallest flicker of hurt in his eyes before he catches himself. “y/n,” he says gently, his hand half-lifted like he wants to reach for you again, but he doesn’t. “please. don’t shut me out again.” your throat tightens, your fingers clenching at your sides. you can’t do this right now. not with your roommate three steps away. not when your lips still taste like his name.

“this was a mistake,” you say, though your voice wavers at the end of it, and you hate how easily it betrays you. heeseung flinches—not dramatically, not with words, just the subtle shift of someone trying not to react to a wound they didn’t expect. “it didn’t feel like one,” he says, barely above a whisper, but there’s weight in it, something heavy that sticks in your chest. you open your mouth, but no words come out—just air, just panic, just silence. the warmth from his touch is still clinging to your skin, but it doesn’t feel soft anymore. it feels like a question you don’t have an answer to. you step back once, then again. and he takes the hint.

“i’ll go,” he says, voice dull now, and you hate it—you hate the way he sounds when he says it, like you’re undoing something that hadn’t even started yet. he moves toward the door without another word, his shoulders square, steps quiet like he doesn’t want to make it harder than it already is. your breath catches as he opens it, just wide enough to slip out, and for a second you almost call his name. almost. but then he’s gone.

and when the door clicks shut, it’s like your whole body deflates.

you don’t move at first—not even after the door clicks shut, not even after your heartbeat starts to slow. you’re frozen there, staring at the space he left behind, like the warmth of his presence is still lingering in the air, clinging to your skin. your lips are still parted. your hands are still shaking. and your thoughts feel like they’re spinning too fast to hold onto anything solid. you press your fingers to your mouth, just once, like you’re trying to erase the kiss from your skin—but all it does is make you remember how it felt. how soft he was. how much he meant it. and how badly you wanted to believe it.

“hey,” nari’s voice calls gently from behind, her steps slow and light like she’s trying not to startle you. “who was that?” her question isn’t sharp, not suspicious—just curious, just concerned. you inhale too fast, turning toward her with a smile you have to force into place, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “no one,” you say, and the words sound brittle even to your own ears. nari tilts her head slightly, stopping just a few feet away, her gaze soft but a little puzzled. “it sounded like someone was here. you okay?” she asks, her eyes searching your face like she already knows the answer isn’t yes.

you nod too quickly. lie too easily. “yeah,” you say, waving it off like it’s nothing, like your hands aren’t trembling from the ghost of a kiss that’s still burning through you. “just… someone dropping something off.” nari hums, unconvinced but not pushing, and moves past you toward the living room again. your shoulders fall the second she turns her back, the pressure of pretending scraping down your spine like sandpaper. you follow her slowly, your feet heavy, your mind louder than it’s ever been. part of you wants to tell her everything—to let it spill out in messy pieces like you did before—but the rest of you can’t. not yet. not when it’s still sitting in your chest like it means something more than it should.

you sink back onto the couch, your hands folding in your lap, trying not to feel the way your heart’s still pulling in opposite directions. “you want me to warm your tea again?” nari asks from the kitchen, casual, kind, unaware of how badly you need something—anything—to anchor you right now. “yeah,” you manage, your voice hoarse. “please.” she hums again, and the clinking of the mug hitting the counter fills the silence while you reach for your phone like a reflex, screen lighting up again with the last message you received.

@jayafterhours: depends. how good are you at following directions?

your thumb hovers over it for a second. just long enough to wonder what would happen if you said yes.

────୨ৎ────

jay could hear your footsteps before the knock even came—soft, steady, unhurried as you walked up the steps to his door. he didn’t move right away. just stood there, watching the blur of your shadow shift beneath the crack, listening to the quiet rhythm of your shoes against the concrete. when your knuckles finally tapped against the wood—quick, confident, not too firm—it echoed straight through his chest. and for some reason, his breath caught. he hadn’t even seen you yet, but something in the way you approached already had him standing a little straighter.

he opened the door slowly, not expecting much—just a girl, a creator, someone behind a screen turned in front of a lens. but then you were there. standing in front of him like you’d always belonged in his doorway. and for a second, jay couldn’t fucking breathe. it wasn’t just the way you looked, though that was enough to throw him off—lips bare, lashes soft, skin kissed with the kind of natural glow that didn't need lighting. it was the way you carried it. cool, calm, but not cocky. like you knew he’d be staring—and you didn’t mind one bit.

he had no idea what to say at first, and that wasn’t like him. so instead, he stepped back. made room. let you walk into his space while he held the door and tried not to think about the way your hoodie rode up just enough when you passed. “glad you came,” he said finally, voice lower than intended, the heat behind it already showing. and still, you didn’t say much—just nodded, eyes flicking over his apartment like you were already deciding if you liked being here.

and jay? yeah, he was already fucked.

he invites you to sit, his tone smooth and unbothered, like this is all routine. your eyes drift over the table—neat dishes laid out already, plates warm, silverware set clean and deliberate, like he’d done this more than once in his head before you actually showed up. the chairs are tucked in, a folded napkin on each side, and it’s not fancy, not showy—just thoughtful. the kind of quiet preparation that says he was expecting you. he gestures toward the one closest to the corner, letting you choose your seat, and only after you lower yourself does he finally move to the opposite side. the room smells like something savory—spiced, warm, familiar—but you’re too focused on the way he looks across the table. like he’s already unwrapping you with his eyes and hasn’t even touched you yet.

“i wasn’t sure what you’d like,” he says, sliding one of the plates toward you, “so i made something safe.” he says it with a shrug, casual, but the corners of his mouth twitch like he knows it still matters. you glance down at the dish—pasta, something seasoned and steaming lightly, nothing too heavy but just enough to show he gave a shit. the table feels too quiet for a second, but jay fills it easily, leaning forward with one forearm against the wood like he’s settling into something easy. “before we get into the rest,” he says, tone steady, “i just wanna know a few things about you.” you blink, not expecting that—not after the texts, not after the message that brought you here.

“what should i call you?” he asks, voice low but not demanding, like he wants to give you space to answer how you want. “real name, nickname, something else?” he waits. doesn’t press. just watches you with those sharp, dark eyes like he’s already cataloging every answer for later. you tell him your name—and he nods once, storing it somewhere behind the calm set of his mouth. then he asks another. “what’s your favorite ice cream?” and when you raise a brow, he shrugs again. “everybody’s got one. mine’s pistachio. but i don’t expect you to take me seriously after saying that out loud.”

the edge of a smile touches your mouth before you can stop it, and you hate the way it catches his attention immediately—like he notices everything, even the small shifts. he asks more. not deep things. just enough to make you talk. favorite time of day. worst habit. music you only listen to when you’re alone. it’s disarming. gentle. like he’s peeling you open slowly without ever putting his hands on you. and it throws you off balance, because none of it feels like an act. he’s not trying to seduce you. he’s just trying to see you. and somehow, that’s worse.

he doesn’t look at your chest. doesn’t stare at your legs. his eyes stay on your face like he wants to memorize it before the lighting and the angles and the camera strip it down. “i like knowing things,” he says after your third answer, voice quieter now, like it’s a secret he’s only saying once. “makes what happens later feel less like performance. more like chemistry.” your breath catches slightly, the implication not subtle but not crude. and he knows it. his mouth curves slowly around his next word. “boundaries,” he says, leaning back finally, like he’s shifting gears. “let’s talk about them.”

you sit a little straighter at the word—boundaries—as if the reminder helps you find your footing again. it feels like the only thing you can control in a space where everything else is already moving faster than you expected. jay watches you with that same measured gaze, not pushing, not crowding, just waiting. and somehow, that’s what makes it harder to speak. you inhale slowly, letting the words settle in your mouth before you release them. “i’m okay with most things,” you say carefully, voice quiet but steady. “just… not my face. i don’t want it shown.” your fingers curl slightly around the edge of your seat as the words leave you, like saying them out loud solidifies them in a way that’s permanent.

jay doesn’t blink. doesn’t shift. doesn’t even flinch. he just nods once, slow and certain. “easy,” he says simply. “i’ve worked around that before.” you blink, a little surprised at how quickly he agreed. “you can stay cropped, blurred, or angled out. whatever you’re comfortable with.” his tone doesn’t falter—there’s no question in it, no teasing, no hint of disbelief. just clean acceptance. and that, somehow, makes your chest tighten. “i don’t do spit,” you add suddenly, a little sharper now, like you need to draw one more line just to see if he’ll cross it. “noted,” he replies, just as calm.

“what about contact?” he asks after a beat, fingers tapping lightly against the table, not impatient—just thoughtful. “hands? mouths? toys? giving, receiving?” it’s the first time the words sound even remotely intimate, and it sends a ripple down your spine, but you don’t let it show. you answer carefully, listing what you’re okay with, what you’d rather avoid, and he takes it all in without interrupting. not once does he smirk. not once does he turn it into something dirtier than it needs to be. he just listens. and somehow that makes your pulse pick up more than anything he could’ve said.

“do you have a safeword?” he asks next, voice low but clear, no edge to it—just importance. you hesitate for a second, your teeth pressing gently into your bottom lip as your mind flips through words that feel right. something simple. something soft. something you’ll remember even when your thoughts are a mess. “peach,” you say finally, your voice barely above a breath. “if i say peach, we stop.” you don’t expect the way his eyes soften at that, like he wasn’t just listening—he heard you. he nods once, firm and sure. “peach it is,” he replies, voice quiet but absolute. “say it once, and everything ends. no questions asked.”

he leans back, letting the quiet settle. “anything else?” he asks, tone a little lighter now, like he’s giving you space to say no. your fingers twitch against the edge of your thigh. your heart’s still racing, your head still loud. but you shake your head slowly. “not right now,” you murmur. jay gives you a long look. not unreadable—but quiet. measured. like he’s still trying to piece you together without rushing it. and when he speaks again, his voice is lower, gentler. “i don’t want you to just feel safe,” he says. “i want you to feel seen.”

jay stands from the table slowly, pushing his chair in with one hand and tilting his head toward the hallway. “come with me,” he says simply, his tone softer now—less like a command, more like an invitation. you follow without speaking, your footsteps quieter this time as you trail behind him, your body still warm from the way he looked at you. the deeper you move into his apartment, the more the quiet hum of something personal settles in. the space is open but not cold—walls painted a cool gray, dark wood floors that soften each step, and framed black-and-white prints spaced carefully along the hall. everything feels… intentional. not staged, not overly curated—just clean, calm, and lived-in, like he only keeps what matters.

there’s a faint scent lingering in the air, something earthy and expensive—maybe sandalwood, maybe cedar, something low and smooth that fits him perfectly. the hallway passes a spare room, its door cracked open just enough for you to see a neat workspace with a monitor, ring light, and perfectly wound cords—no mess, no clutter. he’s the kind of guy who wipes surfaces even if they’re already clean. who arranges things by size without realizing it. and now that you’re walking through it, it makes sense. he feels like someone who controls the chaos before it ever starts. someone who doesn’t just direct scenes, but knows how to curate them down to the last breath.

when he opens the door to his room, he doesn’t say anything—just steps inside and waits for you to follow. and you do. slow, careful, your eyes scanning the space as you enter. the room is warm in tone, dimly lit by a lamp in the corner with amber-tinted light that makes the shadows look softer. the bedding is dark navy, sheets smooth and taut, a throw blanket folded at the edge with precision. there’s a small table near the wall with a speaker, a single coaster, and a lighter next to an unused candle. everything is exactly where it should be—but not in a clinical way. more like someone who lives in silence and pays attention to what it tells him.

the tripod is already set up across the room, angled down slightly toward the bed, lens cap off but nothing recording yet. it doesn’t feel threatening. just… real. you were expecting something more dramatic. lights. backdrops. fake velvet. but this is something else. this feels personal. honest. quiet. and maybe that’s what makes your pulse start to rise in your throat again. jay walks past you slowly, crossing the room to the dresser, and opens the top drawer without saying a word. you watch him carefully, still trying to piece together what kind of man sets a camera like that and still remembers to cook you lunch.

when he turns around, he’s holding something small and black, the shimmer of silk catching the light as he walks back toward you. the bag in his hand is delicate—drawstring ribbon, gold threading, and you already know what it is before he offers it out. “for you,” he says, holding it between you like it’s something important. “to wear.” you blink up at him, but his gaze doesn’t waver, doesn’t falter. “i saw it in a shop the day after i found your profile,” he adds quietly. “wasn’t looking for anything. just… saw it. and thought it would suit you.”

you give him a slight smile before you speak, “give me a minute?” you say, voice quiet but sure. jay’s eyes meet yours again, and this time he smiles without speaking. just a small tilt of his head, an unspoken take your time. you close the bathroom door quietly behind you, the soft click echoing louder than it should in your ears. the small silk bag is still clutched in your hand, your palm warm and damp against the fabric like you’re holding something much more dangerous. the light in here is brighter—clean, warm-toned, flattering—but it only makes your nerves feel sharper. the mirror reflects back a version of yourself that looks steady, calm, composed… but your chest is tight. your skin buzzes beneath your clothes. and as you lay the bag down on the counter, you realize this moment feels familiar. too familiar.

your breath slows as your fingers reach for the hem of your hoodie, pulling it up and over your head with a slow drag, your tank top following right after. you fold them both neatly beside the sink, more out of nervous habit than care. and for a second, you’re standing there in just your underwear, heart thrumming low in your stomach, staring at your reflection like it’s someone else’s body. you’ve been here before. not in this room, not with these lights—but in the feeling. the anticipation. the tight pull in your gut. the sting of wanting to impress someone who shouldn’t mean anything.

you think of heeseung. how it felt when you changed for him. how you stood in your room, under dim lighting, slipping on something you picked while he waited for you just down the hall. how it wasn’t supposed to feel like it did. how you thought it would just be performance. and it wasn’t. it was heat. it was vulnerability. it was dangerous. and now here you are again—different place, different man, but the same twisting ache curling around your spine. why does it feel the same? why does your body keep falling into this rhythm like it wants to be seen?

you open the silk bag slowly, the lingerie soft and light in your hands as you lift it out. black lace, just like he said. a deep plunge neckline, sheer mesh sides, satin ribbon at the center. the fabric is cool against your fingertips, delicate enough to feel like it might tear if you don’t handle it carefully. it’s beautiful. subtle. nothing flashy—but undeniably seductive. you step into it slowly, one leg at a time, pulling the straps over your shoulders, adjusting the fit around your waist. and as it settles against your skin, molding to your body like it was meant for you, you feel something crack open behind your ribs.

you shouldn’t like this. not the way you do. not the way your thighs press together, not the way your breath comes shallower, not the way you want to step out there and watch jay’s face when he sees you in this. you shouldn’t want to impress him—not after how confused you still feel about the last time. about heeseung. about what it meant, and what it didn’t. but your skin burns all the same. your hands tremble slightly as you fix your hair, as you smooth the hem, as you give yourself one last look in the mirror. “just business,” you whisper to your reflection. and even you don’t believe it.

you open the door slowly, just enough to slip through, your hands brushing down your sides one last time as you step back into the low light of his bedroom. the air feels thicker out here—warmer, heavier, like it’s been waiting for you. the door clicks gently behind you, and your bare feet make the softest sound against the floor as you move forward, your breath caught somewhere between your throat and your chest. you don’t look at him right away. not yet. you don’t want to see his face until you’re standing still, until your heart isn’t racing so fast it might show on your skin. but you feel it the moment his eyes land on you.

jay goes completely still—like the sight of you knocks the air out of him. he was sitting at the edge of the bed, adjusting the tripod when the door opened, but now he’s frozen, hands resting loosely on his thighs, lips parted just slightly as his gaze drags up your body. he doesn’t speak. doesn’t smile. he just looks—like you’re something he’s only seen in his head before this. something better in person. his eyes move slowly, taking in every line of lace, every sheer inch of skin, every soft curve the lingerie hugs like it was tailored just for you. and when your gaze finally lifts to meet his, he looks like he’s trying not to say something reckless.

“fuck,” he murmurs under his breath, the word falling out like it escaped before he could hold it back. he shifts forward just slightly, elbows resting on his knees now, fingers loosely laced like he needs to stay grounded. “you really wore it.” there’s something in his voice—something tight, restrained, too controlled to be casual. his eyes keep flicking between your mouth and your hips like he can’t pick which part of you he wants to touch first. “looks better than i imagined,” he adds, and it doesn’t sound like a compliment—it sounds like a confession. low, almost reverent.

you try to stay still under the weight of his stare, but your skin feels too hot, too bare, too sensitive. his gaze alone feels like it’s dragging fingers down your sides, smoothing over the lace, sinking into places he hasn’t even touched yet. he straightens a little, breath deeper now, like he’s forcing himself to remember why you’re both here. “can i fix the straps?” he asks suddenly, voice softer now, eyes flicking toward your shoulder where the delicate black lace has slipped just slightly out of place. “just the straps.” his tone is calm, careful—asking not assuming.

you nod once, and he rises without another word, his steps slow and deliberate as he closes the space between you. he moves behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body at your back but not close enough to touch—not yet. his fingers reach up gently, grazing your skin as he slides the strap higher, smoothing it back into place with practiced ease. then the other. slow. patient. like he’s putting something sacred back where it belongs. “perfect,” he murmurs once, voice brushing warm against your neck, and then he steps back, keeping his hands to himself.

you can still feel him, even after he’s gone.

“lie down for me,” he says again, a little softer this time, like he’s coaxing the words past your skin. you move slowly, climbing up onto the bed with steady breaths, the lace hugging your body shifting with every motion. the sheets are smooth and cool beneath your palms, your body sinking slightly into the mattress as you stretch out along the center. jay watches from the edge of the room, his movements calm, practiced, but not rushed. nothing about this is rushed. he moves like he has all the time in the world to break you open piece by piece.

he disappears for a second, and you hear the soft click of a switch. the lighting shifts immediately—warmer, dimmer, all shadows and low gold. intimate. like candlelight caught in motion. and then, music. something slow, rich, vibrating low through the walls. it starts with a soft hum, something sensual and aching underneath, followed by a voice thick with emotion, sliding across the beat like a secret. the melody winds around your body before he even touches you. it’s moody, seductive, dangerous. like desire in the form of a song. like something you shouldn’t be listening to unless you’re ready to fall apart.

you don’t realize you’re holding your breath until the mattress dips beside you. jay’s back now, his body lowering beside yours, his hand brushing along your forearm with quiet intention. in his hand—black leather cuffs, soft-lined and already adjusted to your size. he doesn’t speak, doesn’t explain. he just takes your wrist, gently, lifting it with the kind of care that makes your breath catch, and buckles the first strap around you. the second follows. secure. firm. not uncomfortable—just enough to remind you that your hands aren’t yours anymore.

“you good?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. you nod again. “say it,” he murmurs, pausing just before the fabric meets your eyes. “i’m good,” you breathe. then the blindfold. satin, black, impossibly soft. he holds it above your eyes for a moment, his voice barely above the hum of the song when he speaks. “say it again,” he murmurs. “i’m good,” you whisper, lips parted, chest rising. and with that, the world goes dark. the music swells. your body buzzes.

you feel everything more sharply now—the way the sheet slides against your thighs, the soft brush of air across your stomach, the subtle shift of the mattress as he stands and steps away. the music pulses like a heartbeat, slow and full of heat, the vocals dragging out in a way that makes your lungs feel tight. and then, the faint sound of glass. a bottle being unstoppered. something being warmed. your body tenses, even as your breath grows slower, heavier. you're not afraid. but you are open. waiting.

the first drop lands just below your collarbone. warm. sharp. a sting that spreads and melts as fast as it came. your mouth parts in a silent gasp, your back arching as the sensation ripples across your chest. it’s followed by another—slower this time, deeper. your body jerks slightly against the cuffs, your breath catching as heat coils low in your stomach. and then, his voice—quiet, close, wrecked in the best way. “too much?” he asks, his breath ghosting over your shoulder. you shake your head, pulse thudding wildly beneath your skin. “good girl,” he murmurs, and the next drop comes before you’re ready.

his fingers hover just above your ribs, tracing the fresh trail of wax he’s left behind, not touching—not quite—just following the shape of the cooling heat like he’s painting with his breath. your back arches slightly, hips pressing deeper into the mattress as your bound wrists tug gently against the cuffs. the blindfold robs you of sight, but it sharpens everything else—the sound of the song still melting through the speakers, the rhythm low and slow, the singer’s voice drawn out in pure seduction. the room smells like warmth, like candle wax and skin, like want. your skin tingles in every direction, but he hasn’t even touched you where it aches the most. not once.

“you’re so sensitive,” jay says quietly, voice curved with something dark, something proud. he lets one fingertip finally graze over a spot where the wax has cooled—a slow, deliberate line that drags across your sternum, up the swell of your chest. your stomach clenches, a whimper caught in your throat as he drags it downward again, pausing just above your navel. “you feel everything, don’t you?” he murmurs, like he’s marveling, like he’s falling in love with the way your body moves beneath his. “but i haven’t even touched you.” his voice is warm honey over ice, and it makes your thighs twitch.

another pour. hotter this time. it hits just beside your hip, then crawls inward, a path of liquid fire that fades into a cruel, pulsing throb. your toes curl, breath catching hard in your throat as your back arches again, body fully open and helpless to the rhythm he’s set. “please—” you breathe, voice thin and unsure, but you don’t know what you’re asking for yet. “please what?” jay’s mouth is near your ear now, close enough that you can feel his smile. “you don’t even know what you want, baby.” he laughs, soft and low, and you swear the sound is almost worse than the heat.

his hands return—not between your legs, not to your breasts—just to your waist, where he spreads his fingers slowly along your sides like he’s claiming you inch by inch. the pads of his thumbs rub light circles into the bone beneath your skin, grounding you, teasing you, keeping you right where he wants you. “you take pain so well,” he murmurs, and then another line of wax pours across the top of your thigh—too close. too close, but not close enough. your whole body trembles, wrists straining against the cuffs as you gasp out his name. not loud. not sharp. just needy.

you feel it before you realize what it is—his breath on your inner thigh, his hands pressing your legs gently open farther, farther, like he’s worshipping the space between them. but still, he doesn’t touch. “i could make you come with just my voice,” he says, not cocky—confident. capable. and you believe him. because your body is already falling apart, already pulsing around nothing, already begging him without the words. “but i want you to ask me.” his lips brush the inside of your leg, not a kiss—just air. “i want you to beg me.”

your pride tries to hold on. it claws at your throat, tries to press your mouth shut. but your body betrays you. your hips lift without permission, your moan slipping free like it’s been waiting for this moment. “jay—please,” you gasp, voice raw now. “please, fuck, please touch me.” it’s broken. breathless. real. and it’s everything he was waiting for.

he doesn’t give you a warning. doesn’t make a show of it. he just moves—fluid and silent, settling between your thighs like he’s done it before in a dream he’s finally gotten to touch. your skin is slick with heat, glowing with wax and want, and he breathes you in like your scent alone is enough to wreck him. his hands slide beneath your thighs, palms warm, strong, tilting your hips upward just slightly so you’re perfectly open, perfectly framed, perfectly his. the first brush of his mouth is featherlight, almost nothing—just lips grazing over your inner thigh, barely touching your cunt, just enough to make you sob through gritted teeth. “so fucking pretty,” he murmurs against your skin.

his hands return to your waist without a sound, no command or question leaving his lips—just touch, warm and steady as his fingers slide over the edge of the lace that still clings to your body. you twitch slightly beneath him, the blindfold making every brush of his fingertips feel sharper, more exposed, and when his thumbs dip beneath the fabric, you realize what he’s doing—but you don’t stop him. he moves slowly, deliberately, not yanking or rushing, but peeling the lingerie off your skin like it’s something delicate, something earned. the lace folds away from your hips, dragged down inch by inch, baring more of your skin to the air, and your chest rises involuntarily when he shifts the straps off your shoulders. he eases the piece down your body, taking the time to trace every inch that’s revealed—his knuckles grazing your ribs, the curve of your waist, the crease of your thighs. when it finally slips free from your ankles, you feel more naked than you’ve ever been.

his hands return just as slowly, palms spreading up the backs of your thighs before gliding to your hips, like he’s reacquainting himself with skin he’d already claimed. he doesn’t speak. he doesn’t rush. he just takes in the sight of you—bare, breathless, bound beneath him, blind to everything but the beat of your own heart and the sound of his breathing. the song continues behind him, velvet-rich and dangerous, the lyrics curling through the shadows of the room like temptation: “bring your body, baby…” your lips part, your legs twitch, but he doesn’t move to fill the space between them—not yet. he just touches. lets the pads of his fingers skim the edges of your thighs, your stomach, the sides of your breasts, without truly settling anywhere. just to feel you.

the air is thick now, heavy with unspoken tension, and your body is buzzing, aching, completely at his mercy. you don’t know what’s coming next—his mouth, his fingers, another pour of wax—but you know that whatever it is, he’ll give it to you slowly. your skin still remembers the sting of the heat from earlier, the way your body pulsed with every drop, and now—now—without anything between you, it feels like every inch of your body is begging to be touched. your wrists flex against the cuffs, more reflex than restraint, and your breath comes out in a shaky exhale you hadn’t meant to release. his hands settle on your thighs again, fingers curling gently as he pushes them wider.

he licks a long, slow stripe through your folds that has your back arching off the bed. it’s not just the contact—it’s the way he does it, the reverence in his pace, the softness in his grip, like he’s worshipping something he thought he’d never be allowed to touch.

he doesn’t rush. he doesn’t groan. he doesn’t perform for the camera. he just devours. his tongue works in long, controlled strokes, collecting slick like it’s the only thing he needs to breathe, licking deep and purposeful like he’s trying to memorize how you taste. your head spins beneath the blindfold, your hands tugging uselessly against the cuffs as your body trembles beneath the weight of everything. you can’t see him, but you can feel the way he watches every twitch, every gasp, every time your thighs clench in his hands. he hums against you, not loud, not obnoxious—just pleased, like he’s satisfied with how quickly you’re unraveling under him. and when his lips wrap around your clit, sucking slow and tight, you cry out so loud it barely sounds like your voice.

you’re so close so fast, too fast, and he knows it. knows because he slows down again—easing the pressure, dragging his tongue in lazy circles that make your hips jerk in frustration. “not yet,” he breathes into your skin, and it doesn’t even sound like a tease. it sounds like a rule. like a command you’re meant to obey without argument. the music is still playing behind him—“just let me motherfucking love you…”—but it’s all a blur now, a background heartbeat to the way he laps you back up like he missed you between each breath. his fingers trail up your thigh slowly, slick with the wax he laid earlier, and it’s not until one dips between your folds that your breath stutters in your chest.

he slides in with ease, your body more than ready, and his tongue doesn’t stop. his mouth stays on your clit, soft and sucking, drawing it between his lips while he curls his finger just right, just enough to make your vision flash white behind the blindfold. “fuck—jay—” you gasp, thighs shaking now, unable to stay still under the rhythm of his mouth and hand. “please, I’m gonna—I need to—” your words dissolve into moans, into nonsense, because he doesn’t let up. he keeps going, steady and cruel, another finger joining the first with a wet slide that makes you whimper like a fucking prayer. he groans low when he feels you clench, not for show, but from hunger—he likes how tightly your body reacts to him. he lives for it.

you’re falling apart now. your hips are bucking, your legs twitching, your fingers digging into empty air as you gasp through another moan that cracks at the edges. “please let me—please let me cum,” you beg, your voice wrecked and wet and half-sobbing. and only then—only then—does jay lift his head. his fingers stay inside you, slow and curling, keeping you trembling just at the edge while his mouth ghosts over your thigh. “you want to cum?” he asks, voice low, ragged, almost teasing—but not cruel. “then beg louder, babydoll. i want the camera to hear how fucking desperate you are.”

his mouth returns without a word, settling between your thighs like he belongs there, like there’s nowhere else in the world he wants to be. you feel the soft exhale of his breath fan across your soaked folds, the warmth of it a cruel tease before the first drag of his tongue lands—slow, deliberate, curling through you like he’s savoring the very first taste. your entire body jolts against the cuffs, your mouth falling open in a choked moan as he licks again—longer this time, deeper. he just devours, each stroke of his tongue more intentional than the last, like he’s studying you. like he wants to memorize what makes your thighs twitch, what makes your breath skip, what makes you gasp his name with that tiny shake in your voice.

