#contours of the heart series

[emmieedwards]

Resenha: Easy, de Tammara Webber

Livro: Easy Série: #1 - Contornos do Coração Autora: Tammara Webber Gênero: Romance Contemporâneo, Drama Ano de Publicação: 2013 Editora: Verus Páginas: 305 Classificação: +16

Há livros e »livros«. Com certeza, Easy, não é um »livro« no quesito enredo, em 2012 as coisas eram muito mais…básicas, vamos dizer assim, mas isso não tira o mérito de Tammara Webber de ter um estilo de escrita completamente viciante.

Em "Easy" conhecemos Jacqueline, uma garota que foi para uma faculdade específica para ficar perto do seu namorado de ensino médio e que se vê perdida quando o relacionamento acaba.

E as coisas não poderiam ficar piores: em uma das primeiras festas depois do término, Jacqueline é atacada por uma pessoa próxima que tenta abusá-la sex ualmente.

Desesperada, ela é salva por um misterioso rapaz que estava no lugar certo na hora certa e que parece saber muito mais sobre ela do que o contrário.

Enquanto tenta não dar enfoque no seu trauma recente, Jaqueline começa a perceber que toda a sua vida e carreira foram moldadas em torno de seu ex: a faculdade, seus planos, sua inscrição na matéria de economia, e até mesmo a maioria dos seus amigos eram os amigos de seu ex que depois da separação quase nem olham na cara dela.

De brinde, enquanto se recuperava do pé na bunda, ela se viu incapaz de comparecer na prova do meio do semestre e está prestes a tomar bomba em Economia.

Se esforçando para reparar os estragos, Jacqueline começa a ser mais perceptiva à presença de Lucas, seu salvador misterioso, ao seu redor e começa a contemplar a ideia de colocar a história com seu ex finalmente no passado. O problema é que a conquista com Lucas pode ser um pouco difícil e talvez ela esteja gostando muito mais de trocar alguns e-mails com seu monitor de economia.

"Easy" é um combo de coisas que aparentemente envelheceram mal, mas que surpreendentemente tem um conteúdo cativante. A capa não ajuda nem um pouco, a sinopse é um tanto suspeita e o blurb comparando-o com "Belo Desastre" também não é um bom indicativo.

Mas, contra todas as probabilidades, eu me diverti muito lendo e praticamente não consegui largar a leitura até terminar. O tema sobre o abuso, apesar de não ser extremamente aprofundado foi tratado de uma forma bastante "ok" e lúcida, sem ter aquele tom machista que coloca a culpa nas mulheres. O nosso mocinho emo aparentemente bad boy não é um rebelde sem causa que está pouco se importando para o mundo e ousaria dizer que ele é um dos personagens mais sensatos de todo o livro. A mocinha também não é insuportável e o desenvolvimento de personagem dela não gira apenas em torno do relacionamento.

Além disso, o casal é bem interessante juntos, dialogam bem e tem uma química muito bacana.

Claro, "Easy" não é um livro que vai mudar vidas, nem vai te fazer "cult", mas passa mensagens importantes e, o melhor, vai ser aquele entretenimento que muitos leitores estão procurando.

Recomendo a leitura para aqueles que vão de coração aberto.

Alguém por aí já leu? O que acharam?

NOTA: 🌟🌟🌟🌟 - 4/5

*Apesar de fazer parte de uma série, a maior parte dos livros são de leituras independentes"

Alerta de gatilhos: tentativa e menção de abuso se xu al (não tem descrição explícita), descredibilização da vítima, as sé dio, agressão física, assas si na to, menção de sui cí dio.

[comatosebunny09]

backstage performance | sylus q.

— cw: female!reader, dancer!reader, lap dance, pole dancing, thigh riding, pet names, smutty things, pretend the reader’s wearing an expensive-ass lace front wig, shower sex, explicit language, praise kink, voice kink, aftercare, mdni — wc: ~2k — dividers by: @grabby-smitten — tagging: @world-of-hearts because they always entertain my madness. — now playing: don't worry about it - clara la san

One performance ends, freeing you up for another, more important gig. 

A smile rounds your lips as your audience erupts into a series of whoops and whistles. It’s almost deafening, their praise. 

The stage lights overwhelm your vision as people applaud you, some swiping at the stage to touch you. Everyone wants a chance at you—a taste of Lux’s main attraction. It’s flattering, but this isn’t the attention you seek tonight. It’s merely a preemptive strike for the grand finale.  

You duck backstage after wiping your pole clean. Sweep hair from your face, dabbing at the sweat on your forehead with the back of your hand. A member of the backstage crew appears behind you to drape your shoulders in a fur coat. You wave her off, giving her an omniscient look as you shrug away from it. 

Her smile is cute, bashfulness swelling her cheeks. She knows what’s amiss—or about to be—bringing you a bottle of water instead. You gratefully accept, the crisp liquid a welcomed reprieve, cooling your insides. You thank her with a chaste kiss to her cheek. 

You dip into one of the club’s many winding hallways, bathed in the red lighting cast from overhead, skin shining with body glitter. Your heels click against the floor, accompanied by the dull throb of music playing throughout Lux’s halls. 

You reach your destination, your heart racing as you push through the swinging door leading to a quiet, tucked-away room.

Despite how long you’ve done this, you always get the pre-dance jitters, specifically when putting on a show for him. So, you tamp down your inhibitions as he comes into sight, a shock of white hair arresting your vision through the crimson hue of the private room. 

He looks up when you near him to get to your new stage, that customary smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He sits back in an easy slouch in the leather armchair, watching you with half-slit eyes and a muted smugness that sets your body alight.

You haul yourself onto the raised platform using the pole, an effortless display of your flexibility and strength. If at all possible, his smirk grows tenfold. He shifts in his seat, the leather squeaking when he grips the arms with long, slender fingers. He’s settled in for the long haul; your private shows never disappoint.

Whatever kind of day he’s had, you want to ease the tense set of his shoulders. Erase the lines forming between his brows despite the mask of nonchalance he dons. His negotiations must’ve gone south.

Music spills from the speakers in the form of soft crooning over a chill beat. It assuages your nerves a little, prompting you to begin your show. 

You grow more confident as the seconds pass. Warm up a little, grinding your ass against the pole, thighs spread wide whilst you simulate grinding on him. 

He watches you with quiet reverence, mouth slightly open. His gaze always drifts back to yours as you entice him with the salacious wind of your body. The attention makes your throat grow dry. You’ve danced for him many times before, yet it always feels like the first when he looks at you like that. Like you’re something to be devoured, bones licked clean.

You pull out all the stops once you mount the pole, sprinkling in your favorite tricks, guided by the music and the hungry wash of scarlet watching in your peripheral. You spin here, flourish your fingers there. Smooth your hands over the contours of your body, playing up your allure. 

At some point, you end up on the floor propped on your elbows, the stage glacial beneath your bum. You cross your ankles and flex your feet. Splay your legs wide and jiggle your thighs. Spin each leg in a rehearsed fashion before clapping your heels together, the sound commanding in the stilled space. 

From there, you maneuver yourself into a split, isolating your cheek muscles to twerk your ass. You couple it with a sultry look at the object of your desires, and he lifts a brow, clearly enjoying the show. 

You ease onto your knees, gyrating your hips whilst combing your fingers through your hair. You flatten against the floor onto your palms, crawling toward him with the finesse of a prowling feline. He sits up to meet you halfway, and his eyes track to your lips when you tug at the collar of his shirt, drawing your chests together. 

“How did your meeting go,” you ask in a vain attempt at small talk. His breath is hot, sifting through your lashes as he slowly exhales. It’s dizzying, being so close. Smelling him, feeling the heat radiating off his skin, studying the pucker of his lips.

His lips graze yours with the tease of a kiss. “Flawlessly.” You taste the double entendre.

“That well, huh?” He helps you dismount the stage with wide palms clasped around your waist, drawing you into his lap. The air is pinched from your lungs when you bounce on his thighs from the motion, his need for you hot and weighted against your inner thigh. 

“Sure,” he says, hands making several expeditions over your sides, stomach, and the small of your back. He doesn’t want to talk business when such a delicious spread is laid out before him. You can’t blame him.

You decide not to pursue the conversation, instead raking your fingers through his hair to massage his scalp. He groans something guttural and appreciative. It’s amusing watching the big, bad Boogeyman fall apart in your hands. Baring a side of himself he reserves only for you.

You try to get up to finish your performance, but he snatches you back onto his lap, a warning brewing in the gleam of his scarlet eyes. 

You chuckle, admiring the scowl-turned-pout that descends on his lips. “Will you ever let me finish a dance?”

“Someday,” he counters, lazily studying your features. Smiles. “For now, why don’t you take five? Or ten? Or perhaps, twenty…”

You roll your eyes, draping your arms around his shoulders to draw him in for a kiss. It’s a brief, sticky union. Quick pecks evolve into something more heated, more possessive whilst he moors you to his lap, pushing his tongue into your mouth. 

It’s a greedy exchange, his tongue seeking out yours, stealing your breath from your lungs sip by sip. It’s enough to make your head spin, the apex of your thighs throbbing with anticipation against the stitching of his trousers. 

Deft fingers tiptoe up your back, grabbing the zipper of your bodysuit. He pulls back momentarily to watch your expression as he sluggishly draws the zipper down. Quietly gives you an out in case you’re not in the mood for this. Always so considerate, even whilst in the throes of passion.

You say nothing, instead gathering his cheeks in your palms once he’s freed you of the tug of your costume. He bunches your bodysuit around your hips, wrapping virile arms around your middle to keep you fastened to him. He peels back to smooth his palms over the sides of your ribs, bottom lip pinched between his teeth. He’s insatiable, like he’ll never see you again, emblazoning the feel of your body into his memories forever.

Reluctantly, he tears away from the hot suction of your mouth to nip at your neck. Your lips part with a sigh-turned-breathy laugh, and you crane your neck back to grant him more access. The worn pads of his thumbs ease over the swell of your tits, find your nipples. He ducks to lick one into his mouth, paying the same homage to the other until they’re ramrod stiff and sensitive.

Unconsciously, you grind against his thigh, the rough material of his slacks bumping against your clit just right, sending delightful shockwaves throughout your body.

“That’s it,” he croons, molding a hand around your ass to encourage you. Sighs hot and open-mouthed against your hinged open mouth. “Ride me. Just like that. Don’t stop.”

The low gravel of his voice spurs you on. You glide your sticky, clothed cunt over his quad, and he squeezes your ass in one hand whilst kneading your breast in the other, drawing your nipple back into his mouth. 

“Fuck me, baby,” he urges on a strained groan. “Take what you want from me. Use me, sweetheart.” 

You do as he pleads, clinging to him whilst you seek your pleasure through the sluggish grind of your hips. You pant in unison, his palms perched on your hips, encouraging you to ride his thigh faster. He sucks on your neck, breathing obscenities and praise against your skin, pushing you further towards that edge of that blissful void.

“Fuck me. Take me. So good. Such a pretty girl. Cum for me. Want you to. So, so badly.”

Your ragged breaths progress into loud, bitten-off moans of his name. Your hips stutter as the world slides into white. Your orgasm spills through you like a warm liquid pooling in the chasm of your belly, your nails scraping over the nape of his neck. He holds you as you shake and whimper. Paints the sweetest words against your slick neck, encouraging you to come down from the clouds.

You curl into him as the last vestiges of your peak ripple through you, willing your breaths to even out. He eases soothing hands over your body, your thighs. Slides gentle fingers under your chin, luring you into a kiss that’s sweet and coaxing.

He’s patient as you finally come down. Chuckles low in his throat, thinking you’re just the sweetest thing. Your cheeks prickle with warmth as realization slams into you. You peer into his eyes when his girth brushes against your swelling sex. His gaze is mirthful, knowing.

Your mouth trembles around words. He didn’t get his. He traps the question in your mouth with another kiss, the loud click of your mouths parting making you heady once more. 

“You’ll have plenty of time to take care of me later,” he rasps. Your belly swoops at the implications. At the tenderness. The fragility in his smile, the affection blooming in his gaze. “In the meantime, we should get you cleaned up.” He is, of course, referencing the sweat and glitter still clinging to your skin from your show before this one.

You nuzzle into the hollow of his shoulder when he lifts you into his arms bridal style. Soundless, he walks you out of the room and down the hall toward the elevator. You’re bare from the waist up, your nipples puckering beneath the cool rush of air as he maneuvers you through the hall. But you’re not all ashamed, knowing no one frequents this side of the club as much as you do.

He cradles you to him like you’re made of porcelain. Doesn’t set you down even when the elevator pings at the top floor, emptying the pair of you into his penthouse. 

A bout of exhaustion washes over you. Maybe you were more exhausted than you let on. He chuckles something fond, glancing at you as he carries you to his en suite bathroom.

He takes his time divesting you of your costume after he sets you on the brisk countertop. Slides your heels from your feet, holding your gaze with a predatory gleam whilst he kisses the notches of each ankle bone. The mirror is a welcomed, glacial reprieve against your back when you lean against it, watching him rid himself of his suit. Your mouth waters when you catch sight of him, hard and swollen red in the wake of your teasing.

He scoops you back into his arms when he’s done, carrying you beneath the warm spray of his shower. Only then does he reluctantly set you down, turning away to squirt some body wash onto a towel to clean you. He takes his time scrubbing away the sweat and glitter, touching you with such admiration, like you’re a deity worthy of praise.

Once you’re both thoroughly scrubbed, he’s sure to thank you for such a wonderful performance in the shape of his hot mouth and artful fingers moving between your thighs.

[hunkpossession0]

**Riding a New Life: A Ghost's Journey**

I had been a wandering spirit for what felt like an eternity. Ever since the accident that severed my connection to the living world, I had been drifting through the ether, invisible and forgotten. That is, until today.

I found myself in a dimly lit parking garage, the scent of gasoline and rubber filling the air. The growl of an engine echoed off the walls, and that’s when I saw him—a young biker, effortlessly cool in his black and red leather suit, leaning casually against his sleek Honda. He was everything I had once admired from afar, back when I was alive.

I watched him for a moment, a pang of envy and longing coursing through my spectral form. Then, almost instinctively, I felt myself drawn toward him. There was a sudden pull, a rush of energy, and before I knew it, I was inside his body.

The moment I slipped into his form, it was as if the world exploded in sensation. The first thing I noticed was the heat—the intoxicating warmth of his skin, the snug embrace of the leather suit wrapping around me. It was a second skin, tight and form-fitting, accentuating every contour and muscle. The leather was smooth and supple, a mix of security and allure that was almost overwhelming.

I flexed my fingers, feeling the resistance of the gloves, the reassuring grip they provided. I couldn't help but admire the strength in these hands, the power in this body. My heart raced, not just from the thrill of possession, but from the sheer intensity of feeling alive again. The suit clung to me, a perfect fit, and I relished the way it made me look—strong, confident, and undeniably hot.

Every step I took in the leather suit was a new discovery. The way it accentuated my broad shoulders, the way it hugged my biceps and triceps, making every muscle pop with definition. I could feel the smooth caress of the leather against my skin, the way it moved with me, an extension of my newfound strength.

After an exhilarating ride through the city, I decided to explore more of what this new life had to offer. I had noticed a gym bag in the trunk of his bike, and an idea struck me. I headed to the local gym, eager to test the limits of this new body.

Entering the gym, I felt a wave of excitement. The scent of sweat and metal filled the air, and the rhythmic clanking of weights created a motivating soundtrack. I walked confidently to the locker room, changing into a tank top and workout pants that showed off my muscular physique. The reflection in the mirror was almost surreal—I was now this fit, handsome biker with a body that drew admiration and respect.

I started with some light stretches, feeling every muscle respond with a fluidity and power I had never experienced before. Moving to the weight section, I picked up a dumbbell, the cold metal heavy in my hand. I began a series of bicep curls, watching in awe as the muscles in my arms bulged and flexed.

The intensity of the workout was intoxicating. I pushed myself harder, feeling the burn in my muscles, the rush of endorphins coursing through my veins. I moved from one machine to another, challenging myself with each set, reveling in the strength and endurance of this body.

Between sets, I caught glimpses of myself in the mirror. The way the tank top clung to my chest and shoulders, the way my arms looked pumped and powerful—it was a heady mix of vanity and pride. I couldn't help but snap a quick selfie, capturing the moment of pure, unadulterated strength.

As the workout continued, I felt a growing sense of accomplishment. This body was capable of so much, and I was determined to explore its limits. The sweat poured down my skin, a testament to the hard work and effort I was putting in. And with each rep, each lift, I could feel myself growing more confident, more comfortable in this new skin.

But something was missing. My spectral journey had been long and lonely, and I longed to share this new life with someone who understood. That’s when I remembered my closest ghost friend, another lost soul who had wandered with me through the void. He deserved this chance too.

Later that evening, I returned to the parking garage, where I found another biker—a friend of the man whose body I had claimed. He was tall and lean, with a rugged handsomeness that made my decision easy. I called out to my ghost friend, guiding him to this new vessel.

With a rush of energy, my friend entered the biker’s body. The transformation was immediate. He blinked, adjusting to the new sensations, then looked at me with a mixture of awe and gratitude. We were no longer lost souls. We were alive, and we had each other.

Together, we returned to the gym. It was a surreal experience, seeing my friend in his new form, watching him flex and admire his new physique. We took a moment to capture it—a selfie of the two of us, side by side, strong and proud. The bond we shared as ghosts had transformed into something deeper, something more intimate.

In the gym mirror, we stood close, our bodies radiating strength and confidence. My friend, now in his own muscular form, flexed his bicep while I wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Our tank tops clung to us, revealing every sculpted muscle, every defined line. The pride in our eyes was unmistakable. Here we were, two souls reborn, finding a new life and love in the most unexpected way.

As the days passed, we explored our new lives together. We rode our bikes through the city, feeling the wind on our faces, the thrill of speed and freedom. We worked out side by side, pushing each other to new heights, celebrating every achievement.

Our connection grew stronger, evolving into a romantic bond that felt natural and right. We were a couple now, navigating this new world together. The love we had for each other, forged in the ethereal realm, blossomed in our new, physical forms.

And as we stood together, gazing at our reflections, we knew that this was just the beginning. We had found a new home, a new life, and most importantly, we had found each other. The road ahead was ours to conquer, and we were ready to face it together.

The leather suit, which had started it all, became a symbol of our transformation. Every time I slipped into it, I felt a rush of excitement and power. The way it hugged my body, the way it made me look and feel—it was exhilarating. And as we rode together, side by side, I knew that we were more than just bikers. We were partners, lovers, and together, we were unstoppable.

[calif0rnia-lovers]

safe place.

an: ngl, I wanted to hug jude & bukayo through the screen when England lost😔

requested: I remember seeing that Jude said his mom helps him when he gets "too low with the lows or too high with the highs." Can you do a fic where his gf is that way?

pairing: jude bellingham x black!reader

series: lyrically inspired tales.

if my heart aches, you breathe with me at my pace.

song: safe place by ruthanne

warnings: this is most definitely not edited lol.

The stadium lights had dimmed, and the roar of the crowd had faded into a distant memory, replaced by a haunting silence. Jude Bellingham sat in the quiet of his hotel room, the weight of the Euro final's loss pressing heavily on his shoulders. Exhaustion seeped into his bones—physically, mentally, and emotionally he was tapped. The missed shot that could have changed everything replayed in his mind, a tormenting loop of what-ifs and if-onlys.

He felt utterly drained, each breath a reminder of the effort he had poured into the match. The worst part about losing was feeling like he was at his lowest, despite all the hard work and dedication he had poured in for his country. The memory of the silver medal being draped over his shoulder, the relentless flashes of cameras, and the disappointed faces of fans loomed over him like a dark cloud. He had tried to keep his head up, stopping to hug each of his teammates, whispering words of encouragement, but it still hurt like hell. He had forced a brave face, stifling the sting in his eyes, reassuring his family and friends that he was alright. Keeping up the front until he reached his room had been a monumental task, and now, alone in the dim light, the facade crumbled.

He stared blankly at the wall, the ache of disappointment settling deep within his chest. Hours seemed to drag by, each minute stretching into an eternity. His phone was on Do Not Disturb. Although he knew the messages were meant with the best intentions, Jude wasn’t ready to read the encouraging texts sent to him. He hadn't spoken to anyone since the bus doors closed, needing space to process the defeat alone. The team’s efforts, the dreams of a nation, all seemed to hang on that one moment when his shot had veered just slightly off course.

A knock at the door broke through his reverie. Jude ignored it at first, unwilling to face anyone. If he didn’t call out, whoever it was would go away. But then it came again. 

A single knock, followed by three softer knocks, a distinct rhythm that was all too familiar. It was a special knock. Your special knock, a signal that meant more than words ever could. It prompted him to rise from the bed and cross the room.

Your interaction at the stadium was still a blur. A rushed kiss against his lips, nose, and forehead, a whispered “I love you so much,” was all he could receive before he was moving through the line of friends and family. In the few short hours that had passed, you had showered and changed.

When he opened the door, Jude found you standing there with your travel backpack pressed against your chest.

Jude paused to take you in, grounding himself by focusing on your familiar features. It was a routine he had built over the last six months of your relationship, a way to find solace in the midst of chaos. His eyes passed over your smooth, deep brown skin, which seemed to glow softly in the dim light. He traced the contours of your face, from your cheekbones to your lips that carried a gentle, reassuring smile. The sight of it relaxed the furrow of his brow.

Your eyes, warm and filled with understanding, were his favorite feature. They held a depth of emotion and wisdom that made him feel seen and understood. Your lashes framed them perfectly, long and curled, adding to the natural beauty that always took his breath away. His gaze traveled up to the soft curls, pineappled at the top of your head, his hand instinctively reaching forward.

As he studied you, taking in every detail—his touch tracing the curve of your jaw before settling against your cheek—he felt a sense of peace wash over him.

"Hi," you greeted softly, your voice a balm to his battered spirit.

Jude managed a weak smile, the corners of his lips lifting. "Hey," he replied, his voice rough.

You stepped inside, Jude’s hand instinctively settling on your hips as the door closed.

The scent of lavender and chamomile wafted from the bag you carried, filling the room with a calming aroma. It was a scent that lingered on the sheets of each hotel room Jude stayed in, his bedroom at home, and even in his shirts and jerseys. He associated it with you, and only you—a fragrance that instantly brought relaxation and comfort. Whenever you couldn't make it to his games, Jude would find the aromatherapy tucked away in his bag, a thoughtful gesture that made him feel close to you even when apart.

“My flight leaves at 9:30 tomorrow,” you began as you unzipped the bag. Gathering what you needed, you started towards the bathroom. “So, I’ll probably leave here at 7. I’m sure traffic is going to be insane.”

Jude listened to your voice, the calm cadence soothing his frayed nerves. You didn’t expect a response; you knew him well enough to understand that after a loss, he needed time to recover. So, you verbally went through your travel plans. The turnaround was quick, but you needed to report to work. While slightly annoying, the plan was simple: report home, get back to work, and into your routine. Jude would soon follow.

As you focused on starting the bath, Jude began to look through the items you bought. His hand paused on something small and familiar, tucked beneath his favorite snacks—a stuffed lion. He picked it up, a wave of bittersweet memories washing over him. The lion had a soft, golden mane and big, friendly eyes. Stitched into the pad of its right paw was a heart. Jude remembered the day he won it for you at the Ice Palace, the way your face had lit up with joy, your smile so wide and genuine it had made his heart swell.

"My lion," you’d giggled, hugging the plush toy tightly before wrapping your arms around his neck, your laughter ringing in his ears. “I can keep him with me when you’re away.”

You paused in the bathroom doorway, watching him hold the stuffed lion. "That always makes me feel better when we're apart," you said softly, a smile finding your lips as the shared memory hung between the two of you.

You began to take out and explain the things you had brought to cheer him up—a selection of his favorite snacks, your iPad full of movies, and some comforting toiletries. "I brought these because I thought they might help you relax. And I know how much you love Shawshank Redemption. So...being the gracious, loving girlfriend I am, I will sit through it for the hundredth time. But, only if you promise to share your sour st-"

You were mid-sentence when he moved towards you, wrapping his arms around your middle from behind. For a moment, you stayed that way, the warmth of his embrace speaking louder than words. Jude buried his face in your shoulder, his breath hitching as he tried to hold back the tears that threatened to escape.

You could feel the tremors in his body, his grip tightening as if you were his anchor in the storm of his emotions.

"It's okay," you whispered, turning to face him, the warmth of your palms against his cheeks lifting his eyes to yours. "You gave it everything you had, and that's all anyone can ask for. I'm so proud of you, Jude. You’ve come so far, and this is just a moment in your journey. It's okay to feel hurt and disappointed, but remember that you are stronger than this. Everything happens exactly when it's meant to."

Finally, the dam broke, and Jude rested against you, the tears he’d managed to keep at bay all night came pouring out. He remained pressed against you until the stress of the past few months drained his eyes dry. He allowed you to lead him to the bathroom, welcoming the warm, fragrant steam filled the room, creating a cocoon of comfort. 

He allowed you to help him undress, your movements tender and deliberate, as if you were peeling away not just his clothes but also the layers of his hurt.

"Let's get you in," you murmured softly, as his lips brushed against yours, guiding him into the tub. Jude eased himself into the warm water, letting out a deep sigh as the heat began to soothe his aching muscles and weary mind.

You stepped back to gather the other things you had brought, but Jude's hand gently traced soothing circles into your thigh as you stood by the tub. The simple touch spoke volumes, a silent plea for your presence, for you to stay close.

Jude leaned his head back, closing his eyes as he let the warmth of the bath wash over him. The exhaustion and frustration that had gripped him began to loosen, replaced by a growing sense of peace. He listened as you moved around the room, lighting a few candles and setting out the items you had brought—a fluffy towel, his favorite shampoo, and a soft robe for when he got out. 

You joined Jude in the tub, settling behind him. He welcomed the loofah against his skin, the gentle, rhythmic motion of your hands soothing his frayed nerves. You massaged his shoulders, careful with the one that had been previously injured, as he rested back against you. His hand found its place on his leg, grounding him as he watched the movie playing on the tablet propped nearby.

Your touch worked magic, and you could feel his body gradually relaxing. The tension that had coiled within him slowly unwound, and he seemed to be coming back to himself. The voice in his head, the one that echoed with doubt and personal criticism, grew quieter with each passing moment. Each gentle kiss you pressed against his skin, each laugh you shared from the film, chipped away at the walls of his frustration.

By the time most of the bubbles had dissipated, Jude was completely relaxed. His gratefulness showed in the way he gently squeezed your thigh and the soft kisses he brushed against your knuckles. The warmth of the water, combined with your presence, created a cocoon of comfort and safety. 

He tilted his head back slightly, letting it rest against your shoulder, eyes half-closed in contentment. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, fingers tracing small circles on his chest. "You don’t have to," you replied softly. "I’m here, always."

Jude sighed, a deep, contented breath that seemed to release the last of his lingering tension. He turned his head slightly to kiss your forehead, a silent thank you for being his anchor in the storm. The doubts that had plagued him earlier were now a distant memory.

The kiss he left against your lips was soft, almost sloppy. The physical and mental strain he's been under from Real Madrid and the Euros suddenly registering. His body begging for sleep.

"Let's get you outta here," you giggled. "I don't think I can carry you to bed if you fall asleep."

You press against the corner of his mouth, the action stopping the closing of his heavy eyelids. "Come on, Jude."

"Mmm...hold up..." Jude mumbled, eyes drifting shut as your lips brushed against his. Brow arching, his smirk prompting your eyes to roll. "...I'm not even tired."

"Uh-huh," stifling your giggle, you watch as Jude nods. His heavy eyes blinking before dropping down to your smile.

"'m not," he mumbled, his kiss missing your lips and settling on your chin.

A series of soft and light kiss lingered against your jaw, drifting to your shoulder. As much as he tried to fight off the comfortable sleeping tugging at him, Jude couldn't resist. By the time he reached your lips, a tired and goofy smile stretched across Jude's lips.

"Alright," he relented. "Let's go, but we gonna finish this in the morning."

"I'm sure we will," you smiled.

You place a final kiss against his lips. The brushing of your nose against his pulling out the smile that left you the victim of constant butterflies and euphoria. Before Jude knew it, the words slipped out.

"I love you," he murmured, the words hanging in the air between you like a delicate promise. "Thanks for this."

The words halted your movement of slipping from beneath him, your eyes widening slightly in surprise. It was the first time he had said it aloud. You had never pressured him for those words, knowing that he showed his love in countless other ways. Just as you did for him.

"I love you too, Jude," you replied as his lips found your forehead.

Letting his lips pass over your nose, Jude pushed himself.

[fvsm4x]

✧RE(G)RET ; GOJO SATORU . . . . . CHAP 1.

✧SUMMARY: Pregnancy, usually a positive outcome of love between two partners that love each other deeply. But Pregnancy resulting from someone using you for their own pleasure is far from a positive outcome

— C.W: bully Gojo Satoru x female reader , pregnancy , sexual assault & harassment , mentions of abortion , mature themes/MDNI , bullying , angst , gojo is a dick , 18+ , fingering , sucking , nsfw , mature themes , dirty talk , dubcon

— WORD COUNT: 4.7k+

—A/N: I SWEAR GOJO WILL GET A CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT PLEASE DON‘T COME ATTACKING ME IF I WROTE HIM BEING A DICK

— TAGLIST: @watyousayin @zukowantshishonourback @wiqxx @jhutchlover67 @xxemmarldxx @sadmonke @chilichopsticks @neptunieesworld @sodoney @nessielovesfood @polarbvnny @mwtsxri @mynahx3 @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @reader69sviewpoint @emryb @starlightanyaaa @kiramdd @promiseofeywa @xuxieroll @tqd4455 @wateronlyhaha @stillpanicking @starrylibras @latorsgatorz @melancholysanatomy @cherryblossomly @littledemoness15 @thatsopanu @throwmethroughawindow @xkittiecatx @yihona-san06 @aikuoliverswife @mellow-mewow @r0ckst4rjk @virtuapicklequirkreader @heijihattorisgf @meoneee777 @ih8erika @haitanibros0007 @certainduckanchor @alisonyus @nothisispatrick300

NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

"No," you whispered, your voice trembling,"No. No. No."

You stared at the pregnancy test in your hand, your breath catching in your throat.

The room seemed to spin around you as you tried to process the reality of the situation. Your hand began to shake uncontrollably, and tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision.

Your heart pounded in your chest, its rhythm erratic and chaotic. Each beat seemed to echo in your ears, a constant reminder of the profound impact this revelation would have on your life. Slowly, your legs gave way beneath you, and you slid down the cold, tiled walls of the bathroom. The coolness seeped through your clothes, grounding you in the midst of the emotional storm raging within.

You glanced at the test again, desperately hoping that it was all just a mistake. But the reality of the situation sank in, causing your lower lip to quiver and tears to stream down your face. In a fit of frustration and despair, you threw the test across the room, its plastic casing clattering against the tiles. The sound seemed to reverberate through the silence, punctuating the gravity of the moment.

Your hands instinctively flew to your face, covering your mouth as you sobbed into them. This couldn't be happening. You weren't ready to become a parent, not yet. You were still in college, still young, and this felt like a cruel twist of fate. But deep down, you knew it wasn't a mistake.

The constant bouts of nausea, the missed periods, and the frequent trips to the bathroom left no room for doubt. You had suspected for a while now, but seeing the positive test confirmed your fears.

Thoughts raced through your mind, each one more frantic than the last. How would you manage your studies and a baby?

You couldn't afford to bring a child into the world right now. You were just 18, still trying to navigate your way through your studies, and you still lived with your parents.

To make things even more challenging, the baby you're carrying is from Gojo Satoru, your bully who took away your virginity without your permission.

—

The room echoed with the unmistakable sound of spurrrr, followed by a sudden splashh. A cold sensation enveloped you as something was poured over your head, and a sticky white liquid began cascading down your form, saturating your hair, uniform, and face. The wet strands of your hair clung to your face, covering your eyes in a veil of dampness.

The once pristine white dress shirt of your uniform became a translucent canvas, revealing the contours beneath as it absorbed the relentless flow of the liquid. A chill ran down your spine as the dampness seeped through the fabric, making you shiver involuntarily.

The table before you, once holding neatly arranged notes, became a collateral victim as drops of the liquid found their way onto your meticulously written papers. The carton responsible for this unexpected deluge was carelessly tossed into the midst of your notes, creating a chaotic scene as the remaining contents gushed out, further drenching everything in its path.

It was milk, strawberry milk.

Your gaze fixated ahead, a mixture of confusion and disbelief clouding your eyes as you attempted to process the unexpected deluge of strawberry milk.

As you stood there, momentarily lost in the aftermath of the incident, the air around you resonated with the muffled sounds of laughter. The echoes of amusement began to pierce through the disorientation, pulling you back to the stark reality of the situation. Laughter, a mocking symphony, surrounded you from all directions, each chuckle and giggle magnifying the embarrassment of your saturated state.

Laughter, laced with mockery, sliced through the air as a voice from behind you jeered, "Man, a pink bra, seriously?", you shifted your gaze downward, only to be met with the sight of the pink bra that had become inadvertently visible through the now translucent fabric of your wet shirt, courtesy of the strawberry milk shower.

A blush crept up your cheeks, and your immediate response was to instinctively raise your hand, hastily covering the exposed upper part. Fumbling with the wet fabric, you desperately scanned your surroundings, searching for your jacket to shield yourself from the prying eyes.

However, before you could make a move, an unexpected force gripped your wrist, tugging you forward. The sudden pull exposed your bra once again, and your eyes shot up to meet the person responsible for the intrusive gesture. Piercing blue eyes and a shock of white hair revealed the identity – it was Gojo.

His gaze lingered, assessing the situation with a faint smirk. "I think it looks cute," he remarked, his eyes lingering on you,

"Your taste is seriously something else..." The voice behind Gojo murmured with a hint of incredulity before retreating into the background, leaving you alone with the enigmatic figure.

Desperation edged into your voice as you muttered, "Let me go," attempting to free your wrist from Gojo's firm grasp. However, your pleas were met with nothing but Gojo's lingering smirk, his piercing blue eyes still focused on you as if savoring the discomfort he'd stirred.

His response, a nonchalant, "No, I don't want to," only tightened his grip, compelling you to raise your hand even further, inadvertently granting him an unimpeded view. The smirk deepened as Gojo's other hand encircled your waist, drawing you closer until your body was flush against his.

The proximity left you feeling exposed and vulnerable, the lingering scent of strawberry milk and the dampness of your clothes creating an uncomfortable backdrop. Gojo, seemingly indifferent to your discomfort, leaned in, his voice a low murmur against your ear. "I wonder if your panties are also pink," he teased, his words sending a chill down your spine, widening your eyes in disbelief.

"Wait..." you stammered, attempting to push yourself away, but the maneuver only seemed to pull you closer to him.

A low, contemplative hum escaped Gojo's lips as his hand, previously resting on your waist, began to go down. The touch trailed down your back, skimming the curve of your waist before settling on the contours of your ass cheeks, positioned above your skirtt and then slipping beneath the fabric.

A hushed protest escaped your lips as you whispered, "Stop," the warmth of a blush creeping up your face as his hand delved further, finding its way under your panties, intimately resting on your bare skin. The audacity of the intrusion left you breathless.

"C'mon, don't get shy on me now," Gojo chided with an unsettling nonchalance. "No one's here." His words echoed in the room, and you glanced around, realizing with a sinking feeling that everyone who had occupied the space before had dispersed, leaving you alone in the confined space with Gojo.

"I'm busy, please let go," you pleaded, attempting to push Gojo away, the urgency in your voice belying the embarrassment and discomfort that churned within you.

His response, a taunting, "Don't be shy, I know you want it,"

You felt a shiver as Gojo pressed himself against you, his bulge uncomfortably noticeable against your stomach. His hand, previously holding your wrist, ventured under your dress shirt, revealing the pink bra. Instinctively, your hand moved to intercept his advance, wrapping around his invading hand.

"Please stop," you pleaded, hoping he'd respect your discomfort.

A dismissive "Shut up" escaped Gojo's lips, his grip tightening as he continued, "I know you want it, so let me give it to you." His audacious words hung heavy in the air, making your vulnerability more palpable.

With a furrowed brow, you tried to resist, but the unwelcome touch persisted, leaving you feeling trapped and violated.

"I noticed the way you looked at me," Gojo asserted, "Always in those little skirts, clearly trying to grab my attention~. You wanted me to notice you, and now you have it, so don't act like you didn't ask for this."

His hand, previously on your exposed ass cheek, ventured downward, slipping into the delicate crevice between your cheeks, reaching the wetness at your folds. With a deliberate touch, he pressed two fingers between the folds, skillfully massaging the sensitive flesh, coaxing a whimper from your lips.

"So wet~," he murmured into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. His fingers traced slow circles around your sensitive bud of nerves, his words a seductive whisper, "Just for me, right?"

A whimper escaped your lips, your hand finding its place on Gojo's arm as you attempted to pull him away. In response, Gojo pressed into your clit, evoking a cry from your lips, the sensations tingling through your body.

"Don't try to stop me, sweetheart," Gojo murmured into your ear, his voice a sultry promise that heightened the intensity of the moment. He continued his relentless touch, coaxing more desperate sounds from you, his lips gently kissing the sensitive skin of your earlobe.

"You love this, don't you?" he teased, his words dripping with confidence. "You can't resist me," he continued, his fingers exploring every sensitive inch,

Your attempts to resist only seemed to fuel Gojo's determination. He increased the pressure on your clit, each touch sending waves of pleasure through your body, making it harder to focus on anything else.

"Don't fight it," Gojo urged, his voice a seductive whisper against your ear. His fingers danced skillfully, exploring your most intimate areas. "You're mine, and I know exactly what you need."

He punctuated his words with teasing strokes, a wicked grin playing on his lips as he reveled in the effect he had on you. The room seemed to spin as your defenses crumbled under the skillful touch, and your hand, once attempting to pull away, clutched onto Gojo's arm, seeking support in the escalating whirlwind of sensations.

"You're so responsive," he commented, his breath hot against your skin. "I can feel you clenching around me." His fingers continued their dance, the rhythm building, pushing you closer to the edge.

As you whimpered in response, "Let go, sweetheart. Embrace the pleasure. You know you want it," Gojo urged.

"I wonder what your brother would think about this," he mused, a sly grin playing on his lips. "Imagine the expression on his face when he discovers his little sister being fingered by his best friend. You truly are a slut..“

A feeble "S-shut up," escaped your lips, the whispered plea laden with a mix of vulnerability and desperation. Your eyes fluttered, slowly rolling back as Gojo inserted a finger, the intimate touch sending a wave of conflicting sensations through your body. A trace of your juices glistened on his hand, a tangible testament to the overwhelming desire that filled the room.

"You're so wet, literally dripping," Gojo observed, his voice a low murmur that echoed the satisfaction in his growing smirk. His free hand went to the cups of your bra, pushing it down and exposing your breasts. Your right breast became the focal point as his hand gripped into its softness. As he descended to an eye level with your exposed breast, his mouth opened, and he latched onto it with an undeniable hunger.

As Gojo's mouth covered your breast, he started sucking on your nipple with evident hunger. His lips sealed tightly around it, and his tongue began teasing circles, sending shivers through your body. The sensations grew more intense as the rhythmic sucking continued, prompting involuntary moans.

In an attempt to resist, you tried to push Gojo away, but he only intensified the suction.

You whimpered as the conflicting sensations of pleasure and resistance enveloped you. Gojo, undeterred by your feeble attempts to resist, continued his relentless assault on your senses. His fingers skillfully worked, dancing over the intimate areas, amplifying the intensity of the encounter.

"Such a good girl, letting yourself feel what you truly desire."

—-

You found yourself seated on the floor, bathed in the dimming sunlight that filtered through the window. The room had taken on a languid hue as the sun descended, marking the culmination of an encounter that seemed to leave more than just physical traces.

Your shirt hung open, showing a pink bra struggling to keep it together after the heated rendezvous. The smeared lipstick and mascara were clear signs of the passionate escapade. As you sat there, your legs trembled, and the lack of panties beneath your skirt hinted at the intimate moments that had unfolded.

The room felt both intimate and lonely as everyone, including Gojo, had left, leaving behind the aftermath of a liaison that blurred the lines between pleasure and regret. The echoes of your recent escapade and the missing panties were the only remnants of Gojo's presence.

