#fic: only bound to break

[mxxnlighvsblog]

lilith macdonald's life was relatively normal, in her opinion. until she turned 11 and suddenly there was an owl outside with a letter telling her she could do magic. her and her mother, mary, were, to say the least, confused. but after a long talk and a bit of bickering, lilith decides she wants to attend hogwarts. very shortly after someone is at their doorstep to explain everything and take the two to the world of magic. lilith was instantly in love with the world that was magic, but mary felt...uneasy there. like it was familiar in the worst and best way. she could feel the eyes of people who seemed to be watching her. maybe it was because she was a muggle? it unnerved her but she brushed it off for lilith. for her daughter's happiness. turns out lilith doesn't know her mother like she thought. and now she's face-to-face with her mother's forgotten past

TAGLIST - n/a ( ask to be added )

[10moonymhrivertam]

I haven't tried searching tags yet (I've mostly filtered by highest bookmarks, published after the Amazon episodes); but I've been jonesing for fics that really sink their teeth into Alastor's relationship with his Mom, or where he's somehow reunited with his Mom and has to face her opinions/scolding

[d1stalker]

This is Ours [Logan Howlett]

Summary: It's your first time back at your grandparents' farm in years, and while many things are the same, one thing is not: they've hired a new farmhand.

Warnings: fem!reader, SMUT, sexual tension, angst, fluff, lots of feelings WC: 18.8k - MASTERLIST

A/N: apologies for dropping another long fic but i literally could not stop writing the juices were flowing. i really hope you enjoy this! i think its my fave so far :)

----

For as long as you can remember, summers were synonymous with your grandparents' farm. It was a tradition, one you held close to your heart. To you, your time there embodied your entire childhood—days spent under the sun, where the air was thick with the scent of wildflowers and the soothing chorus of cicadas filling the long, golden afternoons.

Mornings began early, with you bounding downstairs to join your grandparents for breakfast. The kitchen was always filled with the comforting aroma of fresh coffee and pancakes. Your grandfather would be at the table, engrossed in his newspaper, while your grandmother hummed softly as she cooked, the sound of the morning radio playing faintly in the background. Your days were spent exploring the fields, helping with the chores and horses, or sitting on the porch with your grandmother, listening to stories from her youth.

It couldn’t get any more perfect than that. 

But as the years passed, things changed. After you graduated high school, the summer visits became less frequent. University took up more of your time, and you were always busy—first with classes, then with internships, and finally with starting your career. The farm, once the centre of your world, became a place you could only visit if you were lucky, and even then, it was never for long. 

You miss it.

This year, however, things were different. You found yourself in between jobs, with the first real break you’d had in what felt like forever. And when the moment the opportunity arose, you knew exactly where you wanted to go. 

—

The drive to your grandparents' farm is a journey into the past. The country road, lined with trees that stretched out like old friends, brings back a flood of memories from your childhood: where you’re sitting in the back of your parent’s car vibrating with excitement. You pass the same fields, still as vast and green as you remember, dotted with flowers swaying gently in the breeze, and the old oak tree where you used to swing as a child stands tall, its branches reaching up to the sky as if welcoming you back.

When you finally pull up to the farmhouse, the sight of it fills you with a deep sense of nostalgia. The white paint is more chipped than you remember, the porch sags a little more in the middle, and you can tell that it’s been a while since the grass was last trimmed. 

Stepping out of the car, the screen door squeaks open, and there’s your grandmother, standing on the porch, wiping her hands on her apron. She’s smaller than you remember, more fragile, but the smile on her face is the same—warm, welcoming, and full of love. “There’s my girl,” she calls out, rushing down the steps and into the driveway as fast as she can. 

“Grandma!” you exclaim, hurrying toward her to wrap her in a hug.

She pulls back to look at you, her eyes twinkling despite the lines of age etched on her face. “You’ve grown even more beautiful, but you look tired. We’ll fix that with some good meals, won’t we?”

You laugh, nodding. “I missed your cooking.”

“And I missed having someone to cook for,” she replies with a chuckle, patting your cheek. “Come inside. Your grandpa’s been counting down the days until you got here.”

You grab your suitcase from your car and follow her into the house, the familiar scents of fresh bread and old wood enveloping you the minute you step inside. It’s just as you remember—cozy, lived-in, filled with the glow of years worth of love and memories. Your grandfather sits at the kitchen table, a pair of reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he reads a book. He looks up as you enter, and the moment he sees you, his face breaks into a wide grin.

“There’s my favourite farmhand,” he jokes, letting out a grunt as he places one hand on the table, slowly pushes out of his chair. 

“Grandpa,” you say, meeting him halfway for a hug. 

“Got here just in time,” he says with a wink. ��Plenty of work to do, you know.”

“I figured,” you reply, playfully nudging him. “I’m ready to get my hands dirty.”

“Good to hear,” he says, leaning back against the table for support. “This old back of mine isn’t what it used to be.”

Your grandmother sets a glass of lemonade in front of you and sits down, her eyes flicking toward the window. “We’ve had to make some changes around here, sweetheart,” she begins gently. “Your grandpa and I… well, we can’t do as much as we used to.”

You hum, listening carefully. Seeing your grandparents grow older is difficult—it's a constant reminder that time is slipping away, and the moments you have together are becoming more precious with each passing day.

“We’ve hired some help,” she continues. “A man named Logan. He’s been a blessing, really, taking care of the heavier work. But he’s… well, he’s not much of a talker.”

“Logan?” you ask, glancing out the window. 

That’s when you see him. Tall and broad-shouldered, he is out by the barn, carrying some hay. He’s wearing a worn-down flannel with jeans, and his dark hair is slightly tousled. Even from a distance, you can tell he’s strong—he looks like he knows what he’s doing. 

“Yeah, Logan,” your grandfather confirms. “Keeps to himself mostly, but he’s get’s the job done. Don’t mind his gruffness; he’s just not used to people fussing over him.”

“He’s been here since last spring,” your grandmother adds. “We needed the help, and he needed the work. It’s been good for both sides. You should go and introduce yourself after you unpack, dear. Maybe get in some work before we sit for dinner later.”

Nodding, you walk up the stairs in the house and make your way to your room. It looks exactly the same as the last time you saw it. Your old stuffed animals are organized neatly on the shelf above the bed, and the quilt your grandmother made for you, with patches of faded fabric from old dresses and curtains, is spread across the bed the exact same way it’s always been. 

The posters on the walls, the little knickknacks on the dresser—everything is a snapshot of your younger self, preserved in this room like a time capsule. It’s comforting, but also a little bittersweet, a reminder of how much time has passed since you had last visited.

After a few moments of reminiscing, you stand up and begin unpacking, carefully placing your clothes in the old wooden dresser. Each drawer creaks as you open it, the sound a part of this room’s charm. You smile as you come across some of the little treasures you left behind—a pressed flower between the pages of an old book, a seashell from a family trip to the coast, and last, a picture of you and your grandparents taken one summer when you were about ten.

You’re standing between them, beaming with a toothy grin, their arms wrapped around you in a warm embrace. The three of you are standing in front of the barn, with the sun setting behind you. You can almost hear your grandmother’s laugh as the camera clicked, your grandfather’s playful grumbling about having to pose for ‘just one more picture.’ The photo captures a moment of pure happiness, a snapshot of a simpler time.

Setting the photo down, you quickly begin to change into your designated farm clothes, and head out to meet the new face around here. 

The trek to the barn isn’t very long, just a few minutes away from the main house, and from the outside, you can hear the familiar sounds of work—footsteps crunching on the hay-strewn floor, the creak of wood as something heavy is moved. You pause at the doorway, taking a moment to observe him before stepping inside. He’s focused, his movements efficient as he lifts another bale of hay and stacks it with the others. 

You take a deep breath, and step into the barn. “Logan?” you call out softly.

He doesn’t stop what he’s doing, but with a slight pause and glance over his shoulder, his eyes, sharp and intense, meet yours, and there’s a moment where you’re not sure what to say. “I’m—”

“I already know who you are,” he grunts, cutting you off. 

His abruptness catches you off guard, but you quickly recover, nodding. “Right. I guess that makes sense.”

“If you wanna help, there’s a broom in the back shed,” he continues, going back to his work as if the conversation is already over. “You could sweep up the hay.”

You bristle, a little surprised at how quickly he dismissed you, but you’re determined not to let it rattle you. After all, your grandparents did warn you that he wasn’t much of a talker.  “Sure,” you say. “I can do that.”

As you turn to head toward the back shed, you find yourself lightly imitating his gruff tone under your breath, a flicker of irritation running through you. “There’s a broom in the back shed. Yeah, obviously, I know where the broom would be,” you mutter.

In the shed, the broom is in fact, exactly where you expected it to be, and you huff, grabbing it and walking back to the barn. When you return, Logan is still hard at work, stacking the hay, and doesn’t bother to acknowledge you yet again. You set to work sweeping, the rhythmic motion of the broom soon lulling you into a steady state. The barn is quiet, save for the soft shuffling of hay under your broom and the occasional grunt from Logan as he moves the heavy bales.

Time seems to pass slowly, the light outside growing softer as the sun dips lower in the sky. You’re so caught up in your thoughts that you barely notice when Logan’s footsteps stop. It’s only when his voice breaks the silence that you’re pulled back to the present.

“Your grandma called for dinner,” he says, causing you to jump a bit at the unexpectedness of his voice in the silence. Before you can respond, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there with the broom still in hand. You let out a small sigh, feeling the tension in your shoulders. This is going to be a long few months, you think to yourself as you return the broom to its usual place and jog back to the farmhouse.

Inside, the kitchen smells like a warm hearty stew. The table is already set, the familiar blue-and-white checkered tablecloth in place, and your grandparents are seated, chatting quietly as they wait for you and Logan to join them.

You slide into the seat across from your grandmother just as Logan walks over from the sink, two glasses of water in his hands. He places one in front of you with a quick nod, and the other at his own seat, beside yours.

“So,” your grandmother says, her eyes shining with curiosity as she looks between the both of you. “I take it you’ve introduced yourselves to each other?”

You hesitate momentarily, your mind flashing back to your brief encounter in the barn. “Yeah, we have,” you reply, managing a smile, if you can call it that. 

Logan doesn’t say anything, his focus on the bowl of stew in front of him. He doesn’t seem interested in joining the conversation, which only adds to the growing sense of awkwardness you feel. You glance at him briefly, wondering if he’s always this closed off or if it’s just his way of dealing with new people.

“Well, that’s good,” your grandmother says, either oblivious to the tension or choosing to ignore it. “Logan’s been a big help around here. We’re so grateful to have him.”

Your grandfather hums in agreement, scooping a spoonful of stew into his mouth before adding, “He’s got a strong work ethic. Doesn’t shy away from the tough jobs, that’s for sure.”

Nodding along, you feel the pressure to say something positive. “That’s great. It’s good to know the farm’s in good hands.” Even thought the words are definitely a bit forced, you mean it. 

As the conversation continues, your grandparents shift the focus to you, asking about your job search and what you’ve been up to since you last visited. You give them a brief rundown of the interviews you’ve had, the options you’re considering, and the challenges you’ve faced. You try to keep it light, not wanting to worry them with your uncertainty, but you can’t help but notice the man’s presence beside you, still silent. 

At one point, when you’re talking about finding a new apartment, you hear him let out a quiet scoff, and you cast a look over, catching the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips. It’s gone almost as quickly as it appears, but it’s enough to make you pause. You want to ask him what that was about, to challenge him on whatever it is he’s thinking, but you bite your tongue. This isn’t the time or place, not in front of your grandparents who are just happy to have everyone around the table.

They continue to chat with you, asking more about your plans and offering their usual words of encouragement. When dinner finally wraps up, your grandmother insists on cleaning up, waving you off when you offer to help. “You’ve had a long day, dear. Why don’t you go relax? Logan can help me with the dishes.”

You smile. “Thanks, Grandma.”

He’s already started collecting the dishes by the time you stand up, but it’s like he refuses to recognize your existence, and that pisses you off. 

—

The next morning, you wake before dawn, the world still wrapped in the gentle embrace of night, and for a moment, you lie still, listening to the deep, pulsing of the house—the way the wooden floors creak slightly as they settle, the distant sound of the wind rustling through the trees outside. The comfort of knowing your grandparents are asleep down the hall brings a sense of calm that you haven’t felt in a long time.

Deciding to take advantage of the early hour, you slip out of bed, your feet brushing against the cool floor as you stretch, feeling the muscles in your body slowly wake. You dress quietly, pulling on a soft, worn sweater, and pad downstairs, careful to avoid the spots on the stairs that you know will creak.

You move through the kitchen as if on autopilot, your hands knowing exactly where everything is. You set the coffee to brew, and the rich aroma sills the room.

Reaching for the eggs, you crack a few of them into a bowl, and as you’re whisking, you let your mind wander, thinking about how to spend the day. The soft sizzle of butter in the pan gets your attention and you pour the eggs in, watching as they begin to set around the edges. 

You pour yourself a cup of coffee, the steam rising from the mug in delicate spirals, and you take a sip, savouring the warmth and flavour hitting your tongue, while your gaze drifts over to the window that faces the back of the farmhouse. 

Your grandparents’ own horses, and you recognize some of them from when you were younger. It makes you happy knowing that they’re still being well taken care of. The way the early light touches the land, and the morning dew covers the grass, you can’t help but smile into your mug. 

Slowly, you walk a bit closer to the window, eager to take in the view you had been missing all these years, when a figure standing over by the horses catches your eye. It’s Logan, a small surprise given the early hour—you didn’t hear him wake up—but he stands there, leaning casually against the fence, an apple in his hand. 

You watch as he holds out the apple to one of the horses, his rough hand moving gently over its neck as it eats. There’s something unexpectedly tender in the way he interacts with the animal, a patience and care that you didn’t expect to see from him, given how he acted yesterday. 

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out another apple, offering it to the second horse, who hungrily accepts it. You continue to stare at the sight outside. This side of him—so different from the unapproachable exterior he’s shown so far—stirs something inside you, a desire to connect with him, to see if there’s more to him than meets the eye.

On impulse, you quickly turn off the stove, grab a second cup of coffee and some toast you’ve just buttered, and without overthinking it, you head outside. The morning air is cool against your skin as you make your way over to Logan. 

As you approach, he keeps his attention focused on the horses. You take a moment, then clear your throat lightly, holding out the coffee with a tentative smile. “Thought you might want some breakfast,” you offer, trying to keep your tone light and friendly.

He finally glances at you, his eyes briefly meeting yours. His expression is just as unreadable his had been in the last sixteen hours you’ve known him, and then he grunts, “Already ate,” and turns his attention back to the animals in front of him.

His curt, and honestly rude rebuffals really frustrate you. It’s not like you’re asking him to wipe your ass after you go to the washroom, so you have absolutely no idea why he’s like this. 

“Alright,” you mutter, lips pressed together in a thin line, and turn to head back into the kitchen. 

Once inside, you set the untouched coffee and toast back on the counter with a sigh. This is so fucking awkward. You’re going to be spending the next however-many-months with him, and you would love it if you could at the very least, get along. His rough-around-the-edges personality is not making this enjoyable for you, and you’re sure that he probably just see’s you as an annoying nuisance. 

And it’s not like you’re ever going to pull this card on him or anything, but you have been here longer than him, despite the fact that he’s acting like he owns the place. You get it, he’s been here for a for a while, and it’s only been him doing the work, blah blah. But you’ve been helping and doing the work your entire childhood—missing a few years doesn’t take away that fact. 

With a heavy sigh, you open a cupboard and pull out a plate, scraping the eggs off the pan and setting them on it. Because your grandparents’ are still asleep, all you can do is eat in silence.

—

You’ve decided that today you are going to trim the grass. There’s always something to do around here, and since the long grass was one of the first things you noticed upon arrival, you think it’s best to just get that chore over with, considering how long you know it will take. 

Once you’ve finished cleaning the dishes and pan, you go back upstairs into your room and get changed. Today, you put on a long sleeve, and a small vest over top. Your pants are some hand-me-down working pants from one of your older cousins, and you snatch a baseball cap from your closet for when it begins to get hotter out. 

Walking to the back shed, you grab some tools for trimming the lawn. A lawn mower, a string trimmer, and a rake for after everything’s been cut. Moving over to the back section of the lawn, you set the trimmer and rake against the barn and start using the mower. It’s the same one your grandparents have used since you were a child, so it’s a reel lawn mower instead of those newer, more electrical ones you’ve seen around the city. 

You can’t really complain about it, so you just begin, the steady repetitive action of moving the tool back and forth being somewhat therapeutic. The smell of freshly cut grass begins to hit your senses, and you truly feel at peace. 

As the minutes pass, the sun rises higher, its warmth spreading across the fields. You’re completely absorbed in your work, the rhythm of mowing and the occasional chirp of birds the only sounds around you. You’ve missed this. The sounds of cars honking and early morning city traffic has nothing on the serenity of country life. 

You’re just completing the first half when you sense movement nearby. Glancing up, you see Logan walking up to you, having grabbed the trimmer. He doesn’t say anything, just starts up the machine and heads over to the next patch of grass within the area.

There’s a brief moment of eye-contact, like a subtle unspoken recognition to the effort you seem to be putting in. He gives you a small nod, and turns to focus on his task. The two of you work side by side, the hum of the machines, the scent of fresh-cut grass, and the warm sun overhead creating a strangely comforting atmosphere. 

When you finally finish, few hours have passed, and you walk back over to the barn and grab a lawn bag and the rake. And because Logan’s machine was electric, he seems to have finished his section as well, so you begin raking up all the stray pieces of grass. 

You quick to find out how awkward it is to hold the lawn bag open with one hand while trying to rake with the other—the grass keeps slipping out of the bag, and you can’t help but feel a bit ridiculous as you fumble with the task. You scan around, hoping Logan won’t notice, but of course, he’s right there, watching as you flail around.

You feel a flush of embarrassment creep up your neck, but before you can say anything, he steps forward. Like usual it seems, he doesn’t say a word, just holds out his hand as if asking for the rake. You falter briefly, not wanting to seem like you need his help, but at the same time you understand how much more efficient it would be if he joined. 

Reluctantly, you hand it over, and he immediately starts working with the same steady efficiency he brought to trimming the grass. With both hands free, you manage the lawn bag more effectively, holding it open as Logan rakes the grass into neat piles.

The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable; instead, it feels like a natural extension of the morning’s work. The sound of the rake scraping against the ground, the rustle of grass being gathered, and the occasional whinny from a horse nearby. 

After the last of the grass is finally raked and bagged, you tie off the lawn bag and glance over at him. He leans the rake against the barn wall and meets your gaze. There’s something in the way he seems to stare at you head on this time, rather than just a quick look, that makes your chest fill with satisfaction. 

You nod. “Thanks.”

Logan dips his chin in return, then turns and heads back toward the barn. The heat of the sun really starts to hit you now, and you take a peak at your watch, noticing that it’s already lunch time. Knowing that even if you tried to invite him, he’s probably say no, you just walk back to the farmhouse alone. 

—

The next couple of weeks unfold in the same way, moving with an almost predictable rhythm. Each morning, you wake before the sun, quietly slipping out of bed while your grandparent’s are still asleep. As you prepare and eat breakfast, you take your usual place by the kitchen window, watching as Logan interacts with the horses. 

Then, as the sun rises higher, you head out to begin your chores around the farm. Sometimes, Logan joins you without a word—his presence now a familiar and abating part of your routine—or sometimes, you find yourself working alone, but even then, you know he’s never far away. 

You’ve learned to read his silences, to understand that his gruff demeanor isn’t necessarily unfriendliness, but rather his way of navigating the world. And though he doesn’t speak much, his actions have a way of communicating more than words ever could.

One morning, as you’re finishing up breakfast, your grandparents announce their plans to head into one of the nearby cities for the day. “We need to run some errands and pick up a few things,” your grandmother explains, her hands busy packing a small bag. “But we were thinking it might be nice for the horses to get out and see some different scenery too.”

“They haven’t been to the pond in a while. It’s good for them to stretch their legs and take in some new sights.” Your grandfather chimes in. 

You nod, smiling at the thought. The pond is a beautiful spot, a peaceful place where the water runs clear and cool, surrounded by tall trees and soft grass. It’s the perfect place to spend a day with the horses. “That sounds like a great idea. I’ll take them out there for the day.”

Your grandmother’s eyes light up as she hands you a basket. “I packed some food and a blanket for a picnic. There are also a couple of towels in case you want to swim. It’ll be a lovely day for it.”

“Thank you,” you say, appreciating the thoughtfulness behind the preparations. You take the basket and head upstairs to get ready, the idea of spending the day by the pond filling you with excitement. It’s been a long time since you’ve been there last. 

In your room, you change into your bathing suit, a simple bikini that you’ve always loved for its comfort and ease. You slip on a loose shirt and shorts over it, then grab a few essentials before heading back downstairs. Your grandparents have already left, so you make your way out to the barn to prepare the horses.

As you start saddling them up, you notice Logan nearby, focused on his usual tasks. His presence has become so customary to you that you hardly think twice before calling out to him. “Hey, Logan,” you say, catching his attention.

“I’m heading to the pond with the horses,” you tell him, nodding toward the saddled horses. “Grandma’s packed some food and a blanket for a picnic. There are even towels if you want to swim. You’re welcome to join us if you’d like.”

He hesitates, his gaze shifting to the horses, then back to you. After a moment, he mutters, “I’ve never ridden a horse before.”

The admission takes you by surprise, and you raise an eyebrow. “Really? But you’ve been here for over a year. I just assumed—”

He shakes his head slightly, cutting you off. “I’ve always just walked alongside them. Holdin’ onto the reins is one thing, but I’ve never actually been on top of one.”

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “That’s okay,” you say gently. “You can still join us. You can walk alongside like you usually do, and tomorrow, if you’re up for it, I’ll teach you how to ride.”

Logan peers at you for a long moment, considering your words. Finally, he nods. “Alright. I’ll come with you.”

“Great,” you reply, your smile widening. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

With that settled, you both finish preparing for the trip. Logan helps you load the picnic basket, blanket, and towels onto one of the horses. You mount your favourite horse, and gently click your heels into its side, starting the trip as he begins walking, horses in tow, beside you. 

The journey to the pond is beautiful. The green trees that frame the pathway, the soft buzzing of nature, the sound of the horses’ hooves. You and Logan exchange a few words, but for the most part, it’s silent. 

When you reach the pond, the sight is just as picturesque as you remembered. The water sparkles under the sunlight, the tall trees casting dappled shadows across the grassy bank. You untie the horses, giving them plenty of room to graze and explore, before you grab the picnic basket, while he grabs the towels and blankets. Making your way over to the other side of the creek, you find a nice open patch of grass to set up on.

“I’m going for a quick dip,” you say as you go about stepping out of your shorts. Logan, who is sitting down, looks up, but his eyes seem to stop dead in their tracks when they settle on your body. You swear you can physically see his gaze darken as he takes in the sight of you stripping off your shirt. It’s subtle, but a small shiver runs down your spine at the attention nonetheless.

Without waiting for a response, you turn and and head toward the pond. The temperature is perfect: just cool enough to be refreshing without being cold.

You dive in, the reservoir embracing you as a much-needed relief from the heat. Everything feels perfect—the gentle current against your skin, the refreshing sensation of being submerged, and the weightlessness of floating just beneath the surface. 

But when you lift your head out of the water, you and Logan immediately lock eyes.

He’s lying back on the blanket, propped up on one elbow, and his focus is squarely on you. The intensity of his stare is like a physical force, pinning you in place. The world around you seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you suspended in time. Your breath catches in your throat, and you can feel a heat build within you, starting in your chest and traveling down, deeper, and deeper…But then, just as suddenly as it began, he looks away, and if you were any closer, you may have been able to spot the red flush creeping up the back of his neck and to the tip of his ears.

The moment is over, but the enduring feeling of it stays with you as you swim back to the shore. Water drips from your body as you step out, and you reach for one of the towels your grandmother packed. Once you’ve dried off, you walk over to where Logan is sitting and drop down beside him on the blanket. 

You are aware of eyes on you again, though this time there’s a hesitation in the way they travel over your form, as if he’s trying to be discreet but can’t quite help himself. You pretend not to notice as you reach for the picnic basket.

“I’m starving,” you say, pulling out the sandwiches your grandmother packed. “Want one?”

He nods, sitting up a little straighter as you hand him a sandwich. After a few bites, curiosity gets the better of you, and you decide to break the ice. “So,” you start, glancing over at him, “how did you end up here, working on my grandparents’ farm?”

He takes his time chewing and swallowing before he answers, his eyes focused on the food in his hands. “I was passing through,” he says finally. “Didn’t plan on stayin’. But your grandparents… they’re good people. Needed help, so I stuck around.”

You nod, taking another bite. “They are good people,” you agree, thinking of how much they’ve done for you over the years. “But where were you headed before that? Where are you from?”

Logan pauses for a moment, then looks over at you. “Alberta,” he says. “Grew up there, mostly. Been a lot of places since, but Alberta’s home—or was.”

You smile, finding comfort in the fact that he’s sharing a bit more. “Alberta’s beautiful,” you say, remembering the few times you’d traveled through the province. “Why’d you leave?”

He shrugs, glancing out toward the creek. “Needed a change. Wanted to see what else was out there. Guess I got used to movin’ around, never really settlin’ anywhere.”

You nod thoughtfully, taking in his words. “Must have been hard, never really having a place to call home.”

His gaze meets yours, and there’s a hint of something softer in his eyes. “Yeah,” he admits, his voice quieter. “But your grandparents… they’ve made it easier. This farm… it’s good.”

You smile warmly at him. “I’m glad you’re here. You’ve been a huge help to them. And… well, I’ve liked having you around.”

He glances at you, his expression softening just a fraction. “Yeah, it’s been alright,” he mutters, a small, imperceptible smirk on his lips. You smile bashfully.

The next couple of hours pass by in a blur. Not much conversation happens, but rather, these weird periods of time where you feel as though your eyes are glued to him, and he you. It’s different—unexpected—and to put it frankly, you feel a bit shy underneath his gaze. 

Logan is attractive, anyone with eyes could see that, but it really wasn’t just his face that pulled you in, it was him. The way he would silently help you with chores, his soft moments every morning with the horses, the way he subtly looks over your grandparents’ when he thinks they arent watching. All of it. You want to spend more time with him, learn more about who he is, what he likes… all of it.

Soon enough, you both begin to pack up the picnic supplies, load up the horses, and head back to the farm. The horses seem content, having had a fun day grazing and napping by the pond, and you ride beside him as he walks. Every now and then, you catch him peeking up at you from under his eyelashes, his eyes lingering just a bit longer each time. 

You can see your grandparent’s car in the driveway as you near the farm, meaning they’ve also returned from their day in the city. Leading the horses back into the barn, the two of you go through the motions of the familiar routine of unsaddling them, brushing them down, and making sure they’re comfortable for the night. 

Once they’re all settled for the night, Logan steps back, wiping his hands on his jeans as he looks at you. 

“So ‘bout tomorrow…” He begins, shifting slightly, as if unsure how to phrase what he wants to say. “You really think you can teach me to ride?”

You grin excitedly. “Of course. I’ll come out after I’ve eaten breakfast.”

“Alright then,” he says, pivoting toward the doors, his lips twitching just barely, but enough. “Lookin’ forward to it.”

Your fingers are twitching at your sides as you watch him leave. You wait a few moments, then head out as well, closing and locking up the barn for the night. When you step into the house, you find your grandparents in the living room, their faces lit by the soft glow of a lamp as they relax on the chesterfield. 

“How was your day?” your grandmother asks, looking up from her knitting with a bright smile.

“It was nice,” you reply. “The horses loved it, and the pond was as beautiful as ever. We had a picnic, and it was really peaceful.”

Your grandfather, who’s been quietly sipping his tea, sets down his cup and regards you with a knowing look. “And Logan? Did he go with you?”

You nod, feeling a bit of warmth rise to your cheeks at the mention of their helper. “Yeah, he came along. He’s never ridden a horse before, so he just walked with us. But I’m going to teach him tomorrow.”

Your grandparents exchange a look, and your grandmother’s eyes sparkle with amusement and something more tender as she smiles at you. “That’s good, dear. He’s a bit of a mystery, that one, but I can tell he’s got a good heart. Sometimes people just need a little time to open up.”

Chatting with your grandparent’s a bit longer, you listen intently as they fill you in on their activities. You can faintly hear the sound of Logan’s footsteps upstairs as he gets ready for bed. The memory of his gaze on you makes your heart beat a smidge faster. 

—

Logan is unsurprisingly already at the barn when you arrive the next morning. He’s leaning against it, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Morning,” you greet. “You ready to get started?”

Logan glances at the horses, then back at you. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

You lead him over to the horses, choosing one of the gentler ones for him to work with, and begin by showing him how to properly saddle the horse, explaining each step as you go. Logan watches intently, though you can see the slight furrow in his brow as he takes in all the information.

As soon as the horse is all saddled up, you hand him the reins. “Okay, now it’s your turn. Go ahead and mount up.”

He wavers for just a moment, his eyes on the horse as if weighing his options. But then, with a deep breath, he grabs the saddle and swings himself up with ease. He sits stiffly at first, his hands gripping the reins a bit too tightly, but he doesn’t look as uncomfortable as you would have expected. Definitely better than your first attempt.

“You’re doing great,” you reassure him, moving to stand beside the horse. “Just relax. The horse can sense if you’re tense, so try to loosen up a bit.”

He takes another breath, visibly trying to relax his posture. It’s clear that he’s out of his comfort zone, but he’s determined to push through. You walk him through the basics of steering and controlling the horse, keeping your tone calm and encouraging.

After a few minutes, you guide him around the paddock, walking alongside the horse to make sure he feels secure. Logan follows your instructions with serious concentration, his movements becoming more and more natural as he gets used to the rhythm of the horse’s steps.

“You’re doing really well,” you tell him, smiling up at him. “Want to try picking up the pace a little?”

He glances down at you warily at first, but then he nods. “Yeah. Let’s give it a shot.”

You guide him through a gentle trot, staying close enough to offer guidance but giving him enough space to figure things out on his own. The horse picks up speed, and you watch as he adjusts, his body moving in sync with the animal’s movements. There’s a moment when he looks down at you, a spark of surprise in his eyes as he realizes he’s actually getting the hang of it.

As the morning progresses, Logan becomes more comfortable in the saddle, his confidence growing with each passing minute. You spend the next hour practicing different techniques, guiding him through turns, stops, and even a slow canter. He’s a quick learner, and despite the initial awkwardness, you can tell he’s starting to enjoy himself.

Eventually, you lead him back to the paddock, bringing the horse to a stop. He dismounts, still a bit tense but clearly pleased with himself. He hands you the reins, his eyes meeting yours with a look that’s both grateful and slightly sheepish.

“Not bad for a first-timer,” you say with a grin, patting the horse’s neck.

He huffs a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… you’re a good teacher.”

The compliment, simple as it is, makes your heart skip a beat. There’s something about the way he says it, the sincerity in his tone, that makes you feel a warm glow inside. He begins to walk toward the back shed, undoubtedly going to start on his morning chores, but you find yourself wanting to hold onto this moment just a bit longer. 

“Logan,” you call out, stopping him in his tracks.

He turns back, his eyes questioning.

“Thanks for this morning. I really enjoyed it.”

Logan studies you for a second, then he gives you a small smile. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Me too.”

—

The days come and go, blending into one another as your first month at the farm passes by in what feels like the blink of an eye. The sun seems to rise earlier and set later with each passing day, stretching the hours out in a way that makes everything feel both languid and endless, and the heat only intensifies, something you didn’t think was possible. 

Despite the longer days and rising temperatures, you and Logan’s daily routines have now intertwined in a way that feels as natural as breathing. The once solitary moments you spent watching him out with the horses have now become something shared. Every morning, without fail, the two of you meet by the barn, where the horses greet you with soft nickers and eager eyes, ready for their daily ride.

He’s improved a lot. He no longer looks uncomfortable or stiff, and he’s able to guide his horse with an ease that surprises even him. You can see the subtle shift in his posture, the way he holds the reins with a sureness that wasn’t there before. 

And just like when you work on the farm together, sometimes, the two of you ride in a comfortable silence—the only sounds being the soft snorts of the horses and the creak of leather saddles. But more often than not, you chat about everything and nothing, your conversations easy and unforced. 

Logan, who once spoke only in short, clipped sentences, has begun to open up more, sharing bits and pieces of his past, his thoughts, and his observations about life on the farm. You learn that he has a sarcastic, dry sense of humor, one that often catches you off guard and leaves you laughing in spite of yourself. He even joins you for your usual morning breakfast of eggs and toast, something that started only a few days into your new morning ritual. 

Yet throughout all of this, there’s a something growing between you and Logan, simmering just beneath the surface. 

It manifests in the little moments, the stolen glances, and the accidental touches that don’t really seem to be as accidental as you may think. It’s in the way his eyes follow you when he thinks you’re not looking, how they intensify when you laugh, or how he seems to fixate on your hands as you work, as if he’s memorizing every movement. 

You’re not immune to it either. You find yourself hyper-aware of his presence, the way his proximity seems to alter the air around you. In one afternoon, you’re in the barn, and sorting through a pile of hay bales. It’s hard, sweaty work, but the it’s kind that leaves you with a satisfying ache in your muscles by the end of the day. Logan is beside you, lifting the heavy bales with ease, his shirt sticking to his back, outlining the broad expanse of his shoulders. You catch yourself staring, and quickly look away, but not before he flicks his eyes over to yours.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can see it in his eyes. It’s like they’re telling you that he knows exactly what you were thinking, where you were staring. 

And when you’re both tending to the horses, something happens again. You’re brushing one down, your fingers working through its mane, when Logan comes to stand beside you, so close that you can smell his natural musk. 

“Here, let me help,” he says lowly, not waiting for a response as he reaches out, his hand covering yours. You glance up at him, and he’s already looking down at you. You’re acutely aware of the feel of his hand over yours, the callousness of his skin against your own, and the way his thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles as if testing the waters.

Another time, while fixing the fence out in the field, you’re both working in tandem, passing tools back and forth. At one point, you reach for a hammer at the same time Logan does, and your fingers brush against his. It’s a fleeting touch, but it feels like a spark in the summer heat, and for a heartbeat, you both freeze, caught in that split second of contact.

“Sorry,” you mumble, pulling your hand back, but the apology feels hollow in the face of what you’re actually feeling.

“No problem,” Logan replies, his voice gruffer than usual, as he hands you the tool. 

You can feel it. You’re not stupid. You know something is there, and you wonder how much longer you can resist it—how much longer you can pretend that everything is fine. But Logan is a hard man to read, and you’re not sure if what you’re feeling is reciprocated, or if it’s just wishful thinking on your part. So you stay silent, letting the tension simmer, hoping that one day, one of you will have the courage to break it.

—

You’re not the only who see’s it. 

“You know,” your grandmother says one afternoon, as you’re helping them with a puzzle. “Logan has really come out of his shell since you’ve been here.”

You blink, and glance over at her. “What do you mean?”

She looks up from the table, her eyes twinkling with a mischievous light. “Oh, you know exactly what I mean,” she says with a knowing smile. “He’s been here for over a year, and in all that time, we’ve never seen him quite like this. He’s always been polite, of course, but distant. Reserved. But now… well, it’s clear he’s become quite comfortable around you.”

Your grandfather places a piece in the board and nods in agreement. “She’s right, you know. Logan’s always been a bit of a mystery, keeps to himself mostly. But ever since you arrived, he’s been different. More… engaged, I suppose you could say.”

You feel a flush of heat rising to your cheeks, your heart skipping a beat at their words. “I-I don’t know about that,” you stammer, trying to brush it off. “We just… work together a lot. That’s all.”

Chuckling, your grandmother leans forward slightly. “Darling, don’t be modest. It’d be obvious to anyone that there’s something going on between the two of you. He’s practically a different man when he’s around you. Why, just the other day, I caught him actually smiling while you two were out riding. I nearly fainted!”

“You’ve managed to do in weeks what we couldn’t do in a year. Whatever it is, it’s good for him. And for you, too, I’d wager,” your grandfather pipes in, sending you a wink. 

Fidgeting with your hands, you feel like a deer caught in headlights, and you’re honestly not sure how to respond. “We’re… friends,” you say, though the words feel inadequate even as you say them. 

The woman across from you raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Hmm? Well, maybe so. But it seems to me that there’s potential for something more there, if you’re both willing to see it.”

“I… I don’t know,” you mumble, feeling flustered under their scrutiny. “He’s just… he’s a complicated person.”

“Everyone’s complicated, dear,” your grandfather says gently. “But that doesn’t mean they’re not worth the effort. Oftentimes, the best things in life are the ones that take the most time to understand.”

There’s a moment of silence as their words sink in, the weight of their observations leaving you feeling exposed and uncertain. You hadn’t fully allowed yourself to consider what you felt, let alone what Logan felt. But now, with your grandparents’ teasing remarks, it’s impossible to ignore the possibility that there might be something more between you and Logan than just a budding friendship.

Your grandmother reaches over and gives your hand a comforting squeeze. “Just take it one day at a time, sweetheart. Whatever happens, we’re here for you.”

—

The following week, you find yourself itching for something new—a change in scenery. While the farm has been everything you’ve wanted and more, you think it’d be nice to go on a drive, explore a small laketown you used to go to when you were younger. So, one morning, as you and Logan are unsaddling the horses, you muster the courage to extend an invitation that’s been on your mind for days.

“So…,” you begin, trying to keep your tone casual. “I was thinking… maybe we could take a break from the farm this weekend and go into town. You know, just to get out for a bit, see something different.”

He pauses in his work, his hand stilling on the brush as he peers over at you with a raised eyebrow. “The town?” he repeats, as if the idea is foreign to him.

“Yeah,” you say, turning to face him fully. “I need to pick up a few things, and I thought it might be nice to have some company. We could grab lunch, maybe do some exploring… It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. Just a change of pace.”

There’s a beat of silence as he considers your offer. His expression is guarded, as always, but you can see the wheels turning in his mind. It’s clear that the idea of leaving the farm, even for a day, is something he hasn’t done in a long time—if ever.

“I don’t know,” he eventually gets out, his tone uncertain. “Busy places are not really my thing.”

You feel a pang of disappointment at his hesitation, but you’re not ready to give up just yet. “I get that,” you say. “But it’s not about how many people are there, really. It’s about taking a break. You’ve been working so hard, and I think you deserve a day to relax. Plus, I could use your help carrying a few things,” you tease, hoping to coax him into agreeing.

Logan’s lips twitch as if he’s suppressing a smile, and for a split second you think he’s going to turn you down. But then he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Alright,” he says, the word coming out almost reluctantly. “I’ll go.”

You beam, unable to hide your enthusiasm. “We’ll leave early on Saturday, okay?”

“Saturday it is,” he confirms.

—

The rest of the week passes quickly, your anticipation for the trip into town growing with each passing day. You find yourself planning out the day in your head, imagining the places you might visit, the food you might try, and most of all, the chance to see Logan in a different environment—away from the farm and the routine that has defined your relationship so far.

So, when Saturday morning arrives, you’re up before the sun, too excited to sleep in. You dress in your favourite casual clothes—something comfortable but a bit more put-together than your usual farm attire—and head downstairs, where you find your grandparents surprisingly already up and about.

“Off to the city today, are you?” your grandmother asks with a smile as she hands you a thermos of coffee for the road.

“Yep,” you reply, unable to keep the grin off your face. “and I’m dragging Logan along with me.”

Your grandfather chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, that should be interesting. Don’t think he’s much of a city slicker.”

“Be patient with him, dear,” your grandmother adds, laughing. “He’s stepping out of his comfort zone for you.”

“I will,” you promise, taking the coffee and heading out the door.

Logan’s already waiting by the truck, and when you see him, you can’t help but falter in your steps. The shirt he’s wearing clings to his muscular frame in a way that draws your eyes, accentuating the strength that’s always been evident. His hair is slightly disheveled, and there’s an almost shy quality to the way he stands there, his hands shoved into his pockets as if he’s not quite sure what to do with them.

You try to hide the fact that you were just checking him out as you ask, “Ready?” 

“‘Course,” he replies, climbing into the passenger seat as you slide behind the wheel.

The highways are empty and the sky is clear. You chat easily about the things you need to pick up, the cute boutiques you want to visit, and even a few memories of the last time you visited the place. Logan listens more than he talks, but you can tell he’s starting to relax, the tightness in his shoulders easing as the distance passes by.

When you finally reach the town, the energy along the streets is a stark contrast to the quiet calm of the farm. The buildings tower above you, and the sidewalks are crowded with people going about their day. 

Stepping out of the truck, you glance over at Logan. It’s clear that he’s out of his element, but there’s something cute about the way he takes it all in. “Where to first?” He questions. 

“Well,” you say, smiling at him, “I was thinking we could grab some breakfast at this little café I know, then hit a few shops. There’s a bookstore I love that I think you’d like too.”

He nods, his expression softening slightly at the mention of a bookstore. “Lead the way.”

You spend the morning wandering around, exploring the shops, and enjoying a nice breakfast together. At the bookstore, you lose track of time, browsing through the shelves and picking out a few titles that catch your eye. Logan surprises you by finding a book on woodworking, something he’s always been interested in but never had much time for. You can see the way his eyes light up as he flips through the pages, and it makes you smile, happy to see him enjoying something for himself.

After spending a few more hours of exploring, you suggest one last stop before heading back—a lookout point that offers a stunning view of the lake and the surrounding landscape. Logan agrees, and you drive up to the spot, parking the truck and leading him to a bench that overlooks the water.

The view is breathtaking. You both sit in silence for a while, just taking in the scenery, allowing the peacefulness of the moment to wash over you. He is staring out into the water with a thoughtful expression when you decide to interrupt his stupor.

“Logan,” you begin, the gentle breeze from the lake rustling through the trees, “what did you think of me when we first met?”

He turns his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a hint of surprise, as if he wasn’t expecting the question. Then he pauses for a moment, looking back out at the lake, as if gathering his thoughts.

“I thought you were different,” he says slowly, each word carefully chosen. “You didn’t act like you were above the work. You jumped right in, got your hands dirty. Most people wouldn’t do that.”

You smile at the memory, remembering how you started working together the moment you met. After all, you weren’t just a visitor—you were there to help, and you knew your way around the farm. “And now?” you ask, your heart beginning to beat just a little faster.

He remains quiet for a few moments, his focus still on the water. When he finally speaks, he’s timid, almost bashful, as if he’s revealing something he’s kept hidden for a long time. 

“I think you’re beautiful,” he admits, his eyes flickering back to yours. “I thought that the first time I saw you, too. It was one of the first things that hit me. But it’s more than that. Now… now I think you’re perfect.”

The sincerity in his words catches you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless. Your mouth parts in surprise, and all you can do is gawk, trying to process the depth of what he’s just said.

Logan shifts slightly, his gaze dropping to his hands as he continues. “I was… cold at first,” he murmurs, “Didn’t know how else to act. You weren’t like anyone I’d ever met. I didn’t know how to handle it. But what really got to me was how you didn’t shy away from that—you didn’t let my attitude push you away. That changed somethin’ in me.”

You want to say something—you should say something—to acknowledge what he just said, bearing in mind that was probably the most amount of words to come out of his mouth in one go, but for some reason, you can’t. The only thought running through your head is that you want to reach out and touch him, to close the small distance between you.

“What about you?” His voice is slightly more tentative now, and he definitely just asked that to fill the silence that you were ungraciously leaving. “What was your first impression of me?”

His question snaps you out of your thoughts, and you gulp, now knowing that your first impression of him was very different to his of you. 

“Honestly? I thought you were rude as hell,” you say a bit nervously, watching as his eyebrows raise slightly in surprise. “You were so gruff, so serious… I didn’t know what to make of you at first. But then I saw the way you took care of the horses, the way you looked after the farm, and… it didn’t take long for my opinion to change.”

He shifts, clearly caught off guard. You can see the faintest hint of a blush creeping up his neck as he takes in what you said, and it makes your smile widen. 

“And…You’re kind,” you continue. “There’s this gentleness about you that I wasn’t expecting.” You suck in a shaky breath. “I think you’re pretty perfect now too, if I’m being honest.”

The tint on his cheeks only deepens, and he looks away, flustered. It’s a rare sight—seeing him like this—and it makes you swoon. 

“I don’t know about that…” He mutters, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

“I do,” you reply firmly. “You’re more than you think you are, Logan.”

The genuineness in your words makes him look back at you, his eyes searching yours for something—reassurance, maybe, or confirmation that what you’re saying is real. Slowly, almost unconsciously, you both lean in closer, locked in a stare, your breaths mingling as the space between you shrinks. You can see the way his eyes flicker down to your lips, and you feel the same pull, the undeniable urge to close the distance and see what it would feel like to kiss him overriding all your senses.

Your chest pounds as you inch closer, until you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. But just as your lips are about to meet, a loud, piercing scream shatters the moment.

You both jerk back, startled, and whip your heads around to see a kid nearby, his face scrunched up in disgust as he frantically wipes at his shoulder. “Ew! A seagull just pooped on me!”

The kid’s parents rush over, trying to console him as they pull out napkins, and you can’t help but burst out laughing at the absurdity of the interruption. The sound of your laughter is contagious, and soon Logan is chuckling a bit too.

“Well, that’s one way to kill the mood,” he mumbles under is breath.

You’re still laughing, the remnants of your almost-kiss still in the back of your mind, but you know the moment has passed. “Yeah,” you agree, trying to catch your breath. “Guess we should be thankful it wasn’t us.”

Logan grins, warm and wide. “Yeah, maybe we should.”

—

Driving back to the farm, neither of you say a word about what almost transpired at the lookout point, and you’re fine with that. There’s no need to fill the silence with words, no need to dissect the moment or what it could have led to. You don’t want there to be any sort of pressure between you, any expectations. Even if, deep down, all you want is to climb him like a tree, to feel the solid strength of him beneath your hands, and to finally give in to the attraction that’s been building throughout your time together. 

Pulling into the driveway and shutting of the engine, you turn to him, and turns to you, his eyes meeting yours. “Thanks for today,” he says sincerely “I… liked it.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. “Me too,” you reply, your voice just as soft. “We should do it again sometime.”

“Yeah,” Logan agrees, his gaze holding yours a hint longer before he turns away, his hand reaching for the door handle. “We should.”

—

A few days later, as everyone sits around the kitchen table after dinner, the evening suddenly takes on a new tone when your grandmother clears her throat and shoots an exchanges a conspiratorial glance at your grandfather.

“We’ve got some news,” she begins, her eyes shining with excitement. “Your grandfather and I have been invited to spend a week at the Summers’ cottage by the lake.”

You smile, genuinely happy for them. The Summers are longtime friends of your grandparents, and the idea of them getting a little vacation away sounds perfect. “That sounds wonderful! You two deserve some time to relax.”

“Well, we thought so too,” your grandfather says. “But that means we’ll be leaving the farm in your capable hands.”

It takes a moment for the full meaning of his words to sink in. You and Logan… alone… for an entire week.

Your heart skips a beat and you glimpse over at Logan, who’s sitting across the table from you, his expression neutral as he listens to your grandparents. But there’s a quick flash of something that suggests he’s as aware of the situation as you are.

A voice brings you back to the moment. “Now, don’t worry,” she says with a reassuring smile. “There’s not much that needs doing, just the usual stuff. And we’ll be back before you know it.”

Your grandfather leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he scans between you and Logan. “We trust you both to keep everything running smoothly,” he says, before he drops his voice to an embarrassingly low tone. “And to keep an eye on each other.”

You can’t help but blush at his not-so-subtle innuendo, and you quickly drop your gaze to your hands, trying to hide the warmth creeping up your cheeks. The thought of spending an entire week alone with Logan is both thrilling and nerve-wracking. The lack of a buffer—your grandparents—means that literally anything could happen. 

“Don’t worry,” you finally manage to say. “We’ve got this. You two just enjoy your time away.”

Logan, who has been uncharacteristically quiet during the conversation, finally speaks up. “Yeah,” he agrees, “We’ll take care of everything.”

—

Over the next couple of days, your grandparents pack their bags and make sure everything is in order before they leave. You help them with the small details, ensuring that the house is stocked with food and that all the usual chores are delegated properly.

Finally, the morning of their departure arrives. You stand by the front door, watching as your grandparents load their bags into the car. Your grandmother gives you a warm hug, “Take care, dear,” she says, kissing your cheek before hopping into the passenger’s seat. 

Your grandfather shakes Logan’s hand, giving him a firm nod. “Take care of things.”

He hums. “I will. Enjoy yourselves.”

With that, your grandparents climb into the car, and after a final wave, they drive down the long, dusty road that leads away from the farm. 

There’s a pause. 

Suddenly, you’ve become extremely aware of how close you two are standing. 

“So,” you start, hoping to ease a bit of the electricity beginning to spark. “I guess it’s just us now.”

Logan swallows thickly, his adams apple bobbing up and down. “Yeah,” he replies a bit deeper than usual. “Just us.”

“What should we do first?” you ask as casually as possible. 

He shrugs slightly, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile. “Same old, I guess. Can’t let everythin’ fall apart right when they leave..”

“True. Let’s start with that.”

The two of you move into that familiar routine of farm work. Mucking out the stalls, hauling bags of feed from the shed to the barn, tending to the vegetable garden, you do it all. But even though you’re busy with work, there’s an underlying jitter to everything you do, a heightened awareness of each other’s presence that just wasn’t there before. And it’s impossible to ignore. Each time you make eyecontact it feels charged, almost like a promise of what’s to come, and it has your heart racing with exhilaration. 