your legs are trembling already, wide open and held there by his firm grip, and when his lips wrap around your clit—sucking slow, tight, deep—you feel your whole body lurch off the bed. the blindfold only makes it worse—makes it better—because you can’t see it coming, can’t predict how fast or how gentle he’ll be, can’t do anything but feel everything all at once. “fuck—jay—” you cry, and he only hums in response, the vibration shooting straight through your core. his tongue works circles around your clit, soft and teasing, then firmer, faster, until your hips are grinding helplessly into his mouth, searching for more friction, more pressure, more anything. he pulls back just enough to slide a finger into you—then two—slow and curling, the stretch perfect, unbearable, perfect.

you’re right there. right fucking there. your walls pulsing around his fingers, your moans growing louder, messier, no longer soft or shy but wrecked, raw, real. your hips rock into him without grace, your body flushed and burning, but just as your orgasm starts to crest—he pulls away. completely. his mouth, his fingers, his heat—all gone. and you sob. a real, desperate sob that breaks out of your throat without warning, your back arching as your hands pull helplessly against the cuffs. “no—please—please,” you gasp, voice shaking. “i was so close—don’t stop—please don’t stop—”

he gives you no mercy. not yet. he returns to you slowly, his mouth brushing your clit with a soft kiss before his tongue drags over it again—firm this time, relentless. his fingers reenter you with no hesitation, curling with perfect rhythm, and now he doesn’t let up. he fucks you with his mouth like it’s what he was made to do, devouring every sound you make, every clench, every broken cry that escapes you. “you gonna cum for me now, babydoll?” he breathes against your skin. “gonna give it to me this time?” your only answer is a gasp—then a moan—then your whole body snaps, orgasm crashing over you so hard you cry out his name, thighs shaking violently, breath punching out of your lungs like it’s been ripped from your core.

he doesn’t stop. not when you cum. not when you beg. not when your voice breaks. he slows only slightly, mouth and fingers still working you through it—drawing it out, dragging wave after wave from your twitching body until it becomes too much, too sharp, too deep. tears are slipping from beneath the blindfold now, your voice hoarse as you sob through your second orgasm, overstimulated, unable to breathe without moaning. your cunt clenches around his fingers again, your cries turning into pleas as your thighs try to close, but he doesn’t let you. he holds you open. makes you take it. makes you fall apart again and again and again.

when he finally lets up, his fingers slip from you with a wet drag, and you collapse into the sheets—limp, slick, ruined. your chest rises in shaky pulls of air, your skin still twitching in places you didn’t know could feel, your wrists tugging instinctively against the cuffs even though you’re not trying to move. he doesn’t speak, not right away. you feel the bed shift beneath you as he moves, crawling up your body with a slowness that makes you ache in a different way. he’s not touching you—not yet—but his presence hovers, warm and close and overwhelming. then, you feel it. his breath against your mouth. the faintest graze of lips against yours. not a kiss. not quite.

your breath catches like a sob. you lean up the smallest amount, chasing the touch you can’t see, but his mouth barely brushes yours again and then pulls away. it’s cruel. gentle, but cruel. “please,” you whisper, voice so hoarse it barely comes out. your lips part again, desperate, trembling. “kiss me… please…” and finally, finally, he gives you what you ask for.

his lips press into yours, slow and full, his hand cradling the side of your face like you’re something breakable, like he wants to hold you still while he kisses the breath right out of you. there’s nothing rushed in it—no heat, no show. just intimacy. just need. he kisses you like he’s been thinking about it since the moment he opened the door. your legs fall open again, welcoming the weight of him, your body leaning into every inch of contact like you’ve been starving for it. his kiss deepens, tongue slipping slow and warm into your mouth, and you whimper under the blindfold, too fucked-out to hide how much you want it.

when he pulls away, you feel cold for only a second before you hear it—the low rustle of clothing, the quiet unbuckle of a belt, the unmistakable slide of denim down long, toned legs. your body tenses with anticipation, still aching in the best way, still sensitive and exposed and so ready for whatever comes next. you don’t need to see to know he’s watching you—all of you—the flush of your skin, the tremble in your thighs, the slick between your legs that’s already waiting for him. you hear the shift of fabric, then silence. and then, the weight of him between your legs again.

thick, warm, heavy against your thigh.

the mattress dips beneath his knees as he moves in closer, and your breath catches when you feel it—him, thick and heavy, dragging slowly along your inner thigh. he doesn’t push forward, doesn’t press in. just lets the head of his cock rest there, warm and slick against your oversensitive skin. the moment it brushes your folds—barely catching—you cry out, hips jolting up in instinct. but he doesn’t move. just stays right there, not giving you anything more.

he watches the way you strain beneath him, every inch of you open and ready, your wrists twitching against the cuffs like you’d reach for him if you could. your blindfold is soaked now, a tear trail drying on your cheek, your mouth parted in silent desperation. he slides the tip down slowly, catching just slightly at your entrance, then pulls back—barely there, not enough, and yet you whimper like it’s breaking you. he repeats the motion again, slower this time, teasing over your clit and down, dragging himself through your slick folds with lazy precision. and all the while? he says nothing. doesn’t praise you. doesn’t mock you. just lets you feel every aching inch without giving in.

your body bucks, hips rolling, trying to take more than he’s giving, but his hands move to your waist—firm, steady, holding you still. “please,” you gasp, voice cracked and wrecked. “please, jay, just—” but he hushes you with a kiss to your collarbone, soft and featherlight, and keeps grinding the thick head of his cock right where you want it most. never pushing in. just letting you suffer with the knowledge that he could—he just won’t.

he brings the tip back to your entrance again and pauses. and you feel it so clearly now—the pressure, the fullness that isn’t there yet but could be, the stretch you’re aching for. you try to speak, but your words come out as a sob, a moan, a broken little sound that barely qualifies as language. and then he does it again—rolls his hips just right so the head of his cock nudges your hole, teasing a shallow push that makes your breath stop entirely. your back arches, your thighs clamp instinctively around his waist, and your voice breaks. “fuck— please let me feel you. please… i want it, i want you inside—i need it so bad, jay—please.”

he hums, low and deep in his throat, like that’s the sound he’s been waiting for.

he doesn’t say anything—not when you beg, not when your hips buck up again in desperation—but his hands shift on your waist, grip tightening slightly like he’s finally giving in. you feel it in your gut first—the silence, the way the moment holds its breath, and then… the pressure. a slow, steady push, the thick head of his cock stretching your entrance open, and your breath leaves you in a single, shattered moan. he eases in with unbearable control, the kind that feels like his entire body is tense with restraint, letting you feel every inch as he sinks deeper, deeper, until your walls pulse and flutter helplessly around him. your mouth falls open. your thighs shake. your fingers flex in the cuffs above your head like you need something to hold onto—but all you have is him.

he moves slowly—so slowly it feels like time is breaking apart—his cock dragging along your inner walls in a stretch that’s equal parts bliss and pain, every inch carved into your body like it belongs there. “fuck,” he finally breathes, voice wrecked now, low and strained as he bottoms out completely, hips pressing flush against yours. “you feel—fuck—you feel unreal.” but you can’t respond. can’t speak. all you can do is feel, the thick weight of him buried inside you making it impossible to think, impossible to breathe. your body clenches tight, and he groans again, low and broken, like he’s losing himself just trying to stay still.

you’re soaked—beyond soaked, your slick coating his cock, dripping down your thighs, the sounds between you filthy and wet every time he moves. and still, he doesn’t fuck you. not yet. he holds there, deep and unmoving, letting you adjust, letting you fall apart around the stretch, like he knows this moment means something more than just release. and you feel it—god, you feel it everywhere. your chest is heaving, your toes curled, your head tossed back against the pillow even though you can’t see anything. you’re pinned, cuffed, blindfolded, full—and for the first time tonight, you feel the beginning of surrender settle into your bones.

“you still with me?” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw, his voice a tether to reality. you nod quickly, but that’s not enough. “words,” he whispers again, kissing the corner of your mouth. “i’m with you,” you breathe, voice hoarse. “i’m so with you. please don’t stop.”

he kisses you one more time—slow, tender, like a thank-you—and then he starts to move.

he moves inside you like he’s savoring it—like you’re the first person he’s ever touched, and he doesn’t want to miss a single second of what your body feels like wrapped around him. his hips roll slow, deliberate, dragging his cock out until only the head remains before sliding back in with a pressure that makes your eyes roll beneath the blindfold. it’s not hard. it’s not fast. but it’s devastating. every thrust lands deep, slow and punishing in the best way, the kind of rhythm that makes your chest ache and your breath shake in your lungs. your wrists strain above your head, but there’s no fight in it—only the overwhelming need to hold onto something as he pushes in again, and again, and again. he doesn’t say a word. doesn’t rush. just groans softly under his breath, like you’re pulling the sounds out of him without trying. like he’s been quiet for so long he forgot what it’s like to feel this way.

his hands hold your hips like he’s afraid to let go, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh above your thighs as he thrusts into you with the kind of care that feels dangerous. his cock fills you perfectly, stretching you out slow and deep, the drag of him along your inner walls making you feel every inch, every pulse, every tremble that ripples through your core. your body sings with it—raw and sensitive, already pushed past its limit, but craving more now that he’s giving it to you like this. like you matter. like you’re not just a girl cuffed to his bed, but something more—something precious. the air between you is thick with heat and the soft sound of your moans, your slick, the soft catch of breath each time he presses deeper. the music hums in the background, nearly forgotten—but the weight of the moment sits heavy in the rhythm of his body against yours.

he leans over you as he moves, chest brushing yours, his breath warm on your cheek, and it makes you feel consumed. like he’s not just inside you, but around you. wrapped into the cuffs. buried in the heat. woven between the gasps you can’t hold in. he presses a kiss to your jaw, then your temple, his pace never faltering as he sinks in deeper, grinding at the bottom like he wants to stay inside you forever. and the worst part—the best part—is how your body welcomes it. how you open more. cling more. beg silently for all of him. you whisper his name like it’s the only word left in your mouth, like you need him to know that you’re here—ruined, wrecked, and still desperate for more.

“you’re doing so good,” he finally says, voice so low it barely registers past the haze of pleasure blooming behind your ribs. “so good for me.” and that alone almost breaks you. it’s not praise for the camera. not some performative moan. it’s real, soft and meant only for you, and it hits something raw and deep beneath your skin. you whimper, body trembling beneath him, and his hand slides up your ribs, smoothing over the side of your breast before cupping your jaw with a tenderness that feels like it could kill you. he kisses your cheek and pushes in deep—slow, grinding, perfect—and you cry out again, your orgasm building back like you never even came the first time.

you don’t know how much more you can take—but his body never stops. his hips roll in that same rhythm, slow and deliberate, dragging his cock deep with every thrust like he’s trying to press into the parts of you untouched by anything before him. you’re trembling everywhere, your thighs slick and sticky, your wrists limp in the cuffs above you. and somehow, with his chest against yours, his mouth pressed to your temple, and his cock pulsing deep inside you—you feel safe. he kisses you again. not your lips this time, but your jaw. your cheek. your neck. each one softer than the last, like he’s pouring warmth into your skin. “you’re doing so good,” he whispers again, and you feel your chest tighten with it.

he adjusts his angle slightly, and the next thrust hits something sharp, something soft—something that makes your back arch and a moan claw its way from your throat. he feels it too. you feel his groan against your neck as he holds you tighter, keeps his pace just the same, grinding deeper instead of faster. and it ruins you. your whole body clenches around him, walls fluttering with every drag of his cock, and you whimper his name again, voice barely there. “you can let go,” he murmurs, breath heavy against your ear. “come for me, baby. just like that. let me feel it.” and you do. your body gives up everything.

your orgasm rolls through you like it’s weeping—a slow, full-bodied release that shakes your legs, curls your toes, makes your chest rise in stuttering waves as heat floods your veins. you cry out, not loud, but broken—soft and wet and trembling as your cunt clenches tight around him, milking every inch with desperate pulses you can’t stop. you feel like you’re floating, your body no longer your own, every nerve lit and raw and alive. tears slip from under the blindfold again, but it’s not pain. it’s everything—the stretch, the tenderness, the way his hand slides up to cradle the back of your head as he kisses your forehead through it.

“that’s it,” he whispers, still deep inside you, his thrusts slowing but not stopping. “just like that. you’re so good for me.” and god, it shatters you. your hips twitch helplessly, aftershocks trembling through your core, and you can’t even speak anymore—you just whimper, letting him keep you full, letting him rock into you with every ounce of patience he has left. his hand strokes over your jaw, your cheek, his lips brushing over the sweat-slicked skin above your blindfold like he wants to kiss every single place he can’t see.

he pulls out slow, one last deep roll of his hips before his cock slips from your body with a slick sound that makes your whole body twitch. you whine at the sudden emptiness, at the cool air brushing over your soaked thighs, at the way your cunt clenches around nothing now. but he’s already shifting, already rising onto his knees beside you. you can’t see him—but you can feel the heat rolling off his skin, hear the way his breath shudders in his chest, how his hand wraps tight around the base of his cock with a slick grip that makes your mouth fall open on instinct. he strokes himself slow at first, his breath thick with restraint, and you can tell—he’s been holding back for so long. for you.

he leans over you slightly, one hand braced beside your shoulder while the other works himself in long, steady strokes, each movement dragging a low groan from deep in his chest. “fuck,” he hisses, voice rough now, shaking, “you’re so fucking perfect.” your cheeks are flushed, blindfold still in place, mouth parted and waiting like it’s instinct—and when he sees you like that, spread and ruined and still needing, something cracks in him. “open your mouth, baby,” he breathes. “wanna see it. wanna come all over that pretty face.” and your lips part wider, a soft whimper slipping out as you tilt your chin up in obedience, wrists still tied above you, body too wrecked to move but so ready to take more.

his rhythm speeds up—rougher now, needier, the slick sound of him pumping into his own hand echoing through the room as he kneels beside your face. his breath breaks. his hips stutter. and then—he spills. hot, thick ropes across your cheek, your jaw, your lips, groaning your name like a confession as he fucks into his fist with one last desperate pull. “fuckfuckfuck—look at you,” he gasps, watching the way your skin glows under it, the way your mouth stays open, waiting. he leans closer as the last of it drips from his tip onto your bottom lip, and his thumb catches your chin, tilts it gently. “don’t close it yet,” he murmurs, breathing heavy. “just stay like that. fuck—just like that.”

he strokes the last bit out slowly, watching his cum drip down your face, catching in the curve of your mouth, the heat of your skin, and he breathes like he’s never seen anything more beautiful. his free hand brushes down your jaw, catching some of the mess with his thumb before swiping it gently over your bottom lip. “so fucking good for me,” he whispers again, and then he leans in, presses a kiss to your forehead without hesitation, soft and reverent.

he stays above you for a moment, chest still rising fast, eyes lingering on your face with something that doesn’t quite feel like control anymore. his hand brushes your cheek, knuckles grazing your jaw, and for the first time since it started, he looks like he doesn’t know what to say. not because he’s unsure—but because he’s overwhelmed. he reaches out slowly, hitting the button on the camera without looking, the soft click of it powering down echoing through the quiet like the world’s finally breathing again. then he moves for your blindfold, untying it with careful fingers, his breath brushing your skin as he leans in close. the light hits your eyes again, warm and low, and when you blink up at him—he’s already watching. not with lust. not with pride. just something softer. something that feels like wonder.

he doesn’t speak as he undoes the cuffs, just slides your arms down gently and brings your wrists to his lips one at a time, pressing soft kisses to the reddened skin there like he’s saying thank you without the words. your hands are too weak to hold him, but you lean into the contact anyway, body limp, breath shallow, held together by the warmth of his hands alone. and when he finally speaks, his voice is quiet—almost hoarse. “you okay?” he asks, barely more than a breath. and you nod, a soft sound leaving your lips. it’s not enough. he leans in and kisses your forehead like a reflex. then your temple. then the space just beneath your eye, where your skin is still damp from tears. “i got you,” he says softly. “you did perfect.”

he doesn’t make you move. he doesn’t ask. he just gathers you—an arm beneath your knees, the other cradling your back—and lifts you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. the walk to the bathroom is silent, but not cold. just full. the steam from the shower has already started to cloud the mirrors, warm air kissing your skin as he sets you gently on the edge of the tub and turns the water on, testing it with his wrist before letting it run. he moves slow—every step deliberate, every glance careful, like he’s still in that headspace where everything is about you. when the water’s warm, he comes back to you and crouches down. he doesn’t ask. he just touches your thigh, kisses your knee, and lifts you into the shower with him.

he stands behind you, arms wrapping around your waist, your body resting against his chest as the water rushes down your skin. his breath is steady now, slower, his lips brushing your shoulder as his hands begin to move. not sexually. not even intimately. just gently. like he’s piecing you back together with soap and fingers and quiet worship. he lets the water rinse between your legs, across your stomach, down your spine, holding you still like you might float away. when you shiver, he holds you tighter. when you sigh, he presses his mouth to the side of your neck and breathes you in like he needs the scent of you to stay grounded. “thank you,” he whispers once, and it’s so soft, you almost think you imagined it.

he helps you wash. helps you rinse. helps you breathe again. and when it’s over, he wraps a towel around your body, dries your hair with gentle pats, and leads you back to the bedroom with nothing but quiet touches. the room is darker now. still warm. still full of the echoes from earlier. he brings you to the bed, lifts the sheets, and tucks you in slowly—like it means something. and then he slides in beside you, shirtless, still a little damp, his arm wrapping around your waist like he was made to fit against you. no pressure. no words. just the soft, steady rhythm of him being there, his hand rubbing slow circles into your back while your head presses into his chest.

your body melts into his without resistance, legs tangled beneath the sheets, your face pressed into the dip of his chest like that’s where it was always meant to be. he smells like clean skin and leftover warmth—something earthy and faintly sweet, something him. his arm curls tighter around your waist, his fingers dragging soft, lazy circles across your back, and it makes your whole body settle. like gravity’s gentler now. like the world outside doesn’t exist. his breaths are deep and even beneath your ear, steady like a heartbeat you didn’t realize you’d been syncing to all along. and every now and then, his lips graze your hairline, quiet and constant, like he can’t stop kissing you without saying anything out loud.

you don’t try to speak. you don’t need to. your limbs are too heavy, your throat too sore, and the silence between you feels so much better than any sound. he shifts just a little, resting his chin on top of your head, and you feel his fingers still. not because he’s stopped. but because he’s watching. you can’t see it, but you know—he’s looking at you like you’re still glowing. like the room didn’t get dark. like his eyes are only made to find you.

and then—soft. breathless. almost too quiet to catch.

“you didn’t just do something to my body.”

he says it like a secret. like a confession. like something he wasn’t supposed to let slip.

“you did something to me.”

but you’re already falling. your lashes flutter. your body goes limp. and the last thing you feel is the warmth of his chest, the press of his palm on your spine, and the faint, dizzy ache of your lips curling into a smile you don’t even remember making.

────୨ৎ──── 

you lie there for a second too long. eyes wide open, pulse ticking in your throat like a warning, the weight of his arm draped over your waist like a secret you’re not supposed to keep. the sun’s fully risen now, the light clearer, sharper. the room doesn’t feel like it did last night. it’s too quiet. too still. and your heart? too loud. the memory of his hands, his mouth, the way he whispered against your skin—it all presses into you at once, suffocating in its gentleness. this wasn’t supposed to happen. it was supposed to be work. a collab. content. but everything about the way he held you said otherwise.

you shift gently, slow enough not to wake him, slipping his arm off your waist and sitting up with a breath you don’t remember holding. your legs feel shaky. your body still aches in places he touched like you were something worth worshipping. and that’s the problem. you weren’t ready for that. not the way he looked at you. not the way he made it feel like more than just a shoot. your phone buzzes again on the nightstand and it’s like ice through your spine—because this is what you wanted, right? the money. the exposure. the success. not the way he kissed your forehead in the shower. not the way he whispered thank you like you gave him something he didn’t deserve.

you climb out of the bed, quiet and careful, your feet cold on the floor. his shirt is still draped over the chair. your lingerie—wrinkled and damp—folded on the dresser like he couldn’t bear to toss it aside. you ignore the lump rising in your throat as you pull your clothes on, smoothing them over your skin like armor. everything feels wrong. tight. too small. your hands are shaking when you reach for your bag. you don’t look back at him—not even once—because if you do, you’ll change your mind. and this? this was just business.

you slip out of the room like a shadow, easing the door shut behind you as if you were never there. the hallway is silent. the apartment too still. and every step you take toward the door feels heavier than the last. your phone buzzes again, and you swipe it up with trembling fingers, ignoring the unread message glowing at the top of your inbox. you don’t even let yourself breathe until you’re outside, the morning air hitting your face like clarity. like guilt. you blink up at the sky, trying to will the sting in your eyes away, whispering to yourself the only line that feels safe right now—“it’s just content. nothing more.”

and you hope that if you say it enough… you’ll believe it.

the ride home is silent. too silent. your driver doesn’t say a word, and neither do you—just sit back with your bag clutched tight to your chest, your body aching in a way that doesn’t feel physical. your thighs are still sore. your lips still tingling. your wrists marked faintly from the cuffs. but it’s not the pain that lingers—it’s the warmth. the look in jay’s eyes when he washed your face. the way he held you after. the way his heartbeat steadied yours. your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag. you don’t want to remember that. you don’t want to feel this way. so you focus on the window, on the blur of early morning light cutting through city streets. and you keep your breathing even. one scene doesn’t mean anything. not if you don’t let it.

you don’t even say thank you when the car stops. you just slip out onto the curb, into your apartment building, through your front door, and straight into your room like muscle memory. your roommate isn’t home. thank god. the silence hits you harder now. you toss your phone on the bed and fall right after it, face down in the sheets, letting the last twelve hours replay in flickers behind your eyes. his voice. his hands. his weight pressed so carefully against yours. your mouth trembles, but no sound comes out. your chest rises, then falls. and you stay like that for what feels like forever—until your phone dings again. and again. and again.

you flip it over, eyes bleary. new notifications flood your screen—tips, subscribers, messages—and they keep coming. you stare at them blankly, your thumb flicking through without reading until one catches your eye: 

@jakeoncam liked your video. @jakeoncam has followed you.

your heart stutters. your gaze sharpens. and then the messages from followers come into focus.

@yourbabygirl: you should collab with @jakeoncam 👀

 @whoreforjake: pls do something with @jakeoncam!

@ruinmeeee: @jakeoncam x @babydollxo WHEN??

you don’t even think. your thumb taps over to his profile automatically.

and there he is.

verified. 5.5M subscribers.

that same preview still pinned at the top.

you remember him now. you remember the way he moaned, the way his hips rolled in tight, fluid motions. how he whined, “i'm gonna cum....fuck, baby...” and you remember what it did to you.

your thumb hovers over the message button. your reflection stares back at you in the dark screen. and you type without thinking:

@babydollxo: hey. wanna collab?

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ hoped you all enjoyed!!

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[written-in-flowers]

Be The Light: Pt. 6 (Matz x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Hongjoong x Seonghwa x Fem!Reader | Side pairing(s): Ateez x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7k

Genre: Smut, angst | AU: historical, arranged marriage, polyamorous, royalty au.

Summary: YN has spent her entire life in service of Han Sookmyung, Queen of Hanseong. She never dreamed above her station, or that she'd ever be in reach of Sookmyung's concubines, 'The Golden Ones'. But, when secrets are brought to life, her world is turned upside-down.

Warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, heavily referenced torture (briefly), heavily referenced abuse (briefly), heavily referenced sexual abuse (briefly), enslavement, slight gaslighting, lost sibling, political drama, historical drama, joseon!au, concubine!ateez, nsfw content, virgin!reader, polyamory, polygamous, throuple, threesome m/m/f, oral sex (m. and f. receiving/giving), group sex, multiple positions, multiple partners, cunnlingus, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, virgin sex, virginity discussed.

Tags: I wasn't sure if the previously tagged wanted to be tagged again since it's been so long, so let me know below!

Part 5 < | > Part 7

****

You arrived at Jisoo’s residency a few moments later. Normally, you never hesitated to knock on the frame to enter. The Queen Mother always made you feel welcome and wanted in her presence. You knew the real reason behind that now. Yunho and Wooyoung stood ahead of you, and you dreaded them knocking for you. Not even Seonghwa’s presence assured you. 

Only last night you discovered the woman who cared for you so deeply was really your mother. Your birth mother. You didn't know how to feel about it. You'd felt angry in the beginning, betrayal fanning the flames, but that feeling settled into pity. It must have been difficult to give you away something she'd desperately wanted. Her love must always be from a distance, never touching too much or being overly affectionate. She likely saw her husband’s face in yours, and longed for more. Despite this, you could not see her as your mother. Whenever the word “mother” came to mind, you pictured Park Chaewon. She'd raised you. She loved you. You didn't see anyone being your mother except her. 

“Your Majesty,” the guard at the door opened it, bowing to Jisoo, “The Queen has arrived.”

You entered the room to find Jisoo, your mother Chaewon, Advisor Wonshik, and Hongjoong in the room. Hongjoong no longer wore the black and gold hanbok of Sookmyung’s “Flowers”. He wore red, the color of kings, with his hair in a topknot held by a golden band. The dragons of royalty swirled around his shoulders and down his wide sleeves. He looked like a king. A true king. You found it hard to look away from him. Jisoo, Wonshik and Chaewon stood up when you walked in, and you almost said they didn't have to stand for you. 

But, yes, they do. 

“Good morning,” you said, speaking to them first, “I was told you wished to see me?”

“We did,” Jisoo nodded, “Please sit.”

You took a seat at the head of the table, and all their eyes fell on you. Except Hongjoong. He looked anywhere but at you. You saw the blush of pink on his cheeks, and the way he scratched the inside of his sleeve. You wanted to say something to him. Out of all her concubines, Hongjoong had been her favorite. He'd witnessed her cruelty in the dungeons. He knew her true nature. You hoped if anyone understood your fear, it would be him. 

“Your Majesty,” Jisoo drew your attention to her, “His Grace, Advisor Wonshik, Chaewon and I have been discussing important matters concerning your new position-”

“-Has Sookmyung been found yet?” You asked, trying not to appear frightened about the answer. 

“I'm afraid not,” she said. “The guards have combed the city, but there has been no sign of her. She has likely fled to one of her allies by now.”

“There are people looking into it,” your mother said, patting your hand comfortingly. “She will be caught soon enough. We have other important things to discuss.”

Your stomach knotted again. The marriage. They mean to talk about marriage. You picked at the border of your hanbok, wishing more than anything to be somewhere else. The thought of being Hongjoong’s wife drained you of warmth completely. What if he doesn't want to marry you? You might have had brief exchanges before now, but nothing to suggest any romantic feelings. He'd done it out of pity, not love. 

“Now that Sookmyung is no longer on the throne, we must focus our efforts on rebuilding what she has broken,” Jisoo began. “Wonju is considered one of her biggest failures, rather than triumphs, since the people there did not recognize her as their ruler. As you know, Wonju was never conquered by the Han clan several centuries ago, and remained an independent kingdom until Sookmyung’s reign.”

“Yes…”

“In order to reunite the two kingdoms-”

“-They wish for us to marry, YN,” Hongjoong cut her off, unable to keep it to himself. “The people are looking to us to save them, and the only way that can happen is if our kingdoms reunite as allies.”

���They want us to marry?” You questioned him in a soft voice. 

“Yes,” he nodded. “It wouldn't be for a while, since your coronation needs to be done as quickly as possible. But, a marriage pact would show the people that this is only the beginning of our reform. My family said they would not agree to reuniting without one.”

“Um, well…I…” 

“You do not need to make a decision now,” he added. “You have gone through a very sudden change, and I told them that I didn't want to have this conversation so soon, but they insisted.”

“It is important we act swiftly, Your Grace,” Wonshik said apologetically. “Every moment we wait will be a chance for Sookmyung to reclaim her power.”

“I understand that, yes,” Hongjoong replied, “But there is no point if people do not see YN as their queen first.” 

“What about Sookmyung?” You asked again. 

The words came laced with fear. She will hear about this union, and be overcome with rage. That rage would be taken out on you slowly and painfully. The image shook you to your core. Only your mother's gentle touch calmed you slightly, but only just. 

