#fic: starry-eyes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

flowersforbucky · 28 days ago

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starry eyed

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3.2k

summary: reader gets a special gift from her secret santa

warnings/tags: mostly just fluff, mutual pining, friends to lovers, avenger!reader, no use of y/n, one minor injury, language, kissing and some sensuality

author's note: short little feel good christmas fic! everyone is alive and happy because i say so. i originally got the idea for this fic last winter, but i hadn't got back into writing at that time. happy that i was able to put it into words finally.

my masterlist

“So, whose name did you draw?”

You shove your hand into an oven mitt, grabbing a large dish out of the oven. Everyone had been assigned to bring a different breakfast food to the Christmas morning potluck.

Sam brought chocolate chip pancakes, Steve brought a shit ton of sausage links, and Sharon brought a giant fruit platter to name a few. You figured that the easiest, cheapest way to help feed a group of a dozen people is a couple tubes of Pillsbury cinnamon rolls.

“That kinda takes the secret out of Secret Santa.”

Bucky leans on the island in the middle of the compound’s kitchen, drinking his second cup of coffee of the morning. His breakfast dish of choice? A sack of two dozen McDonald’s hash browns.

“I was just testing you,” Bucky jokes. “You passed. Do you want to know who got your name?”

“No!” You whack his stomach with the oven mitt and he feigns injury. “I do not. Have I passed all of your tests?”

“I’m proud,” Bucky says after a big gulp of coffee. “You’re stronger than Sam, at least. He’s been asking everyone who drew his name for the last week.”

You roll your eyes. “He does that every year and no one ever tells him.”

Your friends begin filing into the kitchen, everyone grabbing plates and piling them high with all of the food scattered across the island. After making your plate, you retreat to the living room and nestle yourself between Natasha and Sharon on the couch.

Everyone is so occupied with stuffing their faces that there’s hardly any conversation. You halfway pay attention to the Hallmark Christmas rom-com playing on the television as you devour a stack of pancakes and hash browns.

Truthfully, you had hoped to draw Bucky’s name from the hat. You had a gift in mind for him already, and if you’d gotten his name then it would have presented you with the perfect opportunity to give it to him without any pressure for him to give you a gift in return.

You ended up drawing Sharon's name, but you decided to get the present for Bucky, anyway – a vintage tabletop phonograph from the forties that you’d snagged for an incredible deal on eBay. You didn’t put it under the gargantuan Christmas tree with all of the other gifts. It sits in your bedroom, waiting for you to give it to him later today when you’re not surrounded by all of your close friends.

To no one’s surprise, Sam and Peter are the first people to finish eating and immediately begin handing out all of the presents under the tree. You’re still finishing up your breakfast when Peter practically throws a small box wrapped in snowmen print paper towards you.

It's addressed to you, from your Secret Santa. Right off the bat, you’re sure that the gift didn’t come from Natasha – you know how much pride that she puts into gift wrapping. Not that this gift is wrapped poorly, but compared to Natasha’s typically extravagant bows, you’re confident that she wasn't the one who wrapped this present.

You also notice that the handwriting appears to be more on the masculine side. It looks familiar, though you can’t say with confidence who it belongs to.

“Alright, who wants to go first?” Sam says loudly enough to quiet all the chatter going on. “No one would spoil my gift for me and I’m getting impatient.”

You and Bucky share a knowing glance and eye roll at his words. He sits in a recliner directly across from you, holding the gift from his own Secret Santa.

“I’ll go first,” you offer excitedly, giving the box in your lap a small shake that gives nothing away.

You carelessly tear at the wrapping paper until it’s in pieces by your feet on the floor.

“What’d you get?” Sam asks.

You don’t respond at first, taking in the packaging of the box.

A northern lights projector.

You feel warmth spread across your cheeks and you can’t help but smile down at the gift in your hands, no longer having any doubt about who this gift came from.

One Month Ago

“These Spaghettios expired a couple weeks ago. Do you think we should risk it?”

You stand in the small kitchen of the Alaskan safe house, rifling through the limited options in the pantry. Some instant oatmeal packets, a few cans of Beanee Weenees, and the aforementioned expired Spaghettios are tonight’s dinner choices.