That evening, after the chores are done and the sun has dropped below the horizon, you’re in the kitchen, preparing dinner while Logan finishes up outside. The quiet of the farmhouse feels different without your grandparents there—emptier, yet somehow more intimate. Domestic. You can hear the soft creak of the floorboards as he enters the house, the sound of him washing up in the sink.

And as the evening wears on, you find yourself drawing out cleaning the dishes, not wanting to end the day just yet. Logan stays close, drying the plates and placing them back in the cupboards.

“Long day,” he grunts.

“Yeah,” you agree, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “But it was nice. Peaceful.”

His eyes find yours. “Peaceful,” he echoes, though the word seems to hold a different meaning when he says it.

You both stay there, unmoving, until eventually, he takes a step back, as if sensing that the tension between you needs a moment to cool. “I’ll check on the barn,” he says gruffly. “Make sure everything’s locked up for the night.”

“Okay,” you reply, your voice softer than you intended.

Logan leaves to check on the barn, while he’s gone, your thoughts are a whirlwind of anticipation and nervous energy as you busy yourself with finishing up the remaining utensils. 

Finally, unable to stay inside any longer, you decide to step outside, hoping the cool evening air will help clear your mind. You sink down onto the old porch swing, and pull your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them as you observe the darkened landscape.

A few minutes later, you hear the soft crunch of gravel underfoot, and you glance over your shoulder to see Logan approaching the porch. He walks up the steps and pauses momentarily as if debating whether to join you. Then, with a soft sigh, he settles down beside you, his shoulder just barely brushing against yours.

It’s now or never, you think.  “We have the place to ourselves now,” you state. 

He turns his head slightly, giving you a sidelong look, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a small, knowing smirk. “Indeed we do,” he replies.

The simple acknowledgment—and the way he says it—makes your pulse quicken, and you can’t help the small huff of exasperation that escapes your lips. He’s always been so tame, so careful with his words, and while you appreciate the way he’s respected your space, you’re done with tiptoeing around.

“Do I need to spell it out for you, or—” But before you can finish the sentence, Logan moves. 

His hand reaches out, rough and warm, to cup the back of your head. Your eyes widen, and your heart thuds in your chest upon realizing what’s about to happen. And with a firm but gentle pull, he closes the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours.

You lose track of your surroundings—the night, the farm, everything—as you give yourself into feel of his lips against yours. It’s intense and claiming, a declaration of everything you’ve both been too afraid to say.

His hand tangles in your hair, holding you close as he deepens the kiss, his other hand coming to rest on your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt as if to ground yourself in the moment, to make sure this is real, that he’s really here, kissing you.

Moving your lips against his with equal fervor, you pour the longing you’ve been feeling all this time into it. The taste of him is intoxicating. It’s something that’s so uniquely him—so uniquely Logan—and you can’t get enough. You’ve imagined this moment in the dead of night, but nothing compares to the reality of it—to the way he kisses you like you’re the only thing that matters.

When you finally pull back, out of breath and a little dazed, Logan’s forehead rests against yours, his breath coming in heavy, uneven pants. His eyes are smoldering and intense and his smirk is gone, replaced by a deep look of yearning.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admits huskily. The way his voice has dropped three octaves isn’t missed on you. You can practically feel it vibrate down in your pu—

“You’re not the only one,” You whisper, interrupting your own thoughts. The connection between you has finally been acknowledged, and you feel a huge sense of relief.

He exhales a breath you didn’t realize he was holding, and his hand slips from the back of your head to cup your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I don’t think I can hold back anymore.”

You lean in, pressing another kiss to his lips. “Then don’t,” you whisper against his mouth.

The spark that has been ignited between you flares up into a full blown fire, and the next kiss quickly becomes more heated. Without breaking it, Logan’s grip on your waist tightens and you let out a soft gasp as he effortlessly lifts you onto his lap. Your legs straddle his hips, and you can feel the beginning of something growing underneath you. 

The sensation is dizzying, and you instinctively press yourself closer, your fingers curling into his hair. The swing beneath you creaks softly with the movement, but neither of you pays it any mind, too lost in each other to care.

You shift slightly on his lap, grinding your hips against him, and the movement draws a deep, throaty groan from him. He pulls back just enough to catch his breath, “God, you drive me crazy,” and then he’s on you again. 

It’s wild. Hot, and heavy, and utterly consuming. His hands move from your hips to grip your ass, guiding you to move against him. It feels so good, you release a relieved sigh into his mouth, before dropping your head onto his shoulder, too caught up in the pleasure. 

The sounds of your moans fill the air as he continues grinding you against him, his own hips bucking up into your core. 

Biting your lip, you lift your head slightly, a teasing smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as your eyes dart toward the open door of the farmhouse. “You know,” you begin tilting forward to bite his ear, your voice low and playful, “as much as I’m enjoying being out here, I think we should take this inside.”

Logan’s lips quirk up into a sexy smirk. “As you wish,” he murmurs.

As you stand up, your legs a little shaky from what just occured, you peek back at him, and see that he’s already risen to his feet. Stepping closer, you slip your hand into his as you guide him toward the door. But just as you reach the threshold, a thought crosses your mind, and you pause, turning to look up at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“We gotta go to your room,” you say, running your hands up and down his arms, feeling them flex underneath your touch.“I don’t think I’m ready to defile my childhood bedroom just yet.”

He raises an eyebrow, a grin spreading across his face as he catches on to what you’re implying. “Oh, is that so?” he asks, his tone filled with mock seriousness. You wink in return. grabbing one of his hands and dragging him inside. 

By the time you reach his door, you’re practically vibrating with excitement, your breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. The room is simple, and the bed, neatly made, sits in the center of the room. You can’t help but laugh at the thought of how different it will look in just a few moments.

You turn to face Logan, but he doesn’t give you time to say anything, his hand reaching out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a touch that is both tender and possessive. His thumb traces the line of your jaw as he cups your face, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation.

But there’s none. You’ve never been more sure of anything in your life. The need for him, for this, is so overwhelming that it’s taking every ounce of strength in you to keep from throwing yourself onto him. 

His lips find yours once more, this time more urgent, more demanding than before. He pulls you closer, his body pressing against yours. “Are you sure about this?” he asks in between kisses.

“Absolutely,” you mumble breathlessly, your hands sliding up his chest to curl around the back of his neck. The word barely leaves your lips before Logan reacts, a low hum rumbling in his chest as if your answer has unleashed something primal within him.

He kicks the door shut behind him with a force that makes the room tremble slightly, and in the same fluid motion, he pins you against the wall, lips never leaving yours as his body cages you in.

One of his thighs nudges its way between yours, the rough fabric of his jeans brushing against the sensitive spot between your legs. The friction is maddening, electric, and it hits just right, sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine that rips a moan from your throat.

The sound only spurs Logan on, his own need evident in the way he moves against you. He moves his mouth to your neck, trailing up and down it with hungrily. The feel of his mouth on your skin, the way his teeth graze your pulse point, causes you to arch against him, your hands clutching at his shoulders for support.

You can feel the warmth of his breath as he presses his lips to the sensitive spot just below your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin, as his hands explore your body. They’re everywhere—one gripping your hip, holding you steady against the wall, the other sliding up your side to brush against the curve of your breast. His fingers find the hem of your shirt, tugging it up, and you lift your arms to help him, the fabric sliding up and over your head before it’s tossed carelessly to the floor.

Bringing his lips back to yours, the kiss is fiery, stealing all the oxygen from your lungs as he pushes you even harder into against the wall, his thigh still working its magic. You can’t help the way your hips rock against him, the need for more—more pressure, more friction, more him.

Logan seems to sense your desperation, moaning when his hand slips down from your breast to the waistband of your jeans. He fumbles with the button for only a moment before he gets it open, his fingers slipping inside to brush against the soft skin of your lower belly. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze tempting and filled with a desire that matches your own. 

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he mutters, voice thick with want. “No idea why I waited so long.”

You can barely think, let alone form words, but you manage to breathe out, “Don’t need to wait any longer.”

The words seem to be all the encouragement he needs. In one swift motion, he slides your pants and underwear down your legs, his hands careful as he helps you step out of them. You’re left standing before him, bare and vulnerable, but the way he’s staring at you—like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen—makes you feel powerful, desired in a way you’ve never felt before.

He pulls you back into him, and this time, you can feel the hardness of his own desire against yours—bare— and it drives you insane. His grip finds you thighs as he lifts you off the ground and carries you the short distance to the bed. He lays you down gently on his bed, and breaks away long enough to strip off his own clothes. The sight of him—strong, muscular, yours—makes your breath catch in your throat. 

There’s a moment where he’s standing above you, just staring, his chest rising and falling with the effort to control himself. But then he’s on you again in an instant, his body pressing yours into the mattress, his lips claiming yours and leaving you dizzy.

You lean up into him, your hands sliding up his back, feeling the play of muscles beneath his skin as he moves against you. The need for more builds up to a breaking point, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips as he grinds into you, hard and insistent against your core.

“Logan,” you breathe out. “Please.”

His name on your lips seems to break the last of his control, a desperate groan ripping out of him. He begins travelling down your body, taking his time, his lips tracing a slow, deliberate path, each kiss leaving a burning trail in its wake. His hands follow the curve of your waist, your hips, his fingers digging into your skin with just the right amount of pressure to make you gasp. Your body is practically begging for him, and you know that you’re on the verge of begging too.

Once he makes it down to your thighs, he nudges them apart, giving him better access to you. He nips and bites at them, moaning along with you. And then, with a deep, almost possessive growl, he finally lowers his mouth to you, his tongue flicking out to taste you. You react immediately, a wave of pleasure coming over you, your hands fly into his hair, tugging at the strands as you try to pull him closer.

Logan’s hands tightening their grip on your thighs as he delves deeper. You’re lost in the sensations, the pleasure growing and growing until it’s all you can think about, all you can feel. Your body is on fire, every nerve ending alight with desire, and the only thing that matters is the way he is making you feel, the way he’s driving you toward a release that you know will be earth-shattering.

And then, just as you think you can’t take any more, he pulls back slightly, his lips still hovering over you as he looks up at you, eyes black. “Tell me what you want,” he commands.

You can barely think, let alone form coherent words, but you manage to breathe out, “You. I want–I need you.”

That seems to be wanted he wanted to hear, so with a final kiss to your inner thigh, he moves back up your body, connecting his lips to yours again. You can taste yourself on his tongue as his hands slide under your thighs, lifting you slightly to position himself at your entrance.

The anticipation is almost too much, the need for him so immense that you can’t hold back the whimper that escapes your lips as begins to push, the tip of him just barely inside you, teasing, testing your patience.

“Oh god,” you moan. “I need you. Please.”

And then, finally, Logan gives you what you’ve been wanting since that time at the pond. With one slow, deliberate thrust, he pushes inside you, filling you up completely. 

Everything seems to stop for a moment, the only sound the ragged gasps of breath between you, the only feeling the overwhelming pleasure of being joined together like this, of finally having what you’ve both wanted for so long.

He pauses, lowering his head in the crook of your neck as he lets you adjust to the feeling, his breath hot and heavy against your collarbone. And then he begins to move, slow and steady at first, each thrust driving you closer to the edge, the coil inside you tightening with every stroke. The feel of him inside you, the way he moves against you, is everything you’ve been dreaming of and more, and you can’t help the way your body responds to him, your hips lifting to meet his every movement.

The gentle, deliberate pace soon gives way to something more urgent, more desperate, as the need for release takes over. Each thrust drives you higher, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable level, until teetering on the edge.

And then, he sends you over it. The orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, your entire body shuddering with the intensity of it, your voice lost in the cry of pure ecstasy that escapes your lips. Logan follows you a moment later, his own release crashing into him hard, his body trembling against yours as he buries himself deep inside you, his breath hot and ragged against your neck as a loud, deep, groan reverberates in his throat. 

Neither of you can move, lost in the aftermath of your shared pleasure, your bodies still entwined, as you come down from the high. He tightens his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your temple as he tries to catch his breath. And when he does, he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes.

“You okay?” he murmurs. 

You nod, reaching up to cup his face in your hands, your thumbs gently brushing over the rough stubble on his cheeks. “I’m more than okay,” you whisper back, voice full of emotion. “That was… everything.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of Logan’s lips, and he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, his arms still wrapped securely around you. “Yeah, it was,” he agrees.

Eventually, he eases out of you with a tenderness that makes you sigh softly. He walks out into the washroom, and gets a warm towel, wiping you and himself down. After, he settles beside you on the bed, his arm draped over your waist, holding you close. The two of you stay like that for a long time, wrapped in each other’s arms, until the exhaustion of the day begins to catch up with you, and you feel your eyes growing heavy.

“Get some rest,” you hear, “We’ve got plenty of time… no need to rush.”

You nod sleepily, snuggling closer to him as you let your eyes drift shut, the steady pulse of his heart lulling you into a peaceful sleep. 

—

You wake to the feeling of warmth and security, Logan’s breathing against your ear, his arm still clinging possessively over your waist. The events of the previous night come rushing back, and a satisfied smile curves your lips as you snuggle closer to him.

But it isn’t long before that peaceful contentment becomes something more. As you move around, the feel of his skin against yours, the warmth of his breath on your neck, and the memory of the passion ignites a familiar heat low in your belly

He stirs beside you, his hand tightening around your waist as if sensing your thoughts. Pulling you closer, his nose nuzzles against your neck, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin there. 

His voice is rough with sleep as he murmurs against your skin, “Morning…”

The simple word, spoken in that deep, gravelly tone, is enough to make you ache for him all over again. You turn in his arms, meeting his gaze, and the look in his eyes—dark and hungry—tells you that he feels the same way. 

The morning starts in the best way possible, the both of you breathless, spent, and with the knowledge that this isn’t a one-time thing. The connection between you is too strong, too consuming to be satisfied with just one night or even one morning. And as the day stretches out before you, the realization hits that this hunger, this need, will follow you both everywhere you go.

Throughout the week, the two of you are completely insatiable for each other. It’s like the floodgates have opened and have no intention of closing. Every moment you’re together becomes an opportunity. 

It starts innocently enough—just a kiss in the barn when you’re supposed to be checking on the horses. But that kiss quickly spirals and before you know it, Logan has you pressed up against the wooden wall, his lips on your neck, his hands roaming your body. The scent of hay and leather mixes with the heady scent of him as he takes you right there, the barn filled with the sound of your moans and the creak of the old wooden beams.

Or when you’re in the back shed, ostensibly looking for some tools to finish up some chores, the moment the door closes behind you, and you both know there’s no point in pretending. Logan’s hands are on you before you can even say a word, lifting you onto the workbench with ease as he claims your lips in a searing kiss. 

At the pond too, the tranquil, secluded spot now holds an entirely different kind of allure to what it had before. One afternoon, you find yourselves there again, the cool water calling your name. But as you strip down to swim, the sight of him watching you is enough to make it seem less inviting than the feel of his hands on your skin. You pull him in with you, the rippling water doing nothing to muffle the sounds of your shared pleasure.

By the end of the week, you’re exhausted but in the best possible way, your body and soul both filled with the kind of satisfaction that comes from truly giving in to what you want, to who you are together. And as the sun sets on the final day of your week alone together, you find yourselves back in Logan’s room, the place where it all began. 

The bed, once neat and tidy, is now a tangle of sheets and pillows, the evidence of your shared moments of bliss scattered around the room. Logan lies beside you, his hand gently stroking your hair as you rest your head on his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

“This week… it’s been more than I ever expected,” he admits quietly, his fingers brushing gently over your skin. “I don’t want it to end.”

You lift your head to look at him, your eyes meeting his, and you can see the same emotion reflected there—the same desire to hold on to what you’ve found together. “It doesn’t have to,” you reply. “We don’t have to go back to the way things were before.”

Logan’s hand tightens around yours, a small, almost imperceptible smile curving his lips. “No, we don’t,” he concurs. 

—

The morning your grandparents arrive, you and Logan are in the kitchen, finishing up lunch. Your grandmother is the first to step through the door, her face lighting up as she sees the two of you. “We’re back!” she announces, her voice cheerful as she sets her bag down by the door.

You rise to greet her, giving her a warm hug. “How was the trip?”

“Oh, it was lovely,” she replies, her eyes twinkling as she pulls back to look at you. “The cottage was just as beautiful as ever. And the Summers send their love.”

Your grandfather enters next, a gleeful smile on his face as he takes in the sight of you and Logan in the kitchen, together. “Everything go smoothly while we were gone?” he asks.

You blush. “Yes, everything was fine.”

Then they do that thing they’ve been doing the whole time you’ve been with them, where they exchange a glance—and share a look that speaks volumes. It’s the kind of look that only comes from years of understanding each other without words, and you can tell they knew exactly what they were doing when they left you and Logan alone for the week. 

“Well, that’s good to hear,” your grandmother says with a mischievous smile, her eyes flicking between you two in a way that makes you wonder just how much they’ve guessed.

“Seems like you two managed just fine without us.” Your grandfather says, patting Logan on the shoulder. 

You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you steal a look at Logan, who meets your eyes with a small smirk. It’s a way to tell you that he’s just as aware as you are of what your grandparents are thinking. But there’s no embarrassment on his face, only a quiet confidence, a certainty that whatever happened between you was exactly what was meant to be.

—

The next month flies by, the routine of everything staying largely the same except for one thing. You and Logan are inseparable, drawn to each other like magnets, and with each passing day, it seems like that attraction only grows stronger. 

It’s not just the passion that binds you, though that spark is always there, and most often times doesn’t go ignored. It’s the little moments that fill your days—the way his hand brushes yours as you walk side by side, the way he rests a gentle hand on the small of your back when you’re working together in the barn, or the way his fingers grip your waist as he helps you mount your horse (even though you don’t need it). 

The work on the farm continues to get done, but there’s a new layer to everything you do—a sense of shared purpose, of partnership. And even though the days are long and tiring, you find yourself looking forward to each task, knowing that Logan will be there beside you, sharing the load, offering his quiet support and his easy, comforting presence.

As the sun begins to rise one breakfast, you grandfather announces that he needs to run into town to pick up some tools for a repair project. He’s heading out the door, and as he grabs his keys from the hook, he turns to Logan with a nod.

“Logan, why don’t you come along? Could use an extra pair of hands,” he suggests, his tone casual.

Your man agrees without hesitation, always ready to lend a hand. But as he follows your grandfather out the door, he pauses for just a moment, whirling back to look at you, and what you see on his face is insane—there’s a deep yearning, a longing that tugs on your heartstrings. It’s almost as if to say that he wishes he could stay, he doesn’t want to be apart from you, even for the short trip into town. 

You have half a mind to join them. 

The intensity of that look lingers in the air long after he’s turned away and stepped out the door, and your grandmother doesn’t miss a thing. Once the men are in the truck and begin to drive off the property, she turns to you with a teasing smile, one eyebrow raised in amusment. 

“He’s really got it bad for you, doesn’t he?” she says affectionately. “I’ve never seen a man look at a woman the way he looks at you.”

Your heart blooms in your chest. “I guess he does,” you reply, your voice soft,  breathless as the weight of your feelings for him wash over you. 

Your grandmother chuckles, stepping closer to place her hand on your arm “And you’ve got it bad for him too, I’d say.”

You laugh. “Yeah, I do.”

—

Several weeks later, it’s raining. That should have been the first sign that this day wasn’t going to go to plan. You’re sitting inside, curled up next to Logan on the old chesterfield, his arm wrapped around you as you both enjoy the warmth and quiet of the afternoon. 

But then you decide to go through some emails—just a quick check, nothing more, to clear out any lingering notifications. You unlock your phone and start scrolling through your inbox, Logan’s fingers tracing lazy circles on your shoulder as you do. Most of the emails are routine—newsletters, updates, the usual clutter—but then you see it, nestled among the others like a tiny, unexpected bombshell.

It’s an email from the company you applied to months ago, the one you almost forgot about in the blissful haze of farm life. The subject line makes your heart skip a beat: Congratulations! Offer of Employment.

Your breath catches, and you sit up a little straighter, your heart pounding in your chest as you open the email. The words leap off the screen: We are pleased to offer you the position, starting in two months.

You stare at the email, a mixture of shock and elation washing over you. This is it—your dream job, the opportunity you’ve been working toward for years. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted, the kind of position that could set the course for your entire career. But as the initial wave of excitement begins to ebb, a heavy weight settles in your chest, pulling you back down to earth.

You glance over at Logan, who’s still relaxed beside you. His eyes are closed, his head resting back against the couch. The sight of him, so content, makes your heart ache, because with this job offer comes a harsh reality: accepting it means leaving him, leaving this life you’ve built together, at least for a while. And you don’t know when—or even if—you’ll be back.

Suddenly, his eyes flutter open in response to your shifting, and he looks over at you, concern flickering across his features. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “I… I just got an email,” you begin shakily as you turn the screen toward him so he can read it for himself.

He takes the phone from your hand, his eyes scanning the email. You watch his expression carefully, searching for any sign of what he’s feeling. At first, there’s no reaction, just the steady, focused way he reads the words. Yet as he reaches the end, you see it—the subtle tightening of his jaw, the pinching together of his eyebrows. 

He hands the phone back to you wordlessly.

Then, “This is what you’ve been waiting for.” His voice is steady, but there’s a sadness there too, a heaviness that you can’t ignore.

You nod, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Yeah… it is.”

There’s a long stretch of nothing, the sound of the rain outside filling the silence between you. Logan looks away, his gaze fixed on the fire as if trying to find the right words. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, measured. “You have to take it.”

You swallow hard. “But what about us? I don’t know when I’ll be back… or if I’ll even be able to come back.”

Logan’s hand tightens around yours, his grip firm, grounding. “We’ll figure it out,” he says, though you can hear the strain in his voice, the way he’s trying to hold back his own emotions for your sake. “You’ve worked too hard for this to pass it up.”

His words are supportive, encouraging, but you can see the the way he’s starting to close in on himself, as if already bracing himself for your departure. The thought of being apart from him is unbearable.

You lean into his touch, your head resting on his shoulder, and he wraps his arms around you, holding you close. “I don’t want to leave you,” you whisper as the tears finally spill over.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there as if trying to convey all the things he can’t bring himself to say. “I don’t want you to leave either,” he admits. “But I’ll be here when you get back. However long it takes.”

And so begins the countdown to your departure. You always knew it was going to come, always knew you were going to have to leave your grandparents again, but you didn’t expect to find the love of your life here, and that makes it so much harder.

—

The remaining two months become a bittersweet blend of cherished moments and a looming sense of inevitability. Each day feels both precious and fleeting, a constant reminder that your time together is running out, and it shapes every decision, every action, every word between you. 

In the past, your days had been filled with the rhythm of farm life—early mornings, long hours of work, and evenings spent in each other’s arms, exhausted but content. But now, there’s a conscious effort to carve out time just for you two, time that’s not dictated by chores or routine. You start taking more trips to the pond or into town, something you hadn’t quite as often before. 

These dates are different from the intense, passionate moments you’ve shared on the farm—they’re softer, more tender, as if you’re both trying to imprint each other’s presence into your memories. You hold hands as you walk on the streets, your fingers intertwined, and every now and then, Logan will pull you close, pressing a kiss to your temple or your lips, as if he needs to reassure himself that you’re still there with him.

Even the way you make love changes during these months. The hunger and desire that had once defined your physical relationship are still there, of course—Logan’s touch still ignites a fire in you, and the need for each other still burns as hot as ever—but now, there’s a new dimension to your intimacy, a slow, sensual depth that hadn’t been there before. 

Your grandparents, upon hearing the news, immediately noticed the change too. While they were so extremely happy for your new job opportunity, they also knew what it meant. They’ve seen the way you and Logan have grown closer, the way your connection has deepened, and there’s a quiet sadness in their eyes whenever they see you together. 

It’s not a sadness for themselves, but for the both of you. 

They don’t say much, but their understanding is palpable. They seem to give you more grace when it comes to doing work around the farm, trying to volunteer and do as much as they can so you two can spend time alone. No matter how much you refuse, they insist, pushing you two out the door with picnic basket and blankets. 

Sitting on the porch one evening after a long day, your grandmother comes out to join you. She sits beside you, Logan’s arm is draped around your shoulders, and for a brief second, the three of you just sit in silence, watching the sunset.

“You know,” your grandmother begins, her voice soft and filled with emotion, “I see the way you two look at each other. It reminds me of your grandfather and me when we were young.”

You smile, leaning into Logan’s side as you listen to her. “You two have always been such an inspiration,” you say, meaning every word.

She chuckles, a wistful sound. “It wasn’t always easy, you know. There were times when we had to be apart, times when I wasn’t sure if we’d make it through. But we did. And looking at you two now… I know you’ll find a way.”

Logan squeezes your shoulder gently.. “We’ll figure it out,” he says, echoing the promise he made when you first told him about the job.

Your grandmother nods, reaching out to pat your knee. “I believe you will. But just know… it’s okay to be sad, to be scared. That’s part of loving someone.”

The words resonate with you, and you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

She smiles, a small, sad smile that holds a lifetime of wisdom. “You’ll be alright, my dear. Both of you.”

The days continue to slip by, and as the final weeks approach, your chest constantly feels tight. You try to make yourself feel better by lying in each other’s arms at night, whispering about the future, about the dreams you have, and the plans you’ll make when you’re together again. But still, it’s sad. 

—

Your last day creeps up on you like a shadow at dusk—inevitable, inescapable, and suddenly there, looming over everything. You wake up with a rock on your heart, the realization that this is it—your final day on the farm, your last full day with Logan before everything changes.

He is still asleep beside you, holding you close, his face peaceful in the early morning quiet. For a moment, you just watch him, memorizing the lines of his face, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, the way his hair falls across his forehead. You want to remember everything, to carry this image of him with you when you leave.

With a soft sigh, you carefully slip out of his embrace, trying not to wake him. You pad quietly to the window, staring out at the familiar landscape that has become so dear to you. The fields, the barn, the trees swaying gently in the breeze—it’s all so beautiful, so full of memories.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you feel the wetness on your cheeks, and you quickly wipe the tears away, not wanting to start the day with sadness. But as you turn back to the bed, you see that Logan is awake, his eyes open and watching you. He doesn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes says it all—he knows what today means, and he feels it just as deeply as you do.

Wordlessly, you crawl back into bed, curling up against him, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek, grounding you in the moment.

“Morning,” he murmurs.

“Morning,” you whisper back, your voice trembling slightly as you press your face into his chest, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to fall..

You just lie there together, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of the day pressing down on you both. Eventually, Logan pulls back slightly, his hand cupping your face as he looks into your eyes. “Let’s go to the pond,” he says delicately. “Just you and me.”

You nod, unable to find the words to respond. The pond has always been your special place, a sanctuary where you’ve shared so many intimate moments, where it feels like it all began, and so it’s only right that would spend your last day there, away from everything else, just the two of you.

You decide to walk to the pond. Logan’s hand is warm and solid in yours, and you hold on to it tightly, physically unable to tear yourself from his touch. And when you reach it, a fresh wave of emotion crashes over you. 

You and Logan stand at the water’s edge, just staring out into the pond. Then, you turn to him, your eyes filled with tears, and without hesitation, he pulls you into his arms, holding you close.

The kiss that follows is desperate, full of the need to feel connected, to hold on to each other for as long as you can. It’s not like the slow, sensual lovemaking of the past weeks—this is something desperate. Stumbling back toward the soft grass by the water’s edge, Logan gently lays you down, his hands trembling slightly as he undresses you, tears stinging behind his eyelids. As he moves over you, his body pressing against yours, there’s only this moment. 

With his skin against yours, his breath on your neck, your bodies move together. Tears spill from your eyes as you hold him tight, your hands unable to stay still, running over every part of him you can touch, needing to feel him, to anchor yourself. His lips find yours again, and the kiss is deep, full of all the love, all the emotion that neither of you can put into words. 

It’s a kiss that says goodbye, that says I love you, that says I’ll wait for you.

After reaching the peak of pleasure, you cling to each other, the tears flowing freely now, a mix of sorrow and love and everything in between.

Logan holds you close, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath ragged, his eyes wet with tears. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’ll always love you.”

“I love you too,” you choke out. “More than anything.”

—

Driving away from the farm was probably the hardest thing you've ever had to do in your entire life. Harder than moving away for university, harder than securing your first full-time job, harder than living alone in a city where you knew no one. This was different—this was leaving behind a piece of your heart, a part of your soul that you knew would never be whole until you returned.

Your hands grip the steering wheel tightly, your knuckles white as you try to focus on the road ahead, but it’s impossible to shake the image that’s burned into your mind—the image of Logan and your grandparents standing on the porch as you drove away. The sight of them, standing there side by side, watching you leave, is something that will haunt you for a long time. 

Logan, his stoic expression barely masking the pain in his eyes, his hands clenched at his sides as if holding himself back from running after you. Your grandmother, her face a mixture of sadness and pride, eyes glistening with unshed tears. And your grandfather, standing tall and strong, but with a heaviness in his gaze that spoke of understanding, of experience, of knowing just how hard this had to be.

The tears that had been threatening to fall finally break free, streaming down your face as you drive, blurring your vision and making it hard to see the road ahead. You swipe at them angrily, frustrated with yourself for breaking down like this, but it’s no use. The emotions are too strong, too overwhelming, and soon you’re bawling your eyes out, the sound of your own crying filling the car. 

You can barely catch your breath, each sob wracking your body with a force that leaves you feeling drained, exhausted, and utterly broken.

—

The time apart is worse than you ever imagined it would be. In the beginning, you and Logan make every effort to stay in touch. The calls and texts are your lifeline, little threads that keep you connected to the farm, to him, to the life you left behind. 

At first, you talk every day. his voice a comfort, a reminder that you’re not alone, that he’s still there, waiting for you. He tells you about his days, about how he still rides the horses every morning, just like he used to when you were there. 

But as time goes on, the time between each call grows. Your demanding work schedule, and the unreliable service in the countryside, make it harder and harder to find moments when you’re both free to talk. The texts, once long and filled with details about your lives, become shorter, more practical. You try to stay connected, but the distance feels like a growing chasm between you, one that neither of you can quite figure out how to bridge.

Years pass by in a blur. You have no time to spend at the farm, with it being too far away for just a weekend trip, and other commitments seem to always get in the way. 

Then, one day, the call comes—the call you’ve dreaded but somehow always knew would happen. It’s your grandmother, her voice trembling as she tells you that your grandfather has passed away. 

You take leave from work immediately, making arrangements to drive back to the farm and spend a night. The funeral is simple, attended by a few close friends and neighbours, but the absence of your grandfather is felt deeply by everyone.

And he’s there too—Logan. He’s standing off to the side, his broad shoulders slightly hunched, his face etched with grief. When your eyes meet, it’s as if no time has passed at all. You walk over to him, and without a word, he pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly as if afraid to let go. 

The few years apart, the pain of the distance, all of it melts away in that embrace. You bury your face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him that you’ve missed so much, and the tears you thought you had run out of begin to fall. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, everything hitting you at once—the loss of your grandfather, the years you’ve spent apart, the life you could have had together.

He hugs you tighter, his hand gently stroking your hair. “I miss you,” he murmurs thickly. “Every damn day, I miss you.”

You spend the rest of the day together, holding each other, talking, catching up, and remembering your grandfather. Logan tells you about the farm, about how he’s kept things going, but you can hear the weariness in his voice, the toll that time and loneliness have taken on him. It’s clear that the farm hasn’t been the same without you, just as your life hasn’t been the same without him.

Later that evening, after the guests have left and the house has grown quiet, your grandmother pulls you aside. Her eyes are tired, full of sorrow, but there’s a calm acceptance in her expression. “I’ve made a decision,” she says softly, her voice steady. “I’m going to sell the farm.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, but before you can protest, she continues. “Not to just anyone,” she adds quickly. “To Logan. He’s been more than just a farmhand, you know that. This place is as much his as it was ours. But… I need to move into permanent care. I can’t manage on my own anymore.”

You nod, understanding but feeling a deep sadness all the same. The farm has been a part of your life for so long, and the thought of it changing hands, even to Logan, feels like another loss. But there’s also a sense of relief, knowing that it will be in good hands, that it will stay in the family, in a way.

That night, you’re tangled in Logan’s arms. Leaving him the next morning is just as hard the second time as it was the first.

—

Five years since that fateful summer have passed, and in that time, your life changes in ways you never expected. You’ve built a successful career, made some amazing friends, travelled the world, but the hustle and bustle of city life has taken its toll. The stress, the strain, the dissatisfaction—it begins to weigh on you more and more. 

So, you make a decision.

You quit your job, find something remote, something that allows you to work from anywhere, as long as you can drive into the city every few weeks to drop off documents. It’s a drastic change, but it’s one you need. You realize that the life you want, the life you’ve been yearning for, isn’t in the city. 

It’s back at the farm.

As you step out of your car, you see him. He’s by the paddock, feeding the horses apples, just like he used to. His back is to you at first, but then he turns, and his eyes meet yours, and time stops. 

There’s a lifetime of emotions in that look—love, longing, hope. Most of all, there’s recognition, as if both of you know that this is it, that this is the moment you’ve been waiting for all these years.

And when you’re finally standing in front of him again, he reaches out, his hand trembling slightly as he cups your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek the same way it did all those years ago. 

----

[oreo-creampie]

“𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮! 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐛𝐢𝐠!!”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬! monster fucking, half giant/half demon!toji has four arms, succubus!reader, dacryphilia, belly bulge from his cum and cock, his cum squirts out of you when he pushes on your stomach, hints of fucking his cum into you, one slapp across the face, hints of pussy drunk!toji, hints of breeding, ‘cock is too big’, you have a magical pussy it can all fit, hentai logic, toji has an inhuman cock, begging, safe word isn’t used but the color system is mention, his cocik has a knot, his stomach has a mouth and tongue, mind break/cock drunk, calling him daddy once, mocking/degradation, size kink - he'a a little over twice your size, mean mean toji, pain kink, some choking

Oreo: I hope you enjoy i polished this up in my drafts, imma be writing that satosugu fic to try to distract myself

Crying, Toji presses on your bulging stomach pinning you to the wall. “Can't! You're too much!" He everywhere holding your hands above your head, softly squeezing your throat. Pulling at your pierced nipple whilst stuffing himself deeper.

Sneering at you. "But weren't you begging for me to fuck ya? Bending over in front of me showing me your wet cunt like you're in heat." Crying from the sharp sweet pain when Toji roughly shoves another pussy spitting thick inch into you. Your pussy quivers and your toes curl as your eyes roll back.

Quickly rolling his hips, the unforgiving wall and his hands keep you still at the mercy of his cruel, sharp thrusts. Sretching your dripping wet pussy, reaching too deep making it hard to think. When you can feel his pulse in his puffy veiny cock.

Toji pushes on your stomach helping you feel how deep he is better than before. Slamming into your bruised cervix with his coke-can-thick cockhead. Each inch of Toji's veiny cock gets thicker.

Bottoming out h fat cockhead tugs on your soft wet cunt. His warm cum squirts out from Toji pushing on your stomach. Groaning, "Fuck you still had so much cum in ya. Such a shame it's all trickling out." Toji towers over you, your legs bound by rope in a mating press.

The tip of your horns reaching below his thick pecs. Softly grazing his hard muscles when he leans his chest forward. His chiseled jaw drops and soft scarred lips part with an erotic, deep moan. Your pussy clenches. "So fuckin' tight, need to feel ya grippin' my knot when it swells up the next time I cum. Isn't that what a whore like you is made for? Flicking your clit with his stomach's tongue.

Toji sneers "Stupid lil slut you've only taken half my cock. Come on you're a succubus don't t be so fuckin' pathetic! You can handle more than this, what color is my lil' cock sleeve at?" His condescending tone is riling you up.

Struggling to keep your voice steady when he loosens his grasp. "Greeeeennnn! Fuckyou! You're just really big!" Yanking you off the wall, grabbing your waist with two large hands. Keeping his third hand firm around your throat. "I can take moooooreeeee! Nnnnn fuck tooo big."

Mercilessly slamming the rest of his cock in with a deep groan. "I'm too big? Nnn fuck that's so hot, seein' your sloppy wet cunt struggling to take me. Makes me want to break ya." Twisting your pierced nipple, squeezing your throat, fucking you harder. Licking your puffy, sensitive clit.

Quivering you feebly twist your hips but it's pointless. There is nowhere to run. Held in the air all you can do is take Toji's thick, veiny cock.. You can't think when he forces his thick knot into your sore wet cunt splitting you open.

A sweet painful pleasure overwhelms you, arching your back, moaning, your bound thighs trembling. Mindlessly crying, "Nnnnpleasemmmmfucknnnnndaddddyyyy!" Drunk off his fat cock is rubbing, stuffing, stretching out your sensitive sore cunt. Trembling every time he slams into your bruised cervix, the pain and pleasure indistinguishable and overwhelming.

His massive body shivers, his broad shoulder curling in. Closing his eyes, biting his bottom lip leaning his head back. Savoring how your pussy pulses around fat cock. Toji looks down at you, there is a feral hunger in his dark eyes. Blue like the ocean's depths.

His condescending smirk makes your pussy throb. "I thought my cock was too big yet your takin' my cock like you wanna be my new glory hole,." Groaning, fucking you harder with each word. "Fiesty lil' brat! I'mma break your pretty lil cunt." Twisting your hands behind your back, crushing your neck. You're a limp toy in his grasp taking his cock in your squelching cunt.

He smirks, "Keep grippin' my cock like that and I’m gonna make sure you can’t walk after this.” Slapping your cheek, grabbing the base of your horns, slamming his fat cock into you with a loud groan. Rubbing your clit with his stomach's tongue.

His fat cock, large hands, large wet tongue, and thick knot tugging on your cunt when he bottoms out are all you can feel. You can't be bothered to think when you're stuffed full. All you need is to be Toji's pretty cock sleeve that he fucks full of cum every time his cock gets hard.

Oreo’s m.list

[inmaki]

number one sorcerer (and virgin) .

synopsis: req! in which your boyfriend — notorious for boasting about how good he is in bed — turns out to be all bark and no bite (until you give him some guidance, at least).

pairing: virgin!switch!gojo x f!reader

wc: est. 6k?

incl: unprotected sex, pull-out method, lots of dirty talk, a bit of teaching gojo, petnames, manhandling, size kink, clit play, praise kink, edging (himself), teasing, mocking, fingering, oral (f + slight m), cum swallowing

a/n: ty for awakening smtn in me anon it was nice to be writing a full fic again!! hope im not too rusty,, this is straight up filth tho so mdni

back when satoru and you were just friends, he liked to make it very clear to your circle of peers that he wasn’t just good at sex.

no, according to himself, he was some kind of sex god — to match his power level in sorcery, of course.

and obviously, who was anyone to think otherwise? the great gojo satoru; such a cocky and confident demeanour paired with angelic white hair, piercing blue eyes, and a tall sculpted body that other guys at the gym double-take at. him..? a virgin? hah! good one.

satoru believes that he’s done a rather spectacular job at keeping his reputation sky-high.

the only problem was.. now he had a girlfriend with high expectations to please.

since the day you’d gotten together — going multiple months strong — satoru was starting to sweat more and more knowing that his rather crucial fabrication was bound to be brought up sooner or later. you had your needs just like him, and satoru wouldn’t blame you if you were a bit worried about why he hasn’t initiated anything; y’know, since he was supposedly eros in human form and all that.

little did you know your boyfriend felt equally frustrated. for slightly different reasons.

“bro, it’d be hot if she was a virgin, but me?!” flopping back against the armrest, gojo lets out a theatrical groan while his best friend — the only other person to know of his dark secret — snickers against the cushions nearby.

“everything’d be fine if you didn’t pretend to be some incubus that makes girls cum with a snap of his finger,” geto quips unhelpfully.

satoru lifts his head, sneering when he realizes that the raven-haired man was much too busy scrolling on his phone to notice how he’s resting a pair of dirty shoes on his white couch. “that would be pretty cool..” when he only receives a disgusted glance, he huffs, suddenly feeling a bit vulnerable as his thoughts wander further. “how’m i even gonna tell her? what if she doesn’t trust me anymore?”

at last, suguru looks up with a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “you know y/n isn’t like that. just.. wait for her to initiate something and go with the flow,” he advises, lips curling into a knowing smirk.

“you find a way to be good at everything, anyway, toru. she’ll be begging for you in no time.”

as usual, geto knows him too well, because those last few words have gojo shooting up from the sofa with a grin. “ya think so?”

“hell yeah, man.” the two idiots end the discussion by dapping each other up, a confident gleam in both of their eyes.

only a couple days later, satoru discovers that going with the flow isn’t as easy as suguru advised. with your plush lips sucking his bottom one through occasional moans, along with a delicate pair of nails scratching perfectly at his undercut, he already felt himself getting breathless and aroused like a teenager.

perhaps you’ve put him under a spell; how is it that he lasts through prolonged battles while barely breaking a sweat, but having your cute hand move to rub up on his abs and pecs send his nerves into overdrive? it wasn’t like making out wasn’t uncommon for the two of you, this time it just felt so passionate with the way your hips moved to straddle his, tongue practically begging for entrance while the movie on screen was left long forgotten.

gojo can’t help but groan as your muscle explores his mouth, core ever so smoothly grinding on his bulge and igniting heat through his entire body. even as you pull away to take a breath, his grip on your waist remains stable as if you’d disappear at any moment— growing even tighter with the way you bore into his eyes hungrily. “satoru..”

your unusually seductive voice makes him audibly gulp. “y— yeah?” he whispers, glancing to the hand thats now moving down over his grey sweats. shit, this was too much, was he dreaming? he should do something, pinch himself before—

“touch me, please?” as you voice your request, you squeeze his dick so nicely that satoru swears he nearly explodes in his boxers.

he swallows, words getting lost in his throat. “i— i uh...”

for the first time in history, satoru has been rendered speechless, and you visibly panic at this realization. yet when you try to carefully maneuver off his lap and give him space, the clutch on your waist intensifies. “what— are you okay? what’s wrong?” you murmur, brows creasing with concern.

though you never brought it up, satoru’s worry about your confusion was correct; you’d been expecting him to jump your bones a week into your relationship, but seeing how he never forced anything and remained respectful was cute.. at first. after a month of rejection and being pushed away whenever things got too heated, insecurities were bound to start brewing inside you.

he better have a damn good explanation.

“i’m fine,” he reassures, “it’s just— i should probably tell you something..” refusing to meet your eyes, the sorcerer resorts to drawing shapes against the skin under your t-shirt. in other situations, this would feel soothing, relaxing even — but currently, his lacking and lingering touch made you want to rip the hairs off your head.

all you wanted was to finally get a taste of your steaming hot boyfriend. what could he possibly need to say right now? you ponder, hasn’t he been dying to finally show off how amazing he is in bed?

“yes..?”

“it’s actually a funny story, ahaha..” he stalls, chuckling nervously as you turn his jaw to make eye contact. a feeling of impatience and neediness pulls through you, but you contain yourself with a deep breath.

“spit it out, satoru.”

there was no going back now, right? “so.. i’ve uh— i’ve never actually done this before.”

you blink.

“you’re a virgin?”

it was difficult to believe your own words; it sounded wrong no matter how hard you tried to wrap your head around it. satoru being inexperienced? the satoru with a rock hard 6 pack? the satoru with biceps that bulge out of his shirts and a face sharp enough to be sculpted by aphrodite herself? your satoru?

it sounded ridiculous, but the ugly pout rising across his lips tells you that it wasn’t a prank after all. “hey, don’t call me that, now it sounds way worse!”

a sigh escapes your lips, arms folded across your chest. “so all those never have i ever games and stories you told about one night stands were— mph!" before you know it, a large hand is covering your mouth.

“listen, how about we talk about this after having some fun?” a surprisingly determined gleam shines in your boyfriend’s icy blue eyes, making your thighs clench together in excitement.

who were you to say no to that?

—

next thing you know, pillows support your back as a shirtless satoru lies directly in front of your clothed crotch, hot breath making you wiggle around impatiently.

“jus— just take it off me, toru. so damn slow—“

“baby,” he scolds, looking genuinely upset, “this is my first time seeing a pussy in real life and you’re ruining it with your lack of patience.”

you can only roll your eyes and groan, head flopping back against the cushions in boredom. there was no way to predict how satoru’s first time would go, but you never expected it’d be this agonizing on your end — nor that he’d be so bossy.

though luckily, after another deep breath, your panties are gently tugged down your legs, and satoru can only inhale as he watches your poor hole clench around nothing. it only made sense that after all that dry humping and making out that your neediness increased, and it didn’t help that you could clearly see the way satoru was not only rock hard, but much bigger than average through his grey sweats.

“ooh.. oh shit..” like the invasive pervert he is, satoru moves even closer to the point where your thighs rest on his muscular shoulders before taking two fingers to spread your lips apart. this way, he has a clear view of the place that needs him most, and it makes a furious blush blossom on your cheeks.

“s— satoru.. what are you doing?” now you felt like the virgin, desperately attempting to shut your legs with no avail. damn this big idiot and his strength.

suddenly, his piercing eyes snap up to you, a feral look in his gaze. “shit, how’m i gonna fit in this little hole?”

you can’t deny the way his dirty words does something to you — not that you’d ever admit it. “that’s why you gotta prep me, toru. y’know..” you gulp, “fingering, or like.. eating me out.”

in response, you get a cheshire grin. “sounds fun. show me how you do it, sweets.”

“w-what?”

satoru leans back, attemping to hold in a mischievous smile. “how else am i gonna learn?”

even masturbating alone makes you flush in slight embarassment, so doing it in front of someone else — your cheeky, shamleess boyfriend no less — had you drowning in nerves. the bigger problem was that his words held a strong point; you’re supposed to be teaching him for his first time and ensuring it’s as enjoyable as possible.

these reminders make you mumble out a gentle fine, breath stuttering as you spread your legs further for the man in front of you.

satoru is now resting his weight on the palms of his hands, looking laid back and relaxed, but evidently still focused at the way your fingers move to unclasp your bra with skill. “damn..” as your tits are freed, he finds himself needing to adjust his sweatpants and nearly letting out a pathetic noise you would definitely tease him for.

you gulp, trying to ignore his blatant gawking. “it’s good to.. y’know, tease a bit before getting straight to it. makes it feel better — for me, at least,” you explain while massaging your chest, hiding surprise at the way he sternly nods in understanding.

now that you think about it, something tells you this is the most focused satoru has ever been in a learning environment.

after a bit more pinching and fondling, your hands slide down to your stomach and thighs, trying to get your breathing to relax. having gojo watch you do something so private was.. surreal, but you know for a fact you’ve never been this wet before, if that meant anything.

once you finally move down to your most intimate part, satoru takes a deep breath. he watches as you use your fingers to reveal a small bundle of nerves, pulsing and desperate for attention. “this is the clit, toru. s’very important.”

his eyes light up. “oh, i know that one!” he announces proudly, “i remember suguru saying i have to.. uh, worship it or something.”

you snicker at the thought of geto giving out sex pointers. “mhm, sometimes penetration isn’t enough, so you need to give it attention or i can’t really finish.”

gently, you start massaging the bud in circles, humming at the feeling of finally getting some type of relief. you move down to your hole to collect some of your wetness before bringing it back up, letting out a moan in satisfaction.

the way satoru licks his lips as you finally plunge a finger into your wetness has you shivering, but you remind yourself that for now, this was simply a demonstration and that you’d get a taste of him later.

after adding another, you attempt to reach your sweet spot by curling upwards, but it seems that even your hopelessly inexperienced boyfriend could tell that it was getting nowhere.

“aw,” he pouts teasingly, “lil’ fingers can’t reach anything, huh?”

“shut— shut up, satoru.”

before you know it, he’s moved onto his stomach again, face to face with your pussy and gripping your now soaked fingers. “you use these pathetic things when y’masturbate, huh? imagining my dick while having such tiny fingers up your cunt? kinda offended, babe..”

you feel your tummy flip, where did he learn to talk like that?

“do you have to be so vulg—“ you’re cut off by a choking gasp as a warm, wet muscle licks a stripe from your hole all the way to your clit.

“thanks for the lesson. ‘think i got it from here,” is all satoru says before he’s diving in, slurping up as much of your essence as possible before latching his plush lips right onto your poor little clit.

you can’t help but wiggle around at the jump in stimulation, but that only lasts about five seconds before a muscular arm presses you firmly against the mattress, rendering you trapped and unable to escape to his ministrations.

“hey, slow down!” your words are coincidentally yelped out right as he wiggles a much bigger finger into you. it explores your insides eagerly, caressing and feeling up what satoru believes will be his new favourite place.

“wow..” sluuurp, “so warm n’ soft in here..” he happily mumbles against your pussy. the vibrations of his now deeper voice shoot through you like electricity, eliciting another choked whine from your throat.

it felt like he was just toying with you; looking way too content drinking up everything you offered, fluid rushing down his chin and nose pushed firmly against your pelvis to inhale your scent.

suddenly, he’s jabbing his fingertip right into that pocket of sunshine that makes your eyes roll back, a loud whimper leaving your throat before you could stop it. “satoru, right there!” he swiftly seperates from your clit just to mumble out a here? in confirmation, prodding your sweet spot over and over in record breaking speed.

when you nod, he grins smugly, now adding another finger to stretch you further. “mmmph, this is pretty fun. could lie here all night.”

luckily, you barely process his words, much too busy enjoying the best finger-fuck of your life — and this was only his first time, you remember, what will the bastard do to you once he’s got some practice in?

a shaking hand tumbles into his snowy locks, attempting to pull him back weakly. “wait, m’gonna cum, toru—“

gojo growls almost animalistically, tugging your hand back onto the sheets. “then fuckin’ do it,” he demands. “c’mon, i’ve earned it, right?” then, he sucks even harder, fingers slamming and curling and making the loudest squelch you’ve ever heard.