At first, you hesitated, reluctant to lose your virginity to someone like Gojo. But eventually, you caved in, and you can't deny it felt good. You shoulder the blame for giving in – you enjoyed it, just like Gojo did.

Gojo is – a jerk, a player, who engages with women, gets what he wants, and then moves on. You unwittingly became one of his victims, transitioning from being bullied by him to being involved intimately with him.

You deeply regret giving in to the situation, feeling an overwhelming sense of remorse. If only you could turn back time and take action to prevent it from happening. But unfortunately, it was too late.

Slowly rising from the cold floor, you hastily grabbed your jacket and tied it around your waist, desperately hoping it would conceal the fact that you were not wearing any underwear at the moment. With your backpack slung over your shoulder, you began to make your way towards the exit, your legs trembling and unsteady.

Every movement you made caused a sharp hiss of pain to escape your lips. Your legs were sore from the intense encounter with Gojo, the person who had taken advantage of you. You couldn't help but wonder if he even realized that you were a virgin.

As you retrieved your phone from your backpack and turned it on, you were met with a flood of missed calls and messages from your brother, who happened to be Gojo's best friend. Glancing at the time displayed on the screen, you realized it was already 6 pm. You were supposed to be home by 3 pm, but Gojo had held you captive, causing you to be late. While you doubted your parents would be concerned about your tardiness, your brother certainly would be.

Just as you were contemplating your next move, your phone began to ring, displaying your brother's caller ID. Despite the pain and emotional turmoil you were experiencing, a weak smile formed on your face as you answered the call. The sound of loud shouting immediately filled your ears, a clear indication of your brother's worry and concern for your well-being.

"Where are you?" he shouted anxiously, causing a mixture of emotions to stir within you.

"Don't worry, I'll be home soon," you reassured him, your voice barely above a whisper. With your free hand, you carefully wiped away the smudged makeup on your face, attempting to regain some semblance of composure.

"I'm asking you where you are!" he yelled once again, his voice filled with frustration and fear.

You couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle, a bittersweet response to his genuine concern. "I got held up here, but I'm fine. Please, don't worry about me," you replied,

„Should I come pick you up?“ he asked, his voice calming down.

You thought for a moment before replying with a short,“yes“

You figured it was better to wait for your brother then walk home, with no panties and sore legs.

Your brother replied,“Okay, I‘ll be there soon, wait for me, yeah?“ before hanging up.

After your brother hung up, you stepped out of the building, greeted by the gentle tones of the setting sun casting its warm glow. The wind played with your hair as you settled down by the stairs, patiently waiting for your brother to arrive and pick you up.

The events of the day echoed in your mind, and the weight of both regret and discomfort lingered. The building's facade cast long shadows as the sun continued its descent, creating a tranquil scene that contrasted with the turmoil within.

As the sound of approaching footsteps reached your ears, you couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and apprehension. It was your brother, finally arriving to pick you up. His concerned expression softened as he laid eyes on you, and you mustered a smile in response.

"I hope you didn't wait too long," he spoke, his gaze lingering on your figure, perhaps noticing the slight dishevelment.

"Don't worry, Suguru," you replied, trying to sound more composed than you felt. Walking together towards his car, the setting sun cast a warm glow over the world, signaling the end of a tumultuous day.

Just as you reached the car, your brother paused and turned to face you. "Oh, before I forget," he began, opening the door for you to get in. "You wanna come with me and Satoru to the bar today? It's your—"

"No," you cut him off abruptly, causing him to look at you with a questioning eye.

"Are you sure? I mean, it's your favorite place," he asked again, genuinely perplexed by your sudden refusal.

"I'm not feeling well. I just want to stay home," you lied, your voice betraying the mix of fear and shame that consumed you. The truth was, you couldn't bear the thought of seeing Gojo again. The fear of facing him, coupled with the overwhelming shame of what had transpired between you, made the idea of going to the bar unbearable.

"If it's because of Sat—" your brother started, only to be interrupted by you once more.

"No," you replied firmly, cutting off any further discussion. Your brother was aware of the constant bullying you endured from Gojo, how he treated you with cruelty and spite. However, he always brushed it off as his best friend's way of dealing with you, believing it to be harmless banter. Little did he know the true extent of the pain you endured.

The weight of the day's events hung heavily in the air, overshadowed by the looming apprehension of your brother discovering the truth. It was a delicate and complicated situation, as your brother shared a deep bond with Gojo, forged through years of friendship. Their connection was akin to that of siblings, and they had been inseparable for as long as you could remember. Both a year older than you.

This closeness only intensified your anxiety about how your brother might react if he were to uncover the events of the day. It wasn't just the fear of his disappointment or anger towards you, but also the possibility that he might side with Gojo, potentially jeopardizing their friendship. The thought of losing your brother was a heavy burden to bear.

You were scared. Scared of the repercussions, scared of the judgment, and scared of the uncertain path that lay ahead.

As you sat in the car, the soft glow of the streetlights illuminated the night sky, casting a darker hue of blue. The stars twinkled above, creating a mesmerizing backdrop for your thoughts. Lost in your own world, you barely noticed the car coming to a stop until a hand gently rested on your shoulder, bringing you back to reality.

"We're here," your brother muttered, stepping out of the car. You followed suit, opening the door and stepping out into the crisp, chilly air. Suguru closed the car door, and together, you made your way towards the apartment building where your family resided. Each step felt heavy, weighed down by the events of the day.

Entering through the front door, you kicked off your shoes and made your way towards your room. However, before retreating to the solace of your own space, you stopped by the living room where your parents sat, their attention fixated on the television.

"I'm back," you muttered, hoping for some acknowledgment or perhaps even a warm welcome. But your words seemed to fall on deaf ears as your mother barely glanced in your direction.

Feeling a pang of hunger, you mustered the courage to ask for dinner. "Do you have any food for me? I'm kind of hungry," you spoke, placing your backpack by the couch.

"We already ate, and there's nothing left. Go make your own," your mom replied dismissively, her attention still fixated on the television screen.

Desperate and feeling unwell, you pleaded with her. "Could you please make me something? I don't feel well and just want to lay down."

Her response was cold and unsympathetic. "No, we're busy."

Resigned to your fate, you sighed and picked up your backpack, making your way towards your room. The hunger gnawed at your stomach, but the exhaustion from the day's events weighed heavily on you. You threw yourself onto the bed, feeling drained, both physically and emotionally. A throbbing headache pulsed through your temples, and the pain in your lower body served as a constant reminder of what had transpired earlier.

Though your hunger persisted, you couldn't bring yourself to do anything about it. The thought of mustering the energy to cook or even eat felt overwhelming. All you wanted was to escape into the solace of sleep, hoping that tomorrow would bring some semblance of peace and healing.

-

"Are you okay?" a concerned voice murmured from behind the closed bathroom door. "You've been in there for a while now. I just want to make sure you're alright."

You glanced up from the positive pregnancy test that lay on the bathroom counter, your eyes meeting the door. The weight of the situation hung heavy in the air, and you struggled to find the words to respond. Instead, you simply stared at the door in silence.

"Are you okay?" your brother's voice came again, filled with worry.

"I'm okay," you managed to choke out, your voice trembling as you fought back tears. "I'll be out in a few minutes."

"Alright," your brother replied, his voice filled with understanding. "I'll wait for you in the living room. If you don't feel up to going anywhere, just let me know. I can go alone."

"No, don't worry. I'll come out in a few and get dressed. Then we can go," you replied, wiping away your tears with your sleeve and slowly getting up from the bathroom floor.

"Alright," your brother's voice drifted away as he walked back towards the living room, his footsteps fading into the distance.

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, the evidence of your emotional turmoil was apparent – red eyes, swollen cheeks – you looked like a mess. But how could you not, discovering you're pregnant with someone you never wanted to be involved with? Sure, you played a part by giving in three weeks ago, but it was his fault too.

As a university student, you had limited financial resources, relying mostly on the support from your parents. However, they were not particularly generous, and it was Suguru, your brother, who provided the love and financial assistance you needed. Without him, you didn't know how you would have managed. He was the only person who truly cared for you.

You turned on the water tap and cupped your hands, splashing the cool water onto your face in an attempt to calm yourself. It helped, if only momentarily. Drying your face with a towel, you left the bathroom and made your way to your room to get dressed.

What were you supposed to do now? You were barely an adult, and the realization of your pregnancy left you feeling lost and overwhelmed. Without your parents and brother, you had nothing. The thought of them finding out filled you with dread. You couldn't blame them for being disappointed in you. In fact, you were disappointed in yourself too.

What would your brother think? The thought of his disappointment weighed heavily on your heart. You couldn't bear the idea of letting him down. And what if your parents found out? There was no doubt they would be upset. The fear of being kicked out of the house loomed over you, but you pushed those thoughts aside. Dwelling on them would only make them more likely to happen.

And then there was Gojo. How would he react when he found out you were pregnant? Given his track record of casual relationships, it was unlikely he would be thrilled. Would he tell you to get an abortion? Would he offer any help at all? Or would he simply mock you and tell you to deal with it on your own? You knew he wouldn't be happy, and the thought of his potential humiliation and disbelief made you shudder. It was best to keep it a secret, you decided.

As you turned around, ready to face the day, you were met with the stern gaze of your parents. "Explain this to me right now, young lady!" your mother yelled, throwing something at you. You caught it, only to realize it was the forgotten pregnancy test. The room filled with tension as your heart sank,

"I can't believe my daughter is like that. A whore." The accusation hung heavy in the air as your mother's words sliced through the tension. The pregnancy test in your hands became a damning piece of evidence, and you felt the weight of their disappointment.

Your mother's face contorted with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "We've been giving you everything – money, food, and a roof under your head – and this is how you repay us? By getting pregnant?"

You struggled to find words, to explain the complexity of the situation, but the lump in your throat made speech nearly impossible.

"What were you thinking?" your father interjected, his voice a mix of frustration and disappointment. "We trusted you, and you've thrown it all away."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you attempted to form an explanation. "I... I didn't plan for this. It's not like I wanted—"

"Don't give us excuses," your mother interrupted, her anger unabated. "This is a disgrace to this family. How could you bring such shame upon us?"

Your brother, having heard the commotion, entered the room. His eyes widened as he took in the scene. "What's going on?" he asked,

Your mother pointed at the pregnancy test, her anger not subsiding. "Look at what your sister has done. She's pregnant. Pregnant!"

Your brother's eyes flickered between you and the pregnancy test, an unspoken question etched on his face. The air grew thicker with tension as you struggled to find the right words to explain. Your mother, however, seemed past the point of understanding.

"Get out," she declared, her voice cold and unyielding. "You've brought enough shame to this family. I won't have you tarnishing our reputation any further."

Shock and disbelief painted your brother's face as he tried to interject, "Mom, maybe we can talk about this."

But your mother's anger prevailed. "No more talking. She's made her choice, and now she needs to face the consequences."

As the reality of being kicked out settled in, your heart pounded in your chest. You pleaded with your family, "Please, I didn't plan for this. I need your support now more than ever."

Your mother's expression remained unforgiving. "Support? After what you've done? You're on your own now. We won't enable your irresponsible behavior any longer."

Your brother, torn and unable to defy your mother's decision, could only meet your gaze with a pained expression.

With a final, stern look, your mother declared, "Pack your things and leave. You're no longer welcome here."

Numbness spread through your limbs as you realized the irrevocable shift in your life. Your mother's command hung in the air, and the reality of being disowned by your own family was a crushing weight on your chest.

Staring at the pregnancy test still clutched in your hand, you felt a mix of shame, regret, and desperation. The room, once a haven, now seemed like a foreign place ready to expel you.

[sukirichi]

[ DUSK ‘TILL DAWN : 016 ]

“we who bear the burden of the crown do not need to love. you only need to stay here, with me, in power, in greed, in lust – in victory.”

cw. angst. infidelity. manipulation. lying. mentions of kidnapping. blackmail. sex tapes.

notes. this chapter is dedicated to the lovely @shhh-anon who drew me a lovely naoya piece for some omi crumbs (but i have no self-control and wrote a whole chapter with the long awaited kiyoomi pov!) thank you again shhh anon for that scrumptious naoya art <3 also, please read carefully as there will be lore drop in this chapter!

wc. 11.3k

series masterlist 

[ SIXTEEN ] feels like we had matching wounds but mine’s still black and bruised and yours is perfectly fine now, feels like we buried alive something that never died, so God, it hurt when i found out.

Kiyoomi stood alone in the waiting room of the Yuzuru Estate, surrounded by the fragments and echoes of your past.

The walls were adorned with your childhood photos, each frame capturing the moments of innocence and joy that he now yearned to be a part of. Tracing the contours of your smile in those pictures, his fingers hovered the glass as if he touched the memories themselves. Each image had perfectly captured the bits of your soul, a glimpse into the life you had before he knew you, and he felt your presence in every corner of the room.

The scent of petrichor lingered, mingling with the faint aroma of blooming flowers from the garden outside. The Yuzuru Estate smelled just like you – of innocence, unbridled happiness, and untainted purity of heart.

He could picture it already – you as a little girl, running through these halls with unabashed laughter, your joy as light and delicate as gossamer threads dancing in the breeze.

His heart ached with the knowledge that he had missed those moments, that he had come into your life too late to share those memories. Often, he wondered... if he’d met you as a child like Tooru did Maiko, would the Queen have arranged a marriage between you two?

He figured if he did, then it was a wedding neither parties would be opposed to.

As Kiyoomi waited, the silence of the house seemed to make the voices in his louder, each one a bittersweet reminder of his unspoken affections. Your smiles, so radiant and pure, were the cynosure of his existence, yet they were never meant for him. He wished, with an incendiary intensity, that he could be the one to bring that joy to your face, to be the one you looked at with those pretty, sparkling eyes.

Instead, those eyes were filled with crystalline tears, and your smile was always pulled at the opposite direction.

Kiyoomi studied your photos as he roamed the waiting room, seeing not just the girl you were, but the woman you’d become. The depth of your soul was evident in every image, your very essence woven into the fabric of the house itself. It was as if you’d been molded by graceful hands with the utmost care. Carved to perfection, adorned with elegance, and draped with dignified regality. You would’ve made the perfect Princess if you weren’t tied to their worst Prince.

And so he’d asked himself... what if he’d been yours?

Had you been his wife, his Princess, would you have been happier? It was a silly question, that he knew. Nothing but fleeting musings. Because he knew the Crown never made anyone happy, and the Palace was not a place where childish concepts such as ‘love’ existed.

Yes, he longed to hold your hand, to feel the warmth of your touch, but he knew that such moments were only dreams. You were terribly in love with your husband despite all his wrongdoings. And as much as he hated it, Kiyoomi couldn’t bring himself to convince you otherwise. Even that felt unfair for him. He wanted to be loved because he’d been chosen as the one you loved, not simply because he was the better one. For now, he would remain your steadfast friend, your confidant, and ultimately would find solace in this unspoken connection you shared.

He’d already made a vow to himself to cherish every moment he had with you, even if it meant hiding his true feelings. Being your friend was better than being nobody at all, and he would hold onto that role with all the strength he had. Because his love, a constant and silent force, would be there for you always – even if you never knew the depth of his longing.

“Your Highness!” a feminine voice interrupted his thoughts. Kiyoomi turned away from your framed photographs, greeted by the sight of your parents descending the stairs. “What an unexpected visit. Oh, please do sit down, we’ll have some tea served shortly after.”

Kiyoomi did as he was told.

Your parents, even with their faces lined with crow’s feet and prominent smile lines, were still exactly the same as he’d met them from years ago. Kind, genuine, and compassionate – he briefly recalled how generations ago that there’d been talk spreading about how the Yuzuru Clan would’ve made great country leaders. That if ever the Suna Clan failed and continued with their frivolous endeavours and the Kingdom was plunged into poverty and hunger, your clan would be next to take over.

It had all been nothing but word of the mouth, however. The Suna Clan, if anything, was annoyingly persistent and remained in power for the next years to come. Whilst you, the Yuzuru Clan, remained perfectly content being the Kingdom’s spear.

The tea arrived not long after. The three of them settled into the plush cushions of the settee, the sounds of the teacups clinking against porcelain filling the room.

“Lady Yuzuru, Lord Yuzuru,” smiled Kiyoomi as he gestured to the room, unable to take his eyes off one certain photograph – the one of you and Rintaro, taken during the courtship phase, with his hand wrapped around your waist and you leaning into his chest. He’d placed a white gardenia at the crook of your ear, both your smiles wide and untouched by reality. With a clench of his jaw, Kiyoomi plastered a polite smile on his face and tore his gaze away from it. “You have such a lovely home.”

“Oh, you flatter us too much,” your mother waved her hand, dabbing a handkerchief at her bottom lip before intertwining her hands at her lap. “May I ask what brings you here, my Prince?”

Straight to the point, just as he’d hoped. Setting his tea down, Kiyoomi leant forward. “I’m inclined to say royal duties; Her Majesty has insisted that Her Highness make herself known in the Palace. However... I am here for more personal reasons,” he confessed, his composure finally falling as he dared sneak a glance upstairs, where he hoped your room would be. It’d been three days since you all left the beach house, three days since Rintaro returned to the palace alone.

“I’m very worried for your daughter. How is she?”

Your parents shared a look with each other before your mother sighed, the sound disappointed and crushing him by the core. “So you know about the affair as well.”

Kiyoomi kept his head down. “Yes. It is with a heart heavy with regret that I admit I kept it a secret, too.”

“Pardon me, Sir, if I may be overstepping but... why couldn’t you warn out dear girl? You’ve met her. Your mother knows us and our daughter – you know our girl a sweet, innocent one. She didn’t deserve any of this,” cut in your father, his more-than-salt and pepper hair glinting under the chandeliers. “If you knew, if any of you knew all this time, why didn’t anyone say anything against the Crown Prince’s courtship?”

“I’m sorry, my Lord. I don’t have any excuse for my behaviour,” Kiyoomi sighed, “But I am hoping that you would give me another chance to repent for what I’ve done. I can no longer stand watching the Princess suffer at the hands of my brother and my wife. And I assure you, I have nothing but pure intentions. I simply... I simply want the best for her, my Lady. That is why I am here today – to offer my sincerest apologies, and to see for myself if Her Highness is doing well.”

Lady Yuzuru stood up and threw her handkerchief on the ground. Tears brimmed her eyes.

“She isn’t. Of course she isn’t. She has been locked up in her room for days, refusing to eat, or-or to speak to us. She is heartbroken and won’t even let us comfort her,” she clutched at her chest as if it ached, and immediately, Lord Yuzuru was beside her. His arms wrapping around her shoulders for comfort. “Your sincerity is flattering, but what can you do for her? You cannot take away her pain. She is married, and divorce is not an option. Tell me, my Prince, what can you do for her?”

Kiyoomi sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. He’d already braced himself for this – to have your parents’ fury be directed at him. He told himself he would take it all with stride, but even he knew his honest answer was not the most acceptable.

“I’m afraid this is a battle in which she has to learn the way out for herself. Although I give you my word, I won’t let her face any of this alone. I already promised the Princess I would be by her side at all times, and I don’t intend on backing out anytime soon.”

Your parents exchanged another glance, their brows drawn together in worry. He couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t an easy decision to make – trusting the Crown Prince only for him to break their daughter’s heart, and now having to place that trust on another Prince, the husband of their ‘son’s’ mistress, no less.

“Then we will trust you on this,” they said, and Kiyoomi raised his hands in surprise. It’s enough for him to shoot up in his seat, your mother immediately raising her hand to warn him. “Please, Sir. Don’t make us regret welcoming you into our home.”

Kiyoomi was speechless.

“Thank you, my Lord, my Lady. I promise I won’t waste this opportunity.”

Lord Yuzuru nods, albeit still hesitant. “Can we trust you to look after her for now? I’m afraid duty calls, and we’ve already missed out on a lot because we were too worried over her.”

“She is in safe hands. I promise.”

Your parents left shortly with a quick farewell. Lady Yuzuru needed to attend to the family business as it expanded every day, and Lord Yuzuru spent most of his time in the Palace – always on guard, always prepared for a war that loomed overhead as the surrounding nations turned their backs on Inarizaki. The war never happened, of course. A false sense of security still loomed over the Kingdom thanks to the Queen’s tireless efforts. Still, it was only a matter of time. With the throne losing its power and the Kingdom one scandal away from damnation, one couldn’t be too lax.

Not that any of it was Kiyoomi’s concern. He had more pressing matters in hand. Racing up the stairs, he quickly found your room after being guided by a servant, and softly rapped his knuckles on the door.

“Princess? It’s me, Kiyoomi. May I enter?” No response, not even a stirring groan or a shaky breath. Complete but utter silence. His worry deepened, and Kiyoomi dared to push the door open, his eyes adjusting to the darkness enveloping the room. “Princess?”

You are nothing but a curled-up lump in your bed, your form shivering as you were swathed in heavy blankets. And your face was pale and clammy as the dim lights danced off of your skin. Breaths shallow and labored, your eyes fluttered weakly as you stayed conscious – your head turning in his direction.

Seeing you in such a fragile state when you’d been alit with joy days ago... Kiyoomi’s heart clenched. Something dark pulled and tugged at his very soul.

In quick strides, he’d already crossed his way to your bed, the mattress dipping beneath his knee. He pulled you into his lap without another word, his hands coming to rest at your forehead as you groaned with each movement. As if scalded, he retreats his hand. “Oh, God. You’re burning up.”

Taking care of you does not come as a second thought to him. It is the first, as your safety and well-being was his concern. In the next moment, he’d gently laid you back down on your bed and darted out of the room, searching for water, medicine, and politely asking the resident cooks if he could prepare some soup for you. He didn’t doubt the cooks knew how to, yet he also couldn’t fight off this urge that he had to take care of you. Not the estate staff, not the doctors, not anyone. Quite frankly, he didn’t trust anyone anymore to lay their hands on you. It had to be him, even if it meant running back and forth to dampen towels and changing it every hour to lower your temperature.

Around the third towel, when the sun has begun to set and his phone went off with multiple ignored messages, you finally stirred awake. “Rin? Is that you?” Your voice is weak, throaty and scratched. Your eyes fluttered open as you gazed at the figure beside you, nestling into the warm palm that’s dabbing a damp towel onto your face. “I thought you would never return.”

A sharp of pang pierced his heart. It was a humbling experience – to know that even in your weakest moments, you sought out a man that wasn’t him.

“Rest, Princess,” he muttered, caressing your cheeks as you sighed into his touch – or your husband’s touch – and slowly went back to sleep. I won’t leave you.”

As you drifted back into a peaceful sleep, and your breathing finally began to even out, Kiyoomi told himself to relax.

He stayed vigilantly by your side, his eyes never leaving your pallid face. He feared that if he dared look away for even the briefest of moments, you would wilt before him, and it’d be too late for him to catch you. So he checked your temperature periodically, the gentle press of his hand on your forehead filled with a tender concern. Once reassured your fever was going down little by little, he meticulously arranged the medicine prescribed to you on the beside table – ensuring everything would be within your reach for when you wake. Not that he’d leave your side until you’d woken up. The Palace Guards would have to break down the door to your room and have a fleet of them personally drag him away from you before he even thought to go someplace else.

However, he was only human, and he’d never experienced having this level of worry and anxiety over someone’s health before.

Soon, exhaustion crept up at him, tugging at his eyelids and his muscles aching. He fought against the need to sleep, determined that he would remain awake in case you called out for him. Him, not Rintaro, because he foolishly hoped that you would realize it was never your husband who cared this much for you.

Each time his head dipped forward in weariness, Kiyoomi shook himself awake, unwilling to leave you unguarded for even a moment. Your parents had entrusted you to his care, and he wasn’t going to let them down now.

The hours passed by slowly, the quiet of the night filled with the steady rhythm of your breaths and the occasional rustle of the sheets. In those still, lonely hours, Kiyoomi watched you as he sat across the room – his cheek in his hands, his eyes half-lidded. Much like the flickering candles, his love burned brighter, interweaving with his own fatigue and heartache. His emotions stormed around his soul like a typhoon – his affection for you battling with the hatred he began harbouring towards his brother.

How could one call himself a man when he put his wife into such a weakened state? Your name and the word ‘weak’ shouldn’t even be in the same sentence. Yet Rintaro had a penchant for making the impossible possible, and he’d reduced such a great woman – a great Princess, even – into the battered, bruise-hearted, and shivering person that you were now.

Kiyoomi is nodding off moments later when he heard a slight groan. His eyes shot open, his body lurching forward as if your presence tugged on him like a rope. He’s knee-deep in your bed and cradling your head when you finally turn to him, and realization sinks in.

He waited for it – held his breath and soothed his heart for the hurt to come should disappointment ever cross your face that he hadn’t been Rintaro. It seemed, however, that the Gods decided to grace him tonight, because you never did. Instead, your face lit up, and your chapped lips tugged into a smile as best as it could. And he still found you to be the prettiest thing he’d ever laid his eyes on – even with sleep-crusted eyes and smelling of sickly sweat.

Just the sight of you, so wholly trusting and happy to see him, made him want to engulf you in his arms and never let you go.

Kiyoomi never does. He didn’t have the right, because friends didn’t go around kissing their friend’s foreheads. That wouldn’t be what companionship meant, at least not in his book. He simply holds you, and lets you crawl into his lap as he reaches for the soup he’d made prior. “You’re looking better,” he commends, placing his hand on your forehead one last time as pride fills him with each spoonful you ate. “Is the soup good?”

“Yes, thank you. It’s delicious,” you beamed at him, and placed the bowl back to your bedside table. Kiyoomi had expected you to move away and slide off his lap, yet made no complaints – because why would he? – when you remained on his lap, legs tucked beside his knees and nimble fingers toying with the strings of his shirt. “I didn’t know you knew how to cook.”

“Kanami made me learn all sorts of things. She said, uh...” shyly, Kiyoomi scratches the back of his neck and looks away. “...That women like it when a man was a great cook.”

Your giggle was instantaneous, airy. “She would be right about that,” you agreed, the smile on your face softening as you placed your palms on his chest, right above where his heart lay. He prayed desperately to the Gods you wouldn’t notice how fast his heart raced at the contact. Gazing up at him from under your lashes, you tipped your head to the side. The straps of your nightgown slipped on one shoulder at the motion, revealing smooth, bare skin and the lack of anything else underneath. “Were you... the one who nursed me back to health?”

Kiyoomi shifted you on his lap as to not let your knee accidentally graze his groin. “Yes,” he croaked out, finding it hard to speak when you were so... defenceless like this. It makes his throat dry up, and as subtly as he could, uses a finger to hook your strap back to your shoulder.

“Thank you,” you pat his chest, completely unaware of your hold on him. “And I’m sorry too, that you had to see me in such a state. I swear I didn’t mean to be a burden.”

His eyes darted to your face, offended that you would even imply such. “You are never a burden.”

You smiled at him like you didn’t believe his words. It strikes the dagger of hurt an inch deeper, a pain which he told himself to not take personally. He reminds himself you’ve trusted, over and over, and have been betrayed, over and over again. It must be a reflexive response by now.

“What brings you here, Kiyoomi?” your voice fills the expanse of the room as dread paints your face. “Did something bad happen?”

Kiyoomi swallowed. He’d been so engrossed in looking after you he’d momentarily forgotten why he was here in the first place. It suddenly weighed on him now – the Queen’s wrath at Rintaro’s sudden announcement to divorce you, her orders to bring you back immediately, and the flashing of the muted calls he’d deliberately ignored.

“I believe we should talk about that somewhere else. You could use some fresh air.”

+

You and Kiyoomi wandered through the sprawling gardens of your family estate under the tender glow of the moonlight, your footsteps whispering softly against the dew-kissed grass. The night air was crisp and invigorating – which you welcomed happily, as it was a great change from the stuffiness of your bedroom.

With each step taken, Kiyoomi’s hand brushed against yours, your fingers occasionally intertwining as he offers his silent gestures of comfort. There was a palpable sense of dread now that reality demanded your full attention, an undercurrent of foreboding that neither of you dared to voice, yet it was tempered – even slightly – by the solace you found in each other’s presence.

You told him everything that transpired at the beach house – the ‘romantic’ dinner date, Rintaro’s odd behaviour of acting like Iris never existed, Iris’ sudden appeal for peace. The entire time, Kiyoomi listened without interruptions.

You moved slowly, as if savouring each moment, knowing very well the fragile peace of the evening was fleeting like everything else.

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoomi spoke after a while, his head ducked down.

“What for?” you grinned, “That my husband, who never loved me, finally decided to leave me after all?” you waved a hand in the air. “It’s nothing. It was bound to happen. If anything, I feel a little relieved, you know? It’s like... I’ve wanted to end everything all this time, but I just wasn’t brave enough to call it quits. I was afraid that if I said goodbye, then I would be admitting that he’d made a fool out of me,” you released a shuddering breath, watching as Kiyoomi lifted his gaze and his piercing eyes looked at your soul, through your soul. You found that his penetrating and intrusive gaze didn’t feel... unwelcomed. It was as if you knew that you could show him your worst and everything that made up your flaws, and he would still find a way to notice what was beautiful instead.

He looked at you the way you wished your husband did.

Just like that, Rintaro’s betrayal returned to you in full force, and your smile wavered. “But now that he’s the one who’s decided it, it’s like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I never knew how difficult it was – deciding when or how it had to end.”

“You’ve been brave and strong. Don’t undermine yourself.”

“Was I strong, though? I thought I’d been nothing but a fool.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes darkened with something unreadable. “You were in love. It happens to the best of us.”

You couldn’t help it – your smile was genuine, affection pouring out of your every pore. “You know, Kiyoomi, that’s one of my favourite things about you,” you softened at his taken-aback expression, mustering up the courage to close the distance as you loop your hand around his bicep, and giving it a firm squeeze. “How you always know what to say, and always at the right time. You’re charming without having to try. And when I’m with you... I feel like everything is going to be okay. Is that weird?”

With nothing but the moonlight to illuminate his face, Kiyoomi’s reddened cheeks were partially hidden. “Not at all. I’m honoured I could be a source of solace to you.”

“I hope you feel that way with me too,” you tell him, “I’ve thought about it the entire time I was here – how Rintaro sounded so determined to divorce me. When I asked him about the pregnancy, he looked... mortified, and I couldn’t fathom if it was because he never wanted me to find out. He didn’t look happy about it, but why wouldn’t he? Isn’t that what he always wanted? To have a future with the one he loves?” your brows furrowed as you said it aloud. Moving forward, you walked with your hand still clutching Kiyoomi’s arm, the both of you content enough to not pull away. “Although it struck me as odd... we’re a royal couple. Divorce is impossible. But he’d been so confident, so sure. Like he knew something could tear us apart and it’d be acceptable in the eyes of the law.”

Kiyoomi hummed in thought.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what he was thinking about either. I never really understood my brother, and I’ve long given up on trying,” he shrugs, “He’s a complicated man. That’s what happens when you’re lost and have no true sense of self.”

“He is lost, isn’t he?” you agreed, lifting your free hand to stare at the wedding ring you found so difficult to take off. “I don’t know what happens next now, but it seems as if I’m getting divorced soon.”

“That is good news, is it not?”

“Perhaps,” you mused, “Perhaps it is.”

You couldn’t ignore the call of your duties. It was often an upsetting reminder, the knowledge that being a Princess meant more than wearing frilly gowns, attending balls, and kissing your Prince Charming as you awaited a happy-ever-after.

If you’d known sooner that being a Princess meant being the Crown’s property as well... a small part of you might have hesitated. Might have.

It felt gruelling having to tear yourself away from the safety of your parents’ embrace. For the past few days, you’d been coddled, kissed over by a hundred soothing words. Something a Princess shouldn’t be doing or wanting, to be precise, especially not when you were expected to lead the country someday. It was a show of weakness, an act of incompetence. The Queen never failed to remind you that you weren’t your parents’ child anymore. You were of the Crown, and therefore had to act as the Crown – with dignity, with poise, and quite frankly – with very little heart.

With much hesitance, you bid farewell to the Yuzuru Estate. You left everything behind – the warmth and safety of your bed where no one could taint it, the reassuring and comforting smiles of your parents, and the unwavering support of your people. You headed straight for the Palace not long after, the feeling akin to a lamb walking into slaughter.

Still, you couldn’t deny – Inarizaki struck you mute with its orphic allure.

The cityscape shimmered under the glow of twilight as the royal convoy wound its way through the bustling streets. People of all kind waved and cheered at your arrival. Their smiles, innocent and genuine, sparked all the way from outside the vehicle. Silently, you waved back, hoping that it seemed real enough and no one would be able to tell the tracks of dried tears behind your makeup. And there, the palace loomed ever closer in the distance.

You watched as the grand edifice grew larger with each passing moment. Its towering spires and intricately carved facades were bathed in a golden hue, showcasing its storied past and enduring presence.

Like heaven on earth, a former devotee had once said, their arms gesturing all throughout the Palace grounds. Here where is the light touched us from the skies above, where the Gods have blessed us with their mercy and gave us their angels in the skins of Kings.

As a child, you’d gazed upon the palace with wide-eyed wonder, picturing the Palace as a bastion of wisdom and power – where the rules of the country made decisions that shaped the lives of the people they ruled upon. It had seemed almost holy, a symbol of reverence and awe. But now, as you approached the gates once more, you felt a deep, unsettling sense of selcouth – a strange, eerie unfamiliarity with the very place you had to call home.

The limousine glided through the ornate iron gates, flanked by guards in crisp uniforms.

The grandeur of the palace grounds, with its meticulously manicured gardens and majestic fountains, should have felt welcoming, but instead, it loomed with an imposing majesty that sent a shiver down your spine. The towering walls and endless corridors, once symbols of security and strength, now seemed to whisper secrets of a bygone era, of lives and stories woven into the very stones that built this palace brick by brick.

Stepping out of the car, you were immediately greeted by a retinue of attendants – their faces polite yet distant.

A lamb walking to its slaughter, indeed.

You knew exactly why you were called to return. The Queen had been insisting to speak with you, a call you ignored as you buried yourself into your sheets at the Yuzuru Estate. To say that you’d made Her Majesty livid would be an understatement. That much was clear from the staff’s expressions, their eyes hollow and lips set into a thin, grim line.

If you looked hard enough, maybe one of them would even look at you with pity.

Carefully, you made your way up the marble steps, each click of your heels on the carpeted floor echoing in the silence of the evening. It was eerily silent, like a predator lurked around the corner – simply waiting for the perfect opportunity to lunge for its kill.

The palace doors opened before you, greeting you with its bright, golden beams. Crystal chandeliers shimmered against the polished floors, the opulent decor speaking of centuries of wealth and power. The floors were too clean, too polished, like even a speck of dirt would be considered offensive.

At the back of your mind, you wondered if that held true for the monarchy as well. If the Queen scrubbed everything clean that is shone hard enough to deceive people into thinking that’s what they were – without fault, without flaw, without sin.

As you walked through the cavernous space, alienation blanketed you. The palace, for all its splendour, remained a mystery to you. You knew its rooms and corridors, its hidden passages and secret gardens that Rintaro revealed, but you didn’t know its heart. It was a place built on power and legacy, all with the might of a single family that had ruled for generations.

Your footsteps led you to the grand staircase leading into the Queen’s hall, its balustrade intricately wrought with gold and marble. You paused, your hand resting on the cool stone, and gazed ahead at the looming double doors of Her Majesty’s office.

How many had walked these steps before you? How many lives had been shaped by the decisions made within these walls? The weight of history pressed down on you, and you couldn’t help but ponder the immense responsibility that came with such power. You understood it a little better now – the Crown was not to be taken lightly. Heavy is the head that held the Crown, but heavier the heart might be for all the sins it concealed.

With a final sharp breath, you rapped your knuckles on the door and pushed open.

Her Majesty did not seem to age. She looked as she did on all the official royal portraits plastered on the tabloids and daily mail – elegant, beautiful, with dark eyes that read your every movement, and blood-red lips that dripped venom from each word.

Once, you’d considered her your second mother.

Now? She was nothing but a lonely figure, a formidable individual who you could barely recognize.

“Princess,” she greeted, her smile perfectly practiced and pristine. “I hope your temporary retreat to the family estate has been well.”

There was no ill behind her words, but neither did it carry sincerity. The Queen spoke like a recorded message, straight to the point and lacking of weight. Curtsying, you returned the gesture. “It was, Your Majesty. Thank you. I missed my parents dearly.”

“Sit down, child,” she spoke after a moment, and gestured before her. “Indulge your queen with a quick round, and then we shall discuss everything.”

The ornate shogi board, with its polished wooden surface and delicately carved pieces, was laid out between you both. The setting sun cast long shadows across the room, its golden light filtering through the tall, stained-glass windows, illuminating the intricate patterns it. Timidly, you sat down, pressing your skirts underneath you. You did play shogi, but it’d been a while. You had an inkling that this was one of those times you had to win, as nothing ever was a casual interaction with the Queen.

“...What did you want to talk about, Ma’am?”

“Firstly, your marriage. How is it? On second thought, don’t answer that. It’s written all over your face – you’re unhappy and miserable. Now, we can’t have that can we?” she teased, though her calm composure revealed nothing of her strategies – the tricks she’d hidden under her sleeve. “You are lucky the press has been quiet lately and they didn’t get a photo of your frown. Imagine how that would be interpreted by the people. ‘Princess returns from getaway vacation with her husband and comes back depressed. Could the cheating scandal be true, after all?’”

“It is true.”

“Indeed, but the public doesn’t need to know that,” she quickly retorted, gesturing for you to make your move. “What exactly are your thoughts on marriage?”

You moved your rook forward, aiming to control a vital column.

“Marriage, to me, is about finding a partner who becomes not only your greatest love but also your closest friend, someone who understands your heart and supports your aspirations. I believe marriage is built on a foundation of trust, respect, and unwavering commitment, where two souls come together to create a life filled with joy, love, and endless possibilities. It’s a bond that grows stronger with each passing day, a promise to cherish and nurture each other through all of life's adventures,” you answered, ensuring to meet Her Majesty’s gaze. “That was how my parents’ marriage has been. Beautiful, and enduring. That is how marriages should be.”

The Queen remains unfazed. Responding with a calculated advance of her knight, her move blocked your plans – forcing you to reconsider your strategy. Cornered, you bit your lip, realizing a little too late Her Majesty’s subtle yet effective intentions.

“Your parents married for love. They were both born with a silver spoon in their mouth, a great amount of wealth, and a high-ranking title that granted them the freedom to do anything as they pleased. And I am willing to bet it has never occurred to you that marriages outside your fantasy-like bubble could be different than that.”

You found yourself on the defensive as the game progressed. “There is nothing wrong in hoping and believing that love exists.”

“You are correct,” she nods, her gaze not once leaving the board. “But you are a lot more childish than I expected if you truly thought royal marriages would be the same. You see, child, civil marriages are mostly done out of love, and a commitment to one another. In certain cases, people marry because of unexpected pregnancies, for the need of companionship, or for the combination of assets. It’s easy, straightforward, and like the rest of us in our glorious Kingdom – a commitment. Divorce is not an option for anyone, but do you know what truly separates royal marriages from common ones?”

“That we are bound with more duties?”

The queen’s pieces moved with a graceful precision, each step tightening the net around your poorly drawn defences.

“It is that royal marriages are symbolic. Why is it that the royal family, despite being humans like everyone else, is worshipped and glorified?” she tapped her nail against the board, before leaning back into her seat. The sun’s glow hit her just right, and bathed her with an ethereal gloom. “It is because we offer an ideal, an escape to the bleak, miserable lives of the common folk. We are unlike them. If we lived like everybody else, then these people would have nothing to strive or look up to.”

You gritted your teeth. “But we are just like them. We cry and experience difficulties in marriages like they do. What good does it do the Crown when there is a clear distinction between us and our people? They will find us inscrutable, and out of their reach. How could they trust us to lead them when we live such different lives? How could they believe we would understand their struggles and listen to their cries of help if we do not show our true selves?”

“Because we as people are not perfect, and our true selves are cruel, immoral, and sinful. The Crown is not. The Crown is always flawless, shining like diamonds and standing out amongst the rest,” gesturing to the ornament on her head, the Queen continued. “We represent the Crown. We must mold ourselves into perfection. How could our people find us worthy to lead them if we are just as faulty and miserable as them?”