You can’t say you’re surprised – you’ve been doing this job for a while, and poorly stocked safe houses are pretty much the standard in this line of work. It doesn't help that this is the fifth night that you and Bucky have spent in this particular safe house, and you've eaten through all of the better options at this point.

“If you want to risk getting food poisoning in addition to that sprained ankle, then you go for it. I'll be sticking to the oatmeal.” Bucky reaches around you, grabbing a packet of maple and brown sugar oatmeal from the shelf that you stand in front of.

He's right. The oatmeal is the safest option.

One more night of this, you remind yourself. Tomorrow night, you'd be back in the comfort of your room, where you can DoorDash Chinese food.

You sigh, grabbing the remaining packet of oatmeal.

“You know, I wouldn't even mind the food situation nearly as much if I could just see the lights. Five nights here and nothing,” you grumble.

It’s your first time in Alaska, and you had high hopes for being able to see the northern lights. Each night so far, after long days of recon, you’ve stayed up past the point of exhaustion checking to see if they’re visible.

So far, the weather had been nothing but rainy and dreary, making the sky close to impossible to see at night. The clouds finally let up some today, but you've still seen no hint of an aurora. Just inky blackness, a crescent moon, and a steady downpour of snow that began a few hours ago.

“You could always get one of those projectors,” he teases with a shrug. “Northern lights, galaxies, constellations… all right there on your bedroom ceiling.”

Even though he won’t say it, you know he wants to see the northern lights as badly as you do. He's made it obvious by the way he glances out the window every so often to check.

You’ve been hoping that they’d make an appearance for him as much as for yourself. He's technically seen them before – decades ago. But never as himself. Never as Bucky.

“Those are neat,” you agree glumly. “I've just always wanted to see them in person. Kinda a bucket list thing.”

Getting to witness them with him would be the cherry on top, but you don’t add that part.

Bucky insists that you sit down on the couch and ice your ankle while he prepares the instant oatmeal for the two of you. You’re too tired to protest, so you retreat to the sofa and flip through the limited number of channels on the old TV with your foot propped up.

Fucking black ice. The last day of this mission and everything had gone swimmingly up until you slipped on a patch of clear ice earlier today, twisting your ankle.

You’re just thankful that it happened in front of Bucky, and not Sam. You can only imagine the teasing that would have ensued if it had been Sam that saw you eat shit.

The two of you eat by the warmth of the dwindling fire while watching a Seinfeld re-run.

You’re over three thousand miles from New York, but it doesn’t feel like you’re far from home at all. Bucky and you have been mission partners for quite some time now, and he has a way of making you feel like you’re at home, no matter where you’re actually at. His presence is familiar and comforting – whether you’re at the compound, or in a different country, or in Alaska – the familiarity and comfort of home is there, as long as he is.

“I’m gonna go get some more wood for the fire before bed,” Bucky says when he finishes scarfing down his food. You give him a quick nod, your mouth still crammed full of oatmeal. “You stay here and try not to sprain anything else,” he teases with a glance at your foot that’s elevated on the coffee table in front of you.

You shoot him an obscene gesture once his back is to you. “You act like my leg got cut off,” you grumble as he exits the house.

No more than ten seconds pass before you hear him call your name from beyond the front door. You look over your shoulder with wide eyes and he all but sprints back into the house with an animated expression.

“What? What is it?”

“The lights. They’re visible,” he exclaims. He walks over to the couch, taking your bowl from you and sitting it on the end table next to you before you can process what’s happening. He offers his flesh hand to you in an attempt to help you up.

“Holy shit, really? You better not be messing with me.” You push yourself up off the couch, momentarily forgetting all about your ankle.

“I’m not messing with you,” he snorts. “Come see for yourself.”

Bucky wraps his arm around your waist and you throw yours over his shoulder, helping you walk to the porch without putting too much pressure on your injured foot. You lean into him, his body heat providing a nice reprieve from the night air as you step outside.

You don’t pull away, and neither does he.

Side by side, you stare up at the seemingly endless expanse of swirling rivers of blue and green. The auroral rays seem to dance across the sky, electrifying the night with the shimmering veils of color.

“Wow,” you whisper in awe. Wow doesn’t begin to cover how ethereal the phenomenon is, but you’re at a loss for words. It’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen.