“She will be found,” she reassured you, “And answer for her crimes.” 

“If she hears about thi-”

“-There will be nothing she can do about it,” she comforted you. “She will be far away.”

“That is what she will want you to think…”

“I won’t let her get anywhere near you,” Hongjoong said firmly. “I promise. Sookmyung will not harm a single hair on you while I’m alive.”

“If you’re alive…” you said under your breath, but you knew he’d heard you. 

“The wedding will happen after the coronation,” Wonshik moved on from the conversation, withdrawing an old leather book from beside him. “Advisor Heechul drew up estimates for the cost of the coronation feast and celebration afterwards. I told him the crown will be paying for the event to avoid raising the taxes any higher so as not to be a burden on the people.”

“Good,” you heard yourself say. When they turned to you, you explained, “I meant that taxation is already so high that people cannot afford food. If the crown can cover the cost, then they should. The people shouldn’t have to pay for a coronation of a queen they don’t know.”

“And unfortunately, the coronation of a new monarch implies that the previous monarch has passed on,” he said. “King Siwon passed away nine years ago, and is currently buried in the King’s temple within the city. Since we already had our two year mourning period for him, I don’t see any reason to have one now so that may be passed over. However, people will expect you to make the walk towards his temple to pay your respects to the old king.”

You remembered Sookmyung’s period. Most monarchs abstain from meat after the death of the previous ruler, but not Sookmyung. She claimed her father would’ve wanted her to live heartily. Anyone who knew King Siwon would’ve known he always followed traditions and cultural customs. You’d done it out of respect and love for him. Learning he was your true father, it only brought sense to your decision then. 

“Since Queen Sookmyung was dethroned, there really isn’t a need to have such an austere ceremony,” he said, “Which means we can add a bit of a festive flair to the event.” 

“Meaning?”

“People are meant to celebrate you,” Jisoo said bracingly. “We must start your reign off on the right foot if we are to win the respect and trust of the people. You will go to the King’s resting place, then we will have you take the throne, and have the feast afterwards.”

“And what about Hongjoong?” you glanced over at him. “He’s the King of Wonju now. How can he be my King Consort if he has a throne of his own?”

“My cousin, Jeongin,” he said, “Will be crowned King instead of me.”

“What?” Jisoo’s eyes widened at this. “When were you planning on telling us this?”

“Now,” he said. “I sent a letter to my cousin early this morning that I am adjudicating my throne and giving it to him. He has had good tutors and many trustworthy advisors at his side. He will not fail his people, I know it.” 

“But, you’re supposed to be the king,” you said softly, confused. “Isn’t that what you always wanted? To go home? To be with your people and lead them? You cannot do that if you’re my husband.”

“I can lead my people just as much at your side than on my father’s throne,” he told you. “We can lead them together.” 

“To-Together?” 

“Yes,” he nodded, “You did not truly believe I’d let you have all the credit, hm?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. Being under his gaze made your heart flutter, much like with Seonghwa. 

“The coronation will happen at the end of the week,” Jisoo declared. 

“So soon, Your Majesty?” your mother asked, concerned. 

“It needs to happen as quickly as possible,” Wonshik said. “In the meantime, Her Majesty can go into the city and meet her people.”

“I don’t believe that is wise, Chief Advisor,” Hongjoong told her. “If Sookmyung or her allies hear YN is walking around the city, they may use it as a chance to strike.”

“She will be under guard, naturally,” Jisoo replied. “You can choose the men yourself, if that puts you at ease.”

You can tell it did not. “I don’t know if I’m very comfortable with that,” you said next. “Sookmyung will be looking for any chance to seize back her power. If I’m walking freely around the city, she’ll send an assassin or see it as an opportunity to attack. She'll wait until our defenses are down.”

“I doubt she’ll have that with such little time-”

“-I beg to differ,” you interrupted her. “Sookmyung is not one to sit idle for long. Right now, she is planning the quickest way to regain her power. She is likely screaming at her allies to gather up their troops and form a strategy against us.” 

“And we can use that to our advantage,” Hongjoong said. “Sookmyung is impulsive, impatient, and rash. Her allies, whoever they are, will try to convince her to stay her hand, but after a while that will not be enough.”

You wondered how many times she has said, ‘I am the queen’ in the hours since she’d left.

“Her own madness will be her undoing,” he said, as if promising this to you. “I’d like to ask you, YN, if you’d like Mingi and San to be your personal guards.”

The sudden change in topic surprised you. “Before there are to be any discussions of public appearances,” he continued, “We should discuss your guardsmen. I took the liberty of placing Mingi and San at your doors last night, but if there is somebody else you prefer, I’ll make sure they’re put there tonight.”

“San and Mingi are fine,” you said, unsure of how else to phrase it.

“You should have trained soldiers as your guards, Your Majesty,” Wonshik intervened.

“San is a trained soldier,” Hongjoong argued. “Mingi might’ve not been in the army, but he sailed with pirate hunters before he became a shipbuilder. The other lords are just as capable with swords as well. YN will be perfectly safe with them.”

“But people may have a different impression of their queen if she is seen with Sookmyung’s concubines,” Jisoo said. “We don’t want people to think any less of her or believe she indulges in Sookmyung’s desires as well.”

“I don’t want anyone else as my guards.”

Your words stunned both your mother and Jisoo. When they didn’t speak, you said, “Sookmyung had many spies amongst the royal guards. If she knew of your coupe, she may have asked one or two to stay behind to act as spies. She could have even ordered them to kill me if they caught me alone.” Silence once more, so you looked at Hongjoong, “Also, if anybody knows Sookmyung as well as myself, it’ll be her concubines. They know how she thinks. They know the depth of her depravity and ruthlessness. I don’t trust anyone else to protect me as much as them.”

If that is what they wished. The last thing you wanted was for the concubines to believe they must stay in the palace under a new title. 

The group continued discussing your coronation and appearance in the city. You listened intently, occasionally giving your input, but otherwise content to stay silent. Sookmyung would seize the opportunity if it presented itself. The image of you walking amongst the city streets came to mind. You pictured a masked man hiding in plain sight, waiting for the chance to strike you down and end your life. You tried comforting yourself that you’d have guards, but what good are those when you have an unrelenting force after you? 

“-We will have to speak with the advisors on the best route through the city,” Jisoo concluded the meeting, “But I am sure they will agree a trip through the safer parts of Hanseong is best.”

“We also must discuss her first official act as queen,” Hongjoong said. “Something that will show people that she is different from Sookmyung.”

“The people in the dungeons.” The words left you suddenly, and they stared in curiosity. “I wish for them to be released,” you continued cautiously, “And treated by the physician. For those who have already died, they will be cleaned, mended and given a proper burial.” When none of them spoke, you said, “Is that something we can't do?”

“Yes, we can,” said Jisoo, “But there are many people down there.”

“And I want them removed. They have suffered long enough.” 

You couldn't stop yourself from picturing the mangled bodies. It made you sick again. You hadn't saved them in life, but you could help them find peace in death. But, a tiny voice inside you still spoke:

“They will only know peace when she's dead.”

“I can arrange for the jailors and guards to bring the wounded into the courtyard outside,” Jisoo interrupted your thoughts. “Once people hear what you've done, they may see you're nothing like her.”

“That isn't why I asked,” you responded, not looking at her. “Those people did nothing wrong. They'd committed minor offenses, at best. I want to end their suffering, since I…”

‘Couldn't stop it before it happened.’ 

“The physician may not be able to treat everyone,” your mother said. “He's only one man.”

“Yunho was a physician's apprentice,” Hongjoong said. “He can aid Physician Yoon, and the other lords have their own we can call upon.” 

“I’ll make sure your command is carried out,” Jisoo assured you. 

“Thank you.”

You met his eyes and knew he understood, even if the others did not. The meeting concluded, and your mother and Jisoo left for Advisor Wonshik's office. This left you alone with Hongjoong. You saw him nervously chewing the inside of his cheek. The overcoat, bright red with golden dragons, appeared a bit large on him. You also noticed the wear on the buttons keeping it closed, and the belt as well. 

“Is that yours?” You asked him, indicating the hanbok.

“King Siwon’s,” he said. “They thought it would be good to dress according to my station, but…”

“They didn't have any spare hanboks,” you finished, nodding. “This is one of Jisoo’s old dresses. I don't know if I like it.”

“We'll have our own soon enough. I suspect a dressmaker and tailor are already being sought after.” He then said, “Our marriage…It doesn't bother you, does it? I know a lot of things have happened overnight, and this marriage arrangement won't relieve anything. I told them I didn't wish to discuss it so soon, but they insisted.”

“I understand the need for haste,” you replied, “But yes, it is a lot to take in at once. I can’t stop thinking about it. Sookmyung…being the queen…Queen Jisoo and King Siwon being my birth parents…you becoming my betrothed…Now meeting the people and being enthroned. It’s…” you gripped the cuffs of your sleeves, picking at the seams inside again. “It's so much.”

“It is,” he scooted closer to you, and laced his fingers with yours. “But you'll have me and the others to help you. You won't be doing this alone.”

That comforted you, but his touch was electrifying. He seemed to know this, and instead of pulling away, locked hands with you. 

“I hope to become someone who can comfort you,” he admitted. “I could not do much when Sookmyung was nearby, but with her gone, I'd like us to be closer in the future. If we're to be married, I'd like to be friends at least.”

“Only friends?” 

The corner of his mouth twitched, “Unless you'd like to be more? It isn't something I will force upon you.”

“I…I don't know…” you wanted to, yes. You absolutely wanted to be more with him. “But, Sookymung-”

“-Does not own us,” he cut you off. “She might have owned my body, but not my heart. YN, I know we did not speak much with Sookmyung always so close, but now that she's not, I want to-Well, what I mean to say is that I wish to be closer to you. Ever since we met all those years ago, when I saw how she treated you and that I was not alone in my misery, I've dreamed of the moment I'd be free to pursue you.”

“You did? You do?”

“Yes,” he blushed, “It was childish, really. But now that we're arranged to be married, I would like to have a closer relationship with you.”

“You do?” You asked one more time.

“Is that so hard for you to believe?”

“Yes, actually,” you nodded. “Since we've met, I've done my best to avoid speaking to any of you. I knew if I showed the slightest interest in front of her she’d punish me. I knew she’d do the same to you if she thought you might return those feelings. She hated it whenever any of you showed a flicker of kindness to another woman, and it made me fear what she might do if that woman happened to be me. I stayed away to keep her from hurting anyone else.”

“But, she isn’t here now,” he said. “I understand exactly how you feel. There'd been so many instances where I wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort you; to save you from whatever cruelties she forced you to witness. But, I knew if I showed any signs of affection or notice, she'd hurt you. I didn’t care if she hurt me, YN, I was used to it. It was you,” he cupped your cheek, “Whose pain I couldn’t bear. If there is any reason that I’m glad she’s gone, it’s that she can no longer harm or disgrace you.”

“She’ll come back,” you whispered, the fear starting to creep back at the slight touch. She could be watching right now, seething and drowning in her rage, eager to strike out at you. “She’ll come back,” you croaked again, “And she’ll-she’ll kill you. She’ll do it and make me watch before she does it to me.”

“She won’t because I won’t let her,” he said firmly, cupping your cheek to keep your eyes on him. “I’ll do everything in my power to make sure she never lays a hand on you again.”

You tried finding comfort in his words. For ages, you dreamed of this exact moment: Hongjoong sitting close to you, touching and whispering sweet nothings. Other times, it might be Seonghwa or Yunho or one of the other concubines. You thought of all the times she’d put them within your grasp just to pull them away at the very last second. Every time she mentioned finding you a husband, you knew she did not mean it. In a twisted, obscene way, you were hers and only hers. 

“We don’t need to speak of this right now,” he said once he sensed your hesitancy. “There are far more important things to handle first. I…” he paused, looking over your face one more time. “I simply wished for you to know of my feelings.”

You reached for his hand when he pulled it away. So soft. So gentle. Before you could respond, someone else walked into the room. Seonghwa stood at the other end of the table, hands folded in front of one another and bowing to each of you. 

“Excuse me, Your Majesties,” he began, “But the council wishes to speak with you now.”

“Did they say why?”

“I don’t, but I imagine it may be about taxation and property laws,” he said. “If you wish, I’ll tell them you’re…preoccupied,” he shifted a glance to Hongjoong, hiding a smile. 

“No, no,” you shook your head, “We’ll speak with them.”

“‘We’ll’?” Hongjoong asked curiously. 

“You’re to be my King Consort soon,” you said, “And I know very little about law making. I thought perhaps you’d like to join us?”

“Of course,” he grinned. “If there is any way I can assist, I will.”

The smile you shared warmed your entire body, bringing heat into your cheeks. The two men let you leave first, then followed you. Seonghwa a few feet away, you walked beside Hongjoong. For the smallest of moments, you pictured yourself and him at the altar. In another life, perhaps a marriage arrangement between Hanseong and Wonju would’ve happened. Sookmyung being the elder might’ve been put forward, but if Hongjoong didn’t like her, as the groom, he could decline. He would’ve picked you instead. The image of a seething Sookmyung hiding nearby, watching Hongjoong help you into your palanquin, gave you pause. In that other life, she’d be equally jealous. She’d plot ways to kill you then like she must be doing at this moment. 

“Don’t be nervous,” you heard Hongjoong say. “You’re going to do well.”

“Am I?”

Better to let him think you’re worried about the advisors rather than the person planning your demise right now.

“Yes,” he said, “And you’ll have Seonghwa and I to help you.” 

This certainly made you feel better. “It might be intimidating at first,” Seonghwa said from beside you. “They’re all ambitious men who will want their voices heard. They’ll each have their own ideas and opinions about how we should proceed from here on out. There’s likely to be arguing and objections, but in the end, it’s all your decision where things go.”

“That’s…not helping, Seonghwa,” you said with a soft nervous laugh. 

“He’s only preparing you,” Hongjoong consoled you. “I used to go with my father to his meetings when I was small. I sat there and listened to all these powerful men disagree, shout over one another, and argue over whose idea was the best. It was my father’s job to help these men all come to an agreement. There’s going to be a lot of compromises and negotiations, since some of these men will have more than the kingdom’s interest in mind. It’s up to you to decide what routes to take.” 

“And we’ll be right there if you need someone who won’t gain anything from this meeting,” Seonghwa assured you. 

Your nerves still buzzed in your stomach as the doors to the advisor’s room opened. Wonshik sat at the far end of the table, with Heechul, Taeyong, Daewon and Junhan taking up the sides. All of them stood when you and Hongjoong arrived. He took up an empty seat next to you, while you sat at the head of the table across from Wonshik. The old man looked at you with a proud smile. 

“Good Morning, Your Majesty,” he said. “It is refreshing to see the ruling monarch sitting with us at the council table again.”

“And I plan to come to as many of these as I can,” you replied. “I have asked Seonghwa and Prince Hongjoong to join us.”

“As expected,” he nodded. “Her Majesty may invite whoever she believes will be fit to give his opinion on important matters.”

“Enough pleasantries, Wonshik,” gruffed Junhan, Master of War. “We have many things to discuss.” 

“Ask for a progress report in locating Sookmyung,” Hongjoong leaned over and whispered. 

“I’d like to know where we are in finding Sookmyung,” you said to the council. 

“We’ve been unable to locate the former queen,” Junhan, Master of War, answered. “We believe she has fled with her allies, but no idea as to where. Gongju is closest to us, so it is likely she will travel there first. We already have scouts seeking her out, Your Majesty, and Prince Hongjoong has sent word to the rebel leader to place spies in their courts. She will come out of the woodwork eventually. Once she hears of our plans to crown you as queen, she will act on impulse and behave rashly. If we’re lucky, we can use that rashness to our advantage.”

“And of the dukes who remain in the palace?” you asked. 

“They’ve all pledged their loyalty to you, Your Majesty,” Wonshik answered. “When your coronation comes, they will make public vows in front of the entire court, but for now, our alliance is still intact. That aside, those lords will wish to talk about trades with you once this is all over. They’ll want something in return for their continued alliance.”

“You will also have to prove you won’t turn into your sister,” Heechul added. “We all know you are far from being her, but they do not know you as we do, Your Majesty.”

“Unfortunately, treating with nobility is a lot harder than pleasing the common folk,” Wonshik said. 

“What sort of things would they ask for?”

“Nothing outrageous,” he dismissed. “Land, titles, treaties or gold.”

“I know for a fact that Daegu is going to ask to lower port fees,” Taeyong, Master of Ships, said. “Sookmyung’s taxes and fees on local merchants are far too high and it makes trading between the coastal cities difficult. This puts a heavy burden on the lords there.”

“Iksan will ask for more military power,” Junhan added. “They have had lots of run ins with outlaw groups raiding their trade routes.”

“Starving citizens,” Daewon, Master of Law, said. “A lot of the so-called ‘bandits’ the guard picks up are people in need. Lowering taxation on resources like food and clothing will make merchants lower their own prices so people can afford to buy them.”

“We’d need a near overhaul of the economy for that to happen,” Heechul argued. “The coppers are plenty but not unlimited, Do.”

“Then perhaps it’s time there was one,” Daewon retorted. “Sookmyung’s financial plans always centered on the elite. I know I personally can afford to pay my taxes. Can you say the same, Kim?”

“I can-”

“-Intervene,” Seonghwa whispered to you hurriedly. “You have to keep them on track before this gets louder.”

“My lords,” you spoke up, stomach churning when they immediately stopped. “If….If an overhaul is what we need to get our people fed, then we’ll make sure it’s done. Our people are starving in squalor. We must do what we can to help them.”

“There are lords around these parts who might not be happy with having their taxes raised,” Daewon said, still eyeing Heechul. 

“They’ll survive,” you said right away. “I’ve seen how these lords and ladies live. A small increase will not kill them.”

“Not many lords or ladies will like having their taxes raised,” said Wonshik. “What would you do if they refuse?”

You thought about it for a moment, then said, “I’d compromise with them until we came to an agreement.”

“And if they didn’t budge? What then?”

“I…” you struggled to think of a proper solution, “Well, I’d keep going until they did.”

“You could lower their contribution amount,” Hongjoong answered. “If we raised both their contribution to The Crown and their taxes, they’ll revolt for sure. But, if we lower their contributions, they’ll be more inclined to pay the tax instead.” 

“Yes, that,” you agreed, nodding. 

“There's also the problems in the smaller villages, Your Majesty,” Wonshik said. “They do not have access to clean water or proper resources for housing. I recently visited a village just outside our walls that was raided by bandits. Houses burnt down, children slaughtered, families torn apart. The people need our help, Your Majesty. They want to know what The Crown will do to help them.”

“We will do the best we can,” you told him. 

Sookmyung’saggressive laws caused a ripple effect you never imagined. Every decision she made trickled down to the lowest citizens, the poorest getting the worst of it. You attentively listened to each man’s thoughts, taking it into consideration and seeing if it aligned with your own wishes. Seonghwa and Hongjoong managed to placate the men whenever they grew too heated with each other, but otherwise the group kept things civil. After much back and forth, arguments, rebuttals and objections to each other’s proposals, you and the advisors finally came up with new laws and changes. 

They voted on lowering property taxes on the poor and raising the ones on the rich. But, the amount of tribute required by each lord will also be lowered to avoid said lords raising taxes on their own lands. Advisor Heechul insisted this will lift many people out of poverty over time. Imported goods will remain the same, but exports will be raised to bring in more money. In the meantime, a portion of the “royal crops” would be given to the people. 

The “Queenswood” surrounding the palace and city will no longer be off limits. Hunters would be encouraged to explore the land freely; any extra game they wish to trade will not be taxed by the crown. Speaking with Advisor Daewon, the both of you agreed that removing the fences and guard towers at the borders was the first step. 

With Junhan, the city guard would resume their patrols on the streets, replacing the military presence. He agreed that the formal city guards would lower fear amongst the citizens, and the military can focus on their real purpose. The corrupt leaders extorting the smaller businesses wuld be rounded up alongside the slum lords and be punished accordingly. The both of you agreed that your people should feel safe in their own kingdom. 

“These steps may be small,” Advisor Wonshik said at the end of the meeting, “But their impact will be large. The people need to see that their new queen wishes only the best for them.”

They agreed to put everything into action immediately. When you left the advisors, Hongjoong went to speak with Wonshik alone, which left you with Seonghwa. Your handmaidens and guards nearby, you become increasingly aware of their constant presence. Before, it never bothered you since Sookmyung was their focus, but that changed. You are their priority now, and you still did not know how to feel about that. 

“Do they have to follow me all the time?” You asked Seonghwa in a low whisper. 

“It's advisable that they stay at your side for now,” Seonghwa said, “But if you'd like, I can send them away for a while.” 

You'd been about to answer when a foul scent caught in your nose. You recognized the scent right away as it grew stronger. The stench of the dungeons was unmistakable to you. Walking away from the royal offices, you went ahead of the group into the main courtyard. It became more pungent as you drew closer to the jail. There, you saw Hongjoong talking with the head physician, an older man named Yoon. Soldiers carried people out of the jail on stretchers to blankets laid on the ground. You clasped your hands over your mouth. 

Perhaps it was the darkness and your own discomfort that made the number seem so small. But now, standing several yards away, you saw dozens of victims. Men and women laid out groaning and weeping in pain as physicians treated those they could. The faces that once haunted you in your dreams now came to life. Tears welled in your eyes seeing the people you watched be broken. It is your fault. You should have helped them sooner. You should have stopped her. You had plenty of opportunities, but you'd been paralyzed by your own fear. 

“Your Majesty,” Seonghwa’s voice came to you softly, “You don't have to see this. Let's go to the hare-”

You ignored him and walked towards the first body on the ground. A young man covered in filthy, bloody rags laid shivering. You recognized him immediately: the young man Sookmyung hung from the ceiling with weights. You moved closer to him, hearing his haggard breathing and whimpering, and knelt down. He’d been the stableboy who tended to Sookmyung’s horse. When her newest mare fell ill and died, Sookmyung blamed him for not maintaining its health. Of course, this accusation was ridiculous, but that never mattered to her. You gently brushed matted hair from his forehead. 

“How bad is it?” you asked the physician attending to him. 

“Very bad, Your Majesty,” he answered, dabbing disinfectant on the wounds. “Several bones are broken or dislocated. I managed to put them back in place, but some of the injuries have become infected from the conditions below.”

“Will he live?��

“With some medicine and rest, he may be able to begin recovery. He is one of the lucky few who have such a chance.” 

You looked down at the dazed man, and said, “What is your name?”

“Kyun-Kyungwoo,” he croaked an answer. 

“You are safe now, Kyungwoo. I swear it.” 

“No, no, no! Don’t! Don’t!”

Your head shot up at the panicked voice. Two rows away was a young woman flailing her arms at the man trying to tend to her. You realized the man was Yunho, wearing a beige overcoat tied at his waist. The long black hair he often left down was tied into a top knot, held with a pin to keep it from his eyes. Gently, he took hold of the woman’s hands to steady them. 

“Sookmyung is not here anymore,” you heard him gently reassure her as he held onto her hands. “She cannot hurt you.”

“She-She sent you!” she screamed hysterically. “She’s playing a game! A trick! She sent you to make me think she’s helping me! Don’t heal me!”

“I have to. You’re injured, and your wounds are infected.”

You left Kyungwoo’s side and went over to the pair. Right away, you understood the woman’s distress. “Insook,” you said her name softly, kneeling beside her, “Insook, please hold still. He cannot wrap your wounds if you’re moving so much.”

Wide, panicked eyes flitted over to you. Insook, a cook in Sookmyung’s kitchen, was accused of putting poison in her soup recently. Black strands of hair sticking to her sweaty forehead, blood  dried on her fingers and stained her thin tunic. 

“YN!” she gasped your name, grabbing your collar t bring you closer, “Tell him! Tell him what she’s doing! You know! You always knew!”

“Insook,” you uncurled her fingers from your jacket, then said, “Sookmyung is gone. She isn’t here anymore. You are not going back into the cells. I promise you.”

“Lies! She’s letting me out only to put me back in! She did it last time! I’m not a fool!”

“If that were true, she wouldn’t have her Flower attending to you, Insook.”

“Fl-Flower?” She glanced over to Yunho, who nodded “Wa-wait. You’re…You’re one of hers…”

“I was,” Yunho nodded, “But not anymore. You're not hers either. Now, please,” he gingerly took her injured hand, “Let me start here. These are the worst of them.” 

“No!” she pulled her hand away, “YN, tell her I didn’t let him touch me! Tell her I was a good dog! I didn’t-”

“-YN, give me that jar right there.”

Yunho nodded to a small glass jar near a leather satchel. You picked it up and handed it to him. Yu watched him pick out one of the small white nubs inside, then hold it to Insook’s bloody nose. It took several sniffs before her cries quieted, her eyes rolled back and she fell unconscious. You looked up at Yunho. 

“Sookmyung used to release some prisoners,” you said, “And then recapture them right when they thought they were free. She said watching the hope leave their eyes made her feel alive.” You smoothed hair from Insook’s head, the rancid stink of the dungeons coming off her. “How bad is she?”

“A few broken bones, some whip lashes on her back, but she’ll be fine with some rest,” he told you, starting to work on her missing fingernails. “Forgive me for leaving guard duty, Your Majesty. Physician Yoon asked me to come help him when Queen Jisoo started summoning the physicians. I’m a better healer than a fighter, I’m afraid.”

“Good, we need more healers at the moment,” you replied. 

“Considering how many people are here, that’s more than true. Your Majesty-”

“-YN, please-”

“-YN,” he nodded, “I knew Sookmyung was awful but…I didn’t believe it was like this. Some of the injuries these people have are horrendous. One man had scorpion and spider bites all over his body; one of the other physicians said he must’ve been in there for days.”

The Box. You hated thinking about it. “I’m sorry you had to witness all of it,” he said, looking away from his work to meet your eyes. “I can’t imagine what seeing this does to someone. I’m glad it never changed you.” 

You’d given him a small smile when a small voice croaked out your name. Another familiar face, a young boy with a bandage over his eye and a physician putting a cast on his left leg, broke your heart. Immediately, you scooted over to him and lifted his head to rearrange the pillow underneath. Jiwoon, arrested for poaching in Sookmyung’s forest like so many others, would never see out of his right eye again. 

“Hello Jiwoon…” you said, looking over his cracked lips and hollow cheeks. 

“Is it true?” he asked in a hoarse voice. “Are we really free?”

“Yes, it’s true.” 

“I can see my papa now?”

“I’ll make sure someone tells him you’re here,” you said, remembering the boy’s father as a palace guard. You picked up a water canteen nearby, “Here, drink this.” 

You tipped his head to help him drink, heart aching as you listened to him gulp the water. Nearby, you saw one of the guards watching over the scene and called him over. You ordered him to find Jiwoon’s father, then told another palace servant to send a message to the kitchen. 

“Broth and bread,” you said, “As much as they can make.” 

This went on for some time. People who looked on might be seeing a queen trying to build up an image, but that wasn’t your intention. Each person you comforted healed a piece of you; you hoped it healed a piece of them as well. They’d spent days wallowing in pain and suffering. You prayed they found a shred of hope in your gentle words and assurances. 

Once you saw the last of the living, you looked upon the dead. So many. It sickened your stomach and brought tears to your eyes. Seeing one woman in particular, you remembered your helplessness. You couldn’t save her. You couldn’t save any of them no matter what you’d said. Sookmyung always laughed at your softness, saying that she’d make you strong one day. As you walked amongst the dead, those who’d loved them started walking onto the courtyard. Servants who’d waited for word about their loved ones wept openly, crying over the injured or deceased. 

You’d finished consoling the daughter of one of the victims when you noticed her. A young woman laid a few feet away in all black. She bore all the signs of Sookmyung’s usual methods, but you didn’t remember her face. What drew you closer was Hongjoong gravitating to her first. Then, you suddenly remembered her: the assassin from the garden. 

“Naeun,” Hongjoong said when you reached him. “She was the assassin Sookmyung tortured the other night. She was from Wonju.”

“She was the woman you’d meet in the garden,” you said, more a statement than a question. When he looked over at you, you said, “I remember overhearing you with someone. I never told anyone because I feared what Sookmyung might do to either of you. I thought she was a lover you’d somehow met, not a spy.” 