“So you are telling me to lie about my marriage.”

The Queen snorted. “Oh, I don’t need to tell you to do that, my dear. You’ve done that already by having that journalist write lies about how the scandal is nothing but a hoax,” at your widened, eyes, Her Majesty’s chest rumbled with laughter. “Oh, don’t be surprised. I am the Queen. Nothing you do in my Kingdom will ever be a secret from me.”

“If you knew all this time, why didn’t you stop me from releasing that article?”

She shrugged, turning her attention back to the board and grinning at the pieces – already, the pressure was getting to you. “Simple – because you did all the dirty work for me already. You cleared up the allegations that your husband is innocent, and effortlessly won the people’s trust back. As Queen, I will never stop you from doing things that benefit me, even if you must take a suspicious hand to do so.”

The Queen’s relentless advances pushed you back to desperation. Hoping to create a barrier against the impending threat, you moved your bishop to a defensive position once more. “I didn’t have it written for you, or the Crown. I did it because I couldn’t stand my husband beat himself up after his own people turned against him.”

“And that is exactly why you’d make the perfect Queen for him,” she advanced her gold general, its path clear and purposeful. “I’ll be honest with you. My marriage with the Late King hasn’t been a fairytale.”

Now, it was your turn to snore. “I can figure. He’s done worse than what Rintaro did.”

“Indeed. Eight bastard sons, and a dozen of mistresses he couldn’t even bother to hide from me,” she hummed, and for the first time since meeting with her, the Queen’s mask slowly slipped off.

Gone was the regal woman who everyone worshipped. Sat before you now was an older, more mature reflection of yourself – a woman who’d been torn, ripped apart to pieces, and forced to stay in a marriage she badly wanted an escape from.

“I was useless to His Majesty unless I bore his son, and three miscarriages later, he’d given up and turned to other conquests. With each son born, my title as his wife was threatened, and the Kingdom was slowly growing unstable as his scandals became uncontrollable. Before I knew it, the Crown was falling apart. The people were beginning to hate us. Our allies stopped reaching out, and the whole world thought we were nothing but a joke.”

You were too young to remember everything in detail, but you could recall those days when your parents ran around the estate, their frowns permanent and their voices hushed during dinner. Something about the Crown becoming fragile, no thanks to His Majesty’s endeavours.

“It was a difficult time for Inarizaki. I was growing desperate, and when one was desperate, one would take desperate measures,” mumbled the Queen, “And so Rintaro arrived, and I thought... this was it. This was my salvation. I could restore the glory of the Crown back to the way it was. This boy... he would solve all my problems. So I did, one by one. I arranged the marriage of Maiko and Tooru, feeding a story to the people of childhood friends turned to lovers – the symbol of love. And then came Iris and Kiyoomi’s wedding, to fortify our alliance to Itachiyama by having locals as their representatives. We had to make them feel seen, heard. And then, there was you,” her icy-cold glare met yours, something dark and sinister flashing through them. “When Rintaro told me he wanted to marry you, I couldn’t decide yet if you were going to be a blessing or a curse.”

You moved your knight in a desperate attempt to divert the queen’s attention. “I’ve been your daughter in law for four months now. Have you decided?”

“The decision of whatever you will be is all in your hands,” when the Queen faltered at your movement, you felt a glimmer of hope as she paused, considering the development. “I’m aware Rintaro wishes to divorce you. It’s impossible, but I think you know that already.”

“I don’t know, actually. He sounded pretty convinced we could be separated.”

The Queen’s eye twitched, her free hand gripping the edge of the table. “He is an idiotic child. You cannot divorce him. If you let him do as he pleases, he will marry that whore of his. I cannot risk destroying our already fragile relationship with Itachiyama by hurting their dear, darling Prince.”

“Kiyoomi wouldn’t be hurt. He doesn’t even want Iris.”

“Nobody knows that. All they will see is that his wife was impregnated by our Crown Prince, and chose to leave their Prince for ours. Itachiyama is not to be messed around with, child. They hold a majority of our country’s natural resources. Think of fuel, livestock, and produce. All of that will be withheld from us. Our people will starve. This is why you need to make this marriage work, and let Rintaro take the throne.”

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you gestured for the Queen to make her move. “Ushijima can take the throne. He has proven himself to be reliable.”

“The first Prince cannot be King. I forbid him to.”

“And why is that?”

Just as the hope appeared, the Queen mercilessly crushed it. She’d seen right through your ploy, continuing her methodical advance as she devoured you in one move. “Because he is a good, honourable man. The moment he wears the Crown and finds out the dark secrets of what has made the royal family so powerful, the cruel things we’ve done to ensure we stay in power, he will expose it and push for democracy. I refuse to let my life’s worth of suffering to be wasted over a man with too big a conscience.”

You faltered, your grip on your piece loosening. “Secrets? What are you talking about?”

“The King, my dear. Did you really think a young, healthy man like him died from a heart attack?” throwing her head back in laughter, the Queen clutched at her stomach and wiped away a stray tear. “I killed him. A woman can only endure so much abuse from a man who does not love her.”

Your face fell.

Undaunted, the Queen leant forward to place her hand on yours in what seemed to be an attempt for reassurance. It is anything but, not with the Queen’s cruel smile. “It’s scary. Trust me, I know. I have been in your shoes and experienced far worse. But do not be scared, Princess, because you have me. So let Rintaro become King, and once you have gotten all the power from being Queen, then you can make Inarizaki flourish. And when the time comes that you grow sick of that boy... you can always tell me. It wouldn’t be the first time this Kingdom lost their King at the hands of their Queen.”

Your mind conjured up of the most horrid of images. Of Rintaro perishing at the hands of his own mother, of your husband’s eyes slowly losing its light.

And to think she was someone you’d once thought of as your own family.

“You are insane. Yes, he has hurt me. Yes, he has crushed my pride with his fists, but to kill him? To take the life of my husband? I could never be so cruel. And what makes you think Rintaro would want to be King, anyway? He already plans on divorcing me!”

“He will be King if I tell him to. He has no choice. He is the Crown Prince–”

“You cannot force him–”

“Yes, I can, because I am the Queen and I am all he has! He will do as I say unless he wants to be exiled!”

“Exiled?” you echoed, laughing in disbelief. “Why would he be exiled?”

The Queen suddenly shot up, and slammed her hands on the table. “Because he isn’t my son, or the King’s! He is a nobody. He’s just a random gardener’s boy. I took him from his parents to secure my title. If he refuses to be King... then you leave me no choice but to exile you both.”

The revelation struck you like a bolt of lightning.

Breathless and trembling, your world tilted as the truth unfurled before you – your husband, the man who you believed to be a true Prince, the only and treasured Crown Prince, was nothing more than an imposter.

Your heart pounded in your chest as betrayal and disbelief clouded your thoughts. You sat there frozen, eyes wide with shock, unable to process the enormity of his deception. The lavish room around you began to blur and fade, your once cherished memories of being the chosen, the lucky one for being the Crown Prince’s wife, was now tainted bitterly by his lies.

Could it be... that he knew all along?

It all made sense now. His insistence for divorce, his need to push you away. Divorce, or annulment, would be possible once you’d revealed it was never a royal marriage.

Your throat ran dry. Nevertheless, you remained seated, refusing to give in to the Queen’s baits as you drew out a shaky breath. “Go ahead. Exile us. I don’t care. Ushijima will still be King even if Rintaro refuses–”

“There is one more Prince who could be King, one I am confident I can control, and one I am certain will do well in hiding my secrets,” she smirked with a triumphant and wicked glint in her eye. “All I need to do is have him marry that actress, threaten him with the sex tape, and he will happily be King if it means he could have all that he wants.”

Your stomach dropped. It was impossible – Kuroo had deleted all and any traces of that tape. But truly, what did you know? This was the Queen you were up against. This was her kingdom, her playground. As she’d said, nothing could be hidden from her, but to think Atsumu would and could be King... “No. H-He can’t be...”

“Oh, but he can,” her smile grew sharp, malevolent. “And you have no idea the things Atsumu would do to Rintaro once he learns that your husband is nothing but a no-name lowborn nobody.”

“How could you do this to him? You robbed him of his life!”

Scoffing, the Queen reared back. “It was hardly a life. His parents were both poor and starving to death. I saved him from that fate and offered him the luxuries of a royal,” she spat out, shifting her skirts behind as she plopped down on the seat before you.

As you looked back at the game, the reality of your position became undeniable. The queen’s pieces were everywhere, controlling the board with ease. You could see your end approaching, your king cornered with no escape. The Queen knew this, too, an air of triumph surrounding her as she chuckled.

“You see now, don’t you? Everything was already set in stone. Rintaro will be the King. It’s the only way he can remain alive and breathing. If he dares to go against my will and my word, I will not hesitate to kill him. And when he dies, no one will mourn him. He will be remembered as an adulterer, and a new, better, rightfully deserving King will take his place.”

The queen moved her rook into position, the final piece in her flawless strategy.

You stared at the board, recognizing the inevitability of your defeat. As much as you hated to admit it, you could see the beauty in Her Majesty’s play – the way each move had been part of a larger plan, a dance of strategy and foresight perfected through years of manipulation.

“Make your marriage work,” the Queen warned, leaning back against her seat. She knew she’d already won. “It’s the only way you can stop this Kingdom from being burnt to ashes. And if you wish to make a difference? Well, my dear. The Crown is all you need.”

With a deep breath, you moved your king as you acknowledged your defeat.

The Queen’s face lit up in pure joy. “Checkmate.”

You promptly left the queen’s office, your steps slow and heavy as if each stride carried the weight of the world.

Around you, the palace corridors seemed to close in around you. Your mind churned with the devastating realization that all your foolish hopes of escaping the royal confines and finding freedom now slipped through your fingers.

The conversation with Her Majesty unravelled the last threads of your resolve, revealing a cruel ultimatum that nearly drove you mad – stay and sacrifice your dreams of peace, or abandon the kingdom to ruin.

The queen’s words echoed in your mind with each step, her words like a dagger effortlessly piercing any fragile hope you clung to. It wasn’t an easy decision either – if you stayed, you would be bound to a life of duty and subjugation, your own desires forever stifled beneath the weight of the Crown’s expectations. Yet, the alternative was even more harrowing – to leave would be to condemn the kingdom, your people, to chaos and despair. You couldn’t do that; couldn’t be so cruel to let the Kingdom fall under the rule of the heartless Miya Atsumu.

The gravity of having that decision placed in your hands left you reeling, your heart caught in a vice of impossible choices. It was only a question which was more important now: your freedom, or this country’s downfall? Was the price of your divorce really worth the suffering of millions of innocents?

The palace, with all its grandeur and beauty, was no more than a prison now. The one you would spend a lifetime locked in should you choose the right thing to do.

As you walked back to your chambers, your gaze remained fixed on the floor, where the marble tiles glistened coldly beneath you. How could you notice only now? The Palace had always been this way – cold, unfeeling, and empty. It was impossible to find love within these walls, not when dark secrets lurked at every corner, and blood was spilled to remain in power. But innocent you were not, because regardless of the Queen’s sins, you couldn’t blame her for it.

When one’s humanity was constantly tested, monstrosity would soon break through the skin.

If you truly wish to make a difference, the Crown is all you need.

The Queen was right.

Long before you stepped into her office, she’d already read your mind, known what it is you would say. You would advocate for peace, become a paladin to pave a better way for the people. But to do such would mean to hold power greater than everyone else. And if one did not wield that power properly, territories would be split apart, cities would fall, and your Kingdom would be nothing more than a tragedy that went down in history.

The fate of your people was now all up to you.

With that in mind, the air around you seemed heavy with the weight of impending doom. You moved with a sense of numb resignation, each step a reminder of the bleak future that awaited you.

Before you knew it, you’d arrived at your chambers, emptily staring into the mahogany double doors. Behind these doors... there’d be no more Suna Rintaro. Just Rintaro, you told yourself. The son of a nobody, a man who is a nobody. To think that he’d known all this time, and still dragged you into the belly of the beast that was the Crown... it was difficult to fan the flames of your hatred. You had to remind yourself to keep it down – to not let it consume you. If it did, then you wouldn’t be any better than the Queen. If you hated him more, then you might risk it all and leave Inarizaki to its own damnation.

If I loved him less, you gripped the doorknob, biting the inside of your cheek as memories of your husband flashed in your mind, I could save this Kingdom.

“Princess, you’re back!”

Your eyes shifted to the bumbling figure before you. Airi scuttled towards your way, her eyes wide and nervously fiddling with the way your hands hovered over the doors. The gesture made you frown, and you dropped your hands to soothe her. “Hello, Airi. How have you been?”

“I’m good, but... I should be asking you that, Your Highness.”

“I am well. I just want to rest now,” you told her, brows pinching together when she suddenly stood between you and the door, her gaze planted at her feet. You sighed. “Airi, why are you blocking my way?”

“Uhm, you see...”

You’d been in this situation countless of times before – around wary maids with their gazes bouncing between you and the doors. It didn’t come as a question anymore. Those looks only ever meant Iris. This time, however, the thought no longer squeezed the life out of your heart. You merely sighed and pushed past Airi, her protests falling on deaf ears.

And truly, it shouldn’t come as a surprise anymore that it would involve her, but you couldn’t fathom this happening even in your wildest of dreams.

Your bedrooms had been stripped bare. Gone were all your clothings, your shoes, your perfume and makeup on the vanity table. The heady scent of vanilla cloaked over the room so heavy it felt suffocating. Iris was everywhere – her wristwatch on the table, her folded nightgown on your bed, her fluffy slippers right next to your husband’s. On the coat rack before your bedroom were their coats hung together, his necktie delicately intertwined with her scarf.

It was as if you never existed in the first place.

Your jaw clenched, fists balling at your sides. You deliberately ignored Airi’s desperate pleas after you, and stormed right into the bedroom. Iris was nowhere to be seen, but Rintaro was there. Sleeping on the couch without a care in the world, a book covering his face as his chest fell with his steady breaths.

“Rin. Rintaro,” you poked his chest, your irritation further fuelled when he didn’t budge. Gritting your teeth, you swatted his book to the side, careful to not let the hard-bound edges nick his nose. “Suna Rintaro!”

Your husband’s eyes shot open. Panic flooded his gaze upon the sight of you, until he groaned, falling back into the couch as he went back to slumber. “Oh. You’ve returned.”

You tried to ignore the way he’d sounded so disinterested, like you were nothing but a bother. You crossed your arms against your chest instead, and demanded for an explanation. “Why is Iris’ belongings here in our room?”

“It’s our room now. I had your things moved.”

“Moved where?”

“Belleview Manor.”

Your jaw dropped. “You – you can’t do that! You can’t move my things around without my permission!”

“I just did,” came his bored reply. Then, he sat up, resting his arms on his knees as he lazily rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Odd, considering he looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “Listen, could you... could you stop screaming? It was the doctor’s orders. He said as the father of the child, I needed to be by her side at all times. She might feel sick in the middle of the night. I have to be there for her.”

The weight of the harshness of his words pressed onto you like a physical force.

You detested it – the way he looked at you, or through you. Three days he did not call. Three days he did not bother to even leave a text. Three days since he’d left abandoned you like he did a hundred times before, with not even a trace of guilt present on his face.

“And what about me?”

“What about you?” he raised a brow, challenging you as he stood up to his full height and turned his nose down at you. “I told you already, didn’t I? I don’t want you anymore. So go. Don’t make yourself look even more pathetic by staying around and hoping I’ll change my mind.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Rintaro’s cold rejection struck you like a slap. Your heart clenched painfully at the cruel finality of his command, rendering you frozen and unable to grasp reality. Time itself had fractured. The room around you seemed to dim, the deepening shadows darkening the hard features of his face.

Your vision blurred with unshed tears as you felt the ground beneath you sway, the emotional blow rendering you unsteady. With a last, fleeting look at the man you had once adored, you turned away.

“Fine.”

You spun on your heel and ran out of the room. The sting of his rejection propelled you through the grand corridors of the palace. Tears blurred your vision, and you furiously wiped them away, each swipe a desperate attempt to not drown in the flood of sorrow.

You could hear the final pieces of your marriage crumbling, the sound a haunting melody of betrayals that echoed within your soul. This was it. You wouldn’t tolerate anymore of his cruelty. You’d had enough – your chest aching with a numb, all-consuming hurt. You longed to scream, imagining the echo of your agony bouncing off the empty hallways of the palace, but no sound escaped your lips. It was as if your lungs had exhausted its air, just as your heart had lost all its will to beat again for the man you married.

As you burst through the palace doors and into the open air, the sky mirrored your inner turmoil, the dark clouds gathering ominously.

The first raindrops began to fall, mingling with your tears. You couldn’t focus on anything but to run, run as far away from here possible, to keep running until your legs could no longer.

You suddenly stumbled upon the length of your dress, your steps faltering on the slick ground. You tripped over your own feet as your strength failed you, and you fell on your knees, your hands plunging into a cold puddle. It soiled the ends of your pristine dress, with mud caked on your shoes and your knees scratched from the pavement.

The rain poured down harder, a relentless deluge that matched the intensity of your sobs.

You cried so hard it felt impossible to breath, your body wracking with despair. Each thunderclap overhead felt like the heavens themselves roaring in sympathy with your agony.

Your mind whirled with thoughts of broken promises and unfulfilled dreams. The life you’d envisioned with Rintaro – his promises, the beach house, the dogs, the children to be had and loved, the life to have been lived – it was now nothing more than a shattered illusion. And the pain? It cut deep, leaving its mark until it embedded itself into your bones. You could die and be buried and the remnants of your hurt would remain carved up in your carcass, never to be healed, never to be withered, never to vanish even long after your death.

You felt lost in a cosmogyral spiral, the universe spinning with your loneliness as its epicentre – your existence reduced to a solitary point in an endless void.

You wanted to run, to hide from the pain he had caused and inside. To scream and cry until the hurt faded, yet it remained, a stubborn shadow clinging to your soul and refusing to let go. You aimlessly clawed at your chest like you could rip out your broken heart, and throw it to the next clueless person to come across you.

Through the curtain of rain, a dark silhouette approached.

You looked up, and the onslaught of rain suddenly ceased above your head, replaced by the soft patter of raindrops on an umbrella. The dark figure finally bent down his legs, his face illuminated by the gummuservi on the puddles.

Kneeling before you was Kiyoomi, his eyes filled with a sorrowful kindness that pierced through your pain like a cold balm on a cut. The umbrella he held cast a protective halo over you, sheltering you from the storm.

You felt... protected. Shielded from the world with nothing but his umbrella, warmed by the heat of his body. He studied you with an intensity that made you feel seen, truly seen, for the first time in a long while. His eyes traced the contours of your face, absorbing your pain as if it were his own. And when he tenderly said your name, the rain became a mere whisper, the world fading into the background as a silent understanding passed between you.

He didn’t speak anymore, but his actions conveyed what words could not. Gently, he took your hand and guided you to your feet, his grip firm yet tender.

“He made you cry again, didn’t he?”

In that moment, the storm seemed to lose its ferocity. The thunder rolled away in the distance as if giving you a moment of respite.

“It hurts so much, Kiyoomi,” you cried out to him, eyes closing when his thumb reached over to swipe at a fallen tear. “What... what did I wrong? What did I do to deserve this? How could he keep doing this to me? He-he pushes me away, betrays me, and then says he loves me and each time I think that maybe I’ve changed his mind – because I’m nothing but a fool – he reminds me, time and time again, that I hadn’t done a thing at all! I couldn’t... I could never change his mind. He is never going to love me. And it’s entirely too late but I think – I think that I no longer love–”

“–You’re right. He will never love you,” Kiyoomi’s eyes darkened, tentative as he takes two steps to close the distance. “But I do.”

“What?”

Your eyes widened as Kiyoomi’s sudden confession fell upon your ears. The world around you seemed to momentarily freeze, the vibrant colours of the garden blurring into muted hues. Your hand instinctively flew to your mouth, stifling the gasp that escaped you.

The serene beauty of the surroundings, with its delicate flowers and tranquil fountains, froze in the passage of time.

“I love you,” he says, sounding broken and wholly unsure. “I always have.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you loved him, and I had to live with the fact you would never look my way,” just as the moment started, it broke – Kiyoomi took a step back as if needing to distance himself away, but still with his umbrella hovering protectively. “My apologies, Princess. I did not mean to add more on to your burdens–”

You didn’t let him finish speaking.

Without another word, your hand moved with a swift and determined grace as you reached up, grasping Kiyoomi by the collar. The fabric, cool and smooth beneath your fingers, was tugged gently but firmly to draw him closer – needing more of him, wanting more of him. You could breathe him in and consume him whole, and it still wouldn’t be enough. He had to be certain of this, too, and you kept your touch tender and insistent, a silent command that left no room for hesitation and argument.

Kiyoomi’s breath caught in his throat as he felt the heat of your proximity, felt your breasts crushing his chest, the racing of your heart against his. The world was entirely bending to your will as it narrowed to the space between you and him.

In a single, fluid motion, your lips met his.

The kiss was a fierce, passionate declaration – charged with all the emotions that had been restrained and unspoken. It was a melding of fervor and tenderness, every unvoiced feeling poured into this single, electrifying contact that set your nerves alight.

Kissing Kiyoomi was akin to being in a comic explosion.

The kiss ignited a cascade of feelings, a burst of heat that seemed to set the very air around you ablaze. It was as if a thousand fireworks had been set off in the quiet of the night, each spark and burst of light a vidid expression of all the affections you’d held back. Because by the Gods, how long have you thought about this? How many kisses had you played in your mind before it finally took place? The initial contact was electric, a jolt of fervor and longing surging through you, ripples of euphoria cascading through your entire beings.

And when he finally kissed you back, his moan soft and nearly muted like a secret he’d whispered, Kiyoomi unfurls like a blossom in bloom.

It was an ardent embrace of sensation that led to intoxication, a symphony of fireworks that ignited every nerve, flooding your senses with an addicting blend of his heat, sweetness, and the stray drops of rain.

In that fleeting moment, the world around you ceased to exist. The universe only held you and Kiyoomi in this ephemeral moment, his face now cradled in your palms, along with his soft, sweet moans swallowed and kept at the back of your mind. Time stood still, as your hearts and lips intertwined in this dance of longing acknowledged.

The need to breathe caught up eventually, forcing the two of you to slowly draw apart. Gazes locked, reflecting the hungering and unsatiated desire born from that first explosive contact.

Kiyoomi’s arms encircled you not a moment later, drawing you closer as if to hold onto the fragile, precious connection that had been forged. The intensity in his gaze softened, and you smiled up at him, frightened – realizing a little too late at what you’d just done.

You’d kissed Kiyoomi.

You’d kissed a married man.

Frantically, you scrambled away from him, ignoring the dejected look on his face when your actions caused his umbrella to drop. He, too, began to be soaked in the rain. His shirt clung to his skin, his curls now plastered against his face. Yet, he made no move, and remained where he stood – his chest rising and falling with each, staggered breath. And god, he looked ethereal like this – face flushed, lips bruised from your kiss, and his hands twitching by his side with the need to pull you close.

But he never does. He’d let you be the one to decide on that. His submission, his decision to give up and place all the power in your hands, was written all over his face.

If we are to kiss, it would have to be me instigating it.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“–It’s not a mistake, and I don’t regret it,” Kiyoomi declared, his gaze hard and firm. Then, he makes a show of slipping of his ring and throwing it to the side – the gold band swallowed up by the puddles. He’s in your space the next moment, his eyes closed yet vulnerable as he takes your palm, and rests his cheek there. “Use me. If you need me to forget him, if that’s what it takes... then use me. I am yours.”

[pandapetals]

Merry Christmas

It's Christmas Day! You and Logan exchange gifts.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, banter, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor, holiday vibes, logan being a softie

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

a/n: It’s the last one shot and i am sad. It’s been so much fun writing for christmas. I hope everyone gets logan under their tree this year.

divider credit: @saradika

The mansion was silent, wrapped in a thick blanket of snow from the night’s storm, the world outside hushed and peaceful. You woke to the sound of Logan’s soft snoring beside you, his hand resting protectively on your hip, even in sleep. Smiling to yourself, you carefully slipped out of bed, pulling on your robe as you padded downstairs to put the finishing touches on his gifts.

You’d thought long and hard about what to get him, wanting each gift to be something meaningful. A leather tool roll, perfectly sized for his motorbike tools, so he’d always have something useful on hand. A bottle of his favorite whiskey, because you knew he’d never buy the fancy stuff for himself. And your personal favorite—a beautifully framed vintage map of the Canadian wilderness, detailing the rugged terrain of the land he loved so much. But the most important gift, the one that had taken you months to finish, was a small wooden box filled with letters, each one tied neatly with twine.

Each letter was for a different moment, a different feeling. One for when he felt alone, one for when he felt angry, one for when he doubted himself. Every letter was written to remind him how deeply he was loved, how much he mattered. You’d poured your heart into every word, hoping that he’d feel the weight of your love whenever he needed it most.

By the time you’d finished arranging everything under the tree, you heard the soft creak of the stairs and turned to see Logan coming down, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, hair even more wild than usual. He was wearing his old flannel shirt over sweatpants, looking gruff but endearingly soft, as if he hadn’t quite woken up.

"Mornin', darlin’," he mumbled, his voice rough, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips as he saw you waiting by the tree.

"Merry Christmas, Logan," you whispered, stepping forward to press a soft kiss to his cheek. His arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer, and for a moment, the two of you just stood there, wrapped in each other’s warmth as snowflakes drifted softly outside the window.

Reluctantly, you pulled back and gestured to the pile of gifts. "C’mon, let’s open these."

Logan chuckled, eyeing the gifts with a raised brow. "You went all out, huh? I didn’t know we were doin’ this whole… gift thing."

You laughed, nudging him down onto the couch and settling beside him. "Just open yours. I think you’ll like them."

He started with the tool roll, his rough hands carefully unwrapping the leather. He ran his fingers over it, a faint smile playing on his lips. "This… this is real nice," he muttered, a little shy. "I’ll definitely use it."

Next, he picked up the whiskey, letting out a low whistle as he looked at the label. "You got me the good stuff, huh? You spoil me," he said with a smirk, though there was a flicker of genuine appreciation in his eyes. But when he unwrapped the framed vintage map, he went completely silent, his fingers brushing over the contours of the familiar landscape.

"I figured… you could hang it in your office, or keep it somewhere special," you murmured, watching his face closely.

Logan swallowed, his gaze lingering on the map as if he were lost in the memories of those wild places. "This is… perfect," he whispered, his voice rough. "Thank you."

There was one gift left, and you hesitated for a moment before handing him the small wooden box. His brows knit together as he looked down at it, curiosity and something else—a softer emotion—flickering across his face. He lifted the lid and saw the bundle of letters, each one tied with care, each one addressed to a moment he might need a reminder of your love.

"For when you’re feeling… well, you know," you said softly, your fingers nervously fidgeting as you watched his reaction. "Each one is for a different time. I just… wanted you to know that I’m always here, even if I’m not right next to you."

Logan took a shaky breath, his gaze fixed on the box of letters. His jaw clenched as he fought to keep his expression steady, but you saw the glint of tears in his eyes. He lifted one of the letters, his fingers trembling slightly as he ran his thumb over your handwriting, the careful loops and lines you’d written with so much love.

"No one’s… no one’s ever done somethin’ like this for me," he said, his voice cracking. "I don’t… I don’t deserve this, or you." His voice was barely more than a whisper now, vulnerability laid bare in a way he rarely allowed.

You reached up, cradling his face with your hands, gently brushing a thumb over his cheek. "Logan… you’re wrong. You deserve so much more than you think." You smiled, the love in your eyes soft and steady. "You’re the best gift I could ever ask for. Just you… exactly as you are."

A tear slipped down his cheek, and he closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as if grounding himself in the warmth of your hands. Without another word, he pulled you into his arms, his embrace tight, almost desperate, like he was afraid to let go.

When he finally pulled back, his hand slid behind your neck, pulling you in for a kiss filled with every unspoken word he couldn’t quite say. His forehead rested against yours as he whispered, "I love you, sweetheart."

You smiled against his lips, pressing one last kiss to his mouth. "I love you, more. Merry Christmas, Logan."

After a long moment, Logan reluctantly pulled back, his gaze soft but intent as he reached for a small, neatly wrapped package on the coffee table. He handed it to you, looking almost… shy.

“Go on,” he murmured, clearing his throat and looking away, trying to cover up the faint blush creeping up his neck. “It’s… not much, but I thought you might like it.”

Curious, you tore off the wrapping paper, revealing a leather-bound book with intricate gold detailing on the cover. You sucked in a breath, your eyes widening as you ran your fingers over the title embossed in gold.

Pride and Prejudice. Not just any copy—this was a rare first edition.

“Logan…” you breathed, your voice a mixture of awe and disbelief. “How… how did you even find this?”

He shrugged, trying to play it off, but you could see the glint of pride in his eyes. “Got my ways,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “Figured it’d mean somethin’ to you.”

Carefully, almost reverently, you opened the book, feeling the delicate weight of the pages between your fingers. But as you turned to the first few pages, something fluttered out—a piece of paper, folded neatly and tucked between them.

You glanced up at him, eyebrow raised. He shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his hands. “I, uh… slipped a little somethin’ in there,” he admitted, his voice barely above a grumble. “Wrote it myself. Might be rough around the edges, but… well, it’s for you.”

With trembling hands, you unfolded the paper, your heart racing as you read the words written in his unmistakable handwriting. It was a short poem, raw and unpolished, each line laced with sincerity.

Didn’t think I’d find somethin' that felt like home,

in the rasp of your laughter, in all the things left unsaid,

in the quiet that ain’t lonely ‘cause you’re in it.

Darlin’—you’re the reason I keep holdin’ on,

the reason a scarred heart like me starts thinkin'

he might be worth somethin' after all.

The words weren’t flowery or grand, but they were him—every line filled with honesty, with a depth he rarely shared. Your vision blurred as you read it again, the weight of his words sinking in.

“Logan…” you whispered, looking up at him, eyes glistening with tears. “This is… it’s beautiful.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking both relieved and embarrassed. “Didn’t think I’d hear that word used on anythin’ I wrote,” he muttered, the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Figured you’d laugh it off.”

“Are you kidding?” you said, reaching over to take his hand, squeezing it tight. “It’s perfect. It’s you, and that means more to me than anything else in the world.”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, his gaze holding yours. After a long, lingering silence, Logan reached behind the couch and pulled out one last gift, this one wrapped in old newspaper and tied with a bit of string. He handed it to you, his eyes a bit softer. 

“This one’s… well, it’s somethin’ I worked on myself,” he said, almost bashful. “Thought it might help you with… y’know, all that writin’ you do.”

Intrigued, you carefully unwrapped it, and as soon as you saw the vintage typewriter nestled inside, your breath hitched. The old keys gleamed, meticulously polished, and there was a faint scent of oil and leather from where he’d restored it with his own hands. Every piece, every detail, looked lovingly cared for.

“Oh my god, Logan…” you whispered, running your fingers over the smooth metal, feeling the weight of each key under your touch. “You… you did this yourself?”

He nodded, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Yeah. It was in pretty rough shape when I found it, but I thought… well, I thought you might like workin’ on somethin’ like this. Somethin’ that’d make all those stories you’re dreamin’ up feel a little more real.”

You stared at him, overwhelmed. He wasn’t just giving you a typewriter—he was giving you the chance to chase your dreams, to bring your words to life in a way that was uniquely yours.

Without another word, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close. “You… you have no idea how much this means to me,” you whispered, your voice choked with emotion.

His arms tightened around you, and for a long, tender moment, he just held you, his cheek resting against your hair. When he finally pulled back, there was a glisten in his eyes he didn’t even try to hide.

“Guess I did somethin’ right, huh?” he murmured, a hint of vulnerability in his voice as his thumb brushed across your cheek.

“You did everything right,” you replied, your smile soft and unwavering. Leaning in, you kissed him—slow, deep, pouring every ounce of love and gratitude you had into it.

When you pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart. Couldn’t ask for a better one.”

You smiled, your hands still laced with his. "Here’s to all the Christmases to come," you whispered back.

[back2bluesidex]

The Undisclosed Reason: Murder - MYG (18+)

Pairing: Contract Husband!Yoongi X Contract Wife!Reader 

Theme: soft yandere, mystery, smut, morally grey characters

Word Count: 1.5k+

Summary: Min Yoongi is mysterious, beautiful and scary. Min Yoongi is also the primary suspect of instigating his ex-wife's suicide.

Warnings: SMUT!! explicit sex, sex on a kitchen counter, yoongi is chilling in here, mentions of suicide, death, murder.

First installment of One Last Contract

Inspired from kdrama The Trunk.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon (for early access)

Taglist requests are open

Next installment: Curiosity Killed: None Yet

“The undisclosed reason…” His voice echoes in the mostly empty dining place, “you know what it is, don’t you?” from the way his voice sounds so distant, you know he is facing away from you. 

Your hand momentarily stops wiping the dishes. Your mind tricks you into thinking that he is testing you. 

He is testing if you are afraid of him or not. 

He is testing if you will break under his pressure or not. 

And you won’t. 

You’d only be afraid of dying if you were living. Death doesn’t scare you anymore, not when you are a walking shell of a human who has long accepted her demise. 

“I do.” you reply briefly, resuming your task at hand. 

And then you let your mind divert, let it go wherever it wants, let it land wherever it sees fit. 

“Why did you say yes then? To this marriage?” suddenly his voice is close. When you look up you see him standing at the other side of the kitchen counter. 

His eyes pierce through yours. For the first time in a week of knowing him, you see life in those eyes. You see fire. 

“The money is good. And saying no to a project reflects negatively on performance review.” You keep your focus on wiping the dishes. 

Min Yoongi stands there, staring at you as if you are an alien that has suddenly teleported to his house. 

If he expects you to shrink under his scrutinizing gaze then he is wrong. You are not that fragile. 

“Also… I am not scared to die.” you add, as quietly as possible. For a moment you wonder if he has caught you spilling those words or not. 

Maybe he has not. 

But then you hear him chuckling. 

A low, rumbly sound that resembles tiny pebbles rolling down a rocky path. 

When you look up again, his eyes lock with yours for a second time - you know he hasn’t looked away for a moment even. 

“Then what are you scared of?” Yoongi takes a dangerous step towards you, his voice dips down an octave lower. 

“Nothing.” you reply as confident as ever. 

Yoongi takes another step and crosses the thin kitchen counter to stand right before you, towering you with his figure. His body casts a shadow on yours - you are in the dark now. 

“Not even what I might do to you?” He raises his hand. With his index finger, he traces the contour of your face. “What if I do something bad? Dirty? Something worse than killing you?” 

As soon as his finger comes in contact with your skin - you feel tingles all over your body. 

It’s been years - years - since you felt something akin to this. 

Your last husband was asexual. The one before him was gay. The one before that had an affair with someone of his mother’s age. And the previous two were terminally ill. 

Min Yoongi is your first totally normal project. You wondered what had made the man cave in - to seek the assistance of a contract marriage while he could have anyone in this world within a snap of his fingers. That was until you came to know the secret. 

Min Yoongi was investigated for his ex-wife’s death. Although that was a suicide, she wrote his name in the note. 

But now as he stands before you, under the extremely dim light of the kitchen, you are not sure - of what, you don’t know. 

Anyone in the world would find him scary, especially with that scar running down on his face. But to you he looks beautiful - especially with that scar running down on his face. All of sudden, your heart is overwhelmed with an urge of tracing his scar and wishing for it to tell tales - what happened, how it happened. 

“Do you want to do something bad, dirty to me?” you find yourself challenging him. 

His lips stretch in a smile, “does your company allow that? To have sex with the contract spouses?”  

“If both parties want, then yes.” you inhale a sharp breath. The proximity, his scent, his droopy eyes, slightly parted mouth and that long dark hair cascading to his neck make you feel dizzy. 

“Do you want it?” he asks, pushing himself closer to your body. 

“As long as you use protection, yes.” Even before you could finish your sentence properly, Yoongi winds a hand around your waist and pulls you towards him. 

Your body presses together. Electricity runs around like a pair of close-knit open circuits. 

“If you regret your decision later, it’s not my fault.” he breathes down on your mouth before closing the remaining gap. 

His mouth molds on yours as you kiss him back instantly.

Again, years - it has been years - since you have shared a kiss. 

His big hands trace the path of your lower back, down the valley of your arse. Planting his palms there, he gives you a squeeze. 

Arousal gushes out of your cunt. 

The kiss is bruising. It translates how hungry both of you have been for any kind of physical action. 

Yoongi backs you on the counter, nibbling down on your lower lip and breaking the kiss while pulling the muscle of your lip with his teeth. 

He wastes no time in attaching his mouth to the angle of your jaw, leaving marks all over the column of your throat and then on your collar bones. 

His hands now travel underneath your sweater, Touching the expanse of your skin that is hidden from his eyes. When his hands reach the underside of your bra, he detaches his face from your throat and looks at you intently. 

You know he is asking for permission, which you didn’t expect from someone who was booked for instigating his ex-wife’s death. 

You nod. 

Yoongi takes his time in pulling your sweater up from your body and discarding it somewhere around the vast dining place. He, then, stares at you, with hooded eyes full of last. 

Your arousal dampens your underwear. Fuck. you absolutely didn’t expect this. 

Reaching out for your bra, you unclasp it and let it pool down on your shoulders. 

Yoongi stares at you. He doesn’t move just yet. You follow his eyes as those lower from your face to your exposed chest. 

And then he moves. Grabbing you harshly by your waist he hikes you up and sits you down on the kitchen counter. 

The cold steel top sends shivers through every corner of your body. Your already erected nipples, stands for attention even more. 

Yoongi wraps his lips on one of your nipples in a long, languid suck. You can’t help but moan. 

His one hand holds you tightly by your waist and another rolls your unoccupied nipple between his thumb and index finger. 

A gush of pleasure flows out of your core. 

Your fingers find their way in his dark locks. You take time to enjoy raking your fingers through his silky-smooth strands. 

He sinks his teeth on your nipple, making you curse out loud. Your toes curl. 

Leaving your tit alone, Yoongi dives inside your sweat pants, right through your underwear and touches your slick cunt. 

His index finger runs along your slit at first and then his thumb joins to stretch out your fold and enter your hole. 

“So wet already, huh? Seems like your previous husbands were no good.” Yoongi comments in a fleeting way. 

You can’t object. He is right. 

He enters two fingers in you without any warning. The stretch burns at first but as he scissors his fingers slowly, you find your eyes rolling backwards. 

Yoongi’s bulge presses down on your stomach and you decide you want him. You want him now. 

“Fuck me. Fuck me already.” you murmur in his hair. 

You can feel him smirking against the skin of your throat. 

“As my wife says.” he detaches his body from yours. You stare at him as he stips off of his clothing. 

Once he is out of his underwear, his dick springs up and slams against his belly. He rolls down the condom that was hiding somewhere in his pockets - you wonder if he planned his earlier. 

You get even wetter. 

Within a second he is back at where he was. He takes off your remaining clothing in a haste and lines his cock to your entrance. 

Giving you a quick stare, he enters in you, smooth and swift. 

Your breath hitches. 

Five years. After five whole years you are being pleasured. 

He goes slow at first, gives you time to adjust and then picks up his pace. 

Min Yoongi, your contract husband fucks you in his kitchen. Fucks you so good that you can’t remember what brings you here - with him, under him. 

Fucks you at an inhuman pace. 

When you cum on his cock, he grunts loudly and that’s one of the most attractive sounds you have ever heard. 

He moans again when he cums inside the condom. 

As you both try to catch your breath, he looks at you with a smirk playing on his lips. 

“And what if I kill you now?” he asks, voice hoarse with all the moans and groans. 

“Will you?” 

“Maybe.” 

Permanent Taglist:

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[astraystayyh]

Echoes of love

"to love someone is firstly to confess; i am prepared to be devastated by you."

Chapter ii. to remember

genre : memory loss trope. angst. slow burn. unrequited love except you were in a loving relationship and everything changes overnight.

pairing : minho x reader. (3racha cameo)

summary : if given the choice would you love minho again? yes, you would've once said in a heartbeat. but now, you aren't sure of your response anymore.

cw : depiction of a nightmare and anxiety attack. allusion to mc having a bad family history with alcohol. suggestive in the end (allusion to sex but no smut). reader had she/her pronouns.

word count : 11k words.

song recs : the night we met/terrible love/black friday/cover me/already gone/enough.

chapter i. skz quotes series masterlist.