You're acutely aware of the bitter chill of the cold wind. If it weren't for the fact that Bucky feels like a personal space heater, your teeth would be chattering. But with the view before you, you find it hard to care.

“I’d give anything to be able to see this where we live,” you breathe. You glance up at him to find him already looking at you.

“Wouldn't you?” You ask him.

“I really would.”

Present Day

“Oooh,” Natasha coos beside you, snapping you out of your memory. “A northern lights projector. I wonder who that could be from.”

You can tell by her tone of voice that she knows exactly who it’s from – even if you hadn't blatantly told her about seeing the northern lights on your mission with Bucky last month, she's too smart to not be able to figure it out herself.

You playfully elbow her in the side, silencing her teasing but the smirk on her face remains.

“Thank you, Santa,” you say with a glance at Bucky. “I love it.”

The rest of your friends open their presents one by one. You try your hardest to pay attention, but all you can think about is how perfect you think the gift that Bucky picked out for you is. He could have just given you a gift card, or a generic gag gift, but what he gave you is personal, and sentimental, and thoughtful.

When all of the Christmas morning festivities have come to an end, you retreat back to your bedroom with your presents. Despite getting many great gifts from your friends, the one from your Secret Santa is by far your favorite.

You unbox the projector and set it up on your nightstand before plugging it in. As soon as you press the power button, the ceiling of your room is covered in shades of blue and green that mimic the natural hues of the northern lights that you had witnessed first hand just a month prior.

You flick your light switch off, making it easier to envision yourself standing under the Alaska sky. Of course, there’s nothing like seeing the real thing, but it’s still pretty, and the meaning behind the gift is what makes you happier than anything.

Smiling to yourself beneath the undulating ribbons of turquoise and emerald, you can’t help but replay the memory of standing under the aurora with Bucky.

How he got so excited when he went outside and realized the lights were visible, the contrast of his warm body against the cold night air as he helped you stand on your hurt foot, and the way that he was smiling at you instead of taking in the scene before him –

Your phone chimes from your back pocket, drawing you back to reality.

A projection probably doesn’t really compare to the real thing, huh?

You smile at your phone, sitting down on your bed. You think of how you should respond when you remember the present you bought for Bucky that sits in your closet.

Come and see for yourself, you respond.

With his room being just a short distance down the hallway, it’s only a few moments before you hear a soft knock against your door.

“Come in,” you say softly.

You’re suddenly overcome with a wave of nerves, and you tell yourself it’s because you’re antsy about giving him the present you'd picked out for him.

Bucky eases into the room, closing the door behind him. He takes in the display across your ceiling with his hands shoved in his pockets – a nervous habit of his that you’ve noticed many times before, though you can’t pinpoint why he’d be nervous right now.

“Pretty cool,” he admits. He takes a seat in front of you on the edge of your bed and finally meets your gaze. “Can’t say it quite compares to the real thing, but at least it’s a whole lot warmer here.”

“The food is considerably better here, too,” you joke. “But really, thank you. It’s definitely the best Secret Santa gift I’ve ever received,” you add, cringing when you remember the toilet shaped coffee mug that Sam had gotten you two years ago.

You use it regularly, of course. But you like Bucky’s gift far more.

“And I got you a present, too,” you add in a small voice before you can chicken out. “I know I wasn’t your Secret Santa, so I hope you don’t think it’s weird. It’s okay if you don’t like—”

“Can I tell you something?” He interrupts you. He’s grinning big – the kind of grin that brings out the lines around his eyes. You snap your mouth shut and answer with a quick nod.

“I wasn’t your Secret Santa originally,” he sighs. “Natasha was. But I convinced her to switch names with me.”

“But why—”

“I got your present as soon as we got back from Alaska, but then I started overthinking it… just thought it would be easier to give it to you if I had the excuse of being your Secret Santa,” he shrugs.

You’re momentarily stunned. It dawns on you – he’d been worried about the exact thing you had. You’d been so worried about him being weirded out by you getting him a gift that you waited until you were alone to give it to him, and he’d been so worried about getting you a gift that he convinced someone else to let him have your name in Secret Santa.

How silly of both of you, you think.