“She was my contact, yes,” he nodded. “I was giving her information I learned from Sookmyung. It was easy because she spoke about her plans so freely in front of us. I couldn’t leave here, so being an informant was the best way to help my people.” He bit his inner cheek, then said, “I can’t let her death be in vain, YN.”

“It wasn’t,” you said, touching his hand. “You are a prince again, and that’s only the first step.” You then realized something. “I’m sorry you witnessed her death. Sookmyung never went easy on anyone. If she thought Naeun wanted to kill her, she likely made it worse.”

“She never gave in. She didn’t say a word no matter how terrible the torture.”

“She was stronger than most I’d seen, then. Sookmyung preyed on the weak, but she loved breaking the strong. Naeun must’ve not wanted to give her the satisfaction of believing she’d won.”

“None of Changbin’s rebels would,” he said. He withdrew a necklace, the winged dove charm broken into two pieces. “This was hers,” he explained, putting the charm on her chest and placing her hands over it. “She used it to pass a message to me the night she died. I think it meant something to her.”

You sat with him as he looked over the woman one more time. While you did not witness Naeun’s death, it still joined the hundreds stained on your heart. 

“She hurt so many people,” you said quietly, standing with Hongjoong but not looking away from the scene. “Not just in her dungeon, but all over the kingdom. She’d driven families into starvation, turned children into orphans and let her city become a crime-ridden slum. Nobody was safe regardless of distance. She’s likely hurting someone now because of how angry she is.” You didn’t want to imagine who’d become her newest victim. “If she came back into power, she’d be much, much worse.”

“Which is why she can’t come back,” Hongjoong said, “And she won’t.” He looked at the victims with you, “What shall we do with them, Your Majesty?”

“Heal them,” you said. “Prepare them for burial. Tell the people that we’ll be holding a funeral procession for them on their way to the gravesite.”

“What gravesite?”

“The one I’m going to have made for them. There are people here who need work, and we can pay them to dig graves for her victims,” you said, the plan forming in your mind. “It can be in honor of their memory. They can be buried in a place of light and beauty, instead of rotting in the dark. There’s a lovely spot outside the city that can be open to the people. We can send declarations around the kingdom so family members may come see them.” 

“A memorial to them,” he said, “And the people she’s indirectly hurt too. Wonshik and Jisoo will love the idea. It’ll show people you’re not the monster she is.” 

“That isn’t why I want to do it,” you repeated your words from the meeting. 

“No, it isn’t, but it doesn't hurt.”

You remembered each person. The baker who’d mistook her instruction for red bean as black bean. The seamstress who’d accidentally nicked her skin when fixing a hemline. The merchant who boldly proclaimed her taxes as unjust and the young woman who’d begged for her husband’s life. You’d made it a point to learn their names. Many times, you’d cradled a head as they whispered it to you. Being amongst them now, hearing their groans of pain, your eyes stung at the memories. Sookmyung could not return. She could not be allowed to continue on like this should she come back to power. You wouldn’t let her. 

****

A/N: heeeyyy look what's back! I'm really glad to be back on this one. There's more to come so stick around! <3

[thepinkpanther83]

And They Were Roommates (Pt.1)

Chapter One: “Moving In”

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

This is gonna be a long one this time, inspired by my good friend @justalotoffanfiction. We were discussing Eddie Munson roommate AU's and I started two of them, one is tucked away potentially for later (maybe) but this one has exploded onto the pages, I'm already many chapters into this one, so I'll be editing and posting a chapter or two a day as time permits.

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Summary:

Eddie is tired of the trailer park life and wants to move out and find a place of his own. A roommate situation would be ideal and more affordable. He finds an ad in the Hawkins Post for a co-ed living situation. Can he convince you to let him move in, or will his reputation proceed him?

Chapter Two: “Our First Day”

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

Chapter One: “Moving In”

Hawkins, Indiana - Fall, 1986

The pages of the Hawkins Post crinkled between Eddie Munson's fingers as he leaned against his van, the ink rubbing off slightly onto his calloused thumb. A circled ad caught his eye, "Roommate Wanted: Female senior student looking to share a two-bedroom, one-bath apartment near town square. Rent negotiable. Serious inquiries only."

He read it twice, tapping the metal ring of his thumb against the side of the paper. "Serious inquiries only, huh? Well, I'm seriously outta here, Uncle Wayne," he muttered, folding the ad and tucking it into the pocket of his worn leather jacket. By the time he pulled up to the address listed in the ad, the sun was sinking low behind the trees, casting long orange shadows over Hawkins. His van coughed and wheezed to a stop, one speaker still blasting Dio's Holy Diver before he clicked it off. He stepped out, combat boots hitting pavement, black jeans torn just enough to make the PTA nervous, Hellfire Club tee peeking out beneath a flannel that had seen better days.

The apartment building wasn't anything fancy, but it wasn't a trailer surrounded by nothing but empty beer cans and woods, either. So progress.

Eddie ruffled his mess of brown curls, his nerves hitting him for the first time as he approached the door. He'd never had a roommate that wasn't in Corroded Coffin, and even fewer of those had been from the ‘I don't run screaming when Eddie Munson walks down the hall’ crowd- especially not girls.

He knocked twice

The door opened.

You stood there, looking far more composed than he ever managed to be at school, he knew you, the pretty girl from Hawkins High, the senior who always seemed to float just out of his chaotic orbit. He gave a crooked grin, lifting his hand in an awkward sort of wave.

"Hey, uh… I think I called earlier? Eddie Munson. Y'know… metalhead, dungeon master, part-time town freak," he said, fingers drumming a silent nervous rhythm against the strap of his guitar case. "You're the one with the apartment, yeah? Still looking for a roommate? Or did I miss my window of opportunity and doom myself to a lifetime of my Uncle Wayne's TV dinners?”

He tilted his head, his grin softening just a little.

"Mind if I come in and check the place out?”

As you stood at the door, taking in Eddie's presence, recognition sparked in your eyes. Despite his outward appearance and reputation amongst your peers as the ‘town freak,’ you saw past the stereotypes. You’d always admired his confidence and genuine demeanor beneath the metalhead exterior. A refreshing change from the superficiality that often clouded high school cliques.

With a faint smile playing on your lips, you stepped back to allow him entrance into your modest apartment. "Come in, Eddie," you said warmly, gesturing for him to follow as you led the way in towards the living area.

You glanced at him, the senior student who always seemed to reside on the fringes of most social circles but held an undeniable charisma that had always intrigued you. You’d always thought he was cute in a ‘bad boy’ sort of way, but you didn’t really know anything about him, not really, other than rumors. However, you found you were drawn to Eddie's presence, his easy smile, and the way his brown eyes sparkled with genuine interest as he looked around. His aura was different from the usual high school crowd, intriguing you in a way that made your heart flutter a little.

"So, umm… Thanks for considering this roommate situation… I've been searching for someone reliable and easy-going," you remarked as you led him into a cozy living room adorned with old vintage furniture and shelves filled with well-loved books.

Eddie looked at you thoughtfully, a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Who could resist an offer like this?" Eddie replied with a casual shrug, his tone light as he looked around.

Your curiosity was piqued by this enigmatic man who seemed to carry secrets within his dark gaze. You wanted to know more about him, but you didn’t want to just bomb him with personal questions and make things weird on the first day.

You continued guiding him through each space. You pointed out details like the quaint kitchen overlooking a small backyard garden. There was sunlight filtering through overhanging branches, creating dappled patterns on its stone path. You were relieved you’d cleaned and prettied the place up before anyone had arrived to see it.

As you moved from room to room, your conversation flowed effortlessly despite the initial awkwardness outside. You found yourself opening up more than usual, drawn by Eddie's genuine interest in getting to know you beyond surface impressions.

Eddie nodded appreciatively while taking in all aspects of your potential shared living space. He could picture it now, a mix of music posters adorning one wall juxtaposed against delicate houseplants perched near sunny window sills, it could be a blend reflecting both of your personalities merging together within these walls.

"I have some house rules we can discuss if you're interested… And feel free to ask any questions or share your preferences too," you mentioned casually before pausing to open a window letting fresh autumn air filter inside, carrying the distant sounds of Hawkins' evening bustle.

The sunlight streaming through the kitchen window illuminated Eddie's features, casting shadows across his rugged face and adding an air of intrigue to his presence. His interest in your space was pretty obvious from how he glanced around appreciatively while absorbing each detail you pointed out.

Turning towards him with a smile playing on your lips, you invited casually,

"So, what do you think so far? Is this something that works for you, or are we going to clash over décor choices already?"

Eddie leaned against the kitchen counter, his rings clicking softly against the laminate as he drummed his fingers. His gaze flickered from the sunlit garden outside to the way your hair caught the golden light, and for a second, he forgot to answer.

"Clash? Nah, sweetheart," he finally said, grinning as he pushed off the counter to step closer to you. "I mean, unless you’ve got some deep-seated hatred for Black Sabbath posters or the occasional bong left on the coffee table, then we might have a problem." His smirk was playful, but his eyes were earnest as they met yours. "But seriously? This place is great. Cozy. Lived-in. Not like some sterile showroom where you’re afraid to sit on the furniture."

He wandered over to the bookshelf, tilting his head to read the spines. "Damn, you’ve got good taste. Stephen King, Tolkien…" His fingers brushed over a well-worn copy of The Stand, and he shot you a look of approval. "You’re already winning points here."

As Eddie admired your book collection, sharing his appreciation for your taste in literature, you felt a sense of connection forming between the two of you that went beyond just roommates. His easy banter and shared interests bridged any lingering doubts you may have had about inviting him into your space. You could easily see yourself becoming friends with this guy.

Turning back to you, he crossed his arms, his leather jacket creaking softly. "So rules… I’m guessing ‘no impromptu band practice at 2 AM’ is probably on the list, right?" He chuckled, but then his expression shifted. "Look, I get it. You don’t know me, and Hawkins High’s rumor mill hasn’t exactly painted me as the ideal roommate. But I’m not some chaotic gremlin… Well, not all the time."

He stepped closer, close enough that you could smell the faint mix of leather and weed clinging to his clothes. "I’ll clean up after myself, pay rent on time, and I promise not to scare off any dates you bring home… unless they’re assholes. Then I might flex my ‘town freak’ reputation a little." His grin was crooked, almost shy. "So… what’s the verdict? Am I in, or do I gotta go back to my Uncle Wayne’s and endure another lecture about ‘responsibility’?" There was a hopeful glint in his eyes, like he already knew the answer but was waiting to hear you confirm it.

With a soft laugh, you playfully nudged him, feeling the warmth of his nearness. "Black Sabbath posters are more than welcome here," you replied with a grin. "And I don't mind a bit of a rock 'n roll ambiance."

You looked him over appraisingly for a moment, then decided. "Band practice curfew is definitely on the list," you teased back, his words reassuring you, showing glimpses of vulnerability beneath his confident façade. You appreciated his honesty and promises to respect your space and boundaries.

"I think we can work something out," you said softly, meeting his gaze head-on. "As long as your Uncle Wayne's TV dinners aren’t part of our regular menu rotation."

Relief flashed across Eddie's face.

Later That Evening…

It was just starting to get dark out when you heard the telltale rumble of Eddie’s van outside again, followed by the slightly too loud slam of the driver’s side door and the unmistakable sound of something, probably heavy, thudding onto the pavement.

A moment later, there was a knock. Not the kind of knock someone gives when they’re unsure or being polite. No, this one was casual, almost rhythmic. Confident in that Eddie Munson way, even if there might've been a touch of nerves under it.

When you opened the door, he was grinning, slightly out of breath, with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, his guitar case hanging off the other, and a milk crate held out in front of him like an offering to the gods of shared domesticity.

The side of the crate was labeled in thick black Sharpie: “EDDIE’S SHIT – DO NOT TOUCH (unless you want to be cursed)”

“I bring gifts,” he announced dramatically, stepping inside without waiting for an official invitation like he was already testing the boundaries of his new residence. “Behold… relics from the cursed tomb of Uncle Wayne’s living room. Some of this stuff hasn’t seen daylight since ‘84.”

You stepped aside to let him pass, eyeing the crate with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “That sounds… ominous.”

“Oh, it is,” Eddie said proudly, setting the crate down on the coffee table with a soft thud. “There are mysteries in here that man was not meant to comprehend. Also, like, an ashtray shaped like a skull and a mixtape I made when I was grounded for ‘accidentally’ flooding the science lab.”

You raised a brow as he opened the crate and immediately pulled out the aforementioned skull ashtray, placing it on the center of the coffee table next to your bowl of trail mix like it was some kind of crown jewel. You just stared at it for a moment… hollow eyes, a missing tooth, the faint scent of old smoke still lingering in the ceramic, it matched nothing in your carefully curated apartment.

You glanced from the ashtray to Eddie. Then back to the ashtray.

Then back to Eddie.

He blinked at you. “Too much?”

You slowly turned to the bookshelf, grabbed a scented candle, and swapped it with the skull like it was a hostage exchange. “We’ll… workshop the décor,” you said diplomatically.

Eddie let out a full laugh, something real and bright that filled the space. “Alright, alright. No skulls on sacred surfaces. Got it.”

He dropped his duffel bag by the hallway, stretching out his arms like he’d just finished a cross-country trek. “So… I guess this makes it official. We’re roommates. You, me, and a very judged ashtray that will now live on the bookshelf next to your copy of Pride and Prejudice. Which, by the way, makes for a killer combo.”

He flopped onto the couch with the kind of dramatic flair that suggested he'd been practicing the move for years, his boots immediately propped up on the coffee table before he caught your look and sheepishly lowered them. "Right. No feet on the furniture. Noted."

The grin he shot you was all mischief, though, like he was already cataloging all the little ways he could push your buttons. Just enough to be entertaining, but not enough to actually piss you off.

"So," he said, stretching his arms behind his head, "what's the first rule of Roommate Club? No midnight jam sessions? No stealing each other's leftovers? No summoning demons in the living room unless it's a Tuesday?" His eyes sparkled with amusement, but there was a genuine curiosity there too, like he actually wanted to know where the lines were.

Then, as if remembering something, he dug into his pocket and pulled out a slightly crumpled joint, holding it up between two fingers like a peace offering. "Also, uh... smoking policy? Inside, outside, or ‘only if you share’?"

The way he waggled his eyebrows at the last part was ridiculous enough to make you laugh, but the real kicker was the hopeful little tilt of his head, like he was already mentally preparing to brave the cold if you said no.

You could practically see the gears turning in his brain. ‘How far can I push before she kicks me out?’ and yet, somehow, it didn't feel invasive. It felt... kinda fun. Like this was just the start of a weird, chaotic, good thing.

So you crossed your arms, pretending to consider it seriously before shrugging. "Demons are fine, but only if they do dishes. And the joint? Definitely share."

Eddie's wide grin could've powered Hawkins for a week. "Fuck yeah. Roommate rules officially approved."

Then, with the kind of effortless charm that made you wonder how this guy was still single, he patted the spot next to him on the couch. "C'mon, let's break in this place right. First order of business: picking a proper housewarming soundtrack. And don't say Fleetwood Mac… I know you've got taste in there somewhere.”

The way he said it, teasing but sincere, made it impossible to refuse.

So you sat.

And just like that, the apartment felt a little homier.

He leaned forward and started rifling through the crate again like it was Mary Poppins’ bag of cursed treasures. You saw one tape labeled “ONLY FOR COOL BITCHES” written in black Sharpie and had to stifle a laugh.

“Alright,” he said, holding up a beat-up cassette tape with pride. “‘The Essential Eddie Mix: Vol. 3.’ This bad boy’s got everything! Sabbath, Zeppelin, some early punk, a very emotional cover of ‘Landslide’ I recorded while drunk… don’t ask.”

“So you do like Fleetwood Mac,” you said, arching a brow.

“Don’t twist my words, witch,” he grinned, shoving it into the tape deck. “This was a one-time spiritual experience.”

The cassette clicked into place, and the first scratchy chords of ‘War Pigs’ poured out like some low-budget blessing. Eddie leaned back with a satisfied sigh, legs manspreading like he owned the place, hair a tangled mess against the couch cushion. He didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps didn’t care, that one of your throw pillows you had behind your back, was slowly being claimed as his own.

You glanced at him sideways, then grabbed a pretzel from the bowl of trail mix on the coffee table and tossed one at his chest.

“What’s that for?” he asked, catching it mid-air like a practiced gremlin.

“You’re stealing my pillow.”

He glanced down, totally unbothered. “It’s not theft if I improve it.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t ask for it back. Truth was, you didn’t mind him being there. The couch hadn’t felt too small until now, but somehow, the space between you had become its own little world. Close, but not close enough to be weird. Just… noticeable.

After a minute, the music shifted into something slower, one of those deep-cut Zeppelin tracks Eddie had probably played a hundred times. He hummed along under his breath, drumming his fingers on his stomach, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

Then, casually, he said, “So… what do you do when you’re not rescuing strays with weird ashtrays and questionable hygiene?”

You smirked. “I read. Mostly romance or horror. I write sometimes.”

“Write?” He turned toward you, suddenly alert in that Eddie way, like you’d just dropped a dragon egg on the table. “Like, short stories? A secret novel you’re hiding under your bed?”

You shrugged, but a flush crawled up your neck. “Just stuff. I never finish anything. It’s dumb.”

“Hey.” He sat up straighter, a pretzel forgotten in his hand. “Don’t say that. Writing’s metal as hell. Storytelling? That’s, like, the most powerful magic there is. That’s how I get people into D&D. You think Henderson would stick around if I didn’t spin a damn good yarn?”

That made you laugh. “So what, I should just start writing about half-orcs and necromancers?”

He grinned, wickedly. “Only if they have a tragic backstory and an inexplicable obsession with peanut butter.” He said while he kicked off his shoes.

You snorted, nearly choking on your own pretzel. “You’re so weird.”

“I know,” he said proudly, reclining again. “It’s part of the brand.”

Another silence settled between you, not awkward, just soft. The kind that happens when you’re not trying too hard anymore. Outside, a breeze rattled the window, and inside, the tape clicked as it needed to be switched sides.

Eddie gestured lazily toward the crate while he flipped the cassette. “There’s a deck of cards in there somewhere. You up for a little high-stakes Go Fish? Or are you too scared to face defeat at the hands of a dungeon master?”

You looked at him, with his floppy brown hair, a stupid grin, one of his socks barely hanging onto his foot, and you felt the corners of your mouth twitch into a smile.

“I’ll play,” you said. “But if I win, you’re doing the dishes for a week.”

“Oh ho ho,” he said, sitting up like you’d just thrown down the gauntlet. “You’re on, roomie.”

He dug through the crate with the fervor of a man on a sacred quest, finally pulling out a dog-eared deck of cards with a triumphant "Aha!" The box was barely holding together, the edges frayed from what you could only assume were years of greasy-fingered pizza and D&D sessions and late-night poker games.

"Prepare to be destroyed," he declared, shuffling with the kind of exaggerated flair that suggested he'd probably practiced in front of a mirror a time or two. A card flew out, landing face-up on the coffee table… The King of Hearts.

You raised a brow. "Is that an omen?"

Eddie smirked, scooping it back up and adding it back into the deck with a shuffle. "Nah, sweetheart, just my natural charm leaking out." He answered with a wink before he dealt the cards with surprising precision, his rings glinting in the lamplight. "Alright, rules: standard Go Fish, but with stakes. Winner gets bragging rights and..." He paused dramatically, eyes glinting. "Winner gets to pick the next mixtape. Loser has no veto power. And umm… something something has to do dishes for a week."

You picked up your cards, hiding a smile. "Deal."

The game started slow, Eddie's competitive streak simmering just beneath his laid-back façade. He asked for sevens with the confidence of a man holding a royal flush, only to groan when you handed him two. "You're hiding them," he accused, pointing a finger at you. "I know you've got more."

You batted your lashes. "Go fish, Munson."

He grumbled but drew, his expression shifting to pure delight when he pulled the card he needed. "Ha! The gods of chaos smile upon me!" He slapped down his completed set with unnecessary force.

You retaliated by sweeping the next round, your poker face impeccable as you calmly asked, "Got any threes?"

Eddie squinted at you like you'd just performed dark magic. "...You're terrifying." He handed over his last three with the solemnity of a man surrendering his sword.

The game stretched on, the pile of matched sets growing between you. Outside, the wind picked up, rattling the windows in their frames, but inside, the apartment was warm, alive with the hum of music and Eddie's running commentary.

"Okay, hypothetically," he said, eyeing his dwindling hand, "if you could have any superpower, but it had to be, like, stupidly specific… what would it be?"

You tapped your chin, considering. "Hmm. The ability to always find the missing matching sock on the first try."

Eddie gasped like you'd just revealed the meaning of life. "Genius. Mine would be... the power to make any food instantly nachos. Just… bam." He gestured wildly. "Salad? Now it's nachos. Your mom's meatloaf? Nachos…"

You snorted. "That's the most Eddie Munson answer possible."

He placed a hand over his heart and bowed his head. "I live to serve."

The game reached its climax with you holding one card and Eddie sweating over his last two. He squinted at you, then at his cards, then back at you. "...Do you have any jacks?"

You grinned and handed him your final card.

His jaw dropped. "No."

"Yes." You fanned out your empty hands. "Dishes and mixtape privileges. Bow before your champion."

Eddie flopped back against the couch, arms splayed like a fallen warrior. "I've been betrayed by the very cards I love." He peeked one eye open. "...Rematch?"

You grabbed the deck before he could. "Nope. Pay up, loser."

He groaned but hauled himself upright, shuffling toward the kitchen with exaggerated despair. Halfway there, he paused, turning back with a smirk. "Hey, roomie?"

"Yeah?"

"Best damn first night I could’ve hoped for."

And with that, he vanished into the kitchen, the sound of running water and his off-key singing to Black Sabbath soon following.

You sank back into the couch, smiling to yourself. You realized… This was happening. Eddie Munson was now your roommate. And weirdly? That didn’t feel so weird, in fact… This was gonna be fun.

Don't know who to tag, who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be tagged! And to which fandom. (Bayverse TMNT, Vegeta, Eddie Munson).

@justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm

Masterlist

[power-chords]

Wittgenstein is a TRIP, man! But the original reason I came here to post this was for that last line, which made me exclaim, “Yeah, yeah. We’ve all seen the Alan Menken and Lynn Ahrens adaptation of A Christmas Carol.”

[ghstzzn]

so needy — enhypen hyung line

pairing(s): enhypen hyung line x fem!reader (separate!)

genre(s): pure smut. with some plot from overexplaining.

tags/warnings: SMUT! MDNI! needy but not quite subby, rough & sloppy unprotexted sex, face fucking, jake munch agenda, masturbating (m. rec), male whimpering yupp, lots and lots of descriptions of boners, seriously they are all hard. no prep for reader, exhibition heh.. (parking lot & bathroom at a party), tried my hardest to go needy im a hard!dom writer im sorry, creampie, one pullout method, cum eating, cum... feeding?, biting, uhh lmk if i missed any srsly. wc: 3.2k. 400-700 for each

💭: WE LIKE OUR MEN IN HEAT GROWLS🦅🦅🦅 @jjunieworld and i. we went insane. i went insane. i seriously tried to make them needy and jakes is probably the closest ill ever get to writing a subby idol. its hard. sorry. ill try harder because i like this i think. <3 i need to get them pregnant asap.

heeseung had been in the recording studio since he had woken up, and yet he still had a long night ahead of him due to editing and touch ups. he was going insane.

you had sent him a selfie of you when you woke up, complaining about him being gone. it was innocent. but heeseung has been rock hard since.

his thoughts were full of you— every lyric had just reminded him of you and fuck he’s never needed you this badly before. the pillow that he’s kept on his lap all day felt like a fucking brick and he’s been subconsciously bucking his hips into it.

heeseung lets out a groan, throwing his head back as he cups his hardened cock through his flimsy sweats. he cannot take it anymore. pulling out his phone, he shoots you a text, complaining that he was hungry and didn’t feel good— a little lie because he knows if he told you he was painfully hard, you’d just tell him to wait. he can’t do that.

you’re so sweet to him, truly, you ask him if he’s okay and tell him you’ll be there in ten.

the door automatically locks when it's shut and you walk up to him, resting your hand on his forehead. he is feeling warm. heeseung leans into your touch and groans softly before grabbing your wrist, throwing the pillow and sitting you on his lap.

not even three minutes later, he’s thrusting up into you relentlessly. you’re desperately trying to grip onto anything, his shoulders, the chair and even the equipment table behind you. heeseungs grip on your hips is tight, bruising even. 

you’re both already cumming, the pace he set was too much for you and he’s simply been hard way too long to last more than seven minutes. though, as soon as he emptied himself inside you, he’s lifting you out of his lap, shoving aside an expensive keyboard and shoving your face down onto the table.

“fuck- fucking take it,” he spits as he continues pounding you from behind. “b-been so fucking hard all day, all because of you.”

his cock is hitting the most sensitive spots with his brutal speed, you almost feel as if you really did something wrong. you reach up to grip onto something, knocking into a few buttons in the process, turning on some music— which honestly helped cover the sounds of your moans but probably not necessary due to the soundproof room.

“hah- heeseung it’s t-too much!” you manage to squeak out, hiccuping and whimpering.

you’re spasming around his cock once more, he sloppily thrusts into you a few more times before pulling out and emptying himself on your lower back. you weakly lift yourself to peek behind you, glancing back and forth between his still hard cock and his eyes that were full of nothing but lust. 

heeseung will be here all night— and so will you.

─────────────────

jay thought it’d be a good idea, a great one! he brought you with him to tour some fancy guitar museum he was invited to. you both were so excited to attend, throwing on your best outfits— which included that one dress that jay absolutely went feral for.

he could barely focus on the guitar he was testing out when you were sitting so pretty and patient in front of him, smiling and cheering him on. he didn’t even realize he was fucking up the chords, face red when he realized it wasn’t just you and him in the room.

you sat in the acoustics room with him, dress riding up your legs, leather jacket hanging off your shoulder as you watched him pick at each string with so much adoration in your eyes.

jay was going to go fucking insane. he can feel himself hardening at the mere sight of you— truly he’s usually better at keeping himself kept in public.

when you asked so sweetly to try out at guitar yourself, he thought he would combust right there.

he helps you choose a guitar, slipping the strap around your neck and even setting up the amp for you. jay sits back and watches as you play around with different chords you’ve picked up from him, but his eyes refuse to leave your fingers.

the way they delicately pluck each string or how they grip the guitar pick, how your other hand grips the neck of the guitar to hold down strings. he almost groans when he watches you almost struggle to fit them around it.

if only that were his cock. 

jay has to keep yanking and pulling at his jeans. he almost grabs the guitar from you just to cover his inevitable boner. his jaw is clenched, he wants to leave so fucking bad. he’s seconds away from pulling you into the closest room and tarnishing his image just to fuck you.

finally, your time at the guitar center was over. jay’s practically dragging you to the car and you aren’t even sure why. maybe you did something to upset him?

as soon as you reach the car, he’s sandwiching you between him and the cold surface. your boyfriend doesnt waste a second before grabbing your hand and forcing you to grab his throbbing cock through his jeans.

“for the past four fucking hours,” he grits out, nuzzling his face against your cheek, “four fucking hours that i’ve been so fucking hard. because of you.”

your face is red and you’re whipping your head around the parking lots, it’s almost empty thankfully— and dark outside. “i-i did this?”

he groans in the crook of your neck, “please, baby, fucking need you now.”

those are the only words you need to get you to drop to your knees. your hands shake slightly as they fumble with his belt, pulling it apart and yanking his jeans down just enough to free his cock. 

it’s practically red and leaking, you almost pout when you think about your poor boyfriend being that hard for so long because of you.

jay seems to not like how long you're taking because he’s immediately taking your hair into his fist and smacking his tip against your lips. you eagerly invite his length into your mouth, using your hands to work whatever you can’t fit. 

he has to hold back from cumming right there. the way your lips wrap around him so well, your throat struggling to take him. this is exactly what got him hard in the first place. jay rocks his hips back and forth, pushing his cock further and further into your mouth.