“see?” he continues, “lil’ cunt wants to cum so bad for me. knows who 'er owner is already.” his filthy words definitely take part in the way your orgasm hits like a train, body shaking and toes curling as you let the feeling of bliss take over you. you flinch at how swiftly his tongue licks up everything you give him, the fingers in his hair tugging harder in overstimulation.

“toruuuuu..”

he simpers, tasting his cum-covered lips. “yeeees?”

“this— this is your first time, i should be making you feel good.”

slowly but surely, your eyes reopen, meeting your boyfriend’s relaxed gaze as he rubs your thigh affectionately. “dunno what you’re talking about, i felt pretty good just now.” when you only pout further, he snickers, pushing some of his bangs back smoothly. “c’mon, there’s lots of time for you to get me off later. m’ too excited for the main event..”

at last, he reaches for his sweatpants, more than excited to tug them down and finally give his aching cock some freedom. satoru doesn’t think he’s ever had a more painful boner in his life, but it was all worth seeing you release all over his tongue and fingers.

right as he finishes untying the knot, pale fingers drifting up to the waistband, you’re smacking him away to make room for your own hands. he watches with an open mouth as you pull his boxers down along with his pants, leaky, hard cock springing free and nearly hitting you in the face.

shit, of course his dick is perfect too. with a bit of white hair at the base, bulging veins adorned the entirety of his massive length, and the tip — shit, the tip was even bigger than the rest, mushroom shaped and angry red. his balls looked equally agitated and full — the epitome of breeder balls, and you gulped at the thought of him filling you up with everything they had.

now his question from earlier made sense, and he seems to be enjoying the realization on your face from his spot kneeling on the bed. “like what’cha see?” he coos, one big hand lowering to relieve the aching in his balls.

“toru, i don’t know if you’ll even fit. why— why do you have to be so big?” it’s annoying, you want to say — but the white-haired man has already laid back and manhandled you onto his chiseled stomach, a yelp escaping you at his suddenness.

he’s smiling so hard at your little dilemma that it’s almost sick, hands resting behind his head cockily. “tell me more while you ride me, baby.”

after processing that all you’ve been doing is feeding his size kink and inflating his already massive ego, you frown. “i’m serious, toru!”

“what!? i’m serious too!” the man defends with fake innocence, blue eyes shining in glee. “you’re the expert here, remember? ‘supposed to be teaching me how it’s done.”

all you do is grumble whilst moving down to sit between the sorcerer’s thighs, lightly prepping him with your fist and a dribble of spit from your mouth that has the white-haired male biting his lip. “fuck..” satoru can’t recall how many times he’s masturbated to the mental image of this exact moment, but now that it was finally happening, he promised himself to savor it as much as possible.

when you move to finally straddle him, hole hovering just above his length, he begins bucking his hips up desperately. “hurryyy…”

“are you in heat or something?” you snort, giving him a dirty glare as if you weren’t about to let him inside you.

“for you? yeah.” satoru offers you a cheesy wink and grin that dissipates the second your warmth encloses his aching tip. his hands slowly move up to grip your waist, jaw clenching in an attempt to not slam you down to his balls right then.

“ngh… fuuuck, baby,” he groans as you ever so carefully move down another inch. “jesus.. you’re sooo damn tight. dunno’ how you’re even taking me..”

you squeeze your eyes shut in attempt to bare the discomfort for him, a slight crease growing between your brows. “satoru, fuck— hurts..” he immediately reopens his eyes in worry, searching for a way to take your pain away.

yes, he could already tell that he enjoyed being meaner with you in bed — but it’s never fun if you don’t feel good as well. though he luckily recalls your lesson from earlier, moving a soft thumb down to massage your clit in tight circles.

when you jolt and nearly faceplant into his neck, he only grins proudly, now using one veiny hand to help push you further onto him. “theeere we go.. aw, feel better?”

“mhm, feels full..” you mumble back, looking down to see that you — unbelievably — still had a couple inches to go.

satoru feels like he’s about to burst on the other hand, thriving in pure ecstasy at the feeling of your walls massaging him just perfectly. he can’t help but thrust up and force his last inches inside you, an echoing smack! of skin against skin singing through the room and eliciting a startled yelp from your throat.

“toru!” despite your scolding, you can’t deny the perfection in which his tip kissed your g-spot effortlessly. his hands felt ever so soothing, comfortingly running up and down as you sat impaled on his cock, wiggling around to get comfortable and ruining him in the process.

just as you start to adjust, you feel yourself being lifted up. “m’ sorry sweets..” gojo suddenly voices, “i can’t..”

“huh? what do you m—ah!” you’re flipped onto your back before you know it, knees resting on the shoulders of your boyfriend who has a gleam in his pupils that you’ve quite frankly never seen before; he looked feral.

satoru carefully pulls out until only his tip is encased in your warmth, and everything is calm for a moment. you both take a deep breath, and he smiles down at your already fucked-out face with pride. “satoru—“

then he’s pushing back in with all the strength his massive hips can produce, and you think if it weren’t for his hands wrapped around your thighs, you would’ve got pushed off the bed entirely. you unintentionally let out the loudest sound of the night, and this sets him off.

now he was getting brutal, bullying your cunt with hit after hit against the spot that has drool dripping down your cheek and eyes crossing. you can’t even stop the pathetic noises and symphonies of right there! that leave your lips, no matter how hot your cheeks flush in embarrassment. it felt as though every time his dick jabbed back in he was right up in your tummy, veins pulsing and ensuring your pussy is molded to the perfect sleeve for him.

“toru, shit— nghh, faster, please! feels s’good!”

“nghh, toru, faster! ahaha..” he mocks you — of course he does, but picks up the pace nonetheless — now holding your lower body up so that your knees dangle higher over his shoulders and each stroke is angled exactly where you want him. “so cute when you’re gettin’ stuffed full, baby.”

he leers as you send him the harshest expression you can manage, reaching down for your clit and giggling as you start squirming in an attempt to escape the overwhelming pleasure. this bastard is having way too much fun, you realize, moans being forced out of you almost tauntingly.

tonight you discover that satoru’s way of fucking is rather animalistic, frantic, thrilling, and with the sole purpose of making you both feel as good as possible. if you want him to go slow or make love to you, you’d probably have to ask beforehand — or perhaps tie him up so you could have your fun in peace.

if your insides weren’t being rearranged, you’d grin at the thought of your boyfriend restrained and at your mercy. another night, you promise yourself.

“tightest pussy ever f’my first time baby.. haah.. can’t believe i’ve been missin’ out on this.” for once, something praising comes out of his big mouth, breathes getting cut short every time you involuntarily squeeze him harder. he swears there’s no better feeling then what you were giving him right now, not even singlehandedly resurrecting himself using the reversed curse technique.

and while no injuries have ever left a scar on gojo satoru, he decides that the claw marks you’re ruthlessly digging into his back will stay as long as his body allows — why should he hide how good he’s made you feel despite being a virgin an hour prior?

maybe if he’s in the mood to brag, he’ll show them to suguru later.

“feels good toru, fuckin’ me so good,” you feel the way his whole body reacts to your praises, a deep growl melting from his lips as the sounds of skin slapping increasingly grows in volume.

“babyyy,” he pants, legs being held higher while he digs deeper into your guts, “m’gonna cum.. need you to cum with me.“ the twitching of his length inside you gave away the fact that gojo has practically been on the edge ever since he pushed into you — and while he knows it’s completely normal to cum prematurely on your first time, when has he ever not gone above expectations?

in a split second you’re flipped onto your hands and knees, veiny hands pushing you into a deep arch while your boyfriend gives his body a moment to relax, pinching his base (a rather perverted method he’s learned by edging himself while masturbating) between his thumb and pointer.

when you needily wiggle your hips in an attempt to find his cock again, he grins boyishly. “lookin’ for this?” he sings the words right before plunging his entire length back into you, abusing your g-spot while a lanky finger impressively finds the bud between your legs right away (a skill that most ‘experienced’ men you’ve previously been with fail to achieve), circling and pinching in a frantic attempt to make your orgasms arrive in sync.

“fucking hell.." you whine, the new angle making his tip bump against spots that have never been rubbed before. “can feel you so deep..”

“oh yeah?” his bicep pulls you up so your head rests on his broad shoulder, now victim to the filth being whispered directly into your ear. “m’ i doing good? fuckin’ this lil’ pussy nice and deep like she needs?”

when you nod, he beams like a maniac, seemingly encouraged to pound you even harder as his hips pick up the pace. “damn, ‘think i’m already a pro at this, huh?”

for the sake of your sanity, you ignore his bragging. “toru, don’t stop. i’m— i’m gonna..”

“you’re gonnaaa?” he derides, kissing the corner of your lip sweetly. “tell me, baby.”

“gonna cum for you, please.” satoru almost decides to fill you up at those words, but his self control is just a bit stronger. he feels the way your cunt is pulsing, body practically shaking as you get closer and closer to release, and he’s determined to help you reach it.

his thrusts get a bit sloppier, and you’re too busy basking in your own pleasure to see the eye-candy that is gojo biting his swollen lips, sweat dripping down his temples all the way to his solid abs, snowy bangs a tad bit moist against his forehead. he looked like the definition of temptation; straight out of a wet dream with stamina that seemingly never declined.

“me too, baby. c’mon, cum on this dick. s’all yours to ruin.”

you moan as you allow yourself to let go, toes curling and nails digging into his toned forearms ecstatically. “thaaat’s it, good girl.. ahah.. such a good girl f’me.” he talks you through it as if he’s done so a million times, both of you looking down to watch your release coat his dick and the crumpled sheets below.

at his praise, you squeeze him just a bit tighter, making his lips curl up in interest. “my girl likes being praised, huh? yeah.. doing so good makin’ a mess on me..”

he pulls out, carefully lowering you to the mattress before tugging on his dick in hopes of reaching his own peak. satoru forces himself to open his eyes just enough to admire the view of you fucked out below him, body shaking slightly as you recover from the intense waves of your orgasm.

“y/n,” he abruptly whines, patting your shoulder with a subtle urgency in his voice.

“..mhmm?”

“where can i cum? quick baby— please, i’ve been holding this for way too long—“ this has your body moving, eyes popping open as you swiftly bend down so your mouth hovers directly in front of him.

you replace his fist with yours as soft lips move to suckle harsly on his leaking tip, and now it’s gojo who has his eyes rolling back; whimpers flying out of his throat every time your tongue massages the delicate underside, sending visible shocks through his body. “fuck!” he can only curse and run his fingers through your hair for support while you pump him dry. “just like that, good.. haah.. good fuckin’ girl, shiiit.”

you’ve never seen your boyfriend — the strongest — look so pathetic and desperate, but it only spurs you on further, enjoying the way he continues to blabber about how pretty you are and how he’s gonna fill your mouth like he would your pussy. in response, you greedily hum around him, licking through his slit as if you were pleading the little hole to give you what you deserved.

and only moments later, satoru’s words become reality; though he attempts to keep revelling in the feeling of your warm lips and hands, his body stills in place instinctively, one last warning tumbling out of his throat as your mouth is flooded with rope after rope of bitterly sweet fluid.

it seems like your accusations about his breeder balls were correct, because once it starts it seemingly never ends; cum now overflowing from the corners of your lips as you struggle to swallow frequently enough to not choke on how much he deposits.

meanwhile, gojo feels like he is quite literally ascending, everything becoming unimportant next to you and the feeling of pleasure being forced through him like an overwhelming earthquake, pulse after pulse as you suck him for all he’s worth.

“thas’ right.. take every damn drop, baby.” when satoru looks down and earns a glimpse of the white fluid trickling down your chin, his dick twitches in your mouth. “god, you’re so sexy..”

once he was done, you both flop onto the bed in exhaustion, and while the vulnerable moment has utmost potential to become something cute and memorable, a certain blue-eyed bastard decides to open his mouth once again.

“what’re you huffin’ and puffin’ for?” he sasses, shamelessly eyeing the way your tits rose and fell with every breath you took. “all you did was lie there while i had a full body workout!”

you take a very deep breath. “i just let you put your dick inside me. shut the fuck up.”

at your reminder of what’d just occurred, he grins like an idiot. “you’re right, thank you.” they’re soft, but he ensures his words are as audible and genuine as he can make them.

satoru isn’t exactly the best with words, but he knows damn well that — despite all the bullshit he'd spouted at those parties — you’re the only person he wanted to have his first time with, and the fact that you allowed his wish to become reality is something he’ll forever be grateful for.

“i love you..” you soften. “even if you’re a pillow princess.” you stiffen again.

nothing could stay lovey-dovey with him for too long.

a fake cry is pulled from his lips as you rudely smack his shoulder. “i tried to ride you but you flipped me over after ten seconds!”

“it’s not my fault you're as slow as a fuckin' snail!”

somehow, you both make it to the washroom despite all the banter. just as you bend over in hopes of starting the shower up, a mean spank is delivered to your ass.

when you turn to meet the culprit, he only narrows his eyes at you playfully. “round two, m’lady?” it’s almost like his voice lowers on purpose, dirty words rumbling in his throat, knowing what it did to your body.

you do your best to send him a disappointed glance anyway. “day one of not being a virgin and you’re already the horniest man i know.”

after following you inside, his fluffy hair flattens from the steamy water before nudging you back, encasing you between him and the solid wall.

“i might be willing to overlook the fact that you know other horny men if you agree to some very loving, extremely intimate making out,” he requests with a smirk, sleek nose poking yours in a much gentler way than expected.

you still send him a distrusting raise of your brow. “only making out, huh?”

the dirty smirk he sends you is all you need to know, along with his hardened dick pressing against your thigh as he moves in to kiss you.

what have you gotten yourself into?

mlist! gojo showing off his back scratches! <- if you enjoy silly virgin gojo pls lmk in the reblogs, comments, or asks <3

© inmaki on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not cross-post, translate, copy in any way, etc.

tags: @gojoallmine @allofffmypeaches @haitaniholic @pandoraium

[heegyukeluv]

M.O.R.E. - my only ruined escape (lhs)

pairing: heeseung x afab!reader

synopsis: Trapped in a broken marriage, you felt bound by everything you had invested in it, unable to walk away despite the cracks. But when Heeseung, unexpectedly striking up a friendship with your dick husband, entered the picture, things began to shift in ways you never saw coming.

my's note: i don't condone cheating. and this fic can be triggering for many, so read the warnings with care, please!

warnings: toxic relationship/marriage, fight/arguments, mentions of blood and wounds (due to the fight lol), y/n's husband is an ass but he doesn't attacks her physically, verbal abuse, y/n is constantly degraded by her husband, angst (with happy ending!!), pet names (mostly darling), cheating (yn cheats her husband with hee), SMUT - so minors DO NOT interact!, unprotected sex (don’t do it!!!), oral (f. receiving), fingering, squirting, lowkey angry sex. lmk if i missed something!

wc: 26,6k.

NOT PROOFREAD.

taglist 💖: @yvnempire, @marigold-sunflowers, @ikeuverse, @tinycatharsis

“Fuck ass food.”

Heeseung was peacefully eating his lunch at the small company’s break room; the other two spare tables were already occupied when he first stepped in, later than his usual schedule as he always managed to choose a less crowded hour to take his break peacefully.

The situation led him to sit with a random guy that apparently just entered the room as well, since he had his lunch box closed for quite a long time, while typing on his phone, laughing.

They both exchanged a few words as in “Can I sit here?” and a comfortable “Yeah” in response; but as soon as the guy spoke again, his curious eyes followed towards his food and then, arched a brow

“What's up, man?”

Heeseung attempted a friendly approach, but the man seemed inclined to complain other than talk. And although Heeseung was the type who preferred silence over small talk during meals, especially with strangers, he felt compelled to interact, given that they were the only two at the table.

The downside of arriving late or during peak hours: having to deal with people sharing – and invading – your space.

The man took a deep, exhausted sigh, his pursed lips indicating he was mad, his clenched jaw only adding to it, and the way he tilted his head quickly to the side before starting to speak got Heeseung regretting his decision of asking about it.

“My wife. She's just too... Useless?” The man blurted out, shrugging as if the statement held universal and undeniable truth.

He gave a brief unreadable gaze to Heeseung, that definitely didn’t spark not even an ounce of interest in him – actually, he quietly prepared himself for the following words, restraining an eye-roll that was teetering to escape. 

“Can't cook, can't keep the house clean, can't do shit,” he continued, his tone dripping with gross disdain. “And the good thing she had on her, she lost through the years.”

Heeseung kept his skeptical and slightly confused expression weighing his features, eyes darting towards the said “ass” food as he took a bite of his; it looked delicious and the smell was amazing. If the guy kept on crying over it, he would definitely suggest changing plates.

“Yeah?” Heeseung replied flatly, his voice carefully measured to express his disinterest.

He didn’t buy a word of the man’s complaints but held back the urge to ask why he had married this supposedly intolerable woman in the first place.

“Yeah,” he agreed and then leaned closer, now chewing a piece of meat with an exaggerated disgust. “You know, she was a hottie back then,” he muttered, a repulsive smirk creeping onto his face. Heeseung swallowed his will to punch that idiot in the face, his jaw clenching involuntarily. He wasn’t enjoying a glimmer of that conversation.

The man’s face contorted as if he was reminiscent about his wife in the past. “Fuck, she was hot. Best pussy I've ever had. Thought I could marry her and screw my stress away, you know?” The man’s head shook in mock disappointment. “But now? She barely gives me anything. Always some excuse. Lazy as hell.”

Heeseung’s stomach churned as the man's nauseating words thickly filled the air. He tried to focus on his own food, avoiding engaging any bit on that topic, but that casual, sickening misogyny was an appetite killer.

“You get me, right?” the man said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Your wife probably takes care of you, huh? Keeps you satisfied?”

The playful shove to Heeseung’s shoulder nearly pushed him over the edge. Holding back a retort – or worse, a punch – he forced his expression into something resembling composure.

“Oh, I’m not married,” Heeseung finally said, his voice tight, sharp and precise, a clear indicator that he didn’t want to be bothered anymore, not by that fuck ass guy.

The man laughed, shaking his head. “Well, lucky you then.”

That was Heeseung's first interaction with your husband. At the time, he couldn't have cared less about your relationship, he was indifferent, barely bothering to acknowledge it. His only genuine hope was that you would eventually escape from the grip of that asshole and find yourself with a real man who actually deserved you.

That was his stance – until the moment he saw you.

It was the company’s party reception or something similar, he didn’t care much to give a proper definition, not when you walked into the room, radiant in a sleek, black dress that hugged your figure perfectly. The way your smile lit up your face as you greeted everyone made the entire place seem to pause for a beat. Your lips, painted in a bold cherry red, glistened in the soft lighting, and your eyes – oh, your eyes – shone like stars in the night sky, captivating anyone who dared to meet your gaze.

You were beautiful in a way that left him breathless. 

And then, as if in slow motion, his gaze shifted to the man standing beside you. Your husband. The one he eventually – and unwillingly – learned the name: Brendon.

The words that escaped his lips were little more than a breathless mutter, “Are you fucking joking?”

His grip on the glass tightened, fingers curling around it with an intensity born from pure frustration and anger. This was the woman? The one your husband had described as plain, unremarkable, not even remotely sensual?

This goddess, standing there like an oasis mirage? Like something unreachable, untouchable, immaculate? 

He couldn’t understand it, no, definitely not. A woman like you dating – no, worse married to – a douchebag that didn’t give you what you needed, what you deserved.

He didn’t believe in fate, but the way things had unfolded, Heeseung was starting to wonder if the universe had conspired to bring him there, to that exact moment. After all, there was no other way he would have ever crossed paths with you.

Witnessing your existence, so alluring, so captivating, had flickered a spark in his mind, like a quiet revelation that simmered until he couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Heeseung made it his mission to make you his.

It was a dangerous game, even reckless, his friends would try to stop it even before turning the idea into real words.

By then, he had gathered just enough to know the basics – your husband was a waste of space, and you, without a doubt, deserved something far better. 

He didn’t know how you felt about the way you were treated, nor how deeply you were tied to that toxic relationship, but he knew he had to take the chance, to shoot his shot. 

With that resolve, and after draining his glass in a single gulp, his eyes never leaving yours, Heeseung moved towards you both with quiet confidence, every step sure and deliberate.

“Hey, Brendon!”

Heeseung noticed the way your beautiful eyes gently settled on his, briefly wandering over his body before returning to meet his gaze once again. Your cheeks flushed – at least, he noticed a faint blush that didn’t seem to be the result of your flawless makeup.

He smiled warmly, shaking Brendon’s hand, who made sure to release his own from yours to greet Heeseung properly, pulling him into a half hug.

The first thing Heeseung would change in this dynamic: he would never let you go for something as a brief touch, left alone to greet some random acquaintance. And if he did, he would be quick to pull you back into his arms and show you off.

“Heeseung! Good to see you, man.”

The pat on the back felt a little too friendly, a little too close for Heeseung’s liking, but if he had to go through hell just to get closer to you, the goddess, he would endure it.

“This party’s kind of weird. So far, I’ve only seen strange people, but it’s nice to have some familiar faces.”

Heeseung forced a laugh as they pulled away, trying not to let the intensity of his gaze linger on you too much – he couldn’t be too obvious.

“Yeah…” He replied, trying to keep the conversation going, but honestly, he had no interest in Brendon – not that he could admit it out loud, especially since Brendon was probably the biggest obstacle in trying to do anything directly with you.

But when you responded to your husband with a shy smile, linking your arm with his, Heeseung couldn’t hide the wave of relief that washed over him. And your voice... It was beautiful.

“Stop it, babe. They weren’t weird, they were just being nice.”

“Yeah. For you, it’s always just kindness,” he rolled his eyes, not even bothering to reciprocate the affection by properly linking his arm with yours as he took a sip from his drink. “See, Heeseung? Women and their sensitivities. Be careful when you get married, man. Choose wisely, don’t pick the sensitive ones.”

The wave of nausea that hit Heeseung was enough for him to not even try to hide his discomfort. Brendon spilled all that nonsense like it was easy to say such atrocious things, ending it with a sleazy laugh that only added to the ridiculous image he was creating of himself.

Heeseung couldn’t deny that it was impressive how quickly Brendon could spew so much garbage, as if his mind was actively working to spread blind hatred towards anyone who didn’t fit into his corrupted morality.

“And this is...?”

Before any awkward silence began to settle in, and after Heeseung noticed that Brendon hadn’t made even the slightest effort to acknowledge the stunning wife standing by his side, he took the cue and swiftly redirected the conversation towards his primary target: you.

“Ah, Y/N. Apologies for not introducing myself earlier.”

You smiled warmly, extending your hand for a handshake, but the touch was brief, fleeting – only for Brendon to possessively wrap his arm around your waist and pull you closer to him.

Heeseung barely restrained the urge to roll his eyes – so this was the type of man who treated his wife like trash, yet couldn’t stand anyone giving her attention?

“You always forget your manners at home, don’t you, honey?” Brendon tried to make a joke, one that only he seemed to find amusing as he laughed solitarily.

“Pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

Heeseung didn’t bother mentioning that the few times he and Brendon had ever spoken, you had been one of the main topics – yet none of those discussions had been about praising or cherishing you as you deserved. Instead, it was always something demeaning, as if your worth were only worth degrading. 

Heeseung noticed that you seemed like you wanted to say something, almost as if you were about to murmur a “me too,” but all that came out was a forced, distant smile – almost sad, withdrawn. Your once radiant and seemingly communicative aura slowly and painfully faded away. You swallowed the words that dared to leave your mouth, and it left a bitter taste in Heeseung’s mouth to see that, but he swallowed it as well, choosing to remain polite – at least for now.

And you, indeed, were holding yourself back. Brendon didn’t like it when you greeted other people, especially men. He used to tell you that they were all filthy, that they would seduce you and take you to their rooms to fuck you, and you, as the good slut you were, would give in to their charms.

Part of you wished that were true, because if you at least had good sex with your husband, it could serve as a reason to stay firmly and resistant to his attempts – and success – of being an ass, but even that he couldn’t give you.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you murmured, more to avoid a potential fight in the future than to actually inform anyone. You could feel the tears threatening to fall, burning like fire in your eyes.

There were moments when you questioned what was still keeping you there. You had read countless reports and books – hidden, because Brendon didn’t like you becoming too informed – about women in relationships that you later recognized as abusive. They were designed to destroy a woman's self-esteem and take out the light of happiness that once burned so brightly.

You saw yourself in each of those stories in different ways, because Brendon had never dared to physically harm you. His game was personal, psychological, like controlling the finances and part of your daily routines.

He even went as far as threatening to install cameras around your apartment to make sure you weren’t cheating on him or breaking any of his ridiculous rules when he was out of the house.

Thankfully, you managed to hold on to your decision to keep working, something you cherished deeply. The flower shop that took up most of your time was a sanctuary, a place where you could momentarily forget that you had a husband of questionable character.

It was undeniable that the thought of divorce had crossed your mind countless times. Building a routine of minimal care for him, based on his absurd demands, also fed the feeling of permanence. You had to stay because you had to take care of him. Who would make his lunch boxes or wash his underwear?

It was a trivial thing, and maybe you used it to cover up your true desire – to run away, to escape from a relationship that, at one point, in a distant and fantastical past, had been full of promises that sounded genuine, of eternal love and affectionate care.

Everything was perfect during the first six months, until he realized that the sex he had once craved every day had lost its appeal, even though you kept trying to innovate, to please him. Brendon was never satisfied with you, judged every little part of your life as though that became his greatest pleasure.

Sharing a home with you was more of an obligation than a choice, and for a long time, you felt guilty.

He attempted to make it up with you, to buy you gifts and lead you to cute dates. It worked in the first year. And the second as well – the transient hopeless feeling of fixing him, of growing over it, of getting used to it… You tried everything.

To exhaust yourself in order to take every effort in the books to save your marriage from failure was in vain, your husband himself was making sure that your deep, sincere love turned into hate.

Heeseung was torn between feeling relieved that you had walked away and utterly frustrated that you had to.

He didn’t truly know you yet –  not enough to form solid judgments about whether your character was as vile as your husband’s. However, the brief moments he shared with you were more than enough to convince him that you didn’t deserve even a fraction of the treatment Brendon gave you.

But if he wanted his plan to succeed, he needed to win Brendon’s trust first.

“So, man, how’s it going?” Heeseung forced himself to sound as friendly and approachable as possible, his expression carefully crafted to radiate genuine interest in how Brendon’s life had been lately.

“Oh, you know. Tons of work, annoying clients, a couple of coworkers who... I don’t know, just seem like they couldn’t care less about their jobs. The usual.”

The internal battle Heeseung was fighting was so intense he had to physically restrain himself from throwing the punch he had been saving for Brendon since day one. The man hadn’t said anything outrageous – yet –, but the way he carried himself, the way he spoke, was enough to taunt Heeseung the wrong way.

Still, he forced himself to stay in character.

“Ah, that sounds rough. Sorry to hear you’ve been under so much stress.”

With a subtle pat on Brendon’s shoulder and words laced with faux sympathy, Heeseung could tell he had earned another fragment of his trust.

“Thanks for understanding, man. When I try to talk about this stuff with my wife, she just goes insane, you know? Says all I do is complain, and that nothing’s ever good enough…”

Heeseung nodded, carefully calibrating his expression so nothing but fake empathy would slip through. Inwardly, he wholeheartedly agreed with you – so much that he had to work hard to keep composure, leaving to Brendon the mission of filling up the awkward silence. 

“And how am I supposed to not complain when she can’t do anything right?” Brendon huffed, shrugging dramatically and exhaling like a childish tantrum.

Heeseung’s self-control was tested to its limits. He wanted to roll his eyes so badly but instead kept his mouth shut, grabbing a drink from a passing waiter to occupy his hands, not uttering a word.

“No one at work does anything right, but then I think, well, at least I can go home and unwind with my hot wife. And then I get home, and it’s all wrong there, too.”

This time, Heeseung couldn’t stop himself. The words slipped out before he could think better of them, sipping on his drink right after, eyes locked onto Brendon’s angry expression.

“Have you ever thought about getting a divorce?”

Brendon turned to him, wide-eyed, as if Heeseung had just suggested something unthinkable, as if he was a lunatic.

“What? Divorce? Are you out of your mind, man?!” And then he laughed, a hollow, grating sound. “She’s the love of my life.”

“Oh, right. Sorry,” Heeseung forced a small chuckle, drifting his eyes to his drink as he sipped once more. Yeah, definitely a lot of alcohol to help him go through this job of hell. “You two look like a lovely couple, my bad for suggesting that shit,” Heeseung nearly choked out that horrible sentence, cringing hard before the idea of complimenting anything in that piece of thrash.

“Nah. You’re good.”

Little by little, Heeseung managed to earn Brendon's trust. He started conversations about their few shared interests, sometimes even pretending to know more about topics he wasn’t particularly invested in, all to build a solid foundation for their blossoming “friendship”.

Heeseung had one clear goal: to keep you out of their conversations. He knew Brendon would likely take the opportunity to list every supposed flaw you had.

The more time Heeseung spent with Brendon, the more he realized he was a spoiled man who expected the world to revolve around his desires. It was almost comical and pathetic to hear him brag about his so-called glory days in college, where he claimed to have broken countless hearts as if it were some sort of accomplishment.

Through these interactions, Heeseung learned more about you – or at least about how you and Brendon had met and fallen in love.

Back then, you were calm, the kind of girl few would approach because they thought you were plain, boring, bland – Brendon's words. Apparently it was forbidden to use flattering ones even while describing how he fell in love with you. He decided to ask you out because, despite everything, you were pretty. And hot.

Of course, Brendon’s interest in you started with your looks and the supposedly mind-blowing sex you offered – almost as if you were some kind of goddess in bed – those were Brendon’s words again.

As Heeseung listened to Brendon recount this “love story,” he had to fight the urge to let his thoughts slip into words that would be anything but kind. He also worked hard to keep his expression neutral, not wanting to reveal his growing disdain.

The “love of Brendon’s life” wasn’t someone he cherished – it was a possession, a fantasy. He married you to maintain his hold on you, to keep other men away, because the thought of someone else touching you drove him insane.

The absurdity of it all nearly made Heeseung sick. Brendon couldn’t speak about you without a complaint to follow, without reducing your beauty to objectification, or without expressing his so-called “love” through a thinly veiled frustration rooted in his own insecurities.

But amidst the storm of Brendon’s toxic words, like a single ray of sunlight on a cloudy day, Heeseung now had reasons to visit your home regularly.

You were rarely home when he came by. On weekends, you worked at the flower shop, with your days off falling on Mondays and Tuesdays instead of Saturdays and Sundays. Brendon didn’t seem to care, often commenting that at least your “annoying voice” wouldn’t disturb his peace.

Yet, Heeseung found himself wishing he could see you more often. After enduring so much time and effort to break through Brendon’s defenses, earning a significant amount of his trust, it was disheartening to not see the person who made it all worthwhile.

“Y/N should be home early from work today. Let’s enjoy the peace while we can,” Brendon said offhandedly.

Heeseung’s ears perked up at the news.

It was the fourth weekend in a row that Heeseung had ditched plans with his friends to hang out with Brendon. Their gaming sessions weren’t the worst – most of the conversation revolved around the games themselves, sparing Heeseung from Brendon’s typical misogyny. But still, spending time with someone so consumed by complaints and negativity was exhausting.

The thought of finally seeing you again, however, was enough to rekindle his energy. Heeseung glanced at the time on his wristwatch, silently hoping your shift at the flower shop would end sooner rather than later; his heart was already racing at the thought of finally seeing you.

He cared little if you looked like a tired, married woman after a long day of work. You would still be beautiful, as always, with your charming smile that would likely grace your lips, your radiant gaze – maybe even surprised to find him there, sprawled on the couch playing video games with your husband. 

Heeseung just hoped you wouldn't misunderstand, that you wouldn't think he was anything like your husband. The fleeting idea of being seen under thar judgment was enough to make him slightly desperate to prove he was different.

When the door swung open, revealing a female figure entering, greeted by the dim light of the living room, Heeseung froze. Like, literally, his fingers froze on the controller, and his eyes locked on you.

You were wearing the most adorable light denim overalls, with embroidered mushrooms on the front. The black shirt contrasted perfectly with the light tone of your overalls and matched your black Converse sneakers perfectly. You looked beautiful.

“Yo, we're gonna lose, man!” Brendon shoved his shoulder into Heeseung’s to snap his focus back to the game.

“Sorry,” Heeseung murmured quietly, turning his gaze back to the light of the TV screen, though occasionally taking a moment to admire you as you slipped off your shoes and hung your purse by the door. “Need help?” He asked you directly, almost standing up from the couch when he finally noticed the two heavy bags of groceries you were carrying.

Brendon rolled his eyes and shoved Heeseung back onto the couch, not even giving you the chance to accept or decline the offer.

“Ignore her, focus here.”

Heeseung shot Brendon a skeptical look, which luckily he didn’t catch as his eyes were glued to the screen again. Heeseung gave you one more glance, a silent apology in which you gently shook your head and smiled warmly, whispering. 

“Don’t worry about it.”

Heeseung could see the frustration in your tired eyes, although you attempted to keep as nonchalant as possible, as if you were used to your husband's futility. He watched how you vanished into the back of the house, most probably the kitchen to organize the items you had bought. 

Somehow, Heeseung wasn’t interested in gaming anymore, not when you were just a few steps away and he could properly greet you. He stalled a little, just not to be too obvious with his intentions, before getting up and saying.

“I’m gonna grab something in the kitchen.”

And of course, the spoiled asshole would ask for something as well.

“Yeah, yeah. Grab me a beer.”

“Alright.”

Heeseung didn’t deny it; he had learned a few areas of the house already. After all, on the few occasions when Brendon didn’t say a single word about whether you were home or not, he’d claim he was going to the bathroom, when in reality, he was sneaking around, hoping naively he might catch a glimpse of you somewhere, gracing his eyes with your gorgeous presence.

The kitchen was the most obvious place his feet knew the way to by heart. It was the spot where guests were welcomed, where Brendon would offer drinks like whiskey and cold beer – which, apart from you and the PS5, were the only decent things that house had to offer.

So Heeseung made his way there slowly, feigning casualness, though internally preparing himself for a direct interaction with you. Since the very first day, he hadn’t had a single chance to speak to you alone, so he had to make the most of every second to begin showing you that he was a good man, and that if you wanted, and allowed him to, he could show you just how good he could be – in every sense of the word.

He heard a faint hum and the soft sound of things shifting around, indicating that you were still busy organizing the kitchen as he approached the room. He lowered his voice as much as possible to announce his presence, not wanting to startle you.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?”

Even so, you jumped slightly and turned towards him, flashing wide eyes that expressed your surprise.

You didn’t expect no one to come into the kitchen, let alone your husband or his friend, but you couldn’t deny that you were a bit happy that he did so.

Despite befriending your husband, Heeseung seemed to be a nice guy. You had little to no information about him, since Brendon barely told you about his day or his overall routine during the brief moments you two were together; he would rather choose to mistreat you and complain about your mistakes instead of sharing the perks of his work day.

“Yeah! I’m sure,” you managed to answer back in a breath, ignoring Heeseung’s presence for a bit as you reached for some of the groceries packages scattered all over the counter, to place them perfectly into the cabinets. 

Heeseung’s eyes followed the motion of your skilled body handling everything a bit too well, as if you were used to chores overwork.

Heeseung felt a tingling urge to help, to be useful, to ease your stress. It was something he would do effortlessly, if he was the one married to you. In fact, if it were up to him, you would just sit there being beautiful while he took care of everything, because you deserved to be treated like a queen.

Brendon had complained countless times about all the things you did – for him, obviously, in the form of grumbling.

How you were “cringe” for making little love notes and putting them in his lunch box, how you made the bed so he could sleep, but never chose the most comfortable duvet, how you “tried” to cook his favorite meal but never got the seasoning right.

Heeseung once casually suggested swapping lunches, and when he finally had the chance to try your cooking, the urge to punch Brendon grew immensely, because it was all so good.

Brendon didn’t appreciate the little things you did. He saw them as annoyances, predictably bad, and yet they were the exact actions that made Heeseung realize just how special you were.

He was struck by how deeply you cared for someone who didn’t seem to understand, or even acknowledge, your efforts. It only made Heeseung more determined.

“So… You work at a flower shop, right?” 

Once again, you startled with Heeseung’s gentle voice suddenly echoing in the kitchen, pulling you out of your concentration state. You were crouched while organizing the groceries, and he was standing up, drinking ridiculously slowly a glass of water.

“Yes, I do.” You answered politely, but not quite giving Heeseung any recognizable attention.

“Do you like it?”

His question caught you off guard. First, because you weren’t used to people asking about your interests, especially when it came to your “boring” work. Secondly, because there was a sincerity in his voice, a curiosity that felt different from the usual respectful small talk.

You paused for a moment before straightening your legs, calmly turning on your heels to completely face Heeseung with a slight flabbergasted expression. 

The moment your eyes laid on his tall figure casually leaning on the wall, your breath got caught in your throat – was he watching you this whole time?

His bright and lightly inquisitive eyes were grazed on you, busying his lips with small sips of water and a hint of a tender smile, waiting for your reply. Your heart skipped a beat, a soft, thrilling tremor that vibrated through your body without leaving you to have any control over it as your hands started to tremble. 

“I do, yeah.” You pondered for a while, searching for the words that would match your genuine opinion over your job; unconsciously a sincere smile began to form on the corner of your lips and Heeseung took a close, quiet note to it. “It’s… It’s calm and peaceful. Fulfilling in a way, even when it’s exhausting. I feel I can be myself easily and… Avoid some– other stress. For a bit, at least.”

Heeseung’s chest warmed with the way you spoke, a delicate radiance of soothing heat sweeping as your softly and lovingly voice talked about something you liked. He wished to see more of this persona, more of this part of you; the apparently authentic, happy version that expressed affection through your every pore.

However, he couldn’t help the sting that came along, knowing what “other stress” you were talking about. He also hoped to help you escape out of that. 

“That’s good to know,” he nodded tenderly, keeping his tone layered with honesty and kindness. Your eyelids blinked slowly as you watched Heeseung approach, silently placing the glass on the countertop that separated you both. “I’m glad to see you being passionate about what you do and enjoying your life, Y/N. At least… Part of it.”

He had carefully constructed his sentence before speaking, wanting to ease you into the conversation with the most comforting approach he could offer. At the same time, he dared to let slip a part of his disguise, hoping you would pick up on the subtle hint about him being aware of the difficult reality of your marriage, particularly your situation.

Your eyes showed that you were slightly taken aback by his words. You were shrewd enough to catch the underlying message of what he had said, even though it was somewhat confusing to understand his exact intentions. 

Still, you gave him a shy but pleasant smile, touched by his gentle and thoughtful words.

“Thank you,” you would’ve ended there, but something unknown prompted you to add more, a sudden need to speak your truth. “I do what I can with what I have.”

It sounded too sad, too realistic. Your eyes fell to your hands resting on the cold countertop as you spoke, nonetheless, it was your reality, after all: making do with what you had. You had learned the hardest way to survive on the scraps life gave you, to accept the little, or sometimes, nothing at all. It had become routine, normal – your life for the last three years.

Heeseung caught the opening you had unwittingly – or perhaps purposefully – left for him and gently took the lead on the topic, offering his personal opinion as he noticed your guard had lowered at least a little.

“It shouldn’t be like this, Y/N.”

A part of him feared he had crossed a line, violated your boundaries, or even frightened you. If any of that had happened, he couldn’t think of a way to backpedal and ease into a gentler, slower approach. But he was surprised when you, equally startled by your own reaction, replied.

“But it’s been this way.”

The sigh that followed expressed your exhaustion – an exhaustion you usually tried to ignore, otherwise it would send you down a path you didn’t feel capable of walking alone. “This is how he makes it to be.”

The indirect mention of Brendon shocked Heeseung even further, though it also brought a strange sense of relief. He hadn’t expected you to open up so quickly, still he wouldn’t take it for granted and chose to continue to walk carefully.

It was as if the plan he had set in motion had been laid out by divine hands, providing him with every tool necessary to reach his ultimate goal.

“It doesn’t have to be… You know that, right?”

You were taken aback when Heeseung’s warm, gentle hand covered one of yours, making you flinch slightly but didn’t pull away. The touch was soft, innocent, and comforting. It offered you just enough weightlessness to let your words flow with more ease, your heart feeling lighter within each passing second.

You wished for that moment to last a bit more. 

“Maybe I know, but… it’s so hard.”

Heeseung nodded softly, his gentle eyes tracing the lines of your face contorted with an expression of sadness and frustration, still avoiding his gaze. It was clear that you no longer wanted to live in this marriage, to be stuck with a jerk like Brendon. But something was holding you back. Or perhaps, you just hadn’t found anything – or anyone – that could truly pull you out of it.

Heeseung gently removed his hand from atop yours, sliding it beneath to hold it with care. “How can I help you?”

But before either of you could react, the sound of Brendon entering the kitchen shattered the tender moment that had been unfolding between you. His presence filled the room with that grotesque energy only he could bring.

“Why are you taking so long, man?”

Brendon’s voice cut sharply through the air, breaking the fragile moment. Your immediate jolt of surprise made you stumble backward, accidentally knocking over the sugar packet on the edge of the countertop with your elbow as you pulled your hand away from Heeseung’s, sending the white grains scattering across the floor. Brendon’s exasperated voice filled the air instantly.

“Messing everything up as always. Jesus Christ,” Brendon snapped, tone dripping with disdain. The sharpness of it seemed to pierce through the quiet warmth you had shared, and the shift in the atmosphere was palpable.

Heeseung stiffened where he stood, his jaw clenched, knowing it wasn’t the right time or place to confront Brendon, but a part of him wanted to.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–” You began, your voice tinged with guilt. 

“You never mean to do anything,” he interrupted and rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. “Go grab something to clean this up. And while you’re at it, buy another packet. Use your money this time since you’re the one who made the fucking mess.”

Heeseung stood on the corner, static, feet rooted to the ground, because if he slipped the built self-control out, he would be the one making fucking messes. His eyes darted from Brendon’s to you a brief second, acknowledging that you seemed to be blaming yourself for such a normal accident.

For a fleeting moment, when your eyes met Heeseung’s, what you saw wasn’t pity, it was fury. Not at you, but for you.

His gaze burned holes into Brendon’s side profile, the muscle in his jaw flexing visibly. If Brendon pushed just a little harder, it was clear that Heeseung’s restraint might shatter entirely. His fists curled tighter at his sides, as though physically grounding himself in order to maintain the calmness. 

He wouldn’t admit out loud, not now, but the thought of you being involved in a possible fight was the primary thing holding him back. He didn’t want you to witness how bad and intensely he would make your husband taste his own blood – alongside that, the fantasy of making Brendon clean the floor with his own tongue was tempting and so hard not to give it a listen.

“And why the hell are you taking so long?” Brendon now turned to Heeseung, still holding an arrogant demeanor. “Bet this bitch didn’t leave cold beer for us, and she was probably making up some excuse for it, right?”

The venom in his words made Heeseung’s stomach twist, as well as his hands that clenched harder. His brows knitted together as he tried to process the sheer audacity of Brendon’s determination to make you feel worse. It was as if his entire worldview was built on finding fault in you, as though your very existence was an inconvenience to him.

“Actually, I–” Heeseung started, his tone low and dangerously even.

“Yeah, that’s right.” You quickly interrupted, your shaky voice expressing how affected and fearful you were. You moved to the fridge and grabbed two cans of beer to offer Heeseung. “I’m sorry. Here.”

Heeseung froze, his gaze softening as he took in your unreadable face. He was confused by your reaction and decision, the realization you were trying to defuse the situation, even at your own expense, made his body heat to increase in pure, raw anger towards Brendon.

The kitchen felt suffocatingly small as Heeseung reached out to take the cans from your trembling hands. His fingers brushed against yours ever so slightly, a light, evanescent touch, that still created a visceral jolt that seemed to resonate between you both.

“Thanks,” he murmured softly, his voice barely audible.

Your hands fell back to your sides awkwardly, but the faint lingering warmth of his touch sent a wave of unfamiliar sensation through your body. You shivered slightly; it had been so long since you’d felt this – a connection, something near to a meaningful acknowledgment of your presence as more than just an object of blame.

Brendon’s loud sigh and mutters about something random shattered whatever serenity the moment would unfold deeper. Heeseung’s grip on the beer cans tightened as he fought the growing urge to speak – or worse, act.

For now, he let the silence swallow his frustration, though his eyes remained locked on you, silently promising that this wasn’t the end.

Heeseung felt like he needed to offer you a kind of safe space, an environment where you would feel comfortable enough to begin opening up completely. 

The encounter in the kitchen was successful, until Brendon stepped in and broke the possibilities away. Ever since, he tried to change his plans of meeting Brendon during moments where you could be with him as well.

Heeseung’s whole plan was... Peculiar. He didn’t just aim to get you out of that toxic relationship, offering you the necessary support to help you leave. He primarily wanted to show you just how deserving you were of wonderful things, and that he wanted to be the one to provide some of that happiness.

It was a decision that might have been premature, with a high chance of leading to a dangerous and frustrating path. Even though Heeseung would use all of his tricks, you could still choose to stay. But he couldn’t control the erratic beating of his heart at the mere thought of having you for himself, nor could he ignore the ache in his chest of you opting not to let go, which demonstrated the intertwining of his emotions with this entire situation.

Heeseung was now seated at the dining table with you and your husband, chewing on the carefully prepared meal he had prepared for that “dinner among friends.”

You looked breathtaking, as always. And Brendon? Spewing casual misogyny and ignorance, as always.

The dinner had been Heeseung’s idea, under the pretense of repaying the countless times he had dropped by your house, consuming snacks and drinks without contributing. It was, on the surface, a friendly gesture. But the real reason behind it was far less innocent, and Heeseung knew you were perceptive enough to catch on.

It was so glaringly obvious what Heeseung’s true intentions were that he tried his best not to make them even more apparent with every glance exchanged between you and him. Fortunately, or perhaps out of sheer ignorance, Brendon was far too naive to notice the way you subtly reacted to Heeseung’s laughter �� some of it genuine, some of it forced – as you leaned ever so slightly forward, drawn to his presence.

Heeseung was acutely aware, though. He noticed everything about you – every glance, every small smile.

Ever since Heeseung had started showing up during times when you were also home, the kitchen had become your unspoken sanctuary for a sweet connection. He didn’t force or coax you to speak your soul, rather he would give you a cozy place where you got to share fragments of your personal life amid discussions about nothing in particular – Heeseung treasured them all.

He etched those details into his memory as if they were sacred scriptures, intending to one day prove to you just how deeply he cared – and would keep caring, if you said yes. 

Now, as Brendon lounged lazily at the dining table, and you, standing at the sink, rinsed your plate and Brendon’s, you tried to ignore the flush on your cheeks when Heeseung moved to casually stand beside you while keeping the talk with your husband about soccer or something you didn’t care about.

Heeseung leaned casually against the sink counter, the glass of whiskey in his hand catching the warm light of his kitchen as he took a slow sip. You could feel the weight of his presence, far, but still close, somehow calming and charged with unspoken intention.

“Hey, man,” Brendon broke the rhythm of the conversation suddenly, standing up. “Where’s the bathroom?”

Heeseung didn’t miss a beat, suppressing a grin because he had planned that all along – to give enough non-alcoholic drinks to Brendon in order to make him leave for a few in the bathroom, getting at least some minutes alone with you.

With an easy, unaffected demeanor, he answered. “End of the hallway,” and raised his glass slightly to point. “First door on the left.”

Brendon nodded, his movements sluggish, and then casted a half-hearted glance your way.

“Don’t break anything while I’m gone,” he muttered, his tone an awkward attempt at humor.

You felt the corner of your mouth twitch into an usual forced smirk, the one you struggled to maintain as a way to faux express your contentment with his terrible jokes.

Brendon disappeared down the hallway, oblivious to Heeseung’s piercing gaze following as he did so. 

The silence left behind was thick, buzzing with the tension of your now uninterrupted proximity with Heeseung, causing a sensation that got your body wincing without anything happening yet. 

“So,” Heeseung began, his voice low and unhurried. He set his glass down on the counter, the faint clink of it meeting the surface echoing in the quiet room. His eyes found yours quickly, holding a weight that made your breath hitch slightly; he took a sweet notice of your blushing cheeks. 

“So,” you echoed softly, your heart raced in anticipation of whatever was about to unfold, dodging the pull of Heeseung’s intense, yet soft, stare to concentrate back on doing the dishes. 

“How was the dinner?”

Your shy smile grew before the tender question as you finished cleaning, silently asking for a hand drying cloth. Heeseung extended you one immediately, dreamy glistening eyes trailing carefully your every move with quiet devotion. He had his attention precisely torn in between the sound of Brendon coming back and you, the prettiest, kindest and most wonderful woman he ever saw.