He sits by you on your bed, waiting for your response with a patient, albeit uncertain expression. Your eyes flicker from his eyes to his lips.

It had been a fleeting thought when you stared into his eyes under the colorful Alaskan sky – how beautiful it would be to kiss someone under such a serene and mesmerizing sky. How beautiful it would be to kiss him, here. It was a thought that you shoved down, out of fear for crossing a line and making yourself look like an idiot.

It's a thought that is once again at the forefront of your mind, sitting beside him in your bedroom under the imitation aurora.

Under the true northern lights, or under your bedroom ceiling in New York – it doesn’t matter. You think kissing him would be beautiful anywhere.

And so you do.

Or he does – you’re not actually sure who leans forward first. But you are sure that he still tastes faintly of maple syrup and coffee from breakfast, and that when he cups your face in his flesh hand and tilts it to give him a better angle to sweep his tongue along your bottom lip, your brain turns to static white noise.

You let him set the pace – it’s slow and soft, like he’s trying to memorize the map that his tongue draws inside your mouth. You place one of your hands on the back of his neck, intertwining your fingers in the short tufts of hair.

Still holding your face in his hand, he pulls away with a gentle tug of your bottom lip between his teeth and looks at you in the blue-green glow of the projector’s illumination.

“Was that my present?” he smiles, rubbing his thumb across your cheek. You laugh, reeling in the afterglow of the kiss.

You drop your hand from his neck, and hold up a singular finger to him, indicating for him to give you a moment. You walk over to your closet, retrieving the large gift bag containing the phonograph.

When you walk back over to your bed, you turn on your bedside table lamp for a bit more light before handing him the bag.

He smiles, blushing faintly as he pulls the tissue paper out of the gift bag. He eases the package out of the bag slowly, as if he’s scared the contents will break. You watch as he takes his time with the unboxing, now feeling a fresh wave of nervousness at the anticipation of him seeing the gift.

His smile only grows once he realizes what it is.

“My ma used to have one just like this,” he murmurs in awe. He grabs your hand in his and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Thank you. It's perfect.”

He turns to place it behind him on your mattress before pulling your face to his once more. It’s shorter than the kiss before, but just as tender and sweet.

“But just so you know, you could have just given me a kiss, and I would’ve been just as thrilled.”

••••••

thanks for reading!! i had fun writing this cute little piece ♡

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iuchamjohta · 3 months ago

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Sultry Guidance Pt 1? Ft Irene and Karina

As promised the 1k special, and I included the top 2 winners as a surprise for this fic! longest fic I have written hope you guys enjoy! Lots of smut ahead

Word count: 12254 Tags: Threesome, handcuffs, rimjob, tit fuck, rough sex, anal play, tit fuck

You adjust your collar one last time, your hands trembling slightly despite your efforts to appear composed. Tonight is the night: your date with Karina at the elegant outdoor restaurant you’ve chosen. A mix of excitement and nervousness fills you, and you glance at the clock, feeling time slip through your fingers too quickly. The distant hum of conversation and the clink of glasses from cheers only add to your mounting nerves. The doorbell of the restaurant rings, as you hear someone enter and you take a deep breath, your heart thudding loudly in your chest.

It’s been two weeks since you last saw Karina, and today was the first official date that you had asked her out on. Looking up, you see Karina walking towards you like someone who is from heaven. Her tall, graceful figure is accentuated by a flowing midnight-blue dress that drapes elegantly to the ground. The dress seems to move in elegance with her, adding a touch of ethereal magic to her presence. Her dark, lustrous hair cascades in soft waves, framing her face with effortless beauty. Her eyes, deep and captivating, lock onto yours, and your heart skips a beat.

“You’re beautiful,” you subconsciously said. “Thank you, you look dashing as well’’. The warm, inviting smile she gives you seems to dissolve your anxiety, even if only momentarily.

As you escort her through the restaurant, you feel your pulse quicken with every step. The tables are elegantly set with flickering candles, creating a romantic ambiance throughout the restaurant. You owe your best friend Yeji for this. She had played the perfect cupid for you and her sister Karina, which was what led you to this point in the first place.