“yeah- fuck. taking me so well, huh?” jay mutters, biting his lip to contain his grunts. “thought about this exact fucking thing in there. so pretty around my cock.”

his words make you hum in arousal, sending vibrations down his length. jay groans and throws his head back, pushing you further down his cock. the gag that rips from your throat is almost enough to make him empty himself all over your face.

jay continues to practically fuck your mouth. your hands drop to grip his thighs as you let him use your mouth however he pleases. both of his big hands in your hair, forming a messy ponytail tail as he continues to thrust into you roughly.

“fuckfuckfuck! almost there, baby.” he’s almost whimpering, it’s so good. after a few more thrusts, he’s pulling out and cumming, emptying himself onto your cheeks and lips. 

there’s so much cum you have to take him back into your mouth to save yourself from a messy shirt.

jay pants as you ride him through his intense orgasm. needless to say, he’s fucking you again in the car this time.

──────────────────

jake was restless. he was quite literally rolling around on your bed as you ignored him for some stupid fucking book.

“jake, i seriously need to cram this by tonight. then we can hang out!” you promised him.

six fucking hours ago. he groans loudly, loud enough to make you scoff and shake your head.

“why don’t you go play on my pc?” you suggest sweetly, “you love the games i have on there!”

“i dont want to do that.” 

you sigh and shrug your shoulders in response, you already told him countless times that you were busy and he’s the one who chose to stay.

“baby, please just take a break.” he pleads. “there’s no way you’re finishing this by tonight.”

he rolls over on his stomach and grips onto your leg, sporting a dramatic expression. jake was right, there was no way you were finishing any of your work tonight, but that almost gives you more reasons to not take a break. 

“the sooner i finish, the sooner i'll be all yours baby.” you tell him, patting his fluffed up hair down, messy from rolling around.

he groans again, “noo, baby i want you- no i need you now!”

“why are you so antsy right now, jake?” 

jake drops his head into your lap, muffling his voice. “ ‘m so horny.”

“hm?” you hum, not quite hearing him. he only responds by softly kissing your inner thighs, unable to hold back any longer.

he pushes his jean clad cock against your soft mattress as he travels down your thighs, leaving a trail of kisses behind. 

“jake.”

“i said im horny. im so fucking horny and you smell so good.” he repeats, lifting his head to look you in your eyes.

your brain freezes at his words. “i… i’ll be done soon, i promise- just-“

he cuts off your words by pressing a desperate kiss over your clothes cunt, sending shivers down your spine. you can feel yourself getting wet by his needy and desperate actions.

“jake!” you whimper out when he licks a stripe over your pajama shorts. he doesn’t even care that you’re still fully clothed, a piece of flimsy fabric won't stop him.

your boyfriend continues to make out with your cunt through your shorts, shifting to bite and suck at your thighs. “pleaasee.” he lets out a muffled whine.

you’ve already dropped your books and papers beside you, soft whimpers leaving your mouth as your hands find their spot in his long hair. “fuck— jake slow down!”

jake shakes his head, his own hands moving to yank down your sleep shorts. he knew you weren’t wearing panties, and he’s pretty sure that’s what got him so horny in the first place. the amount of times he looked down at your thighs to catch small glimpses of your ass and cute cunt because they were barely covered.

it took so much restraint to not shove his aching cock between your thighs— make you forget all about your boring paperwork.

jake attaches his lips to your clit, sucking and practically making out with it. every now and then he shoves his tongue as deep as he can inside your oozing hole, gathering all your juices on his tongue and slurping.

you can’t tell who's moaning louder, you or him. he’s attacking your cunt with everything he has all while rutting his hips into your mattress, attempting to pleasure himself but he could honestly cum untouched as long as he had your sweet pussy in his mouth.

he’s groaning against your cunt and letting out incoherent curses, “f-fuck.. hmph so- so good.”

your eyes roll to the back of your neck and you can feel the heat pool in your lower stomach.

“jake- gonna cum, please dont fucking stop!” 

jake listens well, continues to suck and lap at your wetness as if its his last fucking meal. you don't even notice his hand leaving your thigh to jerk himself off but when you do— it pushes you immediately over the edge. 

you tremble as you cum all over his mouth, and he only eagerly slurps it up. he doesn’t pull away and until you yank him up by his hair, you stare at his soaked lips, your arousal dripping down his face. 

he lifts himself up to kiss you, feeding you your own cum, his hand comes up to grip your neck as you engage in a desperate kiss.

when he lets go of you to rid himself of his pants, your hand comes up to touch the wetness left on your cheek— it hits you that jake came all over his own hand while eating you out.

there was no way you were letting him out of your sight tonight.

───────────────────

sunghoon was giddy when he found out he could bring a plus one to the prada after party. he literally couldn’t wipe the grin off his face when he told you that you could accompany him.

but now he almost regrets it. 

since you were his plus one, you had gotten a free outfit from the brand. and god was it the best thing he’s ever seen you wear. but also the worst.

this wasn’t his only issue. you were his plus one. so why the fuck were you pretty much attached to jungwon at the hip? why were you ignoring him when he’s the reason you were there?

it’s not like he was angry either, instead he just really really wanted you right there next to him. he was so fucking horny. 

even before you both left the house to head over. he had no idea what the outfit looked like until you put it on and his eyes almost popped out of his head.

sunghoons also not really the type to voice his every thought to you, otherwise you both would’ve skipped the party entirely just to fuck.

well, he wasn't angry. but he can’t help it when the horniness eventually turns into pure sexual frustration. he leans further into the couch as he watches you bounce back and forth from jungwon and heeseung. 

your lonely boyfriend couldn’t even tell if he was jealous, angry or hurt. above all, he just wanted you to sit on his cock for the rest of the night. he understood that you were having fun, some of your other friends in the industry were also invited to this party but he couldn’t help but to feel so left out.

he almost groans as he watches you make your way to yet another one of his members. what about him? he’s here too! his cock twitches beneath his dress pants and he sets his hand with his drink on top of it, hoping it’s not obvious that he’s suffering at this very moment.

“you okay, man?” a voice calls from behind the couch, sunghoon looks up to see jake hovering. “you haven’t moved from that spot in about 40 minutes.”

sunghoon nods and shrugs, “can you tell my girlfriend to meet me over here? i haven’t seen her all night.” he lies through his teeth, he’s literally been watching you all night.

jake tilts his head in confusion, “uh, yeah. i’ll go get her, be right back.”

he taps his finger on his cup as he watches jake whisper in your ear, pointing behind him in his direction. you glance behind jake and sunghoon quickly averts his gaze.

you nod and respond to jake before making your way over to your boyfriend. 

sunghoon quickly downs his drink as he sees you walk towards him, a soft smile on your lips. so now you’re finally paying attention to him?

“what’s wrong, hoonie? jake said you needed me.” 

he nods, setting his drink down and grabbing your wrist instead, “yeah. i do need you, right fucking now.”

you don’t get a chance to question his words before he’s yanking you towards the furthest bathroom in the building. you’re heels almost make it too hard to keep up with him and you’re calling out his name but he’s too occupied on finding any empty bathroom to fuck you in.

sunghoon finally finds one, tugging you into it and slamming the door behind you and clicking the lock.

“what’s wrong, baby?” you ask him again.

“why are you talking to every single one of my members but not me?” 

you blink at him, surely you’ve interacted with him throughout the night. a smile grows on your face when it clicks. “awwe, hoonie! are you jealous?”

sunghoon grips your chin with his hand, “i’m not jealous. you ignored me, there’s a difference.”

“i wasn’t! and i’m here now, right?” 

he rolls his eyes, smushing his body against yours and the door. “baby seriously. need you so bad right now, i had to watch you talk to everyone while i was sitting there so fucking hard.”

your eyes widen slightly, “why didn’t you tell me?”

“god this fucking dress— i’m going insane.” he ignores your question completely, pulling the bottom of your dress up your thighs.

“sunghoon! we can’t- not here!” 

“mm, i don’t care.” sunghoon mutters as he pulls your dress above your hips. “told you i needed you, huh?”

he grips your hips and moves you against the fancy bathroom vanity, turning you around and laying you flat against the counter.

sunghoon ruts his clothed hardon over your own panty clad cunt. “feel it? feel how hard you make me all because a stupid dress?”

“y-yeah, hoonie.”

he sucks in a breath of air and yanks down your flimsy thong before practically ripping the button off his overpriced pants to free his angry cock.

you glance at him in the mirror when he aligns his leaking tip with your wet entrance. no amount of slick and arousal could make taking his size any easier.

“wait- baby i can’t take you like that..!” you pleaded with him.

sunghoon doesn't listen, stuffing you with his length, ripping a gasp from you, forcing you to throw a hand over your mouth to contain any more noises from you.

he wastes no time before beginning to pound into you, your hips slamming against the edge of the vanity with each thrust. you feel every vein against your walls and soon the initial pain turns into pleasure.

your boyfriend’s sloppy and brutal pace tells you just how fucking needy he’s been for the past few hours. sunghoons letting out a string of curses as he continues to abuse your cunt to chase the orgasm he’s been craving for so long.

“god. fuck- so fucking tight.” he groans out. “n-need it so bad.”

you’re biting your own hand to contain the noises that are desperately escaping your mouth, his pace making it impossible for you to stay silent. sunghoons bending over as he continues to fuck into you, gripping your throat as he leaves harsh bites on your shoulder— marks that’d be impossible to cover due to the thin and flimsy straps on your dress.

“shit—“ his movements stutter before hitting his peak, his warm cum filling up your insides but he doesn’t dare stop.

he continues to desperately thrust into you, overstimulating himself because he’s still so stupidly hard. grunts and whimpers are leaving his mouth, muffled by your neck and hair— but his noises only bring you closer to your own peak.

“hoon..! c-cumming, please.” 

even after you cream around his cock, his movements don’t stop. his thrusts are sloppy and his cock is knocking against your cervix, fucking you hard and deep all because he needs to cum again.

sunghoon lets out a loud groan as he finds himself emptying himself once more inside of you. rocking his hips slowly to ride himself through his second intense orgasm, it was almost painful.

he slips out of you with a grunt, his cock still half hard but he decided right there that the both of you would be leaving the party early.

[nicholasgoodgirl]

on set - nicholas chavez

summary: you came to bring nicholas food on set and he looks too good you gotta help him get off or maybe you're just doing it for yourself.

warning: oral (m receiving), almost caught ig.

a/n: i need this man bad 😩

--

i park my car and get the takeout my boyfriend asked me to get for him while he was on set.

i knocked on his trailer a few times then being met with him, Nicholas i can't lie he looked undeniably good.

a part of me feels bad because he's getting put into character for this role and i liked it. every bit of it.

the way his hair is styled, paired with the old money clothing. he was perfect. "you good?" not sure how long he was trying to get my attention but i just nod and walk into the trailer.

"you gonna be free tonight" i ask. Nicholas sits back down in the chair. "uh i don't think so" he checked the message he was given earlier this morning before coming to work

"yeah, no i won't be free why?" he asks giving me the perfect opportunity to perhaps get a quickie in before he has to actually get on screen again.

i walk up behind him, giving his shoulders a little massage then kissing his neck "I'd really liked if we could do something later" i try hinting to him that i wanted to fuck and im sure he caught on rather slowly than expected but he still did nonetheless.

"at work? what a needy girl" he coaxed. he took my hand in his and brung me infront of him.

nicholas manspreads his legs a bit so i can stand in between them "how bout you get that pretty little mouth to work then"

his cocky tone and the light pat on the side of my thigh; a signal for me to get on my knees sent my need for him through the roof.

i sunk to my knees not breaking eye contact. "this is what you wanted right?" he asked me with a smirk.

i give him a nod. but that wasn't enough for him he brings his thumb to my mouth dragging it across my lips "use your words baby" he cooed

"yeah- yes.. i want to do this." i fumble with his belt buckle, his eyes burning into my skull making me feel intimidated by his gaze.

i get the belt undone and pull his pants down, he lifts his hips a bit to help. "doin' so good already but-" he picks his phone up checking the time "-they're gonna need me in atleast 7 minutes" he places the phone back down.

his hard cock is freed from the confinement of his boxers. i put the head of his cock at my lips, kitty licking the tip before putting my mouth around him.

a low grunt is heard from him encouraging me to sink my mouth down further.

he grabs a handful of my hair and carelessly pushing my head down, i gag on his dick and im quick to remove my mouth off him "stoopp" i whine

"alright im sorry" he takes his hands away from my hair and puts them up surrendering.

a knock on the trailer door followed by a girl telling Nicholas he's needed on set. "5 more minutes!" he yells loud enough for the lady to hear from outside.

nicholas turns back to me and raises his eyebrows "see we don't have much time" he shrugs.

i wrap my mouth around him for the second time, already use to the length reaching the back of my throat.

he allows me to do whatever i please with my mouth; watching me take his length. i swallow around him and nearly choke when he accidentally jerks forward and thrusting down the back of my throat.

"shit.." nicholas drawls out throwing his head back at the feeling.

i change my pace, bobbing my head faster and using my hand to pump whatever i couldn't fit in my mouth. he whimpers softly, i looked up at him, his lips caught between his teeth, cheeks flushed and eyebrows knitted together while his eyes were screwed shut. perfect like i said before

"you're such a good girl f'me y'know that?" i hum in reaponse, the vibration around his cock made him moan loudly.

"sir are you ok?" the lady asked from outside; rattling the doorknob. "fine- just fine!" ,,give me one more minute please"

i swirl my tounge around his tip then using my hand to stroke him till he reaches his orgasm "m' close" he whimpers.

i put my mouth on the head of his cock and let him paint the back of my throat.

i wipe the sides of my mouth and rise from my knees while Nicholas pulls his underwear and pants back up. "lets finish up whenever i get home yeah?" he kisses my head and walks out the trailer.

[mrsbarnesblog]

wrecked

masterlist

summary: you get into an accident with Rafe's car

words count: 1.3k

warnings: car accident, Topper and Kelce🥸, protective Rafe

You didn’t want to take Rafe’s car at first. He usually was the one who drove you whenever and wherever you needed, insisting that he felt calmer about you being okay. But he was busy from an early morning at work, and you really didn’t want to disturb him, even if you desperately needed to go. 

Also, he didn’t mind you taking his car, even allowing you to practice on his favorite one. He just wanted you to be careful. Though you were always hesitant, not wanting to scratch it or accidentally break something, because you knew how much Rafe cherished his cars. 

So it was not your fault when some asshole drove on the red light. It happened so fast that you couldn’t even do anything about it. One moment you were driving down the street, and the next the sound of tires, breaking glass, and scratching metal filled your ears. Rafe’s car spun around from the force of the hit, and the airbags deployed, preventing you from hitting your head too hard, but it still knocked the wind out of you. Your hands were shaking on the steering wheel, your heart pounding in your ears louder than the car horn that wouldn’t stop blaring. 

You sat there, frozen, chest heaving as you tried to process what had just happened. Your ears were ringing, eyes darting around to make sense of the chaos. The taste of adrenaline coated your tongue, bitter and sharp.

People started to gather, voices muffled as if underwater. Someone knocked on the window, asking if you were okay, but all you could think about—stupidly, helplessly—was Rafe’s car. The one he waxed on weekends, the one he never let anyone else touch until you. And now it was ruined.

Your fingers struggled to unclasp the seatbelt. You were okay, you realized as you looked down to see whether there was blood or not. Maybe bruised, but okay. Still, tears welled up in your eyes from shock, guilt, and something else deeper you couldn’t quite name. A stranger helped you to get out of the car, holding you under your arm and asking you something, but you could not respond. Your eyes darted to another car, the men looking almost unbothered by what he had done. 

Just a few minutes later, an ambulance and police arrived, and you sat in the ambulance car, with a thin blanket over your shoulders, while a woman checked you. That’s when you saw Kelce and Topper walking nearby, and you could see the realization hit them, their faces changing. Topper whipped out his phone and started dialing. Kelce stood there, wide-eyed, like he’d just been in that car himself.

They didn’t even look at you at first.

Then the call ended. Fast.

“He hung up the second we told him.” Topper muttered, walking towards you looking with this weird mix of pity and disbelief. “He’s gonna lose it. You know how much he loves that car.”

“Yeah, he really fucking loves that car.” Kelce agreed, scratching the back of his head and looking at you with the same expression Topper did. “That’s literally his baby.”

You felt your stomach dropping, his friends’ words settling in and making your guilt even worse. Your hands trembled on your lap, whether from the adrenaline or from fear of Rafe’s anger. Would he snap? Would he hate you for that? You didn’t know, and you didn’t want to. 

But then he got there.

You saw Rafe before you even heard him. His blue truck was parked carelessly in the middle of the street, his eyes almost wild and hair in a mess, as he was scanning the people for you. He didn’t look at the wrecked car, the random people, or the police. Once his eyes found yours, he ran. 

Rafe felt like he could breathe again the moment his hands touched you. His arms wrapped around you so tight you could feel how hard he was shaking. Hands moved over you in frantic patterns—your face, your shoulders, your arms, your ribs—like he needed to feel each part of you to believe it wasn’t all some nightmare. 

The woman who was checking you looked at him sideways but didn’t say anything, probably noticing his trembling hands and wild eyes. She stepped aside, giving you some space, and you couldn’t be more grateful.

The warmth of his body and his familiar scent made you completely break down, nuzzling closer to him and sniffing. “I’m sorry.” You choked out, your voice barely audible, like the words were stuck in your throat. “I didn’t mean to take it—I just—I’m so sorry, Rafe.” You tugged at his shirt. “He-he crushed into me, I c-couldn’t do anything.”

Rafe pulled back, taking your face in his hands and shaking his head with a deep frown. The tears streamed freely down your face as all of the emotions finally got out. Rafe gently wiped them away with his thumbs, leaning even closer to you. “Sh-h, baby.” He mumbled. “I don’t give a fuck about the car, do you hear me? I thought you were hurt, I thought I might lose you.”

You stared at him, stunned. He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, just cupped your face like he was anchoring himself there.

“That’s the only thing I care about. You hear me? Not the car. You.”

​​Topper shifted awkwardly, glancing between the wrecked car and the two of you, a strange tension hanging in the air. His gaze flickered back to Rafe, and after a beat of hesitation, he finally spoke up, his voice laced with disbelief.

“Wait, hold up. You’re seriously not gonna care that your car’s wrecked?” He asked bluntly, tone edged with a mix of confusion and judgment. “It’s a fucking mess, Rafe. It costs a shitload of money.”

Kelce, standing beside him, nodded along, a skeptical frown crossing his face. “Yeah, dude, you always lose your shit over stuff like this. She wasn’t supposed to take your car in the first place. You’re just gonna let her—”

Rafe cut him off before he could finish the sentence, his voice low and dangerous. His grip tightened around you, pulling you a little closer, the protective instinct in him flaring up. “Shut the fuck up before I break your jaw.” He growled, his eyes hardening as he turned to face them, shielding you. “Don’t talk to her like that. Don’t even look at her. I’m not in the fucking mood for your dumbass jokes.”

Topper took a step back, hands raised in defense, his voice tight. "Hey, man, we were just—"

Rafe’s glare cut him off, his voice low but deadly. "I don’t give a shit about the fucking car, Top. My girl was in that car. You think I’m gonna give a damn about a stupid piece of metal when she could’ve got hurt?"

Kelce swallowed hard, clearly taken aback by Rafe’s intensity. "Rafe, we—"

"I said, shut the fuck up." Rafe repeated, stepping closer. "You wanna keep running your mouths, or do you wanna walk away with your teeth?"

For a moment, there was silence, the tension hanging thick in the air. The two of them just stood there, processing Rafe's fury, and then they both slowly backed away, glancing nervously at each other.

"Yeah... alright, man.” Topper muttered, still clearly rattled. "We get it."

“Then go.” Rafe didn’t take his eyes off them until they slowly turned and started to walk away, their pace quickening under his gaze. He exhaled sharply, shoulders still tense.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Rafe turned back to you, his face softening instantly, but there was still a fire in his eyes. He pulled you into his arms again, pressing his forehead against yours, the intensity of the moment lingering between you both.

"Don’t listen to them." He murmured, his breath shaky. "They don’t fucking get it. All I care about is you." His hands ran over your forearms to your neck. “And I promise that I’m gonna lock up the one who did it, baby. He will pay for it, for almost hurting you.”

You nodded, still shaken, but feeling a sense of relief wash over you as Rafe’s arms enveloped you again, grounding you in the safety of his presence.

[amoressb]

───── TWO IDIOTS IN LOVE 西村 力 N. RK

ꪆৎ ⋆˚࿔ just two best friends being oblivious to their love for each other ｡｡ bestfriend!riki x reader . fluff & wc. 1.0k ; kissing, skinship ｡｡

──── ARCHiVE

riki and you had been best friends since middle school. the type of best friends who communicated through facial expressions alone, who texted each other memes at three in the morning, and who had an entire language of inside jokes no one else could understand. you two bickered like an old married couple, stole food off each other’s plates without permission, and shared your wildest dreams without hesitation.

too bad you two were completely oblivious to the fact that you were in love with each other. so when riki surprised you with tickets to universal studios, you had tackled him in a hug, nearly knocking him over.

“you are officially my favorite person ever,” you declared, eyes sparkling. “i better be, these tickets were not cheap,” riki joked, though he looked pretty pleased with himself.

the moment you two stepped into the park, the chaos began. both running from ride to ride like little kids, shoving each other playfully as you two argued over what to do next. you screamed the loudest on roller coasters (riki swore you shattered his eardrum on jurassic world), while riki attempted to set a new personal record for how many butterbeer flavored treats a person could consume in one day.

“are you sure you should be eating another one?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as riki took a huge bite of a butterbeer flavored churro.

riki waved you off, “please, my stomach is built for this.”

not even an hour later, he was groaning on a bench, his head in your lap as you laughed mercilessly at his misery.

“laugh it up,” he grumbled. “oh, i will,” you teased, poking his cheek. “this is what you get for underestimating butterbeer.”

by nightfall, you two finally made your way to super nintendo world. the moment you stepped in, both of you were hit with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. the neon lit mushroom kingdom surrounded you and riki, the familiar game music playing softly in the background.

“riki.” you grabbed his arm, shaking him with excitement. “we’re in mario land!”

“i know,” riki grinned. “this is literally my childhood dream come true!”

“okay, we have to go on mario kart : bowsers challenge,” you said, practically vibrating with excitement.

“oh, absolutely,” riki agreed. “and i’m so ready to destroy you.”

“in your dreams, loser.”

as soon as you got into your karts, the competition began. you threw yourselves into the ride, dodging banana peels, throwing shells, and laughing way too hard when one of you got hit. by the time you two stumbled off, breathless and giddy, you and him were still arguing about who had won.

“i definitely won,” you declared.

“you literally lost at the finish line,” riki shot back. “just accept that i’m superior.”

“please yeah right—” you groaned and shoved his shoulder.

it was supposed to be playful, but riki, being the clumsy guy that he was, lost his balance. instinctively, he grabbed onto your wrist, but that just made you stumble too and suddenly—you two crashed into each other.

your faces were way too close.

neither of you moved. you could feel rikis breath against your lips and you were very aware of the fact that your hands were gripping his hoodie while his fingers were curled around your wrist.

everything around you—the neon lights, the distant game music, the sound of other people laughing—blurred into the background. the only thing that existed in that moment was him.

and then riki, looking dazed and definitely not thinking straight, mumbled, “if i kissed you right now, would that be really stupid or only kind of stupid?”

your brain short circuited. “wh—” you opened your mouth, but no words came out. “did you just—”

riki blinked, his own words catching up to him. his face immediately turned bright red. “i—i didn’t mean to say that out loud,” he stammered.

you stared at him, your heart pounding. the worst part? you didn’t hate the idea. in fact, it was like something clicked in your brain—all the teasing, all the lingering touches, all the everything suddenly made sense.

“oh my gosh,” you whispered. “what?” riki asked nervously.

“i’m in love with you.” the words slipped out before you could stop them and as soon as you said them, your eyes went wide. “oh no.”

“oh no?” riki repeated, staring at you. “why oh no?”

“because..” you groaned, covering your face. “because now i can’t pretend i don’t have feelings for you and now our friendship is going to be so weird, and i—”

“y/n.”

you peeked through your fingers. riki was staring at you, wide eyed, looking like you had just revealed the greatest secret in the universe and then…he grinned.

“you love me,” he repeated, and he sounded way too smug about it. you scowled, “shut up.”

“no, this is amazing,” riki said, his grin widening. “because guess what?”

“what.”

“i’m also in love with you.”

you blinked. “wait…what?”

“you heard me,” riki said, rocking back on his heels. “i love you. i have probably always loved you and if we weren’t in the middle of mario land, i would definitely be kissing you right now.” you gaped at him, “we’re in mario land, riki.”

“i know,” he smirked. “which is why i’m gonna kiss you right here and make it the most iconic confession in history.”

you barely had time to react before riki leaned in, his hand cupping your cheek as he kissed you—warm, soft, and so so long overdue. eventually you melted into him, your hands fisting his hoodie.

when you pulled apart, your face was on fire. “that was—”

“amazing?” riki grinned. “i was gonna say stupid, but sure.” riki laughed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “you totally lost mario kart, by the way.” you groaned, “you’re lucky i love you.”

“yeah you do” he smiled. you rolled your eyes playfully with a smile as you lean into his arms, head sort of resting on his shoulder/chest, his hand that was around your shoulder intertwined with your right hand.

and just like that, two oblivious idiots in love finally got their happy ending…at mario land, of all places.

⋆｡°✩ @miukidoll @liwinly @sugarikiz

[peachesofteal]

you bake when you’re upset or stressed - ghoap/f!reader

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," the quiver in your voice doesn't do much to dispel Simon's suspicion, and you toss the bowl full of brownie batter onto the counter. "I'm fine."

"You're baking at three in the morning, sweetheart. Did something happen?"

"I had a bad day, is all. It's nothing." The lie hisses through your teeth, jaw set tight as an attempt to keep everything bottled up where it belongs.

"What's going on?" Johnny's leaning against the counter in plaid pajama pants, gold ring on the chain around his neck glinting in the dimmed light of the kitchen. They both wear them, the rings, the ones complementing yours, a delicate twist of three threads, woven together to make one tight knit strand, looped together in a knot at the top of your finger where a diamond would normally go.

"Baked goods in the middle of the night." Simon sticks his finger in the batter, and gives you a knowing look. "You know I'll keep you here until you let it out." You shake your head.

"Let's go back tae bed then." Johnny's trying to coax you, gently, as always. It's his way. Soft, slow, sweet. Even keeled and sensitive.

Still, you won't budge.

It's not them. It's something else, something unsettled in your stomach you can't explain. It's you. Always you. Distraught. Disorganized. Disappointing.

"I need to finish these." Simon's focus is one of a predator's, and you're always prey. Analyzing, anticipating, nose to the ground on a scent. He’s already got you pegged, turned inside out. He knows.

When Johnny carefully wraps his fingers around your wrist and Simon hops onto the counter with his knees spread wide, you know you're done for.

You let them arrange you. Let Johnny push you between Si's thighs and cup your face, stroke your cheek. You go willingly, lacking a fight that was so prevalent only an hour before.

It takes two minutes of physical touch before you're crumbling.

"I had a terrible day," you sob, "I got a parking ticket and spilled my tea and missed an important email and then I bailed out of my work out halfway because I was miserable and then I didn't do anything at home, I wasn't productive, I didn't get any of the laundry done like I wanted and I left so many dirty dishes in the sink last night, I-"

"Okay, hey." Johnny rubs your arm, "hey, ye're alright dove. Ye're okay." He knocks his forehead against yours. "Jus' breathe f'me. Just breathe." You suck a long gasp in through your lungs, Simon tightening his hold enough to ground you.

"Who cares about the laundry? It's not even your week, and the dishes are our fault. You worked all day, we laid around. Should have done them."

"I know!" You cry, "I mean... you should have. But I left them and I feel like I'm always so disorganized, I'm always making a fucking mess."

"I'd clean up your mess everyday. I love you, your dishes and whatever else… none of it matters." Simon kisses your temple, "we both would. And there's nothing wrong with calling it during a workout if you're not feeling well. That's the right thing to do." You nod miserably, lingering in their hold, their arms, your heart rate slowly sinking back into a normal rhythm, your air coming easily.