A.N: PT. 2 IS HERE!!!! i hope you'll enjoy this one, she's my baby and i put so much work and thought into her, so feedback is highly highly appreciated!!! thank you to my @forlix for being with me every step of this journey, i love u the most<33

Day 33. 

With a gentle, absentminded sweep, your fingers trace the delicate contours of your wrist, a faint dance with the pulse beneath your skin– the cocoon of the soul you’re gradually growing accustomed to. It is a trying task, you've found out, to no longer yearn to flee from your body, leaving the weight of your worries for your bones and flesh alone to bear. 

A subtle fragrance floats in the air surrounding you- the familiar gardenia and honey tones of your sweet perfume. It is a scent you reserve for special occasions, such as this one- your first date, in three months according to the world, in more than a year for your memory. 

You swiftly retrieve a mirror from your pouch, checking your appearance for the tenth time in mere minutes. Your nude lipstick is still, unsurprisingly, in place, and you smile reassuringly at your reflection. She smiles back, though sometimes you half-expect her not to. In defiance, perhaps, maybe even repulse. 

The melodious chime of the café's bell captures your attention, and the man you've been awaiting finally enters. He confidently strides in, clad in a blue polo and black slacks, an evident effort poured into his appearance. 

Standing before you, his warm, gleaming eyes meet yours, effortlessly melting your lingering worries. You smile at him, he beams at you. 

“Did I keep you waiting?” Changbin, your date, asks as he pulls the chair adjacent to you. 

“No, just in time.”

Two weeks ago. 

Day 17. 

“Use me. Use me to remember,” Minho whispers, the distance between your lips resembling the thin edge of a blade. 

You close your eyes, the world narrowing down to the sound of your heartbeat, a rhythmic drum drowning out any attempt at coherent thoughts. Kiss him, your heart chants, kiss him and all your memories will flood back. But what if they don't? What if the abyss persists before the brightest beam of light?

A tender kiss lands on your forehead, gently interrupting your tumultuous thoughts. Minho’s lips are as warm, as soft as you remember them. They're now imprinted into your skin, no longer a hazy memory beyond your reach.

His hands cradle your hair, smoothing it down, making the ringing in your ears soften. You surrender to his gentle embrace, to the soft tide of emotions rippling from him to you, pulling your wounded soul to safe shores. 

“You need to forgive yourself,” he whispers, his words echoing against your skin, lips still pressed to your forehead. A rush of warmth overwhelms you, all your senses coming to life, ringing the alarm- he sees you, he sees through you.

“None of this is your fault,” he assures, a sudden cooling balm against your scorching wounds. These are the words you've been aching to hear. You didn't know, but Minho did, reading between the lines of your quivering lips and your reluctance to look into his eyes. 

He knows you better than you know yourself. 

“Don’t blame yourself, please.”

“But all I do is hurt people,” you confess, tears streaming down your face like a relentless downpour, soaking Minho's hands. 

You expect punishment to strike you, bolting lighting aiming straight for your heart as you finally admit to your biggest sin- the shadow of sorrow that trails your every step. It is the way it has always been since you were a child. It is what you fled from. 

What you don't expect is for tenderness to cradle you instead— in Minho's warm hand as he gently guides you to his chest, your ear resting above his steady heartbeat. Its rhythmic cadence akin to a lullaby- you shouldn't apologize for existing, you hear it sing to you. 

“If you need forgiveness, I’ll give that to you. you’re forgiven, okay? I forgive you. Today and tomorrow. I'll forgive you until you'll forgive yourself.” 

“Okay,” you nod, muffled words against the fabric of his shirt.

“Now, will you please come back with me? The cats will miss you a lot if you don’t,” he suggests, pressing his cheek onto the crown of your head. 

“I don't want to leave them,” you reply in a small voice, dewdrops gathering in your eyes at the thought of running again. 

“You don’t have to. It’s your home too.”

“Okay,” you sigh in acceptance, relief, encircling his waist with your arms. He is all inviting, like an open book, and you're resting between his pages, scribbled with love confessions for you. 

The world stills, waves slowing their relentless crash against the shore, as you draw in a deep breath from the pits of your soul. You don't remember all you’ve once felt for Minho. But you know it must have been safe, like stumbling upon a haven and then learning it was specially carved for you. 

“I miss you, Minho.”

“I know, I miss you too.”

Day 19. 

“Minho, can you come to the kitchen please?” your voice reverberates through the house, weaving through the air and reaching the bedroom where Minho has been ensnared, his less-than-graceful complaints echoing loudly for the past hour. You had sealed him within without explanation, only making him promise not to leave the room until you told him to, much to his dismay, and deep down, amusement. 

He chuckles lowly to himself as he rises from the bed, before making his way to the kitchen. There, he finds you near the doorway, hands concealed behind your back, dusty flour adorning your cheek like an artist’s absentminded paint stroke.  

“So…,” you trail off and Minho smiles, crossing his arms before his chest.  

“So?”

“A situation may have happened.” 

“Which situation?” he inquires amusedly, attempting to peer past you into the kitchen. Your extended arms block his view.

“You know how I got a concussion from the car accident,” you ask. 

“I do.”

“I think it may have affected my cooking abilities.”

“But you didn't have any to begin with?” he muses, tilting his head to the side innocently. 

“Shut up,” you playfully admonish before clasping your hands in a silent plea. “Will you help me?” 

“Mm, what are you making?” he inquires, leaning against the doorway.

“Pudding.”

“Pudding?”

“For you.”

“Oh.” 

A blush creeps up Minho’s neck as he grapples to find a reply, his surprised gasp hanging into the air. You giggle faintly, entertained by his sudden speech impairment. 

In response, Minho takes a step forward, delicately brushing away the flour on your cheek, his thumb hovering near the corner of your mouth. “How did this get here?”

“Huh?” you sputter, pink splashing across your cheeks like spilled Rosé. 

Minho is testing your waters, dipping one toe in, hoping he’ll find your reassuring embrace lurking beneath the surface. Did you blush from the heat of the stove or his touch? Minho doesn’t know. Minho needs to find out. 

“And you also forgot this,” he lightly pouts, reaching over your head to the hanger behind you, caging you between his arms. 

He’s sacrificing his heart, placing it on the frontlines of hurt once again. Yet, when you look up at him, dewy eyes flickering to his lips, Minho feels a single match lighten up in his core, not enough to burn all his doubts. But enough to signal hope. 

Hope is a perilous possession, akin to cradling a fragile glass that threatens to shatter at the slightest tremor. Hope is the only thread Minho can now hang onto. 

“You forgot your apron,” he finally says, withdrawing two aprons from the hanger. He drapes one over your head before placing a hand on your shoulder, gently turning you around. He silently ties the strings into a ribbon, his fingers brushing against your spine. He can distinctly remember the feel of your bare skin beneath his fingertips, silky, smooth, intoxicating. 

“There, a pretty knot,” he whispers, not moving back an inch, waiting for you to swivel around. Yet, you remain silent, undoing your hair from its loose ponytail. Your hair cascades over your shoulders, resembling the unveiling of curtains, and Minho senses something unfurling in the depths of his stomach.

“Tie it for me?” you whisper, handing him the hair tie without looking back. Your fingertips brush against each other, and Minho inhales deeply.

“Sure,” he says, voice thick with emotion, he needs to drink water. He needs to drink you in. 

He gathers your hair strands in another low ponytail, trembling hands as they brush against the nape of your neck, akin to powerless leaves before the autumn breeze. He’s close, so close to you, so much his chest almost brushes against your back. 

As soon as he’s done, Minho swiftly steps back before doing something he’ll surely regret, like placing a tender kiss on your shoulder, or worse, confessing that he misses the simple act of brushing your hair at night. 

“So, pudding,” he clears his throat, rolling up the sleeves of his white hoodie. your eyes follow his movement, lingering on the veins protruding on his forearms. Minho feels a bit foolish for wanting to flex for you. 

“It’s really easy actually. bring me two eggs?” 

“Sure,” you grin, heading for the fridge as Minho retrieves sugar from the cupboard, throwing away the odd liquid mixture you managed to conjure. 

You stand beside Minho, eyebrows furrowed as he explains why the milk needs to be brought to a boil before adding the cornstarch, or how adding the vanilla at the very end will help preserve its flavor. You listen intently, nodding along, and the tension between you dispels, leaving place for something comforting, familiar– you’re erasing the remnants of his sobs, the sight of him crumbling over the green kitchen tiles. 

“Let's leave it to chill,” he finally says, closing the fridge’s door. 

“Okay,” you nod, packing away the butter. Minho leans against the countertop, an ember of curiosity ablaze at the tip of his tongue

“Why did you want to make pudding?” he asks and you freeze in place. 

“To see if I’m capable of not being a lost cause,” you respond playfully but the undertones of your voice indicate otherwise- laden, charged. One more match that you could light up? 

“Really?” he says softly, taking one step toward you. 

“No,” you giggle faintly and he nods, a gentle smile unfurling on his face, gradual as the eclipse of a moon.

“It was supposed to be your birthday gift. That's why I locked you in the room. I even bought little birthday hats for the cats, silly I know, and very late, but, turns out I’m a horrible-” 

“I wanna see the birthday hats,” he cuts you off.

“Really? They’re really ugly.” 

“It's my birthday gift, right?”

Five minutes later, you and Minho are seated on the floor, legs crisscrossed, three perplexed cats before you, and on their heads, obnoxiously neon green hats.

“They look so…” you tilt your head, assessing the view before you. 

“Stupid?” Minho suggests, eliciting a startled snort from you that swiftly transforms into an almost maniac cackle, which in turn, catches Minho off guard. He gazes at you bewilderedly before succumbing to a fit of giggles, which intensifies your laughter, as you punctuate his shoulder with light hits, tears streaming down your face in an attempt to regain composure.

One hundred matches light up in Minho’s heart at the sight, all at once.

“My God, they look so stupid, I’m so sorry,” you laugh harder, your body collapsing to the ground, hands tightly clutching your stomach. 

They can laugh again, the house sighs in relief, something other than sobs can still echo within my walls. 

Day 22. 

“I miss the sea,” you sigh softly, cradling a cup of chamomile tea between your hands. Minho, absorbed in his book, glances up to find a melancholic expression etched on your face—a poignant blend of sorrow and longing that he knows weighs heavy on your heart. 

“We saw it over at the bridge, no?” he ventures tentatively, setting the book aside on the living room table.

“Yes, but I miss the sand, and the waves lapping at my feet. I miss feeling the sea, not just seeing it.” 

“I’d take you, in a heartbeat,” he says assuredly, ready to bring you the moon if only you dare ask. “But it's far, and you can't get into a car.” 

“I can try.” 

“You can?” he questions, hope budding in his eyes.

“I mean- I want to, it's just… I don't know,” you retract, nails drumming anxiously against your cup, gaze lost into the amber liquid.  

“Talk to me, yeah?” he smiles softly, draping a reassuring hand on your arm. His thumb swipes across the slate of your shoulder, and an impossible knot in your throat untangles. 

“The accident took a lot from me. My health, my memories, a year of moving forward.” You quiet down, eyes meeting his in a barely veiled vulnerability. Silence speaks of your hardest loss— him. 

“Can you help me get the sea back?”

Minho’s radiant smile is louder than any spoken agreement.

…

Thread by thread, drop by drop, your fears unravel as Minho lowers all the car windows’ before gently guiding you into the car seat, dispelling any prospect of feeling confined within the vehicle. 

He remembers everything, even the panic that gripped your being when you went into his enclosed car, nearly a month ago. 

“Can I blindfold you? It might help, so you wouldn't see the car lights since it’s night,” he suggests.

“Yeah, that'd be nice,” you agree, your hand lightly gripping the car seat.

“Hey, hey,” he calls out gently, “I'm here, okay? The second you feel overwhelmed I'm stopping this car.”

“Will you drive safely?” 

“Of course. I promise you.” 

Your nod is met with the softening of Minho's eyes, as he delicately tucks a strand of your hair behind the curve of your ear. 

“I'm proud of you,” he whispers, tone laden with so much tenderness, love, that your throat becomes a garden, vocal cords bound not by thorns but the delicate blossoming of flowers. 

With a gentle touch, Minho wraps a tie around your eyes, cocooning you in a tranquil darkness. His hand seeks yours instinctively, fingers intertwining with yours akin to the wind weaving through the strands of your hair.

In this moment, every fracture within you is delicately filled by Minho.

He starts driving, a soothing piano instrumental playing out of the car’s speakers- his hand still in yours. “Breathe,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing a soothing path across your palm. 

“Follow my touch.” A gentle sweep to the right, an invitation to inhale slowly. “In,” his voice guides, and you draw in a deep breath.

Another caress to the left, a silent directive to release your confined breath. “Out,” he whispers, and you exhale, surrendering to the rhythm orchestrated by his thumb.

He raises the music’s volume, his touch becoming a maestro, speaking silently to you. You’re grateful for it, for the way in which he’s driving- avoiding curbs and speeding, safely, making the wheels float across the road. 

Your heart still constricts in your chest, anxiety squeezing your veins, bleeding them dry, but you focus on Minho’s thumb, you let it guide you, like a compass navigating the dark tunnels of your heart. 

“We're almost there,” he reassures as he stops by a red light. 

“I look silly, right?” you reply, giggling a bit. 

“What?” he asks, confused. 

“I can feel you looking,” you clarify. 

“How so?”

“My right cheek is tingling.” 

Minho snorts incredulously. “What does that even mean?”

“You have a piercing stare. You're like melting through my skin and vibrating my bones.”

“Idiot,” he chuckles. My my my idiot, Minho grieves to say once again. The human heart is peculiar, he learns day after day, mourning the loss of a myriad of minuscule things, even words. 

“And, you don't look silly,” he clears his throat minutes later, as he finally parks by the beach.  

“You look pretty,” he utters, unraveling your blindfold, and you blink, caught between the sudden light and the weight of his words. “You always do,” he concludes, a whispered confession that lingers like the afterglow of a sunset, painting your world in golden hues.

“Minho, I…” you trail off, eyes landing on the vast sea ahead, blending into the sky in an alluring shade of turquoise. “We're here!” you shout bewildered, a magnificent grin on your face. 

“We are,” Minho smiles, drinking in the delight in your expression. 

“Oh my god I missed the sea!” you giggle as you undo your seatbelt, quickly opening the car’s door and taking off running. 

Minho follows closely behind, captivated, as he watches you glide across the shore, the sand ricocheting off the soles of your shoes. You look like a fairy, bending the wind to your will, coaxing it into a choreography that mirrors the rhythm of your movements, your messy footprints marking your pathway to happiness once again. 

Upon the sand, you finally settle down, and Minho walks over, sitting beside you. Both of you quietly gaze ahead, entranced by the moon's silver glow caressing the water’s surface. Each shimmering wave resembles glistening diamonds, a celestial mirror reflecting the lights in the sky.

“Have I ever told you why I love the sea?” you speak after a while, tone softer, more content. 

“You did.” 

“Can I tell you again?” you say. Can I tell you what I still remember? He understands. 

“Of course.” 

"There was a beach near our home, back then," you reminisce, a nostalgic aura enveloping your words. “And whenever I felt lonely I used to go there and watch the waves, to calm me down. But, one time, I was really overwhelmed so I ended up crying. And then, coincidentally, it started raining too.” 

Your eyes widen slightly, a hint of amusement in your voice. “At that moment, I chuckled at the timing, how the sky was crying with me.”

“Ever since that day, I liked to believe that the sea is made up of the sky’s tears, the ones that fell in sync with those of humans, so it'd comfort us. And the tears grew from a pond to a river, to a vast ocean, as humans cried more and more. That's why sometimes the sea’s waters are gentle because those are tears of happiness falling somewhere. Sometimes they're stormy, since someone is crying out of anger. Sometimes they're melancholic, just relentlessly crashing against the shore, because someone is in pain. Like we are.”

A tranquil hush falls over the night as you quiet down, before turning around to meet Minho’s teary eyes, mirroring yours.

“And if the sea persists through tempests and tranquility, if it goes on despite the myriad of emotions it holds within, then so will we.”

Hope isn't fragile, as Minho once believed. Hope scrapes its bloody palms against the rough surface as it climbs defiantly to the pinnacle once again. Hope picks out rugged stones with weathered hands and builds a home out of them. Hope is strong, it clutches onto the thinnest threads so we’d endure and endure once more. As many times as we need to. 

“Well, the sky isn't crying right now,” Minho notes.

“I know,” you smile softly, “Because we're holding on to hope.” 

Day 26. 

Under the soft glow of the TV, Dori settles comfortably on your shoulders, nuzzling her tiny nose onto your face every now and then. Soonie and Doongie are a bit far away, playing with a piece of yarn, captivated by its vibrant red threads. 

It is an ordinary, comforting setting to watch a movie with Minho, on a Sunday night, a bowl of popcorn nestled on his lap while his cats lounge around. So familiar that the world around you blurs, like the vague brushes of an impressionist painting— a vivid déjà-vu sensation clinging to your body. You’ve lived this scene before. You want to live it again, now and in the future. More and more. 

However something is different— your skin tingles, a buzzing sensation that travels from thigh to knee to hand, as if your body knows that something’s amiss. Minho’s touch perhaps, his palm casually resting upon your skin. 

You don’t know where this urge is coming from— to lay your head on his shoulder, to have him run his fingers through your hair. Even more, to lose yourself in the nutmeg and peppermint notes of his cologne, to disintegrate your worries into his hold and rest. 

“Would you mind if some of my friends came over?” Minho speaks up suddenly, cutting off your trailing train of thought. 

“Hm?” you hum absentmindedly before clearing your throat. “I mean, no, I don't mind. Who are they?”

“Han and Chan. They’ve been asking about you for a while now.” 

“Sure, this is your home.”

“It is yours too,” he says, gaze locking onto yours. His eyes are like a dark tapestry woven with threads of stardust- you’d never tire of looking into them, into the universe they seem to cradle within. 

Do you know that there is a galaxy inside you? You almost slip out, words in an urgent race against your mind. You barely stop them at the tip of your tongue, before smiling and peeling your eyes away from his, painfully, like scratching a burn scab long before it heals. 

…

“They’re here,” Minho announces as someone knocks on the door. 

“Okay,” you smile, a tad nervous. You’re not even sure what for. 

“If they annoy you too much tell me, I’ll kick them out,” he reassures, raising his brows playfully at you. 

“That's mean,” you giggle, albeit soothed by his words.

“They already love you,” he grabs your wrist, his thumb gently swiping over your pulse. “No need to be worried.” 

He drops it, as though a countdown is ingrained into his brain— never to touch you for more than ten seconds. Wouldn't it be selfish, pathetic even, to ask him for more? 

As Minho heads to open the door, you linger in the living room, idly fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt. It is a weird circumstance to greet strangers who know you— you may have brushed against their shoulders in an alley and not known who they were. 

Your thoughts dissolve as two men saunter into the living room, stopping in their tracks once their eyes land on you. They’re both beautiful– that is the first thing you note, closely followed by how relieved they seem to see you. Simultaneous soft sighs escape them, gentle smiles blooming across their faces. Tentatively, you return the gesture.                          

Minho takes the initiative to introduce them. “Yn. This is Chan,” he points to the man on the right, clad in black from head to toe, his smile grows wider, his eyes disappearing into moon crescents, two dimples peeking gleefully on his cheeks. 

“And Han,” the younger man, sporting a Supreme t-shirt despite the cold, beams at you, highlighting his round cheeks, and an adam-apple that weirdly resembles a heart. 

“I want to hug you but Minho put us on a strict no-touch notice because of your ribs,” Han speaks first, a small pout tugging at his lips as he glances at Minho, who simply rolls his eyes at his words. 

“You can never keep something for yourself,” Minho sighs, rubbing the space between his eyebrows. You stifle an amused giggle. 

“And she technically doesn’t remember us so it’d be weird for her to hug a stranger,” Chan notes, offering you an understanding smile. 

“Hey, I didn’t mean it in a creepy way! more of ‘Oh my god I’m so happy you’re alive, thank you for still being here, I was so worried about you’.”

“But were you worried?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

“Of course, I-”

“Then why weren’t you at my bedside?” you question, an eyebrow raised, and Minho chuckles at your words. 

“W-what?” Han asks, glancing worriedly at the two men by his side. 

“Why weren’t you there sobbing when I woke up? It doesn’t look like you were worried,” you muse, throwing a wink to Minho who walks over to you.

“Right, you should’ve sent her a pic of you crying,” Minho adds, as you drape a hand on his shoulder. 

“A picture for every day you didn’t come see me,” you say solemnly as Han’s face grows paler by the second. 

“I-I didn’t, I really was worried, I swear, I kept asking Minho every day about you and…” he trails off as giddy smiles break out on your face and Minho’s before you both burst out laughing. 

“You guys are evil,” Han laments, as Chan pats his back in faux sympathy, a string of giggles falling from his full lips. 

“I’m sorry. we made you dinner to make up for it,” you grin and Minho looks at you pointedly. 

“He made you dinner,” you correct with a huff, and Minho smiles, satisfied, raising his brows smugly at his two friends. 

“Let’s choose a movie then!” Han claps, turning to the TV as Minho sidles by his side.

“I’ll set up the table,” Chan announces.

“I’ll help you,” you offer, and he nods, clearly grateful for your assistance.

You’re taking out four plates from the cupboard, Chan effortlessly bringing out the glasses, clearly familiar with the nooks and crannies of your home, when he suddenly speaks.

“How are you, Yn?” 

“Do you want the truth?” you ask back, and he grins. “Always.”

“I’m okay. Right now. I don’t know if I’ll still be tomorrow, you know? It all fluctuates so much.” 

“Mm, I understand,” he says, and something about his tone indicates that he isn’t saying this just to comfort you. “And that’s okay too. What you went through wasn’t easy, but good times will come again. They always do, you know, just like the sun always comes back after the rain.”

“The sun,” you repeat, as you glance out at the living room, where Minho is laughing at something Han just said, his head tipped back, bunny teeth peeking out. 

Perhaps the sun rays were by your side all along. 

“Thank you, Chan,” you beam at him. “Truly, for being worried about me too.”

“It's nothing to thank us for. We care about you, even though you don’t remember us,” he pouts, a hand on his heart in mock offense. 

“Hey, it’s not my fault I got amnesia!” you chuckle. 

"Excuses!" he drawls with a playful tone as he exits the kitchen, and you can't help but laugh quietly to yourself. You recognize what he's doing—making light of your accident to alleviate the weight on your heart.

The night blurs in your memory, but this time it is tinged with happiness and laughter. The three men recall fun stories of their time together, a seven-year bond rooted in love and care, albeit silently. You witnessed it in the details—Chan ensuring the food was on their plates first, Minho peeling shrimp for Han, the latter rubbing Chan’s arms when he complained of being cold.

Then you saw it directed towards you– how they put on the movie you wanted and watched in anticipation as you took the first bite of food, draped the fuzziest blanket around you, and rushed to your side simultaneously when you stumbled on your feet.

You were loved, although you didn’t know of it. The accident took away your memories but it didn’t plague theirs. 

“Thank you,” you beam at the two men as you walk them to the door. Opening your arms wide, you invite them in for a hug. Han embraces you first, a large smile on his face, and you gently beckon Chan in too. “Easy,” he whispers in Han's ears, careful not to put any pressure on your ribs. They both pat your back as you wrap an arm around their respective shoulders before leaning away.

“I’ll call you,” Minho bids them farewell, tipping his chin forward. They wave to him before finally leaving

You close the door, leaning against the auburn wood. Minho watches you, a soft smile playing on his face.

“Good?” he inquires, closing the distance between you.

“Mm, good,” you reply with a smile as he halts just an inch away. His intoxicating scent envelops you, permeating your bones and flowing through your veins like liquid warmth.

A torrent of memories floods your mind—images of you pressed against this same door. It is dark, a stark contrast from your first memory, a lone lunar beam of light slashing through the night. Minho’s hands grip your waist with a fevered urgency, while yours entwines around the nape of his neck, in passion, in hunger, almost as if you were deprived of him for so long.

You angle his mouth closer to yours, his lips pressing against your own repeatedly, a desperate attempt to brand the contours of his mouth into your soul. His hair, a cascade of midnight silk, tickles your fingers with an electric charge, like the crackling of the air before a storm. His tongue sweeps across your lower lip, seeking entrance, one you willingly surrender, white flag easily thrown to the ground. With every kiss, your bodies meld together, so much so that you could merge into the door, disappearing into the shadows as one.

“What's wrong?” Minho breaks your trance and you snap out of your reverie, a bright flush adorning your cheeks. 

“N-nothing,” you stammer. 

“You’re all red, do you have a fever?” he asks, coming closer, his hand pressed to your forehead. His woody scent envelops you once again– everything about him is enticing— his cologne, his lips on you, his fingertips dragging underneath your shirt, his eyes piercing yours, undressing you before his hands ever could.

“Yn?” he questions and you grab his jaw, angling his face away from you. 

“Stay like this, don’t look at me for a moment.”

“What?”

“Just… please,” you say and he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief, and yet he complies, his side profile now facing you.

How does he live with these memories each time he looks at you? 

You take in a deep breath, focusing on his silhouette. It might seem counterproductive to fixate on the same man consuming your thoughts, but how could you not when he was mere centimeters away, his eyes averted from yours?

You exhale softly as your gaze glides along the graceful curve of his neck, a solitary mole resting just beneath his sculpted jawline, leading the way to his plump lips, a cupid's bow delicately carved by the hands of the divine archer himself — crafted to be kissed, to be adored.

Your eyes trail up, tracing the high bridge of his nose, another mole perched at its pinnacle, sharp and smooth as if chiseled by a master sculptor, one who dedicated months to perfecting his artistry. His eyes are a mesmerizing brown, punctuated with long lashes that flutter like the delicate wings of an angel with each slow blink.

Minho sweeps aside strands of his hair, his fingertip delicately fluffing them upwards. It dawns on you, a sudden revelation of the necessity of art — to immortalize such beauty for generations to come.

You imagine admirers gazing upon Minho, sighing in sheer amazement, their hearts tightening with emotions that words struggle to encapsulate in the face of this epitome of beauty. Inside and out, you reflect, inside and out. 

“You told them not to drink around me, right?” you ask softly.

A blush grows from the base of Minho's neck to the tip of his ears, like roots expanding into the soil. He sighs before finally looking at you.

“I did. How’d you figure it out?” he wonders.

“I asked Han if he wanted a drink, but he refused so categorically that I assumed he didn't like alcohol. But most of his stories were of him drunk,” you chuckle quietly, and Minho shrugs sheepishly.

“We get loud when we drink. You don’t like that,” he says simply as if it’s a given, an absolute certainty that he’d do anything but make you uncomfortable.

He's beautiful, the light of his heart basking his face in a glow that even Michaelangelo's skillful hands wouldn’t be able to replicate.  

And he loves you. 

Till when? Your heart sounds out in alarm. Till when will he love you? What if the grains of sand slip away from the hourglass before you can reciprocate his love? Two stars colliding at disparate speeds, never converging into a singular entity, destined to erupt and scatter into cosmic dust.

How long do you have left? How many more days will he love you for? 

How many more days do you have to love him back? 

Day 30. 

Minho is sick. 

He tried his best to conceal it from you, as he came back from his dance studio, strands of his hair clinging to his forehead, a thin sheen of perspiration above his right eyebrow. Yet, his uncharacteristic silence betrayed him, as he quietly retreated into the shower, emerging with a solemn expression on his face. 

Seated on the bed, book long forgotten by your side, you bit your lip tentatively. “You're okay?” you inquired, perched on the edge, concern etched in your gaze.

“Mm, just tired,” Minho responded, his attempt at reassurance falling short as he laid down on the floor mattress. “Can you turn off the lights?” he softly requested. “Hurts my eyes.”

“Yeah, of course. Will you sleep now?”

“I think so.”

“Okay then. Good night, Minho,” you uttered gently, the veins in your heart tangled with worry. “Good night,” he whispered in return.

In the stillness of the night, you were roused by soft whimpers escaping Minho's lips. He writhed in apparent discomfort, his features contorted with an unseen anguish. His pupils moved furiously underneath the thin layer of his eyelids, betraying the tumultuous thoughts raging in his mind. 

You've never seen Minho so disrupted in his sleep, mouth slightly hung agape as if he struggled to breathe in the depths of his dreams. Your worry for him came back to haunt you ten times fold.

You lean over the bed, gently shaking his shoulders. “Minho, wake up.”

“No... no-no, don't-don't go,” he whispers, caught in the vines of a restless dream, seemingly wrapping around his mind, trapping him in. “Minho, come on wake up,” your pleas grow more insistent, but so do his. “Don't go, s-stay,” he implores, voice broken, prompting you to abandon your bed and join him on his mattress.

“Minho!” you call out, shaking him until his eyes finally flutter open. He gasps for air— as if inhaling his first breath on this earth, shooting upright, wide-eyed and disoriented. 

His gaze locks on yours and he instantly cradles your face in his sweaty hands, bringing you closer to him until your noses bump into one another. “You didn't go,” he whispers, and you shake your head. “I'm here.”

“Fuck,” he swears, releasing his hold on you and sinking back into the pillow. 

“Minho, what's wrong?” you ask softly, afraid you're treading on stormy waters.

“I… I don't know. I don't feel good,” He admits, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt, as if the fabric morphed into a vise around his throat. A flush creeps up his neck, red dots splashing across his ivory skin. A droplet of sweat traces a slow path down his temple, as the white fabric clings uncomfortably to his warm skin.

“Do you have a fever?”you ask, placing your hand on his forehead, sensing an unusual heat radiating beneath your touch. “Minho, where is your thermometer?”

“Bedside drawer,” he breathes out.

Fetching the thermometer, you gently tug at his chin, opening his mouth to check his temperature. “Stay still”" you instruct, watching anxiously as the numbers climb steadily.

“40°C, fuck Minho, you have a really high fever,” you exclaim as he shuts his eyes, an unmistakable weariness claiming him, rendering him malleable, akin to the silk pillow he's resting on. 

“I feel dizzy,” he admits, burying his face into the covers. 

“You need to take a cold shower now,” you urge a sudden lump materializes in your throat at the sight of his suffering. 

“It's okay, I'll just sleep.”

“No, no, it's far from okay!” you almost exclaim, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes as if you were peeling an onion—your own emotional layers unraveling, exposing the depth of your concern for Minho.

“Minho, please, you have a really high fever,” you plead, feeling an unexpected surge of panic at his unwillingness to cooperate.

“Yn… are you worried about me?”

“I am.”

“It feels nice. Please be worried about me more,” he mumbles, eyes still closed, eliciting an incredulous laugh from you. 

“You are so unbelievable, my god,” you pull him up and he doesn't resist, nearly stumbling on his feet.

“Okay?” you ask, running your hand through the nape of his neck.

“Mm,” he hums, burying his head in your shoulder. “Sleepy.”

“I know, you'll sleep after the shower,” you reassure softly, guiding him to the bathroom, his entire body weight leaning onto yours. There, you turn on the light, your right hand holding Minho's waist tightly as you lead him to settle atop the toilet.

“Can I take off your shirt?”

“Are you planning to undress me?” he smiles lazily, hooded eyes locked onto yours.

“No, I just-” you stammer, but he’s quick to cut you off.

“Because I don't mind.”

“I can't believe you're flirting with me while you're sick.”

“I always am, I can't help it,” he says, raising his hands as a silent signal for you to remove his shirt.

“You're awfully candid tonight,” you observe, seizing the edges of his shirt and drawing it over his head. His tongue glides across his lips, his gaze drawing tantalizingly slow over your form, and you clench his shirt tighter in your hands. He's the one with the fever, yet it's you who feels ablaze, flames of longing licking at your every sense.

“Come here,” you beckon, the icy water now flowing as you turn the knob. He reaches his hand out to you, and you grasp it, guiding him under the frigid cascade, soaking you both.

“C-cold,” he stutters, and you nod, your breath escaping in short, visible puffs.

“I-I know, just a little longer,” you reassure.

2 a.m. is a peculiar time to shower, the water droplets echoing against the tiled floor is the only sound that can be heard. That, and your labored breaths in tandem with the chilly embrace of the water filling your bones. The quiet makes way for other unspoken sentiments to surge forth, electric and palpable, heightened by the way Minho gazes at you through the liquid curtain, his hands clinging tightly to your arms for stability.

Droplets of water weave seamlessly through his hair, and an unexpected pang of jealousy grips you— you envy the liberty of those water beads as they thread through his locks, tracing the contours of his broad shoulders, nestling in the enticing recesses of his collarbones, without fearing the consequences of such acts. You don't dare look further down, wary that the rivulets on his skin may lead to your own undoing. Instead, you close your eyes thanking the stars that you weren’t wearing a white shirt, which would have turned translucent by now. You don’t even want to contemplate the consequences of such a premise.

After a few minutes, you turn off the water, stepping out of the shower and swiftly enveloping Minho in a towel.

“Go change, I have some spare clothes in here. Oh, and don't wear a top,” you instruct.

Minho chuckles quietly and you roll your eyes. “Shh. Make sure to dry your hair too.”

Taking your time in getting dressed, you peel off each wet layer, depositing them into the washing machine, before donning a spare pajama from a cabinet. You stroll to the kitchen to pour Minho a glass of water and retrieve medicine from the drawer, lingering at the counter long enough to ensure he'd be dressed by the time you return to the room.

You knock softly before opening the door, and the sight of Minho freezes you in your tracks. The room basks in warm, orange hues from the lamp's glow, playing upon Minho's skin and casting enticing shadows on the contours of his muscles—a masterpiece created by the skilled hands of light. His toned arms rest between his legs, back against the headboard, and an inexplicable urge to flee washes over you, your heart sinking to your knees in the face of his long-avoided vision of beauty.

You swallow the tumultuous thoughts raging within you before handing him his medicine, which he drinks diligently. Pressing your palm to his forehead, you're relieved to find a slight reduction in his temperature. “It will go down more once the medicine takes effect,” you assure.

“One of my students had a nasty cold. I think I got it from him,” he explains, and you nod, your hand lingering near his. Your fingers twitch as his pinky brushes against yours—akin to birds fluttering their wings in anticipation, awaiting, aching for a release from their cage, at last.

“I'm tired,” Minho sighs, closing his eyes. “Lay down,” you gently instruct, and he complies, resting his head on the pillow.

“It's cold,” he whines, swaying like a child throwing a bedtime tantrum. He's endearing, melting the frost that had gathered in your heart.

“You have a fever, silly,” you chuckle, pushing strands of his hair from his forehead, twirling them around. “Your hair's gotten longer,” you muse as you braid a tiny section of his bangs, only to undo it again.

“Can you play with my hair some more?” he requests softly.

“Of course,” you reply, threading your fingers through his locks, jet black as if all the stars in the sky collided, leaving behind nothing but a dark abyss.

“Please stay healthy, Min. Take care of yourself too.”

“But I like it more when you take care of me,” he pouts, before sighing shortly after. “I'll probably regret a lot of my words tomorrow, right?”

“Why is that?” 

“Because you don’t feel the same for me,” he confesses, leaving you silent, grappling with the echoes of his words. What do you feel for Minho?

The question jolts the breath from your windpipe violently, an unyielding force crashing against your lungs till the answer finds its footing on your tongue.

“Can I ask you something?” you finally speak, cringing at the sound of your voice disrupting the fragile quiet. 

“Anything.” 

“Where did your scar come from?” you inquire, gesturing towards the mark just below his belly button.

“I got surgery a long time ago. I’m kind of self-conscious about it,” he confesses, a bit shyly. 

“Really? But it’s beautiful, it looks like a strike of lightning,” you sincerely remark, coaxing a tender smile from Minho, unfolding like the gradual sunrises of autumn.

“This is exactly what you told me months ago.”

“Did I?”

“Mm, and then you traced it with your fingertips,” he grabs your hand, hovering it over his stomach. You can easily slip out of his grasp; you choose not to. 

“Like this?” you murmur, tracing his scar gently, fingertips grazing his skin like a lit fire, subtly enough not to scorch. His flesh tenses beneath your caress, muscles constricting as you navigate from right to left—a trajectory of dusty stars akin to the Milky Way, his skin soft to the touch, rippling beneath you with thinly veiled goosebumps.

“Yes,” he breathes out, his gaze wide, running furiously over your face. Yet, your attention lingers on his skin, shadows dancing across its surface, its honeyed hue a shade you wish to sear behind your eyelids. Your hands ascend and descend, mapping his body which blushes in response, as if his very being memorized your touch, imprinting your fingerprints onto its memory. You slide down his forearms, pausing over his fragile veins, seemingly offering you his life.

Silence envelops you, punctuated only by the weighty exhales escaping you both, for there are feelings that words cannot encapsulate, no matter how much human languages strive to, ultimately succumbing to the profundity of silence— the one language only souls comprehend.

Your hands ascend to his neck, thumb grazing the tender skin cradling his pulse. It resonates throughout your bones, echoing from his being to yours as if you’re harboring two lives within you.

“You… you could've kissed me over at the bridge,” you whisper, bringing to light the question that’s been lingering at the back of your mind. “Why didn't you?”

“I wanted you to kiss me because you wanted to. Not because you longed for our past or our future. I wanted you to want me in the present,” Minho explains, vulnerability seeping into his words, like honey melting into a warm cup of tea. 

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice a fragile murmur, even as your head leans forward, hair cascading around Minho’s face, enclosing him in an intimate curtain. Minho gently grabs your hand and cradles it against his cheek, pressing a tender kiss to the center of your palm. 

“Right now. Do you want me?” he asks simply, offering himself openly to you. 

Do you want him?

After a momentary pause, you tentatively lean in, planting a gentle kiss upon his forehead. A resonant exhale escapes him, as your lips trace a path along his cheeks, leaving behind a trail of tiny kisses. Moving to the tender skin beneath his eyes— as easily bruised as your emotions—you bestow soft pecks to it as if seeking forgiveness for every tear he shed in your name.

His eyes remained closed, his trust evident in the surrender of his being to you. The answer to your internal query is written all over his features— the hushed exhale escaping his body, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the tranquility nestled between his eyebrows. 

Yes. Yes, you do.

Your lips finally meet Minho’s in a delicate union, unmoving like rose petals folding onto one another. A surge of warmth emanates from the depths of your heart, coursing through your entire being like sunrays, submerging your soul in a tranquil white glow.

Leaning away ever so slightly, you press a tender kiss on his lower lip, enclosing it between your own. Your hand cradles his jaw, running gently through his damp strands. Your lips move against his slowly in a saccharine kiss, parting, only to meet again, in the same tenderness, perhaps a growing one as you become accustomed to the contours of his lips, to the languid moves of his mouth, following your rhythm. You were leading the dance, his lips mere puppets to your heart’s wishes. He didn't rush you, only allowed you to kiss him, whichever way you wanted. 

A pause, a moment suspended in time, your hands trembling as they rest upon his cheeks, his palm hovering above your own, offering a comforting press. The gesture reassures you in your curiosity that won’t be satiated, urging you to seal your lips on his with a tentative fervor. The world outside dissolves into a distant murmur, the seconds blending into a timeless run, you slamming the door before your worries protesting at the entrance of your mind. Tomorrow, you’ll find the answers. Tonight, you are kissing Minho.

As you press a final, lingering kiss to his velvety mouth, visions of you at peace flood your being. You see yourself sinking into the warm pool of your aunt’s country club, you see yourself walking on the beach with sand molding to the contours of your feet, you see yourself laying on the grass while observing sunrays weaving through the trees. And then, amidst your most serene memories, the act of pressing your lips to Minho stands out, the warmth of his mouth against yours eclipsing all other sensations.

Leaning away, you rest your forehead on his shoulder, and Minho's hands cradle your hair.

"Which lip balm do you use,” you giggle against his bare skin, relishing in the sweet taste of his lips.

“Yours.”

Day 31.

Minho’s nose is buried in the crook of your neck, his arm draped across the expanse of your stomach. He sinks further into you, binding himself to your body, anchoring his hold on your being. You are warm, your skin is soft to the touch and Minho doesn’t want to wake up from this tender dream, akin to plummeting into a sea of silky pillows, falling into a blanket of clouds. 