You guide her to a beautifully set table that you have reserved in the outdoors, where the city lights could be seen glimmering in the distance. Your hands are slightly unsteady as you pull out her chair, trying to maintain your composure. As you settle into your own seat, the conversation starts with a few stilted exchanges, but Karina’s laughter, the warmth of her gaze, and her easy grace begin to put you at ease.

Throughout the evening, the ambiance of the restaurant—the soft strains of a live jazz band, the gentle clinking of glasses, and the warm glow of candlelight—seems to envelop you both. Karina’s smile, her laughter, and the way she engages with you make your heart race a little less. The nerves that initially gripped you give way to a growing sense of connection and contentment. As the night unfolds under the starry sky, you realize that despite your initial anxiety, this evening is becoming something truly magical.

As the evening draws to a close, you both linger over the last of your dessert, savouring the moment and the connection that has deepened throughout the night. The waiter discreetly clears the table, and you both stand, your heart still fluttering from the enchanting evening.

You moved outside the restaurant with Karina, the cool night air a refreshing contrast to the warmth of the restaurant. The city lights sparkle around you as you flag a cab. As you wait, Karina turns to you, her eyes reflecting a certain form of mischief.

“I had a wonderful time tonight,” she says, her voice soft and inviting. “But I’m not quite ready for this night to end. Would you like to come over to my place? It is just around the corner.”

Your heart skips a beat, a mix of surprise and exhilaration coursing through you. You nod, a smile spreading across your face. “I’d like that very much.”

The cab ride to her apartment is filled with light, easy conversation. When you arrive, you follow her up to her apartment and as the door opens to her cozy, stylishly decorated living room, you are amazed at how inviting the space looked. Karina leads you inside and plays some soft music playing in the background creating a warm, intimate setting.

She heads to the kitchen to pour a couple of glasses of wine, and you take a moment to look around, appreciating the soft, ambient glow of her home. When she returns with the glasses, she hands you yours and moves closer, her smile both playful and tender. The atmosphere between you is charged, each moment stretching with the promise of something more.

You both stand close, the conversation fading into a comfortable silence. Karina’s gaze lingers on yours, her eyes filled with a mix of desire and affection. She gently places her glass down and reaches up, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. Your heart races as she leans in, and you can’t resist the pull any longer. You close the distance, your lips meeting hers in a kiss that is both tender and passionate.

It’s as if the world outside has faded away, leaving only the sensation of her touch and the intoxicating connection between you. As the kiss deepens, you both lose yourselves in the moment, the excitement and longing of the evening culminating in this perfect, electric embrace. The night is still young, and with Karina in your arms, it feels like the beginning of something extraordinary.

As the make out session continues, you and Karina became more attuned to each other’s desires, each touch and kiss heightening the electric intimacy between you. You gently pull her closer, her body pressing against yours as your kisses grow increasingly urgent yet still tender. You had moved to the sofa in her living room. The plush sofa beneath you both seems to mold to your forms, creating a perfect cocoon of warmth and closeness.

Karina’s hands explore your chest and shoulders with a newfound intensity, her fingertips tracing the contours of your muscles with a delicate, teasing touch. Her touch ignites a trail of heat that travels through your body, amplifying the passion of the moment. You respond by shifting slightly, positioning yourself so you can fully immerse in the sensation of her skin against yours.

As you continue to kiss, your lips wander from hers to her neck, leaving a trail of soft, lingering kisses that elicit soft, contented sighs from her. Her head tilts back slightly, giving you more access to her delicate skin. The combination of your gentle kisses and her soft responses creates a rhythm that feels almost instinctual, a dance of passion and affection.

Karina’s fingers move to your hair, gently tangling and pulling you closer. Her touch is both assertive and loving, guiding you with a tender but insistent pressure. You take the cue, your kisses growing more fervent as you explore the sensitive spots along her collarbone and the curve of her shoulder. The heat between you both intensifies, and Karina’s breathing becomes more rapid. She arches slightly into your touch, her body reacting eagerly to each caress.

You slide one hand down her back, feeling the softness of her skin beneath the dress. Your touch is slow and deliberate, savoring each reaction and each sigh she gives.Karina’s hands move to your shirt, pushing it over your head as she continues to explore your body. Her touch is both tender and insistent, guiding you closer as her breathing becomes more rapid. You respond by pressing your body against hers, the heat of the moment intensifying with every kiss and touch.