“It was amazing,” you complimented with sincerity, resting the back of your hips on the edge of the counter top, glancing up through your eyelashes to meet Heeseung’s affectionate, smoldering gaze. “You did amazing.”

Heeseung chuckled softly, the sound low and subtle, like a sweet melody meant only for your ears. He shifted his weight forward, his movements deliberate as he positioned himself directly in front of you. His hands rested casually on either side of your body, palms flat against the countertop, effectively caging you in a way that was both daring and exhilarating.

“Can’t compare to yours, but yeah, I tried my best.”

His voice was velvety, laced with a casual teasing warmth that sent a shiver down your spine, as if you were close friends.

Your breath hitched, shallow and uneven, betraying the steady facade you tried to maintain. The rapid rhythm of your heartbeat echoed in your ears, a dissonant tum-tum that matched the electricity crackling in the small space between you.

The proximity between you two felt suffocating in the most thrilling way; his attractive face was so close that you could see the flecks of lust in his deep, big brown eyes. He gazed at you with a tenderness that made your heart stutter, his head tilting slightly as if studying your every micro-expression.

Without realizing it, your hands moved of their own accord, awkwardly, yet hesitantly, until they found a place on Heeseung’s broad shoulders. The texture of his shirt beneath your fingertips grounded you, though the hesitant touch exposed your inner turmoil. Still, the simple gesture was enough to make Heeseung’s composure falter.

He hadn’t expected you to respond so involuntarily open.

“He’ll be back soon...” You whispered, the words barely audible as your lashes fluttered shut for a moment. The nearness of Heeseung, the intoxicating scent of his cologne mingling with his natural warmth, made it impossible to focus on anything else. When, exactly, had Heeseung become your greatest temptation?

You weren’t blind to how he treated you. The way his gaze lingered, a mix of genuine affection and burning desire that ignited something dormant within you. It was undeniable the way he affected you, the way your thoughts would drift to him during the quiet, lonely hours of your life.

You fought against those thoughts with every fiber of your being, reminding yourself of the vows you once made. Yet, Heeseung’s constant presence made that fight infinitely harder, as if he hoped for you to drop everything you once promised, as though he taunted your self-control to its limits in order to make you discover fresh and tempting possibilities alongside him.

He was willing to make you wander a path you never quite give a thought to venture yourself into. 

Heeseung leaned in, his voice dropping an octave, soft and husky, almost a caress against your fuzzed soul.

“I know how much he stresses you out, darling...” The endearment slipped from his lips effortlessly, and you clutched his shirt as though it were the only thing keeping you sane. “Let me take that stress away.”

His hooded eyes wandered over your face, not hurriedly but with a reverence that felt almost sacred, as if he were memorizing every line, every curve. The intensity of his gaze sent your heart racing again, his careful inspection leaving no part of you unseen.

Heeseung deeply saw you, and you started to treasure that. 

The dryness in your throat was swallowed with difficulties, as if the saliva production had purposefully decreased only to make you wet your lips, an action that served to draw Heeseung’s attention to that area.

His gaze, dropping to something darker, held longer than he hoped for, but damn, you were so attractive, with your perfectly kissable lips inches from his, with your pretty eyes deliberately expressing your surrender to his charms.

He had to dig self-control in order not to kiss you right there, his own body wavering knowing he wouldn’t stop on just a brief make out moment; he yearned the urge of taking you as a whole, pleasuring you, worshipping you, giving you what you deserved. 

“He’s a good husband,” you forced out, the words tasting weird, unconvincing as they left your mouth; it was a failed coping mechanism not to break in light of the awareness of how disastrous your marriage had become, one you got used to repeating to yourself over the years.

Heeseung tilted his head slightly, his expression softening as he absorbed your words. Your lazy eyes caught the small smirk dancing on his lips, a dry chuckle following just before he murmured with devastating precision.

“Does he fuck you good?”

Heeseung’s previous advances had slowly chipped away at your defenses, now the question landed like a wrecking ball in a crumbling wall – strong, direct, and final, the checkmate that shattered everything your morals once held. 

Your body responded before your mind could, a pulsing ache coiling in your core, leaving you clenching around nothing in a crescent despair that burned your skin. The audacity of his words stunned you, but the way they ignited something deep within left you reeling, dizzy.

Your husband had never aroused you with such ease, and with one simple question, Heeseung had rendered you breathless, nearly falling on your knees.

You met his gaze, your lips parted, however not a single word had strength enough to follow the deep breath you let out. The room seemed to shrink as you took in the intensity of Heeseung’s eyes, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

His boldness hung in the thick air, while your principles dangerously split between clinging to the lie you told yourself every day and surrendering to the temptation Heeseung presented so beautifully.

“He provides the house–”

“But does he make you feel good, Y/N?”

He ignored your second attempt of forcing a narrative that both of you knew was just a facade, his inquisitive inspection and daring eyes never leaving yours, pushing you through the edge to fall onto his trap. 

The more he pressed you, the more you felt tempted to give in, almost like an addiction to something you had never experienced before, a painful yearning for the thrilling rush that coursed through your veins in delicious anguish with the thought of... trying.  

You feared that you might enjoy it too much if you gave in to whatever Heeseung was willing to offer.  

“He does, he makes me feel happy…”

“No, he doesn’t, Y/N. We both know that.” He cut you off again, though his voice remained calm and low.  

Heeseung was completely guided by the unconscious voice of his instincts that took control of his actions. He still remembered to respect you, to maintain a safe space, not to cross your boundaries, and, most importantly, not to push you beyond what you could handle. But it was so hard not to give in entirely to your complicit charms.  

You didn’t seem to notice, but your hands were pulling his body closer, your eyes triangulating between his brown irises and his cherry-colored lips, almost like a silent invitation to kiss him. You also had tilted your head slightly to the side, relieving your bare neck in a subtle request for Heeseung to explore that sensitive area.

You presented yourself in such a surrendered way, so open, so... reckless for someone who was working so hard to maintain unnecessary morality. 

Cheating wasn’t beautiful; neither of you believed in that. But why was cheating on your husband with Heeseung so ridiculously tempting?

“He doesn’t deserve you, darling…” Heeseung replied, unaware that this was your biggest inner doubt, daring to approach the prickled flesh of your neck.

The tip of his nose brushed slowly, painfully close, without giving you what you secretly craved, while his hot breath caressed your tingling skin like a deliberate, gentle whisper of a quiet promise. You fluttered your eyes close, the grip on Heeseung’s shirt tightening as he continued. 

“I can help you with that... Just give me the word.”

“Heeseung–”

Your desperate, breathy moan was interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. No, you didn’t hear them, but Heeseung was more than aware of Brendon’s return, taking on the job of carefully paying attention to it from the very beginning. 

“Think about it, darling. I can relieve your stress.”

It was the last thing he whispered in your ear before pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, pulling away to instantly resume his casual, friendly demeanor.  

“Did I take too long?”

Brendon’s voice wasn’t enough to break your trance. You felt your body weak and incredibly light, your flustered face showing a slight confusion and disbelief, with a subtle mix of wanting. 

Heeseung glanced at you with a mild smile for a brief moment before wrapping an arm around Brendon’s shoulders to guide him into the living room, murmuring a hollow response, followed by some lame excuse about showing him something, in order to give you time to recompose yourself. 

After a few minutes in a daze, you found yourself heading to the bathroom, because the interaction with Heeseung hadn’t just left a mark on your chest. No. Your panties were ruined, and you prayed you could hide it from Brendon for the rest of the night.

You had to hide your chaotic emotions for the rest of the following weeks, not just that night.

Brendon was completely unaware of the vast storm of thoughts racing through your mind as you did your household chores, which made it easier to ignore his misogynistic taunts and repulsive complaints throughout the day.

The memory of Heeseung’s soft lips brushing against your neck left an undeniable mark, and from time to time, you found yourself absentmindedly tracing the spot with your fingertips, almost as if you could still feel the warmth of his touch melting into your skin.

It was confusing to be in the position you were in, married on the paper to a jerk with the possibility of going after someone who apparently cared about you.

Sharing the same space with Heeseung had become increasingly difficult. You even started shifting your work schedule, taking days off when you knew he wouldn’t be able to come to your house, even though his visits had become less frequent.

You couldn’t quite figure out what had happened, but it seemed that Brendon and Heeseung had an argument after clashing over something trivial. It was as if Heeseung was finally showing his true colors, shedding the persona he had carefully crafted to get closer to your husband and eventually you, now that he had made his move in the invisible game of chess the two of you had been playing.

Besides your work, Brendon couldn’t control your friendships as well and luckily you had a supportful network that held you with warmth when the stress became overwhelming.

Countless times, your friends tried to show you that Brendon didn’t deserve even a fraction of the incredible woman you were, but as always, you had a well-rehearsed response that failed to mask the disrespect you had to endure with him.

Over time, your friends stopped trying to force you to see what you already knew was true, and in response, you made sure not to bring home issues into your work.

But that time, however, it was impossible to stay silent. Your face clearly showed discomfort and anxiety, but there was also a special sparkle in your eyes that piqued Yunjin’s curiosity.

“What’s got you so deep in thought on such a beautiful day, my lovely Y/N?”

You snuggled into the back hug she gave you, chuckling softly at the way she addressed you, a clear sign that she wouldn’t let up until you answered.

Yunjin was your closest friend, the one who always made sure to check on you and your relationship, occasionally threatening to drag you out of your house by force – but you always shot back, claiming it would probably make things worse.

She also knew about your recent sudden desire to escape, to distance yourself from everything that reminded you of Brendon – something completely new in your shared world, based on past experiences. You always found some lame excuse to cover up such thoughts, rarely letting them slip, and suddenly things had changed; in recent days, you had left numerous hints that something completely different and new was unfolding.

A sigh escaped your lips, followed by your quiet reply. “If I tell you, you might not believe it.”

Yunjin adorably rested her chin on your shoulder, trying to look you in the eyes.

“Humor me, then.”

You bit your lower lip, moving your head to the opposite side so you could hide how your cheeks flushed before you muttered.

“I want to cheat on my husband.”

The small stockroom fell into a deafening silence as the words left your lips, words that had been corroding your mind for days, perhaps even weeks. Saying it out loud felt like giving your desire a tangible form, pulling it from the realm of unreachable fantasy into the tempting, possible reality.

It was a simple statement, yet it unleashed a storm of emotions in your chest and stomach, as if all the anxiety you had been harboring, trying to gather the courage to reach this conclusion, came crashing back in a wave that hit you like a brick wall.

Yunjin’s lack of immediate reaction only made the air feel heavier, stealing the very breath from your lungs. You could sense the tension in her body behind you, but your mind, too clouded by the fear of judgment, twisted it into something entirely different from what she truly felt.

“Don’t judge me, plea–” “Who with?”

Your head snapped to the side, stunned, as you searched your friend’s face. What you found wasn’t judgment or disgust but a spark of curiosity and, oddly enough, pride glimmering in her eyes, as though she had been waiting her whole life for you to say something this bold.

“What?”

Yunjin loosened her back hug only to turn you around to face her, taking both of your hands in hers, which had been awkwardly dangling at your sides.

“Alright, so you’re going to cheat on your husband.” She gave your fingers a reassuring squeeze. “With who?”

Her enthusiasm was impossible to miss, and it stirred something strangely exhilarating in you, like a mischievous excitement, as if you were about to hatch a secret plan doomed to fail, yet thrilling precisely because of the forbidden nature of it all.

At the same time, you couldn’t fully process her reaction. Tilting your head slightly, you frowned, skepticism evident on your face.

“What do you mean you're not calling me crazy or immoral? Shouldn’t you be scolding me, telling me I should divorce him instead of choosing to cheat?”

Yunjin let out a soft sigh, a subtle and kind exhale, as a small smile danced on her lightly pink-tinted lips.

“Y/N, my princess... After everything you’ve been through, seeing you reach a point where you’re ready to break free from that awful man, even if it’s not in the ‘right’ way, makes me happy and proud. So, I don’t care if you start this journey with an affair or a murder–”

“I'm not murdering anyone!” You quickly cut her off, widened eyes shooting a warning glance. 

“Whatever,” she rolled her eyes playfully, the corner of her lips twitching within a smirk. “Either way, I’ll support and help you, because I know that getting rid of that piece of trash will bring you as much peace and joy as it will bring me.”

She wasn’t entirely wrong, but there was one critical detail she didn’t know yet, one that sent a thrill through you just imagining saying it aloud. For the first time, you realized you could actually put yourself first.

“I’m not cheating on Brendon to get revenge,” you said, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I’m cheating on Brendon because Heeseung is hot, and I deserve better.”

Your trembling fingers fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, each pounding beat of your heart showing how nervous you were as you stood in front of that door.

It had been a few days since your talk with Yunjin – days made even more painful and exhausting by your husband’s behavior. He had been nothing but a spoiled, petulant child as usual, a true pain in the ass with his petty, insufferable attitude. It felt as though he was deliberately testing your limits, pushing you closer and closer to the edge, waiting for the moment you would snap.

It was always the same game. He would provoke you until you reached your breaking point, only to paint himself as the victim once you finally exploded. He had done it before, twisting the narrative to label you as the irrational, overly sensitive one, incapable of handling even the smallest criticism. Of course, his idea of “small criticism” was laughably detached from the reality of his hurtful words and actions.

The truth was undeniable: your relationship had long since turned cold, deprived of warmth in every sense of the word. The affection that once tied you together had dissolved after the first year of marriage, slipping away like water into a vast, unyielding ocean of discontent and sorrow.

Over time, you grew used to the scraps, and eventually, to nothing at all. You convinced yourself to accept whatever he offered, clinging to the hollow promise you had made – to love each other no matter the circumstances. But deep down, you knew that love had died a long time ago. You just hadn’t found the courage to bury it.

“Fuck you, Brendon. Go to hell!”

Those were your penultimate words before storming out of the house you once shared, grabbing only the essentials – your keys, your phone, and your bag. The last thing you said when he demanded to know where you were going was a truth laced with a hidden lie, where, in fact, you answered him correctly, only omitting the true intention behind your trip.

“Somewhere far away from you.”

That’s how you ended up here, standing in front of a plain white door that now served as the only barrier between you and the reckless choice you were about to make.

Summoning a fleeting jolt of courage, you raised your hand and pressed the doorbell. The moment the sound echoed, your stomach dropped and the weight of what you were doing crashed down on you like a wave. There was no turning back now.

The sound of a key turning in the lock made your breath hitch. Each passing millisecond felt like an eternity, your uneven breathing exposing the anxiety surging through your body.

You had rehearsed a dozen speeches on your way here – carefully thought-out words that would explain everything, rationalize your decision, maybe even give it some dignity. But the second the door opened and his familiar face came into view, every carefully crafted sentence vanished.

All that remained were the raw, desperate words that spilled out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“I wanna relieve my stress, Heeseung.”

Without noticing, your eyes fluttered closed when you blurted out, as if you couldn’t bear to see Heeseung’s reaction to it, extremely embarrassed of how you voiced your inner desire. However, his silence was more than enough to make you hesitantly reopen then, expecting anything but the scenery that blessed your sight, making your throat close and the simple action of breathing extremely hard. 

Heeseung stood there, freshly out of the shower after arriving from a very exhausting day at work. Clearly not expecting company, he had thrown on only a comfortable pair of sweatpants that hung low on his waist, the waistband of his underwear peeking out teasingly. 

His exposed torso was graced with droplets of water that danced slowly through its extension, his mild tanned and flustered skin serving as a beautiful background canvas, giving you a private show you hadn’t requested, yet you were beyond thrilled to witness.

At first, Heeseung was very confused with furrowed brows and lost soft doe eyes scanning you as if trying to resolve a riddle. But then, realization hit in an instant when he pieced the puzzle: you, stress relief, clearly nervous at his door…

“Oh?”

The single word failed to snap you out of your shameless admiration. 

Heeseung had an attractive physique, you already knew it. Tall figure, broad shoulders, waist slightly thinner than his hips, effortlessly strong arms; covered in his usual casual suit he was normally the culprit behind your small, careless mistakes, like burning your finger or miscutting a vegetable because your mind wandered a bit too far.

Now it felt like having access to forbidden footage, something you weren’t supposed to see, although you wanted to. Your gaze had been trailing every inch of his exposed form as if you were reading your favorite book, lingering longer on the defined V-line near to where he was covered, almost like daring you to look lower. 

You almost didn’t notice how he shifted on his feet, body language switching instantly to match your dark eyes devouring his flesh deliberately.

Heeseung took a step closer and leaned on the door frame, his head dropping forward just to try to search for your hungry eyes, the fragrance of his shampoo permeating your senses like a flood.

“So you want my help?”

The question came quiet, yet sultry as ever, and acted as a stronger trigger to pull you out of your daze bubble completely, only now noticing how close he was.

Your cheeks exposed your mortification at being caught, though you didn’t actually want to hide your need and desire – it was more like a moral shame, knowing that as soon as you allowed Heeseung to cross a specific line, there was no turning back.

With your fingers clutching your purse's handle firmly, you bravely nodded, tracking your eyes up and seeing the movement of Heeseung cocking his head to the side, as well as the curve of his lips turning into a smirk.

“Yes, I–I want your help.”

Hearing your consent replaced Heeseung’s mild doubt by an urge to take action, as if your words ignited something darker, deeper, that reflected each nuance of it on his drooping eyes. Something you hadn't seen in years, because the only gaze your husband managed to flash you was the usual disgusted, angry, disappointed one; something tempting, and unafraid, you took the bait.

“Come in, darling.”

Your trembling legs somehow managed to follow Heeseung's lead. He had made the subtle decision to brush his hand lightly against your waist as he guided you to his bedroom, your gaze unfocused barely paying attention to the decor of his apartment.

The only things your mind could fully grasp were the warmth of his fleeting touch on your lower back, the soft, dim light that bathed the cozy interior of his space, and that the outcome that interaction would lead to was implicitly obvious.

It felt oddly familiar, like when you lost your virginity – the weight of the forbidden, the eagerness to start and explore mingled with the fear of disappointment and regret, the realization that there was no turning back and things would change afterward.

It was a confusing, insecure mixture of emotions that left you dizzy, especially since you had always followed the vows of your marriage, promising to cherish, respect, and remain loyal to your partner.

But it was hard to hold onto that promise when you were the only one making an effort. It felt like an empty promise, broken, shattered, where only your side remained intact.

“What happened?”

Your thoughts were so intense and overwhelming that you didn't even realize Heeseung had ushered you to sit at the edge of his soft bed, while he pulled the chair from the pair in the corner of the room and brought it closer to you, sitting directly in front of you.

You raised your sad, lost gaze to Heeseung, finding in his eyes an offer of care and attention. There was an underlying lust simmering beneath the surface, threatening to take over, but he was determined to stay composed, ensuring your consent came first.

Heeseung communicated with you without words, a connection so deep it made your heart race, as if the two of you could read each other effortlessly. A small, shaky sigh escaped your parted lips as your fingers fidgeted with your bag, seeking grounding in something tangible, something solid amidst the chaos in your mind.

You were about to cheat. Not just your husband but the promise you had made, once sacred. It felt like madness.

“You know I’m here, right?” Heeseung’s reassuring voice pulled you out of the whirlwind of your thoughts, anchoring you to the present. And with that, you nodded and began.

“He's been... strange.”

Your eyes avoided Heeseung’s curious gaze as he leaned forward at first, close enough to rest his elbows on his knees while enveloping your hands in his warm, comforting grasp. He gave you a gentle squeeze, encouraging you to continue. You shivered and gathered strength to keep going.

“We’ve been fighting a lot lately, and it feels like… If I was already not enough before, now I’m even worse.”

"You were never ‘not enough,’ Y/N,” Heeseung interjected gently but firmly. You darted your eyes briefly towards him and he was frowning a bit. 

“I know, it’s just…” You swallowed the lump in your throat, holding back tears you didn’t want your husband to deserve. “He’s always put me in this place, and I think I started going there on my own. Like, I’m the incapable one, the one who screws everything up, the one who lost her sex appeal and can’t please him anymore...”

Heeseung listened intently, his thumb softly brushing over the back of your hand like a silent reassurance that he was there for you. It was a comfort unlike anything you had felt in a long time.

“And lately... I think he’s–” You hesitated, your gaze unfocused as it landed on a random spot on the chair behind Heeseung. “He’s been coming home late from work, and honestly, I’m relieved to some extent...” A humorless laugh escaped you. “But with the things he’s been saying, like how he could find something better elsewhere, how I’m dispensable… It’s hard not to think he’s...” You took a trembling breath, the tears you had been holding back falling slowly. “...That he’s cheating on me.”

You weren’t crying in full sobs or breaking down entirely. They were quiet tears of realization, a painful acceptance that everything you had worked to keep standing had already crumbled long ago, now waiting to be buried by you; tears of relief, knowing, somehow, you tried your very best. 

Heeseung waited a few moments before raising your hands, still enveloped by his, to place a soft kiss on them. The following words sounded harsh and weighted contrastingly heavy with how tender his lips brushed your skin as he did so.

“He is.”

You froze, feeling your heart skip a beat and your stomach dropping. Your slightly widened eyes snapped to Heeseung’s, searching for any sign of dishonesty or teasing, but all you found was an expression of empathy, compassion that seemed to hurt him almost as much as it hurt you.

“W-What do you mean?”

Even though your voice came reluctantly and your eyes kept drifting to every inch of Heeseung’s expression, as if you expected for it to be a massive lie he was telling you, that new piece of information had your entire being reacting weirdly, awakening – or intensifying – a stronger desire to maintain your previous plan, morality being thrown out the window. 

Heeseung’s jaw tightened at your expectant, griefing eyes, and for a moment he looked away as though struggling to find the right words, the ones not to hurt you even more. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft but steady, and made you wince with a bittersweet feeling.

“He’s been spending a lot of time with someone in finance these past few weeks,” a sudden pang in your heart made your breath hitch. “And… from what I’ve seen, it’s not just friendly. His hand is always on her waist, and the smiles they exchange...” He trailed off, not wanting to add to your pain, especially by how your lips pursed together into a small sad pout. “I caught them kissing the other day. I didn’t confront them– I didn’t even know how to tell you. I didn’t know where you worked, and the only chance I had to see you was at your house.” He gave a small, almost remorseful smile, avoiding your gaze. “And honestly, I knew I wouldn’t be able to control myself if I saw him.”

His tone was apologetic and sincere, giving you enough to ignite a growing anger in your chest. 

If you had doubts before, this was more than a confirmation. Not only about your marriage obviously going down in shambles, but mostly to know you weren’t wrong for searching for Heeseung in the first place.

Your mind was caught in a tug-of-war, split into two opposing forces. One side replayed the vows you had once written for your husband, while the other mercilessly pointed out the everyday moments that made it clear he no longer deserved a single word of those promises.

That latter part desperately sought justification, crafting reasons to convince yourself this wasn’t wrong. He did it first, it whispered. He cheated on you. You have every right to even the score.

But this wasn’t just about revenge. It was something deeper – a mix of fractured morality and raw, unfiltered longing for the man standing before you. A man who had just confessed that he feared losing control if he ever faced your husband.

His words stirred something primal within you, replacing the sting of betrayal with a flicker of desire you couldn’t ignore.

Heeseung, in far less time than your husband had, had proven you were worth it. He showed you that you were someone worth fighting for, someone who deserved more.

The intensity in Heeseung's gaze was palpable, his eyes burning with a heat that made your breath hitch. When your own heavy, searching eyes met his, the air between you thickened, electric and tense. The room felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for one of you to make the next move.

Yet, as undeniable as the chemistry was, you were still hurt. The anger bubbling within you was impossible to suppress. Every fiber of your body screamed frustration, the weight of betrayal pounding against your chest like a drumbeat.

There was a fire inside you – a burning rage that demanded release. You wanted to scream, to lash out, to make someone – your husband – feel the same devastation that was ripping through you. It felt like an overwhelming need to break something, to pour all your fury into a physical outlet.

And it was then that you realized you needed to take it out on something. 

Before you could act on the reckless thought of leaning forward to claim Heeseung's kissable lips, he rose from his seat with a quiet confidence, still holding your hands. Gently, he tugged you to stand, leaving you momentarily dazed. Your bag slipped from your shoulder onto the chair he was sitting as he guided your body to turn away from him, positioning your back to his chest.

You shivered when his warm breath fanned over your ear, your composure threatening to crumble entirely. Your legs gave a slight, involuntary tremble, as if warning you that, depending on his next actions, you might find yourself falling face-first on the bed in front of you.

“Can I touch you?”

His voice was soft, almost reverent, and the question sparked a mix of confusion and curiosity spiraling through you. You nodded silently, unable to form a coherent response, and his hands moved to your shoulders, his warm touch both soothing and electrifying.

“I know this is all fucked up," he murmured. "But I can’t let you carry all this tension.”

You let out a small chuckle, your shoulders wiggling slightly as you did, allowing your head to tilt to the side. The gesture opened a new, vulnerable space for him to explore, and the silent invitation didn’t go unnoticed.

“I’m tired…” you whispered, your voice fragile. “Frustrated also. But so, so tired of being with him. And now that I know he cheated on me,” your voice wavered, thick with suppressed anger and sorrow, “I–I think– I know I deserve better, but… I don’t even know what better looks like.”

Heeseung’s thumbs pressed into the tense muscles of your upper back right after you spoke. You swore you could feel the ghost of a smirk on his lips as he leaned closer, his breath grazing your ear sweetly, yet sultrily.

“I can show you what better looks like, darling,” he said lowering an octave, his tone both tempting and genuine, but mostly, filthy.

A low, involuntary hum escaped you, uncertain whether it was from the pleasure of his skilled touch kneading away your tension or the raw temptation dripping from his words, words that lingered in the air like a seductive promise, enticing you towards a darker path, leading to a gate of ruins – the kind born of broken vows and desires forbidden.

“Can you?” you shot back, your voice soft but tinged with challenge and curiosity, enough to elicit a low chuckle from Heeseung.

“Yeah. If you let me…” His lips brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck and a shiver coursed through you, your body instinctively relaxing under his touch. “I can show you. Just say the word, sweetheart.”

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, and the now painful, agonizing memories of your dead relationship clouded the course of your next decisions. Not that if you were thinking entirely rationally you would avoid the temptation offered by Heeseung, nor would you shy away from the clear want to have him in a more intimate, more physical way.

Nonetheless, the rising anger towards Brendon, that had dismissed slightly but it hadn’t vanished, was slowly, yet completely taking over your being, controlling your senses and boosting the craving for making a move – a wrong move.

There was an excruciating necessity for feeling the revenge melting deliciously on your tongue, to payback, to be in charge of the trajectory of your life back again.

The morality was long gone.

“Please, Hee.”

You tilted your head back, resting against Heeseung’s shoulder. The chant in your brain yelled for you to stop, to resolve things correctly, how they should be, however your hands had already covered Heeseung’s and deliberately pulled them up, his palms now groping your covered breasts with you inciting it.

“Show me.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper, your thoughts failing to keep you away from succumbing to your raw desires – Fuck Brendon, you said to yourself. He is the one to blame.

“Show me what I deserve.”

You were blinded by a mix of desire, lust and anger when Heeseung pulled you closer and began to massage your breasts vigorously, his soft lips kissing the length of your neck, jaw and then, the corner of your mouth, while his fingers varied between pinching your nipples and playing with them.

Your desire to have him was overwhelming and indescribable, your body melted under his slow and gentle touch. But that wasn't what you wanted, no. You wanted more; more intense, more fervent, hotter.

You needed to vent your growing rage, you needed to feel your frustration and pain fading away before you exploded.

“I'm angry, Hee,” you murmured through gritted teeth, your eyes narrowing only so you could turn towards Heeseung and grab him by the neck, the hands that once explored your chest now on your waist. “Don't treat me with care. Not now. Not today.”

And in a frantic movement, you attached your lips to his as if it were the last thing you were doing in your life, not even paying attention to how Heeseung's eyes were darkened and clouded by pure lust.

Heeseung felt struck by lightning when he finally kissed the lips he had dreamed of feeling for so long, but he didn't have time to appreciate a single second of their softness because you soon sought to deepen the touch, exploring his mouth with your tongue, searching for his so you could embark on a messy and needy kiss.

Your hands tugged at his hair lightly, occasionally trailing down to his bare, warm shoulder, shivering under your touch. Your heads moved in an unsynchronized rhythm – there was no time to cherish, to appreciate the intimate connection. You just wanted to feel him closer, to feel him deep in you.

When Heeseung's large hands grabbed your ass, you murmured something that sounded like “more”, quickly indicating with your own hand for him to squeeze harder.

The request was swiftly met, your bodies pressing together hungrily to the point where you noticed the erection that was growing under the few cloths that covered Heeseung. You moaned when you felt him hard against you, your breathing hitching.

When you least expected it your back was laid out on Heeseung's bed, with him on top of you, still kissing your lips, your breaths heavy and interrupted, however not enough to break the connection.

But you still wanted more.

“More, Hee. More.” You exhaled at one point, when for a brief moment, your lips parted.

Heeseung had already thrown his sanity out the window. He had intended to treat you with care, affection, and show you how worthy you were, but his plans seemed to differ from yours; you seemed to need an intense and passionate sex, one that he knew he could offer you.

Without much hesitation, he dared to detach his lips from yours just so he could move them down your still covered torso, grazing the fabric of your shirt and stopping at the edge of the waistband of your slacks.

Heeseung guided his gaze upwards, only to find you slightly disheveled, panting, and with swollen lips. The skin around your mouth was reddened from the intensity of the kiss you shared, and he was sure he wasn’t much different himself.

“Please, don’t stop…” You whined and squirmed a little when you realized he was taking too much time to appreciate your expression of desperation instead of using it to make you feel good.

You felt your panties uncomfortably soaked with your arousal and your whole body boiled with lust and need for more.

More, more, more, it was what the chant in your head was screaming now, completely lost in the lustful haze that overwhelmed you agonizingly, mixed with the anger of having been betrayed, been cheated on.

Your hand fit perfectly on top of Heeseung's head when he finally removed your bottoms along with your panties in one go; his beautiful eyes, previously full of attention and affection, now showed pure need for having you naked and exposed.

“Shit, darling…” Heeseung groaned, seeing your wet folds and pulsing hole. “You’re so fucking perfect, so fucking wet,” he kissed your inner thigh and you winced, throwing your head back on the pillow and trying to relax your breathing. “Release your fucking anger on my hair while I make you fucking cum with my mouth, yeah?”

Although you didn’t see, he flashed you a last mischievous glance and a smirk before darting back to stare at your inviting pussy, his own respiration hitching as his mouth watered. 

Wasting no time, Heeseung dipped his flattened tongue all along your extension, sucking at the very end straight on your clit, just to get a preliminary taste but stirring quite a loud moan from you. Your hips waved forward to search for more immediate contact when he briefly leaned away to close his eyes, a phantom of a smile lingering on his lips as he appreciated your flavor melting in his palate.

Your hands pushed his head back down, forcing his face to dive deep into you and he couldn't be happier, even letting out a small giggle with your unashamed eagerness.

It felt amazing to receive an oral that skilled, that warm mouth working perfectly to suck your arousal enthusiastically, big nose nudging in an expert dance against your sensitive bud of nerves and, damn, that tongue assaulting your pulsing hole by entering in and eventually stroking through the other parts, passionately exploring your cunt.

Heeseung was giving you full attention.

Somehow it triggered an urge to cry in between your moans, because you were associating practically everything with your husband – the heated kisses you never really got to receive, the deprivation of sexual interactions where you felt desired, the words that lifted your self esteem.

Brendon had never treated you this way, the right way. He barely even gave you a fraction of the care and attention that Heeseung was now showering upon you, his desire to bring you pleasure evidently being treated as if it was his own, as though having you shaking and pleading for more with your drenching cunt on his mouth riled him up.

Your eyes stung and tears dared to roll down your temples onto the pillow beneath your head, the lump on your throat and a strange feeling filling your chest that only fueled your pain and anger.

Instinctively, your fingers tightened their grip on Heeseung's soft hair, strong enough to make him groan in pain, but not enough to make him complain or ask you to stop. You also forced him down once again, using his face, mouth, tongue, nose, everything to get yourself off and drift the sorrow away.

“F–Fuck–” A whimper escaped your lips when Heeseung entertained your idea instead of backing off, intensifying how he was eating you out deliciously, his own breath growing stronger, ragged within each passing minute he deepened his head between your legs, nearly suffocating himself.

You could feel the foreign knot on your stomach tightening along with the pang in your chest and Heeseung’s grip on your thighs; his hands moved to under them to position on his broad shoulders, skin on skin making you notice how hot both of your bodies were, and, at the same time, serving as a not-so-gentle lucidity reminder of the intimacy you were sharing.

Although the temptation of achieving your release just with Heeseung’s mouth tickled your core, you couldn’t help the sane part of your brain prompting that, perhaps, the ongoing scenario wouldn’t happen even again and you had to live it up the best.

Everything was so confusing. You just had a reckless, frustrated and anger driven decision that led you to have Heeseung buried deep in your pussy, nonetheless you were still married – at least on paper. 

You had a husband. 

The hand that held Heeseung in place was curiously your left one, as if the whole world wanted to remember you were being a cheater; your pretty ring sparkled amidst his dark locks in a beautiful, nearly artistic mess.

A roll of eyes brought you back to the overwhelming sensation of Heeseung’s warmth involving your sensitiveness, snapped you back into the haze of unawareness of your sad reality. He cherished your climax as much as you, and was willingly determined to make you cum just by his mouth. You, on the other hand, had different plans.

“Hee…” You called in a moan and tried to pull him away, your closed eyes making the unleashed tears flow easily. He shook his head and pushed himself down again, oblivious to the turmoil blending with your pleasure. 

He only halted his movements when you added. “Mhm, stop, please–”

A soft kiss within a plop sound was planted on your clit when he stopped, stirring a small shake in your body and a quiet whine. Heeseung lifted his gaze and caught your furrowed brows and bitten-swollen lips, and also noticed your tears.

“What’s wrong, darling?”

His voice carried a hint of concern, unsure if your tears were from pleasure or sadness, especially since you had just asked him to stop, leaving him dealing with mixed signals.

“Nothing's wrong,” you shook your head and smiled, because the man in front of you not only respected your request immediately but also prioritized your well-being over the sex. A rarity in your life.

Even so, Heeseung maneuvered your legs to place them back on the soft mattress and moved to hover comfortably over you, his eyes searching for your still closed ones. You felt a gentle stroke on your cheek, followed by his warm breath fanning your nose and lips, signaling he was closer to you than you had realized.

Your free hand blindly traced the path of his arms to his neck, while the other, still tangled in his hair, pulled him into a kiss with one singular, simple purpose: to drown out all the overthinking that had started to flood your mind.

The tears intensified as your lips moved in sync, and when Heeseung tried to pull back, likely to ask what was wrong, you tugged him down again and silenced the possibility by deepening the kiss.

A terrible feeling began to rise, fighting against the one that had filled the room minutes ago – lust.

You wanted Heeseung as a man. You wanted him to keep touching you as he did moments ago, to give you the pleasure you deserved and wanted, not only because he offered that chance but mainly because you desired it and allowed it.

Yet, it was so messy and confusing. The weight of guilt pressed heavily on your chest, the self-awareness and the realization of cheating beginning to restrict your actions.

And then came the anger.

He betrayed you first. He didn’t treat you right. He didn’t respect you. Maybe, he didn’t even love you.

That marriage had been dead for so long. The façade you had desperately tried to keep intact by scattering beautiful flowers along the path was already thrown in the trash. You deserved better – you deserved a confident, strong, incredible and undeniably attractive gentleman like Heeseung.

Heeseung.

Heeseung, who was right in front of you, so close, kissing you with a slow, addictive heat. Heeseung, who had respected you from the very beginning. Heeseung, who risked parts of his morality, his life, and his values just to get closer to you. Heeseung, who occupied every corner of your mind.

Why was it so hard to accept that you might actually deserve him?

A shaky sigh broke the intoxicating kiss as Heeseung propped himself up on one arm to look into your glossy, reddened eyes. Before any questioning words could escape his swollen lips, you allowed your raw desire to be spoken aloud.

“Fuck me with your fingers,” you demanded, your voice soft, yet firm and serious as your eyes roamed Heeseung’s features. 

His forehead was starting to damp some hairs in sweat, his nostrils moved along his intense breathing and his lips, parted, showed your work of art on them, glistening with your saliva and earlier arousal.

Your hand covered the one that still lingered tenderly on your cheek, grabbing it to drive slowly down to your pussy.

“I want to feel you in every way possible, Hee.”

Heeseung couldn’t deny the confusion of your actions, the sudden cry, the smallest hesitation he caught in between the kiss, and now this. He was in no place to deny such a filthy request though, a request that got his neglected, aching dick throbbing in his boxers, nearly screaming for some relief or space to breathe.

Still, an incomprehensive sensation lingered on the back of his head as he tracked your every face motion.

“Are you sure?” The question itself was just a confirmation you were alright, you were still thinking somehow straight and taking decisions you really wanted to live up with.

Cheating wasn’t Heeseung’s game either. He hated the idea of being or having an affair as much as you; infidelity never sounded right to his ears. Nonetheless the situation was so uniquely specific. His true concern was when you would dump that jackass you called a husband, the one who wouldn’t lift a finger to make you happy, the one who, quite the opposite, would be more than thrilled to make you feel worse every passing day.

Selfish as it may be, it was genuine to his intentions. Heeseung had been fully aware of his plan from the start, knowing it wasn’t entirely right to do so, but sounded like the most possible option – to show what you deserve, and how he would willingly give it to you.

Now, he wished he could have stayed loyal to the original intent of this entire thing, where he promised himself to help you out of a toxic relationship without getting personally attached.

But it was you. You, with your charming smile. You, with your pretty expressive eyes. You, with your loving personality. You, with your sincere care for those you loved.

You, taking over his thoughts within every shade of mundanity and profanity, from the most casual to the most profound and intimate area.

Tasting your lips was the first stumble. Venturing in your intimacy was where he fell. 

“Yes, Hee,” you nodded, softened eyes showing your need along with a press of his fingertips into your hole, teasing an intrusion. He moaned with you. “I’m sure.” 

“Fuck,” a curse slipped from his mouth like a grunt, and his lips pressed against yours to kiss you again, because in no world he would miss the opportunity of having you this close, to drink from your whimpers as he circled his finger on your clenching pussy.

Heeseung was skilled in many nuances, you came to realize. But kissing was definitely his most noticeable talent. He knew where and when to move to match your energy, how to use his tongue to grace yours in a deliberate dance that twisted your feelings, leaving you lightheaded and dizzy, craving for more.

You might have taken his supposition of you deserving more a bit too far, because you also noticed Heeseung was apparently tailor-made to provoke your instincts of wanting, of more – it never felt enough.

So when he finally inserted his middle finger, you jolted and gasped mid kiss, without being able to prevent your hips reflexively wiggling to get additional contact, nor your hands tightening around his silky strands, trembling just enough to make your desire noticeable.

“More,” you whispered in a shaky breath, lips brushing against each other before Heeseung’s ones trailed lazily along your cheek, lowering to your neck. You moaned. “Add more, Heeseung–” 

Your spongy interior hugged his following finger in a warm, tempting hug and he didn’t hold back his shameless humping against your leg that matched the pump into you, his cock twitching in despair for release, for freedom. It felt tight; both your pussy and the fabric around his length.

Heeseung panted in between the sloppy kisses he delivered along the extension of your goosebumped skin, loving how needy you sounded and acted by clutching his hair stronger and waving your body forward. 

His fingers worked wonders inside you, palm brushing lightly against your clit and providing a teasing amount of friction, but didn't give enough fulfillment to leave you satisfied. Both of you grew impatient before the silent shared-thought of Heeseung’s cock filling your pussy, replacing his two fingers, so he could feel all of you and hit your every spot.

A displeased whine followed by a quiet surprised gasp jumped out of your mouth when Heeseung removed his hand from you, lewdly licking his fingers clean with an arousing smirk before quickly sneaking it under your penult clothing piece to unclasp your bra.

You helped by arching your back just to give some space, and didn’t hide your shock by how easily he did it with just one hand; the tight tension that held boobs in place soothed as he removed your shirt altogether, making you sigh and wince a little as the room air fanned your, now, completely naked skin.

“Need to fuck you, darling,” he muttered, voice low, velvety and desperate. “Need it so bad.”

Your eyes followed closely how dilated Heeseung’s pupils were, blown with unfiltered, bare hunger dedicated to you. He unashamedly showed his craving by licking his swollen lips at the sight of your perked nipples aching for some attention, and for brief seconds he cupped your breasts with each of his hands and kneaded softly, just to feel the smoothness of them.

Your lazy smirk and hooded eyes demonstrated your enjoyment with the devotion Heeseung was giving you willingly, without asking anything in return as you were used to; your husband always sharply requested something back if you said you wanted him to play with your body and give you something instead of using it for his own pleasure. 

“You’re so fucking hot, darling,” Heeseung complimented with a quiet grin, worshipping your gorgeous body exposed for his eyes, eyes that showered you with want, with genuine interest on what they were seeing.

Such a foreign experience for you.

He grazed his fingertips downwards the fat of your waist and hips as he, himself, lowered all the way on the bed before standing up on his feet. 

“You think so?” You asked shyly, barely audible as you propped yourself in one arm to watch the small show Heeseung was giving you by removing his sweatpants; you couldn’t help your salivation or the pulses in your cunt seeing the shape of his cock, drawn along the fabric, and the big dampened portion indicating his leaking tip that teased the subsequent vision.

When Heeseung finally exposed his length completely, you couldn’t hold back the sigh, the wide-eyed stare, or the dry swallow that slid down your throat.

He was big. Long and flushed, angrily aching, begging for relief. And he was about to be inside you.

“Fuck…” 

Heeseung’s grin stretched with your adorable, yet sultry reaction – the whisper of your curse traveling straight into his ear, flattering his ego; your legs closing and your thighs clenching involuntarily in order to find some satisfaction stirring a throb on his hardened cock. 

“I’m totally sure of it, doll,” the endearment got your needy hole clenching more, and Heeseung seductively hovering on top of you with his piercing eyes locked onto yours didn’t help much. Your breath hitched, eyes gleaming with expectation, but your cheeks warmed after he added. “You’re like a goddess.”

Maybe it wasn’t exactly his words, but how he sustained eye contact while he voiced them. Heeseung had an attitude that got your core bubbling in a rush of excitement, both sexual and… affectionate. 

Effortlessly and shamelessly, he had expressed just how deeply you affected him, simply by being in your presence. The way his body responded to yours with such ease, by nothing more than fleeting touches and exchanged words, with your consent, felt surreal. It was so far from the reality you were used to, so unexpected.

“You make me go insane…” He continued, kissing your neck while positioning himself in between your legs.

Your hands grabbed the sheets beneath you as he pressed the tip on your pussy, his free hand caressing your cheek as the other held his support beside your face.

“Dreamed about you from the very first day…”

The confession sounded raw, voice slowly pronouncing each word with care, but hoarse enough to show the sincerity of it, as if he had let down his guard completely and was letting his deepest thoughts escape without filters. It caused an unfamiliar wave within you, something that both eased your nerves and sparked your curiosity, something that got you clutching the sheets harder and your eyes fluttering close.

“When I found out you were married to that pathetic excuse of a man,” Heeseung maintained his tone low and deliberate, matching the rhythm he started to enter you, face still buried in your neck. “I was so, so pissed.”

Your breath hitched, overwhelmed by the feeling of the weight of his length and how deliciously he was stretching your hole.

On top of that, Heeseung’s unfiltered words didn’t leave an open space for you to add anything else, too flustered, aroused, lost in your pleasure and bafflement under the bare feeling of intimacy, leaving the job of talking entirely for him.

So he kept going, taking your silence and how your brows furrowed into a contorted expression of pleasure as a positive reaction. 

“I saw him talking shit about you every day,” he murmured, already more than halfway inside you, taking his time, savoring the way you clenched around him. Soft and breathy grunts escaped amidst the speech he chose to vent to you. “And I couldn’t do anything, not back then. I had to get closer to him to get closer to you.”

That piece of information was new, though you could easily deduce it by sorting out the fragments you already had. You wished you could fully comprehend it, respond as you wanted, maybe even thank him or whatever, but the way Heeseung deepened his movements, his body pressing against yours, his pelvis in contact with your skin, was clouding your mind.

“I wanted to destroy your marriage, love. I’m not even ashamed to admit it,” he whispered against your ear like telling you a secret, then raised his head to search your gaze. “So, so, so beautiful…” 

You fluttered your lashes, weakly trying to meet his eyes. Your hands, once gripping the sheets, trembled as they found their way to Heeseung's shoulders. He noticed how your eyelids struggled to stay open, feeling the weight of his body on top of yours, knowing that every sensation was pulling you deeper into a space where he believed you truly belonged – completely immersed in raw pleasure.

Your cheeks flushed, and although Heeseung believed it was from the lustful warmth, it was mostly because of his genuine words, the way he told his side of the story, which left you disoriented yet absorbing every sentence.

“You’re gorgeous, darling,” he said once again, as though expecting you to absorb the compliments. Knowing how unwanted your relationship made you feel, he had a mission to make you understand you were wonderful and he was deeply affected by you. “The prettiest woman I ever laid my eyes on.”

You whimpered quietly when he dared to move an inch away, pulling out his cock a little just to pump into you again. With your body already limp, you gave up on keeping watching his handsome face up-close, the glimpse of a tender smile being your last view before closing your eyes.

Heeseung took your decision as a silent invite for a kiss, hand sneaking in between your hair towards you nape, attaching his mouth on yours in a slow and sensual touch that got you melting even more. He muffled his own grunts as he drank in your beautiful moans.

You couldn’t come up with a proper description about the fluttering in your chest and stomach with such a gentle contact, nor the way his hips moved deliberately, allowing you to not only adjust, but feel his deep thrusts everywhere. 

Somehow, you really felt Heeseung everywhere. 

His tongue twisting softly with yours, sucking your lips with a slow passion that took your breath away. The words, lingering on the back of your head and mixing with the amount of pleasure he was giving you, had your heart beating louder and stronger against your ribcage. 

“You deserve more,” he carried on with his mission of making you feel worthy, stopping the kiss to press his lips on the corner of your mouth. “So much more, darling.”

And although you wanted to enjoy the slow sex he was providing you, the words of devotion he was offering with so much ease and genuineness, your messy thoughts and feelings suppressed it.

It felt like Heeseung’s adoration triggered even harder those reminiscences of your broken marriage. You remembered the times you sacrificed yourself, damaging your mental health for someone that threw everything away to cheat you, to have an affair. 

Regret was an euphemism to begin with what was going through your head. You felt so ridiculous for letting things get to that point. It was an unpleasant blend of blaming your husband and blaming yourself because, even if you tried to see it from the perspective that he never deserved even a fraction of your care and love, there was still the part where you chose to stay.

And why?

You had always brushed aside the possibility of divorce. At times, questioning why you stayed meant entering a limbo without an exit – or one you didn’t want to find. So, you avoided thinking too much about it. You accepted what he gave you.

But why? 

Why did you accept so little?

Your friends had asked you that a few times, but your anger grew at the mere thought of considering the question. Eventually, they stopped asking too.

It was a silent answer you didn’t want to give – acknowledging that the man who had promised you eternal love didn’t love you anymore hurt your ego, hurt your sense of integrity. Instead of leaving, you chose to stay and try to fix it, to make yourself wanted and loved again. But how could you change something immutable?

Anger.

It flared again, thundering in your chest and making you tight your hands into fists. The fingers tangled in Heeseung’s hair gripped a tuft tightly, pulling unconsciously as a way to release your rising rage. He hissed right after, furrowing his brows trying to understand what was happening with you.

Heeseung felt like perceiving your actions and moods with surprising ease after spending quite some time along with you, observing your demeanor and how you changed expressions due to something in particular, either for good or bad. 

However, right at that moment, when he was fucking you nice and slow, kissing you with care and giving you the amount of fondness he felt you deserved, he sensed confusing signals about what you really wanted. Or maybe he was interpreting your needs through his own perspective, assuming you sought love and affection when, in fact, you craved for something tougher.

Heeseung pressed your lips together once more, but now with less delicacy than before as testing the waters. You gave an immediate reaction, gradually loosening your grip on his locks to something teetering the bearable and actually pulling him closer, deepening whatever you could deep while kissing him.

The frustration in your chest dissipated as your tongues clashed aggressively against one another, suppressing your growing moans as he started to thrust faster. Within seconds, Heeseung started to hit a certain spot that got you shivering and letting out a particular loud moan under his strong hold on your body.

He quickly noticed the change in your body language and adapted himself to it. One last tug on your lower lip between his teeth, strong enough to almost leave bloody marks and elicit a groan from your throat, was what told you he was about to change positions.

Heeseung slightly raised his upper body to position himself on his knees and looked at you with a certain fierceness, with hunger, and you, now with your eyes mildly open, saw the bareness of his lust stirring the most profound heated desire carved in your soul, bringing back to life something you didn’t notice you had lost.

“So this is what you wanted, huh?” Heeseung flashed you a devilish grin, his voice low and notably teasing, finding support on your open thighs. 

His pelvis, once slow, began to move with more urgency, gradually increasing the pace together with the smirk that graced the corner of his reddened lips. You winced, feeling dizzy with the sound of his low moans and the slapping skin-on-skin.