"Now, do ye really want these brownies? Or do ye want to put the batter in the fridge?"

"Batter in the fridge." You press your face into Simon's shoulder, blocking out the light. You're suddenly so tired, energy drained from the emotional purge, and Johnny rubs your back.

"I'll put it away, ye two go get in bed. Put on a movie, an' I'll be in."

The bed is the coziest place in the house. The safest. The warmest. It's so easy to succumb to sleep and sweet dreams here, so it's no wonder by the time Johnny makes it back, you're barely awake. He tugs you away from Simon's snores and into his arms. "Ah love ye, dove. Messes an' all." You smile.

"I love you too."

[sainns]

ㅤ 𓈒 𓈒　 WITH EASE, in which hyung line helps you with your kid.

( 형 ) fem ! r ㅤ ◦ ㅤ 1632wc fluff ㅤ──ㅤ w jake's reader has twins, sunghoon is a single dad, set kid names in jay and hoon's.

from anna. for fave @junislqve my biggest fan 💌 she gave me a lot of ideas for this ty

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ REBLOGS ´ ᯅ ` FEEDBACK.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ LEE HEESEUNG.

you walk into your apartment, dropping your keys onto the counter as you slip off your coat. your tired expression is replaced with a bright smile when you see heeseung watching tv on your couch. you sit down next to him, gaining just enough energy to ask if your son is asleep.

“yeah, he actually went to bed pretty early today,” he stands, “do you want something to eat? i saved some food for you, i just need to heat it up.”

you nod, watching him walk away before closing your eyes. the exhaustion of your job has finally caught up to you and you might’ve fallen asleep if not for heeseung’s updates about him and your son’s day.

lee heeseung is your own personal angel, you think. your neighbor turned babysitter turned weird situationship; at least in your perspective. he takes care of you almost as much as he takes care of your three year old son. he’s at your apartment more than he is his own (that’s mainly your fault) and you’ve grown used to coming home to him almost every day.

you hear him say your name and your eyes flutter open to see the sympathetic smile he has on his face and it’s so gorgeous, he might as well break your heart now before you fall for him any deeper.

“it’s okay if you sleep for a bit, you’re tired,” he says oh-so matter-of-factly, because he knows you now, “i’ll wake you up in an hour.”

it’s more than an hour later, when you feel heeseung’s hand on your cheek, rubbing under your eye. he notices you beginning to wake up and pulls his hand away, “you should go eat now, ‘kay? the food is on the counter. i’m gonna go ahead and go home."

you sit up, frowning, “sorry, but can you stay? just until i finish eating, i’m sorry.”

he stares at you, silent for what feels like hours, and it makes you regret opening your mouth. you blame it on your drowsiness—you know that if you were in your right mind you wouldn’t have asked him even if you really did want him to stay. to your surprise, however, he grins.

“yeah, i can stay.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ PARK JONGSEONG.

you send jay a text, apologizing for the fifth time this month for backing out on your date. he’s probably becoming more annoyed with you each time you cancel, but it’s really not your fault.

for the past few days you haven’t been able to find a babysitter for your daughter. her usual one, jaehyun, was out of town, and your back up sitters all had plans or ended up canceling last minute due to personal problems.

you rise from your position on your couch, deciding you should get dinner started for the two of you. before you’re able to, however, you hear a set of soft knocks on your door. you go to open it without bothering to look out the peephole, figuring it was one of your neighbors coming to ask for something.

“hello—oh. jay?” your eyes widen when you process the fact that it’s your boyfriend at the door. he was probably the last person you expected.

“hey,” he gives you that smile that never ceases to make your heart almost stop.

“why’re you here? wait, nevermind. i’m really sorry about canceling last minute, the babysitter couldn’t come,” while you’re talking, you gesture for jay to come inside, shutting the door once he slips off his shoes.

“i’m not mad, these things happen,” he places a kiss on your forehead, lifting up a bag of groceries, “i figured we could still have dinner together, just with an extra person.”

“jay, you didn’t have to. i feel bad.”

and he really didn’t, but he did.

“i was going to buy dinner anyway. a home cooked meal is better, no?” he walks further into your apartment, setting down the bag on the small counter. “where’s gen at?”

“oh, she’s in—”

genevieve cuts you off, all but squealing as she runs out of her room with a toothy grin, “mommy, jj’s here?”

you don’t have time to scold her for running in the house because she immediately throws herself into jay’s arms, the man picking her up with ease, “woah. hey, sweet girl. what are up to, huh?”

you smile as they have a conversation, acting like best friends who haven’t seen each other in months. it melts your heart—genevieve liked jay from the day that she met him all those months ago and you know that jay loves genevieve like she’s his own. he’s definitely someone you want to keep around for as long as possible, if not for you but for your daughter as well.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ SIM JAEYUN.

your two kids run up to your best friend, fighting each other for a spot in his arms. they don’t fight for long because he easily lifts the two children up. he says hi to them and asks them about their day before stepping inside your apartment and kicking the door shut. once his conversation with the kids dies out, he looks at you with a smug smile on his face.

“they like me more than you,” he says instead of a normal greeting.

“that’s because you spoil them every time they see you.”

“they like me because i’m me,” he sticks his tongue out at you, “huh, guys, you love me, don’t you? your mommy’s just jealous.”

“you’re actually annoying,” you reach up, taking advantage of his occupied hands, flicking his forehead and quickly escaping to your kitchen before he can even think to retaliate against you.

he immediately sets the twins down, telling them to go play while he goes to help you with whatever you’re doing. he waits until he hears the faint sound of them pulling out their toys to go towards your makeshift hideout.

he creeps up behind you, being as quiet as possible. you’re popping a bag of popcorn, thankfully too focused on that than him and his whereabouts. he stifles a laugh, poking your side hard enough for you to curl in on yourself.

“oh my fu—jake, what the heck?” you scold him, hitting his shoulder.

he laughs, holding his hands up in surrender, “sorry! i had to get you back. i think you gave me a concussion.”

he assumes you notice the popping slowing down and you turn away from him, taking the bag out of the microwave. he can’t see your face but he knows you’re rolling your eyes when you speak, “please, i barely touched you.”

“that’s what you think.”

you don’t give him the pleasure of the response, ignoring him to instead pour the bag of popcorn into a bowl.

“thank you,” you say suddenly, turning around once more, “i was thinking and, you know, i don’t really say it enough.”

“you don’t–” he starts to say, but you interrupt him by grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers together.

“i do. you’ve been really helpful lately. so, thank you.”

“um”, he hesitates, “i love them and i love you. ‘course i’m gonna help.”

you smile, dropping jake’s hand and going back to preparing for your weekly movie night. he misses the warmth of your hand almost instantly, and he has to resist the urge to pull you back against him in a hug.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ PARK SUNGHOON.

he can’t help but think that this is too crazy to be a coincidence. you, the pretty mom he gained a mini-crush on at the park a couple months ago, now at his house with your son who just so happens to be his son’s new best friend. maybe whatever divine being that’s up there finally took pity on him and decided to give his bleak love life some color.

he slides over a glass of cold water to where you’re sitting and the smile of gratitude you give him could probably cause car crashes from how dazzling it is. sunghoon can see your lips moving, but can make out no sound. he’s too dazed from being in your presence to process anything other than the fact that you’re sitting in his house.

“...live with you.”

he comes back to reality, only catching the end of your sentence and blinks, “what? sorry, i spaced out."

obviously, he’s going to need more context because logically he knows you aren’t saying what he thinks you are—you’ve only known each other for a month—but he can’t think of anything else that would make sense.

“theo said he wanted to come live with you and yejun,” you say, amusement dancing across your face.

“oh,” he takes in your words, “really?”

“yeah, he was begging me earlier. so..” you pause to take a drink and he has to look away, “if you’re okay with it, can he spend the night?”

he agrees to it with a little too much enthusiasm. of course, this is mainly for yejun and theo—strengthening their friendship, helping them gain a lasting relationship or whatever—but it gives him an excuse to see you again tomorrow.

around twenty minutes later, sunghoon walks you out, his hands in his pockets. you told the boys about the sleepover, said bye to the both of them, told theo to be good and that you love him.

“i have a spare toothbrush and he can wear some of yejun’s pajamas, so don’t worry about coming back.”

“okay, perfect. um, i’ll see you tomorrow?”

“yeah, tomorrow,” he watches you walk to your car, waving as you drive off.

sunghoon knows for a fact that he’s fucked—he already wants to hear you say that all of the time; that you’ll see him tomorrow and the next day and the next. he feels like a teenager all over again, already thinking about what he’s going to wear and say tomorrow morning.

[coolemmasulivan2]

A Beautiful Mess | 1

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Two neighbors who can’t stand each other, until an accidental kiss changes everything.

Word count: 2846

You can read part 2 here, part 3 here and part 4 here.

But close ain't close enough 'Till we cross the line So name a game to play And I'll roll the dice, hey

You and Lando Norris had a problem with each other. There was no denying it. Something about the other person made your skin prickle with irritation, like an itch you couldn't scratch.

You were a Monegasque kindergarten teacher, a job that suited you perfectly. You adored kids. Their joy and innocence made your life simpler.

Monaco had always been your sanctuary: peaceful, elegant, yours. But that changed the moment Lando moved in next door a few years back.

You got along with everyone. It was just who you were. Friendly, patient, easygoing. But him? He was the exception. Loud, cocky, and an absolute menace of a neighbor. Even if he spent most of the year traveling, when he was home, he made sure you knew. The roaring engines, the late-night laughter, the endless stream of people coming and going. It was chaos wrapped in luxury.

He could've lived anywhere. He had the money. But somehow, out of all the places in Monaco, he chose your building.

"I guess Lando's back?" Your sister said, raising an eyebrow as loud music blasted from the apartment next door.

You let out a deep sigh, chopping vegetables with more force than necessary. "He's been back for a while… unfortunately."

A smirk tugged at her lips. "Let me guess, he did something already?"

"Oh, just parked in my spot today. Again." You shot her an exasperated look before slamming the knife against the cutting board. "Someday I'll kill him. I swear."

She chuckled. "Maybe he's running out of places to park his collection."

"I don't care!" You huffed. "He's a billionaire, he can buy a garage. Or better yet, move to a bigger place and stop being my problem."

"You know he does all of this just to piss you off, right?" Your sister said as she sat at the dining table, watching you set down the salad. "You should just ignore him."

"I know!" You groaned, sinking into the chair across from her. "But I can't. He's impossible to ignore. He knows exactly how to push my buttons."

Lando and Max were deep into a racing simulator session, music blasting through the apartment as they waited for their food to be ready.

It was Max's turn on the sim, but the pounding music was messing with his concentration. "Dude, the music... turn it down." He grumbled, eyes locked on the screen.

Lando barely glanced up from his phone. "Why?"

"Because I can't focus! It's too damn loud." Max tried to keep his attention on the race. "Someone's going to complaine about the noise." Then a thought struck him. He paused the race and shot Lando a knowing look. "Wait a second… You want this, don't you?"

Lando shrugged. "No idea what you're talking about."

Max scoffed. "Bullshit. You're trying to piss her off. You want her to came here. That's why the music's so loud. What's your problem with her?"

Lando smirked, eyes flicking back to his phone. "It's fun watching her all worked up."

Max shook his head, half amused, half exasperated. "You know, she's actually really nice."

Lando snorted. "To you and everyone else. Not to me."

"Yeah, because you're an asshole."

Lando finally dropped his phone onto the desk and leaned back in his chair. "She's been like that since day one. She started it."

"And instead of finding out why, you just decided to make things worse." Max said, shaking his head. "Classic you!"

Before Lando could fire back, a knock on the door echoed through the apartment.

His smirk widened. "Told you, she can't stay away." He pushed up from his seat, heading for the door.

Max groaned, calling after him, "Dude, be nice, please!"

You bit your nails, pacing as you waited for Lando to answer his door. Normally, you were a calm and patient person. But Lando Norris had a talent for bringing out the absolute worst in you. And the worst part? He enjoyed it. You knew he did.

Inside your apartment you heard the door finally open.

"Hi!" Your sister's voice rang out, soft and sweet, just like she always was. Unlike you, she had never raised her voice in frustration, not even to assholes like Lando.

"Oh, hi!" Lando's voice dripped with warmth, and you immediately rolled your eyes. Of course, he could turn on the charm when he wanted to.

"Sorry to bother you…"

"No problem!" He said. You nearly gagged.

"Could you turn the music down a little?" Your sister asked politely.

"Yeah, of course. Sorry about that, I didn't even realize it was that loud. Really, I'm so sorry."

Your jaw nearly hit the floor.

You had stood at his door countless times, asking the same thing, and every single time, he would gave you a cocky remark, or worst of all, he'd turned the music up louder just to spite you. But with your sister? He was suddenly the picture of politeness.

You were seconds away from storming out of your apartment to tell him exactly what you thought of his two-faced behavior, but your sister's voice stopped you.

"I appreciate it. Goodnight."

"Goodnight!" Lando replied smoothly. You let out a deep breath, leaning your head against the wall in frustration. Your sister had just started pushing the door open when Lando added: "Oh, and say hi to your sister for me."

That was it. You clenched your fists, shoving past your sister, ready to wipe that smug grin off his face, but before you could get a single word out, his door clicked shut.

"I hate him so much."

From the other side of the door, Lando grinned like an idiot, watching you through the peephole as you stomped away in frustration.

"There's just something special about pissing her off." He mused, clearly enjoying himself.

Max, standing behind him with his arms crossed, let out a sigh. "You're an idiot."

Two days had passed since your sister left for Rome, where she lived with her boyfriend. You were alone again, not that it bothered you. Your parents still lived in Monaco, in the house you grew up in, and you saw them almost every day.

One of the things you loved most about Monaco was being so close to the ocean. Every morning, as soon as you opened your bedroom window, you would close your eyes and breathe it in—the salty air, the gentle breeze, the familiar scent that made you feel at home. It was the perfect way to start the day, making your morning run that much easier.

Like always, before heading to work, you laced up your shoes and stepped outside. Today was no exception.

You had been running for a while, sweat clinging to your skin as your breath fell into a steady rhythm. The music playing softly in your ears didn't drown out the sounds of the city.

Lost in thought, you instinctively turned toward your building, crossing the road without a second glance.

The loud sound of tires screeching against the asphalt snapped you out of your trance. A rush of air whooshed past as a sleek car came to a sudden stop just inches from you. Your heart leaped into your throat, your body reacting before your mind caught up. You stumbled back and before you could stop yourself, you were on the ground.

The driver's side door swung open, and before you even looked up, you knew exactly who it was.

Lando stepped out, his expression a mix of worry and frustration, but before he could speak, you were already pushing yourself to your feet, your hands shaking slightly from the adrenaline.

"Are you insane?" You snapped, ripping your airpods out. "You almost ran me over!"

His brows shot up. "Me? You're the one who ran straight into the road without looking!"

You opened your mouth to argue, but the truth of his words sank in. Still, there was no way you were letting him win this. "Maybe if you weren't driving like a lunatic--"

Lando scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "Driving like a lunatic? I was literally pulling out of the garage."

You huffed, brushing the dirt off your leggings. "What if it was a kid crossing instead of me?"

"Then I would've stopped, just like I did now." He shot back. "But you... You didn't even look before stepping onto the road! What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that I wouldn't have to worry about being flattened by my obnoxious neighbor before eight in the morning!"

Lando shook his head, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You're unbelievable."

"You're infuriating."

"You're dramatic."

"You're--"

"Y/n?" A new voice cut through the tension, making both of you turn. Standing a few feet away was your kindergarten director. Dressed in his usual grey suit, he raised an eyebrow at the two of you. "Is everything alright?" He asked.

You cleared your throat, suddenly aware of how ridiculous this must have looked, standing in the middle of the street, flustered, sweaty, and arguing with a F1 driver.

"Yes, everything's fine!" You said quickly, forcing a polite smile.

Monsieur Bernard nodded, then glanced at Lando. "I didn't realize you knew such a famous driver, Y/n!" He stretched his hand and Lando shook it.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. "We're just neighbors."

Lando grinned. "Very close neighbors."

You shot him a glare, but before you could say anything, Monsieur Bernard continued. "You know, our little ones love racing. It would be wonderful if you could visit the school sometime, talk to the kids about it."

"Oh!" You forced a polite chuckle. "I'm sure Lando is far too busy. I wouldn't want to take up his time."

Lando, to your absolute horror, shrugged. "Actually, I think it's a great idea." You snapped your head toward him, eyes wide. "Yeah, why not? I've got some time before the season starts again. I'd love to come by."

Monsieur Bernard smiled. "That's wonderful! Y/n, can you please set everything up?" You smiled and nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Norris. It was nice to meet you."

"Likewise." As Monsieur Bernard walked away, you groaned, rubbing your temples. Lando chuckled, slipping his hands into his pockets. "See? I can be a good neighbor."

You exhaled sharply, turning on your heel toward your building. "I hope the kids throw paint at you."

Lando chuckled, watching you storm off, clearly frustrated with how the day had started. His gaze lingered for a moment longer than necessary and not even he could deny that your ass looked good on those leggings.

"Stop it, Lando!" He muttered to himself, shaking his head as if it would physically shake the thoughts away. "Don't go there."

With a deep breath, he slid back into his car, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary. Without another glance at the building, he drove off.

You lay in bed, scrolling through your phone, hoping to lull yourself to sleep. The soft glow of the screen was the only light in the room, your thumb moving lazily over the screen, until something in your feed made you pause.

Your eyes narrowed as you clicked on the reel. A fan edit of your annoying neighbor filled your screen, all set to a song that did nothing to make him look innocent. Quite the opposite.

Your breath hitched slightly, your eyes locked on the video as if trapped in some kind of trance. The way he carried himself, the confidence, the effortless charm-- No. Absolutely not.

The reel restarted, snapping you out of whatever trance had just taken over you. With a horrified gasp, you jolted upright, tossing your phone onto the bed like it had burned you.

"Ugh-- no. What the hell?" You threw a pillow at your phone, like the device was alive. "Even on my phone?" You groaned, burying your face in your hands.

This man was infiltrating every corner of your life. And you hated it.

The day had arrived.

The kids had been buzzing with excitement all week, their energy doubling ever since they learned that Lando Norris was coming to visit. It didn't matter that half of them were too young to understand F1, but the mere idea of someone fast and famous coming to their school had them bouncing off the walls. You, on the other hand, were bracing yourself for chaos.

You had done your best to keep the kids calm, but by the time the morning rolled around, they were practically vibrating with anticipation. What car does he drive? Will he let us race? Can he do drive in the playground?

And then, Lando arrived. Dressed in his McLaren clothes, sunglasses and wearing that signature smile.

The kids lost their minds. "Landoooooo!" The group rushed toward him, bombarding him with questions before he could even say a word.

"Whoa, whoa, one at a time!" Lando laughed, crouching down to be at their level.

You stood at a distance, arms crossed, watching as he handled the chaos with surprising ease.

"Can you drive faster than Batman?"

"Can we race you?"

"Do you get scared when you go super fast?"

Lando hesitated for a second, then grinned. "Sometimes! But that's what makes it exciting."

You rolled your eyes. Still, you couldn't deny that the kids adored him. They hung onto their seats, eyes wide with fascination as he described what it felt like to race at over 300 km/h, how he trained, and even how he sometimes got nervous before big races.

Somewhere in the middle of the chaos, you realized that Lando was actually good at this. He had their full attention, something you usually had to work twice as hard for.

And then, as if sensing your thoughts, he caught your eye from across the room and winked, making you gag.

Unfortunately for Lando, someone else caught the moment.

A little girl sitting nearby tilted her head curiously, her big eyes flicking between the two of you. "Is Miss Y/n your girlfriend?" She asked innocently.

Lando, who had just taken a sip of water, immediately started coughing. He nearly choked, hand flying to his chest as he struggled to recover. "What?"

You, on the other hand, wanted the earth to swallow you whole. The rest of the kids, now very interested, turned toward you both with excited expressions.

"Is that why you're here?" Another girl asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

"Do you live together?" A boy asked before Lando could even recover from the first question.

Lando, still slightly choking, looked horrified.

"Nope!" You cut in quickly, clapping your hands together in a desperate attempt to redirect the conversation. "Who wants to show Lando their artwork?"

A chorus of Me! Me! Me! erupted, and just like that, the kids forgot all about their matchmaking attempts, eagerly rushing to grab their drawings.

You let out a slow breath, glancing at Lando, who was still lightly hitting his chest.

"What the hell just happened?" He asked, his voice still uneven.

You crossing your arms. "They're kids, Lando! If you wink at their teacher, this is what you get."

"A vision of a nightmare?"

You shot him a glare. "Asshole!"

He smirked. "Such a dirty mouth for a kindergarten teacher."

Your jaw clenched. You took a deep breath, forcing a smile as sweet as honey. "And yet, still more mature than a F1 driver."

Lando grinned, leaning in just a little. "Debatable."

Before you could walk away from Lando, chaos erupted.

"Me first!"

"No, me!"

Two of the kids appeared out of nowhere, each clutching their artwork, too focused on their battle to notice where they were going. Straight into you.

You barely had time to react before they crashed into your legs, making you lose balance.

"Oh--"

Lando was sat in a chair right in front of you, and before you could steady yourself, you stumbled forward and fell right into him.

His hands instinctively came up to catch you, but it was too late. Your lips brushed against his. It was barely a touch, but enough to make the world stop.

The kids were still yelling, the classroom still buzzing with energy, completely unaware of what had just happened, but all you could register was the way your lips were still touching.

You quickly pulled back, eyes wide, heart racing. Lando blinked up at you, looking just as stunned, his lips slightly parted as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

You straightened, feeling warmth creeping up your neck,

"This is my drawing." One of the kids said, tugging at Lando's sleeve. "It's a boat and this is my dad."

That snapped Lando out of it. He cleared his throat and looked away from you. "Wow, that's amazing! You're so talented."

You turned away quickly, your pulse still hammering as you focused on the children, pretending like nothing had happened.

Lando rubbed the back of his neck, still looking anywhere but at you.

For once, there were no smirks, no teasing, just the feeling that something between you had just shifted.

[mercvry-glow]

Where we fit

parings. jack abbot x wife!reader

warnings. none really! implied age gap, but not mentioned (jack late 40s, reader late 20s early 30s), they're parents, dogs, it's just really soft and sweet!

notes. technically a continuation of busy bee but can be read as a stand alone! I really loved it and thought they could all use a moment to themselves. as always enjoy and feedback is majorly appreciated and I love each and every one of you!

wc. 1400+

busy bee

There were very few things Jack Abbot liked to do with his free time. Truthfully, he barely knew what free time was—life as Trauma Attending had a way of swallowing hours whole. But when the stretch of days off did roll around, there was nothing he loved more than being with his wife and their five-year-old son, Lucas.

Especially at the park, with a brand new t-ball set, two excited dogs, and the kind of sunshine that made you forget the world could be dark at all.

“Alright, Lukey,” Jack said, kneeling beside his son in the grass, “feet apart, eyes on the ball, and don’t swing like you’re trying to launch it into orbit this time.”

Lucas grinned, missing both his front teeth, and adjusted his grip on the tiny bat with all the seriousness of a pro athlete. “I’m gonna hit it so far, Daddy.”

Your German Shepherd—Ranger—stood alert nearby, tail wagging like a metronome of anticipation. Your Bernese puppy, Riley, was happily chewing on one of the old ropes Jack had brought, completely uninterested in the game.

Jack glanced over his shoulder to where you were sitting on the blanket, hair loose and sunlit, watching the both of them with that warm, quiet smile that made him fall in love all over again. You raised your iced tea in a mock toast when you caught his eye.

“Ready!” Lucas shouted.

Jack stepped back with a mock-serious nod. “Let’s see what you’ve got, slugger.”

Lucas swung hard. Too hard. The bat whooshed above the tee and nearly sent the kid spinning in a circle. He stumbled, caught himself, and looked up with wide eyes.

Jack tried to keep a straight face, but failed miserably. “Okay, maybe orbit was a little ambitious.”

Lucas burst into laughter, running to reset the ball. Ranger barked in encouragement, waiting to chase after a ball.

Jack glanced back at you again—this little pocket of peace and joy the two of you had carved out of a chaotic world—and felt something deep in his chest.

Yeah. This? This was everything.

Eventually Lucas connected on his third swing, the ball sailing a solid ten feet before plopping into the grass. Ranger took off after it like it had been launched from a cannon, barking triumphantly. Riley followed behind, mostly just excited that everyone else was excited.

“That was a good one!” Jack called, clapping as Lucas threw his arms up in the air like he’d just hit a grand slam at the World Series.

“I did it, Mommy!” Lucas yelled, already sprinting back toward the blanket.

You reached out to pull him into your lap, laughing as he nearly knocked over the half full tea. “You crushed it, baby. Think you could show me how it’s done?”

Jack walked over and dropped beside the both of you, brushing his hand across the back of your bare shoulder as he sat. “I think we’ve got a future MVP on our hands.”

Lucas beamed and turned his attention to the dogs, who were now wrestling each other near the tree line, the t-ball forgotten. “Ranger’s not sharing,” he declared with authority, then ran off again to referee the two canines.

Jack leaned back on his hands and looked over toward you, soaking it all in—the quiet, the warmth, the way Lucas’s laughter carried across the breeze like music. “God, he’s getting big.”

“He really is,” you said, watching your son try to wrestle the ball out of Riley’s mouth. “It’s weird. Some days he still feels like our baby. And then other days I blink and swear I’m already seeing the teenager.”

Jack chuckled. “Please don’t say that. I’m not ready for puberty. Or girls. Or him learning sarcasm.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “He already has your sarcasm.”

“Not possible. I am the gold standard of maturity.”

You snorted into your drink and gave him a playful shove.

You both sat like that for a while—quiet, happy. Jack let the sun warm his face and watched his family, wondering how he’d gotten lucky enough to land here. The job, the shift work, the exhaustion—all of it faded in the presence of this moment.

No sirens. No beeping monitors. Just grass-stained knees, wagging tails, and his wife’s hand finding his, fingers lacing together like they belonged that way.

Because they did.

Not long after the sun began its slow dip toward the horizon, casting golden light across the grass and tinting everything in soft amber. Lucas was finally worn out—shirt rumpled, cheeks flushed, hands sticky from the popsicle Jack had gotten him from the ice cream truck that rolled by a few minutes earlier. He was lying on the blanket now, Riley curled up against his side like a warm, fuzzy pillow, her oversized paws twitching in sleep.

Ranger sat a little ways off, tongue out, eyes alert, watching the path like the loyal grump he was. The world felt quiet in a way that only parks at dusk can be—just the occasional bark in the distance, the rustle of wind through trees, and the whisper of Jack’s laugh as you carefully attempted to fold the picnic blanket with a five-year-old and two dogs trying to “help.”

“We really should start bringing an actual bag instead of stuffing everything in the backseat like college kids,” you said, raising an eyebrow at the pile of snacks, sunscreen, a half-bucket of baseballs, and two random socks that had somehow lost their mates.

Jack smirked and leaned down to grab a tangle of leashes and water bottles. “But that would require additional planning. And maturity. Two things I gave up when I decided to become a father.”

You let out a small laugh, light and tired in the best way. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Oh, I know,” he said, brushing past her to drop the stuff by the truck. “It’s basically all I’ve got going for me.”

You rolled her eyes, but the smile lingered. Turning back toward the blanket, you paused—Lucas was fast asleep now, lips parted, one chubby hand still clutching Riley’s paw. The puppy didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“I’ll get him,” Jack said, already moving before you had even thought to ask.

He crouched down the best he could, gathered his son into his arms with practiced ease, and cradled him against his chest. Lucas murmured something half-asleep and tucked his face into Jack’s shoulder.

“Smells like grass and juice,” Jack muttered with a grin. “Definitely mine.”

He carried Lucas to the truck, gently settling him into the booster seat and pulling the straps over his little shoulders without waking him. While you wrangled the dogs next—Riley, reluctantly giving up her spot beside Lucas, and Ranger, who jumped into the back with the energy of a dog half his age.

By the time they finished packing up, the sky had deepened to that rich, dusky blue, and the first few stars were peeking out.