Your lips find their way back to hers, and the kiss resumes with an intense, passionate rhythm. You take the opportunity to deepen the kiss, your tongues exploring in a slow, intimate rhythm. The sensation of her tongue against yours adds a new layer of pleasure, and you can feel her pulse quickening in response.

As you both break away from the kiss, the air between you is charged with the intensity of the moment. You’re both panting slightly, your breaths coming in quick, uneven bursts as you take in the depth of what you’ve just shared. The closeness and warmth of the makeout session have left you both exhilarated and eager for more.

Staring deep into Karina’s eyes, you could tell they were filled with passion. She leans in to place a final tender kiss on your lips, before pulling back slightly. “Let’s take this to the bedroom,” she whispers, her voice low and sultry. You nod in agreement, your heart racing as you take her hand and help her off the sofa.

Karina guides you towards the bedroom, your steps in sync as she navigates the path. Her movements are graceful as she sways those delicious hips of hers. The bed is draped with luxurious linens, adding to the sense of comfort and intimacy that permeates the room.

As you enter, Karina turns to you with a radiant smile. Her eyes are filled with desire and affection as she steps closer, gently cupping your face in her hands. You kicked the door shut behind you, your arms already wrapped around Karina’s slender waist. You pressed her against the closed door and leaned in for another kiss, this one tender and filled with promise. Her lips part slightly, allowing you to explore with a soft, lingering touch.

Karina moans, wrapping her arms around your neck and pulling you closer, your bodies flush against each other. Her flowy dress hugged her curves and showed off her toned legs, and you couldn't wait to tear it off her.

You take your time undressing each other, each movement a careful exploration of the newfound intimacy between you. The process is filled with gentle touches and soft kisses, each layer of clothing falling away to reveal more of each other’s skin. The anticipation and excitement build with every touch, each moment adding to the deep connection you’re sharing. Finally, as the last piece of clothing is removed, you both stand before each other, completely exposed and vulnerable. The sensation of Karina’s warm skin against yours is electrifying, and you can feel the intensity of her desire mirrored in your own.

You broke the kiss, your breath hot on her neck as you whispered, "You look so fucking sexy, baby." Your hands roamed down her body, cupping her ass and squeezing the firm flesh. "

I've been thinking about this all night. I need to feel you around me, baby girl." Karina giggled, a mix of nerves and excitement fluttering in her stomach.

She loved the way you called her 'baby girl' which sent shivers down her spine. "I want you too, Daddy," she murmured, her eyes closing as his fingers dug into her soft flesh. "Please, take me. I'm all yours."

Your cock throbbed at the sound of her sultry voice calling you Daddy. You bent down, lifting her slightly as you kissed and nibbled on her neck, leaving passionate marks on her delicate skin. "You have no idea how hard I am for you, baby," you growled, grinding your erection against her. “Daddy’s gonna fuck you so good tonight."

You carried her to the bed, her hands exploring your body with each step. The softness of the linens beneath you and the warmth of her body creates a perfect setting for what is to come as you lay her on the bed. You admired the ethereal beauty before you. Your eyes are roaming over her perfect body. Her breasts were huge, full and perky, her nipples already hardening in anticipation.

You reached out, cupping her breasts and thumbs teasing her nipples, earning a soft whimper from Karina. "Such sensitive tits, baby girl," you murmured before bending down and sucking and biting her neck again. "But I know something that's even more sensitive, don't I?"

You slipped your fingers down to her wet core. Karina was already dripping for you, her pussy lips swollen and ready. You slid two fingers inside her, pumping them in and out as your thumb found her clit. Karina moaned, her head falling back as you fingered her slowly but firmly.

"That's it, baby, let me hear how much you love it," you said, kissing her neck and sucking on the sensitive skin. "You're so fucking wet for me already." "Oh God, Daddy," Karina panted, her hips rocking with his fingers. "Right there... It feels so good. Don't stop, please."

You added a third finger, stretching her and making her gasp. Curling your fingers, you searched for that sweet spot that would push her over the edge. "Such a good girl," you whispered, your warm breath fanning over her neck. "You're gonna cum for Daddy, aren't you?"