Rolling your eyes with a content smile and a quiet nod was your failed attempt to give a proper response, because you felt too lost embracing the sudden switch that got your core throbbing in excitement, at the same time that released your tensed nerves.

“S’good,” you whimpered and arched your back slightly, head being thrown back as you did so. 

Heeseung cooed at the view of your boobs bouncing with each of his deep pounds into you, together with how your hands desperately struggled to find a grounding physical piece as you grabbed everything around you – the sheets, his arms, the pillow.

He had picked up a rhythm that kept you swaying on the edge of your growing release, so extremely close to snapping you into a bliss of pleasure, yet far enough to drive you insane.

He was playing with you like a toy – his favorite. Denying you the climax of your desire – so freaking amazing. 

“Y’could have told me earlier, darling,” he clicked his tongue with faux disappointment, breathing heavy in between his sharp words. “Would be fucking you like this from the very begining.”

You even tried to murmur a soft apology, but it got lost amidst your messy whimpers, your hazed mind, foggy with need making it hard to think of anything other than Heeseung’s cock, Heeseung’s voice, Heeseung’s name. Heeseung.

And you wanted more. Always. Fucking. More.

So with your lips falling open, you were able to only plead.

“More… Please, Hee, more…”

Heeseung was going crazy as much as you. He felt his body becoming exhausted with each passing thrust, however, he had no intention of stopping too soon, not without feeling the amazing clench of your pussy hugging his dick so fucking good as you cummed all over his shaft, not without letting his release fullfill you in a way that you would never forget who fucked you dumb so good like that. 

It felt like a magic spell, drifting him back and forth into reality and insanity, because of how good your cunt were making him feel, allowing his length to go fast, deep and strong into your pulsing hole; spongy interior pressing his hardened cock that ached for an orgasm. 

“Fucking pussy– Fucking tight pussy, makes me insane– Shit–” He panted in between breathy moans, voice coming out low, yet strained as his body faltered forward.

You lost count on how many times your eyes had rolled, not that you were actually trying to number it; the ecstasy Heeseung was providing you was wild, lunatic even. You only noticed his closeness again when his lips brushed your neck, not kissing or anything. He was just… there, as lost in his pleasure as you, muttering a row of curses and your name within gorgeous moans. 

You wanted to cum so, so bad, and somehow you couldn’t let go of it fully, the pressing knot on your lower stomach refusing to unfold into your orgasm. 

“Hee– Mhm–”

Heeseung was in love with how distant and broken you sounded, babbling nonsense as he pounded deeper. In love with how hot and sweaty your skin was in contact with his equal one, showing how intimate you two were. In love with your beautiful noises, that made his balls tight with his near climax. 

“Fuck– You like cheating on your jerk husband with me, don't you?” The breathy question murmured against your earlobe had no purpose of getting an answer, yet you gave one, echoing ‘yes’ like a prayer, hand in fist hitting lightly Heeseung’s broad shoulder as a way to find an anchor. You were so close. “It's okay, darling. It’s okay, yeah?” 

Heeseung kissed your neck, then your lips. 

“You deserve better.”

Heeseung led his fingers to rub your clit, eyes locked on your contorted face. So close.

“I can give you better.”

Heeseung’s body trembled nearly at the same time as yours started to shake uncontrollably. The wave of pleasure that coursed through your body was too much to handle, so you simply let go, relaxing your entire being and allowing it to take control of your movements without thinking deep into it.

You saw the world turning into white for a few seconds, your ears ringing with an annoying, far noise that clouded your mind and numbed your limbs. Heeseung's name escaped your lips, the ones stained due to the long, passionate kisses and delicious bites, like a sob that was both painful and sweet.

You barely heard anything Heeseung cursed through his heavy breath and addictive moans, nor your name being called as he filled you with thick ropes of his warm cum, let alone the kiss he placed on your chin right after or the chuckle he let out when noticing your drool.

The burning sensation in your stomach traveled its path until it reached your cunt, releasing in a squirt as you cried and squirmed. 

You cried, tears dancing on your face as you, slowly yet impactful, went through every possible sensation, but not really feeling all of them. It was weirdly good, an unprecedented experience you didn’t know you needed to have until right at that moment.

You wanted to make it last forever.

After what you decided to define as minutes passed, remotely distant, like a muffed blur, fighting with the dense fog inside your head, you started to hear Heeseung’s voice trying to bring you back to him.

“Hey, darling,” he kissed your cheek softly, brushing his thumb on your lower lip, a contact that contrasted absurdly with the fact that he was still buried deep within you. “I’ve got you, mhm?” 

And he followed to shower you with affectionate sweet words, asking if you were alright, for you to open your eyes, to say some words just to know you were fine. At some random moment you lazily blinked, hardly actually seeing Heeseung due to your tear-drenched eyes. 

“You made me squirt,” you whispered weakly, the lingering touch of Heeseung’s lips on yours still feeling like a ghostly caress, though you felt his body trembling as well as his smile when he chuckled.

“Hell yeah, I did.”

Heeseung slowly searched for air to his exhausted lungs, his body relaxing but making sure not to press your exhausted one. He was worried about your integrity after such a long and hard orgasm. 

“You good, baby?” 

The pet name felt natural, as if for Heeseung, calling you with endearing nicknames was as common as drinking water on a daily basis.

The warmth of his touch – he had let his hand, which had once gently caressed your face and brushed away sweat-drenched strands of hair, travel to your waist – was loving, making you yearn for more while feeling valued.

His gaze, full of care, radiated an aura of calm, like a magical magnet pulling you closer; there was no other explanation for your desperate desire to kiss him, as a way to reciprocate what he offered you freely.

Heeseung made you feel wanted, cherished, and respected in ways you hadn't known in far too long. It was all so new, though not entirely; it was confusing and messy and chaotic, but so, so good.

You gave a small nod in response and pulled him into another kiss, this time slow and gentle. You felt him pull his softened length from you, a small hiss and a frown coming from your side due to your sensitiveness. 

“Sorry,” Heeseung whispered in a genuine apologetic tone before diving back again to keep his tongue brushing deliberately on yours.

He was kissing you with so much feeling, yet in a sensual motion that got your breath caught in your throat, the beats of your heart matching the pace of the subtle pressure of his swollen lips against yours.

You could feel a phantom of a smile coming from Heeseung in between the kiss, as if he was thrilled about what just happened with you two – and to be honest, so were you. He had given you not only an unreal, breathtaking sexual experience that led your body to feel limp and extremely relaxed, but he mostly showed you the possibility beyond your current life.

Heeseung unveiled, somehow, your freedom to quit the confines you were trapped in, a way out of the prison that held you in place, restricting your needs, your wants and, mainly, your love and affection.

He had shown you an escape. Maybe a ruined one, but still an escape. 

Nonetheless, as quickly the sweet moment started, it stopped, when a sudden wave of realization hit Heeseung. The once hazy mind that drove you both into an intense path, leading towards a more serene one, was now reactive and alert.

“Oh, fuck…” Heeseung’s voice was dripping with exasperated concern when he broke the kiss by leaning back from you with widened eyes. 

The moment you saw his expression, you couldn’t help but frown, a confused pout forming on your lips. He started scanning the bed frantically, his gaze darting around as if searching for something if it was used, would be on his… “Shit.” He glanced down to see the obvious. No condom.

His mouth opened and closed, as if the words were stuck somewhere between his brain and his tongue. He exhaled deeply, searching for comfort in your gaze, but, obviously, you wouldn’t be offering a quarter of it to him. Actually, your curious-dumbfounded eyes increased his nervousness.

“We didn’t use protection,” he finally blurted, his voice heavy with anxiety.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the whole soothing atmosphere suddenly fading in a snap as the room seemed to shift, the air growing thick. You felt a shiver running down your spine and instinctively you lifted your body, propping yourself up on your elbows, your eyes widening with a surge of fear. 

“Holy shit,” you whispered, your voice trembling. You glanced back at him, your eyes wide with alarm, completely unaware of how Heeseung’s Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed dryly. 

His usual calm demeanor faltered before your reaction, and the fear was clear in his current state, with his body tense, pupils blown and dilated, as well as his short bursts of breath that grazed your face, blending with your equally rapid one.

The following question got your chest tightening even stronger, the weight on the room now teetering unbearable. 

“B–But you take your pills… Right..?” His voice wavered, his eyes desperately searched for reassurance in yours, his hand once gently holding you, now gripping quite fiercely on your hips.

Your immediate silence was more than enough of an answer, still you shook your head, denying. A cold spread through your chest when you realized you had made a huge mistake, your body falling back on the bed as you said, voice barely above a whisper as you did so, filled with terror. 

“I stopped taking it when my sex life stopped existing.”

Reading the situation, more specifically when he noticed your eyes brimming with fresh tears before you closed them, Heeseung quickly rushed to change his behavior, and instead of causing you even more pain and suffering, he sought to calm you.

“Hey, hey. Calm down, alright?” He positioned himself on his knees, gently taking your hands to pull you to sit as well. “We always have the option of the plan B pill, right?”

Fluttering your lids open, you sobbed, the view of Heeseung’s disheveled hair blurring due to your watered eyes. 

“But if he finds out–”

“He won’t,” Heeseung immediately interrupted, cupping your face tenderly.

He opted to ignore the pain in his chest because your instant line of thought somehow fueled a wave of realization that, despite his attempt to pull you away from that broken relationship, you might still go back to your husband as if nothing happened.

“I’ll buy it before you leave, okay?”

You let your gaze travel over Heeseung’s caring form as he gently caressed your face and placed random kisses on your lips. Your heart warmed, relief and genuine happiness flowing through every part of your body as you relaxed back, regulating your breathing. He nodded along with you, flashing a small smile that got your heartbeats thumping faster. 

“But just know that if– No. Forget it.” Heeseung started, but then cut himself off with a quiet, mysterious laugh and a shake of head.

You raised an eyebrow, looking at him inquisitively with your head cocking to the side.

“Now you have to tell me.”

A sigh escaped his lips when he realized you were unwavering in your demand and decided to speak, avoiding your stare.

“I was going to say that...” He cleared his throat, feeling his cheeks heat up. “That I wouldn’t mind you carrying a child of ours.”

If it weren’t for the quietness of his room, you probably wouldn’t be able to hear a word of what he had said. Unfortunately – or not –, you heard each single part of it and your reaction was to freeze.

Heeseung immediately noticed how you tensed, the grip on his hand tightening since he hadn’t let go of one of your hands. He blushed in a deep shade of crimson, feeling mortified for saying something so outrageous, but… He freaked out. He wanted to make you feel comfortable and secure, offering you a safe place with options for any possible outcome due to both of your irresponsibility. However, he made it worse.

“Sorry. I– We don’t know each other well enough for me to say that, but... You’re special, amazing, beautiful, smart... A child of yours would be a blessing, that’s what I meant.”

He tried to explain himself and he couldn’t pinpoint if it made the situation worse. The words caught in your throat because you hadn’t prepared for such a raw declaration after such intense and wonderful sex.

Heeseung was proving to you, once again, that you deserved more and better, even in between stumbled sentences of a rambled speech.

“In any case...” He continued, gulping. “I wouldn’t want a child of ours– Yours. Mine?” He giggled, embarrassed. “To be conceived in… Y’know…”

Your stomach dropped with the realization of what you just did. Yeah. A cheating sex. You cheated on your husband. Yes, you had a husband to start with.

How had you forgotten?

Once again, you found yourself torn in between your chaotic feelings, unable to make proper decisions due to your sensitive mind. You just had an amazing moment with Heeseung and would be willing to extend for some more encounters. On the other hand, there was still so much you needed to work through – both internally and externally – and it involved another person as well. 

The one who was supposed to be the love of your life, just as the promises of youth had once told you.

But those promises now felt like distant echoes, fading against the weight of reality. The life you imagined with Brendon had been clouded by too many unanswered questions, too many unsaid things throughout plenty of years. It crashed down now, like a tide that dragged you towards the deep, profound ocean of uncertainty. 

The connection that was supposed to bring comfort now seemed like a distant and extremely painful memory, because, afterall, he betrayed you first.

Lost in your reminiscences and confusing mind, you didn’t notice when Heeseung laid you back down on the mattress, cleaning you gently while leaving you to your thoughts. He was aware of the necessity of you having to think. He couldn’t even imagine what was going on in your mind and, honestly, he didn’t know if you wanted to share with him.

Especially with him.

Heeseung was not only an acquaintance of your husband anymore. He was the man that helped you to cheat. He was your affair, the wrong side of your life, the lack of morality, of honesty, of loyalty. He would be associated with that for the rest of your days, and strangely enough, he had no regrets.

Heeseung was aware that despite all the wrong decisions made that night, in the end, you got what you deserved: affection and the feeling of being cared for.

That was what you deserved, forever; to be desired, to be adored, to be placed on a pedestal as the incredibly wonderful goddess that you were.

Brendon didn’t deserve the heart-shaped sandwiches or the love notes you worked so hard to make every day, nor the meticulous care you put into the home he lived in, even though you worked as much as he did.

He didn’t deserve the way you looked at him with fondness, although most of the time it was a pretense, hiding the real layer of what you had felt for so long and refused to accept.

He didn’t deserve to hear your beautiful voice excitedly talking about a new flower arrangement you made or the new recipe you learned and nailed on the first try. He didn’t deserve to hear your laughter while watching comedy films or when something went wrong and you giggled, embarrassed.

Heeseung didn’t know if he, himself, deserved any of that, but he wanted to make you realize that you were so much more than just a facade of a wife.

You were so much more… To him.

“How do I go back to my house now?” You asked quietly after a while, your voice breaking the silence of the room like an anvil falling into a glass-floor. 

The question, however, wasn’t exactly directed to anyone in particular, you didn’t even notice you said aloud.

Heeseung’s response caught you off guard. 

“Do you want me to take you?”

You sighed, looking at him. As said before, you had laid back on the bed and he was right by your side, caressing you while you spent your last minutes thinking about your life and your future decisions. 

Heeseung driving you back to your house would make things worse, though you wanted to see how Brendon would react to that.

Brendon. Why does his reaction still mattered to you? He literally chose the same path you did tonight, but way before you and keeping his cool, as if he wasn’t throwing his whole marriage into the thrash for some random chick at his work.

“No.” You answered after a brief, yet close inspection. “I need some time alone.”

And Heeseung’s chest tightened in pain. You could still choose to stay with your husband after everything, it has always been one of the options when everything first started.

He swallowed the urge to try to convince you of his… Love? He couldn’t even name it yet, but something was definitely blooming into his heart and you, with your beautiful presence, was the big picture in that scenario. 

“Okay,” he whispered, agreeing with you.

And although you, yourself, weren’t sure of much, Heeseung was of one thing. 

It was more than worth it. 

When you got back home, the silence and the darkness of your house greeted you, embracing your confused and broken self with something bittersweet – your home was supposed to be your comfort spot, however it felt wrong. 

Everything felt misplaced, even though nothing had moved out of position. 

You scanned every corner of the living room, and yet, despite its familiarity, it felt foreign, like you didn’t belong there anymore. Perhaps you never did.

The walls were adorned with photos of you and Brendon, frozen moments from a life that now felt distant. The blanket draped over the couch was in your favorite color, a choice you had made once. On the coffee table sat an empty beer bottle, a quiet marker of your husband’s absence.

There were traces of you both scattered throughout the room, but more of you – too much of you, as if you had been trying to compensate for something. It felt forced, a desperate attempt to fit into a space that no longer welcomed you, if it ever had.

The realization clawed at your chest, leaving a dull ache behind. How had you gone so long without seeing it? Was it Heeseung – his touch, his words – that finally broke through the carefully constructed denial? Had he been the catalyst for you noticing just how distant you had become, not only from your marriage but from yourself?

You felt like an afterthought, an appendage to someone else’s story, shaped and reshaped to fit a mold that was never meant for you. When had you started losing yourself? How had it come to this?

Those questions lingered as you retreated to the guest bedroom that night, claiming it as your sanctuary. For the first time in years, you felt the stirrings of autonomy, fragile but liberating. The divorce was inevitable now, and though the thought of it was daunting, it also carried a bittersweet promise of freedom.

Years of effort and devotion would be discarded, left behind like relics of a life you no longer wanted. But there was still so much ahead of you – a chance to rediscover who you were, to seek experiences that might lead you closer to the version of yourself you once dreamed of becoming.

Heeseung had shown you that in such a short time.

And there he was again, invading your mind without warning, his presence haunting you in ways you couldn’t shake. You still feared that you might not be able to untangle your motives, whether they were born from the rage of betrayal and the years wasted on Brendon or from the fleeting warmth Heeseung had offered you with such tenderness and sincerity.

It felt good to be wanted, cherished even, but a painful truth gnawed at the edges of your resolve: you couldn’t just leap from one branch to another. It was your life, not Brendon’s, not Heeseung’s. Yours.

In the bittersweet goodbye that had left a knot in your throat and tears threatening to spill, Heeseung had told you he would wait, that there was something he felt for you that went beyond how your relationship had begun, tangled in raw desire and masked in the shadow of infidelity.

But no matter how grateful you were for him, you knew there was a path you had to walk alone first.

It was with that conviction, and Yunjin’s steady hand gripping yours, that you signed the divorce papers the following week after an argument tinged with sorrow, regret and truths being yelled out.

None of the words Brendon said to you would be forgotten. The contempt, the look of disgust, the bitterness as he harshly verbalized that you were never good enough for him. Yet, you would keep them in a special box, as a poignant reminder that you went through the worst, that you overcame the heaviest moment of your life.

You wouldn’t forget the hatred he made you feel for yourself, because it was through it that you allowed yourself to start loving you again.

Your chest tightened, anxiety and anticipation intertwining as you faced the blank slate of what came next. You had no idea where this journey would take you – but for the first time in years, it was entirely yours.

A first date.

You vaguely remembered the last time your body felt this nervous at the thought of meeting someone. It definitely hadn’t been with your now ex-husband, but it had been long enough to leave you sweating under your arms.

After a few encouraging words with Yunjin through your phone and a “good luck” text from your mom – who had been thrilled to hear about your divorce and provided immense physical and emotional support during those first few weeks – you stepped outside your apartment.

You had saved enough money to maintain yourself, still working at the flower shop on weekends as a hobby, after landing a job at a photography studio specializing in model shoots.

It was a passion that had been crushed when your ex made you believe your work was inferior and lame, forcing you to shrink yourself to fit into his impossible standards by leaving your best sides outside.

Now, freedom was your closest companion. You went out for coffee by yourself, enjoyed lunches at pleasant restaurants in your own company, and never felt sad or shaken by being alone – because you were alone, but you didn’t feel lonely.

The autonomy surrounding you was intoxicating, filling you with radiance to push forward with your days, even in the face of difficulties.

A quick greeting with the doorman snapped you back to reality as you headed to the restaurant that would be graced by your presence tonight. The difference this time was that you wouldn’t be dining alone.

The soft door noise indicated your entrance at the place, and instinctively your fierce eyes swerved through the small crowd looking out for someone. The way your heart raced made it feel like it might burst out of your chest the moment you saw his broad, unforgettable shoulders.

“Hee?”

He was standing, his tall figure casually leaning on the countertop chatting with someone at the little open bar in the corner of the restaurant. When he heard your angelic voice calling him, it took him seconds to turn and face you.

“Y/N.”

Your name left his kissable lips like a relieved sigh. And truly, he was relieved. Not that he thought you would stand him up, but after receiving an anonymous message – followed by the revelation that it was from you, a year after everything that had happened between you two –, asking for a meeting, it was hard for him to think positively about anything.

The walk as you approached felt as if the world had blurred into nothingness. The background music softened until it became a distant echo, your eyes fixed on Heeseung like he was the main subject through the lens of your camera, with everything else fading into obscurity.

Even in your daze, you caught the hesitant twitch of his hand, as though he wanted to reach for you but feared you might vanish the moment he did. The thought of him yearning for you as much as you desired him made your heart pound harder, stronger, and the flutter in your stomach increased.

In the past year, your mind often wandered back to how he made you feel in every nuance, from both physically and emotionally. It was undeniable that the heated night you shared replayed in your head like an irresistible, delicious film, tempting your urge to give up completely on your healing plan and run towards him.

But you couldn’t let yourself act in such a way, not when you promised you would be sure of your decisions from now on, and Heeseung was still a fragile subject back then. 

His height difference was striking enough to make you tilt your head up to meet his gaze, a movement that made you feel shyly adorable, and before Heeseung could help himself, a compliment slipped from his lips.

“You look beautiful.”

Your cheeks burned with fluster, unprepared for such an open and genuine remark. But it was Heeseung – effortlessly charming, naturally disarming. “Thank you,” you muttered, glancing down briefly before meeting his eyes again. “You look amazing, as always.”

Your compliment wasn’t just polite – he truly did look gorgeous. He looked delectable, dressed in casual all-black attire. His button-up shirt was left slightly undone, teasing you with a glimpse of his sun-kissed chest adorned with a golden chain that only added to his allure.

And then there was his brand new haircut. Heeseung had gone for an undercut, a style that veered away from his usual office persona but perfectly captured his seductive, magnetic charm. At least to you, it worked far too well.

On the other hand, Heeseung had to actively remind himself of how to keep air in and out of his lungs, otherwise he would pass out before your alluring, enticing, beautiful, provocative, goddess-like, unreal figure.

You had changed a lot, for better; not that you were anything other than stunning and attractive before, but you now carried your presence with confidence, you had a special glow that shone brighter than any chandelier in that fancy dinner place, enough to make Heeseung struggle to keep his cool, relaxed demeanor.

He could feel his self-control faltering, slipping through his fingers like sand, utterly unable to think straight as you quietly, yet intensely analyzed his features with your pretty eyes. 

“I reserved a table for us,” he managed to voice out, although it sounded slightly hushed. 

You giggled with his unexpected nervous behavior, clutching your bag strap as you nodded. “Bet you did.”

And with that, Heeseung guided you towards the mentioned table, placed far enough from the general crowd to grant you both a bit of privacy, with his hand touching your lower back. The area heated enough to leave you tense, yet thrilled with the fact that the atmosphere was slowly loosening. 

The conversation that followed felt awkward at first – unsurprisingly, considering your last encounter had been chaotic, brimmed with lust, guilt, and anger over circumstances neither of you could fully control. And, of course, it had all unfolded under the veil of cheating.

But as the initial tension began to dissipate, you found the exchange becoming more fluid. Heeseung’s responses gradually eased your nerves, just as your candidness gave him obvious clues about your intentions.

He admitted he wasn’t seeing anyone. In fact, since your last encounter, he had gone on a handful of dates, none of which, he confessed with a shy chuckle, had left him remotely satisfied. This revelation only came after he relaxed enough to let it slip, his words hesitant yet genuine.

If you had to describe him in one word, it would be anxious. And he was, in fact, very anxious about the outcome of the night, about the new details of your life, about what might unfold beyond this dinner.

There was a distinct tension lingering in the air between you, a silent but undeniable pull. It was as if the thought of your lips attaching together was a shared, unspoken desire – loud enough to keep ringing in your minds, connected by the lustful want of being each other’s.

It made its way subtly through the playful banter, through your soft laughter over his silly jokes, and mostly, through the fleeting touches on your shoulders and thighs.

“Y’know, after the whole thing we did, I was afraid I might back out with the divorce,” you blurted suddenly, after relaxing on the small couch they used as seats for that table.

Heeseung was sitting on your side, after you asked him to do so, instead of taking the seat in front of you. The minimal seconds with him were enough to make you crave more – Heeseung’s natural effect on you –, and you were glad he embarked on your request, even placing his arm on the back of your headset. 

This was the first time you mentioned the occurrence, though.

Heeseung wasn’t sure about it, but throughout the night he eventually figured out there was no way you would be acting this happy and sincere, beaming with your achievements and living an apparent good life, if you were still with that jerk.

Either way, hearing you speak brought the weight of reality – the weight that you were finally away from that shitty man, and even if it sparked a small flame of hope that maybe you might let him care for you the way he had wanted, his relief was already established by knowing you were no longer trapped in a burden relationship that aimed to destroy your beautiful soul.

He sipped on his drink before muttering, eyes never once glancing away from yours. You felt seen. 

“And what made you keep with it?” 

For a moment, a brief feeling of embarrassment flushed through you, although you didn’t let it take over your following response, sounding firm and, somehow, determined. 

“You.”

After you answered with such a soft tone, you tracked the movement of Heeseung’s Adam’s apple moving as he gulped, but he didn’t show any signal of hesitation when he smirked and leaned slightly forward as his brightened gaze wandered through your face, deliberately taking in your beautiful, serene expression.

He was offering you such a breathtaking visage, his demeanor finally at ease, yet magnetically pulling you to react to an unspokenly demand.

His lips were covered with a layer of his drink from the last sip, gleaming under the dim light that hovered you both, taunting your need of having them pressed on yours. His iris slightly dilated as they followed the movements of your eyelashes fluttering open and close in a slow dance, just to drift back to your lipstick colored lips, as if silently asking you for a kiss.

As if automatically, your faces began to slowly lean closer, breaths blending together with a mix of alcohol from your side and a strawberry flavor from Heesegun’s. 

But just as quickly as the atmosphere shifted into something more charged, it disappeared, as a waiter suddenly appeared to serve the dessert you had ordered. Embarrassed, you both pulled back briefly, sharing a subtle laugh and looked up to acknowledge the waiter, but Heeseung immediately cut in.

“Thank–”

“That can’t be real.”

A sharp pang in your stomach, your heart racing, and your throat immediately drying out. These were the initial reactions, before your hands began to tremble and a rush of heat spread through your body, making you feel utterly reactive.

“Brendon?” You whispered, disbelief making your voice shake as you processed that, after a year, you were seeing him during a sweet evening with Heeseung.

You had done everything to avoid him, taking every precaution to keep him out of your life,  even deleting your social media, afraid of what he might do. There had never been a physical threat, but after the breakup, you feared he might become volatile, wanting to take his anger out on you.

Thankfully, none of your friends had ever known about him, and you had never bothered to find out about him either.

But now, here he was, standing right in front of you two, his expression in complete disdain, his eyes seething with fury.

“You piece of shit,” was the first thing he spat out, as he saw the situation unfold – his ex-wife, now with what he considered his former friend. Betrayal.

You didn’t even notice how tightly he gripped the metal tray at his side. You also didn’t realize that Heeseung, who had been sitting at the edge of the couch, had already risen to his feet, his hands clenched into fists, his jaw clenched, and his eyes burning with rage.

He was ready to strike.

“So, it was for him that you left me, you whore?”

He barely managed to finish the slur because Heeseung moved too quickly. The collective gasp from the surrounding people was what made you realize exactly what had just happened.

You saw Heeseung throw a powerful punch, landing accurately on Brendon's face. Brendon staggered back, dropping the metal tray before quickly retaliating with a weak jab to Heeseung’s cheek.

Heeseung’s expression hardened after a stunned moment in place, processing the impact that got the area tingling, but the subsequent pain was far from being his main concern.

He smirked dryly and then grabbed Brendon by the shoulders to shove him back with force, sending him crashing into a nearby chair. Brendon struggled to regain his footing, but Heeseung advanced, his eyes burning with rage, and with a swift move, he knocked Brendon to the ground with another punch, leaving him unable to fight back.

The men around you quickly rushed in, trying to break up the fight. But you didn’t care about them, you shoved anyone who tried to intervene, the ones attempting to cling to Heeseung, trying to drag him back, or at least seeking comfort in the chaos that was unraveling within you.

“Hee–”

Your weak, tearful voice was cut off. Heeseung instinctively wrapped his arms around you in a protective embrace, not even realizing what he was doing as he pointed a finger at Brendon, who had managed to get back on his feet with help from the others.

“Shut the fuck up before you say a word about Y/N, you piece of shit,” he growled, his vision distorted by the boiling rage in his chest. He had been waiting for this moment from the very beginning, the moment to unleash all his frustration, all the hatred he had toward that man. “You’re useless. A worthless bastard who couldn’t recognize the fucking queen you had in your life.”

Heeseung’s large hands tightened around your waist, almost unconsciously, his chest rising and falling rapidly against your face as it pressed into him. Tears slowly started to coat your cheeks, your trembling body finding support in Heeseung’s tensed one.

“I hope you fucking burn in hell and get torn apart in the worst way. You don’t deserve a single ounce of the love Y/N gave you, and you had the fucking audacity to cheat on her.”

Brendon spat out blood, his lip split from Heeseung’s earlier punch. He smirked sarcastically, looking around the crowd that watched the scene.

“She cheated on me too,” he muttered, his voice weak but laced with venom.

Heeseung scoffed, almost rolling his eyes and nearly advancing on Brendon again; you felt the sudden attempt that immediately stopped when you whispered a quiet, hurtful “No…” 

You looked up, your eyes glossy with tears, finding Heeseung’s now worried ones. He softened before your pouty, scared expression.

He caressed your face tenderly, holding you closer as a way to keep you under his protection, although he knew Brendon wouldn’t have the guts to try anything else. After, he drove his attention back to the asshole standing weakly in front of him. 

“You didn’t even have the decency to give her the bare minimum, you worthless cunt,” he spat, words full of rage. “Let alone decent fucking sex. Of course she would cheat on you.”

That triggered a jolt from Brendon to charge at Heeseung, but it was quickly stopped by those holding him back, his ego riled up by the insult.

Heeseung let out a humorless laugh. “She searched out for someone who could give her what she truly deserves,” he said, his gaze shifting to you. His expression softened into a gentle smile, one that was genuine but sharp in contrast to the situation. “And if she'll allow me, I’ll keep being that man for her.”

Your eyes widened at his abrupt and sincere confession. Heeseung didn’t expect a response, honestly, so he turned his attention back to Brendon, his warning clear in every word.

“Get near her again, and I’ll make sure there’s no one around to stop you from getting your ass kicked, you little shit.”

He began pulling you towards the exit of the restaurant, but as he passed Brendon, he leaned in close to murmur just loud enough for him to hear.

“Just so you know, she cheated on you long after you did… And, oh, I’m sure you don’t know that, but she looks fucking gorgeous when she's squirting.”

Until you settled into the passenger seat of Heeseung’s car, everything felt like a blur, robbing you of the awareness to even notice he had paid for dinner before driving off. His voice had broken through just once, a soft “Are you okay?” before he retreated into an oppressive silence.

At first, you welcomed the break from words, needing time to process the storm of emotions swirling inside you. There was anger, because Brendon had crashed your date. Sadness, for having to relive that chapter of your life all over again. Gratitude, since Heeseung had defended you without hesitation. And then... there was desire, because he had looked absurdly damn good while doing it.

God dammit, you cursed silently in your head, shrinking into your seat and glancing away from Heeseung. You felt like a teenager stealing glances at a crush and pretending you weren’t staring when caught.

Worse, you felt like a dog in heat, your thoughts obsessing over how ridiculously attractive he was. His clenched jaw, hands tightening and relaxing on the steering wheel in an effort to calm himself, the slight cut on his lip, and the faint bruise forming on his cheek – likely from a ring Brendon had been wearing – all combined to give him an effortlessly rugged, devastating appeal.

The wound wasn’t deep, nothing to be overly concerned about, but it added an edge to his already striking features. You knew you would take care of it the moment you got to his apartment, but until then, you had to deal with the mixture of lust and a bunch of other things bubbling in your core.

Heeseung, however, was a bit different from you.

Seeing you so broken and tearful had hit him like a bullet to the chest. He never wanted the night to end like this, but there was no regret in the brutal way he had taken out his frustration on Brendon.

Heeseung’s mind raced, tangled with worry and anticipation over how you would react once the adrenaline wore off and you were in a comfortable space to properly talk things through.

He couldn’t get a read on you – not only because his eyes were mostly fixed on the road, but because you kept stealing glances at him and quickly looking away whenever he dared to glance back. Your behavior gave him no clear hint of what was truly going through your mind.

A flicker of anxiety sparked within him. Maybe you were nervous – possibly even considering ditching him altogether and ending whatever it was between you before it could truly begin. The mere thought gnawed at him, amplifying his own anxiety.

The fact that you had suggested going to his apartment instead of your own had caught him off guard. It was enough to confuse him even more, given the contrast with your otherwise unreadable demeanor.

Still, he opted to keep the quietness over the air, since he needed a time to think deeply about his actions. 

He acted out of impulse, for sure, but he wanted to make sure you understood he had absolutely no regrets and he would do it again, and again, and again.

To protect your integrity, he would settle a war if necessary. 

The moment you two reached the place you had visited once before, a sense of an odd nostalgia crept up your spine. Without even realizing it, you were both walking towards the elevator directed to Heeseung’s apartment’s floor. 

Your eyes were glued on your feet as a way to hide your fluster, struggling to fight the urge of jumping into that handsome man standing on your side. Your head was spinning with the most lascivious, filthy thoughts about how you would kneel right at that moment and give Heeseung the head of his life in order to pay back his earlier demeanor.

So. Fucking. Hot.

And contrastingly enough, there was Heeseung, frustrated with himself for making you witness such violent acts. 

He leaned his back and head against the cold metal walls of the elevator, eyes closing as a shaky breath escaped his lips. After a long moment, he finally spoke, carrying off a guilt you didn’t understand at first.

“I'm sorry you had to go through that,” he said, his voice gentle, yet filled with regret. You turned to face him, catching the movement of his beautiful neck exposed for you. You gulped. “I’m sorry you had to witness all of that. And I’m sorry for being a bit of a dick at the end... I got carried away.” He then opened his eyes to look at you, his expression almost vulnerable, his cheeks with a faint blush exposing his embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to objectify y–”

Before he could finish, you cut him off, practically throwing yourself into his body to attach your mouths together. Your lips collided with his bruised ones in a kiss that tasted of longing, and something metallic, like blood, and your fingers crawled their way towards his nape. 

Heeseung let out a pained groan, but didn’t stop you at all. Actually, he held you by the waist to press your chest on his torso. 

However, you immediately pulled back, your eyes wide with worry as your hands held his face delicately. 

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry, Hee…” you gasped, looking at him in alarm.

He chuckled, the sound deep, sensual, and made your heart flutter despite your current state of concern.

“You're good,” he said, shaking his head slightly with a teasing grin adorning his features. He didn’t care about any pain if that meant having your tongue swirling with his in that addictive motion he once got to try. 

With a tilt of head, he murmured. “Come here, mhm?”

“But your lip–” you tried to counter his words, but Heeseung’s hands seemed unwilling to let you go so easily.

“Shh,” he shushed softly, pressing a tender kiss against your lips. “I heard kisses heal wounds.”

A giggle escaped you, light and fleeting, before it melted into the moment, swept away by the kiss that happened subsequently. It began slowly, unhurried, as if both of you were savoring every second together.

His lips moved against yours with a sensual, deliberate rhythm, one that carried not just desire but something deeper – affection, yearning, a tenderness that spoke volumes.

It was as if Heeseung feared breaking you with his touch, or perhaps losing you altogether. You could feel it in the way his hands cradled your face, in the way his thumbs brushed softly against your skin. And you, in return, clung to him like he was your lifeline, your own quiet fear mirrored in the way your fingers twisted in his hair, anchoring yourself to him.

The metallic tang of blood on his lips barely registered; it was overshadowed by the warmth and electricity of the moment. His tongue traced the shape of your lips, a gentle request you didn’t hesitate to grant, allowing him to deepen the kiss.

His tongue caressed yours with a languid, intoxicating ease, exploring, coaxing, as if he wanted to memorize the taste of you.

Your breath hitched, heart racing in a chaotic rhythm that matched the way his hand slid down your side, fingers possessively holding your waist, as the air grew heavier within each passing second. You wondered for a moment when would the elevator stop, barely noticing the opened door. 

Heeseung broke the kiss briefly and realized the open door, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm and shallow as it mingled with your own.

“Inside,” he rasped simply, tone dropping an octave, thick with desire that dripped from his beautiful swollen lips. 

You nodded, unaware of what exactly he meant, leaving the mission of being guided completely at his hands as you pulled him back into another kiss, this time urgent and rushed. 

Heeseung frowned and moaned against your mouth, the collision of his bruised area stirring his thristness, awakening his most profound hunger for you; elicited an immediate reaction that got him stumbling with his own legs as you pushed him into his apartment.

A fleeting moment of clarity pierced through the haze in your mind as Heeseung groaned in pain once again, this time caused by your teeth accidentally grazing his injured lip in the heat of the moment.

“Hee–” you murmured, trying to pull back from the kiss, but he didn’t let you go easily. Only when you gently pushed against his chest did he finally retract, his dark eyes clouded with lust as they bore into yours.

“Let me take care of this first, please?” You whispered, your voice tinged with a teasing whine, paired with the kind of faux-innocent eyes that made him melt on the spot.

His firm resolve faltered instantly, and his temptation only seemed to deepen because of that very expression.

With a faint smirk, Heeseung pressed one last lingering kiss to your lips before stepping away. He disappeared into the bathroom to grab a first-aid kit, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the living room with your heart still hammering.

He wasn’t gone for long, but by the time he returned, you had already settled yourself on the sofa. Without a word, he joined you, sitting close by as you carefully tended to his wound.

A sharp hiss escaped his lips as the antiseptic made contact, and you couldn’t help but smile faintly, murmuring a soft apology.

His gaze never wavered from you, watching with an almost disarming tenderness, his large hand resting casually on your thigh as if to ground himself.

And when you finished, you lingered, your eyes tracing his features. Damn it, how did this man manage to look impossibly hotter even when roughed up?

“Stop looking at me with those eyes,” Heeseung broke the silence, his voice dropping to a low, teasing drawl.

Your gaze, which had shamelessly held contact on his lips – not because of the injury, but because you craved them – snapped up to meet him properly.

“What eyes?” you challenged softly, your voice laced with subtle mischief that matched nothing with your small pout and frown. 

Heeseung’s hand shifted from your thigh to your jaw, his touch firm and gentle as he tilted your face closer to his.

“Like you want me to fuck you,” he murmured, his words hitting like a jolt of euphoria. 

A sly smile crept onto your lips, your eyelids growing heavier as the air between you thickened with tension. “You know that I do,” you replied, biting your bottom lip as your fingers traced a slow, invisible pattern over his chest.

A thought crossed your mind, bold and unbidden, and you let it spill.

“Y’know, last time I came to your apartment…”

“Yeah?” Heeseung prompted, his voice soft but loaded, his hands effortlessly guiding you to settle in his lap. You obliged with a grace that didn’t break the magnetic pull of your eyes locked on his, though they flickered occasionally to his kiss-bruised lips.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Hee.”

His lips curved into a soft smile, relief flickering across his features as your words unintentionally reassured him in ways you couldn’t have known he needed. His hands traced a comforting path along your hips, keeping you steady in his lap.

“I’m glad to hear that, darling.”

The term of endearment may have been simple to anyone else, but to you, it meant so much more. It sent your heart stumbling over its rhythm, your body instinctively leaning closer to his warmth. It made your breath hitch, especially when he leaned in as well, his words brushing against your lips like a gentle breeze.

“Let me remind you what you deserve,” his tone was intoxicatingly soft yet laced with a darker edge that tempted you to fall head-first into it. “How does that sound?”

Your lips quirked into a smirk as you cupped his face with deliberate tenderness, careful to avoid hurting him further.

“I know what I deserve, Hee,” you shot back, your voice daring as you teased his lips with a featherlight graze of your own. “And I also know what I want.”

Heeseung’s jaw clenched as he teetered on the edge of self-control, your provocations pushing him closer to the brink. But he played along, matching your game, because he loved your game.

“And what do you want, darling?” He asked back, a question that was dripping with anticipation.

Your eyes softened briefly with a mix of affection and unrelenting desire before you let the fire in your gaze take over.

“More.”

[curryshesus]

jeon jungkook fics that own my mind, body, heart, and soul

in other words, this is a collection of my favorite jk fics on tumblr! if you enjoyed any of these fics as much as i did, pls remember to support the authors by interacting with their post. part 2 | other bts members

➺ bitchin - by @kinktae

summary: the 80s were a time of choices. which perm was right for you? what color neon would you wear next? none of these choices, however, were more questionable than a certain deal you made with jeon jungkook.

➺ idealizations concerning real life relations - by @venusiangguk

summary: jungkook loves to be loved, but he doesn’t love in return.

➺ hotter than hell - by @chateautae

summary: jungkook, lucifer and king of hell, has been cast out of the crimson underworld for a reason he’s unsure of. embarking on his journey for the answer should’ve been easy, if it weren’t for you, the human that nurses his wounded body in her home, and accidentally witnesses the truth of his identity. kickstarting a hellish adventure with the devil himself, you discover lucifer is the most infuriating company ever; and jungkook finds out that maybe his answer to returning home lies within his annoying human confidant.

➺ jump then fall (into you) - by @writtenwhalien

summary: bringing Jungkook along as your date to your ex’s lavish cruise wedding seemed like a perfect idea at first — all of your family and close friends together, nothing can go wrong… then Jungkook’s ex shows up and all of a sudden you’re in a years long relationship with him. You don’t mind though, really, how hard can sharing a cabin and pretending to be deeply in love with your best friend really be?

➺ too late to dream - by @kookslastbutton

summary: You did it. You married your college professor. You even bought a house together. Against all odds, everything had fallen into place. But after two years of marriage, you begin feeling something was missing. You want a baby but your husband can’t say the same.

➺ the forgotten spaces- by @oddinary4bts

summary: you've been dancing on the same dance crew since your teenage years, and you finally have an important role in it. It feels like life is taunting you when your rival comes back after disappearing for a year, ready to tease you every chance he gets. Will the teasing turn into more, or are you going to take him down with you?

➺ when the end comes - by @oddinary4bts

summary: Seven years after you've started dating Jungkook, long distance creates a wedge in your relationship. When the only solution seems to be breaking up, you go your separate ways even though love still lives in the two of you. Will you find a way back together, or has the end come for you and Jeon Jungkook? **sequel to the forgotten spaces

➺ falling - by @starshapedkookie

summary: soulmate (noun): a person who is bound to another through the strongest level of emotional and physical connection. one is given a name on the body upon 18 years of age and any transgressions against the laws of soul-bonding will not occur without harm.

➺ love alive - by @jamaisjoons

summary: a year after you and jungkook break up, the two of you meet at your brother’s party.

➺ changes in between - by @taegularities

summary: Becoming the roommate of Jeon Jungkook is the biggest change you’ve ever gotten thrown into - but little do you know that the addition of another man will bring even further turbulence into your (love) life.

➺ falling skies - by @fortunexkookie

summary: Jeon Jiyeon was your childhood best friend; her brother, Jungkook, was something else entirely. You used to be friends, but then he had gone from endearingly frustrating dumb boy to card-carrying fuckboy so fast it had given you whiplash.

Despite the teasing and fighting, Jiyeon realized how Jungkook felt about you long before he did - it was a twin thing - and if you were her sun, and he was her moon, then she just wished she could show you how he reflected your light.

➺ sugarplum elegy - by @bymoonchild

summary: You know no bounds nor depth with Jungkook. While your fuck buddy loves sleeping in your bed and doing laundry for you with his favourite fabric softener, you are in love with a mysterious honeyed, velvety voice on Soundcloud. All’s fine, until you find out that the voice that metaphors your heart to a sweet sugarplum melody actually belongs to the boy who has been taking up a special spot in your bed and in your heart, strumming at your heartstrings all this while. Or, Jungkook has one braincell, but it’s heart-shaped.

➺ an abundance of mondays - by @diortae

summary: "why the fuck would it be easy? you’re disgustingly in love with your best friend. of course it’s complicated.” he pauses to roll his eyes, as if he hasn’t just laid out the most secret parts of you here in the middle of the campus dining hall.

➺ five dates - by @kpopfanfictrash

summary: “Ten dates,” he nods, smile tugging at his lips. “Ten dates, to decide if you want this – want me – or want me to go. Ten dates to get to know me. Ten dates,” he says, oddly soft, “to fall in love with me.” Which then becomes five.

➺ here comes the bride, all dressed in pride - by @hansolmates

summary: You and your cousin Doyeon have had beef with each other since the sandbox. When she plucks the last straw, you decide to end your long-simmering fight by claiming that you and her ex—Jeon Jungkook, are now boyfriend and girlfriend

➺ if i told you - by @gukyi

summary: in order to pay for university, jeon jungkook decides to market his most valuable asset to the wealthy socialites of campus: himself. donning a suit and tie, tousled hair, and glasses (to look smarter), he becomes every rich daughter’s dream: the perfect boyfriend to bring to balls, dinners, and business gatherings. all while you watch from the sidelines, only able to dream of having that much money to buy yourself what you really want: him.

[luviestarz]

jungkook fic recs! 💘 part 2

𖤐 Champagne Confetti ⋆ j.jk - @busanboykoo (“you won't regret me, champagne confetti” or maybe just jungkook wants you to tell him what you want him to do to you.)

𖤐 oh how you love longhair!jungkook . . . - @twilghtkoo

𖤐 Your boyfriend looks a little too good in his police uniform. - @badbtssmut

𖤐 e s p r e s s o - @joonberriess (boxer!jk)

𖤐 trippin' over, gettin' lost on you | jjk (m) - @euphorajeon (a visit to the coffee shop you work at rewards jeongguk not only with a cup of coffee and a plate of brownie, but also with something else simmering deep in his veins. a challenge is issued, and all hell breaks loose.)

𖤐 Don’t Blame Me | sugar daddy!jungkook one-shot au - @ctrlsht (You can have everything you want and need as long as you have Jeon Jungkook by your side. You were enjoying everything that Jungkook gives you and as long as you’re with him. You’re sure to yourself that you will never fail him but he was the one who failed you. Everything is fine until he gets too much.)

𖤐 WELCOME TO THE HEARTBREAK SHOW ── jungkook - @numinousher (you’re in love with your partner in class that everyone fears (and loves) due to his stoic facial expression and the way he rejects girls rather harshly. as you get to know him, will he be able to handle your heart that you so willingly gave him to care for or, will he break it due to his hatred for people who are in love with him?)

𖤐 It’s hard to stop but once it starts, it starts - @byuljoonie

𖤐 concrete king. (m) jjk - @bratkook (when a cute boy in a tacky hawaiian shirt lands a trick in your honor theres no way you could ever say no to him)

𖤐 baecation - @1kook (“Lose the top, or lose the right to present yourself in any low back gown for the next three months.” He truly knew the way to your heart.)

𖤐 test your morality (jungkook) - @trivia-yandere (jungkook's morality is tested when he's woken from his unconscious state to find you - his best friend - bound before him.)

𖤐 Needy | jjk oneshot - @jkslipppiercing (your boyfriend often helps you set up for your weekly girls' night...what happens when he gets needy for you only 15 minutes before your girl friends arrive?)

𖤐 ESCAPISM | JJK - @wnderkoo (୨୧ lipstick smudged like modern art..)

𖤐 Vérités Cachées (JJK) - @bangtanficsforyou (You try to make an escape from a beast, that you happen to have encountered while on a vacation with your boyfriend.)

𖤐 lonely hearts club (m) - @dovechim (jeon jeongguk has annoying little brother energy™. you know this deep in your bones. wedding after wedding, you keep running into him at the goddamn singles’ table, and he just won’t leave you alone. until you start to wonder... is he your ticket out of the lonely hearts club?)

𖤐 By Its Cover (M) - @gimmesumsuga (The one where Jungkook makes a horrifically bad first impression.)

𖤐 The Deepest Marks of Essence - @lleldey (When you found yourself circled by a tribe, you never thought it would lead you to tap into your deepest wants and desires. You are the oldest child, the example of how one should act at all costs, but if you ever manage to escape this maze and if your story ever becomes told, you’ll never be looked at the same. But it’s hard to regret it when your nights are spent with gentle caresses and starry midnight skies. You got everything you secretly longed for, but at what cost?)

𖤐 every hour, every minute. (m) - @aajjks (jungkook can be an animal when it comes to fucking you sensless.)

𖤐 ONCE AGAIN, MILAN ! - (nsfw) - @frmisnow (what happens when you and jungkook find yourselves once again in milan, this time with no business attached — well a hol' lotta sex for sure!)

[risuola]

ENTRY #11 ♡ F. READER X GOJO SATORU // I starve for your touch yet fear to savor it.

contents: arranged marriage!au, nudity, reader discretion is advised — wc. 1690

a/n: there was no way i wouldn't write a fic based on this picture. just no way.

series masterlist

Satoru loves to sleep naked.

The beauty of his innate technique, the blessing that he mastered to no end, has stripped him off one of the most basic human needs — touch. He wasn’t missing it that much, he thought, but there was something in letting go of everything and allowing himself to be wrapped in the silky layers of bedsheets that made his body crave the feeling.

He has always picked expensive garments, the ones with soft fabrics and luxurious feel, despite everyone telling him it’s unreasonable to spend so much on a shirt or a pair of trousers, but to him, it did matter. To him, that was the only thing touching his body when a thin layer of infinity effectively forced everything else back. To Satoru, touch was forbidden, threatening. It was a vulnerability that he, the strongest, couldn’t afford.

But that until he’s met you. Until he’s married you.

You were one of not many people he’s made an exception for. You were able to touch him whenever you wanted because the protective surface of endless matter let you in. Because he himself altered his technique to make you capable of laying your hands on his body.

He longed for your touch. So soft, and delicate, and warm. He craved more of it and yet, despite being shameless and confident, he has not allowed himself to sleep bare even once since the day you and him were bound by the knot of matrimony. It would cross boundaries he wasn’t sure you’d wish to cross; it would make you uncomfortable, awkward maybe — and he liked the way your relationship looked like now. He liked the late evenings you talked quietly, alone and intimate in the warm embrace of sheets and your own house.