You leaned against the passenger side door, arms crossed loosely, watching Jack close up the truck bed. He turned and caught your gaze—soft, tired eyes, full of that quiet kind of love that doesn’t need to be said out loud.

But he said it anyway. In his way.

“Days like this… they save me,” he said, voice low. “More than you know.”

You  stepped into him, arms sliding around his waist, resting your cheek against his chest. “I do know,” you whispered.

His arms came around you without hesitation, holding you close, swaying a little in the cool evening air. No rush. No urgency. Just the slow, steady beat of his heart against your ear and the peace of a day well spent.

He pressed a kiss into your hair. “Let’s do it again next weekend.”

“You always say that,” you said teasingly.

“And I always mean it,” Jack replied, voice full of something warm and unwavering.

You both  stayed like that for another beat, the kind of stillness that makes everything else feel far away.

Then the dogs barked from the backseat, clearly ready to go, and Lucas stirred with a tiny snore that made you both laugh quietly.

Jack opened the truck door for you, still holding your hand, and helped you up into the seat before walking around to the driver’s side.

The truck rumbled to life, and as you pulled away from the park, the dogs curled up in the back, and Lucas sleeping soundly, Jack reached over and let his fingers find yours again on the console.

Still, always, home.

mercvry-glow 2025

[secretlyazombi3]

let's get in the back of your cop car, officer .ᐟ₊˚⊹♡

 leon kennedy x afab! reader

๋࣭ ⭑⚝word count:  2.2k ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ NSFW, 2nd person, some fluff obvi ^_^, established relationship, re2r leon, subby leon kinda, unprotected (pls don't do that), riding, oral (m receiving)

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ summary: You stop by to visit your boyfriend in his cop car during one of his nightshift patrols :3

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ a/n: uhhh i normally dont write stuff like this bc its not my thing, but oh my god my period has me FERAL man its not funny 😭😭 not proof read im too lazy ! also how do ppl write this without giggling lmao

“Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.” Leon said as he rolled the window down as you patiently stood outside his police car. 

“You’re so jumpy.” you replied as Leon glanced around the parking lot anxiously. You knew Leon’s habits, you knew he always stopped at this gas station near your apartment before a night shift. “It’s midnight, forgive me for not expecting someone to knock on my car window.” Leon mumbled as he looked back at you. 

You wrapped your hand around the door handle and pulled it open, not caring to ask for an invitation into Leon’s car. He was your boyfriend after all, so why bother asking. “Hey, you can’t just-” Leon stuttered as you entered his car and sat down in the passenger’s seat suddenly. 

Leon glanced around the parking lot again. “You-you can’t just jump in my car like that, I’m at work, I’m on duty… It’s unprofessional.” Leon stuttered out. 

You looked out the car window and analyzed the gas station parking lot - it was empty, obviously, there was clearly not much demand to get gas at such late hours. 

“Nobody saw me get in, you’re fine.” You told Leon as you turned your head back to gaze at him. 

“I’m still on duty! I can’t let just anyone come in my car, I.. I need to focus on patrolling.” Leon protested. “Well, I’m not ‘just anyone’, am I?” you replied, batting your eyes at Leon and giving him big puppy eyes you knew he couldn’t resist.

Leon didn’t reply, simply staring at you, hesitating before beginning to drive the car out of the parking lot.

“You’re so stubborn,” Leon mumbled as he drove away from the gas station. “You’re going to get me in trouble.” 

“Only if we get caught. We just won’t get caught.” you replied as you looked out the window. 

Leon mumbled something incoherently, he furrowed his eyebrows as he continued to drive down a nearby highway, still pretending to be upset at you for forcefully joining him for a ride. 

“I just wanted to bring you some company, must be lonely driving all alone at night for hours.” you said quietly before you placed your hand on Leon’s thigh. Leon stopped mumbling and his expression reluctantly softened. He loved physical affection. 

Truthfully, he did get lonely on his shifts. It was painfully boring to just drive around the highway, park on the side of the road and keep an eye out for anything suspicious or any speeding. He didn’t mind you being here with him, he truly needed the company or else he’d go insane one of these nights. 

Leon pulled over onto the side of the road and parked where he normally parked when he patrolled this highway specifically. It was dark out and a pretty lifeless side of town, there were barely any cars driving down the road. The streetlight Leon parked under was old and the light flickered every so often.

“You just do this all night? Sit in your car all alone?” You asked Leon, sounding a bit shocked. 

Leon shyly nodded and shrugged. “I mean, yeah…”.

“I should really come visit you more often, then. You must be so bored.” you replied. 

“I-I can’t just hang out with you on my job.” “It’s not like you’re doing anything urgent. You just sit here all night. Nobody will know.” Your hand went up Leon’s thigh. “I can make your night more interesting, you know…” “Stop..!” Leon said, a twinge of whininess in his voice, clearly embarrassed. “That’s so unprofessional.” Leon added, his face turning a bit redder than normal as he desperately prayed you didn’t notice the twitching in his pants. 

“You’re such a rule follower.” You replied as you finally pulled your hand off of Leon’s thigh. 

Your gaze shifted from Leon to out the windshield. “The sky’s so pretty tonight.” you said as you looked up at the moon. It was a full moon tonight, the moon was resting in the sky just above where Leon had parked his police car. 

“At least you get to look at the sky every night.” you spoke softly, glancing back over at Leon. Leon was gazing up at the stars for a few moments before turning his attention to you. 

“It’s not as pretty as you.” he said quietly. You smiled - it was cheesy, but it was cute. Leon’s pink blushing face made it better. 

“Shut up,” you replied as you noticed Leon leaning in a bit closer to you with a soft expression.

You sat there for a moment, analyzing Leon’s pretty face, memorizing each mole on him before you allowed yourself to be pulled in by him for a kiss. 

You placed your hand on the side of Leon’s face as you kissed and used your other hand to take off your seatbelt so you could lean further into the kiss without being restrained. 

Leon pulled away for a second for air and quietly mumbled your name in a breathy voice. His hand rested on your cheek, he gently rubbed his thumb against your skin. “You’re so pretty, so fucking pretty…” he whispered gently to you.

You glanced down and finally noticed the bulge in Leon’s pants. “Oh, Leon..” you whispered. 

Leon looked away, seemingly embarrassed that he’d gotten hard over nothing, over a simple kiss. “It’s nothing.” he mumbled. 

“No, baby, let me help you.” You insisted as your hand moved to his zipper, slowly unzipping his pants. 

Leon was breathing a little harder as he watched you. “I-I shouldn’t be doing this.” he breathed as he felt you slowly slide down the fabric of his boxers, letting his hard cock free. 

“It’s okay, baby, nobody’s on the road anyways.” you assured him as you moved your hand to gently rub him raw, which immediately made him tense up. You spat on his dick to lubricate it before continuing to stroke him, feeling him twitch against your palm. 

“I guess so,” he replied. 

“Is it okay if I…?” you asked as you eyed his cock. Leon bit his lip a little, getting more aroused seeing your pretty face so close to his cock. He nodded. “Mhm, yeah, go ahead.” he replied. 

You parted your lips and wrapped them around the tip of his cock, which was glistening under the moonlight after he had begun to leak some precum. His face was flushed, he was embarrassed that he was so easy. One kiss was enough to give him a boner.

“Mph..” you moaned quietly, the sound slightly muffled by Leon’s dick being stuffed in your mouth, as you slowly began to lower your head.

 “Ah, fuck..” Leon moaned as he leaned his head back, feeling you begin to take his cock deeper, feeling the tip prod at the back of your throat. 

“So good, so good for me…” Leon whispered breathily as he gently brushed his fingers through your hair. He tried to keep himself calm and collected, he tried his hardest to keep himself under control but he just couldn’t. 

He gently gripped on your hair and tugged it, pulling you down, forcing your head up and down. Leon grunted as he felt you swirling your tongue around his length as he continued to force you up and down, nearly choking on his dick. 

Leon rolled his head back, turning into a whining and whimpering mess as you continued suckling on his dick. He couldn’t help but begin gently thrusting against your face, face fucking you.

 He eventually managed to control himself and he stopped the movement of his hips. You rested for a moment, dick fully down your throat, your nose resting on his happy trail. Leon finally calmed himself down, still whimpering as he felt you remove your mouth from his cock. 

“Baby, fuck..” Leon whimpered as he felt his cock, now wet from your saliva, touch the cold air of the cop car. You pulled Leon in for another kiss and began to rub him again. You flicked your thumb over his tip, which was dripping precum at this point. Leon could taste his skin on your tongue as you two kissed. 

“Let me ride you.” you whispered between kisses as Leon whimpered from the pleasure of your hand around his length. 

Leon nodded. “Do whatever you want to me…” he whispered. He leaned back in his seat, reclining it to give you some more room as you straddled him after slipping off your pants and your soaked panties. 

“Leon..” You whispered as you rubbed his tip against your entrance. You slowly grind your hips down, you enjoyed watching Leon’s reaction as he slowly entered you. His mouth never closed, his lips stayed parted as he slowly pushed his cock inside you. “Ah- ah..! Fuck, you’re….you’re so fucking tight…” Leon moaned as he watched you begin to slowly move up and down, riding him slowly as he held your hips. Leon’s thighs were trembling at this point, he was overwhelmed with pleasure.

Leon slid his hands up your body, pushing your shirt and bra up so he could see your tits. Leon was completely infatuated with your body, you could tell by the look in his eyes. 

He was still whimpering and moaning the entire time you rode him. Leon couldn’t help it, he was really noisy in bed, and he couldn’t help but moan like a whore every time his sensitive dick got the slightest friction. 

Leon groped your chest after watching it bounce with each movement for a while, playing with your chest as you continued moving up and down on his cock. 

“Fuck, Leon…” you breathed as you felt him rub his thumb against your nipple. You felt the tip of Leon’s dick slam against the spongy spot inside you that filled your body with pleasure. Leon clearly knew he’d found your spot by the way you gasped. 

“That feel good there…?” Leon asked, looking up at you through his eyelashes, his eyes half-lidded as he tried to keep them open. 

You desperately nodded as you felt Leon begin to thrust his hips upward, repeatedly slamming the head of his cock deep inside you, stimulating that spot. “Good boy…” you breathed before pulling Leon into another kiss. Being called that caused Leon to involuntarily thrust his hips harder into you. He loved being called that. 

Your hands traveled up Leon’s shirt, you felt on Leon’s abs as Leon gasped for air between each and every kiss. He was clearly getting closer and closer. Leon glanced up at you once you pulled away from another kiss, watching you bounce on his cock as he rolled his head back again, this time letting his eyes shut as he continued whimpering. 

“Baby,” Leon breathed as he continued thrusting his hips upward involuntarily. Leon gripped your hips tightly, digging his nails into your skin as he whimpered. 

“..’m gonna come, gonna come…” Leon whined between breaths. “Shh, I got you,” You cooed in response, placing your hand on his cheek as he rested back. Leon moved his hand down to rub his thumb against your clit in a circular motion without you even needing to tell him. 

“Fuck, good boy, such a good boy, Leon…” you breathed. Leon whimpered as he desperately thrusted his hips into you, pounding your pussy as you pulled him in for another kiss. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come…” Leon whined between kisses. 

Leon wrapped his arm around you tightly as he came deep inside you, his cock twitching inside you as your walls suffocated him. You slid your tongue past Leon’s lips as you felt yourself reach your orgasm as Leon desperately rubbed your clit. You moaned desperately into the kiss as you came, hugging Leon tightly back.

You pulled away for air after the kiss. Leon was still a whimpering mess after coming. Leon’s eyes were still shut as he rested back, desperately gasping for air as if he’d been underwater for hours. 

You slowly pulled yourself off of his lap, your pussy leaking his cum as you scrambled to put your panties back on, not wanting to leak cum all over the inside of his cop car. 

Leon was a panting mess, his dick raw and sensitive after cumming. He was leaning back with his eyes clenched shut, his tongue involuntarily hanging out like a dog. 

“Good puppy.” you whispered to Leon as you kissed his cheek. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Leon was resting against the window, sleeping peacefully until you poked his cheeks. “Leon.” you said softly, your tone slightly sing-songy as if you were trying to wake a toddler. The sun was beginning to rise in the distance. 

“Huh…?” Leon mumbled sleepily, his eyes fluttering open and shut. “Come on officer, your shift ends soon.” you told Leon. Leon rubbed his eyes before glancing around. 

“Shit, you’re right.” he replied as he pulled his seatbelt back on. He always got sleepy after cumming, he had been knocked out for hours now. His face was bright red, not only embarrassed that he’d fallen asleep but he was also thinking about what you two had done only a few hours earlier. “Can’t believe you fell asleep on the job Leon, that’s so unprofessional.” you teased him as he slowly drove back onto the highway. 

“Shut up…” Leon mumbled shyly, avoiding your gaze. 

[angelsuecult]

it ain’t me babe | s. crosby

Pt. 2

“Go melt back in the night, babe

Everything inside me is stone”

warnings: none.

summary: the aftermath of a wedding has you left wondering where your relationship with sidney is going.

request: We need Sid and younger girlfriend attending a wedding 👀 here realizing that maybe Sid should see other people angsty slow burn fluff smut maybe?

word count: 5.6k

song: it ain’t me - joan baez 

a/n: i hope you guys like this one! Im pretty proud of it. ALSO WHAT IS A TAGLIST?? I WANT TO DO IT BUT IDK WHAT IT IS I PROMISE IM NOT INTENTIONALLY OVERLOOKING IT I JUST DO NOT KNOW WHAT THAT IS!! SOMEBODY PLS LMK.

Part 1 | Part 2

—

The apartment falls quiet. Too quiet.

You go through the motions of getting ready for bed on autopilot.

Hair undone, makeup wiped away, heels abandoned somewhere in the living room a problem for tomorrow.

You exhale slowly as you sit on the edge of your bed, rubbing your hands over your face. The weight of the night presses against your shoulders, heavy and unrelenting.

Now you’re in pajamas—one of Sidney’s t-shirts and a pair of fuzzy pants that you had grabbed blindly from your drawer. The shirt is soft, worn down from years of washes, and smells just like him.

It makes your chest ache.

You should be exhausted. It’s late. Your body is tired, but your mind won’t shut up.

You shuffle around your apartment, turning off the lights one by one, until the only one left is the glow from your bedroom lamp.

And then, just before you head to bed, you do something completely fucking stupid.

You pull back the curtain and peek through your window.

Sidney’s gone.

You don’t know what you were expecting.

Of course he left.

You don’t know how long he sat out there, parked in the same usual spot, engine idling. But now there’s nothing. Just an empty space where his car had been.

Why would he still be out there? You gave him nothing to work with. No explanation. No indication of what the hell went wrong tonight.

Just shut down completely, locked yourself up tight, and now you’re surprised that he left?

It shouldn’t make you feel as lonely as it does.

But it does.

You let the curtain fall shut, swallowing the lump in your throat as you climb into bed.

Your sheets are cold when you slip beneath them, sending a shiver down your spine. It makes you curl up tighter, instinctively seeking the warmth of him.

Sidney’s pillow is right there.

It smells like him.

Like his cologne, his shampoo—like home.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to shut out the ache that spreads through your chest.

Your phone is on your nightstand.

You curl into yourself further, phone in your hand, thumb hovering over the screen.

There’s nothing from Sidney.

Of course there isn’t. 

You open your messages anyway, staring at the empty text box.

You don’t know what to say.

You don’t even know if you should say anything.

You type something out. Delete it. Type it again.

I love you. I’m sorry.

Backspace.

I miss you. I’m sorry.

Backspace.

Goodnight. I’m sorry.

Backspace.

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, but no words come out. So you toss your phone onto the mattress.

You really did want to go home with him tonight.

You did.

But no matter how badly you want to be in his bed right now, tangled up in his sheets, wrapped up in his warmth—you just couldn’t bring yourself to go home with him tonight.

Not when it didn’t feel right.

Something in you just—couldn’t.

Not when the night had left you feeling so fucking out of place. Like you had no right to be in his life.

So instead, you’re here. Alone. Holding onto his pillow like it’s the only thing keeping you together.

And then it happens. A knock that barely registers at first.

Your eyes are closed, you’ve been hovering in that in-between space—half asleep, half awake, mind slipping into unconsciousness when the sound filters through the quiet. You don’t move. Maybe you imagined it. Maybe it’s something outside.

And again.

A slow, deliberate knock.

Your stomach twists because you already know who it is.

For a second, you think about just staying in bed, pulling the covers over your head, pretending you didn’t hear it. It’s late. Whatever he has to say can wait until morning.

But you know Sidney.

And Sidney doesn’t just go when something doesn’t sit right with him.

You sigh, pushing yourself upright. The hardwood is cool against your bare feet as you shuffle to the door, barely awake, heart pounding. You don’t bother checking the peephole. There’s no point.

You hesitate for a second, fingers hovering over the handle. There’s a moment where you consider taking a breath, preparing yourself, but you don’t give yourself the chance. You pull it open.

Sidney’s standing there.

He looks—frustrated. Tense. His jaw is clenched, his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, and his eyes sweep over you, taking in the way you’re dressed in his t-shirt, the sleep still lingering on your face.

His shoulders drop the slightest bit, like he was holding his breath without realizing it.

“Are you gonna let me in?” he asks, voice low.

You step aside without a word, and he walks in, waiting until you close the door before he turns to you.

He lets out a slow breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “What’s going on?”

You blink. “What?”

Sid exhales sharply, dragging a hand over his face. “What the fuck is going on with you tonight?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sid scoffs, lips pressing into a tight line. “Seriously?”

You fold your arms, the weight of exhaustion settling into your bones. “It’s late, Sid.”

“Yeah, no shit,” he mutters. “I’ve been driving around the block for almost an hour trying to figure out what the hell just happened.”

You swallow, shifting your weight. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want you to tell me why the fuck you suddenly decided you didn’t want to come home with me,” he says. “I want to know why you shut down, why you acted like you couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”

“I didn’t—” You exhale sharply, running a hand over your face. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah? Could’ve fooled me.”

You look away, focusing on the floor, the wall, anywhere but him. You hate that you’re making him feel like this.

Sidney exhales through his nose, his patience thinning. “I don’t get it, okay? I don’t fucking get it. We were fine when we got there. You looked happy. You were joking around with me in the car, messing with the radio, making fun of my suit. And then suddenly—” He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t even know. You spent the whole night by yourself.”

You close your eyes.

“And then you thank me for a ‘great night’ like I’m some fucking Uber driver?” He lets out a humorless laugh. “What the fuck, Y/n?”

You shift your weight, suddenly feeling too exposed, too cornered. “I’m just tired, Sid.”

“Tired?” He lets out a dry, humorless laugh. “That’s what we’re calling it?”

You cross your arms. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Sid’s jaw tics. “I want you to talk to me.”

Your throat tightens.

His voice is rough around the edges, threaded with frustration, but it’s not anger. Not really.

It’s concern.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you say, hating the way your voice wavers at the end.

Sid’s eyes narrow, like he can hear it too.

He shakes his head. “Bullshit. Jesus, I feel like I’m losing my mind here. You shut down out of nowhere, and now I’m standing here at one in the morning trying to figure out what the hell I did wrong.”

Guilt twists in your stomach.

You didn’t mean for any of this to happen.

But now you’re standing here, and he’s looking at you like he’s trying to put together a puzzle that doesn’t make sense, and you have to spell it out for him.

You have to say it out loud.

And the fact that you have to spell it out for him makes you feel like absolute shit. What’s so difficult to understand here? Doesn’t he know?

Your nails dig into your arms as you squeeze them tighter across your chest, pulse thrumming in your ears. You can feel the frustration clawing its way up your throat, hot and bitter, but you don’t know how to say it without it coming out wrong.

Because what’s the point of not telling him at this point?

Why are you still trying to swallow this down like it’s nothing? Like you weren’t sitting at that fucking table alone for half the night, smiling through gritted teeth while women old enough to be your mom compared you to a fucking escort? Like you didn’t have to sit there and pretend it was all fine while your own date couldn’t even be bothered to check in with you?

And now here he is. Confused. Sidney is staring at you, waiting. His hands are in his pockets, but his whole stance is tense, shoulders drawn tight, brow furrowed. Acting like he has no fucking clue why you suddenly wanted to go home. Like he doesn’t realize how humiliating it is to be borderline ignored by him and, in turn, everyone else.

And maybe it’s that. Maybe it’s the way he doesn’t get it. The way he’s standing there so fucking confused, waiting for you to explain why you feel like absolute shit instead of just knowing.

So you let it out.

You let out a short, sharp breath, shaking your head. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Sid’s jaw tightens. “No. I don’t. That’s why I’m here.”

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow in your chest.

“Jesus Christ, Sidney.” You step back, running a hand through your hair. “You’re—You’re Sidney fucking Crosby. The most important guy in the room, in every fucking room you walk into, and I get that, okay? I understand how this shit works by now.”

Sid doesn’t say anything, but his brows pull together, his mouth pressing into a firm line.

“I just wish I could’ve spoken more than a single fucking word to you tonight,” you say, and you don’t mean for it to come out as harsh as it does, but you’re tired. You’re tired.

Sidney blinks. “What?”

“I looked like a fucking idiot,” you snap, your voice trembling with something you don’t even want to name. “Sitting at that table alone, smiling at people who barely looked at me, waiting for my own fucking date to talk to me for more than five seconds before he got pulled into another goddamn hockey story.”

His frown deepens. “That’s not fair—”

“Isn’t it?” you cut in, voice sharp. “Because from where I was sitting, it sure as hell felt like I was there for no other reason than to be ignored.”

Sidney exhales heavily, raking a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t ignoring you—”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Oh, really? Because it sure as fuck felt like it.”

Sidney’s jaw tightens. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel like that.”

You laugh, humorless. “Yeah, well, what you meant to do doesn’t really mean much when the result is me looking like a fucking idiot.”

Sidney’s eyes flicker with something—frustration, guilt, something else you can’t quite place. “No one thought you looked like an idiot.”

“Oh, no?” you say, and your voice is shaking now, not with tears, but with anger. “Because it sure fucking felt like everyone was in on some big joke I didn’t know about. The hooker comments, the midlife crisis jokes—”

His face hardens. “Who the fuck said that?”

You let out a sharp breath, shaking your head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does,” Sidney argues.

“No, it doesn’t,” you bite back. “Because that’s not the point! The point is that I was standing there smiling through my fucking teeth while these women talked to me like I was some kind of novelty, like I was some poor little thing who didn’t belong there, while you were ten feet away, completely oblivious.”

Sidney’s mouth presses into a thin line. “I didn’t know—”

“Exactly!” you cut in. “You didn’t know because you weren’t paying attention. You weren’t there.”

Sidney’s eyes darken. “That’s not fucking fair.”

You scoff. “Isn’t it?”

His hands finally come out of his pockets, and he gestures vaguely, expression tight. “You know how these things are. People pull me into conversations, I don’t always have control over—”

“I do know,” you interrupt. “I know exactly how these things go. I know you get dragged into conversations, I know it’s not intentional, I know all of that. But what you don’t seem to understand is how fucking humiliating it is to be borderline ignored by your own date—to be ignored by everyone else because of it.”

Sidney’s jaw tics. “I wasn’t—”

“You know what’s not fair?” You take a step closer, jabbing a finger toward his chest. “The only actual fucking conversation I had tonight wasn’t even with a guest—God forbid—no, it was with the fucking coat boy.”

Sid’s face tightens. “Coat—” He exhales sharply. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

You throw up your hands. “Jesus, Sid, do you hear yourself? It means you barely fucking spoke to me, Sidney! How many godddamn times do I have to spell it out for you?”

Sidney huffs out a breath, rubbing his hands over his face. “I don’t—what do you want me to say? That I should’ve been glued to your side all night?”

“No,” you snap. “I wanted you to act like you wanted me there.”

He stares at you, something flickering in his expression, something frustrated but also—guilty.

“And before you say some shit like ‘Why didn’t you just come over to me? Why didn’t you just talk to me?’ Why the fuck should I have to?”

Sidney flinches. Just barely.

You swallow, your breath coming a little too fast. “Why should I have to beg my own date to acknowledge me?” Your voice cracks slightly at the end, but you push forward. “Why the fuck did you even bring me if you didn’t want to talk to me?”

Sidney shakes his head. “That’s not what it was.”

“Then what the fuck was it? Because you invited me, remember?”

Sidney looks at you, and there’s something in his expression—something frustrated, something aching. Like he wants to fix it but doesn’t know how.

Your breath is coming out uneven now, chest rising and falling with every word you force out, every ounce of frustration and hurt bubbling over. Sidney is just looking at you, his jaw clenched so tight you think he might crack a tooth, hands flexing open and closed at his sides. And it only pisses you off more because—because say something, for fuck’s sake. Say anything. Defend yourself. Fight with me. Do something.

But he just stares.

And you—god, you can’t. You’re too tired, too drained, too fucking done with feeling like this, feeling like you’re just… there. Like a placeholder, like a pretty little accessory to sit at his side while everyone else in the room actually matters.

So you let it spill out.

“I’m not the one you want, Sid.”

His entire face drops, mouth parting slightly like you just knocked the fucking wind out of him. And maybe you did. Maybe that’s what it takes to make him finally fucking see.

You laugh, but it’s not funny. It’s not even bitter, just… hollow. “I’m not the one you need, either. And that was made pretty fucking clear tonight.”

Sidney shakes his head immediately, taking a step forward, but you step back just as fast, arms tightening around yourself. “That’s not true.”

“But it is,” you say quietly, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “And you would know that if you actually listened to anything anyone said tonight.”

His brows draw together. “What the fuck does that mean?”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “I couldn’t get a fucking word in with you tonight, Sid. Not one. And you know why? Because I don’t matter in that world.”

Sidney’s expression darkens, and his voice drops lower, more serious. “That’s not fucking true.”

“But it is,” you argue, eyes burning now. “I’m not saying it’s your fault, I’m not even saying it’s something you did on purpose, but it’s just… how it is. I was there, I was at that table, but I might as well have been a fucking ghost. And you—”

Your voice cracks, just a little, and you have to pause, have to force yourself to swallow down the lump in your throat before you can go on.

“You didn’t notice me, Sid. You didn’t talk to me. You didn’t ask me to dance, and maybe it was because you forgot or maybe it was because you didn’t want to, but it doesn’t really matter either way, does it?” You shake your head, breathing out a humorless laugh. “You didn’t even sit down to have dinner with me.”

Sidney closes his eyes for half a second like he’s trying to keep his frustration in check. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know you didn’t mean to,” you interrupt, voice quieter but no less sharp. “But you did. And that’s why I can’t even talk to you about this.”

Sidney lets out a breath, one hand dragging down his face, and when he looks at you again, his eyes are a little wilder, a little more desperate. “That’s bullshit. You are talking to me about it. Right now.”

You shake your head, exhausted. “Not really.”

His nostrils flare. “You think I don’t want you?”

You press your lips together, looking away.

Sidney steps forward, forcing you to look back at him. “No, seriously—do you actually think that? That I don’t fucking want you?” His voice is rough, raw. “Because that’s fucking insane.”

Your throat is tight, fingers curling into the fabric of the shirt you’re wearing—his shirt. “Sid—”

“No,” he says, voice sharp. “You don’t get to say shit like that and then just shut down on me. What the fuck are you even saying right now?”

He exhales sharply, dragging both hands through his hair like he’s trying to physically hold himself together. His jaw is tight, his expression pulled with frustration, guilt, something raw and unspoken sitting heavy between the two of you.

And you don’t even know where to go from here.

Is this it? Is this how it fucking ends?

One bad night. One really, really bad night—so bad it’s made you question everything. So bad you’re standing here, your chest tight, your vision blurring, telling the man you love that you don’t think you’re the one he wants. The one he needs.

And it’s not like you don’t know how fucked up that sounds, how unfair it probably is. But it’s how you feel. And god, it just won’t go away.

Sid lets out a rough breath, shaking his head. “I can’t fucking believe this,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, pacing half a step before turning back, his eyes sharp, desperate. “This is really what you think? That I just—what? Forgot about you?”

You blink fast, your throat burning, voice quieter but still raw. “You did forget about me.”