"Y-yes!" Karina cried out, her body tensing as the pleasure coiled tight within her. "Oh fuck, I'm close! Don't stop, Daddy, please!" You quickened his fingers, your thumb pressing firmly on her swollen clit. "That's it, baby girl, cum for me. Let it go." Karina's body shuddered as her first orgasm ripped through her. She clutched at your shoulders, crying out your name as waves of pleasure crashed over her. Her pussy clenched around your fingers, her juices flowing freely as she rode out the intense climax.

You slowed your fingers, then withdrew them, bringing them to your mouth to taste her essence. "Mmm, so sweet," you said. "Now I want you to suck daddy’s cock, baby girl. I want to feel that mouth of yours wrapped around me."

Karina's eyes sparkled as she slowly dropped to her knees. She took her time, kissing and licking her way down your hard body until she reached cock. It was already thick and veiny, the tip glistening with pre-cum from how aroused you were in the make out session.

She took you in her hand, stroking the length of your shaft slowly as she admired your size. Then, locking eyes with you she leaned forward and swiped her tongue across the head, tasting the salty sweetness. "Mmm, you like that, Daddy?" she purred, wrapping her lips around the tip and sucking gently. "Fuck, baby," You groaned, your hands tangling in her hair. "Your mouth feels so fucking good. Take more of me."

Karina hummed in response, taking you deeper into her warm mouth. She bobbed her head, her lips sliding up and down your shaft as her tongue swirled and teased. She reached down, cupping your heavy balls in her hand, massaging them gently as she sucked you off eagerly.

"Shit, baby, that's it," You groaned, your hips thrusting gently, your cock sliding deeper into her mouth. "You're such a good cock sucker. You love it, don't you?" Karina hummed in agreement, her eyes never leaving yours as she took as much of your cock as she could. Before she could reach the base, she gagged slightly, unable to take it anymore, she hollowed her cheeks and sucked harder to compensate for this.

You could feel your orgasm building, your balls tightening as she continued to pleasure you with her mouth. "I'm close, baby," you warned, your hands tightening in her hair. "Keep sucking, take my cum." Karina did as she was told, moaning softly as she felt you swell in her mouth. With a sharp cry, you exploded, your hot cum shooting down her throat. Karina swallowed, savouring the taste of you as you flooded her mouth with your release.

She sucked you dry, milking you for every drop until you pulled away, your legs feeling weak. "That was fucking amazing, baby girl," you said, breathless. "Now I want to feel that tight pussy around my cock."

Karina stood and turned, offering her ass to you. "Take me, Daddy," she whispered, her body quivering with anticipation. "Fuck me hard." You lined up behind her, your hands grasping her soft hips. You rubbed the head of your cock up and down her slit, spreading her wetness before positioning yourself at her entrance. With one smooth thrust, you slid inside her, filling her completely.

"Oh fuck!" Karina cried out, her head falling forward as he bottomed out. "You feel so big, Daddy." You gripped her hips tightly, pulling her back onto you as he began to move. Setting a steady, deep rhythm, your cock slid in and out of her tight sheath. "You like that, baby girl?" you grunted, your eyes closed in pleasure. "My cock buried deep inside you?"

"Yes, Daddy, yes!" Karina moaned, pushing back onto you, meeting his thrusts. "It feels so good. Don't stop, please don't stop!"

You quickened his pace, your hips slapping against ass with each powerful thrust. The sound of your flesh slapping together filled the room, along with both of your moans and cries of pleasure. Karina's walls clenched around you, massaging your cock as he pounded into her.

"You're so fucking tight, baby," you groaned, your hands sliding up to grasp her shoulders. "I'm gonna cum again”

"Cum for me, Daddy," Karina urged, her voice hoarse with desire. "I want to feel you explode inside me."

Your cock twitched within her, and with a roar, you unleashed a second load, your cum pumping into her womb. Karina cried out, her own orgasm washing over her as she clenched around your spurting cock. Both of you rode out your mutual climax as your bodies trembled with the force of their release. Spent, you eventually pulled out of her, your cock semi-erect and glistening with their combined juices. Karina turned, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction as she pulled you into a passionate kiss.