For you, he let go of the way he used to sleep before because you were worth the sacrifice, but now, you were gone for few days. You were sent on a mission away from Tokyo and the hours Satoru spent alone in bed, thinking of nothing more but your fingertips on top of his skin, made him desperate — and so, he allowed himself the comfort of soft cotton and silk.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You were tired. Exhausted even, by the intense fight you had to pull through, by the uncomfortable nights spent in the dingy hotel room, by the humid weather and rains. In moments like this, there was nothing you envied more in the world than your husband’s ability to warp from one place to another, but you got lucky. Incredibly so, because Ijichi offered you a ride home two days earlier than you were supposed to head back and you thanked all gods and devils for that man’s kindness. He was willing to put on some more road just to get you home.

“Thank you so, so much, Ijichi,” you kissed his cheek — a ghost of a peck that made him all red and steamy and you felt giddy for a moment, seeing the tips of his ears turn crimson. Adorable. You liked him, he was dutiful, polite, trustworthy and constantly terrorized by your husband, so you were determined to at least be the Gojo he likes.

“You’re very welcome,” he mumbled and fixed the frames on the bridge of his nose, pushing them up with the tip of his pointer finger. “Have a good rest.”

“You too, Ijichi.”

Then, he was gone and you were stepping into the house with a deep sense of relief washing over you. Home sweet home. If you were to guess, it was most likely somewhere around 4 am, way too early for anyone to be up — especially your husband — so you gave it your all to stay as quiet as possible. The sun was just showing its first rays from way below the horizon line, crawling up with golden hues and breaking the nightly, navy darkness.

On your toes you moved across the house. It seemed as if Gojo was spending his time alone quite ordinarily — you saw a modest stack of empty takeout boxes, much less humble pile of candy wrappers and his uniform jacket thrown over the couch backrest, along with few other little items that you struggled to differentiate in the nocturnal haze.

You put down your bag, hung up your coat and pushed off the shoes. Ghosting your way towards the bathroom, you were desperate to wash away the combat residuals. You lathered up the shower gel in a rush, desperate to rest and sleep in the comfort of your own bed and then, wrapped in the towel, you tippy-toed to the bedroom, but—

“Came back earlier?”

—you truly didn’t expect to be met with a sight like this. Your husband was awake, just barely, most likely awaken by the water running in the bathroom. His eyes were closed, hidden underneath his forearm and shielded from the lights that were slowly creeping inside, between the dark curtains and onto his face. His body seemed relaxed between the sheets. The softest, gentlest lines of golden glimmer that painted its patterns over his uncovered chest and leg, his hip and one of the muscular arms. The duvet was covering less than half of him, hiding a part of his stomach, the other leg and—

“You’re staring.”

Satoru didn’t even have to look at you to know that your gaze was lingering on his frame. On his very, very naked frame, just barely concealed by the comforter.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, feeling the heat creeping up your cheeks and reaching the tips of your ears and you thanked the darkness for hiding it away. You walked around the bed, hoping to find your pajama where you left it and trying to force your head out of the gutter. You heard your husband letting out a deep exhale and then, a soft hum. His voice was as melodic as always, though you could tell how much sleepiness was laced into it.

Satoru should’ve notice you when you entered the area of your house, but he didn’t. Tired by his own job, by the classes and all of the meetings, he allowed himself to lower his guard and when he realized you’re home, he contemplated for a moment getting up and dressed, but he just didn’t want to.

“You’re exhausted, screw pajamas, just come here,” he said before he managed to think twice about it. It was a daring offer, inappropriate even and he opened his mouth to apologize for it, but then, you rendered him speechless.

Your weight felt good on top of him. You lay your body over his own with feathery gentleness and carefully maneuvered your way to rest on his chest completely. The touch of your skin flush to his own made his brain to short circuit, it felt divine, too good to be true and just so very right, he couldn’t say a word.

“Is that alright?” You asked quietly, pressing your ear right above his heart and letting out a breath that you held for a little too long. Your face felt hot, you were flushed and flustered but also oddly at ease with the current position and you wondered for a moment if it was the tiredness that made you so bold.

“More than that,” he replied, pulling the covers to hide you beneath them. He allowed one of his arms to snake around your waist and his lips to kiss the top of your head. “Rest. Sleep well, wifey.”

“Good night.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

10:19 AM

Satoru thought he was dreaming, but the weight on top of him felt too real. The soft scent of citrusy shower gel that lingered on your skin filled in his lungs each time he took a breath in and there was a tickle, he realized — every time his chest raised, a strand of your hair seemed to be moving against his jawline. You were not a dream.

He opened his eyes, blinking few times, adjusting them to the bright light that forced its way into the bedroom and then, he looked at you. You were still very deep asleep, he could tell based off the long inhales you were taking, slow and relaxed, fanning against his peck rhythmically. Your body was mostly on top of him, you were on his chest, your leg was between his and only your hips were resting on the bed. He still had his arm around you, as if making sure you were as close as possible.

It felt incredible. Intimate. It was everything he could have wished for. A touch, skin to skin, so intense it almost took his breath away. He felt nauseous at the thought, realizing that it’s the first time in his life, he’s that close to someone. So impossibly close that just a little bit more and you’d become a part of him. His heartbeat quickened.

It was so right. So awfully correct and at the same time, so very threatening. He felt helpless. Vulnerable. He was at your mercy, he was robbed of everything what made him the strongest, because at this very moment, he was bare. Uncovered before you, wrapped in an embrace that felt loving, that felt soothing, addicting, but if you only wished to hurt him, you’d—

You moved, shifting your weight a little bit, adjusting the position and the way your hand run down his side made him shiver. A soft sound escaped your throat when you let out a deeper exhale. He felt your fingers squeezing the flesh above his hip and then, you relaxed again.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” you whispered, not bothering to open your eyes, and Satoru held his breath. “Relax…”

And he chuckled. His chest vibrated below your ear and the adorable sound of displeasure you let out made him lose all of the tension. He turned, twisting his body inside your embrace to face you fully and he squeezed you with both of his arms, pulling you close. So impossibly close, and you whimpered, suddenly enclosed in a tight hold of your husband’s limbs. That was it for your sleep.

You could get used to it.

taglist: @kinny-away @anan-baban @lotomber @netflix-imagines @kawliflo @nishloves @ghostfacefricker6969 @thejujvtsupost @yozora7154 @cherrycolabarbedwirebedpost @stuckinmoilalaland @ae-mius @ropickle @chokesonspit @lansy-4 @mo0sin @just-pure-trash @foliea @bakarinnie @big-booty-joe

[solelifauna]

So this NOT to imply the writing is bad

But so far the Batfam fic as me genuinely shaking in anger , the fact that dick is convinced that y/n as to prove herself to be "worthy" genuinely got to me to the point I need a pallete cleanser

Could we please get a small drabble of reader growing close with one of the "outside" batfam members?

Like maybe Kate(batwoman) and Luke (batwing) because they are under used

Or hell, maybe to really grind the family gears, reader gets close to azrael

(you know Bruce would've able to do shit if reader got close with Kate, she would fucking eat him alive)

Hey, You're all good bro! I also just want to put out that my fic is based on an au! The portrayals of any characters in my fic are based off of their canon and fanon counterparts, just with my own twist. Since this is a darker universe/au, the Bats along with other heroes are going to be a lot more brutal and jaded.

Also love your idea bro. But, I'll do you one better. Constantine. Bruce absolutely can't stand him and the reader being friends with/getting along with him? Oh, that's bound to grind Bruce's gears. It would also be easier to meet Constantine too.

Let's just say one day the reader gets caught up in some Justice League Dark stuff that Constantine is trying to solve. She gets kidnapped by a cult that wants to use her as a sacrifice. I mean, she is a pretty huge target, being the daughter of a Billionaire after all. Anyways, shes kidnapped, nobody is coming to get her, not from her family at least. Long story short, Constantine arrives too late to stop the ritual, but things don't go according to plan for the cultists anyway. Turns out that the person sacrificed wouldn't be killed, but would instead become a vessel.

Great, now you have some old, eldrich being living rent-free in your mind. The being is old, donning the title "Keeper of Hell", but you'll just call it (they? him? her?), Adam. Yeah, Adam wasn't too happy with the name. When Constantine arrives, however, hes pleasantly surprised to find you alive. When he realizes that you, a 15-year-old, now carry the presence and power of an eldritch being older than Gotham itself, he groans while lighting up a cigarette. Looks like he'd have to deal with you now.

He checks over you making sure you have no internal and external injuries before explaining your situation. He feels a little sorry for you, but he is in no condition to train you. He asks around to other JL dark members, hoping to see if anyone is willing to help you control your new powers. He sighs again when nobody steps up to the plate, too busy with their own sidekicks and quests.

Reluctantly, he tells you he'd help you figure stuff out. And there begins the blossoming of the amazing "Grumpy old man and kid they didn't ask for" troupe. When you tell Constantine your name, he blanks, because of course he gets stuck with one of the bat's kids. However, based on your tone of voice when discussing your family (and the way you begged him not to let Bruce/Batman know of your predicament), he's guessing things aren't all too great between you all. Well, thats not his problem, his only job was to train you and make sure you don't end up accidentally killing someone.

Yeah...like that thought process is going to last. Training sessions start out bleak and professional, he's only doing a job. Then as time continues, he finds himself enjoying your company, your enthusiasm to learn and your rambunctious/sarcastic comebacks always have him fighting off a smile. It's been a while since he's had company like this. Soon, you're both going out on missions, and then ice cream breaks afterward. He lets you fall asleep on his shoulder, drooling all over his trench coat after particularly difficult missions and he can't bring himself to mind.

He's fond of you, although he never admits it out loud. It's okay though, because even though he's never said it out loud, his actions speak louder than words. You could feel his love and pride for you. Although he wasn't exactly your dad per se, he was still something to you, maybe the wine uncle? You don't know, and you don't particularly care to put a label on what Constantine was to you, you're just glad that he's there.

Shit hits the fan, however, when one day you decide to go on a solo mission. It's nothing crazy, just getting rid of some poltergeists and low-level demons and shades. Now, were you given permission to go on this mission alone? No, but in a normal teenage manner, you decide to go anyway. Everything was fine, you got rid of all the poltergeists in the area and even some of the shades too! It's all going well until you realize that the demon mentioned before was not as weak as you were told. You gulped when its blood red eyes turned to you.

"Well shit." Constantine was going to kill you.

It immediately lunges at you, you barely rolling out of its sharp claws. You hit it with a couple of spells, causing the demon to roar out in pain, burn marks now littering its side. Its tail whips at you, colliding with your stomach as you fly into a wall with a loud thud. You groan as you pick yourself up, clutching your ribs, each breath a jagged pain that ripples through your chest. Your arm is slick with blood, the gashes from the demon's claws burning as if its very essence were trying to sear your flesh. You grit your teeth and weave another spell, calling on Adam’s power to knock the demon back. This time, a burst of raw energy slams into it, shattering its leg with a sickening crack.

For a brief moment, you think it's over, ready to strike the final blow. But the demon’s leg snaps back into place, bone and flesh knitting together as if the injury had never happened.

“Of course,” you mutter under your breath. “Why would this be easy?”

The demon lunges again, and you’re just a split second too slow. Burning pain flares through your right arm as its claws tear into you, ripping through your flesh like paper. You scream, the sound involuntary, but you push through the pain, refusing to go down without a fight.

Drawing back, you unleash another spell, a sharp projectile of energy aimed at its neck. The demon flinches, letting out a low growl. That reaction—panic—gives you the first glimmer of hope. Its neck. That's its weak spot.

With renewed determination, you gather every ounce of strength you have left. The cuts across your body throb, and your arm feels like it’s on fire, but you push it all aside. You can do this. You have to do this.

You unleash a volley of cutting spells, each one aimed at the demon’s throat. It fights back viciously, throwing you around the room with a strength that makes your vision blur. Every hit you take feels like your bones are splintering, but you keep going. You keep attacking.

Finally, one of your spells strikes true.

The demon lets out a gurgling screech as your spell cuts deep into its neck. Blood—thick and dark—pours from the wound, and it claws at its own throat, choking. Its body spasms violently, and then, as if collapsing in on itself, it begins to disintegrate. In a few seconds, all that’s left is dust.

You stand there, panting, barely able to process the fact that you did it. You won. A grin spreads across your face, and despite the pain radiating from every part of your body, you let out a weak cheer.

But the celebration is short-lived.

Pain cuts through you like a knife, sharp and sudden, reminding you of just how battered you are. Blood is still oozing from the various gashes across your body, and your arm feels like it’s hanging by a thread. You stumble, nearly falling, but catch yourself at the last second.

“Crap… I’m bleeding out,” you mumble, wincing. “Whoops.”

With what little energy you have left, you remember the spell Constantine taught you, the one that would tether you to him no matter where you were. He warned you not to use it unless it was an emergency—and bleeding out from demon-inflicted wounds definitely qualifies.

You lift your shaking hand and cast the spell, a sluggish flick of your wrist sending out a ripple of energy. A portal forms, shimmering and unstable, but functional enough. Without much grace, you stumble through it, disappearing from the demon’s lair.

What you didn’t know, however, was that Constantine was currently in a Justice League meeting.

The first thing you feel is a sudden drop, like the ground beneath you has vanished. You barely register the sensation of falling before you crash, hard, onto something solid. Groaning, you blink through the haze of pain and find yourself sprawled across a massive table.

You can hear voices—muffled, alarmed—but the world is spinning too much for you to focus. All you know is that you're lying on something cold and hard, and you’re absolutely drenched in blood.

Forcing your eyes open, you see several figures standing around you, staring in shock. Your vision is blurry, but you can make out Superman’s cape and Wonder Woman’s armor. You try to process what's happening, but the pain in your arm and ribs keeps pulling you under.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow. Fuckkkk." You cry out.

Suddenly, the scent of smoke fills the air. You don't even have to look to know who it is. Constantine’s familiar trench coat brushes against your arm as he crouches beside you, cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. His eyes flicker with a dangerous mix of exasperation and barely concealed anger.

“What in the bloody fuck, kid?” he snaps, his tone harsher than usual, but the concern underlies his words.

You wince, the situation hitting you all at once. Crap. Now I've got to deal with this.

You muster a weak, sheepish grin, wincing as you turn your head to face him. “Heyyy Constantine, how are ya?”

His brow furrows deeper, and he’s clearly not amused. “What did you do?”

You swallow hard, trying to think of how to explain yourself without getting ripped to shreds—verbally or otherwise. “I—well, promise you won’t get mad?”

“Too late for that, kid. I’m already halfway there,” he growls, his eyes narrowing as he looks over your wounds. “Now get to it.”

You bite your lip, trying to find the least disastrous way to explain. “So… I sorta… mighta… gone on a solo demon-hunting mission,” you blurt out quickly, hoping he’d just move past it.

The way Constantine’s eyes widen, and the immediate twitch in his jaw tell you that he’s definitely not going to move past it.

“You did what?!” His voice rises as he stands up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Oh bloody— I thought I specifically told you not to go by yourself! And this is what happens!”

“Hey, well, I’m alive, aren’t I?” you say, grinning nervously, trying to play it off.

“That’s besides the point!” He throws his arms up, pacing as he takes a long drag from his cigarette. “Bloody hell, I should’ve known better with you kids. I swear, this is why I never—”

Just then, a dark, grim voice cuts through the chaos, and your heart nearly stops.

“Constantine,” Batman’s tone is low, authoritative. “Why is my daughter bleeding on our table?”

Oh no. No, no, no. Not now.

You freeze, your mind going blank as you feel the weight of Batman’s presence at the end of the table. You slowly, painfully turn your head to see him standing there, cape draped over his shoulders, his gaze icy and locked onto you. His usual stoic expression somehow looks even more intense.

“Ah… shit,” you mutter under your breath, groaning inwardly as you realize you’ve just landed yourself in the absolute worst situation imaginable. “I completely forgot he was still here.” Wait, did you say that out loud?

Constantine gives you a sidelong glance, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, kid, you did. And now we’ve got more than just your wounds to worry about, don’t we?” He sighs deeply, rubbing his temples, already anticipating the fallout.

Batman’s eyes narrow, arms crossed as he takes a step closer to you, his voice low and dangerous. “Care to explain yourself?”

You’re still bleeding, your head is pounding, and you’re pretty sure at least a few bones are broken, but none of that compares to the fear creeping up your spine as you look up at your father. Your mind races for an answer, but every excuse you can think of feels flimsy at best.

Constantine clears his throat, sensing the rising tension in the room. “Right. Let’s get her fixed up before this turns into an interrogation, yeah? Kid’s bleeding all over the place, and she’s already taken a beating. We’ll save the lecture for later.” He waves his hand, muttering something under his breath as he kneels beside you again.

The tension between Constantine and Batman lingers in the air, thick and heavy, but Batman finally relents. His eyes soften—slightly—as he watches Constantine work to stabilize your injuries with magic.

You can feel yourself growing weaker, the adrenaline finally wearing off as the pain becomes unbearable. Constantine mutters a healing spell, one that slows the bleeding and knits some of the less serious cuts together. It's not perfect, but it’s enough for now.

“I think it’s time to get you all fixed up, huh?” Constantine says softly, his earlier anger tempered by concern as he helps you sit up, his hand firm on your back to support you.

You nod weakly, not daring to meet Batman’s eyes again. You’re in deep trouble, but for now, at least, you’re still breathing. As Constantine gets ready to teleport you to a safer place to heal, you hear Batman’s voice, calm but steely.

“We’re not done here.”

And with that ominous promise hanging in the air, Constantine picks you up, and the world around you shifts once again.

Constantine gently carries you through the halls toward the Justice League’s med bay, muttering curses under his breath with every step. You could feel his frustration radiating off him, and now, in the quiet aftermath of the fight, guilt begins to settle in your chest. The adrenaline from the battle has worn off, and now you're left with the consequences of your reckless actions.

“Hey, Constantine… I—I’m sorry for not listening to you. I really am,” you say, your voice soft and heavy with regret.

He sighs, not looking at you, but his tone is stern. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m not mad at you, kid. You didn’t just ignore my warnings—you put yourself in danger. There are rules for a reason. What if you got seriously hurt and couldn’t cast a spell back to me? Even worse, what if you died or got possessed?”

His words hit you hard, and you wither under the weight of them. You know he’s right. All those rules and restrictions aren’t just him being overprotective or controlling, they’re because he cares. He’s seen the kind of darkness that can swallow people whole, and the thought of that happening to you terrifies him, even if he’ll never say it out loud.

By the time you reach the med bay, the guilt feels like it’s pressing down on you as much as the pain in your ribs. Constantine lowers you onto a cot, tucking you in with a gruff gentleness that only he could pull off. He sits down on the side of the bed, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with a quick flick of his fingers, his eyes never leaving yours.

“What I’m trying to say, kid,” he starts, exhaling a cloud of smoke, “is that I care. I care about you, I care about what happens to you. I don’t want—” He pauses, his voice softening. “I don’t want to ever have to find your body one day. So please, from now on, let me know before you do something stupid like this.”

His words hang in the air, raw and unfiltered. You nod, trying to process it all, and then something clicks in your mind. Wait… did he just say let him know?

“Let you know? Does this mean—” Your eyes widen as realization hits you. “Does this mean I can go on solo missions?”

Constantine lets out a resigned sigh. “Yes, yes, you can start going on solo missions—”

“Hell yeah!” you exclaim, sitting up a little too quickly. Pain shoots through your ribs, but you can’t help the excitement bubbling inside you.

“—but, only the ones I sanction and authorize,” Constantine finishes, cutting through your excitement with a stern look. You deflate a little at his words, but it’s still a victory in your book.

Without thinking, you throw your arms around him, ignoring the sharp pain it causes in your ribs. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! I promise I won’t let you down!”

He chuckles, patting your back awkwardly before pulling away. “Yeah, yeah, I know you won’t. Now, lay back down and get some rest. You still have dark and brooding to deal with.” He gestures toward the direction of the meeting room, clearly dreading the inevitable confrontation with Batman. “And by extension, I do too,” he adds with a heavy sigh.

You groan, sinking back into the cot, the exhaustion finally catching up with you. “I don’t know why he even cares. If he did, he would’ve figured this out ages ago.”

Constantine glances at you, his expression softening for a moment. He takes a long drag of his cigarette before speaking. “He cares, kid. He just… doesn’t always show it the way you want him to. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it.”

You scoff, though part of you knows he’s right. “Yeah, well, doesn’t feel like it.”

Constantine stands, taking one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it into a nearby ashtray. “Doesn’t matter how it feels right now. The Bat’s going to want answers, and if I know him, he’s going to want to have a very long talk with you. You’re not out of the woods yet.”

You wince at the thought of the upcoming conversation, knowing that Batman’s interrogation will be thorough and far less forgiving than Constantine’s.

“Great,” you mutter, closing your eyes and sinking deeper into the cot. “Just what I need.”

Constantine gives you a small, almost affectionate smile before turning to leave. “Get some rest, kid. You’ve earned it. I’ll deal with the big bad Bat for now.”

And with that, he walks out, leaving you alone in the med bay. As much as you’re dreading what’s to come, you can’t help but feel a sense of relief. Despite the pain and the mistakes you made, you know that Constantine’s got your back. And, maybe, just maybe, Batman does too, even if it’s buried under a mountain of brooding and silence.

For now, though, you let the exhaustion pull you under, trusting that everything else can wait until tomorrow.

-

As you rest, your body finally succumbing to the exhaustion, your breathing evens out and your mind drifts into sleep. The med bay is quiet, sterile, but the tension in the air lingers, waiting for the inevitable. Eventually, a dark, caped figure glides into the room silently, his form casting long shadows across the walls.

Batman—no, Bruce—stands over you, his sharp eyes tracing every bruise, every cut that mars your face. His jaw clenches as a million thoughts swirl in his head, none of them offering any comfort.

What the hell happened to you? Why are you and Constantine so close? How did you even know Constantine? How much had he missed—how little attention had he been paying—to not notice any of this?

Bruce sighs, a deep and frustrated sound. He removes his cowl, setting it on the side table with a weary hand. Without it, he seems less intimidating, less imposing. He stares down at you, seeing the cuts and bruises marking your skin, but what hits him harder is the way your face, in sleep, is still so achingly young. You're his daughter, and yet it feels like you're a stranger to him now.

How did you get so far away?

He knows the answer. The fault lies with him, with the choices he made, the excuses he repeated to himself—telling himself he was too busy, telling himself he would check in later. Later never came, though, and the space between you widened, until it wasn't just him you were drifting away from, but your brothers too.

Bruce noticed the way your brothers treated you, the harsh words, the cold shoulders. He saw the distance, but he justified it, telling himself it was sibling rivalry or something that would pass. He didn't step in. And now, as he looks at you lying there, bruised and battered from a fight he wasn’t even aware of, the reality sinks in: he has no excuse.

With a heavy sigh, Bruce reaches out, his rough but careful hand carding gently through your hair. The gesture is tender, hesitant, as if he's not sure whether he has the right to touch you like this anymore. But as his fingers comb through your hair, you stir in your sleep, a quiet murmur escaping your lips as you unconsciously lean into his touch. It's such a sweet, innocent moment, and for a brief second, Bruce allows himself to feel the warmth of it.

But the moment is fleeting.

He feels the presence before he sees it, the unmistakable smell of cigarette smoke filling the room. His jaw tightens as his hand stills. He doesn’t turn right away, but his voice cuts through the silence.

“Constantine,” Bruce says, his tone gruff even without the cowl to disguise it.

Constantine steps into the room more fully, leaning against the wall, a half-smoked cigarette between his lips. He regards Bruce with that same nonchalance he carries everywhere, though there's a flicker of something else in his eyes—something more cautious.

"Thought you’d still be brooding over in the corner," Constantine says, taking a drag of his cigarette. His eyes drift to you, lying peacefully on the cot. “Didn’t expect to see this version of you.”

Bruce doesn’t respond right away. He pulls his hand back from your hair, his gaze hardening. "What happened?" The question is direct, but underneath it, Constantine can hear the concern, the frustration Bruce doesn't voice aloud.

"She went off on her own," Constantine mutters, taking another drag before blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Went after a demon. Got roughed up pretty bad, but she handled it in the end. Strong kid. Stubborn too. Wonder where she gets that from, eh?"

Bruce's eyes narrow. "And you let her?"

"Let her?" Constantine laughs, a short, sharp sound. "Mate, I didn’t let her. She went behind my back, just like she’s gone behind yours for who knows how long. Difference is, I’m the one she actually came back to.”

That lands like a punch to Bruce's gut. He doesn’t react visibly, but Constantine can see the tension in his posture.

"I didn't know she was…" Bruce starts, then stops, shaking his head. The words feel inadequate. "I didn't know she was involved with this stuff, i didn't even know she was a meta. Or that she knew you."

"Yeah, well, she found her way to me," Constantine says with a shrug, stubbing out his cigarette on the wall. “And she's not a meta by the way, she's a vessel for some eldritch being"

A vague expression of surprise appears on Bruce's face.

"I don't blame you, mate. I was surprised to find her alive afterwards. Not just anyone survives that kind of transformation, she's strong.”

Bruce crosses his arms, his gaze flickering between you and Constantine. “I know she’s strong.”

“Do you?” Constantine raises an eyebrow, the challenge clear in his tone. “Because she’s been running herself ragged trying to prove it. To you. To herself. And, hell, maybe to me too, but at least I see it.”

There’s silence for a moment. Bruce clenches his jaw, turning to look at you again, sleeping soundly despite the tension in the room. He knew Constantine was right. You'd been pushing yourself, fighting to show that you didn’t need them—that you were strong enough on your own. And he had let you. He'd let you because he didn't even care to notice.

Constantine sighs, sensing the weight of the silence. “Look, I didn’t come here to throw stones. But you’ve got to get your shit together with her. She’s tough, but she’s still a kid, and she’s your kid. She needs you.”

Bruce doesn’t answer, but his silence speaks volumes. He watches you, the soft rise and fall of your chest, and feels the regret gnawing at him.

“I’ll handle it,” Bruce finally says, though the words feel hollow.

Constantine gives him a long look, then nods. “You better. Because if you don’t, she’ll be right back with me..”

With that, Constantine pushes off the wall, flicking away the last of his cigarette. “I’ll check in on her later. Try not to fuck this up, mate.” And with one last glance at you, Constantine leaves, the tension in the room ebbing with him.

Bruce remains, standing over you, his mind a whirlwind of regret, guilt, and the desire to fix what’s been broken for far too long. He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead—something he hasn’t done in what feels like years—before stepping back, pulling the chair beside your bed to sit vigil over you.

He’s still not sure how to bridge the gap, but for now, he stays. It’s a start.

Well, thats all folks! I really enjoyed writing this au, so thanks for the idea! Maybe ill even make a pt. 2 to this? Who knows? Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

You would hit BELIEVE how happy I am that you’re writing fics for Declan O’Hara he’s my new DILF obsession!!! Also it was so well-written and in-character, oh my goodness!

I was wondering if I could request a fic where Declan and female!reader are having an affair, and she’s super nervous because she’s Taggie’s best friend. She meets Declan one night in his car, and he calms her down and, obviously, they have car sex.

Ending this with a huge I LOVE YOUR WORK

Shut Up and Drive.

It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? The one person who riles you up the most is also the only person that can calm you down.

declan o’hara x female reader

warnings - smut. cursing. age gap. cheating. declan and his dirty mouth. one use of the c word. overuse of the nickname sweetheart.

word count - 3k

authors note - the minute he put that baby blue t shirt on… I was suddenly on my knees. funny how that happens. can’t and won’t stop with the fics for this man. I am riding the rivals train to the ends of the earth, baby. thanks for being so sweet, anon <3

masterlist. inbox.

The phone is shaking in your trembling hand, cord all tangled where you keep twisting it around your finger nervously.

“Hello?”

You almost drop the receiver at the sound of that familiar Irish accent, despite the fact that you were the one that rang him. It has your stomach churning, in a different way than usual.

“H-hi,” you barely whisper, before clearing your throat and trying again. “Hi. It’s me.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” he breathes, as if it’s the first time he’s taken a lungful of air all day.

“I, um… I’m sorry to call you on the house phone. I know it’s not how we do things usually.”

“It’s alright. What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. I just, uh… I called to say that I can’t do this anymore.”

“Sweetheart-”

“I would have told you in person, but I didn’t know when I was going to see you next, so.”

“Can we-” he begins, before lowering his voice so as not to be overheard, “-can we talk about this properly? Please?”

“We can’t. I can’t. We shouldn’t.”

“Sweetheart, I’m beggin’ ya. One conversation. You’re not ending this in a quick phone call on a Wednesday night, you hear me?”

You inhale deeply, biting at your lips. There’s pure anxiety radiating through your body, prickly and unrelenting.

“I hear you,” you murmur down the receiver. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he sighs in relief. “I’m gonna come and get ya - we’ll go for a drive, alright?”

“Sorry you have to lie,” you whisper, guilt colouring your tone.

“I’d lie for you a thousand times over.”

His words shouldn’t make you feel as giddy as they do, but alas. Here you are.

“I’ll put some shoes on.”

“And a coat. It’s cold as fuck tonight.”

You half laugh, half snort at him down the phone, dreamily imagining the grin he most likely has painted on his face listening to you.

“Yes sir,” you tease, giggling. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll drive up without my headlights on. Look out for me, yeah?”

“I will.”

I always do, you think to yourself. I always do.

The line goes dead abruptly, the buzzing vibrating straight into your temples. You slip your shoes on, quickly fixing your hair and touching up your makeup in the mirror in the hallway while you’re there. You shrug your arms into your coat at Declan’s orders, knowing he’d tell you off if you turned up without it on.

You’ve almost forgotten the entire reason you called in the first place was to break things off with him.

Almost.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

True to his word, Declan drives up your road without his headlights on, slowly and with practised precision.

You’re waiting at the window for him, patiently anticipating the sight of that stupid yellow car. You’re out of the door in seconds as soon as you see him, bounding towards the passenger side and slipping in before anyone notices. He drives off quickly, not taking any time to say hello before he’s taking off out of the town and towards the rolling countryside.

You drive for a good fifteen minutes, to a spot the two of you frequent on your drives. It’s a dirt track, leading to nothing but fields for miles on end. Declan pulls the car around the bend and out of sight from the busier road, knowing that it has more than enough privacy. You’ve never been caught here before, and you don’t plan to start.

Finally turning off the engine, he turns to face you, taking in how the moonlight illuminates your features in the lowlight of the car.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Hi.”

You’re refusing to look at him, knowing that if you do, you’ll surge over and kiss him until you’re both dizzy. You can feel his gaze on you, though, intense and unwavering. As it always is.

His thumb and pointer finger hook under your chin, forcing you to stare straight into his determined brown eyes. You’re willing yourself not to crumble, but you can feel your resolve starting to slip already.

“I missed you,” he whispers, careful not to spook you.

“I missed you too,” you say before you can stop yourself. “Shit.”

He chuckles, and the low timbre of it settles right in the pit of your stomach.

“What’s all this about then, hmm? The phone call?”

“What did you tell Taggie? Where did you say you were going?”

It’s your least favourite part about all of this, the lying. Lying to Taggie, to Patrick, to Caitlin, to Rupert, to your friends, to your family. Coming up with excuses has become second nature - something you hate about yourself now. You hate how it comes so naturally to both of you these days.

“Told her I was going to meet someone about some potential research for a show. She had evening plans anyway, she’s off out to Lizzie’s.”

You’re fiddling with your fingers, picking at your nails in a nervous habit as you chew your bottom lip. If anxiety was personified, it’d be you.

“You avoided my question. We need to talk about what you said on the phone, sweetheart.”

Taking a deep breath, you turn in your seat to face him properly, going over the speech you’ve practised in your head dozens of times.

“Okay. I’m… I’m not sure we should do this anymore. I- I just… I feel guilty. For lying to Taggie, mainly. And because you’re technically still married, but mainly for lying to Tag. She’s the closest friend I have, and I’m sleeping with her father. It makes me a terrible person, Declan. I have to put a stop to it.”

He processes your words for a moment, looking at you intently.

“Do ya want to?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you want to? Put a stop to things? Or do you just feel like you should? For other people.”

You want to lie, tell him exactly what you had planned out, feed him what you know will work. But you can’t. You can lie to everyone… except Declan.

“I don’t want to,” you whisper. “But I should. We should.”

“Why now? Did something happen? Did someone say something?”

“No, no. I just… Taggie said something really sweet the other day about how she was glad that she had me, because making friends here hasn’t been easy for her. And it should have made me happy, and instead, it broke my heart.”

“Oh, sweetheart.”

Declan cradles your face in his rough hands, resting his forehead against yours. It’s like the whole world melts away for a moment, leaving just the two of you in the tiny yellow car.

“I’m a horrible person,” you mumble. “And a horrible friend.”

“You’re speaking as if it’s just you. And it’s not, you know. There’s two of us in this affair - I’m just as guilty as you are.”

“Fine then. We’re both horrible people.”

He chuckles, breath tickling your face, and you can’t help the giggle that escapes you. His lips are brushing yours every time he speaks, meaning you can practically taste the cigarette smoke and spearmint on his tongue.

“I never claimed otherwise,” he retorts, still smiling.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit as his thumbs sweep back and forth across your cheekbones. “It’s weighing down my conscience, and I don’t want to hurt Tag. But… I can’t give you up, Declan. I need you. I need you more than anything.”

“You make me crazy. God, I think about you night and day, sweetheart. My thoughts revolve around if I’ve seen you and when I’m going to see you next.”

“So what do we do? I can’t quit this. I can’t quit you, I can’t quit us. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know. I wish I had the answers… I wish I could make all your worries go away. But I can’t.”

“I don’t expect you to. I just… I thought that I could do it in one clean sweep. Get it out the way, you know? Call you, end things, be done. And then the minute I heard your voice over the phone… I knew I couldn’t do it. Because deep down, I didn’t want to.”

He leans in to press a lingering kiss to your forehead, desperate to be close to you.

“Declan.”

“If I could fix it all for you, I would,” he murmurs against your skin. “You know I would.”

You pull back to put some distance in between you, watching him carefully for his reaction to what you say next.

“You should break things off.”

He flinches as if you’ve punched him in the stomach.

“What?”

“You should. I clearly can’t, so you have to be the one to do it. Do it, Declan. End things with me right here, right now. Please.”

Your tone is weak and unconvincing, as if you can’t even bring yourself to say the words with any conviction.

“I can’t,” he confesses, voice breaking on the last word. “I can’t do it.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, exhaling it slowly as if he’s buying himself some time. You wait patiently for him to continue, nerves frayed at the edges.

“Because I love you.”

Now it’s your turn to flinch, his admission smacking you across the face violently.

“You-”

“Yes. I love you, sweetheart. It’s taken me a while to figure all of this out, but I know it now. That’s why I’ve never been able to end this. Because it’s not just incredible sex… it’s something more. Something real.”

There are tears welling in your eyes as you look at him, watching the way he lays his heart on his sleeve in the moonlight just for you.

“I’m scared,” you confess. “I love you too and it scares me.”

You don’t miss the way his face lights up as you say it, but he’s trying to keep a careful lid on his emotions for now.

“I’m not going to let anything bad happen to ya. You know that.”

All you can do is nod in response, digesting everything that has happened in the last five minutes. You do know that. He’s proven time and time again that you’re not just some fleeting fling to him.

“Declan?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

Now he grins like an idiot, eyes alive with adrenaline and hope.

“That’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever heard ya say.”

You tuck some hair behind his ear before leaning in to gently press your lips to his, wanting to seal the moment. He kisses you back sweetly at first, before taking control with more force, slipping his tongue into your mouth cheekily. You happily let him take the lead, sighing in contentment as you melt into him.

“C’mere.”

Climbing over onto his lap, you hinge your legs on either side of his in the drivers seat, straddling his hips. You try to straighten up but end up hitting your head on the roof of the car, which makes you both wheeze with laughter.

“This car is too fucking small,” you grumble, rubbing the spot that you smacked.

“Y’alright? Want me to kiss it better?”

You hate the way the teasing tone in his voice shoots right to your core, shaking your head in defiance.

“Fuck off,” you mumble, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Patronising bastard.”

“I like it when you get your claws out,” he chuckles, tracing patterns on your thighs over your jeans. “S’hot.”

You kiss him again to shut him up, biting at his bottom lip in punishment. He groans all low and slow, which makes you grind your hips into his, despite the multiple layers of clothing separating you.

“Backseat,” he whispers, pushing you off of him gently. “More room.”

You splay yourself across the wide back seat, opening your legs so Declan can slot in between them.

“You’ve got too many clothes on,” he prompts as he shrugs off his own jacket and undoes his belt.

You can’t help but chuckle at his impatience, happily taking off your coat and jumper and unbuttoning your jeans. Your breath catches in your throat when you look back up at him - he’s wearing the Venturer t shirt that hugs his biceps just right, accentuating every delicious muscle he has to offer you.

“Wore it for you,” he mutters against your lips. “Know you like me in a t shirt.”

You roll your eyes but kiss him with determination anyway, all teeth and tongue and clashing bodies. You’re clawing at his clothed shoulders, wrapping your legs around his waist to buck your hips into his.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he mumbles into the skin of your neck, pressing kisses wherever he can reach. “Lying awake at night thinking about your thighs, your tits, your cunt.”

All you can do is sigh, fingers digging into his biceps in desperation.

“Wish I could take my time with you like you deserve. These quick fucks just aren’t the same.”

He sounds almost upset about it, voice staying deep and low.

“Remember that time I stayed the night? And you couldn’t walk in the morning?”

You laugh breathily, thinking back fondly to that night a few months ago. You’d both orchestrated it so carefully, crafting cautious lies and fabricated stories to snatch a good sixteen hours of time together.

“Need that again soon. Might have to start sneaking ya into my house in the dark, make you climb the gutters like we’re in a film. Although, it is a bit hard to keep you quiet.”

You try valiantly to ignore the heat that flushes across your chest as he teases you, knowing that he’s right.

“Declan?”

“Yeah, baby?”

You grab his hand and shove it down your underwear, jeans trapped around your thighs. There’s very minimal room in this tiny car, but you’re both determined to make it work. He groans when he feels how wet you are, swiping through your core.

“Fuck me. Have you been like this the entire time?”

“Since this afternoon,” you whimper, trying to grind down onto his fingers. “Couldn’t stop thinking about when you ate me out on my kitchen worktop last week. My legs were shaking for two days afterwards.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, slipping a finger into you as he drops his head onto your shoulder. “I got myself off thinking about that yesterday. I swear if I concentrate, I can still taste you on my tongue.”

All you can do is whimper, desperate to have him in any way you can. The fact that you have the same effect on him that he does on you makes your head spin, dizzy with want.

“Don’t make me wait,” you beg, cradling his face so he has to look you in the eye. “Fuck me, please. Please, Declan.”

“Okay, pretty girl. I’ll give ya anything you want. Anything.”

He shuffles around so he’s sat back on his knees, pushing his jeans and underwear down just enough to free himself. You spread your legs as wide as you can, trying to give him as much room as possible. It’s not the first time you’ve found yourself in this position in this car with him - and it won’t be the last.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs as he leans down to kiss you, licking across your teeth with his tongue. “Most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen.”

He slides into you with ease, both of you gasping at the familiar sensation. Your nails are digging into his shoulders as he holds your hips in a bruising grip, pads of his fingertips biting into your flesh.

Declan doesn’t waste any time, setting a relentless pace that has you bouncing across the seat. The car is shaking like crazy, all the windows fogged up - anyone who passes will know exactly what’s happening inside.

The man above you can read you like a book and play you like a fiddle. He knows the exact angles of his hips that’ll have you keening, the certain spots to focus on that’ll have you seeing stars. He knows you better than anyone, in more ways than one.

“That’s it,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead. “Atta girl. Taking it like you were made for me.”

“Maybe I was,” you breathe, tipping your head back to give him access to your neck. “Just for you.”

He groans all melted and golden like molten honey, the vibrato of it rumbling through your bones. You’re holding onto him for dear life, as if he’s the only thing tethering you to this reality. When his thumb finds your clit to rub firm, slow circles, you’re convinced you’re floating on another plane of existence.

The only word you can seem to formulate is Declan, which only pushes him closer to the finish line. He’s determined to get you there first, angling his hips upward to hit that one spot that has you gasping. When he moves one hand to your throat and gently squeezes, you fall apart instantly, taking him with you.

“I love you,” he breathes as he comes, forehead resting on yours. “My girl.”

You’re shuddering and shaking as you lie underneath him, panting like you’ve just ran ten miles. Declan collapses on top of you, laying his head on your chest comfortably. Your fingers rake through his hair, fingernails scratching at his scalp like you’ve done so many times before.

You both allow yourselves to close your eyes for a minute, recovering and attempting to catch your breath. You’re convinced, for a moment, that you’ll never feel more peaceful than you do right now. You breathe each other in, satiated and content.

You finally open your eyes, expecting to see nothing but fogged windows and starlit darkness. Instead, you see a man bending down, looking straight at you. Arguably the worst possible person that could see the two of you in the position you’re in.

Rupert Campbell Black.

He’s grinning like an idiot, shaking his head in disbelief.

You’re about to warn the man in your arms when Rupert opens the car door, slipping himself into the drivers seat and spinning so he’s facing you. Declan has jumped out of his skin, jolting upwards to cover you as best he can.

Rupert smirks all dirty and knowing, eyes dancing over your half naked forms.

“Well, well, well. Secrets out, lovers.”

@graceflorence @dionysus-drabbles

as aaaaaaaalways… reblogs are golden!! they’re the currency of tumblr, my loves. you reblog, and your favourite writers will write you more fics. simple as that. mwah. <3

[blkkizzat]

.Daddy & Baby ༄

.summary ༄ an overly self indulgent pwp fic on what it's like being in a polyship with Choji (Choso x Toji x Reader) based on my incredibly unhinged discord msg:

.tags ༄ canon au. bdsm, sadomasochism, voyeurism, cuckolding, spanking (kewchie & ass), creampies, pussy talk, sub!choso, dom!toji, sub!reader, bondage, overstim, pup play, taunting, squirting, edging, orgasm denial, pet names: daddy, mommy, pup/puppy, slut. Toji being a meanie pants in general to our sweet baby Choso and the tiniest bit of fluff and domestically at the end. slightly black fem coded but no descriptors .shoutouts ༄ @littlemochabunni & @ryomens-vixen for feeding into my sickness when I shared this in discord. .wc ༄ 3.9k

“T-Tojiii! Fah-Fahh-Fahhhhck~!”

Unable to contain your moans, you grasp fists full of sheets that do little to brace you from the backshots Toji is currently pounding into you. Each thrust gets progressively sloppier against the slick of your bodies drenched in shared fluids. Evidence of this being your second …no, third round. Toji’s calloused hands are imprinted into the soft chub of your waist in order to keep you from slipping away from him. 

Fuck. Stretched out around his girth Toji can’t deny how good your cunt squeezes him. 

So good, so fucking messy for him all over his cock.

A sinful symphony of flesh echos throughout the room everytime Toji’s loins snap forward slapping your skin together violently as he fucks his previous loads that much deeper into your squelching pussy. Giving your ass an open-handed smack for good measure, Toji smirks at how the sting makes your little pussy squeeze that much tighter around his cock.

Too much, too much! Pleasure filled moans continue to spill from your lips as fresh tears roll down your cheeks. 

Your muscles are reduced to goo, trembling under your own weight as you begin to slump forward face first into the mattress. Yet Toji, unrelenting on his mission to bully all 10 of his thick inches into your womb, is not cutting you any slack.

“Uh-uh, mamas, none of that shit now–”

A firm grip on your hip, Toji yanks you up by your hair, forcibly returning the arch to your back. If not for Toji securing you upright, his burly fingers tangling around your locks, you surely would have collapsed. 

“–ya know puppy likes seeing the look on y’er face while I’m breaking this tight lil’ cunt.”

With Toji now doing the work of supporting your weight, even by your hair, you’re able to spare just enough energy to blink away the moisture flooding your eyes and focus your sights on the puppy in question.

Your puppy– Choso, is kneeling on the wooden floor tied to the bed frame by his black leather studded leash and collar. Seeing you getting worked over so beautifully by Toji has Choso’s black jeans feeling increasingly tight and sticky from the large amounts pre leaking out of his tip. Rutting into the side of the bed, Choso is desperate to relieve any of the throbbing he feels straining between his thighs. 

Yet Choso couldn’t cum, he’s not allowed to. His dick is bound in a silicone cockring that keeps him in a suspended state of titillation, unable to find any release. 

Toji’s bullying is why Choso has it in the first place to be honest. Ridiculing Choso that he busts far too easily and would have to learn to hold it in longer like a ‘real man’ if he ever wanted to fully satisfy you. 

You’d overheard their convo earlier from the next room over. You scoffed, Toji was just being an ass per usual. Truthfully, Choso satisfied you plenty, even if he was a quick nut he would still fuck you through his tears and overstimulation. But shamefully you had been silent at the suggestion. You resisted entering the room and coming to Choso’s rescue in hopes Choso would comply, just so you could see him all cute and frustrated. You loved how flushed his pouty face would get when he was inside you, begging you to let him cum (even though he often did so without permission anyway) and a cockring would only intensify the experience.

“Just look at him being such a good lil’ pup f’er ya, Y/N. Wouldn’t deny him that lil bit, would ya?”

You shake your head.

“N-No, I-I won’t Daddy… mMM fuck! 

Delivering another smack to your ass cheeks Toji’s evil smirk widens causing Choso to squirm more against the bed as he can only wantonly watch from the sidelines. 

Choso didn’t care about Toji’s taunts if he also got to have you. He would willingly bark if you asked. However in this situation, fully bound, Choso finds himself laboriously panting. The open mouth gag he dons forces his jaw wide, his tongue hanging out akin to an actual dog’s. Drool pours freely down his chin and drips onto his bare chest. When the need to touch you becomes near unbearable, Choso struggles more but he is immobilized as his arms are also secured behind him in matching leather cuffs. 

Defeated, choso whimpers and curls deeper into the bed, his hypersensitive pierced nipples chafing against the mattress leaving them swollen and red. Wishing he was the one balls deep in your core, your pliable cunt becoming mushy and sloshing around his cock instead.

Choso whines are loud even with the gag. 

Your heart pulls at the sounds of his choked cries and seeing his eyes water as they beg for you. The urge to reach out and console him is almost as strong as the depraved part of you that gets a surge of dopamine from witnessing such a ‘good, sweet boy’ suffer pitfully in want of you. 

“G-Good boy baby, s-so good for me. C-Can y-you wait a bit more C-Cho?”

You managed to sweetly squeak out encouragement in between Toji’s thrusts, knowing Choso could easily break the restraints if he wanted. They’re not even cursed tools so they wouldn’t hold him if he really wanted out of them. 

However, Choso was your faithful good boy to a fault. He would endure for you, bricked in his jeans to the point of gnawing agony until you told him it was time. 

Choso slowly nods his head, keeping his tears from falling, for now.

Shit, it’s so fucking hot.

The spectacle of Choso in all his aroused anguish has you clenching impossibly tighter around Toji who releases a string of curses as he jerks your back flush to his chest. One hand roughly palms your tit and the other rolls your clit between the pads of his fingers. Your head falls limp to the slide allowing Toji to dip his tongue into your clavicle and nip at you with no regard to how sore you would be tomorrow even if he didn’t leave a mark.

“Y-Ya close mamas?”

Toji's voice slightly falters as his heavy breath grunts across your neck. The way you are pulsing around him is doing him in quickly and he needs to make you cum first or in his eyes he'd be just as pathetic as the sad little cuck at the end of the bed. Landing a jarring spank directly on your clit, your own tongue lolls out of your mouth mirroring Choso.

“A’course ya fuckin’ are nasty slut, yer lovin’ this. Can’t get enough of being slutted out in front of y’er lil’ cuck puppy huh?”

Toji has your body jolting sharply at the sensation and your limbs buckle as you pull forward away from him. Any attempts to escape from him are in vain and frankly, there is no real conviction behind your movements. Your speech diminished to nonsensical prattling, your brain has already short circuited. Utterly drunk on Toji’s fat cock, the shockwaves from his wild thrusts have you spiraling towards release.

The chains on Choso’s leash clank more fervently as he erratically tugs on them, agitated by Toji’s particularly rough use of you. 

It was pretty much a given, but Choso was far more gentle in comparison to Toji. Treating your body with the utmost reverence, Choso would bathe you in tender kisses, gently lapping up your sweat and mixed fluids from your cunt, thighs, breast and body as a form of aftercare following a rough session with Toji. 

This would typically lead to Choso slow fucking himself deep in your guts while he cooed into your tiddies with a soft sigh, repeatedly murmuring ‘Mommy’ and sucking on your pebbled nipples. Choso had mentioned to Toji plenty of times before to be more gentle with his mommy. 

Toji on the other hand couldn’t give a fuck what the lil’ pussy whipped emo boy wanted. Choso couldn’t beat his ass and besides Toji knew how much you liked it when he was wrecking your shit. Also whether Choso wanted to own up to it or not Toji knew despite his protests how hard the lil’ freak would get from watching the two of you. The sight of you looking so messy, so perfectly fucked out, while getting pounded drove Choso crazy.