Sid’s mouth presses into a hard line, his nostrils flaring slightly. “That’s not—Fuck, I didn’t forget about you, babe. I was just—”

“Busy?” you cut in, shaking your head. “Yeah, I know, Sid. I know you were busy. You’re always the most important guy in the room, and I get it. But Jesus, Sidney—” Your voice catches, and you take a shaky breath. “I sat there for hours just waiting for you to come back. Just waiting for you to maybe fucking look at me. And you didn’t. I had to sit there and smile while people made the butt of their fucking jokes, and I couldn’t even tell you about it, because you weren’t there. You weren’t even thinking about me.”

Sidney’s face twists, something like regret flashing across his expression. He shakes his head again, stepping forward, voice softer but no less urgent. “Baby, I—”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

Baby.

Your fucking weakness. But you push on.

“And maybe it wasn’t a big deal to you,” you press on, voice shaking now. “Maybe it was just one night to you, maybe I’m just making a fucking thing out of nothing, but—” Your breath stutters, and you have to look away, swiping roughly at your eyes. “But it didn’t feel like nothing, Sid.”

Sidney curses under his breath, the sound almost pained. “Jesus, baby,” he murmurs, stepping closer, reaching for you.

You shake your head, stepping back. “Don’t.”

Sid stops in his tracks, something breaking in his expression, like that physically hurt him.

Your stomach twists, and you swallow against the lump in your throat. “I don’t—I don’t know what to do with this, Sidney. I don’t know what this means.”

Sidney exhales slowly, his voice thick. “It means we fucking talk about it.”

Your throat tightens, something sharp and exhausted threading through you. “Do we? Because I’ve been trying to talk to you about it for the past thirty minutes and you still don’t seem to understand.”

Sid’s brows furrow, his face still tense, but his voice softer now, more pleading. “Babe—”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know if I can sit in rooms full of people who look at me like I don’t fucking belong there. Who talk about me like I’m some kind of joke.” Your eyes are burning again, and you blink rapidly, shaking your head. “And I don’t know if I can do this when it feels like you don’t even fucking care.”

Sid looks wrecked. Absolutely fucking wrecked. His throat bobs, his hands tightening into fists before he forces them to relax. “Y/n, I’m—” His voice catches, and he exhales hard, taking another step toward you. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, looking away.

“No, look at me,” Sid says, his voice rough. “Please, baby, look at me.”

You hesitate, then finally meet his eyes.

And god, he just looks so fucking sorry.

“Y/n,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”

Your throat clenches, your chest so fucking tight it hurts.

Sid hesitates, like he’s giving you a second to pull away—to run, if that’s what you really want. But you don’t move. You can’t.

And then, slowly, so fucking slowly, he reaches for you.

“Come here,” he breathes, soft and pleading. “Please, baby. Just—just come here.”

And God help you, you do.

You don’t even think. You just go, letting him pull you in, letting him wrap his arms around you tight, like he’s terrified you’ll slip right through his fingers if he doesn’t hold on hard enough.

And fuck, it almost hurts how tightly he’s holding you, his grip firm and desperate, like an apology all on its own.

You squeeze your eyes shut, burying your face in his chest, and Sid lets out a shaky breath, pressing his face into your hair. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice raw, breaking. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Your throat clenches, and you swallow hard, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket.

Sidney exhales hard, arms tightening around you. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” he murmurs, voice thick. “God, I didn’t—fuck—I didn’t mean to make you feel like you weren’t important, I swear.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I love you,” he whispers, voice breaking on the last word. “I love you so fucking much, and I—I don’t know how the fuck I let this happen.”

Your chest tightens painfully, and you shake your head against him.

Sidney swallows hard, arms flexing around you. “You’re the most important fucking thing in the world to me,” he breathes, voice rough and aching. “And it’s not okay that you felt like that tonight. It’s not. I should’ve—I should’ve fucking been there.”

Your breath shudders out of you, and Sid lets out something close to a quiet curse, shifting slightly so that he’s cradling you now, one hand sliding up to the back of your head.

“I love you,” he murmurs again, like he’s trying to will it into you, like he’s trying to make you feel it. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You nuzzle into his shoulder, breathing him in, letting your fingers play at the soft hair at the nape of his neck, twisting the strands between your fingertips, memorizing the way they feel. Just in case. Like if you just press yourself deep enough into him, maybe—maybe—it won’t hurt so much when this all slips through your fingers.

Because if this is the last time—if this is the last time you ever get to hold him, touch him, love him—then you want to make sure you remember everything. Just in case this is it. Just in case you lose him tonight. Just in case you don’t get to love him tomorrow.

Sid breathes out hard, his grip tightening on you like he can feel the way you’re preparing yourself to lose him. And maybe he can. Maybe he can feel the way you press your face into the crook of his neck, like you’re trying to keep him there just a second longer. Like you don’t want to let go.

"Baby," he breathes against your temple, his lips brushing your skin. "Don't do that. Don’t—don’t pull away from me like that."

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself not to break, not to let the sadness welling in your chest swallow you whole. "I’m not," you whisper. But you are. You know you are. And of course he noticed.

Sid exhales hard, his hands smoothing up and down your back, grounding you. "Yeah, you are," he murmurs. "I can feel it. I know you."

You don’t say anything. You don’t know what to say.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, hands firm on your lower back, like he’s keeping you right there. “Don’t—don’t hold onto me like you’re saying goodbye.” His throat bobs. “I can’t—fuck, I can’t do that.”

You drop your gaze to his chest, fingers still playing at his hairline. “I don’t know what else to do.” Your voice is small, raw.

Sid groans softly, tilting his forehead against yours, his hands sliding up to cradle your face. “You stay,” he murmurs, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “You stay right here. With me.”

Your breath stutters, and for the first time, you let yourself look at him. Really look at him. His eyes are red-rimmed, tired, his expression so full of regret it hurts to see.

Then finally, Sid sighs, long and slow. "You're right. I fucked up,” he admits, voice rough, thick with something heavy. “I disrespected you. I got caught up in everything.”

Your fingers still in his hair.

Sid sighs, his other hand rubbing slow, absentminded circles against the small of your back. “I let myself get pulled into conversation, into all the bullshit, I forgot what was really important tonight. And I’ll never be able to apologize enough for that.”

You blink up at him, studying the way his brows are drawn, the way his mouth is set in a hard, miserable line.

Sid shakes his head at himself, eyes flickering over your face, guilt written in every line of his own. “I’m an idiot,” he says quietly, shaking his head. “There’s a million fucking things I should’ve done differently tonight.”

Your throat tightens, and you nod because—yeah. There are.

Sid exhales sharply, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly under your eye. “But I’m not losing you over this,” he murmurs, voice low, firm. “I won’t.”

You swallow, your fingers curling into the fabric of his dress shirt. “Sid—”

“I mean it,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “I’m not gonna lose you over this.” His voice is quiet but firm, like an unshakable promise. “I won’t accept it. One bad night isn’t gonna ruin what we have.” His hands drop to your waist again, holding you steady, grounding you. “It’s too special.You’re too fucking special.”

Your chest aches, your fingers flexing against his shirt. And you believe him. You do.

Because this is Sid. Your Sid. The man who worships the ground you walk on, who loves you fiercely, who cares.

So you just look at him for a moment, drinking him in—the hazel hue of his eyes, the curve of his mouth, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the most important fucking thing in the world.

Sid brushes his nose against yours, his voice softer now. “I love you too fucking much to let this be the thing that breaks us.”

And for the first time all night, you feel something loosen in your chest.

He studies you for a moment, eyes flickering over your face like he’s trying to gauge where your head is at. Then, more quietly, “You do know that, right?”

And yeah. Yeah, you do.

You nod slowly, and Sid lets out a breath, relief flickering across his features.

“I know you’re upset with me,” he murmurs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You should be. I’d be fucking pissed if I were you.” He gives a half-smile, but it’s small, cautious, like he’s afraid to push too soon.

Your lips twitch, just barely, and that’s all he needs.

He exhales, leaning in closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I mean it, baby,” he says against your skin. “I love you. And I hate that I made you feel like anything less than the most important fucking person in that room tonight.”

You sigh, leaning into him again, and this time, it feels different.

Softer. More you and him.

Sid watches you carefully, eyes flickering over your face like he’s searching for something. “Come back to me, my love,” he murmurs. “Please.”

You press your lips together, exhaling slowly.

And then, quietly, “I’m right here.”

And just like that, his shoulders sag with relief. You exhale slowly, your breath still finding its rhythm, but the ache in your chest has softened. Sid’s eyes stay on you, unwavering, searching, like he’s waiting for you to say something—anything.

And you believe him. You do. Because even though tonight fucking sucked, even though you spent hours feeling like you didn’t belong, even though you had to sit with the humiliation of being overlooked by everyone, including the one person who should have seen you—you love him. You love him, and you know he loves you too.

What you have is special. It’s everything. 

Your fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him like he might slip away if you don’t. But he’s not going anywhere. You can feel it in the way he holds you, the way his hands splay across your back, like he’s trying to mold you against him, like he’s making sure you’re real.

Sid exhales through his nose, slow and controlled. His fingers trace lazy circles at the base of your spine, grounding you. “Talk to me, baby,” he murmurs. “Let me in.”

Your throat tightens, the lump still there, even though the sharp edges of your anger have dulled. “I hate feeling like this,” you admit, your voice quiet.

Sid’s hands tighten around you. “I know,” he says softly, and the way he says it—like he really knows, like he gets it—makes you feel even closer to tears.

“I don’t—” You break off, shaking your head against him. “I don’t want to be mad at you.”

Sid sighs, rubbing a hand up and down your back. “Then don’t,” he murmurs, voice softer, lighter now. “Just love me.”

You let out a watery laugh, and he feels it, his arms tightening as he presses his forehead to yours. “Baby,” he says again, so fucking tender, like he’s pouring every ounce of love he has for you into that single word.

Then, after a moment, his voice comes quiet, hesitant. Hopeful.

“We’re okay, right?”

It’s so soft. So careful. Like he’s afraid of the answer. Like maybe, just maybe, he’s still a little scared you might walk away.

You let out a slow breath, thinking. Feeling.

“I think so,” you whisper.

Sid exhales sharply, a little relieved sound, and he nudges his nose against yours, affectionate, familiar. His fingers tighten briefly against your back before his hands smooth over you, slow and steady.

“Good,” he murmurs, lips brushing lightly against your temple. “’Cause I don’t think I could fucking take it if we weren’t.”

A small, breathy exhale leaves you, and for the first time tonight, it’s almost a laugh. Almost.

Sid hears it, feels the way your body relaxes just the smallest bit, and it’s like he latches onto it, chases after it.

“Jesus, babe,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then another, then another. “I feel like I aged ten fucking years tonight.”

That gets a real laugh out of you—quiet, small, but real.

Sid pulls back slightly, looking at you like he’s trying to memorize you, trying to read every single emotion on your face. His thumb brushes over your cheek, gently.

“There’s my girl,” he murmurs, the corner of his mouth twitching just the slightest bit, like he’s trying to smile but doesn’t want to push it too soon.

Your throat tightens at the warmth in his voice, the relief. The way he says my girl like it’s fact.

You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the warmth of him, the safety of him. His fingers slide up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing gently over the apple of your cheek. “We’re okay,” he says, like he needs you to know it. Like if he says it enough times, you’ll believe it too.

And you do. You do.

You let out a slow, shaky breath, nuzzling into his touch. “I love you,” you whisper, barely audible, but he hears it.

Sid lets out a sound that’s almost a laugh, almost a sigh, almost relief. “Fuck,” he breathes, tilting his head just enough to press his lips to yours—not desperate, not rushed, just there. Just a promise. Just an I love you too.

[thebubblesareevil]

Who’s the bad guy here, really?

(This is pretty rushed, but I completely forgot about this and didn't want to abandon it. Hope you like it)

Danny was tired.

It had been 3 months since he ran away from home and joined the league…well technically he joined the JR league. Apparently, once the league realized he was actually a 15 year old, they decided that MAYBE they shouldn't have him fighting Bizarro on his own.

Danny didn’t get it, but they got him enrolled in school and made sure he wouldn’t miss too many classes so that was a bonus.

That was about a month ago and Danny was certain the main team was mad at him for lying about being a half ghost. He thought he made some real friends before they moved him to the Jr squad, but no one was answering him.

Any hero that DID answer him always gave the same excuse.

“I’m sorry Danny, I’d love to hang out but we have to deal with this new villain duo!”

What’s worse is that any enquiry about the so-called villains was greeted with nervous glances and swift retreats.

(Danny was sure there were no new villain, the team would have heard about them by now)

The team did their best to cheer him after every evasion, but it really wasn't helping.

He did this to himself, but that was fine. His family was safe and that's all that mattered.

Three months ago, the GIW launched an all out war against phantom in amity park. Anyone that was suspected of having anything to do with ghosts was taken in for questioning and wouldn't come back for days. They even started to get aggressive towards his parents after they started advocating for Phantom.

So Danny did the only thing he could.

He left, as publicly as possible, Danny ran away from the only home he had ever known to protect his family.

And now his friends had ditched him because he lied.

Danny felt like shit.

---------

"This is the third attack on a League base in 2 weeks." Batman said sternly to the heroes surrounding the table. He pressed a button.

A holograph appeared over the table depicting 2 Villains carrying large weapons, destroying everything in their wake. The 2 were incredibly resilient. The larger of the two was taking hits from wildcat and the smaller tossed canary across the room, completely ignoring her screams.

Both had been stationed at the outpost to guard against these exact 2 villains, and both were still recovering.

Their threat level was raised, now it was their turn to step in.

-------

Danny dragged himself out of bed as he got up early for training. He heard a knock at the door.

"Come in." He shouted as he put on his shirt.

Conner walked in, scowling as he saw some of the scars littering Danny's chest.

"You ready? We're training with Batman today."

Danny scoffed. "Ready? No. No one's ready for Batman, I am excited though.

The two headed towards the dining room to eat before training when suddenly the alarms blared. They rushed to the comm room, meeting up with M'gann on the way.

"What's going on?!" She asked, bracing herself as the base shook.

"No idea, whatever it is its not good."

As they rushed into the comm room they greeted by the sight of a woman fighting hand to hand with Batman. Superman was on the floor covered in green goop while a large man was getting ready to toss Green Arrow across the room.

The teens stood in shock. Though only one spoke.

Well, maybe spoke wasn't the right word.

"MOM?!?!? DAD?!?!" Danny yelled.

The man spun around suddenly, casually tossing green arrow across the room.

"DANNO!!! MADDIE ITS DANNY!!!"

The man raced over, only to be cut off by the Flash blocking his path.

"Danny, run! We'll hold them off, just get out of here!"

Danny stood there dumbfounded.

His dad on the other hand, wasn't.

"You stay away from my son you damn creep!" He shouted as the Flash charged him, somehow not noticing the man pull out...a baseball bat?

Danny winced as flash got hit with the Fenton anti-creep stick.

"Dad! Stop! They're my friends!" He tried to placate his dad.

"Friends don't convince you to run away from home to join a cult!" He then noticed the other two teens. "Holy Fudge! MADDIE THERES MORE KIDS!!!" He shouted as his wife held off the creep from Gotham.

"Dad! The League didn't make me leave! And it isn't a cult!"

This made the man pause.

"I left to protect you guys! The GIW was gonna come for you, so I led them away! I only joined the league so I could keep helping people!" Danny yelled.

The orange-clad man stopped, giving his son a sad look.

"It's not your job to protect us son, it's our job to protect you." He said picking his son up and wrapping him in a bear hug.

Conner just stood there confused as M'gann clapped and grinned out the outcome.

"Now can you tell mom to stop trying to mace Batman?" Danny asked when his dad put him down. The two turned to the fighting duo.

"Let's give them 5 more minutes. Your mom hasn't had this much fun since she ditched that cult in Asia."

(Feel free to take this idea and run with it. I like the idea that the fentons are a force of nature that defies explanation..but Maddie definitely stole their early ecto samples from the lazarus pit)

[shinigamigloss]

mr. perfect guy

✎ semester break has never been so much fun, all thanks to your brother’s best friend Leon.

cw: fem!reader and she/her pronouns, cunnilingus, slight size kink, praises!, cowgirl, creampie, the beginning is like sooo sugary and fluffy, but the ending is a pure filth + weird and corny jokes ewww word count: 2.5k

The winter semester break is finally knocking on your door. It’s been a hectic ride – caffeine has been pumping coffee beans through your veins. A long hard slog to keep up with the rollercoaster of sleepless nights and groggy mornings when you nearly dozed off during the exams.

The bottom line is that no one deserves this week of rest more than you. Staying at home – sleeping, smoking, drinking, and reading all day – sounds absolutely wonderful now, especially since those were the very things you couldn’t afford during that intensive deadline week.

Except that your dear mother makes a last-minute decision and crashes your week-long plan in the middle of the day. Safe to say your plans all went pear-shaped.

“It’s just a two-day trip. Your brother misses you so much—oh, I have such darling babies.”

Your mother kept reiterating these words, or equivalent synonyms and loanwords – in a loop the whole ride.

Perhaps you can sympathize with her.

After all, you hadn’t seen your brother in years.

When you decided to go to college in another city, your mother had moved in with you temporarily, and your brother was bound to stay in Washington, D.C. He said the job paid handsomely; he made a good living, yada, yada, yada. He even got a roommate, claiming that the apartment was a good value for money.

Now, you’re hoping his roommate is away visiting family for the holidays. Yes, it may be his apartment, and he may be subsidizing the rent, but that doesn’t really color your judgment.

Just how much merit can you have in the company of someone you know nothing about?

Ironically, though, things and your opinion do transmogrify in a different dimension. Later that night, upon entering the house, your eyes lock on the man who gingerly stoops to lift two oversized suitcases (no idea why you packed so much for a multi-day trip) as if he has nary a care in the world.

“Here, let me show you your room.”

He has a watchful mien, his eyes sharp and sunken, sparkling blue and pink-rimmed. Even if you’re not one of those “I’m sooooo crushing on my brother’s best friend” type of girls, by virtue of temperament, you can’t help but like him.

Not that he didn’t like your little coaxing and somewhat sheepish smile.

Little gestures, like the fact that he cooked your eggs just the way you liked them for breakfast (it’s a mystery how he could do that without really asking you), lulled you to the point of imprinting a Kennedy next to your first name. And a diamond solitaire on your ring finger.

In the midst of winter, even in the hiemal snow and gloom, he gave rise to those flowers blooming inside you that can only sprout in wintry days. Snowdrops and primroses.

Flowers in January.

After that spectacular night, you go out in the morning with your brother and Leon to catch the panorama of winter in D.C. at Rock Creek Park.

“I say we should put olives for his eyes,” you insert a scathing comment on the figure of the snowman you created from three globes of snow.

Your hands are on your hips.

“Coal would do better, don’t you think? Those bulging eyes should scare the passersby.” Leon’s quick to pitch in his two cents’ worth of ideas.

“Now that’s just cruel, Leon.”

Turning to him, you see that he’s already munched on more than half of the carrot in his hand.

“Did you really eat our snowman’s nose?”

You’re not exactly upbraiding him, but you’re partly reminding him of a little vignette of his mother. The disbelieving sibilance in your voice, how your eyebrows are drawn together and knitted, but on your lips is a very lentil grain of an amused smile. This is straight-up pulling teeth, and you’re so pretty in his eyes.

“Easy now, don’t get all uptight on me.” Leon’s been ready to face the music since yesterday, if not since the minute he was born.

Holding the ‘tin soldier,’ alias the now-headless carrot, in his hand, Leon puts the lone comestible in the center of the snowman’s skull.

He takes a step back and sticks his thumb out in a histrionic way, taking precise measurements of his masterpiece.

Obviously, it’s a well-proportioned enough capture. His aim must be well-honed, like that of a smooth operator.

“Uhm, what are you doing?” You squint at him.

“Just giving my little snowman Kennedy a nose with an aesthetic.” He rounds on you again, so unwary.

“Excuse me, but how come he carries your family name?”

“That’s because I’m his dad.” He sure says it convincingly. “You be his mom, and let’s now give our kid the nose of his dreams. A small monetary apology for my hereditary one.”

That’s bullshit. Balderdash. His nose is perfectly all right up your alley.

“I think you’re just bullshitting ‘cause you like the attention.”

A little bit of Leonian attitude never hurt anyone. Be stuck-up, sprinkle wisps of a wiseass, and all.

Nice to see a smaller version of you like that – at least, for Leon.

“How come you’re saying that now?” he ventures with a half-grin.

“It’s obvious. You say bad things about yourself so others will put you in a good light.”

You make it sound like you’ve auspiciously figured him out in less than a day. So easily.

Leon allows your words to sink in (or pretends) and suddenly lobs the snowball he’s gathered in his palm straight at you.

Oh, this is a war in your book.

No one could have guessed – least of all you – that you would be having a snowball fight with your brother’s roommate when just yesterday, at this time on the road, you wanted the guy simply out of the picture.

Life and fate have a way of playing fickle tricks on you, you suppose.

Your blood warms to him so readily, but your small, fuzzy, childish crush on him is a mere diversion that will only fade in two days. Neither you nor he is a teenager anymore. You have a college to swipe at, and he has some operose work to do.

Still. There’s absolutely nothing stopping the two of you from exchanging numbers.

It all happens so randomly.

It’s the itchy afternoon hours when he knocks on the door of the room you’re staying in, about three hours before you and your mom leave. After you confirm with a “come in,” he buzzes in.

Well, he didn’t exactly think you were going to greet him in a linen bathrobe or anything like that.

“Oh! My eyes!”

He folds his palms over his eyes like he’s been shot in the heart. It’s like he’s never seen a pretty girl in a bathrobe before; he’s acting like a silly schoolboy.

That crowns an impish grin on your lips, and he talks.

“Damn, a trigger warning could’ve been fine for the no-makeup look.”

“What?!” Your grin falls apart.

Dick.

The crux of it is that he barely manages to pull your number before you leave the premises – much to your chagrin. He could have asked your brother, which would have been one thing, but Leon couldn’t bring himself to do it, given that the monochrome banter and chirpy snickering between you and him had already made your brother a tad dubious.

Best to get it from the source anyway.

You were torn between texting him first or not. Hell, you were thinking about him even when you sat up in class – at the beginning, in the middle of lectures, and at dinner with your friends. He was in the little moments, the tiny details. Some of your friends were quick to catch on to your sleaze, and they all hit you with the same run-of-the-mill take:

“Ugh, your expectations are too high, girl. You’ll never find a guy like that. Waste of time. Just get your head out of the fucking skies and stop being delusional.”

You even consulted a friend you genuinely believed was a genie or a witch. Grudgingly, under your compulsion, she pulled tarot cards for you.

“Umm, yeah. He likes you, whoa! Actually, he thinks your tits are so cute. I think he sometimes does fuck his fist when he thinks about you,” she averred, and you batted your lashes like a half-wit.

Guess what happened after that reading session?

Leon texted you his first message at 5 AM on that fateful day.

“You’re still holding on to me?”

What a flashy piece of texting.

Who cares? A message is a message, and exceptions are the rule.

So you kept texting each other until the spring semester. You said you wanted to visit D.C., and he kept telling you to stick to your studies.

“Think about your future salary, sweetheart. Fuck it. You’re gonna get that bag.”

Then there were the cute names he called you alongside his adjuvant-worthy pep talks. You could not get enough of them; they made your heart sing like a dove in an aviary cage.

He called you on certain evenings, and your long conversations felt like a frosty dessert after a hearty meal.

“You’ve finished a whole semester, yeah? That’s my girl. Don’t you think you deserve a treat from me?”

It was eating you up inside. He was eating you up inside. The thing is, neither you nor he dared to label this thing between you, but he could very easily take you out for an exclusive dinner.

—

Now you’re here, waiting for him to pick you up. It’s exactly eight, sharp. Not a minute late.

“I can’t let you go till you try the lamb agnolotti.”

Leon’s very persistent. He personally drives you to his much-loved (read: flaunting his Italian roots) Fiola restaurant.

The food is beyond spectacular and assertive enough to leave a dulcet aftertaste on your palate, paired with the sherry. You can tell he’s got good taste.

“My stomach is bloated. Any more of this, and I’ll end up in a food coma.”

“Excuses, excuses.” He tuts.

—

The car ride after dinner, wrapped in the crisp ambiance of a warm spring night, serves as a prelude to the long, long night ahead. You can’t control your hands the whole drive – but you had a valid alibi. This is precisely what happens when the man you haven’t seen in months (the one you flipped out over in the ‘adjacent-to-a-situationship-but-never-enough-to-make-it-real’ phase) just happens to be sitting next to you.

“Jesus. Simmer down, will you? I’m driving—hey! Sweetie, keep your hand outta there. Not now.” Warnings, he doles out. Compliance? Really questionable.

That changes almost the minute he ushers you into his tenement. He lures you into his room, props you up against the three-panel door, and eats your pussy from behind until your legs give out. No wonder he is a dab hand at it, and the cherry on the cake is your taste on his tongue – all moreish. He sucks and licks the pearl of your clit until the pulp is swollen and you cum on his tongue – the epiphany of the night.

The conclusion to the overall story is that you find yourself on his platform bed, riding his dick so idyllically.

You say he’s too big, but you take it. You ride him cowgirl.

“Fuck, look at you. Pretty pussy suckin’ me so pretty.”

Under you, Leon makes the most ear-candy-inducing noises he can ever muster. Pink-cheeked and greedy, he looks like one of those pretty porn stars with dreamy eyes and long lashes.

“Just like that, beautiful. Ride it—oh fuck!”

“Just shut up...” You reprimand him. He’s distracting you when all you want to do is ride and ride him more.

His rasping, labored puffs of air tickle your ears. The crystalline light caressing his skin like the reflection of moonlight on rivulets makes it look like the lights are swimming around him. You wonder if he tastes that rich.

A rush of euphoria bubbles up inside you, stirring in the pit of your stomach – a deluge of sensations that he’s all too familiar with as your tight clutch of cunt enfolds him. This really must be a dream, he thinks. You look divine; head tilted, hair in a cute mess, playing amok with your little love-starved clit.

As if on queer cue, Leon’s phone chimes janglingly.

Really, Leon?

Everyone puts their phone on silent – particularly when they’re fucking and deep balls inside somebody.

You pay no heed to it; you just fuck yourself on him, but the ringing phone goes off again. Very importuning, to say the least.

Leon’s painfully nearing, and you’re about to hit your second orgasm. The arbitrarily splashed colors are now bokeh blurs behind the penumbra of your eyes.

Tring, tring!

It happens again. Those stupid flip phones and their stupid ringing.

On the phone Leon can barely get his mitts on, the name that flickers on-screen is none other than your brother’s.

“Shit,” he thinks. Now he’s in the deep end. You won’t hold back, and neither will he cease.

Well, he’s already pushed that green button once. No going slack now.

With a palm on your mouth, Leon blocks your enviable blubbering and effectively hushes you. He tunes in to the noise crackling on the other line.

“Leon, my man, I’m real sorry. Really needed to call you. Seems like my sister’s MIA. Said she’d be with her friends and busy tonight, but it’s no good. It’s pretty late. You seen her? Did she call you by any chance? Anything helps, Kennedy, I’m biting my nails here.”

Poor, poor worried brother.

Since Leon can’t really say, “Your precious little sister is all over me, riding me breathlessly,” he immediately adopts his “on pins and needles” character.

“No. Where —unngh!— seen her? Me? Nope, not me.”

“Oh, hell no. Are you taking a shit in the toilet? What is all that pushing for?”

Actually fucking your sister’s cum in her pretty little hole, Leon doesn’t say it, but those are the exact sentiments coursing through his head.

And who’s he to take away the one thing you desire most anyway? Anything for a pretty girl who already looks like the visual representation of a Goddess when she creampies on his cock.

A pretty lie never hurt anyone.

“Huh. Yeah. Well, if you’ll pardon me, damn it.”

“Whatever. Just spray those floral air fresheners after you finish your job, you asshole.”

When Leon hangs up his phone and makes sure you ride the fading butterflies of your bliss, he seizes you by the dip of your waist and rams you underneath him.

“Seems like you really got your big brother worried,” he says and reaches a hand down to array your right leg around his hip.

“What do you say we go for round two before he gets home?”