Except, he's awake, Minho realizes with a jolt. He blinks repeatedly, allowing the sunrays to stream to his eyes, his pupils dilating once they settle on you— so much their obsidian depths swallows the brown of his irises whole. You stir beneath his touch, making your cheek press upon the crown of his head. He's fully awake now, snatched from the velvet threads of his dreams made up of you, thrown into your arms once again after thirty-three days. 

A soft gasp escapes Minho’s lips, the air stolen from his lungs as if it was yours to claim. Echoes of the night replay in his mind— a fever, you tending him to me, a cold cascade of water, you tracing his scar, and then, the kiss.

You kissed him. A long shiver runs down his spine at the memory, a subtle twitch that stirs you from slumber once again. 

What does one kiss mean? The question dances wildly in Minho’s mind. More importantly, what do you want it to mean? 

Minho whines softly, closing his eyes for a few seconds, relishing in the fragrance of your hair, in the serenity that floods his being each time he’s around you. This was his most restful slumber in weeks, because you were near, his mind recognizing you, relaxing underneath your touch, drifting to a mindless sleep. 

Reluctantly, he untangles himself from you, a bittersweet departure from your arms. Work was calling his name. 

He prayed you’d call his too soon. 

….

You wake up to an empty bed, the only lingering trace of the night you spent being the tingling of your lips, as if aching to be kissed once again. You sigh, running a hand through your face. It was much easier to succumb to your heart’s wishes when it was late at night, when minho laid bare beneath your touch, so enticing in the gentlest of ways. When you were cradled by the moon’s soft glow, blanketed by the night’s cloak of darkness.

But it was light now, the sun was glaring as it streamed through the windows, exposing all the flawed ways of your mind.

What does one kiss mean? 

Nothing, if it wasn’t minho who you had kissed. If it wasn’t as tender as the meeting of your lips. 

The tomorrow you believed far quickly came, and you still beheld no answers. A few hours drifted by and you still knew nothing. What does this kiss mean? It's late afternoon and you’re strolling through the park nearby and you can't find an answer. The question rings in your mind as you sit by a bench, and you still don’t know.

“You seem preoccupied,” a voice quips up nearby and you startle. You hadn’t even noticed the man sitting by your side. His arms crossed before his chest, making impressive muscles constrict beneath the snug fabric of his black shirt, a cascade of fluffy black curls sat at the top of his head, a slight smirk etched on his lips.

“Pardon?”

“I said you seem preoccupied.”

“No i heard that,” you roll your eyes subtly, “do i know you?”

“No. You just look worried, that's all.”

“You really don’t know me?” you ask, a tad apprehensive, unsure if this was someone else your memory faulted you of. 

“No? Are you a celebrity of some sorts?” he inquires, tone much more cheerful, angling his body towards you.

“No, i’m not,” you giggle, before quieting down, an exhausted sigh escaping your body. “Is it that obvious then?”

“Yeah. I’m afraid so,” he pouts sympathetically, tone almost desolate and you huff, burying your face in your hands.

“Do you need help with something?” he offers after a while, his concern evident in the frown of his brows. You are comforted by the anonymity of talking to a stranger, you were but a blank canvas to him. You wouldn't see him again, anyways. 

“I feel lost. I can't seem to find the answers I'm looking for.”

“Maybe you’re just not asking the right questions.”

Oh. 

The guy claps his hands suddenly, long before you could dwell on his words and their implications

“I actually have a question for you!” 

“Ask away.”

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

“No?” you chuckle, amusement dripping from your voice. “I don't know you?” 

“That's the point of a date.”

“Are you this bored?” you smile, arching an eyebrow at him. 

“I'm not bored. I just need to take my mind off things,” he shrugs, a slight smirk on his face. but you somehow see beyond it, right into the dull twinkle of his eyes. Maybe he also couldn’t find the answers he was looking for.

“So you're using me?” you fake outrage and he giggles, a high pitched sound that reverberates through the playground, making some kids nearby stare at you. You stifle a surprised laugh. 

“I'm not using you if I tell you upfront why I asked you out.”

“You are right, but i decline your kind offer,” you say solemnly and he nods, shaking his head in defeat.  

“Here is my card, in case you change your mind. Or need a little escape, call me,” he smiles, handing you a sleek black card before getting up and dusting his pants. “See you,” he says, as if he was sure you'd call him back. you stare in disbelief at his retreating figure, before glancing down at the card. 

Mr. Seo Changbin, you read, CEO of Gold’s Gym— the largest gym branch in the country.

Oh wow.

The amused smile lingers on your lips as you gaze ahead, lost in thought, contemplating the words spoken by Changbin. Maybe he was right; perhaps you are afraid of asking the right questions. Sucking in a deep breath, you decide to take the longer route home, eventually finding yourself outside your favorite bakery; the one you discovered on one of your many walks with Minho.

You go to open its door when an unexpected tingling at the back of your neck freezes you in your tracks. Your heart tightens in your chest as you turn around slowly, greeted by the sharp eyes of two familiar faces—Lia and Mari, your coworkers from before your accident. A tentative smile graces your lips, but the alarms of warning in your mind intensify. 

“Hey, yn!” 

“Hey, guys,” you greet back, taking a step backwards from them. 

“How have you been since… You know, your accident,” Lia pouts, but the question lacks sincerity, as if they were wearing masks before you, concealing their true intentions. You wonder which one they'll put on next.  

“Good, i’ve been good,” you force a smile, as their eyes move up and down your body, judgment dripping from their gaze.

“We wanted to come see you but we didn’t know if you were still at your listed address. Since your boyfriend lives there.”

“Oh, um, yeah, I still live there.”

“But didn’t you forget about him?” Lia feigns ignorance and you feel anxiety picking at your skin like relentless protruding needles. You want to run. 

“Lia that’s rude. I think he's her ex-boyfriend now," Mari chuckles, mockery palpable in her tone.

“Poor Minho, he must suffer a lot. Say hey to him from me,"Lia smiles, a chilling feline grin, her eyes narrowing down like a hawk peering at his prey. 

“I will.”

“We’ll see you at work. If you’re still able to keep up with the tasks,” they leave, ugly laughs echoing after them, and an urge to throw up overtakes you, the scent of pastries furthering your nausea. You hasten your steps toward your building.

You’re almost safe, almost, keys trembling in your hand as you struggle to enter your apartment, when the door adjacent to you opens. Your neighbors smile at you, although it is a gesture tinged with pity. You painfully smile back before slamming the door.

Yeart hammering in your chest, you press your back against the door, hand clawing at your throat. 

“Did you know she got into a car accident, and apparently she forgot her boyfriend?”

“Really? They were so cute though.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame.”

Their words suffocate you, stepping atop your lungs, syllables choking you from within. Is this what everything thought of you? Did they all pity you for the accident? For forgetting your lover? Did they see you as a burden, a parasite plaguing his life? Is this what Han and Chan saw when their eyes lingered on you? Is this what the librarian and florist whispered to each other each time you passed by? 

You didn’t know these people and yet they had their minds set on you, fixated storylines you couldn’t change, no matter how much you tried to rewrite them.

Your thoughts spiral like the unloosened screws of a ticking clock. Minho, the unanswered questions, the expectations of others—everything converges in the base of your mind, making your ears ring cacophonically within your skull.

You slide down the door, fingers trembling as you take out your phone then Changbin’s card from your pocket. You dial his number with haste. You needed a breather, to talk to someone who knew nothing of you, of who you were, of who you could be. 

“Hello?” his voice booms clearly through the phone.

“Changbin,” you breathe out. “Let's go on a date tomorrow.”

You were asleep when minho came back from work, your back turned towards him, soft exhales escaping your body. He didn't want to disturb you, so, he made sure to come earlier the next day, a strawberry and cream pastry in his hand that he knew you loved. Perhaps, you’d both talk about your kiss today, what it meant for you both. 

But, he doesn’t find you home. The only indication that you had just left was the lingering scent of your perfume, tickling his nose as if to mock him. Poor minho— the gardenia and honey tones spelled out in the air; the one fragrance you strictly reserve for dates. The one you used to put for him.

It looked like you found your answer after all. 

Day 33. 

“Did I keep you waiting?” 

“No, just in time,” you smile as Changbin pulls the chair in front of you, settling down with ease, a pang of confidence coloring his movements.

“How are you, today?” 

“Better, i think,” you falter under his scrutinizing gaze, your facade cracking. “I don't know, it’s all complicated,” you sigh and he nods, signaling for the waiter to take your drinks order. Chai latte for you, hot chocolate for him. 

“Spill, what’s preoccupying you?” he leans forward, arms crossed on the table. 

“You don’t even know my name,” you giggle, looking around at the warm interior. Cozy, faint music playing in the background, taupe chairs and amber tables, the smell of cinnamon rolls wafting through the air. Minho would like it here. 

“What's your name?”

“Yn.”

“Okay, Yn,” he emphasizes, a slight smirk on his face. “Spill.”

You shake your head as the waiter places down your drinks, wrapping your fingers around the heated cup, hoping the warmth would seep into your being through your palm lines. 

“Did you want to become a therapist by any chance?” you muse, arching an eyebrow at him.

“No, it’s just fixing others' problems helps me forget my own,” he winks and you snort at his honesty. it was admirable, how frank he was to a complete stranger. 

“Fine, it’s a long story, but basically…” you lick your lips, wondering what’s the best way to go on about this. “I got into a car accident and I lost my memory of the past year and so.”

Changbin winces at your words and you sigh. “Yeah. Except I was in a relationship before…”

“And you totally forgot about it?”

“I did. It hurt him a lot.” 

Changbin nods in understanding, taking a sip of his drink. He places his chin on his palm, carefully eyeing you. 

“But how does that make you feel?” 

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You're the one who lost your memories after all.” 

“I feel guilty for forgetting such a relationship.” 

“Why is that?”

“Because everyday i can see why I fell in love with him.”

“And you don't love him now?” 

“No,” you quickly say before pausing, shoulders dropping under the weight of your questioning. “I don't know. It's complicated.”

Changbin absentmindedly tugs at the charms of his bracelet, gaze flicking down to his wrist for a couple seconds, before locking on yours intently.  

“Describe him to me in one sentence.”

“You sound like my annoying French teacher,” you roll your eyes and he huffs, not offended in the least. “Look, I just want to know my competition.”

“Do you have a retort for everything?”

“What can I say? I'm witty and all that,” he shrugs confidently and you giggle before quieting down, muling over his question. “In a sentence…” you muse, fingers drumming along your cup. You don't even realize that a fond smile has unfolded on your lips, but Changbin does.

“He's the light rain that falls during spring, that makes the flower bloom and the smell of earth waft through the air. He brings things back to life, in a way.” 

Changbin smiles softly, tilting his head to the side. “Can you really not see it, or are you hiding the truth because you're scared?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Yn, he brought you back to life.” 

“I… no.” you pause, voice faltering. “Did he?” 

You see Minho pushing you on a wheelchair to your home. Minho protecting you from your mind. Minho washing your hair. Minho making you tea. Minho baring his soul to you. Minho helping you cook. Minho bringing the sea to you. Minho holding your hand. Minho comforting you before comforting himself. Minho forgiving you so you'd forgive yourself. Minho devastating himself so you'd piece your heart together. Minho, minho, minho.  

“Fuck, he did,” you whisper in realization, as a grand feeling swells in your heart suddenly, pushing your heart against the confines of your ribs. Flowers bloom into your entire body, petals melding into the coursing blood in your veins, butterflies fluttering their delicate wings across your chest, an effulgent light flooding in like the sun was spilled inside your very core. 

“Aren’t I so smart,” Changbin grins, satisfied at the awestruck expression on your face.

“What should I do?” you ask anxiously, gripping the edges of the table. 

“Go talk to him. Don't waste any more time.”

“You are right, oh my god,” you grab your purse, standing up abruptly. “I have to go, I…”

“It's okay, don't worry about me, I'm always the side chick,” he sighs in faux sadness and you giggle, swatting his shoulder. 

“Thank you so much. I'll repay you for this, I promise!” you start walking before stopping and turning around. 

“Oh and Changbin?”

“Yes?”

“You know what to do too. They made you that bracelet right? You haven't taken your eyes off of it.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, “those are my lines.”

“They are mine now too,” Laughter dances from your lips as you flee the café, taking off running to your home. It was near, merely a five-minute walk, nestled beside the playground where you encountered Changbin. Yet, urgency propels your steps, a fervent need to reach Minho swiftly. You had wasted thirty-three days, three million seconds that could’ve been spent with Minho. You don’t know how many more breaths the universe might extend, what if the stars tire of your reluctance and blow the winds of his love to another soul? You couldn’t stomach it. 

You climb up the stairs, chest heaving, breaths escaping your being in an erratic rhythm. you didn't even know what to say, your words remained unscripted, unsure of what confessions will spill forth when your eyes will meet Minho's. Yet, you're not worried. You know that whatever surfaces would be surging from your heart. 

What you don’t anticipate is for an uncharacteristic silence to find you at home, the scent of your perfume faintly wafting into the air. Minho sat in the living room, a bag by his side, his head downcast. The cats watching you from the corner of the room. 

A desert- dry sensation clings to your mouth, your tongue heavy as if crafted from lead. Your once vibrant excitement extinguishes, much like a match blown out, leaving only a lingering stench behind. 

“Minho?” 

“Yn,” he responds, eyes actively avoiding yours. “I was waiting for you. I... I'll be gone for a few days, a week at most.”

“What? Where to?”

“I already told my parents to come pick up the cats so you don't have to worry about feeding them. The fridge is stacked, so you-” his voice falters, “so don't worry about that either.”

“Minho... what-what are you saying?”

“I need time away, alone. I'm sorry, I tried, I tried so hard, Yn, but there is only so much I can take,” he whispers, and your heart shatters, tiny million pieces blown away by the wind.

“Minho, look at me,” you crouch before him, your hands resting on his knees. He still avoids your gaze.

“Minho, please,” you plead, and his eyes finally lock on yours. They glisten with tears, reflecting light akin to a celestial mirror.

“My heart hurts so much, but it's not your fault. Loving me once doesn't mean you'll love me again, and it's okay if you want to see other people. I just... I need to go somewhere, for a little. I need to make room for the pain because it's overwhelming me,” he confesses, his words eating at your insides. Was it too late? Have you lost him?

Minho gently takes away your hands before standing up. Fear overwhelms you as you watch his shoulders drop, his eyes glazing over the walls one last time. He will come back, but not here, not to you. He's bidding goodbye to the home and you because you killed his hope. He would leave everything behind but echoes of him that you'd be sentenced to hear alone, every day, every night.

“Minho,” you seize his wrist, “Minho, don't go.”

"Why?" he asks in the smallest voice you've heard from him. He's like a river cut off by a dam, yearning to run back home, to flow the way it used to, back to you. His heart rings loudly in his ears, pain overwhelming him, yet your touch calms him down. You are the knife and the medicine, the scorch and the cooling balm; you are everything at once.

“I'll make room in your heart, I'll take out all the bad weeds and start again. Just don't go.”

“What do you mean?” He's breathless, hope inflating in his heart, clouds parting to reveal the sun.

“I know things won't go back to the way they used to. I don't think I'll ever remember everything, but I want you to tell me,” there is a lump growing in your throat, but you push it away. Your voice breaks and cracks, yet you still speak. You need him to know.

“I want you to take me to all the places we've visited and then tell me how we fell in love in them. I want you to show me how I loved you,” your hand trails down his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, pulling him closer. “I want to learn you, what you like, what you hate, what makes you angry and what makes your heart flutter.”

“And I want to love you, not because you love me, but because my heart chose you," your hand travels up his arm, settling right down at his cheek. Your thumb swipes across his tender skin. “I choose you over and over again. It's you, Minho, it's always been you.”

“You want me again?” he says tentatively, eyes wide, pouring onto yours—your galaxy to love, to admire, to peer into for the rest of your life.

“I want you. Please don't go.”

“Swear it, please.”

Instead of ephemeral words, you softly press your lips to his, as you did last night. “I swear,” you whisper against his mouth. “I'm falling in love with you,” you peck his lips, hand snaking up against his neck, moving his mouth closer to yours. “Not falling,” you say, pressing your forehead to his, nuzzling his nose against your own. “I'm coming back. I'm coming home.”

“You came back to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

“I'll always do,” you promise, a grin overtaking your mouth. “Can you kiss me, Minho?”

Minho blinks in amazement, his eyes darting all over your face, each blink resembling the capture of an image. He's stitching this moment into his mind, the hue of your cheeks and the gleam in your eyes. He missed the way you're looking at him, the slight shiver running through you as he brushes his lips against your own, slowly savoring the feel of you so near. His hands find your jaw, cradling it softly, and then he kisses you, just like how he dreamed of doing for the past month.

The kiss is dizzying, far different from your previous one. You’re no longer grasping at elusive cigarette smoke, fleeting through the gaps between your fingers. You are no longer awaiting a beacon of remembrance to shine upon your mind. You have minho, and he's delicately nibbling your lower lip, eliciting a soft gasp from you. His tongue glides across the tingling expanse, soothing down the pang of hurt, asking you for more. You willingly give it to him in a fervent, whirlwind kiss, his hands finding solace in the curve of your waist, while yours become poets, weaving tales in his hair, tugging at his strands the way you've always yearned to. 

It is muscle memory, to press your body against his, to gasp into his mouth, to match the rhythm of his tongue, the way it circles tantalizingly around yours, the way you groan against his mouth, as he briefly parts from you, his giggle a sweet prelude to meeting your lips once again with increased fervor. His tongue weaves words against the roof of your mouth— I missed you, I want you, I love you.

Minho snakes his hand around your lower back, guiding you back until his legs find the couch. He eases you down, fingers hooked through the loop of your jeans. You kiss him again, a cadence as natural as breathing. Time unravels, rewinding to mend the fractures in his heart, erasing thirty-three days of heartbreak in mere seconds. You kiss him, again and again, thirty three days of longing exploding in your touch.  

“Are you crying?” you whisper against his lips, your thumbs delicately swiping across his damp cheeks. Unaware of his flowing tears, he closes his eyes, embarrassment coursing through him. “I'm here,” you reassure, peppering his face with kisses – from his ear to his nose, cheeks to the corner of his mouth. “I'm here, honey. I want you.”

“Only me?” he questions, tone fragile.

“Only you,” you kiss him again, tenderly, inhaling life through his lips. “Let me show you how much, hm?”

Your lips trace a path down his neck as you draw his shirt over his head. An ivory canvas, he is meant for you to mark, to touch however you desire. Your lips graze the scar on his stomach, kissing it in the way you've ached to do since two nights before.

You're sinking to your knees before him and yet you’re the one in control, rippling shivers all over his skin. He’s impatient, needing you close, so he quickly pulls you up, before hovering over you, his hands drawing everywhere, running wild across your body. He missed the plush feel of your skin, the contours of your body that he yearned to explore once again. He's a prisoner deprived of the light for so long, sinking into the sun once again. 

Minho's eyes never leave yours, as he touches you, moves in you in ways your soul seems to remember. He's gentle, removing strands of your hair out of your eyes, smoothing down the side of your head. All encompassing, drinking in your moans and groans, burning you up and soothing you all at once. “Good?” he asks, again and again, waiting to hear your affirmation before picking up speed again. Your answer is yes each time he asks, as he seals the void in you, the one he's been carefully stitching up for the past weeks. You store his glazed eyes and scrunched eyebrows in the gallery of your mind, you make room for new memories with Minho. 

You're overwhelming him, in the most beautiful ways, contradicting feelings coursing through him like a rain flood. He's aching yet relieved to have you beneath him, lost in waves of pleasure so he grabs your hand to anchor himself, entwining his fingers with yours, before bringing it to his mouth, placing a tender smile on your palm. You beam at him, trust reflecting in your eyes as you bare your being to him. It is a rare fortune to be chosen by you not once, but twice, he can't believe how lucky he is to have you as his guiding star.  

Your eyes never leave Minho’s, a shimmering pool mirroring your emotions. You see everything you feel in him—your better reflection. You had missed him, you were home now. “Miss you,” he whispers as he buries his face in your neck, seemingly hearing your thoughts. “Missed you so much,” he mumbles as your hands tangle in his hair, tears descending gently upon your cheeks, as they are on his. “Please don't leave me again.”

“I won't- I won't,” you promise, as light floods your vision, reaching the pinnacle of your pleasure. Colors burst before your eyes in a kaleidoscope, resembling shades of Minho— the warm brown of his eyes, the honeyed hue of his skin, the pink tint of his ears whenever he's embarrassed, the red of his lips, swollen as they kiss you. Tonight and tomorrow and every day after this one. 

Day 1.

In the hushed aftermath, your head rests upon Minho’s bare chest, listening to the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat, calming down as the seconds trickle by. His arm curls around your body protectively, keeping you from slipping off the couch. Your knuckles trail up and down his shoulders, soothing the places where you had scratched too hard. His hand seeks yours, delivering a kiss as tender as the silence enveloping you—quiet and secure. The forgotten past doesn't matter; you will rewrite your story once more.

“Do you think our designated stars are sad somewhere far away?”

“Why would they be?” 

“I don't know. Don't you think it's bittersweet how they missed out on so many days of loving one another?”

“I don't know, did they?” he muses, planting a tender kiss on your shoulder. “I think mine loved you all the same.” 

[maldaptivedreamer]

Hearts That Beat In Time - Arcane

The saloon sits unchanged, a relic of time frozen. The warm lights cast a golden glow upon your face, highlighting every contour and crinkle as you let out a laugh. The thick straps of your blouse hug your shoulders, framing the smooth expanse of bare skin on your collarbone. Your skirt flows gracefully around you as you perch on a worn stool at the bar.

A woman quickly follows, taking a seat to your right.

Sevika's pale, ashen eyes narrow with suspicion as the woman's hand glides over your arm, a sly smile playing at her lips. You laugh at something the woman says and Sevika's gaze follows the stranger’s every move, her expression growing more wary.

Her sharp eyes never leave you as you turn to Vander in confusion, shrugging and shaking your head at whatever he says.

She tenses as your eyes flicker back to her with a bewildered expression. Your face brightens as you see her standing there. The woman’s hand falls from your arm, as you spin in your chair and wave her over.

content: Sevika x fem reader, errors/mistakes, wild west au, outlaw/cowboy sevika, maybe slight ooc Sevika, prob lots of loose ends, name calling/nicknames, light angst for like a second, more crying, domestic Sevika, awkward Sevika, wlw smut, cunnilingus (r! giving), fingering, strap-on (r! receiving), calls strap her cock, soft sex, praise kink, found family stuff, cheesy shit ahead

wc: ~13.5k

a/n: Howdy sinners! I give you soft and loving sex as well as awkward and domestic Sevika! Mayhaps not my best work but I had a lot of fun writing this part!! Hope y'all like the end and thank you so much for reading this series. I'm genuinely so touched by the love and support!! 💕 Taglist open for arcane fics!! Just lmk or interact with the taglist post!

MINORS DNI NSFW 18+

Masterlist Previous Part

Sevika slowly approaches, smoke escaping from her flared nostrils.

“Why were you lingerin’ like some creep?” You tease with an alluring grin and motion for her to sit in the empty chair to your left.

Sevika simply shrugs, her eyes flickering to the other woman before sitting down in the chair next to you. She can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction as you turn your back to the woman to give her your full attention.

"Was just admirin’ a pretty face from across the bar." She replies casually, glancing at the other woman before focusing on you. Or more specifically, the brown strip of worn leather around your neck.

Amused, you nod at Vander before twisting in your chair to lean against the counter. “I’m sorry to ruin your stranger roleplay, cowboy, but I’m not sendin’ you a drink from across the bar to fulfill that fantasy. You'll have to chat me up a little first.”

A soft scoff escapes from Sevika's lips before she stifles a laugh. Her boots shift against the floor, the leather creaking softly. “You tellin’ me I have to work for that free drink you owe me, angel?”

Your head bobs slowly as you nod and you click your tongue, stealing a glance at Vander as he pours a generous amount of bourbon into your glass. “I am, cowboy. I wanna see you work for it.” You mumble with a sly grin.

“Ridin’ for you wasn’t enough, angel?” She chuckles, her eyes following your every move as you nod gratefully to Vander. 

You raise the glass towards her with a smirk in silent response. She watches intently as the smooth amber liquid disappears between your parted lips.

Her silver eyes grow hooded and her voice drops into a sultry tone. “That’s too bad about that fantasy. I was gettin’ all kinds of hot and bothered thinkin’ about talkin’ to you like it’s the first time, angel.”

You send her a flirty wink. “Well, we can put a pin in that idea for later.”

She lifts a brow, raising her eyes to yours. “Later? That sou-“

“Ahem.”

You startle slightly as the woman behind you clears her throat, momentarily forgetting about her presence. Sevika's smirk falters and she rolls her eyes, clearly annoyed by the interruption.

Feeling slightly guilty for neglecting her, you straighten up in your chair and offer an apologetic smile. “Jules, this is Sevika.” You introduce with an amused glance towards Vander, who silently hovers nearby. “Sevika. Jules.”

Jules extends her hand to Sevika with a tense smile. "Nice to meet you, Sevika."

Sevika eyes Jules's outstretched hand for a moment before shaking it, her grip perhaps a bit firmer than necessary. "Likewise." She says, her tone neutral.

You clear your throat awkwardly and their hands fall to their sides. "Jules is new in town." You explain. "She's started at that boxin’ ring I told you about."

"That so?" Sevika replies, her silver eyes never leaving Jules's face. "Welcome to town."

Jules nods, her smile faltering slightly. "Thank you. It's been quite an adjustment, but everyone's been so welcomin’." Her eyes flick to you briefly. "Especially you."

You feel your eyes widen sightly at Jules's words and the implications behind them. “Of course. It’s my pleasure welcomin’ anyone new to town.”

Jules turns to face you, reaching out to give your hand a brief squeeze. "I should get going. It was great catchin’ up with you.” She says, glancing briefly at Sevika. A tense look flashes across her features before she sends you another charming smile. “Can’t wait to do it again."

You nod. "Take care, Jules."

As Jules walks away, you turn back to Sevika, noticing the tightness in her jaw. "You alright there, cowboy?" You ask, a hint of amusement in your voice as you take another sip from your glass. “I already told you, Sev, there’s no need to be jealous.” You tease lightly.

Sevika scoffs, her eyes barely flickering back to the retreating woman. The corners of her lips curl into a smirk as her eyes return to the necklace around your throat. “I’m not jealous. She’s just a girl and I know that’s not what you want. What you need.”

Leaning in close to your ear, she brushes her nose against your hair and whispers, her voice husky and alluring. “You need a woman who will worship you and put you in your place when you need it.”

“Oh.” You lift your brow, with a smirk. “And you think that’s you?” You sound amused but there's a hint of breathiness in your voice.

Sevika chuckles lowly, her voice dripping with confidence. “I know that’s me, angel.” She corrects. “Of course…” Leaning back in her chair, she drapes her arm casually over the back of yours.

“If there’s someone else you have in mind, then by all means, angel.” She challenges, waving her left hand in invitation.

Shaking your head with a smirk, you glance down as she casually spreads her legs in front of her. Licking your lips, you rest your hand on her thigh with a wicked grin. “You’re right, cowboy. You ain’t got any competition. I was just wonderin’ why you thought you fit the role.” You tease, trailing your fingers up and down her inner thigh.

Sevika’s eyes dilate as she stills your hand with hers. “You’re flyin’ a little too close to the sun, angel.” She murmurs huskily.

Undeterred by her warning, you lower your voice even more and lean in closer. “So, why don't you bring me back down, cowboy?” You challenge.

Sevika's grip on your hand tightens slightly. "Careful what you wish for, darlin'." Her voice is low and gravelly, sending shivers down your spine. "I might just take you up on that offer."

You feel your breath catch in your throat, heat rising to your cheeks. "You’d put out for me this fast? I haven’t even bought you that drink yet, cowboy." You manage to whisper back, your voice slightly shaky.

Vander lets out a deep sigh as he comes to a stop in front of both of you, shaking his head disapprovingly. “You two are gettin’ awfully comfy. And as much as I like seein’ you happy, kid, I don’t wanna see you gettin’ too happy in my bar.”

Clearing your throat, you shrug at Vander with a grin and lower your hand to rest comfortably on Sevika’s knee. “Apologies, Van.”

Vander sighs, giving Sevika a look. “Don’t matter how long it’s been, seein’ her back is still jarrin’.”

You stifle a laugh and roll your eyes at him. “Well, it only took her almost dyin’ and losin’ an arm but she’s back for good.”

Sevika chuckles, though there's a hint of tension in her shoulders. "Better late than never, right?" She says, her tone light but her eyes searching yours.

You squeeze her knee gently, offering a sincere smile. "Of course, cowboy." You agree softly.

Vander grunts again, his eyes moving between the two of you. "Need another drink, kid?" He says, his tone gruff.

Humming, you nod. “Yeah. Two please.”

The sound of ice clinking in glasses fills the air as he pours two drinks, the amber liquid swirling together lazily. Nodding at you with a stern look, Vander leaves you both to enjoy your drinks.

Sevika's hand comes to rest over yours on her knee. "Finally earned my keep, angel?"

Swirling the glasses around in your hands, you offer her one with a charming smile. “No. But I’m sure you will soon.”

She raises her eyebrows in amusement as she accepts the glass. A familiar warmth spreads through her body as she takes a sip, her gaze locked onto yours.

You follow the movement of her throat as she swallows the amber liquid, transfixed. Lightly drumming your fingers on her thigh, you bite your lip. “You said this is at my pace, right? So I need to be the one who makes the first move?” You mumble, almost absentmindedly as your eyes trail over her.

A slow grin spreads across Sevika's face. “That’s right.”

You lean in close, your lips almost brushing Sevika's ear as you whisper. "Good. Because I think I'm ready to make that move."

Sevika's breath hitches audibly, her grip on the glass tightening and body tensing with anticipation. "Is that so, angel?" She murmurs, her voice husky.

You pull back just enough to meet her gaze, a hungry glint in your eye. You let your fingers curve further up the inside of her thigh. "Mhmm." You hum, the sound vibrating through your chest. "I’m free until tomorrow evening. So… what d’you say we go to your room at the Inn?"

Sevika's silver eyes darken with desire, mirroring the intensity in yours. She downs the rest of her drink in one swift motion, never breaking eye contact. "Lead the way." She growls, her voice rough with want.

Leaning in closer, you tilt your head at her and brush the pad of your thumb over her lip slowly, wiping away a bead of alcohol. Sevika sits stiffly, dilated eyes locked on yours as she watches you lick the droplet from your thumb. You graze your nose along hers and ghost a kiss over her lips before slowly drawing back.

Standing up, you toss a handful of coins on the counter and take Sevika's hand in yours, pulling her up with you. With a casual wave to Vander, who nods knowingly, you lead Sevika towards the door and out into the night air.

…

With a click of the lock, she tugs you inside with a sense of urgency.

The skin on her lips is soft and plump as they consume yours. You trace her bottom lip with your tongue, mirroring the path your thumb had taken minutes before. A moan escapes your throat as you finally taste her- a hint of bourbon mixed with something wholly her. Your tongue eagerly explores her mouth, chasing after the taste of her.

Breaking away from the heated kiss, your breaths come out in ragged gasps and you force yourself to slow down. Swallowing hard, you press your forehead against hers and caress her flushed cheeks.

With a gentle stroke, you tuck a stray strand of her hair behind her ear before leaning in to capture her soft lips again. "Lay down for me, Sev." You whisper huskily, your warm breath fanning over her skin like a tender caress.

She hesitates, her head shaking slightly as she protests. "It’s been too long. I wanna taste you, angel. " She voices, her tone filled with need.

"Of course you do, cowboy.” You smile at her, your fingers slowly unbuttoning her shirt. "And there’s time for that later. But right now, I want to worship you and maybe knock you down a peg or two." Your words are filled with an equal mix of adoration and playfulness.

With careful movements, you slide her shirt off her shoulders and then remove her tank top without any resistance from her. “And you gotta do what I want cause you still feel really, really bad for leavin’ me.” You add, pulling her closer to you.

"How long do you plan on milkin’ that, angel?" She asks with a hint of amusement, watching you undo her pants.

Chuckling, you look up at her. "As long as you'll let me get away with it."

Sevika smirks back at you, her fingers tracing along the curve of your hip. “Then enjoy it while it lasts, angel.” Without warning, her fingers pinch the skin of your hip and a sharp yelp escapes your lips as you jolt towards her.

"Hey!” You protest, giving her a mock glare before stepping back from her touch. “You can finish undressin’ by yourself.”

“I’m sorry, darlin’.” She apologizes as she strips off her clothes, clearly amused by your reaction.

Pursing your lips, you cross your arms over your chest and watch as she undresses. 

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you raise your gaze to meet her eyes. They then trail down to the gentle curve of her breasts, where her perky nipples stand at attention. You let out a mumbled remark, barely audible over the sound of your heart thumping in your chest. "You're lucky you're hot."

She lets out a soft snort in response, her own lips curving into a smirk that matches yours.

You lean in, your hand reaching out to gently cup her cheek as your gaze shifts to her arm. The darkened, scarred skin contrasts sharply with the gleaming metal of her prosthetic limb. “If you ever get uncomfortable or you wanna stop, just tell me. Okay?” You say softly, your voice filled with tenderness.

Her piercing silver eyes harden and her body tenses under your touch, sensing your eyes on the scars that adorn her skin. "Does it bother you?" Her voice is guarded, but there is a hint of vulnerability in her question.

Without hesitation, you shake your head, your eyes never leaving her face. "No, Sev. Never." You assure her firmly.

Your fingertips, light and gentle, trace over the faint trails of lightning that are etched into her skin. Nails gently graze down her cheek, trailing along the soft curve of her neck and finally coming to rest on the skin of her shoulder.

"Maybe it's stupid." You begin, vulnerability creeping into your voice. "But I wanna show you, give you, the love that I couldn't when you got hurt." You say, almost pleadingly.

As your words wash over her, Sev's guarded expression softens like melting snow. Her pearly eyes glisten with emotion, reflecting the devotion in your voice. She catches your hand, bringing it to her lips and pressing a gentle kiss to your palm.

"You've always given me more love than I deserve, angel." She murmurs against your hand, her voice filled with raw emotion.

You shake your head, cupping her face with both hands. "That is not true." You whisper fiercely. "You deserve everything, Sev. Everything and more."

She leans into your touch, her eyes fluttering closed. When she opens them again, they are filled with a love that takes your breath away. "Show me." She breathes, her voice barely audible but filled with longing and desire.

You trace your fingers along the contours of her face, memorizing every inch as if it were a delicate work of art.

"Relax for me, Sev. Lay down." You urge again, your voice a soft whisper in the dimly lit room.

This time she complies, her muscles loosening at your command.

She slowly backs up toward the bed, the back of her knees brushing against the edge of the mattress. She sinks into it gracefully, her gaze never wavering from yours. The dim light from the lamp casts soft shadows on her sharp features, making her look like the goddess she is. She waits for your next move with bated breath, her body trembling with excitement.

The sight of her lying on the bed, body splayed open and eyes filled with raw desire and affection, shoots a surge of ecstasy through your veins. Each step you take towards her feels charged as you shed your clothes, leaving you in nothing but the necklace she left you.

Climbing onto the soft mattress, you settle yourself over Sevika's stomach. Your palms find purchase on her shoulders as you lean down, hovering just inches above her parted lips.

"Is this okay?" Your whispered question hangs in the air, mingling with the soft sounds of your breath and hers.

Sevika nods as her hands rest on your hips, pulling you closer. "More than okay, angel." She murmured, her voice laced with admiration.

You kiss her slowly, lovingly.

The warmth of your skin bleeds into hers as your bodies meld together, your weight resting on her in a comforting embrace. Your breasts brush against hers as you consume each other, skin sliding against skin. You hope she can feel, taste, the love dripping from your tongue, like you can hers.

With gentle caresses, your fingers trace a path along her jawline, down her neck, and across her collarbone. Sevika's breathing quickens and she arches towards you, her hands gripping you tighter. The sharp metal in her hand pierces your hip, but you pay no mind to the pain as you part from her lips.

Your heart fills with an overwhelming tenderness as you take her in. "You are absolutely stunning." You breathe out. You fully intend to savor every moment by mapping every inch of her body with reverent touches and soft kisses.

You start with her forehead, tracing the delicate curve of her brow before moving to her eyelids, gently pressing your lips against them. Your lips then trail down to her nose, planting tiny kisses along its bridge before resting on her full, inviting lips.

With a low, soothing hum, you trail your lips further down the hard contours of her body. She quivers beneath your eager tongue as you pepper her throat with wet, fervent kisses and you pause to suck gently at her pulse point. She lets out a soft gasp, her fingers tangling in your hair.

Sevika’s scars tingle with each gentle caress of your lips and she releases a deep groan as you tease her erect nipple with the pad of your thumb.

Your lips trail lower, savoring the taste of her skin as you move down her body. You lavish attention on her neglected breasts, swirling your tongue around each nipple before gently sucking. Sevika’s back rises from the soft bed, a soft moan escaping her lips.

"Angel." She breathes, her voice husky with desire.

You look up at her through your lashes, releasing her nipple with a soft pop. "Yes, cowboy?"

Her silver eyes, filled with a fiery desire, lock onto yours as she whispers in a low, demanding voice. "Stop teasin', angel." Her hips lift off the bed as she tightens her grip on your hair.

You smile against her skin, following her command. Your hands caress her sides as you kiss along her toned stomach, feeling the muscles quiver beneath your touch.

With a soft hum of approval, you settle between her legs, hooking them over your shoulders. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you inhale the scent of her. You pause, looking up at her with hooded eyes.

“You’re perfect, Sev.” You say softly, your breath ghosting over her heated flesh.

“Ang-”

Whatever response she had is cut short by a loud moan.

Your eyes flutter with relief and you whimper as you dive into her wet, warm pussy. The dark, coarse hair on her core tickles your nose as you circle your tongue around her pretty clit. The musky scent of her desire and pleasure surrounds you.

Sevika's hips buck against your face as you lick a broad stripe up her slit. You hold her thighs firmly, trying to keep her in place as you continue your ministrations.

"Fuck, angel." Sevika gasps, her metal hand gripping the sheets while her other hand tangles tighter in your hair. “You’re fucking perfect and so good for me, angel. To me.”

You moan in response, your tongue exploring every fold and crevice, savoring her taste. You lap at her entrance before focusing your attention back on her swollen clit.

Your tongue circles her clit before sucking it gently between your lips. Sevika's back arches off the bed, a string of curses falling from her lips.

Alternating between quick flicks and slow, firm strokes, you slide two fingers inside her. Your mouth never leaves her clit as you pump your fingers in and out, feeling her walls clench around them.

You maintain a steady rhythm, humming against the sensitive flesh of her core. Each quiet moan and hoarse groan that she releases encourages you.

Sevika's voice is strained as she warns you. "I'm close."

Your heart races as she nears climax, her body trembling beneath your touch. With one final push, you bring her to the peak of ecstasy, your name falling from her lips in a choked groan, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Licking your glistening lips, you gradually slow your fingers before curling them out of her.

Resting your cheek against her thigh, you feel a sense of blissfulness wash over you. Your eyes glisten with salty tears of adoration as you whisper. “I love you.” Nuzzling into her skin, you breathe her in. “I love you so much, Sevika. More than words can express, Sev.”

Sevika's chest heaves as she comes down from her high, her body still trembling with aftershocks. She looks down at you, her silver eyes filled with an intensity that takes your breath away.

"Come here." She whispers, her voice hoarse.

You comply, pressing a quick kiss to her hipbone before crawling up her body until you're face to face. Sevika cups your cheek with her flesh hand, her thumb gently wiping away a stray tear.

"I love you too, angel. I am in love with you." She murmurs, her voice thick with emotion. "More than before. More than I ever thought possible, angel."

She pulls you down for a kiss, slow and deep, her lips molding perfectly to yours as she tastes herself on your lips. Tears escape the corners of your eyes, wetting her cheeks as you lose yourself in her. When you finally part, she rests her forehead against yours. As both of you catch your breath, her eyes close in blissful surrender.

"You’ve got my infernal soul in your hands, angel." She whispers, her voice trembling with emotion as if giving herself completely to you.