“Fuckin’ shut it n’ wait y’er fuckin’ turn or ya won’t get one. Don’t think I can’t stay in this sweet lil’ cunt all damn day. Shiu can find someone else to do that shitty ass job n’ ya can stay tied up just– like– that–”

Toji grunts out the last of his words in sync with his hips slamming into you. 

Choso would pout if his mouth wasn’t gagged open yet he obeys– anything to be able to eventually touch you, sooner rather than later preferably and he knew Toji would follow through on his threats just to spite him.

Choso’s chains still strained taunt though, in an effort to be as close to you as possible but he is no longer pulling. However, you could still make out the soft gurgles of him calling out for you even with his gag on.

Choso’s whining and Toji’s manhandling of you has you on the very edge. All you need is a nudge which you get in the form of Toji rolling your overstimmed bud between the pads of his rough fingers and swirling his wet heavy tongue along with his filthy words into your ear.

“S-Shit, that’s it, such a good lil’ pussy for Daddy. Gon’ on n’ fuckin’ cum on this cock already mamas, eh? I know ya wanna.”

And you do.

A shaky mewl is ripped from you as your vision blacks dissolving into pleasure, spasming around Toji’s cock as electricity spreads, tingling through your entire body. 

You look so lovely with your eyes crinkled and face twisted in ecstasy that Choso surely would have busted for the umpteenth time that night if not for the torturous cockring still on his length. His humid jeans were officially soaked through with pre and his dick twitched against the large stain on the crotch of his pants. 

Groaning into your flesh, Toji bites down on your shoulder as he finishes in your pussy shortly after, his girthy mushroom tip blowing his third load, just as hefty as the first two, straight into your guts. 

You’d surely be pregnant after all this if you weren’t on the pill. 

Pulling out of your sore pussy with a pop, a mix of your cum leaks down his finally emptied balls. Seeing what state he’s left you in, Toji isn’t cruel enough to let your completely spent body fall face first onto the bed. Securing you in his hold, Toji brings you back down rather gently onto the pillows at the top of the bed. 

Your chest heaves as you watch Toji smirk down at you. 

He brushes away some of the hair stuck to your forehead, a surprisingly tender gesture which you would have smiled at had it not been immediately followed up by a slap directly on your tiddies. Just so he could see the sweat running down them jiggle off, Toji reasons when you yell at him for it.

“A-Assholeee…”

You breathe out weakly while resting your eyes, which has Toji smirking at the extent of your fucked out state.

“Yeah mamas, I am.. So let’s show the puppy here how much this asshole filled y’er slutty cunt up then, eh?” 

Parting your shaky legs open with ease, Toji gives Choso a full view of your battered cunt. Globs of Toji’s cum are steadily dribbling out of your pretty pussy and dirting the already filthy bedsheets further. 

“Heh, Y/N just look at all that. Didn’t know this tiny pussy could carry all that now, did ya mamas?”

Toji goes to spread your pussy lips open wider but you swat his hand away with a smack, your voice returning to an almost even tone as your breathing calmed.

“S-Stop playing around and go do that job Toji! I don’t need Shiu blowing up my phone asking me where the hell you are again… That is, unless you’re trying to get me to be your mommy too?”

Your head continues to buzz, dizzy from your pleasure filled high, but you’re still able to check Toji’s ass if needed. If he wanted to be ‘Daddy’ then he had to get his ass up and go make some ‘Daddy’ money too.

Tsk. You sassing him like this was just begging Toji to give you round four, fucking the attitude right out of you again. 

Nevertheless, Toji gets up from bed. He had spent his last few thousand yen at the boat races yesterday and unless he wanted you nagging him about bills next week and threatening to withhold pussy again, he knew needed to do this dammed job. 

“Alriiight, relax Y/N, damn. I’mma go fuck...” 

Not bothering with a shower, Toji throws on his sweats, sparing a glance at Choso who was absolutely foaming at the chance to get his turn. He couldn’t resist taunting him a bit more though before he leaves.

“But eh, mamas ya look like shit. Ya should rest, not enough energy to play with puppy right now. We can untie him once I get back, won't be too long...maybe.”

The pained wide-eyed look Choso gave you in the moment was truly gut wrenching. Having to wait three full rounds before he could even touch you was a new feat for Choso and combined with the cockring, there wasn’t much he wouldn't do in the moment to break free. His lust was beginning to cloud rational thought and threatened to send him into a frenzy. 

Choso might even go kill Toji’s target himself if that's what it took.

“And whose fuckin’ fault is that Toji? Urgh, I know, I’m tired… but my sweet baby has been waiting too long already!”

Gathering your energy, you weakly sit up and longingly reach your arms out for Choso who is back to pulling on his restraints again, nearly cracking the bed frame this time. 

Toji reluctantly unhooks the leash from Choso’s collar which had also been connected to the gag, unshackling him from both simultaneously and pushing him towards you on the bed with a sneer.

“Go clean ‘er up then pup.”

Faster than lightning, Choso’s face is slotting between your thighs, his arms still chained behind him. Choso is on his knees hovering upright over your puffy cunt, abs pulling taunt straining his core so doesn’t fall forward onto you and stress your already sore body further.

The smell of sex in the room was already strong but the intoxicating way the musk was wafting off your cunt made Choso feral. He wanted nothing more than to dive his face between your folds and slurp you dry, ridding you completely of Toji’s cum before replacing it and filling you with his own. 

Unfortunately, his jaw is locking badly. Clenching up as an after effect of being forced open for over two hours using the gag Choso had been previously unfamiliar with. Now Choso is powerless to do anything more than dribble a continuous string of thick spittle down onto your pussy, connecting his pitiful slack jawed pout to your already messed up cunt. Choso sniffles, whimpering as his lip quivers in frustration of not being able to eat your sloppy pussy out like he wanted to, his frustrated tears finally falling. 

Giving him a comforting smile you don’t hesitate to pull Choso down by his shoulders. Allowing his head to nuzzle his favorite spot, your plush tits. You hushed him gently with a kiss to the crown of his head between his buns and wiping the sweat off his damp brow before you held him tightly to you.

“Shhh– s’okay Cho, you did so good waiting for me baby. I love you so, so much, so proud of you.”

Toji huffs, rolling his eyes at your coddling of a fully grown ass man. His eyes scan the room in a hurry to figure out where the hell he put his holster with his glock so he could gtfo before he hurled at the nauseating scene.

“Mmm, Toji do me a favor and hand me the key to unlock his cuffs, pretty please Daddy?”

Grumbling Toji does what you ask, knowing you’re well aware calling him ‘daddy’ was his weak spot. Only referring to him as such when you or your greedy little cunt wanted him to do or pay for something for you. He wasn’t a fuckin’ simp like Choso though, or at least he thinks so.

Toji grabbed the key off the night stand and tossed it to you. You caught them with a wink mouthing ‘love you’ as he just shook his head with a small smirk and made to leave the bedroom still in search of his gun.

“Toji Daddy, your .44 is on the kitchen table by the way!”

You yell after him as you reach down to unfasten Choso’s cuffs. Toji’s gruff grunt from the hallway is the only response you receive. 

“You’re welcome... dickhead.” 

You mumble the last part under your breath before returning your attention to Choso. You felt guilty over letting him go neglected for this long. He’d been fitfully humping his cock against your leg and tounging at your nipples since you brought him into your chest.

“Just let me undo these cuffs, then I’ll take such good care of you Cho, m’kay?” 

Yet once you unlocked his cuffs and cupped his hot cheeks to lift his head your eyes were met with Choso’s own searing into you. The aggression edging on the corner of his eyes contrasted with the tears running down his face and it unnerved you as Choso sits up.

“C-Cho… you okay baby?”

Choso’s answer to you was in the form of abruptly grasping your ankles and throwing them next to your ears. An icy shiver travels up your spine as you quickly realized how bad you fucked up teasing Choso to this extent when you see red lines forming over Choso’s face. 

With Flowing Red Scale activated, controlling and redirecting the blood flow in his body revitalizes Choso’s muscles with adrenaline. Movement returning to his stiff jaw and limbs that had been previously incapacitated. 

Choso wastes no time plunging his pulsing cock into your sore cunt. The sensations of the metal prince albert piercing on the tip of his cock scraping against your g spot before ramming into your cervix, combining with the silicone cockring pluging you up full every time he bottoms out, leaves you breathless. Your voice becomes hoarse from strangled screams of both pleasure and pain with every sloppy buck of his hips.

Not being able to eat you out like he wanted to after waiting so long was the breaking point for Choso that snapped the little sanity he had left in the moment. He loved you so much and wanted you so badly. If he couldn’t suck Toji’s cum out of you he would fuck it out and give you even more. 

Then they could compare who actually filled your pretty pussy up the most. 

Choso’s intensity renders your sights spotty. The only beacon of focus being the silver dog tag that dangled off the studded collar still fitted around Choso’s neck. His Adam's apple bobbed fiercely as warm sweat trickled down his face and onto yours further obscuring your vision.

All thoughts of aftercare had long dissipated. The treatment of your cunt now was more akin to a horny college kid’s favorite pocket pussy. You felt so fucking good for Choso who couldn’t get enough of the way your cunt was drowning his cock. Your pussy greedily swallowed all of him gripping onto him tightly even with the amount of slick spilling out of you.

“N-Need to cum in you so bad Mommy, p-please let me cum in you!”

Finding his voice again, your heart flutters hearing Choso’s whines. Choso is forever your good boy despite him downright dominating you in the moment.

“Y-You can cum b-baby, but you gotta s-stop Cho– Shiiiiiiit– Let’ssss take off your c-cock ring firs–Fuhhhhck!”

You’d never seen Choso this worked up. On any other occasion he would already have spurt his hot load into your cunt by now. However, with the cockring on and his blood manipulation technique flowing through him, he showed no signs of slowing down even if he did desperately want to cum. The way Choso was pistoning his cock into you was like he wanted to stab it past your cervix and into your womb.

“AHHHH shiiit not yet, s-so warm, s-so wet Y/N wanna be inside you longer. Don’t wanna leave you yet Mommy.”

Pressing his palms into the backs of your knees Choso keeps you spread open for him as he continues to drill his cock into you. Reaching up you intertwine your hands into his buns bringing his face lower and sticking out your tongue to welcome him into a messy kiss as you feel your next orgasm approaching. You were losing yourself quickly to his bruising pace, feeling yourself begin to slip away into your high.

“Y/N, the gun ain’t in the– Woah.”

Entering the room, still in search of his gun, Toji is taken aback at the scene. He expected to come back into the bedroom to see Choso crying into your pussy, not destroying it. 

Howling with laughter, Toji is very amused at the scene to say the least.

“HA! I thought it was gettin’ noisy in ‘ere, I see why.” 

Toji had to admit he was a bit impressed, didn’t know the little cuck had it in ‘em. Although, upon close inspection Toji winds up shaking his head.

Of course the lil emo boy was still crying, even when murdering pussy. 

Any respect Toji had gained for Choso in the moment is gone again just as quickly. 

“Looks like the puppy has a bit of dog in ‘em after all.”

You eventually notice Toji after your orgasm hits. The repeated g spot stimulation from Choso’s piercing and cockring has you squirting hard. You break your kiss with Choso and turn your head to the side directing Choso to attack your neck rather than lips so you could breathe again.  

Toji is still chuckling, an amused smirk plastered on his face as he saunters back towards you not missing the pleading look you’re giving him. 

Choso was clearly out of control.

However, spotting his gun and holster from under the bed, Toji shifts his attention. Snatching it up before sparring you another smug smirk and making his way out again.

You call after him but are immediately rebuffed.

“Nuh-uh Y/N. Ya wanted to let him loose, he’s ‘your baby’, remember? Y’er capable of handling it from here, right ‘mommy’?”

You would flip Toji off as he left but your hand is jerked back as Choso flips you over onto your belly, still inside you. Only thinking with his cock you aren’t sure if Choso even registered Toji had even been in the room. 

Now in the prone bone position, cockring still on his dick, Choso resumes clapping your cheeks while slobbering confessions of love and adoration for ‘his Mommy’ into your neck. 

Not showing any signs of slowing down, at all.

Fuck Toji, you’d never let him goad you into teasing Choso like this again, that was for damn sure.

.a/n ༄ idk if anyone was calling them Choji before but was on a discord call and meant to say 'Toji' and 'Choji' came out and so now it's what I'm rollin' with idc idc lol.

.reblog ༄ but likes and comments are also appreciated ty!

[thebearer]

making the bed |carmen berzatto x reader| part one

prompt: carmen's stressed. food critics, a newborn baby, balancing work life and married life and now dad life; he's bound to break, everyone knows it. but no one ever thought he'd lash out on you.

or, part one of the devastation fic. based off this ask from the other day. two more parts to come.

contains: mega angst. mega angst, with no resolution in this part. hurt, no comfort (in this chapter, will be later in part 3). mean!carmen, very mean. mom!reader x dad!carmen with newborn teddy. fighting, language, carmen says mean stuff he doesn't mean. past mentions of trauma, family trauma, mikey mentioned. very angsty and a little heavy, please read at your own discretion. word count- 3.5k+.

"Are you ok?"

Carmen now understood why that phrase used to send Donna into such a blind rage, lips pursing and jaw clenching more and more every time he heard it. First at work, then with you, it felt never ending.

It was beginning to feel like critic season with how many were coming in, snooty and demanding to be impressed. It couldn't have come at a worst time, right in the middle of busy season with the start of the holidays. Days at The Bear were filled with frantic panic, running around, making sure everything was perfect, accounted for, and Carmen always had the sinking feeling it wasn't- that he'd forgotten something, messed something up. 

It wasn't rare for him to work himself up like this, a normal that you always warned him about, but he'd always had a solitude. As long as he'd known you, he'd had a place to go, to unwind, to let himself rest and reset with you. And he still did, it was just shared now with a newborn.

Dorothea Michelle. Teddy, for short. The light of his life, yours too. Nearly two months old with a set of lungs that sounded much louder, much more developed than that. Nights were long, sleepless, spent trying to lull Teddy back to sleep, awake even if he wasn't up with her. Carmen couldn't allow himself the selfishness to relax, to rewind, to "take it easy" like everyone told him to. At work, he was the boss; at home, he was a dad.

"Fuck, fuck," Carmen's sleepy stare was broken by a lick of bubbling heat, the lamb's roux popping with the high heat, splashing all over Carmen's chef whites.

"Jeff, c'mon," Tina clicked, shaking her head, moving the pan to lower heat. "What're you doin'?"

Carmen grit his teeth, snatching a rag off the stainless steel counter tops, scrubbing the burgundy stain, huffing when it only spread the stain.

"What happened?" Sydney turned, looking from the burnt sauce to Carmen's stained chef shirt. "Oh,"

"Do we have a spare coat?" Carmen huffed, throwing the rag down with a firm smack against the counter.

"I don't think so, Carm." Sydney shook her head. "You took the last ones home with you two days ago. The wine-"

"-I know, Chef, I know." Carmen snapped, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck, I-I can't fuckin' serve the critics lookin' like this. With shit all over me- fuck."

"Hey, easy, easy," Richie turned the corner, his hands held up. "What's goin' on?"

"Jeff got sauce over him. He doesn't have any clean clothes." Tina muttered, irritated that she had to fix his mess, more irritated that he wasn't taking care of himself. You have a baby, Jeff, you need to rest and take some time, she'd told him. Carmen only waved her off.

"Okay, okay, hey, that's no problem." Richie's voice raised, lifting over Carmen's. "You go home and change, get your spare, check on my beautiful goddaughter, and then come back with your A game. Yes?"

Carmen didn't even humor him with a snarky remark, yanking his coat off and stomping towards the office to grab his things. Richie and Tina looked at each other, shaking their head gently.

"Kids runnin' thin, T." Richie muttered with a sigh. "He's gonna break. It's gonna be bad."

"Yeah, he is. Gonna wear himself out before then." Tina shook her head. "Jeff needs a vacation." They both jumped at the slamming of the backdoor, Carmen's angry exit shaking the foundation.

"Needs to be fuckin' medicated. Fuckin' lunatic." Richie scoffed, rolling his eyes at Carmen's dramatics.

The drive home was filled with silence, Carmen's iron grip on the wheel, tearing through the traffic towards the house- his house, his home. 

Home, but it didn't provide the same comfort that it usually did. Carmen's shoulders still stayed tense, buzzing with rage, not dissipating when he thought of you, or of Teddy, knowing you'd both be there, excited to see him. 

You jumped at the sound of the car door slamming, peeking out the window to see Carmen's parked next to yours, furiously stomping up the front steps. You frowned, grabbing the baby monitor, walking towards the front door.

Carmen nearly hit you with how fiercely he flung the door open. "Woah," You reached for the door, stopping it before he could flick it shut. "Carm, don't slam it. Teddy's asleep. I just got her down." You frowned at him, shutting it slowly.

Carmen looked at you but didn't speak, looking through you with a rage that had your spine tingling before he finally broke his gaze, stomping towards the laundry room. "Carm? What’re you doing home? Don’t you have dinner soon?" You hesitated slightly, lingering in the doorway with an uncertainty you hadn’t felt with Carmen before. 

Carmen didn’t answer, his jaw still ground tight while he rummaged through the clean clothes, carelessly unfolding and shifting the folded clothes.

"Carmen," You said more firmly, caching his gaze. He didn't speak still, just stared at you- through you. "Are you ok?" You lifted a brow, features softening in worry.

Carmen paused, eyes closing, shoulders tensing in agitation. Are you ok? His ears rang, a familiar rage that he hadn't felt in years bubbling up deep in his chest. Frustrated and blinding and rampant, heat rushing through his veins, pulling himself further and further from reality into someplace different- someplace darker in his mind. 

"What's wrong?" You pressed, he could barely hear it, ears ringing at your question. "Did something happen? Did the critic come-"

"-Where's my chef whites?" Carmen barked, cutting you off, his chest tightening more and more with every heavy heave of his chest. You flinched at his tone.

"Uh, I-I haven't seen the whites. I washed your white tee-"

“-You what? Y-You what?” Carmen spat, eye widening with a wild, raged glint in his eye. Your stomach flipped and fell with fear, stepping back instinctively. 

“I-I washed your tee, Carm, that’s all that you left in the laundry basket-” 

"-Are you fucking kidding me?" Carmen boomed, his head spinning, body buzzing with rage. Your breath hitched, frozen in fear at the anger in his tone, the roar of his voice bouncing off the walls, echoing through your ears in a painful drum. 

Carmen moved, snatching the dirty clothes basket, dumping it into the ground with a shake until the dirty chef coat fell on top. He gripped the basket, flinging it across the room with a hard throw. The final push to his bad mood that sent him right over the edge, crashing into a pit of blinding fury, aggravation, breaking him from the inside out.

"Fuck!" Carmen roared, his voice shaking the walls, your breath leaving your lungs in a trembling exhale of fear. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! This is- This is- Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” 

You tensed in shock, gripping the baby monitor in fear, maybe surprise, as it started to buzz to life with Teddy's startled whimpers. Her small cries pulled you out of your frozen state, something deeper than fear replacing the ache in your stomach. 

"Carmen-" You gaped, voice wobbling with uncertainty, taking slow shuffled steps towards the stairs. “Carmen, calm-calm down. Ok? Calm down.” 

“Calm down? You want me to fuckin’ calm down?” Carmen sneered, an angry red flush blossoming in splotchy deep hues up his neck, towards his cheeks. “You don’t do shit, nothin’ that I fuckin’ ask for! Just sit around all fuckin’ day an-and I’m supposed to calm down?” 

“Carmen,” Your voice wobbled, throat tight with tears, hurt and fear strangling your words. “I-You didn’t ask me to wash them. I-I didn’t know. They weren’t in the hamper-” 

“-I shouldn’t have to ask you to wash them!” Carmen roared, eyes so wide you thought they might pop right out of his head, neck vein protruding on exemplifying his rage. “You know what I’m going through! You know how much fuckin’ stress I’m under! I go to that-that shit hole, an-and work my fuckin’ ass off so you don’t have to! Then I come home, and I-I can’t even get a second of peace!” 

“Stop,” You hiss, finally regaining your composure, his words fully sinking into you  now, feeling the full effect of them. “I-I just had a baby. I’m still on maternity leave taking care of a baby- our baby, and I’m tired too. But I’m not yelling at you-” 

“-Oh, right. Right.” Carmen laughs sarcastically, humorless as he runs his hand down his face. It felt mocking, left you feeling small and too vulnerable for your liking. “Because in between your napping an-and feeding, you couldn’t stick a fucking jacket in the wash, right? You’re so busy.”  

“What is wrong with you?” You snap, hoping he can’t hear the tears in your voice, the way your voice shakes with emotion. 

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me?” Carmen scoffs, throwing his hands out. “I get no fuckin' sleep, go work my fuckin' ass off, a-and then I come home so I can go back and work my ass off some more, and-and you can’t do one simple fuckin’ thing? You can’t help me out? And then you wanna know what’s wrong with me? When you sit on your ass all fuckin’ day-” 

Teddy’s piercing wail pulls you out of your shocked trance, nose and throat burning with hurt filled tears you refuse to shed. Instead, you turn, climbing the stairs on shaky legs, the sound of Teddy’s cries growing louder and louder. Anchovy watches you from the top of the stairs, sensing the tension, your upset, sliding against your leg as if to comfort you. 

Carmen scoffs, hands buzzing and trembling with rage, the ringing in his ears growing louder and louder with each of your footsteps on the stairs and down the hall. He can barely hear Teddy’s sobs, hands threading through his hair, pulling at his scalp. He sees you walk towards the bedroom, quickly, hugging Teddy to your chest. 

“Oh, don’t go fuckin’ do it now!” Carmen roared, your ignoring him only infuriating him further. “It won’t be ready in time now. I’ll just look like a fuckin’ idiot for the critic tonight! Not that you care! Why would you, huh? I-I mean just our livelihood, just our fuckin’ income!” 

You swallowed back your tears, head tilting towards the ceiling, hands shaking with every shove of your things into the overnight bag. Just enough to get you through the night, the next day. A few essentials, Teddy’s spare onesies, a charger, your wallet- you stopped mid-shove of your items into the weekender bag, the sun’s rays catching in your wedding ring. Your heart fell, more and more, you weren’t sure how that was even possible. 

Carmen’s furious voice was still booming from downstairs, ringing and shaking in his furious fit. Richie and Sugar both warned you about Carmen’s tantrums, brought them up to embarrass him, tease him about it until he was red faced and hissing hushed threats at them. You never, never in your wildest dreams thought you’d be on the receiving end of one. 

You jumped, another slam of something Carmen had thrown, maybe hit in a fit of rage, causing Teddy to wail louder, Anchovy skittering nervously away. Tears leaked out of your eyes, twisting the ring off your finger, setting it on Carmen’s bedside table. Pulling the carrier out of the closet, Anchovy got in much easier than usual, which you were thankful for. 

Carmen was gripping the marble of the countertop when he heard you again, walking from the bottom of the stairs, quick steps towards the door to the garage, Teddy’s voice nearly hoarse from her crying. You kept your head high, tunnel-visioned towards your car, ignoring his heavy breathing and frantic pacing. 

“Wha-What are you doin’?” Carmen’s voice was softer now, still with a jagged edge that was cutting and harsh. The car door opened, the baby carrier hooked into the car seat. 

“Hey, wha- what are you- where’re you goin’? What’re you doin’?” Carmen’s heart dropped in a damning rush of hour, stumbling on heavy legs towards the garage. You ignored him, shushing Teddy gently, running a calming hand over her wet cheek, trying to coax her paci into her mouth. 

“Baby, no-no, no. Hey, no, I-I- What-” Carmen’s chest felt tight, mind numbing and racing, stuttering nervously. You reached for your bag, his hand reaching to grab the strap. “Whe-Where’re you-”

“-Don’t touch me.” You hissed, teeth bared, eyes shining with tears. Carmen flinched, pulling his hand back like he’d touched a hot stove. “Don’t you dare fucking touch me.” You sneered, pinning him with a watery glare that had his stomach turning in sickening fear. 

“Baby, hey, w-wait-C’mon, d-don’t-You don’t, you don’t need to do this, ok? I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Carmen choked out the words, frantic and unsure, his hands shaking when they ghosted over you back just for a moment. Wanting to touch you, to hold you, to grab you and keep you from leaving, but too scared to. Instead, he grabbed the car door you flung open, holding it when you tried to yank it closed. 

“Let go.” You hissed, sniffling back wet, snotty tears of fury and hurt. 

“Please, don’t-do-don’t do this. Please, baby, I-I’m sorry.” Carmen begged, blue eyes deepening with the burning red hues of tears, bloodshot and lashes wet. “Don’t-Don’t do this-” 

“-I didn’t do this.” You sneered, leaving Carmen flinching at your words. “Don’t you dare try to say this was me. After how you just talked to me? The shit you said to me in there? You think I’m going to stay?” Your voice cracked with emotion, lips pressing together to keep a cry in. 

“No, no, no, no, no, baby, please. Please, ju-just come inside. Come inside, please? Please, don’t-” 

“You don’t get to talk to me like that. To say that kinda stuff to me. That hurt, Carmen. That was mean.” You glared at him, tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes. “I don’t care if you’re stressed. I don’t care what’s going on- nothing, and I mean nothing, warrants you talking to me like that. Just because you fucked up, because you forgot to ask me to do it, because you’re stressed out- I don’t care what it is. You don’t talk to me like that, say those things when I’ve been home all day taking care of my ch- our child.” You nod back towards the sniffling baby, whimpering and crying half heartedly, her little eyelids drooping with sleep that was interrupted. 

Carmen felt sick, his knees tightening in fear, he was sure they might give out, that he might fall to the ground right there. Looking at the tiny baby, lip jutted and shaking in the mirror hooked on the back of the seat, then back at you, eyes red-rimmed and glaring at him with a hurt filled anger. 

“Don’t-” Carmen’s chest shook, a white-knuckled grip on the door. 

Your own hand curled around the door’s inner handle, yanking it away from him. “Move,” You hissed, pulling again. 

Carmen wasn’t sure why he let it go, why he let you shut it, locking the door in case he tried to open it again. Why he let you pull out of the driveway, why he didn’t stop you, why he didn’t run after you, only taking soft shuffles down the drive like a zombie as you drove away. Standing in the drive, Carmen swallowed down the spit that pooled in his mouth, stomach churning, sure he was going to be sick. 

He managed to trudge back to the garage, mind racing and far away, the ringing in his ears dulling but still deafening. It felt like he was in a dream- a nightmare, a hallucinating trance that felt like a sick, sick dream- Carmen was hoping it was. That he’d wake up and find you next to him asleep. That he could hug you, pull you into him, nose buried in your neck, still warm from your slumber. 

As the sun began to sink low into the sky, minutes turning into hours that Carmen sat motionless in the garage, staring in a trancelike state, he realized that this wasn’t a dream or a nightmare. No this was his reality, a horrific reality that he’d made into his own. Carmen sat, eyes trained on the concrete of the garage, voice racing and blending in his mind- his words, yours, Teddy’s cries, Natalie and Richie’s, flashbacks of his mother screaming fits. 

He didn’t move, frozen in chilling, eerie fear. What ifs and terrifying possible scenarios, consequences to his own actions that left him feeling sick, hands trembling. A spiraling of fears that only drug him deeper and deeper with every haunting replay of his outburst. Even the flashing of headlights turning into the driveway, filling the garage with light, didn’t pull him from his trance. 

“The fuck is he- Cousin!” Richie roared, laying on the horn. Carmen didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge that he heard it, only stared. Richie frowned, turning the car off, throwing the door open. 

“Cousin? Carm? What-What are you doin’? Dinner service started an hour ago. Syd is freakin’ the fuck out.” Richie threw his hands up, walking towards the man who still didn’t move. Richie’s heart skipped, flashbacks of Mikey flooding into his vision, parallels of the two brothers blurring before him. 

“Yo, Carm, you-you good?” Richie stepped into the garage, his spine tingling with icy fear. It was quiet, an eerie, unsettling quiet. “Cousin, hey, what-what’s wrong?” 

Carmen's chest rose and fell, tighter and tighter. He was suffocating, head spinning and mind racing so fast he felt light headed. He could barely hear Richie’s voice over the noise in his head, Richie’s hand shaking his shoulder finally breaking his trance enough to meet his eyes, rounded in fear filled question. 

“Carmen, what’s wrong? Is it- Don’t fuckin’ tell me it’s the baby. What the fuck is goin’ on-” 

“-She left.” Carmen’s voice shook, raspy and scared. His tongue still felt too thick, head still spinning. He wasn’t even sure he said it, Richie’s widening eyes the only thing confirming that he had said it. 

“What? Who-Who left? Who?” Richie looked around, like the clues might be there, sure that Carmen wasn’t talking about you. No, he wouldn’t- he couldn’t. Not you. 

Carmen’s breath hitched, a strangling of a sob caught in his throat, running his hand over his face. Richie didn’t miss the way it trembled, shaking even as it rested over his eyes. Your car was gone, the house too quiet, no baby Teddy crying, nothing but silence was left. 

Richie’s heartbeat crawled into a rapid, scared pace. “Why? Wh-Why would she-” Richie looked at Carmen, eyes wide but still, reading his expression. “No. No, Cousin, no. What-What did you do? Carmen,” Richie grabbed both his shoulders, shaking him lightly until he met his gaze. “What did you do?” 

Carmen’s face began to crack, behind his eyes, Richie could see flashbacks of something- something he didn’t know what, but whatever it was, it was painful. That was evident by the fear that glossed over Carmen’s eyes, realization and horror. Carmen’s shoulders shook, frame rocking with a sob he tried to swallow, but couldn’t. Deep cries, guttural sobs breaking out of his frame, heels of his hands pressed to his eyes, fingers curled and clenched around his greasy curls in agony. 

The damning realization flooded over him, that you’d left. 

You’d left, you’d taken Teddy, taken Anchovy- you’d left because he’d driven you away. His angry outburst, petulant, mean, hurtful- he’d been so cruel to you. You. His wife, the love of his life, mother of his child, the one person who loved him endlessly without stipulations or boundaries, the one person who truly understood him. 

And he’d driven you away. 

He wished he could blame his mom, his dad, his family for fucking him up so severely, maybe Mikey, even, for leaving him the shit show that was the restaurant, making his anxieties worse and fuse shorter. But sitting in the empty garage, Richie standing above him in silent shock, his sobs and angry sniffles echoing off the cement floor, Carmen knew he had no one to blame but himself. 

He’d fucked up. Really fucked up. Fucked up in a way that made all the other times look obsolete. 

Carmen had fucked up, and for once, he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t avoid it, ignore it, deflect it like other times. Half hearted apologies and promises of change wouldn’t work, you weren’t here for him to even try to give them to you, and he didn’t know where you went. 

Carmen wasn’t sure where you went, how to fix this, why he’d done what he did, and a million other things that raced through his mind. What he did know, sitting in the too quiet garage, chest stuttering with heaving cries, was that he’d do anything. 

Anything, to get you back home. To make it right. To fix this and make it up to you. 

He wasn’t sure how, but he’d give up everything. Anything. His restaurant, his dreams, his hopes, his life, at this point, to make it up to you. 

[moonchild9350]

A Little Sugar Goes a Long Way

Summary: you’re in need of some sugar and go to see if your neighbor Hyunjin can lend you some.

Pairing: Hyunjin x fab reader

Genre: strangers to lovers au, smut-18+MDNI

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: teasing, filthy kissing, oral sex ( m and f receiving), masturbation, nipple play, pussy slapping, cum swallowing, cum tasting, cum swapping, unprotected sex (don’t), squirting, creampie

Notes: a little break from my spooktober fics. I just can’t get enough of hyunjin. spooktober will resume tomorrow!

If you enjoyed, please consider a like, comment, reblog as it keeps me motivated!

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work elsewhere without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024)

“Flour, butter, baking powder, milk, salt, canola oil, sugar…”

You frantically looked through your cabinets, looking for the white sack that was needed to complete your recipe. You searched everywhere, but couldn’t find any, panic slowly setting in.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, slamming the last cabinet shut.

You were in the process of baking a cake for your friend’s birthday party tomorrow and you were missing the star ingredient. You really didn’t feel like going to the store, having to battle the crowd shopping for their own needs, being shoved this way and that as you tried to get to the aisle you needed.

You crossed your arms and tapped your foot, thinking how you could obtain the sugar. You could have it dropped to your house, but that could take longer than necessary, and plus the delivery fee was bound to be more than the cost of the sugar itself, not to mention having to tip the driver.

You were lost in thought, the idea of going to the store becoming more realistic with each passing second. Right as you decided on your decision, you remembered your neighbor Hyunjin. He recently moved in, but usually keeps to himself, with you only seeing each other in passing when you’re both on your way to work.

You could see if he had some sugar, just enough for your recipe. Making your way to your door, you slid into some shoes and grabbed your keys, leaving to go next door. It was a nice day, the sun shining, no clouds in sight. You made your way down the sidewalk and over to Hyunjin’s house, walking up the steps to his door.

Taking a breath, you rapped your knuckles on the door three times and quickly dropped your hand to wait. A minute passed and then two, with no one answering the door. You were about to turn around to return home, assuming he was out when the door swung open, a disheveled Hyunjin on the other side.

“Oh, hi,” you said, turning to face Hyunjin as you took him in. He was wearing a pair of sweats and a t-shirt splattered with different colors, and his hair up in a ponytail. You forgot how easy he was on the eyes.

He looked at you for a moment, his eyes wide as he tried to place where he knew you from. It was starting to get a little awkward until there was recognition in the brown orbs, a smile gracing his face, his dimples appearing.

“Y/n!” He exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “What are you doing here?”

“Sorry to bother you, but I um…ran out of sugar and I’m baking a cake and…” you paused for a moment and rocked back and forth on your heels. Why were you nervous?

Taking a breath you continued, “And I was wondering if I could use some sugar?”

“Oh? Of course! Come in, I’ll get you some.”

You followed Hyunjin, stepping over the threshold into his home. As you followed Hyunjin to the kitchen, your eyes wandered from room to room, taking in the simplicity of it all. It was surprisingly clean, not what you expected of him.

Once in the kitchen, you stopped by the counter and watched as he opened a cabinet, pulling out the white sac containing the ingredient you needed.

“How much do you need?” Hyunjin inquired.

“One and a half cups please,” you replied.

Hyunjin hummed and grabbed a small bag to place the sugar in. You watched as he delicately opened the bag, his fingers curling around the edge of the rim, pulling it open. Your mind couldn’t help but wander, thinking of how those fingers would feel trailing down your body, touching you where you were throbbing in between your legs.

You watched as he gripped the bag and tipped it over, measuring out the amount you needed. His veins were prominent, his muscles flexed and bulging. You shook your head, ashamed of your staring, he’s your neighbor after all.

While he finished up, you could hear the faint sound of music drifting through the house. You listened closely, familiarity dawning on you at the tune.

“Is that The Paper Kites?” You asked, a smile forming on your face.

Hyunjin looked up from his task with a look of surprise. “You know them?” He asked smiling.

“Mmhmm,” you responded, “I love them.”

Hyunjin closed the bag of sugar and set it aside, then handed you the little baggy he prepared for you.

“Not many people know them,” he said, “I was listening to them while I paint.”

“I didn’t know you painted.” You looked at the man in front of you with curiosity. You found yourself wanting to know more about him. He smiled and then looked down, pushing a strand of hair out of his face.

“I do,” he said, “would you like to see what I’m working on?”

“Absolutely,” you said with a smile. You set your bag of sugar down before following Hyunjin further into his house. The music became a little louder, the folk tune permeating the air the closer you got to where he paints.

Hyunjin gestured you inside a room, bowing slightly as you passed. You giggled at his chivalry, fascinated with this strange man.

Once inside, you stopped, taking in the room. It had the feel of organized chaos, sketch books and canvases littering the corners. Some canvases were blank, not yet graced with a story while others were covered in intricate, abstract designs.

In front of a large window, Hyunjin had set up shop. An easel with a large canvas perched on top sat in front of a large window, the view consisting of the expanse of trees. A little stool was present, where he created his stories little by little.

“Come, come,” Hyunjin said, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You followed him over to the canvas and gasped in awe at the picture in front of you. The picture was breathtaking, the swirls of colors blending in to create a beautiful scene. The people were drawn to embrace, the outlines of their bodies fading into the stormy background.

“It’s still a work in progress, but…yeah,” Hyunjin said.

He watched your face as you looked over his painting, your eyes roaming over each figure, each detail, analyzing his work with thoughtful eyes. You were beautiful in that moment, the sun’s rays trying to peak through the curtains he had over the window, illuminating your face and causing it to glow.

His eyes drifted to your lips, as you lightly bit them in contemplation, the flesh blanching briefly before blood flow returned, causing your lips to take a rosey tint once more.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, not wanting to disturb the calm atmosphere, your eyes searching out his.

“Thank you,” Hyunjin replied, rocking back and forth on his feet.

You both stood there in silence, neither one of you knowing what to say, the music continuing to play in the background, soft and sweet.

It doesn’t begin right away, the feeling of want. It starts softly, gently, with the beating of your heart, slowly increasing to where it feels like it will jump out of your chest. The feeling moves lower until it reaches your core, a pulsing ache in this serene moment.

There’s a shift in the air, a change. What once was calm and friendly, turns into something charged and electric, almost as if the feelings between you two are now palpable, drifting through, lightly touching and caressing your skin.

Hyunjin is nervous, never having had a beautiful girl in his home, yet alone in his most sacred space. He stands there watching, waiting, as the tension grows, the feeling growing into something large, taking over his body. He feels his cock twitch within the confines of his sweats as he watches you breathe in and out, your breasts heaving with each breath.

He’s unsure of what to say, but wonders what you will do if he leans in and presses his lips to yours, feels the softness against his own. He finds himself drifting closer to you, one step at a time, his eyes never leaving yours. He’s never felt this desire before, not with any of the few encounters he’s had. He’s nervous and scared, hoping this doesn’t backfire on him, hoping you’ll accept him.

You watch as Hyunjin walks toward you, that look in his eyes as if he’s hunting his prey, yet also with a hint of fear. He’s probably nervous of what you will do if he reaches out, touches you, caresses you. He need not worry, as you begin to move toward him, meeting him half way.

Your dripping, your arousal leaking into your panties, the wetness soaking the material through. You watch as he looks at your lips and then your eyes as if he’s seeking permission.

With a slight nod of your head, he lightly grasps your face and leans down, his breath shaky until his lips meet yours. It’s just flesh against flesh at first, both of you savoring the feel of each other, the softness of your lips pressed together.

But then it changes, as Hyunjin moves his lips against yours, softly, gently, as he pulls you closer. It goes on for a few moments more before turning more hungry, more needy as the kiss becomes more heated.

He nips your bottom lip causing you to sigh, his tongue sliding in against yours at the newfound opportunity. The kiss continues to grow more passionate, more desperate as you both take each other in, needing to be closer to each other in this moment.

You pull away out of breath, Hyunjin chasing after your lips, a whine escaping with the motion. You grin and lick your lips, before pushing him backwards, slowly, one step after the other, until his legs hit his stool, causing him to collapse onto the seat.

He stares at you with wide eyes, his chest rising and falling, watch as you sink to your knees. He can’t believe his luck, not thinking his day would take this turn.

You run your hands over his thighs, rubbing them through his pants, inching higher and higher with each repetition, getting closer to the bulge that’s forming, slowly filling out his sweats. You see a wet spot forming, causing you to smile.

You continue your assault, before reaching his covered cock, placing your hand over the hard appendage. You listen to him gasp, his eyes hooded as he gazes at you. He’s hard, unbelievably so beneath your hand. You give his cock a squeeze and shift closer so you can place your hands within the confines of his waistband.

You pull his sweats down, Hyunjin helping you by lifting his hips so you can rid him of the accursed item. You noticed he wasn’t wearing boxers, his cock slapping his belly once his sweats were out of the way.

You smirked at the information, “you naughty boy,” you cooed, as you tossed his pants away.

Hyunjin gulped at your teasing. He was turned on, as you touched him, teased him, your fingertips dancing on his skin. You touch him everywhere but where he wants it most, his pelvis becoming sticky with each passing moment as his pre-cum steadily leaks from the tip. His cock twitches whenever you move, hoping in anticipation that you’ll touch him there or even better wrap your pretty lips around his cock.

You can tell he’s at his wits end, wanting you to touch him. He’s being good for you, you notice as he sits still, clenching and unclenching his fists. You decide maybe it’s time to reward him, soothe the ache you know he’s feeling.

You clench your thighs together before leaning down to press a kiss to his tip, as Hyunjin moans above you. You press kiss after kiss on the tip, the shaft, all the way back up before taking the head between your lips. You began to suckle, your tongue darting out every now and then to press against his slit.

Hyunjin is a mess, as you take him in, the feeling of your wet, hot mouth on his cock better than anything of his wildest dreams. He, however, grips your hair and lets out the loudest moan as your mouth descends further, taking him to the hilt, his cock kissing the back of his throat.

He takes a deep breath, and then another one, willing to calm himself down and not blow his load too soon. He gazes down at you, the beautiful sight of your mouth on his cock, the spit that’s dribbling out, helping with the slide.

He’s in love with the sounds you make, the little moans that you let out, the vibration causing his cock to twitch. He’s close, embarrassingly so.

You can tell Hyunjin is close as he grips your hair harder, pushes your head down more forcefully, as you take him in again and again. Your pussy quivers in need with each twitch of his cock, your mind wandering, needing him in you.

You grasp his thighs and continue to blow him, never slowing down. It’s a messy, sloppy affair, as your spit dribbles down his shaft and into the pubic hair around his cock. You moan as he presses your head down one more time and he cums with a loud groan, rope after rope of hot cum hitting the back of your throat, flooding your mouth with the salty fluid.

After a moment, Hyunjin releases your head and you sit up, your mouth full of cum. You look him in the eyes before you swallow, Hyunjin letting out a whimper as you do so.

He watches you as he comes down from his high, watches as you stand up and back away towards the little couch he keeps in his studio. He watches as you raise the shirt over your head, a black lacy bra on display. He watches as you unclasp the bra, your pillowy tits popping out, nipples hardened and prominent. He watches as you slid your leggings and panties down your legs, a string of your arousal dripping from your soaking pussy and onto your ruined panties.

Hyunjin unconsciously licks his lips, wanting to attach them to your soaked lips in front of his view. He nearly topples over as you sit down and lean back, spreading your legs wide, your pussy on display. He nearly chokes when you spread your lips, a ‘shlick’ echoing throughout the room from your wetness.

You’re wet, unbelievably so, and you know Hyunjin loves it. You watch him as you reach your fingers down, the digits landing on your pussy. You dip them into your heat, gathering up your arousal before bringing them to your clit. You swirl them around the bud, sighs leaving your lips as you apply a little more pressure. You continue to pleasure yourself until Hyunjin jumps up, tosses his shirt off, and all but practically runs to you, dropping to his knees as he whines.

He pulls you to the edge of the couch as buries his face in your pussy, causing you to squeal at the sudden intrusion. He darts his tongue out to lick a stripe from your entrance to your clit, before sucking the bud between his plush lips. He takes you in with no mercy, grasps you tighter, harder as he eats you out like a man starved.

Your hands fly to his hair, grasping the strands as he sticks his tongue into your wet heat, fucking your walls with the muscle. You cry out as he massages you, pushing him further into your sopping pussy as his nose brushes against your clit, the stimulation causing shivers to run down your spine.

You feel on fire, warmth expanding and spreading throughout your body, your toes curling, as he makes out with your delicate flower. Your moans increase in intensity, your voice rings out as you let go, releasing your arousal all over Hyunjin’s face. He steadily drinks you in, lapping up every drop as it gushing from your core.

Hyunjin groans as he tastes you, as he becomes obsessed with how you spill on his tongue. He doesn’t let up, not for a moment, even when you squirm and mewl in overstimulation. He revels in how you grip his hair, how the pain shoots through him with each tug, the sensation traveling to his cock, causing it to harden even further.

He finally pulls away, his face smothered in your arousal, the fluid glistening on his lips, his chin, his nose. He swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, savoring the taste of you as he watches you, watches your tits rise and fall with each breath, the look of infatuation on your face. He doesn’t wipe the rest of his face, no, he wants you to taste yourself on him, so you can savor the taste just as he did.

You watch as Hyunjin stands, and strokes his cock, wet sounds permeating the air with each pass. He shuffles closer to you, cock in hand as he gazes at your pussy, watching as it clenches over nothing, your cream oozing out, down your ass and onto his couch below.

He pulls his eyes away and looks into yours before asking “can I?”

You smile at him and beckon him forward, holding your legs open in invitation. He steps forward and taps your pussy with his cock, causing you both to moan at the sound, how wet you are for him, this man you’ve just met.

You sigh as he runs his cock through your folds before his tip catches at your entrance. He slowly pushes his cock in, your walls accommodating to the stretch. Inch by inch he pushes, until his cock is sheathed fully within you, snug within your walls. He stills and looks down at you, his eyes full of lust. You both breathe in tandem until you signal for him to move.

Hyunjin feels at home, sheathed between your warmth, as if his cock was made to be buried within your walls. He takes a deep breath and with your ok slides his cock out until the tip is almost out before sliding back in. He thrusts again and again before speeding up, the feeling of ecstasy spreading throughout his body.

You both are a mess as you both moan and clutch onto each other more, trying to get as close as possible as he thrusts his cock within you. You play with his ponytail, your fingers running through the strands as Hyunjin buries his face in your neck, letting out a whine.

He’s desperate for your pussy, his mind a jumbled mess as you suck him in over and over. He’s desperate in the sound it makes, talking back to him with each glide. He sits up so he can look, watch his cock stretch your walls and what he’s met with almost makes him blow his load.

His cock is coated in white, coated in your arousal. He’s in a trance as he watches his pelvis meet yours, your cream coating the hair donning his pelvis, the ‘shlick’ sound it makes as he withdraws. He’s in disbelief as your little hole stretches around his cock, his ego soaring that you take him so well.

He snaps out of his trance when he watches you reach down, your fingers playing with your clit, smearing your arousal around. He watches as you mewl, your other hand coming up to play with your tits, pinching, grasping, massaging the flesh.

He feels his cock swell with each passing moment, feels it twitch each time you clench down on him. He looks into your eyes and mutters the words that leads to both of your undoings.

“Cum with me princess.”

You squirt all over his cock, your release covering his cock, coating your thighs and drips down your ass. You moan out as Hyunjin stills, his cock twitching within, his cum painting your walls white. He fills you, thrusting a few more times for good measure before withdrawing his cock.

You watch as he kneels down once more and licks up both of your release, making sure not to leave a drop before standing up and connecting your lips with his. He pushes his cum mixed with your slick onto your tongue, as he groans deeply.

Hyunjin pulls back and stares at you, “go ahead and swallow princess,” he coos.

You do as you’re told, the mixture of salty with a bit of sweet sliding down your throat. You open your mouth afterwards, Hyunjin smiling.

“Wait here,” he mutters before grabbing his sweats and pulling them on.

You watch as he leaves the room. You didn’t have to wait long, as he comes back with a towel to clean you up. He’s soft and gentle, ensuring to clean every sticky drop up before helping you sit up.

You grin as he helps you get dressed before he sits on the ground, placing his head in your lap.

You smile down at your neighbor, cradling his face. His eyes say it all, will he see you again, will he get to feel you again. You reassure him with a look of your own, not wanting to disturb the silence of the moment.

You’re glad you didn’t go to the store to get the ingredient you needed, happy you decided to trust your neighbor to have it in his home. After all, a little sugar can go a long way.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @simpforleeknaur @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @amarecerasus @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92 @velvetmoonlght

[swordgrace]

𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖.

⠀ཾ༵ 𑁍┆ cregan stark x fem!healer!reader.

SYNOPSIS: serving as a healer on the frontlines of a war that is tearing the realm apart, you come to tend the wounds of the warden of the north. inspired by robb & talisa’s relationship.

anonymous request.

{ FORMAT: one-shot — requested by anonymous.

{ WORD COUNT: 8.2K.

{ WARNINGS: SMUT (mdni), fic is inspired by robb & talisa’s relationship, description of wounds/injuries, mentions of violence & war, canon-typical misogyny (cregan goes to the northern school of feminism), heavy mutual pining, both cregan and reader have experience, p in v sex, unprotected sex, all stark men have a breeding kink, size kink (cregan is much taller/bigger than reader), fingering (fem!rec), biting, breast play, hair-pulling, rain-soaked cregan, bed/cot breaking, lotus position, riding/cowgirl, gentle-ish sex, soft ending + aftercare

{ AUTHOR’S NOTE: Back with another Cregan fic! I absolutely love writing for him & this request was so perfect. This is taking place during the wars (HOTD S3). Thank you guys so much for your continued support and kindness, it means a ton to me! I hope you all enjoy! ❤️

𝐖𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 — 𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡.

Yet, as he lay in his tent, feeling the bitter sting of what pain could bring, face-to-face with carnage, he felt some semblance of fear. It was the only time that a man could ever be brave, in the face of such strife. The Riverlands were occupied by Ser Criston Cole for some time, and in the name of the true Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, Cregan Stark aimed to reclaim it.

The road to the Riverlands had been a lengthy one, hard on his force of Winter Wolves, greybeards that itched for combat. They were met with resistance at every turn after crossing the Twins, yet they endured, still a force of nearly two-thousand men.