Swallowing, she brushes your hair back. “Will you let me show you how much I love you now?” She whispers against your skin, peppering your nose with light kisses. “How much I missed you?”

You struggle to hold back a sob as you shakily nod, your emotions threatening to overflow.

With a gentle touch, she helps you roll onto your back. Her lips linger on yours for a moment before she slips away into the bathroom, the sound of her movements echoing through the room. You wipe at your tear-stained cheeks and watch as she reappears.

A purple member bobs between her legs as she walks toward you. Her hips sway with each step, two sets of straps adorning her body. One set hangs low on her hips, the other crossing over her waist. But it's the delicate curls of her core that truly captivate you, peeking over the top of the centerpiece.

Your mouth goes dry as she approaches the bed with a predatory grace, her eyes dark as they roam over your body. You gasp in excitement and anticipation as she settles between your spread thighs.

She captures your lips in a searing kiss, her body pressing against yours. You moan into her mouth as you feel the toy brush against your core. Sevika breaks the kiss to trail her lips along your jaw and down your neck, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin.

"I've dreamt of this." She murmurs against your collarbone as she thrusts her fingers into you. You gasp in pleasure, your nails curling into the soft flesh of her shoulders as she continues. "Of comin’ back and showin’ you how much I love you.”

She eagerly explores every inch inside of you, scissoring her fingers apart to stretch you open. “Dreamt of lovin’ you with my cock, angel.” She confessed, harshly biting at the skin of your shoulder. “Stretchin’ you open as I make you mine.”

You moan at her words, each wet thrust of her fingers pushing you closer to the edge. “An’ you’re mine.” You mumble back possessively.

You can feel her desire radiating from her fingertips and it only intensifies yours. The rough pad of her thumb flicks at your throbbing clit and you cry out your release.

Sevika's soft chuckle fills the air as she revels in your response. “Course, I’m yours. All…” She pauses, lifting her glistening fingers to her mouth, her eyes never leaving yours. With a groan of pleasure, she sucks on her digits before slowly releasing them. “Yours.” She finishes with a sultry smirk.

You feel a lump in your throat and inhale sharply, shifting your thighs higher on her hips as you pull her closer. The weight of her member rests on your core and she grinds it into you. Her breath is hot against your neck as she whispers. “You ready for me, angel?”

Your whole body trembles in response and you nod eagerly, your hands sliding down to grip Sevika's hips. "Yes." You breathe. "Please, Sev. I need you inside me."

Sevika positions herself at your entrance, leaning down to capture your lips in a deep kiss. She teases you for a moment, sliding the length of the toy through your folds, coating it in your arousal. You whimper, your hips shallowly thrusting up.

“I see you still haven’t learned patience, angel.” She murmurs against your lips with humor. But you can see the hunger in her eyes, the way her muscles tense with restraint.

Finally, mercifully, she slowly pushes inside you. You gasp against her mouth, your body stretching to accommodate her size. Sevika groans, her forehead pressing against yours as she bottoms out.

"Fuck, angel." The expletive slips from her lips in a breathless groan. Sevika can almost feel how tight and perfect you feel.

With one arm folded beneath your back and the other supporting your head, Sevika's weight presses down on you, almost suffocating. But you welcome it, returning her embrace and intertwining your arms around her back, feeling every curve and inch of her against you.

You pull her in deeper. "Move." You plead. "Please, I need you to move."

Sevika obliges, her hips barely leave yours as she starts with slow, grinding thrusts. “I love you, angel. You look so pretty with my necklace on.” She praises.

The symphony of your shared passion fills the room, each moan and sigh a perfect harmony to the other's. Every caress is met with equal tenderness, as if your bodies were made to fit together. With each shallow thrust of her hips, Sevika's body melds into yours.

Your heart swells with adoration and tears of overwhelming love gather at the corners of your eyes.

Your nails lightly rake over Sevika's back as she moves inside you. The toy slides in and out of you with delicious friction. You press your lips to her shoulder, tasting the salt of her skin as your lips explore the texture of her scars.

"I love you." You whisper against her flesh. "So much, Sevika."

Sevika's thrusts grow deeper, more forceful, as if she's trying to push away the years of separation between you. "I love you, angel."

You moan loudly, your nails curling into her skin as pleasure builds within you.

"Sev." You gasp, your voice breathy and desperate. "Please, don’t stop."

Lifting one of your legs higher on her waist, she changes the angle of her thrusts. The new position allows her to penetrate you even deeper, and you cry out in ecstasy. The room fills with the sounds of her hips slamming into yours.

"Like this?" Sevika growls, her voice husky. "This what you need, darlin’?"

Sevika's lips find your neck, sucking and biting at the skin just above your necklace and your legs spasm closed around her as you cum.

"Yes!" You moan, your head thrown back in pleasure. "Oh fuck, Sevika!"

Pressing wet kisses to your skin, her hips slow and she gradually stills in you. Sevika's lips trail up your neck, placing gentle kisses along your jaw before capturing your lips in a tender kiss. Her hips remain still, the toy buried deep inside you.

"You okay, angel?" She murmurs against your lips, her silver eyes searching yours with concern.

"Check back, in about 5 minutes, cowboy." You whisper back, a smile spreading across your face as you run your fingers through her hair.

Sevika chuckles softly, nuzzling her nose against yours. Her hand moves up to caress your cheek, her thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone as she studies your face intently, her eyes flickering with a mischievous glint. "You exceeded even my wildest dreams, darlin’."

You nod your head in mock appreciation, tightening your legs around her waist. "I'm flattered. Who knew I could surpass your steamy fantasies, cowboy?" You quip back, the words rolling off your tongue playfully.

Sevika's eyes twinkle with amusement as she gazes down at you. "Oh, angel." She purrs, her voice low and husky. "You have no idea just how wild those fantasies can get."

She punctuates her words with a slow, deliberate roll of her hips, causing the toy still buried inside you to shift. You gasp, your oversensitive body trembling at the sensation as your walls flutter around her.

"Sev." You whimper in complaint. "Gimme a minute, would you?"

She chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Of course, darlin'. We've got all night, so what’s the rush? Ain’t that right, angel?"

With gentle movements, she eases out of you and you groan at the loss. She settles beside you, pulling you close against her chest. You curl into her, your fingers tracing patterns over her skin as you bask in the afterglow.

Your breathing steadies, the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest accompanied by the soft whooshing sound of air passing through your nose. Your hand, heavy with sleep, searches blindly for hers.

The copper appendages curl over yours and you fall asleep, in her arms, hand in hand.

…

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Sevika questions with a smirk, drying her wet hair as stray droplets of water cascade down her neck.

A few stray drops fall between her breasts and vanish beneath the fabric of her buttoned shirt. Lifting your eyes to hers, you meet her gaze. "Your face." You reply with an innocent shrug.

She scoffs, but there's a hint of amusement in her voice as she rolls her eyes. "Sure you were, angel." She mumbles sarcastically, sitting on the edge of the bed and leans over to slip on her boots.

You follow closely behind, wrapping your arms around her waist and sliding your hands under her shirt. Your fingers trace teasing patterns over her stomach, feeling the softness of her skin and the tensing of her abdominal muscles. The trail of hair below her navel tickles your fingertips as you playfully drag your nails along its path, pressing soft kisses to her neck. She wraps her arms around yours with a shiver.

Sevika's eyes glint with unbridled desire as she turns to look at you. A slow smile spreads across her lips, revealing her sharp canines. "Careful now. Don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish, angel." She murmurs, her voice husky.

You let your fingers dance along the curves of her stomach. "Feelin’ hungry, Sev?" With a wicked smile, you rise up on your knees and lean over her shoulder, puckering your lips playfully.

A small scoff escapes her lips as she turns in your arms. “I could eat.” She stares at you in amusement and you hum, smacking your lips together in silent demand. Chuckling, she presses a rough peck to your lips.

Satisfied, you fall back to your heels and chuckle as you quickly scan her figure with a smirk. “I’m sure you could eat.” You clear your throat and cough into your shoulder, an exaggerated motion that only adds to the teasing tone of your words. “Munch.”

Amusement lights up her silver eyes as she raises a thick brow. “What was that, angel?”

“I said, ‘I’m sure you could eat’.” You shake your head, feigning confusion. “Gyah-lee, your old age finally catchin’ up to you, Sev?”

Sevika pinches your side and you laugh, wrapping your arms around her shoulders as you twist into her lap. “I can grab somethin’ to-go from the Inn or Jericho’s and bring it back.”

“I’ll go with you.” She offers, loosely resting her hands on your hips.

“You can. But I like takin’ care of you. It’s my love language. I know you wouldn’t understand, cause yours is bein’ a grabby horn-dog.” You tease, squeezing your arms around her.

Sevika scoffs, letting you slide off her lap. “Right, I’m the one who can’t keep my hands to myself.” She retorts, standing.

“Mhmm.” You hum in agreement, with a smirk. Biting your lip cheekily, you twirl around her and smack her perfectly toned ass with a wink. “C’mon. If you’re gonna join me, make haste. Mama’s hungry.”

As you smoothly glide towards the door, your fingers entwined with hers, you feel weightless.

Approaching the front desk, Felicia's face comes into view. Her deep purple brows are furrowed in worry and her lips are pressed into a thin line as she engages in conversation with the person standing before her. She looks up at you briefly, concern evident in her eyes, before turning back to attend to the patron. 

The corners of your mouth drop as the patron slowly turns around, revealing herself to be Elora. Letting go of Sevika’s hand, you feel a surge of panic grip your chest as you dash towards her. Your heart pounds in your ears as you reach out to grab her arm.

"What are you doin’ here?" You demand, fear and worry evident in your voice. You frantically search for any sign of Bo, but Elora is alone. "Where's Bo? What happened?” Your words spill out in a rush, each one filled with desperate urgency.

She swallows down the tight lump that forms in her throat. Tears of guilt fill her hazel eyes and spill over onto her cheeks. "I'm so sorry." She manages to choke out between sobs. "She...she tried to ride one of the horses by herself. And she fell. She’s at the clinic. I am so-"

"Why the fuck weren't you with her?" You demand, your voice choked with tears and rage. "Y’know what? I'll deal with you later." You grit out through clenched teeth, trying to hold back your emotions as your tears fall freely down your cheeks.

Turning, you stumble into Sevika.

Sevika catches you, her strong arms steadying you. Her silver eyes flash with concern as her gaze flicks to Elora, who is still sobbing. "You okay to walk, angel?" Her voice is low and urgent.

You nod your head, unable to form words through the panic gripping your chest.

"She’ll be okay, angel." She murmurs, wrapping an arm around your waist to support you.

You don’t answer as you rush out of the inn.

…

Bursting through the doors of the clinic, your body is consumed by an uncontrollable tremble of adrenaline. Sevika follows closely behind, her hand a reassuring weight on your back as you frantically approach Lest.

"Where's Bo? Is she okay?" You blurt out, your eyes scanning the empty waiting room with growing panic. The smell of antiseptic and fear lingers in the air, adding to your sense of urgency and unease. Your heart hammers in your chest, matching the pace of your quickened breaths.

“Bo’s going to be okay. She's got a few bruises and scrapes, but nothing too serious. She was lucky.” Lest's calm demeanor slightly eases the panic in your chest. You ball your hands into fists, squeezing tightly at the fabric of your clothes, trying to steady your trembling fingers.

Lest's voice is soft, laced with sympathy as her eyes cast downward. "She should be up if you're ready to see her." She says gently.

You nod, your voice cracking as you reply. "Okay. Just... gimme a second." Seeking comfort, you turn into Sevika and feel her hands rub soothing circles on your back. As you draw in Sevika's familiar scent, a sense of comfort washes over you and the trembling in your body begins to subside. Relief floods through you as Lest's words slowly sink in.

With a deep breath, you pull away from her, rubbing your hands harshly over your face to try and regain control. A forced smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you tensely ask. “I look okay? I don’t wanna scare her.”

Your forced smile falters as Sevika gently cups your face, her silver eyes filled with concern. "You look fine, angel." She murmurs softly, her thumb brushing away a stray tear. "But Bo just wants you with her. Doesn’t matter what you look like, angel."

You nod, taking a shaky breath. "You're right. Would you- I think it’d be better if you go." You whisper, leaning into her touch.

Sevika’s eyes fill with understanding and she presses a gentle kiss to your lips. "I love you, angel." She whispers, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with tender fingers. “If you need me, I’ll be close by.”

You nod in response, feeling grateful for her. “I love you. Thank you, Sev.” You say, cupping your hand over her for a brief moment before straightening up and turning to face Lest. "Okay, I'm ready."

Lest leads you down a short hallway to a small examination room. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself as you enter Bo's room. Your heart clenches at the sight of her small, bruised form in the bed. Her eyes light up when she sees you, though there's a hint of guilt in her expression.

"Mo!" She calls out, her voice relieved as she reaches out towards you.

You rush to her side, carefully gathering her into a gentle hug. "Oh, bug. I was so worried. You scared the shit out of me, kid." You murmur, pecking her forehead and pressing your nose to the crown of her head.

Bo sniffles against your shoulder. "I just wanted to show that I could ride." She grumbles.

You pull back slightly, cupping her cheek. "I know, baby." You say with a mix of concern and reprimand. "But you know better than to try ridin’ alone. You were lucky you weren't hurt worse." Your voice softens as you brush away a stray tear from her cheek. "What were you thinkin', bug?"

She pushes you away with a surprising force, causing you to jolt back in shock. Her eyes are blazing with anger and fear, her small body trembling. "You weren't there." She cries out, her voice cracking. "You’re gone every Friday, but you come back. Why didn’t you come back? Where were you? Saturday’s are our days!" She sobs, a desperation in her tone.

Your heart shatters at Bo's words, guilt and pain washing over you. You reach out to her again, but she flinches away. "I am so sorry, bug." You whisper. "I thought you understood when I told you I’d be back late."

Tears well up in your eyes as you slowly take her hand in yours and she hesitantly lets you. Gently brushing her disheveled hair back from her face, you meet Bo's gaze with a heavy heart. “I need to have a serious conversation with you, Bo.” Your lips fall into a deep frown as you try to suppress a sob that threatens to escape.

Bo's lower lip trembles as she looks at you, her anger giving way to hurt. “Am I in trouble? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you, Mo.” She rushes, her voice filled with anguish and regret. “And I won’t ride on my own again. I promise.” She warbles out, her hands clawing into your wrist as if afraid you’ll leave.

You shake your head in reassurance. “No, of course you’re not in trouble, bug.” Your voice is gentle as you continue. “I’ve been... seein’ someone. Goin’ on dates, Bo.”

Bo's emerald green eyes drop to the ground and she curls into herself, her body language suddenly guarded. Her voice comes out in a small, hesitant mumble as she asks. "Like as a couple?"

You sadly smile and wrap your arm around her. “Like as a couple.” Squeezing her hand, you pause. “Can you look at me, Bo?”

Bo hesitates for a moment before slowly lifting her gaze to meet yours. Her green eyes are filled with a mix of emotions - confusion, insecurity, and a hint of fear.

"I love you more than anything in this world, bug. Nothing and no one will ever change that." You say firmly, your voice filled with sincerity.

Bo's lower lip trembles slightly as she listens, her eyes searching your face. "But what if… what if they try to take you away? What if you don't wanna come back?" She whispers, her voice small and vulnerable.

You pull her closer, being careful of her injuries. "Oh, baby." You murmur, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "That's not possible. Nothing will come between you and me. I love you, Bo, and I'll always come back to you, baby. And you are my first priority.”

With trembling fingers, you cup her tear-stained cheeks and gently wipe away the drops that fall from her emerald eyes. “She knows that. And if she ever tries to come between us, then she’s gone. Okay?”

She nods, flinging herself across your lap, her body wracked with sobs. “M’ sorry, Mo. I love you.”

You wrap your arms around her and gently rock her back and forth. "You have nothin’ to be sorry for, sweet girl. It’s my fault for not makin’ makin’ you feel safer, baby. More loved. That's on me, not you." Your voice quivers with emotion as you speak, struggling to keep yourself together and you rest your cheek on her head. "I love you so much, bug."

She slowly calms, her sobs turning into sniffles as she loosens her tight hold on you. She looks up at you with red, puffy eyes and rests her head on your shoulder. "You look pretty." She says softly.

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you run a hand through her hair. “Thank you, bug.” A fond chuckle escapes your lips as you gaze down at her with affection.

“What’s…” Bo trails off, her words barely audible as her fingers fiddle anxiously in her lap. You wait patiently for her to find the right words, studying the way her fingers twist and turn. “What’s her name?” She finally asks.

"Sevika.” You say softly.

Bo is quiet for a moment, deep in thought as she processes this new information. Her green eyes meet yours, and they are filled with a seriousness beyond her years. "Does she make you happy, Mo?" She asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, she does." You answer honestly. "But you make me happiest, bug."

Bo's expression brightens at your answer. "Is she nice?" She asks, her eyebrows dipping in a small frown of concern.

You chuckle softly at the question. "She can be a bit rough around the edges sometimes, but yes, she's very nice. And she's strong, and brave, and protective." Your eyes soften as you think about Sevika. "I think you'd like her, bug."

Bo seems to consider this, her fingers still fidgeting. “Can I meet her?”

Bo studies Sevika intently, her green eyes scanning the tall woman from head to toe. Sevika shifts awkwardly under the child's scrutiny, clearly unsure of how to interact with the young girl.

Sevika clears her throat, her usual confidence seeming to falter under Bo's unwavering gaze. "It's nice to meet you, Bo." She says, her voice softer than usual. "I've heard a lot about you."

Bo's eyes narrow slightly, her small hand tightening its grip on yours. "Are you gonna take Mo away?" She asks, her voice filled with apprehension.

Sevika's eyes widen slightly, but she quickly composes herself. “No… And if I tried, ‘Mo’ would kick my ass.”

Bo’s chest puffs up. “I would too.” She declares with a pinched glare. You both glance at each other over Bo’s head with amusement.

“Of course.” Sevika responds in a serious tone, barely managing to suppress a small smirk.

Bo's gaze lingers on Sevika's metal arm, her eyes widening slightly. "What happened to your arm?" She asks bluntly, in the way only children can.

You tense slightly and move to interject, but Sevika merely shrugs. "I lost it in an accident." She explains simply, her tone neutral.

Bo nods, seemingly satisfied with this answer. She looks up at you, searching your face. "Is she always this awkward?" She whispers loudly out of the corner of her mouth.

Turning your head away quickly, you cough into your shoulder to hide your grin. Bending to her height, you stage a whisper staring at Sevika with humor twinkling in your eyes. “No. She’s just a little shy, bug.”

Sevika rolls her eyes with a huff, but Bo takes your statement very seriously and tries to make conversation. “Do you like to paint? I like to paint. If you don’t like to paint, then I dunno if we can get along but if Mo likes you, I guess I can try.” With a soft smile, she releases your hand and bounds towards Sevika, grabbing her hand excitedly and leading her towards the towering oak tree.

Sevika's expression shifts into one of slight panic as she glances back at you. “I don’t know. I’ve never painted before.”

Bo's features scrunch up in sympathy as she shakes her head. “Oh. That’s sad.”

You silently trail behind them with a gentle smile. Bo's hand gestures towards rocks around the base of the tree, some painted and some bare. "Pick any empty one." She urges, her eyes scanning the options before her with careful scrutiny. "But make sure it's a good one."

A smirk dances across your lips at the lost look in Sevika's cloudy eyes. You playfully nudge her arm and lean down. "Looks like you've got a tough decision ahead of you, cowboy. Just make sure you don't pick a shitty one." You tease quietly, quickly finding a rock and rolling it in your palm.

Sevika's eyes narrow at your teasing. “You tryna say I have shit taste, angel? I’d advise you to remember that I picked you, angel.” She mumbles, carefully surveying each rock.

Glancing over at Bo, you see that her eyes are trained on the pile of stones in front of her. Giving Sevika a quick peck on the lips, you smirk at her. “False, cowboy. I picked you. You just got lucky.”

With a narrowing of her piercing eyes, she smirks at you, a coy expression playing across her lips. "Damn right I did." She says with a hint of satisfaction in her voice.

Selecting a smooth, oval-shaped stone, Sevika presents it to Bo. “How’s this one?" She asks.

Bo examines the rock critically before nodding. "That's a good one." She says seriously. "Now we need to wash them." She leads the way to a nearby water pump, her small hand curling over Sevika's metal one.

You follow behind, grinning at the sight of the tall, imposing woman being led around by a bossy little girl.

Cleaning the dust from the rocks, Bo shows them to Sevika. “You wash all the dust off so the paint doesn’t get all goopy and gross.” Rushing over to the old, paint-stained blanket spread on the ground, she wipes the rocks dry.

"Now we paint!" Bo declares excitedly, thrusting a paintbrush into Sevika's hand.

Sevika looks at the paintbrush uncertainly, her brow furrowing as she glances between it and the rock in her other hand. You can't help but chuckle at her obvious discomfort.

"C'mon cowboy, it's not that hard." You tease gently, nudging her with your elbow. "Just pick a color and go for it."

Bo nods enthusiastically, already dabbing her brush into a vibrant blue. "Yeah! You can paint anythin’ you want. Like a flower, or a horse, or a big scary monster!"

Sevika's lips quirk into a small smile at Bo's enthusiasm. "A big scary monster, huh? I think I can manage that."

Bo falls silent, her brow furrowed in concentration. Her tongue poking out of her mouth as she covers her rock in colors.

"Can Sevika come over for some of our Saturdays?” She asks hesitantly, still focused on her painting. “Mo said I’m not allowed to practice ridin’ for a while, so we’ve been doin’ tons of crafts and bakin’." She says, addressing Sevika. 

You pause in surprise. “That’s real kind of you, Bo.” You glance at Sevika, unsure how she'll react to the invitation. “But why don’t you ask her, bug?”

“Well, would you?” Bo’s green eyes sparkle with expectancy as she stares at Sevika.

"I’d love to." Sevika says, her voice gentle. "I appreciate you sharin'' your day with me, Bo." She adds.

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at the interaction between the two most important people in your life.

Bo's face lights up with a tentative smile. "Course! Can’t wait!" She says enthusiastically.

“Bite me asshole.”

As you enter the greenhouse, you adjust your hat with an amused smile. Bo stands with an annoyed glare, while Sevika kneels on the ground returning her glare with an annoyed huff. Both of them are covered in dirt, smudged on their cheeks and caked onto their hands.

Wiping her cheek and spreading the dirt on her face, Sevika glances at you. “Wanna help me out, angel?” She asks exasperatedly.

Lifting your eyes in mock consideration, you suck your teeth and shake your head sarcastically. “Nah. I think you’re on your own, cowboy.” You say crossing your arms.

Sevika rolls her shoulder in irritation and opens her mouth to retort, but Bo beats her to it. Turning to you with pleading eyes, she exclaims. “Mo! She’s a brute! Tell her she’s gotta be more gentle with the strawberries!” With a hand on her hip, Bo shakes a stern finger up at Sevika. “Those are Mo’s favorite, you can’t ruin them!“

Sevika scowls, knee-deep in soil as Bo stands over her, scolding her. Trying to hold back your laughter, you bite down hard on your lip, but it's no use. Your body shakes with mirth and you throw your head back with a loud cackle, covering your mouth.

“I’m glad to see you two bondin'.” You manage to say through bursts of laughter. 

Bo and Sevika watch you calm yourself with soft smiles, their eyes filled with affection.

You clear your throat as you move between them, still grinning. "Alright." You say, amused. "Let's see what the damage is."

You kneel down beside Sevika with a groan. As you examine the strawberry plants, you can feel the heat radiating from Sevika's body, so close to yours. You resist the urge to lean into her.

"Well." You say after a moment. "They don't look too bad. You’re a good teacher, Bo.” You smile grows as her chest puffs up at your praise.

“Just needs a gentler touch, Sev." You demonstrate, gently lifting the leaves and examining a strawberry. "Hand me the shears, bug."

Bo quickly hands you the tool and Sevika watches you intently. “The trick’s not squeezin’ too hard, cowboy, or you’ll bruise ‘em.” You tease lightly. Snapping the blades around the vine, you place the berry in the basket and stand.

Dusting yourself off, you look down at the half full basket. Snatching it from the ground, you wave both of them to follow as you move towards the door. “Well come on, ya’ll need to clean up if you’re gonna help me use these. They look perfect, so we'll use ‘em to make strawberry tarts.” You say, glancing back at them.

Bo scrambles after you, her green eyes bright in excitement. “Well, we picked a whole bunch so how many are we makin’? Some for the whole town? What about everybody at the Inn? Can we? They’re my favorite anyway, so I think it’d be okay if we just make enough for us and them.” She rushes out without taking any breaths.

Chuckling, you pat her back. “Breathe Bo. There’s enough for us and everybody at the Inn.” Glancing down at the basket, you smirk at Sevika. “There may even be enough for some marmalade and strawberry croissants in the mornin’.”

Gasping with wide eyes, she starts running ahead to the house. “I call the shower first! Suck an egg, asshole!”

“Take your boots off on the porch! Don’t rush it!” You call out after her. “And wash your hair!” You add.

Pointlessly, Sevika tries to wipe the dirt from her hands on her jeans next to you. “You plannin’ on pickin’ the rest tomorrow?”

Sending her a grin, you nod emphatically. “Oh, absolutely.” Giving her an amused smile, you nudge her arm. “Is that nickname just gonna stick now?”

Sevika glances at you, frowning with a sigh. “I didn’t break it on purpose.”

“Oh! I know you didn’t, but a friendship bracelet is a friendship bracelet and you broke it, cowboy.” Chuckling loudly, you shake your head in disbelief. “You broke it fucking immediately. How the hell did you manage that? Who knew you were so fucking clumsy, Sev?”

She rolls her eyes at you, not bothering to respond. 

"You're good with her." You tell her, sincerity evident in your voice. "She likes you."

Sevika raises a skeptical brow and you laugh, giving her a gentle push. “I’m serious.” You insist, your voice quiet and earnest. “If she didn’t like you, you’d know.”

A small smile of gratitude spreads across Sevika's face in response to your words. She looks relieved, her tension melting away with your reassurance.

Walking up the steps, you glance at the muddied shoes haphazardly thrown on the porch. Flashing a stern look at Sevika, you nod at her shoes while sliding off your own. “Porch.”

She scoffs and grumbles behind you, but fumbles with her boots.

Setting the basket on the kitchen counter, you grab a cloth from the cabinet and wet it under the sink. Sevika clears her throat behind you.

Squeezing out the water, you tilt your head at Sevika. “Wash your hands and I’ll help you with your face, cowboy.”

Snorting, she follows your directions. Hopping onto a bar stool, you silently wait for her to finish.

Drying her hands, she inserts herself between your legs and her palms fall onto the tops of your thighs.

You gently wipe the dirt from Sevika's face, your touch careful. You can feel the heat of her body between your legs, your breath catching in your throat as you brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead.

"There." You murmur softly, lowering the cloth and pecking her lips. "All clean."

Neither of you move.

"Angel." Sevika breathes, her voice low and husky. She leans in and your eyes flutter closed as you close the distance.

You gasp against her lips and resist the urge to pull her into you. The kiss is slow and Sevika’s hand falls to your cheek. She hums against your mouth, before parting. Pressing her forehead to yours, you both pant. “Love you, angel.”

“Love you too, cowboy.” You respond, pecking her lips again.

Hearing light footsteps race around upstairs, you press one last light peck to her lips before pushing her back and hopping down.

Swallowing, you turn to the doorway and wait for Bo to come drifting into the kitchen.

Sure enough, she almost runs into the island as she skids to a stop. “I’m ready! Let’s get started!”

Putting your hand on your hip, you lift a skeptical brow at her. “Did you wash your hair?”

Sniffing haughtily, Bo stands taller. “How dare you doubt me? I am an hon-”

“If I smell your hair, will it smell like soap?” Smirking, you grab the basket and move towards the sink.

Sighing, she glares at your back before turning. “You are a cruel, cruel person.”

You chuckle under your breath as you clean the strawberries in the sink. Flicking off the beads of water from your hands, you move to Sevika and raise a strawberry to her lips.

Her eyes darken on you and you watch her lips envelop the fruit. Flicking your tongue out to collect a drop of juice, you suck it from her lip before stepping away with an innocent look.

With a groan, Sevika shifts her gaze to the ceiling, her hands tightly clenched by her sides. "The shit-bird's right." She mutters, her voice filled with pain and frustration. "You're a cruel, cruel person."

Giggling softly, you turn back to the sink. 

Humming a tune under your breath, you nudge Sevika away as she tries to wrap her arms around you. "Quit, asshat." You scold, trying to maintain your balance while fending her off. "You're gonna get me all dirty." Despite your words, a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

You feel Sevika's warm breath on your neck as she leans in close, her voice low and husky in your ear. "Maybe I want you dirty, angel."

"I’m sure you do, but behave yourself, cowboy." You murmur, though there's no real admonishment in your tone.

As if on cue, the sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs echoes through the house.

"Okay, I'm back!" Bo announces, bursting into the kitchen with damp hair. "And yes, I actually washed it this time." She adds, seeing your raised eyebrow.

You nod approvingly. "Good girl. Thank you, bug.”

"I'm ready now!" She says, bouncing on her toes with excitement. "Can we start?"

You chuckle, turning away from the sink to face her and glancing at Sevika. "As soon as Sevika finishes cleanin’ up, bug. Why don't you grab the flour and sugar from the pantry, for now?"

With a grumbling sigh, Bo begrudgingly shuffles towards the pantry, leaving you alone with Sevika in the kitchen, who presses a soft kiss to your lips. “I’ll be quick, angel.” She promises.

You hum, moving the bowl of strawberries onto the counter and taking a bite of one.

Slap!

You gasp in surprise, your eyes widening as you instinctively cup your ass in pain. You spin around to see Sevika's retreating figure disappear around the corner.

“You’re such an asshole!” You yell after her. The low rumble of her chuckle trails behind her.

Coming out of the pantry, Bo nods knowingly at you. “Told yah so, Mo.”

Bo clutches the bags of flour and sugar tightly to her chest as she climbs up her step stool. She gingerly slides the bags onto the counter, then snatches a handful of strawberries and quickly hops up onto the countertop. Swinging her legs back and forth, she whines through a mouthful of juice. "Can we start without her, pleease?" She pleads. “S’ not like we need her." She complains.

Rolling your eyes, you lean against the counter next to her. "First of all, you shouldn’t be on the counter. Second, don't talk with your mouth full. And third… Sevika helped pick ‘em. We’re waitin’." You say firmly.

Groaning, Bo flops onto your shoulder. "But I picked most of 'em." She pouts.

You wrap your arm around her. "I'm sure, bug, but we need to wait anyway."

Bo reluctantly nods. "Fine." She lets out a defeated sigh.

Clearing your throat to hide a laugh, you nod. "How’s school been? Sky finally get that hole covered?" You ask.

“Yes, she did.” She mumbles disappointedly before perking up.

"Everyone played tag outside today though! Even Ms. Young!” Gasping in excitement, she shakes your arm. “Tag would be more fun here. We could play on the horses!"

Pursing your lips, you narrow your eyes in disappointment. "The animals aren't toys, Bo. Do you not remember what happened the last time you fooled around on a horse when you weren’t ‘sposed to?" You scold gently while tapping Bo's nose.

She scrunches it up in response. “Yeah, I know. Sorry.” Bo huffs, crossing her arms with a guilty frown.

“Once the new batch of strawberries grows, and everyone else gets their part of the harvest first, we can make more treats for your class with whatever’s left. How’s that sound, Bo?” You offer instead.

Bo nods eagerly, her frown forgotten at the promise of treats for her class. "Can we make somethin’ else with the strawberries? Like cupcakes? Or Ice cream? Ice cream and cupcakes." She says excitedly.

You smile warmly at her enthusiasm, cleaning the island counter just as Sevika's heavy footsteps echo down the stairs. "Sure thing, bug. We'll make a whole assortment."

Sevika enters the kitchen, she silently quirks an eyebrow at Bo as she moves to stand beside you.

"Alright." You say, rub your hands together. "Let's get started on these tarts."

The three of you fall into a rhythm as you work. You guide Bo through measuring ingredients and mixing the dough, while Sevika slices the strawberries.

While Bo talks about anything that crosses her mind, you and Sevika send each other amused glances over her head.

You hand Bo and Sevika rolling pins and sprinkle flour on the counter. “Just roll the dough out till it’s about the size of the pan.”

Nodding, Bo’s green eyes fill with determination as she rolls out the dough. Sevika follows suit slowly. A breath of amusement leaves your nose and you keep a close eye on Bo as you wash the used dishes and utensils.

Smiling in satisfaction, Bo looks up at you. “All done.” She announces before turning to Sevika with a smug look. “Bet it’s better than you could ever do, asshole.”

Sevika glances at you with a sigh, arms flexing as she rolls. “You ever gonna get onto her, angel?”

Bo quickly retorts. “Where do you think I learned it from, asshole?” She sticks her tongue out at the expressionless woman.

Lifting the unevenly rolled dough into the pan and cutting the excess, you interrupt with a chuckle. “Enough, Bo. Set the timer for 10 minutes.” Doing the same with Sevika’s dough, you open the oven door and carefully place the pans on the middle oven rack.

The timer clicks as Bo turns the knob and she slams it on the counter with a groan. “10 minutes is forever.”

As Sevika raises an eyebrow and glances at you, she wipes down the counter with a clean cloth. "Looks like she got her dramatics and impatience from you too." She smirks.

You chuckle, shaking your head. "I have no idea what you're talkin’ about, cowboy." You reply, affectionately tousling Bo's hair as you walk by.

Bo playfully dodges your touch, giving you a mock scowl. "Hey! I just washed it!"

"And it looks lovely." You tease, earning an eye roll from the girl.

Sevika finishes wiping the counter and leans against the counter with a soft smile. Her silver eyes follow you as you move around the kitchen, tidying up.

"Sooo." Bo pipes up, swinging her arms as she stares up at Sevika. "When’re you movin’ in?"

You nearly drop the bowl you're holding, caught off guard by her question. Sevika straightens up, her eyes darting between you and Bo.

"Uh." You stammer, feeling heat fill your face. “W-what?”

Frowning, she crosses her arms and shakes her head at you. “Well, Ren told me that couples, like her parents, live together. So when is she movin’ in?” Twisting to glare at Sevika, she points at her. “I’m not giving up my room.”

You blink, momentarily speechless. Sevika clears her throat, clearly trying to hide her amusement.

"Bo, honey." You start, setting the bowl down and approaching her. "I’m sure Sev appreciates your concern about her livin’ situation, but I’m not sure we’re ready for that quite yet… And don't worry, no one's takin’ your room." You say, trying to keep a straight face.

Bo nods, satisfied with your answer. "That’s fine. I was here first anyway."

Sevika scoffs, shaking her head. "Well that’s not true, but I’m not gonna argue with you, kid."

Tapping her chin, her green eyes fill with some sort of realization. “Wait. But she’s here all the time anyway. What’s the difference?” She asks, confused.

With a deep sigh, you lift your eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. Wincing, you shift your gaze between green and silver. “Well-”

The timer screeches, buzzing on the counter. With a sense of relief, you stop it and release a deep breath. “Crust is done.”

Donning a pair of oven mitts, you carefully remove both pans from the oven and set them aside to cool. Turning to Bo, you tilt your head and flash her a smile. “Crust needs to cool so we’ll get started on the filling.”

Narrowing her eyes at you, Bo nods. “Ren also told me that her parents kiss in front of her…” She pauses to hyperbolically gag. “Please, don’t do that in front of me.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head at Bo's dramatic reaction. "Don't worry, bug. We'll keep the kissin' to a minimum around you."

Bo nods in solemn approval. "Good. 'Cause that'd be gross."

Sevika clears her throat, a hint of amusement in her voice. "Noted, kid."

You catch Sevika's eye and share a small smile. "Alright, let's get started on that filling."

Guiding Bo through the rest of the recipe steps, you sneak warm glances at Sevika, who stands back and watches with keen interest.

Finally, as the tarts are finished and placed into the fridge - one adorned with a neat spiral of sliced strawberries and the other equally lovingly but recklessly arranged - Bo lets out an exhausted huff. Placing her hands on her hips she declares. "Well, I'm tired."

Shaking your head, you start putting away the rest of the ingredients. “Hey, cowboy? Mind doin’ me a favor and washin’ the rest of the dishes for me?” You ask, voice muffled from the pantry.

Collecting the dishes, Sevika responds. “Course not, angel.”

Your “thank you” is drowned out by a loud noise of disgust from Bo.

The girl disappears into the pantry with you and Sevika disregards your muffled voices as she fills the sink. She scrubs at a particularly stubborn stain, but tenses as a cloud of white explodes around her. In her hesitation, another handful of flour hits her back.

Switching off the tap, she turns. Both you and Bo stand there with innocent looks on your faces, hands hidden behind your backs.

With a raised eyebrow, Sevika silently looks between the two of you.

Frowning with amusement dancing in your eyes, you point an accusing finger at Bo, flour dusting your skin. “It was her idea.”

Bo's mouth drops open in shock and she lets out a shocked screech. “You rat!”

Laughing uncontrollably, you dart out of the kitchen. Sevika deftly grabs Bo and hoists her onto her back as she passes by, effortlessly slinging the smaller girl onto her back in one swift motion. Bo lets out a surprised squeal, her arms instinctively wrapping around Sevika's neck.

"Hey! Get back here traitor!" Bo points with laughter in her voice.

You can hear Sevika’s footsteps thundering behind you as you race through the house, your heart pounding with exhilaration. She quickly closes the distance between you with her long strides.

You glance back, your eyes widening as you see Sevika gaining on you with Bo clinging to her back. Your giggles bounce around the house as you dart around furniture, trying to evade their grasp.

"Bo! You’re the traitor! Workin’ with the enemy!" You call out between chuckles.

"Thy enemy of my enemy is... Whatever! You snitched!" She accuses as Sevika corners you.

You back up against the wall, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath, laughter still bubbling up from your throat. Sevika approaches slowly, a predatory glint in her silver eyes. Bo is still perched on her back, grinning triumphantly.

"Nowhere to run now, angel." Sevika says, her voice low and playful.

"Alright! Alright!" You hold up your hands in mock surrender. "I yield!"

Sevika smirks, her silver eyes twinkling with amusement. "What do you think, Bo? Mercy?"

Bo pretends to consider it, tapping her chin thoughtfully from her perch on Sevika's back. "Hmm… I don't know. She did snitch on me."

"That I did." You agree, nodding solemnly. "And I'd do it again."

Bo gasps in mock outrage. "In that case… no mercy!"

Before you can react, Sevika lunges forward. In one smooth motion, she scoops you up, effortlessly carrying both of you and dropping you on the couch.

Your high-pitched scream echoes through the room as Sevika's hands descend upon your sides. You writhe and squirm against her, erupting into a fit of laughter. You try to break free from Sevika's grasp, but she holds tight.

Bo slides off of Sevika’s back and lands with a soft thud on the floor. Giggling, she waves Sevika away with a joyful twinkle in her emerald green eyes. “Alright, I think Mo’s had enough.”

You struggle to catch your breath as you sit up, mock glaring at Sevika. A playful smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth as she looks down at you. “I’ll remember this.” You say, chest heaving.

With a heavy thud, they both plop down on either side of you. The old, worn couch groans at Sevika’s their weight. 

Bo's body molds into your side and she groans. “Mayyybe. I forgive you.” She admits begrudgingly with a deep sigh.

Bo sets her fork down with a loud clink and bounces in her seat, the wooden chair creaking under her weight.

“I’m done.” She announces eagerly, her eyes wide with excitement and anticipation.

You finish your bite and nod, wiping your mouth with a napkin. “Alright, go rinse your plate. We’ll get out dessert as soon as Sev and I are finished.”

Bo's hair bounces as she nods enthusiastically before quickly scurrying off to the kitchen.

As you and Sevika continue to eat, the soft, melodic strum of guitar strings crackle through the speakers, accompanied by the soothing voice of a singer crooning the opening lines of "I’ll Be Here In The Morning".

Sevika's chair scrapes against the worn wooden floor as she stands from her seat. She slowly walks around to your side, a soft smirk on her lips as she extends a hand towards you with an exaggerated bow. “Would you be so kind as to dance with me, angel?”

Your cheeks flush at her words and you try to hide your growing smile, setting aside your fork as you accept her offer. “I would love to dance with you, cowboy.”

With a soft yet confident tug, Sev leads you to the heart of the room where she envelops you in her arms, her metal arm encircling your body and her other hand clasping yours. You gently rest your head on her shoulder as she softly hums the words in your ear.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Bo pause in the doorway, a hesitant crease forming between her brows. With a gentle hand outstretched towards her, you watch as a sweet smile spreads across her face and she skips over to join you.

Bending, you scoop the six year old up.

Bo wraps her arms around your neck, snuggling close as you hold her securely against your hip. Sevika adjusts her stance, keeping one arm around your waist while her other hand comes to rest gently on Bo's back.

The three of you sway together to the gentle melody, Bo's small form nestled between you and Sevika. You can feel the warmth of both their bodies, the steady rise and fall of their breathing in sync with the music.

Bo's eyes are heavy-lidded, her earlier excitement giving way to sleepiness as she rests her head on your shoulder. Her small fingers play idly with the collar of your shirt as she mumbles. "This is nice.”

You hum, smiling against her hair. "It is, isn't it?" You murmur back.

Sevika's eyes meet yours over Bo's head, filled with warmth and tenderness. Her metal fingers gently brush against your lower back, a silent question in the gesture.

You give her a small nod, your own eyes softening as you lean in closer, listening to her steady heartbeat. The three of you continue to sway gently, the music washing over you in soothing waves. Bo's breathing slows, her body growing heavier against yours.

Sevika's hand moves to gently stroke Bo's hair. "Looks like someone's ready for bed." She whispers, her voice low and gentle.

Bo stirs slightly in your arms. "Nuh-uh. We haven’t had dessert yet." She mumbles sleepily against your neck.

You chuckle softly. "Course, bug. How could we forget?"

Sevika reluctantly loosens her hold on you, but keeps one hand resting lightly on the small of your back as you carry Bo to the kitchen.

You settle Bo onto a stool, gently shaking her. “If you’re gonna eat, bug, you gotta show me you’re awake.”

She slowly leans back, letting go of you to rub her eyes. “M’ wake.”

Sevika huffs an amused breath and affectionately squeezes your arm as she goes to clean up your cold food.

As you move to get dessert, Bo rubs her hands over her face in an attempt to wake herself. Sevika crosses behind you, washing your plates, as you set a cake on the counter.

You carefully slice three pieces, placing them on small plates. The rich aroma of chocolate fills the air as you slide a plate in front of Bo. Her eyes light up despite her sleepiness.

"Thank you." Bo mumbles, picking up her fork.

You hand Sevika her plate with a soft smile before settling onto the stool next to Bo with your own slice. The three of you eat in comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional clink of forks against plates and Bo's contented hums.

Her feet sway underneath her stool as she gets a large bite of her dessert. “Can we dance some more?” She muffles through a mouthful of cake.

“You not tired anymore?” Sevika drones.

Bo points her fork at Sevika and narrows her green eyes. "You fed me sugar, now you have to deal with the consequences."

You chuckle at Bo, shaking your head fondly. Sevika raises an eyebrow, clearly amused.

"Alright, alright." You say, ruffling her hair. "We can dance a little more, but then it's bedtime. Deal?"

Bo grins triumphantly, shoveling another large bite of cake into her mouth.

Sevika glances at you, a mix of amusement and concern in her eyes. "You sure that's wise, angel?"

You shrug, a mischievous glint in your eye. "Like the kid said, we fed her sugar. Might as well enjoy the consequences."

“Yeah, you’ll get Mo to yourself later.” Bo taunts, shoveling the last bite of cake into her mouth.

She hops down from the stool and grabs both your and Sevika's hands, practically dragging you back to the living room.

The music has shifted to a more upbeat country tune. Bo starts bouncing and twirling immediately, her earlier sleepiness seemingly forgotten. You and Sevika share a knowing look - you both know the sugar high will be closely followed by a crash.

Grinning, you pinch Sevika’s side before darting over to Bo. Scooping her up in your arms, you toss her playfully into the air. Her laughter rings out as you catch her mid-air and spin around with her in a dizzying dance.

Bo's laughter fills the room as you spin her around, her small arms wrapped tightly around your neck. You can feel the vibration of her giggles against your chest, her joy infectious.

Sevika watches from the sidelines, adoration softening her face.

"Again!" Bo squeals as you set her down, her cheeks flushed with excitement.

You chuckle, slightly out of breath. "One more time, bug. Then it's Sevika's turn."

Bo nods eagerly, already reaching up for you. You lift her again, spinning her around as she laughs delightedly.

When you set her down again, she turns to Sevika with bright green eyes. "Your turn!"

Sevika's eyes widen slightly, a hint of panic crossing her features as the girl bounds towards her. "Come on, Vika!" Bo demands, Sevika's expression softens as Bo tugs at her hand. "Dance with me!"

Sevika hesitates for a moment, her eyes darting to you uncertainly. You give her an encouraging nod, your eyes twinkling with amusement. With a small sigh of resignation, Sevika allows Bo to pull her into the center of the room.

"Alright, kid. How do you wanna do this?" She asks, her voice gruff but gentle.

"Spin me!" She demands, holding out her arms.

Sevika glances at you again, and you nod reassuringly. "Go on, cowboy. Show us what you've got. Just don’t barf on my floors."

Bo lets out a noise of disgust. “Or me.” She adds in protest.

With a slight roll of her eyes, Sevika carefully lifts Bo, her strong arms secure around the girl's small frame. At first, her movements are stiff and awkward, but as Bo's laughter fills the air, Sevika begins to relax.

Leaning against the sturdy porch post, you cross your arms and survey the sprawling ranch.

Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream pierces through the air and your heart skips a beat as fear grips you. In a split second, you bolt towards the noise. You burst into the stable in panic, only to find yourself exhaling in relief.

Sevika sits on a bench with Bo beside her, intently examining something in her palm. Catching your gaze, Sevika nudges Bo and whispers something to her. Bo's face lights up with excitement as she turns to you with a wide grin.

She rushes towards you with her arms outstretched, drying tears crusting on her cheeks. Your brow furrows in concern as you shoot Sevika a questioning look.

Bo wraps her tiny arms around your waist and giggles, holding up a small tooth in her outstretched palm. "Look mama! I lost my first tooth!" Her eyes sparkle with excitement as she bounces on her toes. “I thought I was dyin', so I hid in Honey’s stable and Vika found me and she told me that it’s normal and that I get stuff if I put it under my pillow but she told me it was only money which eugh-” She groans, rolling her eyes. “Bor-ring, like why couldn’t-”

You struggle to focus on Bo's words as tears well up in your eyes. You try to hide them, but a small sob escapes your lips. Bo's head snaps up and she sees the tears, her own eyes beginning to glisten. Her lip wobbles and she speaks in a small voice. “I’m okay, I promise. I’m sorry for scarin’ you, I just-”

Falling to your knees, you wrap your arms tightly around Bo's small frame. Your fingers run through her wild brown hair as you hold her close. Your tears falling freely now as you press a kiss to the top of her head. "Oh bug, I'm not upset. I'm so happy, baby." Your voice quivers as you pull back to cup Bo's cheek in your hand.

Bo's brow furrows in confusion. "Happy? But you're crying."

You laugh softly. "Sometimes people cry when they're really happy, darlin'. And I'm so, so happy."

Bo's face lights up with understanding, and she smiles at you, displaying the gummy gap between her teeth. "Ohh! Like when you cry during the happy parts in those boring books you read!"

You chuckle, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Exactly like that."

Chewing on your lip, you smooth a hand over her hair. "You called me mama." You say softly, your eyes shining.

Bo's eyes widen in realization, and for a moment she looks unsure, scared. "Is… is that okay?" She asks hesitantly.

You nod vigorously, a watery smile spreading across your face. "It's more than okay, bug… I’m honored, Bo."

Bo's face breaks into a beaming smile, and she throws her arms around your neck, hugging you fiercely. You hold her close, savoring the moment, feeling as though your heart might burst with happiness.

Bo pulls back slightly, her green eyes sparkling with excitement. "So… does this mean I can call you mama all the time now?" She asks, a hint of nervousness in her voice.

You cup her face gently in your hands. "Of course you can, bug. I'd love nothin’ more."

Bo's face lights up with joy, and she falls into your arms. "I love you, mama." She whispers against your neck.

"I love you too, baby girl. So, so much." You murmur back, pressing a kiss to her hair.

As you hold Bo close, you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder. Looking up, you see Sevika standing beside you, her silver eyes soft with affection.

With a firm grasp on her hand, you gently guide her down to join you on the ground. As she settles onto her knees, you and Bo encircle her with your arms.

Sevika stiffens slightly at the unexpected embrace, but quickly relaxes into it. Her metal arm wraps around your waist while her other hand rests gently on Bo's back.

As you hold each other close, a warm sense of contentment washes over you. The three of you stay like that, basking in the comfort and love of your little family.

Sneak Peak/ Teaser:

The cable car hums and vibrates beneath your feet, the rhythmic clanking echoing through the metal box. Frigid air whips through the thin windows, and the skin of your bare arms prickles with goosebumps.

The sharp edges of your restraints bite into your skin of your wrists with every sway of the car. Shifting, you roll your shoulders, trying to rid yourself of the soreness in your muscles. You grimace and clench your numb hands behind your back, the heavy chains rattling against each other.

Sighing loudly, you shake your restrained arms awkwardly and complain. “Can you, maybe, take these things off? A girl can only entertain the handcuff thing for so long. Said my safe word a long time ago. I mean-”

A guard grabs your arm and pulls you toward them, their words a hiss. “Shut up. You’re not in the position to be asking for any accommodations."

Groaning, you wince as your elbow bends uncomfortably under their grip. The pulsing in your arms and wrists worsens as your arms are pushed tighter against your back. “Okay. First of all, oww. Second of all, you could’ve just said no.”

You can feel the heat of the enforcer’s glare on the back of your neck but you sigh, ignoring it. Bending your neck, you squint as you observe the approaching island through the rectangular window. With a snort of amusement, you straighten.

Stillwater. Dark. Ominous. And consumed by spooky fog… Wonderful.

Taglist: @lez-zuha @jinxjinxjinx12 @asvtrials @rikkivelvet @cupids-dreamland @hwasddeongbyeoli @eroticcaa @urlocalgovexperiment @bubbl3-b4t @balbinoraptor @sleepo-beepo @marn13s-vilewhispers @skaireso

[glittervame]

Your mine

Based off of this fanfic Billy <3

The warmth of the summer had finally given way to the briskness of early autumn as Y/n stepped off the Hogwarts Express, her eyes scanning the platform for her friends. She had returned to the castle, feeling a peculiar blend of excitement and nervousness for her sixth year. It wasn't just the thrill of new classes or the anticipation of the latest Quidditch tournaments that filled her; it was the secret she had been carrying with her all summer long. Her body was a canvas, adorned with fresh ink, each tattoo telling a story of her life or memories with her friends.

Her hair had grown out over the months, cascading in gentle waves down her back, and her skin glowed with a subtle tan from countless hours spent outdoors.

As she made her way through the throngs of students, her heart skipped a beat when she spotted Mattheo. His eyes lit up with recognition and he broke into a wide smile, rushing over to envelop her in a tight embrace. He had grown a bit taller over the summer, his frame more muscular and his features more defined, but it was his kind eyes that held her attention as they searched hers.

"You're back!" he exclaimed, his voice a familiar comfort. "I've missed you so much!"

Y/n blushed, returning his smile. "Missed you too," she murmured, feeling the warmth of his body pressed against hers. They had been together for three years now, and every moment apart felt like an eternity.

Mattheo's eyes began to rove over her, taking in her new look. He noticed the way her robes hung differently, the hint of new ink peeking out from her collar and wrists.

The tattoos have been a part of her body since she was allowed to enter a tattoo shop with a parent's signature. New ones would pop up during their holiday breaks and they quickly became a defining feature alongside her beauty.

Mattheo's dorm room is a cozy and slightly messy haven filled with the scent of old books, faint notes of incense, and the occasional waft of takeout. The walls are adorned with posters of his favorite bands and artists, while the floor is scattered with clothes, empty soda cans, and textbooks fighting for space. The bed, a lofted wonder, hovers over a desk that is cluttered with wires, a laptop, and a half-finished sculpture. The room is dimly lit, with only a desk lamp and the glow of a lava lamp providing the ambiance.

Mattheo and Y/n are in the middle of a make-out session playing catch up because they haven't see each other all summer break due to her spending it in France with her grandmother. His arms are wrapped tightly around her waist, pulling her closer as their kisses deepen. Y/n's hands trace the contours of his face, her thumbs brushing over the stubble that has formed since his last shave. His hands wander, too, slipping under her shirt to feel the warmth of her skin. They're both lost in the moment, the world outside their little bubble fading into oblivion.

The sound of their laughter pierces the silence as they break apart, both slightly out of breath. "God, I've missed you," Mattheo whispers, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Y/n smiles, her cheeks flushed. "Me too," she says, before leaning in to kiss him again.

Mattheo playfully nudges her, pushing her backward onto the bed. They giggle as they collapse onto the mattress, which protests with a series of squeaks. He straddles her, his hands interlocking with hers, and raises their arms above her head. "Gotcha!" he declares, grinning.

Y/n tries to wriggle free, but his grip is firm. "No, no, you don't!" she squeals, her laughter bubbling up as she kicks her legs.

Mattheo leans down, his smile turning into a playful scowl. "You're not going anywhere," he says, before letting her go.

Y/n takes the opportunity to flip him over, now on top of him. "Now who's got who?" she asks, her eyes gleaming.

He chuckles, wrapping his arms around her to keep her close. "Alright, alright," he surrenders. "But only because I like this view better."

They lay there, tangled in each other's embrace, sharing whispers and secrets from their summer apart. Y/n tells him about her adventures in Paris, the art she saw, and the food she ate. Mattheo tells her about his internship at the local music magazine, the bands he discovered, and the concerts he went to.

The conversation eventually shifts to more intimate topics, their whispers becoming softer, their touches more tender. They explore each other's bodies, reacquainting themselves with the familiar contours and curves. It's a dance they know well, yet it feels new and exciting with every encounter.

Their kisses grow urgent, their breathing heavy as they let their desires guide them. Clothes are peeled away, revealing skin that's warm and eager for contact. Their hands roam, caressing, teasing, setting each other on fire.

Y/n's heart raced as she straddled Mattheo, feeling his strong thighs tense beneath her. The dim light from the bedside lamp cast a warm glow across his sculpted abs, making his skin seem almost golden. His eyes, dark with desire, searched hers, seeking confirmation. She nodded, her cheeks flushing, and he took that as his cue to lean in, capturing her mouth in a passionate kiss that sent waves of heat coursing through her body.

Their tongues danced together, a delicate tango filled with the sweet promise of what was to come. His hands roamed up her back, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss. She could feel his arousal pressing against her, and it only served to make her more eager. Gently, she began to grind her hips against him, feeling his grip tighten as he moaned into her mouth.

Breaking the kiss, she whispered his name, her breath hot against his neck. He responded by nibbling her earlobe, sending a shiver down her spine. She leaned back, giving him access to her neck, which he kissed tenderly, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. His hands found their way to the hem of her shirt, and he began to lift it up, revealing her naked torso.

The coolness of the room contrasted with the warmth of his touch as he cupped her breasts, his thumbs flicking over her sensitive nipples. A soft gasp escaped her lips, and she arched her back, encouraging him. He took the hint, his mouth following the path his hands had made, kissing and suckling each peak until she was squirming with pleasure.

Mattheo sat up, his own shirt joining hers on the floor. He wrapped his arms around her, his bare chest pressing against her as he kissed her again. Their bodies were now one, skin to skin, and the sensation was electrifying. Y/n's hands found the buckle of his belt, and with trembling fingers, she undid it, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

Mattheo stood up, gently lifting her with him. He laid her down on the bed, his eyes never leaving hers as he removed the rest of their clothing. The sight of him, standing over her, completely naked, was almost too much to handle. She reached up, her hand tracing the line of his chest, down to his waist, and back up again. He took her hand and placed it over his heart, feeling it thump wildly against her palm.

He climbed onto the bed, his body aligning with hers, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He took a moment to appreciate her beauty, her eyes wide with anticipation, her skin flushed with desire. He positioned himself at her entrance, and with a deep, shaky breath, he pushed inside her.

The feeling was indescribable, a perfect blend of pain and pleasure that had her eyes rolling back in her head. He stilled when he found a tattoo of his name in swirling black ink on the inside of her thigh. It was a secret she had been keeping from him, a declaration of her love etched into her very skin.

"S-shit," His hips stutter at the sight, and his eyes meet hers, wide with shock and arousal. "You're so fucking perfect."

He began to move, a slow, steady rhythm that had her nails digging into his back. She matched his pace, arching her hips to meet each of his powerful thrusts. The friction between them grew, igniting a fire that threatened to consume them both.

Their moans filled the room, a symphony of need and want. He kissed her again, hard and possessive, as if he could brand her with his passion. She responded in kind, her tongue fighting his for dominance as their bodies moved together in a dance of pure lust.

The tension grew, coiling tighter with every stroke. Y/n could feel it building deep within her, an unstoppable force that threatened to shatter her into a million pieces. She clung to him, her breaths coming in ragged gasps, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to hold on.

One of Mattheo's hands had found itself around her neck, "Mine," he growled, his teeth scraping along her jawline. "You're always going to be mine."

The possessiveness in his voice sent a shiver up her spine, and she couldn't help but moan in agreement. It was true; she belonged to him, heart and soul.

The climax hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over her with the force of a thousand suns. She cried out, her body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure rolled through her. Mattheo's own release followed, his body tensing as he spilled himself inside her.

He lays her on the bed and starts kissing up her thighs to the tattoo of his name, and she giggles. "Always," she whispers, her voice a little hoarse.

[sinsolstice]

★ 彡 SEVEN DAYS A WEEK. ✧ MIGUEL O'HARA [ 1 ]

series ✮ it started with a crazy idea from miguel proposing to start the day of the week with a bang.

tags ✮  modern + roommates au. situationship with miguel and unspoken mutual pining. divider creds: cafekitsune. content warning ✮ explicit content, sexual intercourse, mutual masturbation, missionary, mating press unprotected sex. minors do not interact. wc ✮ 2,100

Miguel: Could you meet me in the living room when you return for a few minutes? There’s something I want to talk to you about.

That was the text message you received from Miguel in the car park whilst you were loading groceries in your car. 

He doesn’t elaborate anything further and it makes you curious all the way driving back, wondering what Miguel possibly wants to talk to you about. The two of you are housemates, sharing the same house for a good two years and a half. When you agree to occupy the empty he advertised for renting and sign a lease agreement, you sort of know what you’re getting yourself into. 

Miguel O’Hara is an attractive man and there are times when the attraction builds into temptation of lust. The side glances across the room, the proximity of skin brushing onto one another leaves a heated message. It was difficult to ignore the elephant in the room—the attraction and urge to have your hands exploring the contours of his body. And then it happened; hands hurriedly tried to strip and tear clothes to explore skin and warmth beneath it, as you and Miguel fumble the way into his bedroom for a long, pleasurable night. 

It doesn’t take long to figure out that you’re addicted to the way Miguel fucks you. But gods, no one does it like he does. You would feel empty unless he fills you up again to the brim. Your body has adjusted to him and only him, addicted to the way he knows how to make you scream and shake, leaving you breathless and alive. In the end, you and Miguel come to a mutual agreement together; stay housemates with benefits. Friends with benefits. It’s both your dirty little secret. 

When you drive up to the residential car park, you unload your things from the car into the shared house. As you suspected, you don’t expect Miguel to be in the house when you walk in, greeted by the quietness and sight of the open-floor living room and kitchen. You organise your groceries in the kitchen, putting them in places where they're supposed to be. Seeing that you have spare time until Miguel gets back, you take a shower in your en-suite bathroom to freshen up. 

You walk downstairs thirty minutes later and think of settling in the living room and putting on the TV when you hear the front door unlock. “Welcome, home.” 

Miguel looks at the staircase and sees you, a look of relief and weariness from work makes his shoulders slump a little. “Hey, hermosa.” 

“How was work?” You ask, following him into the kitchen. He unpacks his lunch box, cleans it up and immediately puts it on the drying rack. You’ve seen what he does many times but it never fails to make you feel domesticated by the routine. A man who tidies after himself is quite sexy. 

“It was a pretty good day, surprisingly,” Miguel responds. 

“I got your message,” you begin. “You said that there’s something you want to talk to me about?” 

He turns to look at you and you can see Miguel’s lips curve into a smirk. “Si, hermosa,” he replies. “It’s about our arrangement. Come, let’s talk in the living room.” 

His tone is serious and it makes you worry a little. A part of you fears that he wants to stop the housemates with benefits. The fear that he might have found someone else—someone better. Or a possible scenario that he’s planning to settle in a committed relationship and wants to end the housemates with benefits agreement. Your heart drums in your chest uncomfortably, feeling a sense of dread and you’re not ready to hear the news of spending less time with him. “What about our arrangement?” 

“It’s nothing bad, I promise,” Miguel says. When his eyes meet yours, he chuckles softly. “It’s a good discussion, depending on how you see it.” 

You feel your shoulders relax as they slump down in relief, but his words puzzle you. The relief is short-lived as soon as you hear his next words.  

“What do you think of us having sex together for a whole week?” 

It takes you a whole minute of silence to process his words. And when you do, there’s a look of disbelief on your face. “You want us to do it for seven days straight?” You repeat in disbelief. “Are you out of your mind, Miguel?” 

“No,” Miguel smirks. He repeats his words with every pronunciation. “For seven days straight.” 

A contemptuous laugh escapes out of you and you shake your head. “In what world do you think that’s a good idea?” You ask. “Do we even have time to do that?” 

The coy smirk on Miguel’s face grows bigger because you know what he’s thinking; the two of you can figure out a way. You both always do. “We’ll make time, chica,” Miguel responds. “Come on, it’ll be a lot of fun.” 

You shake your head, still in disbelief. “Not so sure about that.” 

Miguel moves closer, his hand propped on the cushion behind you. His tone is cocky and sly. “You don’t think I can pull it off?”

“I think you’re insane,”  

His chest rumbles when he laughs. “It would only be just for a week,” Miguel says, then raises a brow. “You think that you wouldn’t enjoy having sex with me for a week?” 

You looked straight into his eyes, and a glint of challenge flashed as you both stared at each other. The words come out of your mouth faster than you can process. “Bet.” 

Miguel smirks and he doesn’t hesitate, pulling you by the waist with one hand, and another on the back of your head. His lips crash onto yours in a passionate kiss, a little rushed and rough. Miguel’s mouth moves in a slow yet deep and capturing tug whilst his hands roam your body, pulling and grabbing. It takes one kiss— a taste of his lips— and your head is spinning in a whirlwind. 

You lean back and lay down on the couch with Miguel on top of you. He deepens the kiss for a brief moment, his tongue tracing your parted lips when he pulls away, and you find yourself chasing after him as Miguel hovers right in front of you. “I’ll go easy on you, hermosa,” he whispers. 

“Easy on me?” You chuckle. “I doubt that.” 

He only smirks in response and looks at you. “It’s Monday today,” he begins. “So let’s start with something easy first.” 

When he purses his lips in a pretence pondering, you know that it’s a lot to get a lot more interesting. “Masturbation rhymes with Monday, hm?” Miguel brushes his nose on yours. “Then, missionary and mating…” 

“You’re unbelievable,” you shake your head but it doesn’t stop you from smiling. 

“Is that a yes?” Miguel asks. He drags his hands from your sides down to your hips, moving his hand across your lower belly down between your legs. It makes your breath hitch when his hand touches over your shorts. His fingers tracing your clothed cunt. “To our first challenge?” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle, pulling him into a needy kiss. Miguel takes this as a yes and his fingers curl onto the band of your shorts, while your hand does the same to his pants. You return the favour by groping him gently, rubbing your palm on his semi-hard bulge, and you hear Miguel groan against your lips. Both your shorts and his pants are taken off and left discarded somewhere in the room, followed by the rest of your attire of shirts, undies and briefs. 

“Dios mío, would you look at that?” Miguel says with a smirk on his face. 

“Shut up.” You mumble. You don’t need to look at yourself to know what he’s talking about—you know that you’re already wet. When Miguel glides his fingers between your folds—all aroused and slippery–you groan softly at the feeling. One of your hands goes to his cock, thumb toying with the tip of its head as you begin to jerk him off. The other begins to start stroking his girth. 

“Fuck.” Miguel nips on your neck at the area below your ear. With his fingers rubbing your cunt and you stroking his cock, you’re both in a mess. Pleasuring each other in sync. The more Miguel rubs down your clit, the more you moan and the faster you move your hand up and down his length. The neediness grows in the room and every touch feels so good. Your body responds to his touch, making your toes curl and thighs tremble. 

“Mierda, that’s it, baby. Shit.” Miguel groans. He rubs your cunt faster as you get wetter that it squelches. You try to keep up with the pace and give as much pleasure with every stroke as he touches your clit and labia. The build-up pleasure creeps him out when you clutch one of your hands on his forearms. 

It becomes too much, both of you moaning and gasping against each other’s lips. The neediness shows when you feel close to orgasm and Miguel’s cock throbbing in your hand. You feel your lips brush against his lips in a heated kiss, his hand which was playing with your cunt, is pulled away and now holding your hips. He pulls away and stares at you before grabbing his cock and rubbing it against your slit, letting you feel the tip that sends the urge of needing him inside of you. 

“Don’t move,” Miguel tells you. He holds onto your legs by your calves, opening yourself up to him a bit more. Miguel almost loses his composure when he feels you engulf him with your warm heat because of how wet you’re already from the masturbation. All wet and perfect for him, making him groan when he bottoms out, and gasp from you. 

The two of you are still for a moment before Miguel starts thrusting. His cock fills you up so nicely and it hits your G-spot and rubs your clit with every stroke. You always clench around him with each thrust and Miguel loves it, seeing you writhing and moaning because of him. You’re clutching your nails on his back as his hips move continuously. Moaning and whining his name at how deep he thrusts into you. The way Miguel raises your hips and settles your lower body on his thighs angles him to fuck deeper into you. Making your back arch in pleasure and your body writhe. 

“Fuck, fuck, nena,” Miguel moans above you. Gripping onto the sofa cushion he feels himself over to the edge of orgasm. “Doing this with you for a whole week is going to be the best thing in my life.” 

“Miguel,” you whine. His stamina is greater than yours so you’re not surprised that he can keep up thrusting into you. You tighten with each movement, the room grows hotter as both you and Miguel move in a pleasant, constant wave. 

Both your legs are propped up in the air and placed on his shoulders. Miguel angles you a little higher as he holds onto your legs by your thighs. Feeling your ass cheeks on his hips. Your body tenses and back arches when Miguel doesn’t slow down his thrusts. Grunting as he speeds up and repeatedly hits your sweet spot. “You’re going to come so much like this,” Miguel pants. 

And he’s right. Because your body twitches the moment you feel a strong wave of orgasm coursing through you. Miguel doesn’t slow down when you release and his thrusts feel urgent. Slapping himself onto you and ramming in your cunt until his cock twitches, soon spilling his come inside you with a loud moan. 

The two of you are out of breath. Miguel gently puts down your legs onto the sofa though his cock is still nestled inside you. You’re both looking at each other, still feeling the effects of the climaxes. “Same time again for tomorrow?” He asks. 

You sigh and lean back against the armrest, feeling out of breath. Even then, you still manage to make a joke regarding the situation. “Same position tomorrow?” 

“A different one every day.” Miguel chuckles. “You’ll find out soon enough.” 

He smiles and leans forward to plant a kiss on your forehead and it sends a rush of warmth to your core. It’s not meant to be a tender display of affection, but it doesn’t help that it still makes your heart skip a beat. “Now, are you hungry for dinner tonight?”

keep track of more updates with #𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤 (miguel o'hara).

all of my links.

[jonathansthickthighs]

My Sweetest Heart 4: Yandere! Fushiguro Toji x Reader

Description: You have a one night stand with Toji and now he won’t leave you alone.

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

Part 3 here

Part 5 here

Trigger Warnings: nsfw, yandere, obsessive behavior, female reader, AFAB reader, toxic behavior, threats, jealousy, possessive behavior, desperate toji, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up), daddy kink, alternative universe (no curses), age gap (reader is in her early 20’s, toji is in his mid 30’s), soft toji, toji has feelings, slight sub toji?

A/N: part five will the last one of this mini series. enjoy! :)

Not edited!

You sat by the window, as a deluge of thoughts flooded your mind. Absently, your fingers traced the delicate contours of the pearl necklace gifted to you by your boyfriend the evening before.

You had been dating for two months now and you couldn’t deny this was the pinnacle of emotional fulfillment you had ever experienced with a man. He treated you like no other, he was so soft and gentle with you, you never imagined a man being this good to you. His gestures of affection unfailingly making you swoon, gifting you flowers weekly, getting you whichever snacks you were craving, taking you new places, even buying expensive gifts like the one you had around your neck. You weren’t aware he could even afford such artifacts, ignorant to the fact that bounty hunters were so well off.

It had been a great couple of months, but you had to admit to yourself that you were terrified. You were scared of how things might turn out in the future. The subject of marriage and children has arisen in discussion with Toji several times, leaving you unsure of where you stood on your own desires. You hadn’t known each other long enough and up until now, your relationship may be all flowers and rainbows, but that didn’t guarantee your expectations would still be met in the future. After all, only two months have passed since you met Toji.

You weren’t against marriage at your age, but children, on the other hand, were a touchy subject to you. You wanted to enjoy your 20s to their fullest and you were aware that a child, while being a blessing, would also intake an enormous sense of responsibility that you weren’t ready for at this age. Toji had quite a few years on you and his desire for a family was evident. He had expressed his desire to having children before turning forty, leaving you around four more years to enjoy your stress free, youthful life.

You were broken out of your mental battle when you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist from behind.

“You’ve been lost in thought an awful lot today, sweetheart. You’re not thinking about leaving me are you?” Toji joked as he nuzzled his face into your sensitive neck, eliciting a cascade of giggles from your lips.

“Of course not, Toji. I’d be a fool to throw away a cock like yours.” You quipped back, pivoting to encircle your arm around his shoulders in a tender embrace.

“Oh, so you’re just using me for my body? I’m hurt, baby.” Toji chuckled, closing the space between you as he pressed his lips to yours. He moved his lips against yours vigorously, squeezing your waist against his, rutting his hardening, clothed cock against your stomach. You immediately responded, kissing him with the same enthusiasm. You ran your hands through his narrow waist down to his bottom, giving him a playful squeeze, forcing a giggle out of him.

You cracked your eyes open, peaking at the clock on the wall behind Toji. As realization dawned, your eyes widened as you noticed the time, prompting you to swiftly detangle yourself from Toji’s embrace. “Shit, babe. I promised the girls I would meet them half an hour ago. I gotta go!” You exclaimed, making Toji tense up. As you began to depart, you were stopped by his firm grip on your arm, drawing you back against his chest.

“Come on, doll. Just a quicky, you’re already late anyways.” He insisted, trying to seem nonchalant about the situation. In reality, Toji fucking detested when you went out with your friends. The thought of men approaching you, trying to flirt with you, offering to pay for your drinks made him lose his mind. Hell, the mere thought of other men looking at you was enough to drive him over the edge. His darkest thoughts were screaming to lock you up in a place were he could be the only one to look at you; the only way those thoughts dissipated was with the image of you recoiling in horror at him. The thought made his chest tighten, your hatred was something he would never be able to live with.

Despite the infrequency of your meetups with your friends, his desire to wanting you all to himself was insatiable. Never had he imagined himself yearning so fervently for a woman’s attention; it had always been the other way around, but for you, he was willing to beg on his knees for an ounce of your attention.

“As much as I want to, I’ve already ditched my friends too many times to be with you. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” You answered apologetically pressing a kiss on his cheek. Toji tried to mask his disappointment, but this time he wasn’t as good at hiding his expression.

“Please, sweetheart. I want you so bad, can’t you feel it?” Toji begged with frustration evident in his voice, grabbing your hand to place it on top of his raging bulge. He began using your hand to rub himself, grunting at the pleasurable sensations you were bringing him with just your hand. “Please…” He pleaded weakly, desperation lacing his voice.

You groaned, feeling defeated as your panties started to dampened at the sight. You were quick to attach your lips into his parted ones, tongues fighting each other as you continued teasing his cock over his sweatpants. You separated your lips from his causing him to whine at the loss of your soft lips.

Once you decided you had teased his cock enough, you tugged his waistband down, freeing his aching cock. You bit your lip as you tentatively stroked his cock in slow motions, gaining a hiss from him. Running you thumb over the reddened tip, you gathered the oozing precum, spreading it over the rest of his shaft. You wanted him, badly.

“Tell me what you want, Toji.” You whispered, peppering open mouthed kissed all over his neck. He couldn’t bring himself to respond as he started thrusting his hips into your hand. Having you jerk him off with your hands was something else, he couldn’t have done it better himself. Your hands were so much softer than his, the velvety skin of your hand wrapping around him could almost make him finish then and there. “Answer me, Toji.” You demanded, squeezing his cock enough to catch his attention.

“I n-need to f-fuck you, sweetheart.” Toji managed to utter out.

Smirking, you responded. “Then beg for it.”

Toji groaned, throwing his head back as your painfully slow stroking continued. He would never admit it, but having you be this demanding was a huge turn on to him. Believing submission was characteristic of women only, he never let himself experience anything remotely close. All his life he had been the one in control, never letting his guard down for any woman. You unveiled facets of him he never imagined existed.

“Please. I n-need to feel your pussy!” Toji beseeched impatiently and you rewarded him with a radiant smile. You released his cock from your grip, guiding him towards the bed. Pushing him on the bed, you began to undress slowly, pulling the straps from you dress down to reveal your tits to him.

You grabbed your breasts, massaging them and playing with your nipples, putting on a show for Toji. He gawked at you lustfully as he reached for his cock to stroke himself as he watched you. Playfully, you slapped his hand away. “I didn’t give you permission to do that, you pervert.” You retorted, giving him a sly smile.

Toji’s mouth was agape in disbelief, bewildered at this side of you. “I am not a pervert, sweetheart!” He exclaimed, failing to suppress his laugh.

You giggled before responding. “Oh yeah? You’re stroking your cock to this defenseless girl standing in front of you. Does that not make you a pervert?”

“Well that defenseless girl is touching herself like a slut in front of me. I’m pretty sure she wants me to jerk off to her.” He replied, starting to tug on his cock once again.

You bit your lip, enjoying the way his gaze felt on you. “I think you might be right this time.” You admitted as you decided to finish undressing for him. It was impossible for Toji to get tired of looking at your delectable body. He could easily make himself come by merely admiring your nudity.

Once all your clothes were discarded, you climbed on top of him. Settling yourself on top of his shaft, you moaned at the contact your sensitive clit made with his cock. You began grinding your heat on his cock, making him groan. You were so wet for him, you couldn’t wait any longer to have him inside you.

“You want me to ride your cock, daddy?” You suggested seductively as you continued teasing the both of you.

“Fuck. Yes, baby, please.” He nodded, eager to feel your tight, warm snatch engulf him in its delightful glory.

You wasted no time grabbing his cock, pressing him against your wet entrance before lowering yourself carefully onto him, making the two of you moan. You still weren’t accustomed to his size, so you needed some time before you could move comfortably. Continuing to lower yourself until he was fully sheathed inside your heat, you placed your hands on his chest for support. Toji grabbed the fat your ass as he threw his head back onto the bed. He was certain he would never tire of this feeling, your pussy was simply made for him.

“Pussy’s s’good, baby.” Toji slurred, relishing how tightly your cunt wrapped around him. The sight of you riding his hard cock was breathtaking. He noticed you it had gotten comfortable once you started slowly moving. You rose your hips until only his tip was remaining before lowering yourself onto him to a halt, making him grunt at the sudden piquancy he felt. After that you proceeded to ride his cock in swift, steady motions, stroking his cock with your dripping pussy. He couldn’t help himself from feeling hypnotized by your stunning form as you rode him. Your eyes squeezed shut, mouth agape as your tits bounced with each stroke. The sight was was orgasmic.

“Your cock is so deep inside me, Toji!” The sweet moans and screams leaving your lips were like music to his ears. The way you said his name turned him on to the extent he would do absolutely anything to hear it come out of your mouth.

He groaned as you worked his cock, sliding his hands up from your bum, making his way through your waist until he finally reached your breasts. He kneaded them thoroughly, making you let out a moan. You sped up your pace, the squelching noise of your thrusts meeting, filling the room. Toji leaned forward taking one of your perky nipple into his warm mouth, suckling like he was starved.

You whimpered at the stimulation you were feeling, as Toji gave your other nipple the same treatment. Continuing to jump on his cock like a madwoman, you could feel your orgasm approaching. When Toji felt your walls starting to tighten around him he grabbed a hold of your waist, holding you still before he started thrusting his generous cock into your sopping heat.

“Oh my— fuck! I’m gonna come all over your cock, Toji!” You cried out, feeling your pussy clench around his pulsing cock.

“T-that’s it, sweetheart. Use me. M-make yourself come with my cock. Let me hear you.” Toji uttered out shakily as he continued to stimulate your sensitive nipples, grunting into them. The prominent noise in the room being the sound of the slapping of your skins and your moans and pants of satisfaction.

You moaned loudly when you felt your orgasm arrive. “Yes. Yes. Yes! Toji!” With that, you let it all out, throwing your head back, your dripping pussy clenching deliciously around his cock. His thrusts didn’t seize, continuing to drill your pussy with the need to reach his own release.

He called out your name as he felt his orgasm approaching. “I’m gonna fuckin’ come, sweetheart. Are you gonna take it, baby?” Toji announced as he watched your beautiful face, you were in a daze, your eyes half lidded looking at the man that was causing you such pleasure.

“I want all of it, gimme your cum, T-Toji.” You managed to slur out, using the last of your strength to hold yourself up on his chest. That was all it took for Toji to start thrusting up into your pussy erratically, your clenching pussy making him quiver out his orgasm.

“You’re fucking mine!” Toji growled, throwing his head back as your wet cunt milked his semen out of him, sending it deep into your womb. Get fucking pregnant! His intrusive thoughts made themselves present as his thrust began getting sloppy, his legs trembling in ecstasy.

“A-ah, I love you so much, sweetheart.” Toji stuttered out as he finished releasing inside of you.

Shocked, you looked at a drowsy looking Toji. “Did you just—?”

Toji parted his lips to speak, only to close them once more. Those words escaped him unwittingly, unleashing them from the depths of his pent up emotions, before he could muster the restraint to withhold them. Internally, he was having a battle with himself, trying to make it seem like an accident. He harbored uncertainty about how you would feel about him after only knowing him for two months. He had loved you since before you even knew of his existence and these feelings kept accumulating over time inside him; he couldn’t stand it any longer, so his body reacted for him.

“I love you.” He repeated without breaking eye contact with you. The shock on your face was evident, sending a tremor of apprehension through him. He was terrified of you never loving him back, he dreaded the prospect of your affection remaining beyond his grasp forever.

“I-I love you too, Toji.” Toji’s gaze widened in surprise, his eyes dilated at the unexpected revelation from you. His heart felt like it was going to burst and his cheeks were tinted pink. The happiness he felt surpassed anything he had ever deemed attainable. His mind was on a frenzy, he finally achieved what he wanted most in life. Incredulity washed over him, this must surely be a dream. She loves me back. She loves me back. She loves me back. She loves me.

Toji couldn’t suppress the smile creeping to his face. He didn’t thinking his heart could beat any faster until he watched you smile right back at him before breaking eye contact with him. You could even look at him straight in the eye and your face had gotten an angry shade of red from the mixture of the sex and the confession. Such a shy little thing. Even after two months of knowing each other you were still shy around him. He thought it was lovely.

“You have no idea how happy you make me, sweetheart. I was scared you wouldn’t love me back.” Toji admitted, reaching out to caress your soft cheek. His cock had been inside you through all of this, so he decided to slowly pull it out, making the two of you hiss from the overstimulation.