More were on their way from the North, bannermen of all ilk and family called to-arms at Winterfell, to ride North and join his forces in the Riverlands. Despite his youthful age of one-and-twenty, Cregan was a fierce and proficient fighter, better than a great deal of the men under his command.

Struck by a stray arrow and slashed with a blade, he bared his injuries incredibly well — better than most. Cregan’s stalwart, hardened exterior served him well, never giving way to the pain he felt beneath. The arrow had gone clean through, thankfully. Much of his recovery was simply bandages and time.

He chafed at the notion of being bound to his tent for days on-end — he wanted to be with his men, helming any attacks, leading them to victory. He was useless here, abdomen wrapped in soiled bandages, laid-up and no good to anyone.

The healers who passed through all possessed older, wrinkled faces — men who had seen countless wars, perhaps thrice his age, acclaimed in talent and skill with the art of mending wounds and sewing bone together.

Imagine Cregan’s bewilderment when a young woman entered his tent one dismal morning.

You couldn’t have been much younger than him, clad in a tattered, coarse dress with a hem steeped in mud, white apron sullied with countless stains. Much of the cruor on your garments wasn’t your own, the blood of Stark men, men from White Harbor.

“Good morrow, Lord Stark.” The songbird’s lull of your voice had made him unusually calm, as if able to quell the growing tide of irritation he’d felt with his inaction. You brought with you a basket of supplies, tools of the trade that you had to scrounge around to get.

Men never looked upon a woman-healer with interest or a desire to teach — much of what you knew was from your own mother, or things you’d observed and taught yourself from piles of books at your disposal. Though, you found yourself excelling within your area of expertise.

Perplexed, Cregan watched you hawkishly, sluggishly sitting up from his bed of furs, a low grunt escaping him in the process. “My Lady,” He greeted with a nod of his head, muscles aching and sore from the clashes and skirmishes, coupled with time spent on the road. “You are a new face.”

Part of you wondered if he would take offense, given that you were a lady, but you decided not to address it. “I certainly hope that it isn’t a disappointment,” You mused, placing your supplies down at his bedside. “Other hands were needed elsewhere.”

He wasn’t disappointed in the slightest.

Cregan found you to be breathtakingly beautiful — it took one stolen glance for him to discern that. Your very presence seemed to flourish with warmth and amiability. It was a welcome change from the old men who poked and prodded at him, and he wouldn’t complain about being in the presence of someone his own age.

With a huff, he shook his head, wisps of chestnut tresses framing his visage. “Not at all,” He murmured, studying you with a thinly-veiled intrigue. “A welcome change.” Cregan replied, catching your amiable smile, as warm and as bright as the first inkling of springtime.

You had seen Cregan only in-passing, brief moments where you spotted the young Lord atop his dark steed, or stomping through muddied encampments alongside his soldiers. Now, up-close, you realized how young he really looked, with a youthful, babyish visage that did not match his stony expression or wisened, gray eyes.

“You say that now, but you’ll have to get used to me first, my Lord.” You mused, reaching for the first wrap of his soiled bandages. It was easier to make small-talk in the midst of situations like these — it often eased your nerves, gave you something else to think about.

Cregan moved his arms just enough, allowing you to unravel the crimson-crusted bandages. There was some momentary relief, without the scratching and irritation of coarse linen, wounds exposed to the lick of fresh air.

A steady exhale escaped him, and he watched as you discarded the bandages, fetching more from your basket, coupled with some strange poultice in a jar. He did not recall his former caretakers ever giving him something like that, and he refused Milk of the Poppy.

“How long have you had an interest in this?” Cregan inquired, genuinely interested in what led you down such a path. It wasn’t commonplace for a woman of your station, not in the slightest. He would never discourage it, but he was itching to know.

As you wrung out a cloth of hot water, you brought it to his left shoulder, thick and burly with muscle, gingerly swiping over the wound to clean it. “Many years,” You hummed, brows furrowing together in concentration. “My father didn’t like it, but I learned what I could from others.”

Cregan was the stoic sort, an indomitable mountain of a man who appeared so rugged and indifferent, yet he possessed a gentle hand and heart when away from wandering eyes. He listened attentively, soothed by the tenderness in your touch.

Becoming a Maester was something you’d desired in your youth, yet the Citadel never allowed for women to study and attain the position. You were left to your own devices, a life of healing and service to those who needed it most, and you were content with that. You would forge your own Maester’s Chain.

You then pressed the cloth against the still-swollen gash from the sword across his abdomen, the flesh around it somewhat angry and reddened. “You took quite a beating. I have no desire to see who was on the other end of your blade.”

A soft huff escaped him as he rolled his shoulders, dwarfing you completely in size and stature. Even for a man of his youth, he seemed imposing, larger than plenty of young men his age. “Best not to dwell on it,” He grunted, stormy hues following you wherever you went. “You are not a Northerner.”

The lack of a Northern accent gave it away, but you also spoke properly and eloquently, as if you had been raised somewhere with plenty of civility. “The Stormlands — I am from Bronzegate.” You replied, which happened to earn you a very threadbare smile from Lord Stark.

“A Southerner, then,” A twinge of amusement seemed interwoven with his gruff, husky timbre, a voice that you were rather charmed by. He was mesmerizing to listen to, Northern dialect and deeper voice marked by a stalwart calm. “What are you doing here?”

As you cleaned away the sluggish ooze of cruor, you ensured that his wounds were free of dirt or dried blood, inspecting them for infection. “Finding my way in the world,” You confessed, reaching for the jar of herbal poultice, a salve that you had made yourself. “As we all are.”

Cregan could respect your honesty and earnestness in knowing that you didn’t know what you were doing with your life — sometimes, he didn’t know, either. It was easy to forget oneself when tasked with the charge of leadership, easy to allow it to become a burden instead of a challenge.

Dipping your fingertips into the salve, you gently spread it across the wound on his shoulder, the strange concoction icy against his hot flesh. “What is that?” He questioned, the unusual smell of it stinging his nostrils. Whatever it was, it felt incredible.

“A salve that I made,” You chimed, clicking your tongue as you concentrated on spreading it thin, layering it across his skin. “It’s not something conventional. I exchanged certain herbs for others, and added something of my own. It takes the sting away, numbs the flesh around the wound.”

It did take the sting away, as you said, and soothed his wound at the same time. Cregan admired your ingenuity, charmed and ensnared by you. He hadn’t expected to enjoy your company as much as he was, which was always enough to draw some concern.

A union formed out of wedlock was a dangerous one, but these were perilous times, in the midst of war. He was bound to no one — he had no one. Gray hues silently appraised you, and whenever you got close enough, he could feel your sweet breath upon his flesh, smell the faint aroma of wildflowers and a dab of honey.

“If you are willing, I’d like to have your ingredients. It would be worthwhile for the rest of the healers to craft it, too. Do not waste it all on me.” Cregan rumbled, a soft sigh of relief escaping him as you spread the poultice all along the gash across his abdomen.

The instantaneous relief he felt made him relax, the tension unfurling within his shoulders. Once the salve began to dry just slightly, you took to bandaging him again, nearly chest-to-chest with him when you wrapped the linen around his torso.

Cregan’s jaw tensed, muscles tightening whenever you pressed closer, even if the action was a necessity. You felt the onslaught of warmth creep into your features, goosebumps cascading down your spine with the intensity of his gaze.

You happened to meet his smoldering stare for just a moment, butterflies swelling within the pit of your stomach, followed by a rush of heat that seeped into your very bones. “I will provide you with the list tomorrow.” You murmured, finishing wrapping up his wound.

The arrow puncture on his shoulder was something that you covered in a few layers of sturdier medicinal cloth, before wrapping it once to keep it stable. You had backed away slightly, the close proximity having made your nerves spark to life.

It was a warmth and intimacy that you hadn’t touched before, unfamiliar yet wild with curiosity. Perhaps you had a tryst with a young man back in Bronzegate, but never to this degree of intensity. Cregan gazed at you as if you were the only one to exist.

“I am finished here,” That was enough to shatter Cregan’s incendiary look, the heat dissipating from his gray hues. His visage resumed that stone-faced look, and he suddenly remembered himself and the bonds of propriety. “I will visit tomorrow with your list, if that’s all you need from me.”

He noticed how you straightened, posture somewhat rigid, fingertips stained in dried blood and cruor. You retrieved what supplies you had, placing them all back into your basket before you curtsied, as a Lady would before a Lord.

“You do not have to bow, my Lady,” Cregan assured, standing to his feet with a strenuous grunt. He was massive even when sitting before you, but seeing him upright and so close — Gods take you for the things you began to ponder and imagine. “I am grateful for your aid in these dour times.”

Cregan was as stubborn as an old mule, despite being so young. Rarely did he accept help from other people, preferring to do it all himself and be the guiding example, but this was something he was not practiced at.

“It is my duty, my Lord. It is a responsibility that I share for yourself, and for your soldiers. I pray that the Gods will usher you into a swift recovery, and victory.” That smile — Gods, you had a beautiful smile. It could melt even the hardiest of ice, bring exuberance and joy to those who had none. “I should take my leave.”

“Of course,” Cregan bowed his head, timbre gentle and akin to the roll of thunder before an encroaching thunderstorm. He retrieved his tunic from the foot of his bed, and before you could disappear from the tent, he cleared his throat. “What is your name, my Lady?”

You smiled, gaze dancing with a twinge of mischief and amusement as you chewed at the inside of your cheek. Lingering within the entryway of his tent, you took one, deliberate step backwards.

“I suppose you’ll have to learn that tomorrow.”

Sitting idly by while a war raged nearby had soured Cregan’s mood exponentially.

He had stared at the canvas canopy of his tent for so long that he began to lose count of the hours. It was only when his second-in-command harkened him to the war table, that he obeyed.

Green forces had stationed a battalion at The Trident, and the rest were attempting to seize Harrenhal from Daemon Targaryen and his Rivermen. Cregan intended on cutting off the battalion, ripping them out root and stem, effectively carving away a portion of Cole’s forces.

War was an ugly thing — killing a man never pleased him as it did some, but it was an unfortunate necessity. Ensuring that Rhaenyra Targaryen took her place upon the Iron Throne was paramount, an oath he forged with her son, Jacaerys Velaryon.

Cregan covered his wounds with his tunic and a fur cloak, knowing that the weight of armor would only hinder his recovery, and he needed to be prepared for what was to come. He spoke strategy with Lord Roderick Dustin of Barrowton, before taking his leave.

You happened to occupy his thoughts — a girl from Bronzegate, with a rosy, heartening smile and a demure nature, tending to his wounded men. Not a moment passed from last eve to now, an afternoon marked by grim, gray storm clouds, that he hadn’t thought of you.

It was improper, perhaps, to think so fondly of a young maiden out of wedlock, one he barely knew, but he couldn’t help himself. He was drawn to you — and he had a feeling that you felt the same, a mutual sentiment.

The massive tent erected for those wounded in battle was marked by an ivory canvas and the hurried pace of healers floating in and out. Cregan knew where to find you, and he had learned of your name from several of his bannermen.

He spotted you outside, washing your hands free of crimson, the ends of your sleeves just as tattered and wrought with blood that didn’t belong to you. Your tresses were pulled into a braid to avoid interference with your work, brow creased in concentration.

“My Lady.” He greeted you with that familiar timbre, husky and gallant. There was a warmth that radiated from him, both in his tone and physically, that enveloped you whenever you were in his presence. He was a man of few words, but you made up for it.

Surprise settled into your features as you regarded him with mild bewilderment. You weren’t expecting him to seek you out. “My Lord,” You exhaled, bowing your head in reverence as you wiped the blood from your hands with a rag. “What are you doing out of bed?”

Cregan enjoyed your concern, staving off a threadbare smile before he shrugged, wisps of chestnut tresses fluttering with the breeze. The air smelled of rain, an approaching deluge. “You never said that I had to stay.” He stated, looking towards your hands.

A huff of laughter escaped you, hands mostly free of any blood, your knuckles bruised and bearing some scrapes. “Are you feeling well enough?” You asked, head canting to one side. There was a quell in the battle for now, allowing you time to recuperate.

“I have been for some time,” Cregan sighed, brows furrowing together. “Old men wished for me to stay abed, and I heeded them, until now.” Two wounds wouldn’t stop him — there was something powerful about him, a determination to continue even in the face of agony or strife.

You couldn’t help but smile in spite of his stubbornness — you wondered how his men dealt with him. Many soldiers and bannermen that you had conversed with praised Cregan, with nothing but honorable things to say about him. He was regarded as stoical and resigned, patient and pragmatic.

“Let me have a look. It’s the least that I can do, considering you made the trek here.” You motioned for him to follow you, sweeping the canvas aside as you beckoned him into the wounded tent. There were scores of men in worse states than he — some of them brushing close to death.

Cregan stepped behind you like a massive wall of stone, a mountain of a man, his shadow casting itself over you. Some of the healers seemed surprised with his coming here, a handful being familiar faces that had tended to him when he was first wounded.

The space in which you operated was a great deal smaller, yet tidy and orderly. He sat down with a grunt atop the cot you gestured to, shrugging off his fur cloak. Part of him felt strange for being here, considering the grievous state of some of the men.

A roll of parchment lay atop your footlocker, a lengthy list of ingredients used in your medicinal salve, the one that Cregan had requested yesterday. He watched you scurry about, fetching fresh bandages and your mysterious poultice that seemed to do him a world of good.

Some of the healers looked upon you with thinly-veiled disdain and scrutiny, eyes of wizened men who believed themselves to be better than you. A woman doing such gruesome work wasn’t exactly proper.

“Your tunic,” You murmured, averting your gaze away from Cregan’s body as he removed the smoky-blue garment, revealing his herculean musculature. The more you studied Lord Stark, the more enamored you became — he was handsome and well-spoken. Stubborn, perhaps, but most Northerners were. “Thank you.”

Cregan thoroughly enjoyed watching you work — it was a captivating thing to behold, the way you navigated a wound with such care and precision. Your hands were disarmingly gentle as you shifted the linen wrappings away, exposing his shoulder to the brisk afternoon air.

The pain had certainly diminished, moreso in his shoulder than his abdomen. In usual silence, Cregan studied you closely, storm-colored hues appraising you, committing every detail to memory. There was something breathtaking about you, a magnetizing pull that drew him in, kept him enthralled.

He reveled in the sensation of your fingertips tracing around his wound, feather-light and delicate, leaving behind a trail of fire in your wake. “It’s healed wonderfully,” You murmured, brows furrowing together as you applied a dab of honey, a natural antiseptic. You placed the bandage back over it. “How does it feel?”

“Acceptable.” He grunted, though his tone seemed somewhat warped with amusement. Your lips twitched into a brief frown, as if he wasn’t telling the whole truth. “I am well enough. You needn’t worry, my Lady.” Cregan assured, resting his thick forearms atop his thighs.

A soft sigh left you as you circled around him, coming to stand before him with a tender expression. Your countenance still seemed furrowed with concern, but he neglected to comment on it.

Peeling away the linen bandages that clung to his abdomen, the angry-red swelling had nearly dissipated, and the gash remained, still healing. “The salve seems to have helped,” You fought hard to ignore the closeness between yourself and Cregan, mere breaths apart. “The swelling has gone down.”

The scent of your warm breath fanned across his visage, basking him in your saccharine smell. Even if your garments were well-worn and speckled in gore, he could still detect the aroma of wildflowers on you.

“You have my gratitude, my Lady.” Cregan uttered, a valiant attempt to relieve some of the lingering tension. It was something he rarely, if ever, experienced with a woman — especially one such as yourself.

“You know my name already, Lord Stark. You do not have to continue to refer to me as a Lady,” A twinkle of amusement lingered within your eyes, knowing that his bannermen had shared your name with him. “I am not of noble birth, I’m afraid.”

Cregan huffed, and he realized that you were clever. The wit and fiery spirit leapt out from you on occasion, and this happened to be one of them. “Honor and good pleasantries demand that I continue to refer to you as a Lady.” He replied, tender and deep, like the shaking of a mountain.

With an amiable smile, you changed the bandages around Cregan’s torso, applying your salve before discarding the old ones. “Don’t,” You chimed, tone softening to the lull of a songbird. “Call me by my name.” You stood, wiping your hands against a swath of clean cloth.

A low, rumbling ‘hm’ escaped the man, whose chestnut brows furrowed together as he ogled you — shamelessly, this time. There was a fond playfulness laced within your banter, something that Cregan wasn’t entirely accustomed to. “Cregan.” He insisted, establishing a firm foundation for your blossoming relationship.

“Cregan.” You repeated, his name sounding sickeningly sweet from your Southern tongue. The young Lord moved to tug his tunic back on over his hulking frame, musculature working in such wondrous ways. It was difficult to tame your wandering eye, heat crawling along your spine.

Ripping yourself from your trance, you busied yourself with something else. “The salve ingredients that you requested, I made a list.” You stepped towards the footlocker, retrieving the scroll of parchment as you offered it to him. “I hope that it will do some good.”

After having placed his thick cloak over his shoulders, Cregan grunted, the vibration spreading throughout his chest as he accepted the list. “This is noble of you,” He murmured, turning it over within his roughened hand. “The men here owe you their gratitude — as do I.”

Dismissive of his praise, you remained humble, politely curtsying before Lord Stark. “It is my duty, that is all. I will continue on for as long as I am able.” You didn’t like being thanked for healing — it was a passion that you chased after, a job that brought you joy.

“If there is anything that I can do for you as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, name it — it will be done.” Cregan nodded, countenance bristling with a burning affection, one that wasn’t concealed in the slightest. Despite his stalwart demeanor, he made his fondness of you known.

A delicate hum escaped you, but nothing of importance came to mind. You didn’t want to make any demands of him, especially given the circumstances — he had little time to cater to a healer when war loomed overhead.

“If you insist, I would ask for a suitable stationary set,” Simplistic and curious, something uncommonly asked for. Writing was something you had no part in, but illustrations — that was a different story. “Do not toil over it, my Lo — Cregan. Your generosity is kind enough.”

Cregan nodded, taking it into consideration. “I will not toil over it,” He replied, peering over his shoulder toward a pack of healers. There were plenty of wounded men that required your attention more than he. “Consider it done. I will leave you to your work.”

You bowed again out of common courtesy, hands folded together as you offered Cregan another warm smile. “Of course. Should your recovery change course, please do not hesitate to return. I wish you good fortune in the battles to come.”

“Until next we meet.”

Bellflower flourished in moss-laden groves around the forks of the Trident, petals ranging from ivory to shades of cerulean and a light lilac. It grew in clutches, its blooms spherical and pleasing to the eye. Despite the deluge plaguing the Winter Wolves at every step, it seemed to slow Cole’s army down exponentially, too.

As dusk fell in a dark, cloudy gloom across the encampment, Cregan carried a bound bundle of bellflower in his hands, to be given to one person in particular.

It had only been two days since your last meeting in the healer’s tent, his wounds on the mend, no longer weighed down with bandages. The stationary you requested had been brought to your tent sometime the next day, after you had addressed it with Cregan.

It was intended to be a gesture of gratitude, something that he knew you would find favor in, but it was easily passable as a rite of courtship. The constant prodding of a marriage proposal was always at the fringes of Cregan’s mind — it was his duty to marry, and he had prolonged the process as much as he could.

With war tearing the realm apart, there was little time to consider a marriage — but a relationship, perhaps a budding bond, that was something he could make time for. Even in his duties as the Warden of the North, a champion for Queen Rhaenyra, there would be a lull, a calm in the storm.

Your tent wasn’t a far trek from the healer’s tent, smaller and humble compared to his own. It didn’t seem fair, given your importance and what you had contributed to their cause, but he didn’t dwell on it — not now, anyway.

To see the ferocious, stoic Cregan Stark carrying a bundle of flowers that seemed minuscule within his grasp was a most peculiar sight. His fur trappings and leather-and-chainmail bore the motif of the Direwolf, the sigil of House Stark, making him seem larger than he already was. His ancestral longsword, Ice, remained slung across his broad shoulders.

The glitter of candlelight cut through the dismal haze of rainfall around him, its orange glow pooling from your tent, closed-off for privacy. Through the sliver of canvas, Cregan could see you, hunched over your chair, moving a quill across parchment. You wore your hair down this time, visage framed by wisps of your tresses, brow creased in concentration.

Cregan stepped forward, announcing his presence with a noisy clearing of his throat. “My Lady,” He rumbled, standing just outside of your tent, chestnut tresses sticking to his skull from the deluge. “If I might have a moment of your time.”

Your surprise was palpable as you flung open your tent, with Cregan Stark standing before you, soaked to the bone and entirely unphased. Your gaze fell to the bouquet of bellflowers in his hand, features becoming hot almost immediately.

“Cregan,” You stepped aside to usher him in, getting him out of the storm. “I apologize if you attempted to summon me, I’ve been preoccupied.” Preoccupied with the wrong things, perhaps, but you felt horrible that he had walked all this way in a torrential downpour.

“An apology isn’t necessary,” Cregan assured, so tall and mountainous that he seemed to consume much of the space in your tent, scalp scraping the canvas above. “I merely wanted to extend my gratitude, for your diligence and steadfastness in my recovery.” He murmured.

Your lodgings were quite humble, your bed nothing more than a cot lined in fur blankets, pillows stuffed with linens to make it bearable. The rickety wooden chairs were ones you’d borrowed — it served as a place to draw, a series of candles sitting along your footlocker. The ground below was covered in layers of canvas and fur — perhaps more comfortable than the cot itself.

You offered him a polite smile, though the air seemed charged with more than just friendliness. “You’ve already extended your gratitude, my Lord. You needn’t do it again,” You replied, heart thrumming within your chest. “You are soaked to the bone. Why don’t you warm yourself?”

Cregan was plenty warm, his own metaphorical sun, blood running exceptionally hot — especially this evening. “There is no need,” He rumbled, jaw somewhat tense as he extended the bouquet of bellflowers to you, bound together with a thick cord. “Blooming along the Trident. I thought of you.”

Thought of you — did he do that often?

Gods, did you think of him — you thought of him at each waking moment, torturing yourself over him, the Lord of Winterfell. There were nights where you fantasized about him in such sinful ways that it left you gasping for air. It made your belly stir with butterflies, heat simmering across your flesh.

“These are beautiful,” Touched by such a simple gesture, you accepted the bouquet from him, moving to place it inside of a tall flask that once held one of your salves. Its mauve petals added a flair of color. “Thank you, Cregan.” Your voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

Every man in this dreadful encampment paled in comparison to Cregan Stark, who gazed down at you with such intensity that you feared you would melt away. Your breath hitched within your throat when he stepped closer — involuntary or not, you sorely yearned for the closeness.

Droplets of water rolled from his temples, chestnut tresses sticking to his forehead, garb damp from the rain. He smelled of the woodlands — pine and petrichor, intermingled with that of a natural musk. Those gray hues of his raked over you, drinking you in with a thinly-veiled rapture.

“There are other ways to express your gratitude.”

Your mouth moved before your mind could tell you to cease — speaking to your Lord in such an uncouth manner was grounds for trouble. You hadn’t fully realized the salacious implications of your statement until it sank in, and you became nervous. Before you could apologize, Cregan stopped you.

“Why do you think I came all this way, my Lady?” He rumbled, lifting his hand to cup your face, palm nearly engulfing half of your visage. Gods, you were beautiful — nothing short of perfection in his eyes. The bulk of his arm hesitantly reached out to circle around you, drawing you closer into his embrace.

That wasn’t the only reason — Cregan’s fondness of you had manifested into something uncontrollable, and you shared the same sentiment. Your feelings were now just as raging as his own, like a wildfire spreading across a forest, unchecked and unchallenged.

“Aren’t you cold?” You whispered, brought into the warm expanse of his chest, broad and taut with muscle. Even through his armor, you knew that he was indomitable. Though, for all of his physical intimidation and mesomorphic might, he was disarmingly gentle, this mountain of a man.

“No,” The husky timbre of his voice made goosebumps dance along your spine, causing you to shiver. “Not anymore.” He murmured, gaze silently asking to kiss you. He did not move, didn’t intend on acting until you decided to let sentiments flow freely.

It was you that kissed him first, seeking his lips with a desperation that rattled even you. Cregan didn’t hide his mutual desire, brows furrowing together as he reciprocated your kiss, using the leverage of his arm to lift you closer.

His lips were rough, icy from being in the damp outdoors, visage slick from the rainfall. It was a stark contrast to the softness of your mouth, pliant and plush against him, your body curvaceous and perfect within his grasp. He felt your palms press against his chest, drifting towards the nape of his neck.

Rain-soaked tresses glided through your fingers, curling inward to grip and pull, kissing him with such dizzying passion. In the slim space of your lodgings, with rain pounding above, it provided a gentle ambiance that only provided to the charged atmosphere.

Your hands shifted toward the clasps of his thick cloak, hesitating as you pulled away, looking to him for approval. If it weren’t for the many layers he needed to remove, you would’ve shed your dress already.

“Is this what you want?” Cregan needed your consent and assurance before continuing on, thumb drawing circles into your hip as he held you close. His voice had dropped to a near-growl, husky and thick with desire. It only served to stoke the growing fire between the both of you, cracking with a mutual need.

You nodded, nearly rendered breathless. “Yes,” Barely above a whisper, you felt his hands settle over yours, unclasping the metallic direwolves that loosened his cloak. It was all damp and soggy from the rain, and it felt good to be rid of it. “I need you.” You murmured, voice pitched with lust.

Cregan didn’t hesitate, hands unfastening his armor, buckle by buckle, piece by piece. Your hands sometimes joined in on occasion, loosening a strap or helping to take it off altogether. You didn’t move away, allowing each item to join the growing pile until he was left in his smallclothes.

He gently reached for the nape of your neck, massive palm caressing into the base of your skull, tracing along your silky flesh as he brought you in for a kiss. Even without his armor, Cregan was impossibly large, with a bulk and stature that dwarfed your own.

His mouth moved in-tandem with yours, each kiss blistering with passion, an eagerness that never exceeded into something rough. There was a domineering undertone to his actions, but never anything that would hurt you or scare you off.

Northern perfection, an immaculate wall of strength and muscle, yet so gentle — it rattled you to your core in the best possible way, filling your belly with molten heat. You kissed him fervently, until he stopped to kiss along your jaw, roughened lips finding the silky column of your neck.

The coarse, cloth ties that gathered at the small of your back became unraveled by you, loosening the periwinkle-colored garment until it sagged upon your body. You let it drop, your plain dress pooling to the ground in a heap of wrinkled fabric. You nudged it aside, letting it join Cregan’s armor.

Gray hues flickered across your naked flesh, beautiful beyond compare, a woman’s body that possessed the loveliest of curves. Cregan was swift to lower his hands, smoothing them across your sides, and then to your hips, shamelessly grabbing greedy handfuls of your derrière.

“I’ve never seen a beauty like yours before.” Cregan rumbled, mouth pressing soft kisses all along your neck, and then to the hollow of your throat. His calloused palms caressed everywhere they could, savoring the sensation of your velveteen skin.

You shivered at his reverent touch, lips parting as a soft gasp escaped you. Your hands held his biceps, thick and taut beneath your fingertips as a warm slick continued to mount between your legs. He hitched one of your legs around him, keeping you steady.

As he continued to savor your throat, mouth dragging from your neck to collarbone, his available hand stroked along your belly, tracing a path toward the heat between your thighs. Cregan searched for signs of hesitation or protest, but found none, thick fingers sluggishly slipping against your core.

“Cregan,” You gasped, a sharp inhale escaping you as you desperately held onto him, clinging on like a drowning woman as he toyed with your cunt. He deftly pushed past your folds, digits tracing along your slit in rhythmic motions, exploring your body. “Gods, don’t stop.” You pleaded, face pressing near his shoulder.

Teeth scraped along your throat, gently biting at your sensitive flesh as his digits found a steady rhythm. With two fingers stroking along your cunt, his thumb moved to nudge against your clit, circling around the sensitive clutch of nerves. He was silent, save for the rumbling sounds of his grunts.

Gently coaxing you towards your cot, Cregan didn’t stop to think about how feeble it was for two people. Nevertheless, he sat beside you, wood groaning and splintering in protest to the sudden amount of weight it bore. Sitting atop the furs, he collected you into his lap, slotting you against his thigh.

Tangling your hands into the hem of his tunic, you managed to maneuver it off with his assistance, all wisps of air stolen from your lungs at the sight of him. Seeing him in this light, full of desire with candlelight dancing across his skin, he was wonderfully handsome.

One palm cupped your hips, holding you close as his fingers resumed their previous ministrations, thumb seeking your clit. He touched you with such fervent passion, mouth clamoring for yours, lips unable to tear themselves away.

Each kiss left you gasping and heaving, wanting more of him, all that he could give. Your hands sought to drape themselves over his broad shoulders, threading into his damp tresses as you rocked yourself into his hand. The friction it created was delicious, a raging heat that crawled all over your body.

Thunder split the skies outside, rain coming down in a noisy deluge that pounded against the durable canvas of your tent. Cregan shifted backwards, the cot continuing to groan and creak beneath his bulk, threatening to snap into two if your ministrations continued.

You felt along the corded muscle of his shoulders, his skin unusually soft beneath your palms. With the relentless appetite of a wolf, Cregan kissed you again, pulling away just enough to kiss your collarbone instead. Thick digits continued to nudge against your cunt, threatening to push their way inside of you.

At a slow pace, he eased two fingers inside of you, stretching you just enough for it to be quite pleasurable. A whine of delight tore from your mouth, head rolling back enough for him to have unobstructed access. Teeth nipped at your collarbone, providing a sharp sting that flourished across your body.

He was gentle yet vigorous, digits sluggishly pumping themselves in and out of your tight cunt, thumb providing a burst of stimulation against your clit. Your warm, sweet breath fanned over him, mouth agape as a series of excitable pants escaped you.

Planting hot kisses just above your breasts, Cregan’s rough palm caressed from the swell of your hip to your chest, full and perfect, kneading into your breast. The entirety of your body felt so soft — like a plane of velvet, unblemished and left in some state of perfection.

Rocking yourself into his hand, a myriad of needy whimpers left you in droves, ones that occasionally tapered off into wanton moans, others left hushed. Cregan’s chest blossomed with a stoic grunt, the vibrations of it rattling you to your core.

“Cregan,” A fleeting sigh of passion escaped you, breathless and wanting, caught within a tempest of desire and carnality. Your digits touched him wherever you could, from the bulk of his shoulders to his biceps, thick and taut, and his face. “Gods, I need you.” You moaned, coaxing him in for a kiss.

Such a sentiment was mutual — Cregan did not know what depths of want he was capable of, and the carnal need he developed for you was intense. Though, it had also manifested into something else, transcending into affection and ardor.

He did not want to be parted from you after this.

His rough lips molded themselves to yours, kissing you desperately, until he stole every wisp of air from your lungs. He occasionally scraped his teeth across your lower lip, digits still working their way in and out of you, continuing to palm at your breasts.

Between the stimulation of his mouth and digits, you were already worked up, tangled within a web of desire as the cot groaned in protest again — and then snapped.

Only one of the wooden frames suffered damage, and Cregan was quick to shield you from harm, if there was any harm to begin with. He simply sagged further into the canvas, a look of mild amusement rising to his features. “The ground, then.” He rumbled, and you began to giggle, nose crinkling from the awkwardness of it all.

“I could’ve warned you,” You mused, affection dancing within your fond gaze as you kissed his jaw. “It would not survive with your muscles sitting atop it.” Cregan found it difficult not to smile, the gesture faint yet prevalent as he stroked along your spine.

“I will have it replaced.” Cregan grumbled, but you didn’t care in the slightest, the both of you relocating to the sprawling floor of thick, layered furs. It was arguably more comfortable than your cot would’ve been anyway. Drawing you back into his lap, he touched you everywhere he could.

The glow of orange illumination covered the both of you, however faint, aided by slits of clouded moonlight that poured in from the gap in canvas. You were beautiful — everything that he had ever wanted, caged within his arms, staring at him with a heated intensity.

He was mountainous, even when sitting, large and powerful enough to move you wherever he pleased. Your kisses became feverish, as if each entanglement would be your last, heart hammering within your chest with a flurry of excitement.

For a moment, Cregan withdrew, content to gaze upon your smiling visage, gaze sparkling with affection. He lifted his hand, cupping your cheek and jaw, allowing himself a moment to commit every feature of yours to memory. His next kiss was agonizingly slow in the best way possible, causing you to sigh with passion.

He needed to be close to you, chest to chest, savoring every inch of your silken flesh. Cregan had never touched something so soft before, drinking you in again with those tempestuous hues, as alluring as gray clouds before a thunderstorm.

“I want you inside of me,” You pleaded, lips parting slightly as Cregan’s jaw tensed, lust festering within him. Gods, what a wonderful mother you would make — the thought was fleeting, but it lingered like a thick fog, taking up residence within his mind. “Please.”

Cregan did not hesitate, hands joining yours as you hastily unraveled the leather ties of his trousers. He wanted to stay this way, sitting up with you in his lap, allowing him to look upon your face, ravage your skin as he guided you atop his length.

To match his imposing stature and wall of muscle, his cock was just as intimidating, causing your stomach to turn with a twinge of worry. Then again, you had become so worked up that pain seemed impossible. Cregan’s hands steadied themselves atop the swell of your hips, bringing you up enough to let his cock glide against your slick folds.

“As you wish.” He huffed, letting you find your way, the flushed tip of his length beginning to penetrate you. You moaned at the intrusion, able to feel the girth of it stretch you perfectly, just as his fingers had. Cregan grunted, guiding you down until you could go no further.

Strong enough to ease you along his length with his hands alone, Cregan seized the opportunity to kiss you. You were only a few breaths taller like this, slotted within his lap, hands finding their purchase atop his shoulders as you began to ride him.

Gods, he was big — enough for you to realize that soreness was an inevitability. Being flush against him, nearly chest-to-chest, was perfect, something so intimate and sensual that hot shivers rolled down your spine. Cregan guided you up and down upon his cock, ensuring that he went at a sluggish pace, more for your sake than his own.

Tangled sighs and low, heavy breaths wove together, forming a heated cacophony that filled the tent with your lewd activities. The feeling of his calloused hands sinking into your plush flesh was mesmerizing, leaving behind a wave of goosebumps that crawled across your flesh.

Mouths danced together and then clashed again, kiss after kiss of pure ardor, tongues becoming exploratory as you brazenly lapped at his lower lip. It was messy and hot, feverishly so, bringing the both of you to heel as you happily drowned within desire.

The sensation of his cock filling you completely, nearly kissing your womb, almost made you sob from delight. The friction of your bodies was a delicious thing, with your chest brushing against his, knees squeezing near his waist, hands gripping his shoulders. Your nails sank into the muscle there, countenance one of complete and utter pleasure.

Cregan untangled his lips from yours, finding the column of your throat, greedily kissing and nipping wherever he could. Your taste was ambrosial, skin delicate and saccharine beneath his mouth. You moaned, one hand moving to tug at his chestnut tresses, bringing your hips down upon his cock again and again.

The sluggishness of the repetitive motion was agonizingly wonderful — the pace was perfect, not rough enough in the slightest, but passionate, instead. You much preferred this, the intimacy and closeness of it all, the way in which heat radiated between the both of you.

You felt incredible, every fiber of your body burning for him, arousal thick and heavy between your thighs. “Cregan,” A noisy moan escaped you, grinding yourself against him, hips flush together. It was as if you were touched by hot embers, the heat raking across your body time and time again. “Cregan!”

A deep, trembling groan tore past his mouth, one that made your belly fill with liquid fire. You shivered within his grasp, feeling his lips clamor to the underside of your jaw, nose brushing against your chin. His cock throbbed with a sense of urgency, slick with precum.

He continued to guide you, hands descending from your hips to the pliant flesh of your haunches, digits sinking into your derrière. Despite the chill of the rain and song of the storm raging around you, Cregan kept you anchored, warmth radiating from him.

Your hands deftly roamed across his musculature, coming to plant themselves against the expanse of his chest, his heart thudding beneath your palm. “That’s it.” Cregan rumbled, kissing at your jaw before he finally coaxed you in for a passionate kiss. He wanted you to come undone for him.

The intensity of your release blindsided you, crashing into you like a wave breaking upon the rock. Your nails desperately scratched at Cregan’s chest, sinking into his collarbone as you bucked forward. He continued to guide you up and down along his cock until your legs rattled like leaves in the wind.

Cregan joined you, following suit as he reached his peak, forehead bumping into yours as he sought your mouth for a tender kiss. He swallowed your sweet moans, spilling his seed into your cunt. Hot ropes of his spend filled you completely, causing the both of you to sigh, a low rumble reverberating from his throat.

You very nearly collapsed within his lap, heaving with excitable pants, basking in the aftermath of your release. In an intimate gesture, you kissed his jaw, peppering his visage in soft kisses that only made Cregan pull you closer. “Are you alright?” He murmured, running a hand along your side.

“I am,” You smiled, palm reaching to cup his cheek. Cregan’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, pressing a kiss to the silky skin there. Thunder crackled overhead, followed by a flash of lightning, the onslaught of rain pounding overhead. “It seems you’ve no choice but to stay.”

A bemused huff left Cregan, who seemed more than content to share your tent. “Thank the Gods for the deluge, then.” He rumbled, continuing to kiss from your wrist to your hand. A shiver rolled down the length of your spine, aided by his affectionate gestures.

Removing yourself from his lap, you settled down to lay beside him on the floor of your tent, gazing up at the damp canvas. The Warden of the North descended to you, offering you a muscular arm to rest against, moving the furs around the both of you.

It was a comfortable silence, born in the aftermath of your lovemaking as you curled against Cregan, palm settling above his abdomen. “When do you ride next?” You uttered, referring to the raging war that you were both caught within. It was easy to not think much of it when you were with him.

“On the morrow,” Cregan murmured, chestnut brows furrowing together. He loathed the thought of leaving again, now that he had so much more to lose. His calloused digits idly traced around your shoulder, his other arm propped beneath his head. “We will fight hard, like Northerners.”

A subtle terror gripped your heart, foul tendrils sinking into every fiber of your being. You sat up just enough to gaze upon him, fingers drifting toward the slope of his jaw. “Promise me that you’ll be careful.” You uttered, stern as could be.

Cregan could not make such a promise — war was harrowing, and it was unpredictable. Instead, he reached for your face, holding you there as he met your gaze. “I will try,” A low rumble left him, gray eyes boring into you with devotion. “Should I fall prey to another arrow or sword, I will know who to seek.”

It was difficult not to smile, in spite of everything. You sighed, leaning in to kiss him, allowing gentleness and ardor to prevail. A low grunt escaped Cregan, gray hues fluttering shut as he drew you closer into the warmth of his musculature.

“I would certainly hope so.”

copyright @ swordgrace ; please do not copy/steal my work and claim it as your own. please do not translate my works onto other platforms.

[gayerthanevertbh]

good girls have gone… bad?

summary: her sister has been on your thoughts ever since you became friends with yelena. you two exchanged a quick gaze, and you both wondered right away who natasha romanoff was. sleeping with your best friend's sister isn't such a bad idea, considering yelena left you to spend some time alone with natasha, right? you knew she was way older than you, and you loved that.

warnings: smut, age difference (reader is 21; natasha is 37) blowjob, natasha has a penis, dirty talking, and more - 18+ minors dni

note: i'm back! i'm sorry if i haven't been updating, if i have to be honest i lost interest in this account. but now that i'm back, i think i'll be writing here more often! i apologize if there are some errors with this fic

“I have to get my report card at uni today,” While I was engrossed in a vlog on my phone, Yelena let out a sigh as she devoured her bag of chips. “Are you okay being alone here for now? I mean, you’re with Natasha. So you’re in good hands.” 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Your sister doesn’t talk much.”

“She has a day off from work; give her a break.”

I laughed involuntarily. “Even though she’s not at work, she doesn’t talk much. She’ll talk if we want something for dinner or something.”

"I believe she is simply shy," Yelena kissed me on the forehead and said as she got her bag off the couch. “Listen, call me if you need anything. Just hope that I have a signal.”

I smiled at her as she departed, leaving me in solitude within the living room, embracing the tranquility. Yelena and I have been friends since senior year, which I find amusing considering that I have always seen her at school since I was a freshman. It's etched in my memory how she was the one who reached out to me initially, and from there, we embarked on a whirlwind of parties and adventures. Over the course of the past two years, she became the sole person I could rely on. We were supposedly living together at our university, but she mentioned that I could sleep at her place any time whenever we’re on campus since her place was conveniently located nearby. Then, upon encountering her sister, Natasha Romanoff, my heart seemed to come to a halt.

She was absolutely stunning, without a doubt the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on. She had a chic, cropped hairstyle, delicate hands, and a radiant smile that seemed to stretch for miles whenever I caught a glimpse. I found everything about her quite appealing, including her tendency to be more reserved in conversation. I often pondered whether or not Yelena had parents, but she remained tight-lipped on the subject. She only shared with me that from a young age, Natasha whisked her away from their parents and they began their life in New York. Her sister has always been the one supporting them financially, which is why she has been consistently absent. However, Yelena's admiration for her sister knows no bounds.

It was sweet, which made me jealous sometimes. 

As I made my way back to Yelena's room, Natasha emerged from her own room, a warm smile gracing her face.

“I assume Yelena’s not at home?”

I shook my head. “No, she’s getting her report card at university today.”

“Oh,” She let out an exasperated sigh and casually leaned against the wall. “And you? You’re not getting your report card?”

“I already got it; my parents weren’t so proud this time.”

“What did you fail?” She let out a soft laugh, fixing her gaze on me intensely, causing a knot to form in my stomach. I'm not sure if it was positive or negative, but her intense gaze made my heart skip a beat.

“Finance,” I murmured. “I didn’t focus with that subject that much, which I completely regret.”

I heard her giggle again, and it made my heart race even faster. When I give it some thought, I realize that Natasha and I are similar in one area: sex. I don't discuss it with Yelena or my other friends, but I don't feel embarrassed talking to Natasha about it. Although we've never actually done it, we were both flirtatious about it. Natasha usually asks me to come to her room while Yelena is sleeping, where she usually spends her time masturbating at the foot of the bed. And when it was my turn, I would smother my fingers when Natasha expressed her wish to touch me. 

In her bed. 

The following day, we just look at each other as if nothing had happened and don't discuss this. Since Yelena didn't seem suspicious, which I was grateful for, I carried on doing this with Natasha until she eventually became tired of me. I was probably just another girl in her view, someone to be used. She was, nevertheless, to me like the book that I couldn't put down. I was drawn to her and wanted to spend time with her.

I could never acknowledge such a thing.

“I was wondering if...” Her mouth became silent as she walked over to me, smirking, and brushed her delicate fingertips over a strand of my hair. “Maybe you’d join me in our secret affair?”

I snorted. “Affair? Natasha, we aren’t in a relationship.”

"Well, it would be impolite to suggest that we watch porn together or something; you are aware of the subject."

I debated whether or not to do it today because Yelena might return at any moment. I sighed heavily and shook my head because she had not told me what time she would be home. It was a bad idea, because if that turned out to be true, we could be caught.

But it wouldn’t hurt to do this... Right?

“Okay,” I whispered to her as she trailed her fingers on my collarbone. “Take me to your bedroom.”

“Shit,”Natasha whispered, holding on to her mattress sheet. “That feels so good, baby. K-Keep going; don’t stop.”

I stared at her face, contoured with lust,  and bobbed my head up and down. Considering that her cock felt erect in my mouth, I find it fascinating how much this makes her want to engage. She lifted her hips a little as I licked and sucked on the tip of her dick.

“Good girl,” She whispers, pressing my head farther down as she runs her fingers through my hair. “You like that? You like my cock in your mouth?”

I let out a quiet affirmation as I sensed a certain anticipation on my tongue, observing her eyebrows furrow each time I took her length into my mouth. “You’re so big,” I withdrew my mouth from her cock and caressed her whole length, filling the room with loud, sloshing sounds. “I’ve never done anything like this, Daddy.”

“Oh yeah?” She gently sat up on the bed and slapped the head of her dick onto my lips by grabbing the base of her length. “Open up, sweetheart. I need to cum in your throat.”

Ideally, I would prefer that not to occur. I had to taste her, though, because it was Natasha. Heck, I didn't even give a damn if Yelena was home right now. All I wanted was for this to occur, for her to require my presence. I bobbed my head angrily and made gag noises as I sucked on her dick once more.  

It turned on Natasha even more as I did so. 

“You’re so warm, fuck...” I knelt on the bed as her words faltered. "You're such a slut for my dick, look at you. Tell me, you wanted this, didn’t you?”

More than you could ever know. 

She was probably amazed at my ability to pull off such a feat as she watched me in disbelief as I placed her genitalia into my mouth. The action caused me to cough a little, and I choked on her genitalia right away. And I pulled my head back. She pouted, her whole length smeared across my face as she gripped the back of my head. "Baby, I thought we were just gon' talk dirty to each other."

I whimpered. “I needed you, Daddy.”

“Yeah? You needed me?”

“So bad,” I whined as I kissed her length. “Please don’t stop.” 

“Open your mouth.”

She fucked her cock by pushing it back down my throat. Hard. I throw my eyes back, and Natasha's hips falter as she strikes the back of my throat. She recoils her head. “I’m going to cum down your throat, and you’re going to swallow it, okay, baby? You are so good for me, so so good...”

If I were the only girl in the world, I would do this every single day. However, I was aware that I was probably not destined for her because she was much older than I was and I was too young. People will make judgments; she wouldn't think that of me.

Natasha remained motionless for a few moment before turning to face me with a broad smile. "You feel like you're wet to me?" I moaned around her cock as she reached for my covered cunt and gripped it. "Oh my god! Fuck, keep doing that, baby girl.”

I kept moaning all over her length as she quickly and forcefully fucked my mouth, causing me to gag every time her tip touched the back of my throat. I was her sex toy, and I never wanted to be anything else once she put both of her hands on the side of my head.

“I want to fuck your pussy,” She continued to fuck my mouth like an animal while whispering in a rough manner. “I want to—ugh—I want to rip your pussy apart, especially that throat of yours. I bet you’re so tight, baby. Fuck, I can imagine myself ripping you open.”

Rip me open, make me fall apart. I’ll be anything to you, anything. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Natasha drew her length a bit and rolled her hips against my face, her cockhead resting on my tongue instead. “I’m going to cum on your tongue and you better swallow it; don’t waste any drop.”

She was hooding her eyes and idly stroking her dick when I parted my lips wide for her. She glanced at the door once, then grabbed my jaw and drew me in. “Here it comes, baby. I-I’m going to cum—fuck almost there just... Argh!”

She stroked her dick widly as she came onto my tongue. She kept stroking her length, and I had to close my eyes because I could feel some of her semen falling on my face. However, she released all of it on my tongue. Slapping her tip on my face and smearing her length all over it, Natasha let out a long, raspy moan. “You look so pretty in my cum.”

“You c-came a lot...”

With a nod, she reclined on the mattress. "Yes, I did. It's been a while since I've truly done that," she says, continuing to stroke her dick, albeit more slowly. I got up and grabbed the closest towel I could find after realizing that I had to go before Yelena could see or smell the sex in this room. "Are you sure you haven't done that with anyone?"

“I never give blowjobs,” I stated with a small voice as I wiped off my face with a clean towel. “When was the last time you had a girl suck on your dick?”

Natasha was standing in front of me as I turned around. As soon as she gripped my waist and drew me even closer to her body, I felt my breath catch. She let out a long breath and muttered, "You were the first person to give me an orgasm in a very long time, darling."

I chuckled lightly. “I thought you’d never do something like that. With me, at least.”

“You’re very pretty,” She pulls down my shorts, gesturing for me to roll my eyes back as she holds her dick in her palm. “Can I feel you? Just a bit? I just... I want to imagine what it’s like to feel your pussy rubbing on me.”

I gazed into her eyes, taking note of the intensity of her desire. So I lowered my panties to my mid thighs and touched her cock, gently stimulating the sensitive area. We both felt a rush of pleasure as Natasha leaned her head against my shoulder, drawing me in closer to her.

“You’re making me hard again,” She whimpered and pressed her cock against me, causing me to scream quietly. “Oh shit, you are tight!”

“Fuck, Nat—Yelena could go home any minute!”

“Just one minute,” she begged as she looked at me in the eye. “Baby, let me fuck you.”

“Okay, okay,” I whispered and felt myself being pushed against the edge of her desk, her hands hoisting my legs up. “Oh god—”

"God, I’m about to rip you open here,” Natasha spoke with such assurance that it began to pique my interest. I bite my bottom lip as she retreats a little and thrusts back into my cunt. “Let it all out, baby girl. Let Daddy hear you—”

“Y/n, I’m back!”

“Shit!” I exclaimed and pushed her away, pulling up my shorts. She immediately grabbed her boxers and wore them before I reached for the door. “Natasha, she can’t see me like this. Or you like this!”

“Just hide here for a moment,” Natasha led me into her bathroom, responding to my request. I widen my eyes in anticipation, waiting for her next words. “Just for this moment, okay? I’ll handle everything.”

I recognized what I had done as soon as she shut the door. I looked so desperate that I should never have given Natasha a blowjob in the first place. I shook my head carefully, running my fingers through my hair. "What did I do?" Sitting on the floor, with more memories of us playing along in my thoughts, I asked myself. Was I a lousy friend? Would Yelena even accept me if I was?

I don’t know. 

hehe let me know if i should make this as a story