“I do, Toji. I’m deeply in love with you.” You revealed, leaving Toji astonished and with his heart dancing chaotically in his chest. You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes, enjoying the intimate moment. You never anticipated falling in love agains so soon, yet it unfolded before you as if ordained by faith. You thought meeting Toji was destiny. Climbing off of him, you snuggled to his side.

“Alright, alright, Toji. You’ve once again, managed convinced me to stay home with you.” Home. Toji loved the sound of that. He couldn’t wait to have his own little house with you, he had been taking up extra bounties to be able to afford one. As soon as you accepted his marriage proposal, he would buy a home for just the two of you. Although he was ready to have children with you right now, he knew you weren’t keen on the idea having children at your age. Toji’s not sure if he can honor your wishes, but he would try. Unless the situation called for other means.

Toji looked smug at your comment, fully aware that if you had decided to still go out, he would try to convince you to stay any other way. “You know you love staying in with me.” Toji replied, pulling you tighter into his chest causing you to let out a giggle.

You tried to detangle yourself from him, but his grip on you impeded it.

“I need to use the restroom, stop being clingy.” You quipped with a laugh, making him loosen his grip on you. Toji felt a little hurt. Were you really joking or did you truly think he was clingy? Insecurity flooded his mind as he watched you head to the restroom.

His thoughts were interrupted by some distant vibrations. Toji sat up from the bed to see your phone vibrating in the nightstand. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the caller ID. It was one of your friends, these were the people trying to steal you from him.

“Hey.” He answered coldly, the other line was silent for a second.

“Um, Toji?” The girl asked confused at not being greeted by her best friend as per usual.

“What do you want?” Toji questioned discourteously, not caring about feigning kindness with her this time. He was going to take any means necessary to drive you away from your friends. Your friends were but vermin, unworthy of the mere touch if your presence. Not an ounce of trust did he have for them. The thought of them trying to cloud your mind with doubts about your relationship ignited an indescribable fury within him. These women were going to taint your perception of him and he would not stand for that. Not to mention, most of them were single and he hated the image of them manipulating you into acting like you are as well.

He could tell your friend was taken a back by his bluntness, bewildered by his change in charisma. Every time they had met he always appeared so courteous and seemingly genuine, she did not expect this attitude from your boyfriend. “I-It’s just— we’ve been waiting for over an hour and a half and we got worried. Is she going to make it?”

Toji chuckled darkly before lowering his voice, assuring you didn’t hear him. “Listen here, you stupid bitch. Haven’t you gotten the clue she doesn’t want to see you anymore? She’s always cancelling your little outings and making up excuses to not see you. It’s been two months since you last saw her, get a fucking grip and accept it. She’s not your friend anymore.” He spat out harshly, earning a audible gasp from your friend.

“D-did she really tell you that?” Your friend stuttered in disbelief. It was unbeknownst to her you felt this way. Were you really truly willing to cast aside all these years of friendship? She had known you for so many years, it was hard to believe you felt this way.

Toji hummed in response. “Are you fucking dumb? I’m her boyfriend, she’s obviously going to confide everything in me. I’m just doing her a favor by letting you know, so stop waisting our time and stay out of our lives.” Toji replied, a threatening tone in his voice. Should this endeavor fail, he would be forced to resort to drastic measures, but hopefully the message was unequivocally conveyed. He could hear your friend sniffle on the other line, making him smirk maliciously.

“You asshole! Tell that bitch to never talk to me again!” Your friend sobbed hysterically before hanging up, making Toji chuckle in amusement. He didn’t appreciate the name-calling, but he opted to overlook it, comforted by the knowledge that he would never have to endure her presence ever again.

Toji returned your phone to its originally resting place before reclining back into the bed, allowing the comfort of the mattress to envelop him. He pondered to himself as he heard you starting to run a shower. He bore the weight of knowing that this would impact you deeply and he despised himself for causing you pain in this manner. Yet, he remained resolute, convincing himself it was necessary for the wellbeing of your relationship. How else were you supposed to tend for him and your children if your friends were always stealing your attention?

He observed you emerge from the bathroom, reaching to grab your phone. “I should call them to tell them I’m not going to make it again.” You spoke as you started to unlock you phone. Toji placed his hand on top of your screen and you stood there taken aback.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Your friend called while you were in the bathroom and I let them know.” Toji responded with a smile, his gaze tender and affectionate as you reciprocated his smile.

“Thanks, Toji. You’re the sweetest.” You showed your gratitude by pressing a kiss to his cheek. He couldn’t help the guilt that took over him, he knew how much your friends meant to you.

“Shall we shower together?” Toji suggested playfully —attempting to keep his mind off what he had just done— grabbing your phone from your hand and placing it back on the nightstand. His eyes ranked through your still nude form, moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue, his cock rising back to life. Yeah, your pretty little body would make him forget in no time. You bit your lip, agreeing as he closed the gap between you, bestowing upon you a fervent kiss filled with longing.

Now that you had Toji you wouldn’t need anybody else.

[luvzpagie]

DEAD TO ME!

series masterlist

may 15, 2019

“are you serious paige, you want to reschedule again?” your face was contoured with confusion and irritation, your girlfriend had been putting you off for a couple weeks now.

“i’m sorry baby, i just been busy with basketball and shit” paige sighs, leaning back into the gym wall behind her.

“but i’ve been planning this for so long” you cross your arms, you were beyond fed up with the excuses paige gave you.

“and plus you know i move in a week, i wanna spend as much time as you.” you whined.

paige looks down at her phone, smiling at whatever was the screen.

everyone had her attention but you, and it hurt. you were obviously the last thing on her mind, you just didn’t understand it.

“i’m so sick of being your last priority!” your voice slightly raised, catching the few people around you attention.

paige scratches at the her neck awkwardly, looking up from her phone. “can you not yell? people are staring” she talks in a low tone.

“the fuck? so me yelling is what you care about right now?” your voice cracking, as tears begin to well up in your eyes. you quickly pack up your things.

“y/n- baby please” paige grabs at ur hand trying to stop you.

“no i’m done with you, fuck you paige.” you spat at her, your voice filled with anger and hurt. you snatch you hand away from her storming out of the gymnasium.

leaving her there to soak in what just happened.

august 6 2020

it’s been a year since you broken up with paige. you almost forget her, enjoying your “new” life in cali. but the way things ended wonders in your head, you cringe at it.

“hellooo, earth to y/n”

you were quickly snapped out of your thoughts as your best friend evelyn called out for you, swatting her hand in your face.

“did you even hear what i said” she sassed while passing you a box of your belongings.

“yes ev.” you sigh.

“jeez, no need for the sass” you roll your eyes as you walk her past her to the elevator.

it dings as the doors, a few seconds past waiting for it to get you the level your dorm was on.

as you leave the elevator, you walk to your room.

“ev where’s the room keys?” you watch the girl pat herself down, searching for them.

“shit! i left downstairs!” she yelp, she quickly rushed down to get them.

you put the last bit of clothes away in the mini dresser, you fall back onto your bed sighing from exhaustion.

“finally”

“i’m so glad we getting to share a dorm!” ev clapped, you smiled, it was so long since you had seen her. you felt a sense of peace knowing you guys were together again.

the dorm goes quiet for a while, leaving you in your thoughts again.

“you hungry?” you squint your eyes at ev.

“how’d you know?” the curly head girl looks almost as if your dumb. “im your best friend duhh! i know everything”

“okay weirdo”

“cmon!” she said grabbing her keys off the desk.

august 8 2020

it’s been two days since you’ve moved in, it was the first meeting of your cheer team. you nervous yet excited, hoping to make good friends.

one problem— you were lost, completely unaware of this new place. you try to look around searching for where dance room was.

“where the hell is it” you mumble to yourself. you flatten out the clothes you were wearing, trying to make you look less pathetic.

“yo, are you supposed to over here?” a kinda raspy voice spoke, it sounded familiar yet you couldn’t make out who.

“i’m not even sure, i’m looking for the dance room” you chuckled. “you apart of the cheer team or somethin?” the unknown person said.

“yeah, do you know where that is-” your eyes widened as you turn around, heart dropping at the tall figure in front of you. you were stunned, no words could come out of your mouth.

you were not prepared to see her.

“y/n?”

[midnighthazee]

Greenridge ABO Series

a/n: HAPPY HOLIDAYS MY LOVELY GREENIES!!! ENJOY THIS DELICIOUS SCENE FOR YOUR HOLIDAYS!!!! 😈

Series Masterlist Masterlist

Warnings: FILTHY DIRTY SMUT, 18+ MDNI, fingering, oral, anal (if you squint), little rough, dirty talk pet names, multiple creampies, explicit language

WC: 4011

Chapter 21

It was hot. You were hot. You were on the verge of sweating as you woke up. You managed to sleep most of the night but there was an ache currently growing in your lower abdomen pulling you from your dreams. You became very aware of the body behind you, his arm draped over your waist and holding you close as his face was buried in your neck. His breathing was even, soft snores being heard.

Normally, you would bask in the comfort and warmth he brings, but right now it was too hot. And you were in pain - a pain he could help if he would just wake up. You open your eyes, suddenly aware of the intoxicating smell in the room. It was that rut smell you were so familiar with but mixed with Chan. He smelled unbelievably good, wow.

You didn’t want to disturb his rest since it was rare, but your hips had a mind of their own. Grinding back into his crotch, he groans in your ear as you feel he’s already hard. A low growl is heard from his throat and you whimper. Your hormones were in overdrive, making you feel hazy and out of control. 

You keep grinding, only to feel his hold on you tighten. His breathing quickened, his heart starting to race. You were waking him and the anticipation of what was about to happen excited you.

“What do you think you’re doing, baby?” he rasped in your ear. 

His voice was heavy with sleep as he whispered. It sent shivers down your spine as you leaned into him. 

“Fuck, you smell amazing.” he growled, nipping at your earlobe. 

You moan and he bucks his hip at the sound.

“Channie…” you whine.

“What baby?”

You moan, grinding into him.

“Use your words. What do you want?” He kisses your neck and shoulder as he speaks.

“You.”

“You have me.” 

“Channie…”

He chuckles. “I want you too. I need you so bad.”

You moan, your hand holding his as it moves up to grope your breast. He pinches and teases the bud as you grip his wrist. Your breath catches in your throat as he nips at your skin. Pushing off the blanket, you flinch as the cool air hits your skin. Chan’s hand slides down your front, slipping between your slick folds. You lean into him, back arching as he moves his fingers.

“So wet, honey.” Chan groans.

He moves from behind you, laying you on your back as he comes between your legs. He continues teasing your clit, slipping a finger inside you. He pumps it a few times before adding two more. You were so wet, dripping onto the sheets as he thrusted his fingers. He was salivating at the sight, pupils blown as took in every curve and contour of your body.

Your eyes were closed, pussy clenching around his fingers as he built up your orgasm. He pulled his fingers out with a smirk, sucking them clean. He groaned at your sweet taste, pushing your legs towards your head roughly. Your hips lifted off the bed and he quickly attached his lips to your clit, sucking and licking. You groaned, your body folded in half, as he feasted on you.

His tongue prodded your hole, pushing in as far as he could, his nose rubbing your clit. You were about to snap, the sensations driving you crazy. Your body started to shake, your orgasm knocking into you. You cry out but he doesn’t ease up. Instead, your moans entice him to keep going.

“Ahhh…Channie…” 

He growls, the vibrations only prolonging the high. Your eyes were rolled back, hands fisting the sheets.

He finally comes up for air, your juices on his lips and chin as he looks at you with a dazed expression. It was like he was high off your scent and taste. He lowered your hips, crawling up and planting his lips on yours. His kiss was hungry, the poor man was starving for you and he was finally getting his deepest desire. He had been waiting his whole life for this and he was going to enjoy Every. Single. Second.

You tasted yourself on his tongue, the sweet taste making you realize why they liked it so much. Chan’s hips rutted against you, making you squirm. How was he not naked yet?

His bulge pressed against his pajama pants as he rubbed against your naked heat. He was so hard underneath. You whined, reaching for the waistband and trying to push them down. He kissed down your jaw and your neck as you whined in frustration. He nipped at your neck before finally leaning up and helping you slide his pants down. 

His cock sprang free and your eyes feasted on the sight before you. He was thick like Changbin but he had the length too. If you didn’t know any better, you would think it wouldn’t fit. 

The beads of precum on the reddened tip were about to drip. You moved towards him, licking it off. He groaned, throwing his head back. He adjusted himself, moving so he was laying on his back. You were kneeling between his legs, a hand gripping his cock as you licked up his length. You took the tip into your mouth and he bucked his hips in response. 

You moaned, taking as much as you could into your mouth, hand pumping the rest. You bobbed your head, moaning at the velvety skin as your tongue swirled around him. You teased his tip, before taking him as deep as you could. His hand found its way to your head, fingers tangling in your hair. He held your head, thrusting into your mouth and groaning as he hit the back of your throat. You fought back the urge to gag, trying your hardest but he was assaulting your mouth with his harsh thrusts.

Chan stopped his thrusts, holding your head in place as he was deep in your throat. After a few seconds, he released you, making you cough. You swallowed as you collected yourself, drooling a little along his cock.

“Get your ass up here.” he grunted, gesturing for you to move your body around. You moved awkwardly, unsure what he wanted. 

He grabbed your hips, moving you to sit on his face. He dove in, slurping up your juices once more. You moaned out, gripping his thighs as you tried to support yourself. His angry tip was in your face so you leaned down and took it back in your mouth. You wanted to taste him - to make him cum in your mouth.

You bobbed your head, stroking and sucking as you brought him closer to release. He was already on the verge, your warm mouth too inviting. He was trying with all his might to hold back, focusing on making you cum again instead.

You slid one hand down, curiously rubbing his balls. He jerked into your mouth and you realize you found a sweet spot. You began rubbing and squeezing them, making him groan into your pussy. He was on the verge of cumming, his focus drifting from your pussy to his need to spill inside you. He reached a hand up, thrusting two fingers inside you. 

You clenched around them, moaning on his cock as he continued sucking your clit. Your legs begin to shake as your orgasm hits you hard. You gush around his fingers, gripping the sheets with your free hand. You start to come down, resuming your tease of his cock. You lick the tip, focusing on the slit before plunging him deep in your mouth. 

He was so close, aching for release so badly that he began thrusting. You gripped your hand tightly around the base of his cock to give it friction as he moved. Soon, he was spilling into your mouth. You could feel it hit the back of your throat, moaning at the salty taste. You swallow it all, still bobbing your head.

He smacks your ass, making you squeal. 

“Good girl.” he says, pushing you to the side.

You fall onto your back and he’s plunging his fingers into you again. Your back arches and he curls them. You whine, needing more than his fingers.

“Channie…more…”

“More what, baby?”

“More…you…” it was all you could manage.

He chuckles. “Give me one more, yeah?”

He thrusts rapidly, his thumb pressing into your clit. You could feel yourself building up yet again at his expert fingers. His other hand reached up and gripped your neck as he sucked on your nipples. It was all so much, your eyes squeezed shut as you held onto his arm.

You groaned, reaching your climax and closing your legs around his hand. He could still move, prolonging your high as he did and watching you lose yourself. Your body tensed, eyes rolled back as you trembled.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so beautiful like this.” he panted.

Your chest heaved as you opened your eyes to look up at him. A lazy smile spread across your face and he leaned down to kiss your lips.

He wasted no more time, his cock still so hard and leaking. He lined up with your entrance, pushing his big cock into you. You moaned his name loudly as he stretched you out. You squirmed, feeling so full. He was only halfway in before slowly pulling out and pushing back in again. Each time he pushed back in, he goes a little deeper. 

“Mmmm, Channie…” you moan.

The drag of his cock each time felt so amazing. You could feel every ridge and vein, massaging you just right. He moved to straddle one of your legs as he held the other up to his chest. He thrusted into you, picking up speed and making you moan louder. Your grip on the sheets was turning your knuckles white. He felt so amazing - you felt so amazing. You felt so full, clenching around his cock and making him groan. 

Your orgasm was building fast, making you moan his name. You reached for him and he intertwined your fingers, pushing them down beside your head. As he leaned forward, pushing your leg down to you, he hit deeper. The orgasm came flooding through you, your walls squeezing Chan’s cock.

He grunted, slowing his movements as he watched you in awe. He peppered kisses all over your face as you came down. 

“Fuck, Chan…”

“We’re not done yet, beautiful.” Chan says. “Let me see that ass.”

You sit up as he lays back on the pillows. You move to straddle him, ass facing towards him. He smacks your ass, leaving a large red print. Then he takes his cock and rubs it through your folds. You moan.

He lines himself up and you sink down on him, making him bite his lip. You grind on him and he squeezes your cheeks. He spreads them open, watching the way you grip him as you move up and down. Watching his cock disappear into your tight heat has him ready to sell his soul. He will never get over this moment. Never tire of this view.

You roll your hips, circling as you squeeze him, milking him. 

“Fuck, you keep doing that and I’ll fill you up.” 

“Yes…want your cum..please alpha.”

“Fuuuckkk” he says, gripping your hips tight, thrusting up into you.

After a few thrusts, he’s spilling inside you. You hum in satisfaction, learning that he likes when you call him that. You keep rolling your hips and he reaches up to pull your arms back. You lean back, laying on top of Chan. He lifts up on his heels and thrusts up into you. His hands were gripping your breasts, playing with your nipples as he did.

“Yes…ugh fuck.” you groan.

Chan slips from your heat and you feel some of his cum drip out. You reached down and collected some on your finger, sucking it clean. You groan at the taste and Chan throws you off him. 

“Fuck, you like how I taste, baby?” He asks, lining up with you from behind.

He slams into you, setting a brutal pace that has you practically screaming his name. His cock was still hard, still not done with you.

“Chan….Channie, fuck.” you moan, dropping your head.

He smacks your ass a few times, making it red and raw before gripping your hips again. He was so smitten with you, lusting over you and your perfect body. He leaned down, bodies flushed together as he continued thrusting into you. His hand gripped your throat as he kissed across your upper back. 

He leaned up, bringing you with him as he thrusted up into you. Your head rested back on his shoulder, your breasts bouncing with his thrusts. The hand that wasn’t wrapped around your neck slid up your side and gripped your breast. He had you pinned, flush with his body and his cock hitting your sweet spot over and over. He was so big, it was impossible for him not to.

You held onto his arms, body shaking as you reached another climax. You had lost count at this point, too lost in the feeling of Chan. He stretched you amazingly, his body fitting with yours as if made for each other. Of course, he would say you were and that’s why you’re soulmates.

“Such a good girl.” he growls in your ear, nibbling on your lobe.

He releases you, letting you fall forward onto your hands, and thrusts into you. He pokes your tight ass with his finger, thrusting it in and out a bit and you shudder. 

“Mmmm.. Chan” 

“Little birdie told me you like that.” he teases.

You nod your head yes, eyes closed as you feel him twitch inside you. Suddenly he pulls out and you whine. He flips you over, a little close to the edge and you feel yourself slipping. He laughs, as you slide and laugh along with him. He catches you by the legs only to get inspired by this new found position.

He comes over, pushing your legs towards you. You're folded, leaning up against the bed as he steps over you. Squatting, he pushes himself down into you. His thighs flex as he moves up and down, thrusting into you at a new angle. God, he was hitting deep like this. How is that possible? You groan, the blood rushing to your head. 

“You see that, baby? See how I fill you up?” Looking up at where his cock disappeared into you, you could see a bulge in your lower belly that moved with him. He was so big, you could see him through you. It was so hot, you reach up and start teasing your clit. You moan and he feels you tensing around him. Your orgasm approaching once more, you squeeze your eyes shut. How many times was he going to make you cum?

He slips from your pussy, putting your legs over his thighs and reaching down to lift you off the ground. You wrap your arms around his neck as he does with ease and grace. He holds you up, lining up with you entrance and lowering you on his dick.

Slamming his hips into yours, he pounds your pussy as he holds you up in the air. His hands were gripping your cheeks, occasionally slapping them.

“Ahhh….fuck.” you pant. “Channie…”

Your bodies were sweaty but you couldn’t care less as you held onto him for dear life. All you could hear over your pounding heart was the skin slapping echo in the room. You leaned back as he continued his assault. You were seeing stars as you felt your orgasm building again.

He walked over towards the wall as he moved his hands under your arms, lifting you up higher. You were a little unsteady, leaning against the wall for support as he pushed your legs onto his shoulders. His face was buried in your folds, licking and sucking.

You moan his name, one hand gripping his hair and tugging. He groans into your pussy, the vibrations making you shudder. Your other hand was above your head, bracing the wall. Your legs were gripping his head tight but he didn’t care. He relished in the feeling as he would happily die between your legs.

“Fuck, I’m cumming…” you manage to squeak out before your orgasm knocks into you. “Ahhhh”

You could bald him with the grip you had on his hair, your body shaking violently as you come undone. Panting, he lowers you, bringing you back to the bed. He lays you down, kissing up both inner thighs and licking a strip between your folds. You shiver, so sensitive from all the times you’ve came. The heat within was cooling off and you could feel the exhaustion sneaking up on you.

Chan slipped into you again, his cock still hard and begging to fill you with more of his cum. He began slow thrusts, savoring the moment as he caressed your face, kissing you passionately.

You could feel how sweaty his body was, a few drops from his face dripping onto yours. He cocooned you under him, rocking into you as he kissed and nipped at your neck and collarbone. 

“I need you to be mine.” he whispers between kisses.

“I am yours.”

“Officially…” he looks deep into your eyes and you know what he means.

You offer your neck to him, opposite of Minho’s. He kisses up and down, finding your sensitive spot. When you shudder, he locks in, licking and nibbling.

You moan his name, holding him close to you. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, keeping his strokes short and deep inside you. He kisses you as he thrusts, leaning into the crook of your neck and grazing his teeth along your skin.

“Alpha…” you whine.

Instinct takes over, his eyes glowing a strong amber color as he sinks his teeth in. Your back arches, orgasm triggered as his mark imprints on you. He holds his bite, letting the mark settle as his hips move faster. Your body trembles beneath him, eyes rolled back as a wave of euphoria washes over you. 

Feeling the bond take hold, you feel a deep connection to Chan. The same level as Minho’s but stronger. You felt like you were floating, limbs numb as he continued rutting into you. His hands blindly found their way to yours, interlacing your fingers and moving them above your head. With a growl, he spilled into you, deep inside. It was So. Much. Cum. 

As he continued rutting, his cock finally softening, his cum began to spill out the sides. You were so warm and wet inside, he didn’t want to pull out. He released his hold on your neck, licking and kissing your mark delicately. You shivered at the touch, the skin sensitive. 

Blood trailed down your shoulder onto the sheets, but that was a mess for later. He peppered kisses back up to your lips, kissing you. You could barely open your eyes, lids heavy as the weight of a True Alpha’s mark settled onto your body. The strength you shared through the bond was slowly spreading through you.

He leaned up, looking down at you. He loved every inch, curve, and imperfection of you. You were his completely and he wouldn’t let anything or anyone separate you two again. He pulled out, watching his cum spill out of you. You whimpered as he kissed your temple before standing. 

You were laying sprawled on the bed, too exhausted to move. Chan snuck away to the master bathroom and quickly wiped himself off. He turned on the bath and let the warm water rise. He put some epsom salt and bubble solution in, grabbing a rag and towels and putting them on the stool next to the bath. 

Then he came back to your room and scooped you up. You barely registered as he carried you to his room. He came into the bathroom and stepped into the tub, slowly lowering the two of you. He placed you in between his legs and the water made you stir. 

Your eyes fluttered briefly.

“Shh…it’s okay, baby. I got you.” Chan kissed your temple. “Let me get you cleaned up.”

“Mmmm,” was all you could manage, leaning back into him.

He turned off the faucet and grabbed the rag from the stool. He dunked it into the water and carefully cleaned near your mark. You whimpered but didn’t wake. After he cleaned it up, he cleaned between your folds. You gripped his arm, brows furrowed, but eyes still closed.

He figured you must still be sensitive after the morning’s sexcapades. Looking over at the clock, he realized you two had probably been at it for hours. He finished cleaning the two of you up and drained the water, spraying you down before wrapping you in the towel. He picked you up and brought you to bed, drying you off. After he dried himself off, he curled up next to you and dozed off as well.

It was a couple hours later when Changbin stepped into the room. He wasn’t hit with the overpowering smell of your heat or Chan’s rut so he proceeded inside. He came over to Chan and nudged him awake.

“Hmmm?”

“We made dinner. You want to eat?”

“No.” Chan mumbled, half asleep.

Changbin shrugged, leaving the room. Seungmin glared at him.

“What?” Changbin asked.

“You barely tried.” Seungmin noted.

“He was barely awake.”

Seungmin shook his head, walking away.

It was the dead of night when Chan finally woke up. He looked over to see your sleeping form. You were sleeping so peacefully. You were so cute, 

he leaned over and kissed your cheek, to which you didn’t even move. He felt your pulse and checked your breathing before slipping from the bed and going into the kitchen. He opened the fridge, finding leftovers from dinner he knew the boys had left. He made himself a plate, heating it up.

“Hey.” said a voice, making him jump.

“Hey.” Chan smiled, pulling Hyunjin into a hug. “What are you doing up?”

“I’ve been checking on you two all evening.” Hyunjin shrugged.

“Really? Why?”

“You two fucked for hours and then went back to sleep. You didn’t even eat which worried us all. So I was making sure everything was okay. I didn’t know if being in your rut while she’s in heat was dangerous.”

“It can be, but we are okay. I didn’t hurt her.” Chan said, taking his food from the microwave.

Hyunjin nodded.

Chan moved over, rubbing Hyunjin’s shoulders and earning a smile. Hyunjin leaned into his alpha’s touch, Chan kissing his temple. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. I was just tired and worried.”

“We are okay. She’s resting right now. But she will wake soon. You should get some sleep.”

Hyunjin nodded. 

“Goodnight.” Chan smiled, hugging his mate.

Hyunjin laid his head on Chan’s shoulder, hugging him back briefly before shuffling off to bed. Chan sat at the table, eating his food. He was ravenous and the food was so delicious. He scarfed it down and fought the urge to go back for more.

Instead, he came back to bed and checked on you. You were still resting, but he wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything else. He went into Felix’s room and woke him gently. Felix woke up in a panic but Chan calmed him down.

Felix came in, checking on you and calming Chan’s worries. He said you were fine, just resting off the heat and exertion. The mark also looked good but he suggested Doctor Quinn check her tomorrow.

With that, Chan nodded and curled back into bed. Felix, with a pout on his freckled face, asked if he could cuddle with the two of you. Chan allowed it, Felix cuddling your other side. And soon, they were asleep as well, the three of you resting in the large king bed.

TAGLIST:

@estella-novella @lxvxchxrlxttxbxrsx22-blog @butterflydemons @readr1221 @gaby105-skz @notevenheretbh1 @bah2004 @sinfulfic @bowsnbang @just-a-blackthorn-cookie @dreamerwasfound @motheraiya55 @m00njinnie @writeuntilthebitterend @jutdwae-flower @staytinyluv @emmxxsworld @galaxy4489 @wolfo2027 @iknow-uknow-leeknow @thatgirlangelb @fr34k4c1dr41n @stwq2349 @rylea08 @sang-09 @scarlet789 @hxnnielk @thecutiepieme @sillygoosegoose @ihttinniee @kaleigh-2002 @stvrrylove @tenshimara @bookswillfindyouaway

Shout out to my lovely beta @cherry-erii

[arcielee]

The Dragon and the Wolf

Summary: “...perhaps the fire of a Targaryen prince is what is needed to thaw out your heart.” Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader Word Count: 2700+ Warnings: Reader AFAB, kissing, oral (f receiving), loss of virginity, slight overstimulation, creampie. Author’s Note: This was the poll winner! 💜 Thank you to my lovelies @aemondsbabe and @valeskafics for helping me brainstorm the title. No beta, my mistakes are my own and I am woefully sorry for them all. This will be a series of one-shots of the moments between Prince Aemond Targaryen and his Northern bride-to-be (which I pulled from my OC!Stark x Aemond Targaryen story, but whatever). There will be fluff and there will be smut. Enjoy!

You could feel the panicked gaze from your handmaiden, her visceral exasperation spilling as she watched you pace the room, but you could not hold still. 

Not tonight, not after that kiss.

She begged until you finally allowed her to help you change into your nightgown, despite how your skin felt aflame. She then took your hand to lead you to the vanity to sit, to hold still, to allow her to brush and braid your hair for bed, just as she had every night since you first arrived to the Red Keep months ago.

You had traveled from Winterfell at the behest of your brother, a promise to see through what the late King Jaehaerys failed to accomplish: to solidify the bond between the North and South kingdoms. Cregan saw no harm with the capital’s proposal, as you had already scorned all of the Northern lords who called for your hand. 

“Who knows, sister,” his eyes twinkled just as your father’s had when he was still alive, “perhaps the fire of a Targaryen prince is what is needed to thaw out your heart.” 

You had scoffed, but soon realized how right Cregan had been, that you were enamored from the moment you met Aemond. The rest of the Keep seemed to fade away as you watched him, his imposing severity that settled into the sharp contours of his face and in the way he held himself. He towered you; he watched you with his one eye, a lovely lavender that flitted over you, while the other was hidden beneath a leather patch with the wrathful scar that curled above and below. 

You remembered the touch of his hand–his palm calloused and warm and gentle–when he took your own; you recalled the spill of silver as he leaned forward and the softness of his lips against your knuckles with his kiss. Even his low timbre soothed you as he repeated your name; the introduction left you blood rising to the surface. 

Your courtship with the prince was something to be displayed–an ailing king’s desperate grasp at legacy. Aemond played the role of the perfect, regal gentlemen, but you wished to pull him away from the prying eyes of the court, to learn everything about the infamous one-eyed Targaryen prince.

There were stolen moments scattered with Aemond and you collected them piece by piece, but still you were rarely, if ever, allowed a moment to be truly alone with him. 

It was not until the crowned princess returned to the capital, and the chaos that followed and ruined the family supper, that you were able to follow after Aemond, out into the gardens of the Red Keep. 

You recognized his silhouette at once, and moved closer until you saw his ethereal glow from how the moon poured over him. Your tone was soft at first, a teasing kindness until you saw the upwards curl of his lips, and you dared giggle with your encouragement that he should teach you swear words that would best describe his nephews in High Valyrian. 

And then something changed, something shifted. Aemond stepped closer and you felt the cool night air pull away, enveloped by his warmth, the scent of smoke and leather and sandalwood. His palm moved to cup the side of your face and then he kissed you. 

This was your first truly intimate moment you shared with your betrothed. And it was also your first kiss. 

You sighed sweetly in his mouth, a kindled passion that thrummed from where his hands touched your hips, his hold to pull you closer only to quickly recoil once one of the Cargyll knights finally found you both. 

The White Cloak then escorted you back to your quarters, your steps lead-filled, and here you were expected to sit still as your handmaiden fret over your hair. 

But you could not sit still, hence why your slippered foot tapped the stone floor, your heart pounding violent against your chest as that kiss in the garden replayed in your mind…

“Please, my lady,” your handmaiden squeaked, the ivory comb tangling in your hair.

Your hands flared out to ward off her touch, your tone cutting. “Thank you, but that is enough. You are relieved from your duties for the rest of the night,” you stood up, pushing the poor girl and sending her stumbling towards the door. 

Her eyes were wide. “I–I have not finished with–” 

“I have hands of my own,” you grabbed the silk robe to cover yourself, “I shall manage,” and when you turned to step towards the girl once more, she squeaked again. She moved to open the door and paused to see Prince Aemond already poise, his one arm tucked behind his back and the other lifted as if he meant to knock. 

It was an eternal silence; Aemond looked startled, but his gaze eventually found yours, and you stared back, unabashed, burning from the sight of him. 

Meanwhile your handmaiden, mortified, shrank to slip past the prince and leave.

Only when you heard the soft sound of the door closing behind did you find the courage to move towards Aemond, reaching for his tunic and pulling him close. You fell into him, your lips hungry for his own and he returned your passion before slowing to savor, his tongue running your bottom lip and then curling into your mouth. 

It continued until your breath was an exchange between, his exhale becoming your inhale and trilling through your veins, pumping your heart. Your mind was clouded with his proximity–you felt giddy and your hands twisted into his tunic to hold yourself upright. 

He hummed, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flushed against his chest. A shy sigh spilled when you felt his length pressing through the fabric and against your stomach, a bolt of warmth and want curling together. But your passion was replaced with a trepidation, something that now curdled instead. 

You broke the kiss, a rosiness spilling from your lips to your cheeks, to the tip of your nose: “I lost my maidenhead on horseback.” You felt your blood thicken with your confession. “But I have never been…” 

The words would not come, but Aemond did not need them. Instead he closed the little space you created, his warm palms moving to cup your face and bring you back to capture your lips with a tender kiss. 

“I will be gentle,” his low timbre promised. “I do not wish to hurt you.” 

You believed him, as you had seen his actions that spoke far louder during your time at the capital. He had always shown you a careful consideration since the courtship began, but now you found that you could not wait another moment. 

Your fingers pulled at the silk robe you had thrown on, allowing it to slip from your shoulders and puddle onto the floor. Your hands moved to the lacing that lined the front of your nightgown, but you paused, pinned under the lavender of his eye. 

His chest rose and fell with his steadied breath a moment before he offered his hands, his slender fingers gentle to loosen the ties. Aemond stopped to place kisses on the slope of your shoulder, your chest, a soft tickle of his lips as more of your skin was bared to him. 

You felt vibrant, ignited by his touch, and you looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, admiring the flush of rose that now stained his skin. You pulled at your skirts, grabbing the bottom hem and peeling it over, dropping it into the silk puddle already at your feet. 

Lust now swallowed the lavender, but Aemond only hummed his admiration as his gaze slowly dragged from your face, following your curves and then returning to meet with your eyes again. 

“Gevie,” he mused with a slight curl to his lips. 

You burned, cursing your Septa for the little Valyrian she indulged to teach you, too shy to ask now for a translation, but bold enough to reach for him. Your fingers touched the buckles of his tunic. Aemond hummed again as you began to undress him, until he was bare from the waist up, and the heat that pooled from him now seeped and curled into your core. 

His form was lean, taut, with a muscular definition and its decoration of silver scars scattered across his chest and his abdomen. Your fingers trailed the lines that cut into his trimmed waist, and then you stepped closer to press a soft kiss to the right side of his jaw. 

Aemond caught your chin, bringing your lips to meet with his own again. His kiss was drawn out, wringing the air from your lungs but still so gentle that you could not help but melt into his chest, into the warmth that he embodied. 

Your fingers reached to touch his jaw but paused, a hovering hesitation. He took your hand and brought it back to cradle against his chest, watching you. You swallowed. “Aemond, please,” you began slowly, your voice careful, “I wish to see all of you.”

His jaw steeled with your request, tense for that moment but then he reached with his other hand to remove the eyepatch. The crimson seemed bolder, brighter, cutting through from his brow and into his cheek, and you also saw that placed in his scarred socket was a sapphire stone that glittered in the amber light of the room. 

You pressed to your tiptoes, your fingertips touching to tilt his jaw down and you pressed a kiss beneath, your lips careful to trail his maim before placing another against his cheek. “Ñuha zaldrīzes,” but you were slow with the only Valyrian you knew, and finished with another kiss to his lips. 

My dragon. 

His expression was unreadable, and for a moment you believed that you had ruined the practiced pronunciation. But then Aemond moved to wrap his arms back around your waist, his face burying into the softness of your neck and his hands grabbing into the curves of your hips. Your laughter spilled as you felt him lift you enough for your feet to not touch the stone floors, your arms wrapping around his neck, and Aemond moved with wide steps, bringing you back towards your bedside. 

You fell back onto the mattress, looking up at him. His neck bobbed as his eye followed the pink hues that now spilled from your cheeks to your neck and onto your chest. Your nipples were peaked and your eyes shone bright as he stepped closer, climbing onto the bed and moving on top of you.

He tucked his head to trace the slope of your neck with his lips and your back arched with the desire to feel his chest against your bare skin, a fluttered moan spilling from you. Aemond moved lower, placing warm, open mouthed kisses that scorched your skin, with a warmth that was pouring into your core. 

Aemond continued lower, his silver tresses spilling and tickling your skin as he moved between your plush thighs. You mewled with the touch of his lips to the inside, and your thighs squeezed to stop him. 

You are breathless. “It tickles.” 

He only hummed, reaching to press his hand onto your stomach, a comforting touch as his fingers traced abstract lines on your skin. “Let me,” and his exhale was titillating as he nestled back between. 

Aemond was careful with his touch, just as he always showed himself to be. He was aware of your every sound and sigh, pacing himself with a slow rhythm that began to build until his clever tongue had you pinned to the mattress. 

You blossomed with bated breath, grabbing fistfuls of the bed linen to ground yourself from falling into the trance of his ministrations. You felt a prod at your entrance, his finger curling within, and your pleasure fluttered up your spine. It was too much and you writhed from his mouth, but his other hand moved underneath your thigh, gripping into your soft flesh, halting you. 

Let me.

Aemond quickened his pace, encouraged by your quiet pants, from how your heartbeat now pulsed around the digits that were knuckle deep in you. You felt Aemond pulling you towards a precipice that was consuming, a warmth that crashed against and spilled throughout. Your heart still bruised against your ribs from the cresting tremors of your fading pleasure, and only then did you notice it. 

How Aemond grinned smugly against your wet cent. 

You reached with boneless fingers that tangled into his silver hair, pulling him back so you could capture his mouth that now glistened with you. It was your own bittersweet taste on his lips and you felt emboldened to grab his waistband. When your fingers brushed against his heavy bulge that pressed the crotch of his slacks, a sweeping shyness returned. 

He pulled back with a sly smile, removing them before he moved back on top. His arms cage you to the bed and your skin rose with how his breath fanned against your cheeks. “I do not wish to hurt you,” he repeated after a moment, but his heavy hesitation lifted as you pulled him into the cradle of your hips.  

You sighed from how he molded into the softness of your body, and Aemond gave another savoring kiss. “Please, Aemond,” your eyes wet from your want, and his head dipped to watch as he grabbed the base, careful to line himself with your entrance. 

Aemond paused with a new trepidation that settled along the rose hues that dusted his sharp features. You squirmed beneath him, searching for friction, to feel the blunt press of his cockhead against your silken folds. 

“Aemond,” you now plead, a honeyed whisper, another kiss to encourage him, “I want you.” 

He watched you as he pressed forward, and you felt a stretch, a fullness as his hips moved against yours. You tensed from the new sensation, your nails biting and leaving red crescent marks that startled against the white of his skin. 

Aemond stilled at once, allowing you a moment to adjust, his brow furrowed with his concern. You then let out a soft exhale before tilting your chin to give him a kiss, a promise that you were fine. 

And only then did Aemond move, slowly, carefully, with each gentle thrust that split you further as he sheathed himself fully within you. It rekindled a deeper passion, and your eyes widened with a small gasp; he dipped his head to press his lips to your neck, decorating the column with his kisses, your pulse thrumming beneath. It began to ripple through you and your thighs tightened around his slender waist, beckoning him closer still. 

“Aemond,” you gasped.

He hummed his acknowledgement, pushing himself up. He used one arm for balance while his other hand moved to press onto your hip, his palm trailing closer to your bloom above, his thumb moving in circles. 

You felt raw, sensitive still from before, and something sparked with his touch. The air was thick and caught in your throat; a passion spilled from you without the same tensity from the first time, though still with a melody that played sweetly throughout your veins. 

Your velvet walls clenched with your climax and it pulled Aemond after. He groaned his own release, melting against you and burying his face back into the curve of your neck. You gasped again from how he pulsed between your legs, his heart rattling through to your bones. 

After a moment,  Aemond rolled to the side, his chest expanding to catch his breath before he reached to pull you to curl against him, equally breathless and aglow. Your arm was thrown across, your face pressed against to feel the rhythm of his heart, his seed spilling onto your thigh; his fingers began to trace patterns on your skin. 

He leaned to press another kiss to your hairline, and he whispered the same word from before. “Gevie.” 

“What does that mean?” You cannot help your grin, tilting your head back to look at him. 

His other hand came round, a finger pressed to your cheek to look at you. “Beautiful,” he said and then he gave you another kiss. 

Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @sylasthegrim @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch @multyfangirl @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowprincesa1 @officerbrowneyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @hb8301 @namelesslosers

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