Suddenly, the door swung open, interrupting your passionate tryst. Karina's stepmother, Irene, stood in the doorway, her eyes widening at the scene before her. Her gaze took in the naked bodies, the tangled sheets, and the evidence of your actions from her daughter’s leaking pussy. A sly smile curved her lips as she realized what was happening. "Well, well, well," she purred, her eyes glinted. "Looks like someone's having a little too much fun."

You and Karina froze, your pleasure-fogged minds jolted back to reality. Karina's face flushed with embarrassment as she realized her mother had caught them in the act. "Mom!" she exclaimed, trying to cover herself with the sheets. "What are you doing here?"

Irene sauntered into the room, her eyes never leaving you. She was a mature woman in her late 30s, but she exuded a sensuality that rivalled any young vixen. Her curves were sharp and her eyes held a wisdom that came from years of understanding the pleasures of the flesh. She had a sophisticated, elegant presence, alongside her complexion being smooth and radiant that complemented her polished style. She was dressed in a low-cut black dress that showed her deep cleavage and unmatched beauty….

Anybody would die to be in this household you thought to yourself. "I could ask you the same thing, Karina," she said, her tone light and playful. "But it looks like I walked in on something interesting. And I can't say I'm disappointed." Irene said with her eyes checking your entire body, landing onto your cock.

You felt a rush of adrenaline mixed with desire. The idea of being caught in the act by your girlfriend’s stepmother was unexpectedly taboo and exciting. Besides, your seed is literally still leaking from her daughter’s pussy. You glanced at Irene, taking in her seductive demeanor, she was another beauty to behold. Cheekily, you replied “I was just teaching Karina a few things, but I think there’s still a lot for her to learn.”

Karina angrily pouted at you upon hearing this. On the other hand, Irene's eyes lit up at the challenge. “Oh really? And who better to teach than a mature woman like me? I could show you a thing or two, Karina. After all, a mother always knows best."

Karina's eyes widened, a mix of shock and curiosity playing across her features. She had never thought of her mother in a sexual light, but the way Irene carried herself, the confidence in her sultry gaze, it was undeniable that she possessed a certain allure.

Irene wasted no time in putting her plan into action, not giving Karina any time to protest. She moved towards the bed, her hips swaying seductively as she glanced at your cock, causing it to slowly revitalise itself and harden again. Your desire for this mature woman was growing by the second.

Irene reached out and caressed your chest, her fingers trailing down your abs. "A strong, handsome, well-endowed man like you must have a lot of needs," she murmured. "Let me take care of you while teaching my daughter a lesson."

With that, she lowered her head and took your cock into her mouth, tasting both the remanence of your cum and her daughter’s juice. The thought of that made you incredibly aroused. Karina annoyance slowly dissipated as she watched, transfixed, as her mother sucked and licked, taking you deep down her throat. You moaned, your head falling back in pleasure.

Irene's mouth was skilled, knowing exactly how to pleasure a man. She bobbed her head, her lips sliding up and down his length. Unlike with Karina, there seemed to be no gag reflex for Irene, she can take your full length down her throat. Every time she reaches the base of your shaft, she would skilfully use her tongue to graze the underside of your balls. You did not have to guide the pace but instead just lean back into the bed and let the skilled vixen before you do the work.

Your mind was a haze at how skilled Irene was at giving head. After a few minutes she sensed your orgasm already building up, with a loud pop, she released your cock from her mouth, which was fully glistening with spit from the sloppy head that she gave. Karina watched intently, impressed at how her mother was able to deepthroat you so effortlessly as she began to rub her clothed pussy. Irene continued her oral exploration, sucking on your balls, taking each one into her mouth and swirling her tongue around it, before alternating to the other, drenching them in spit. You were at the mercy of her skilled tongue as you gripped the bedsheets hard to prolong your orgasm from coming too early. “Such a delicious cock” Irene said.

Then, going a little lower, she pushed both of your thighs up and towards your chest. her tongue probing your asshole. Your breath hitches in your throat as you feel her hot breath on your most intimate area, and then her soft, wet, tongue traced circles around your puckered entrance. “Oh fuck” you gasp as her tongue rims you, flicking and swirling.

“Lesson number 1, Man loves it here, they are really sensitive’ Irene said glancing over to Karina

Karina gasped as she witnessed her mother licked and teased your hole, circling her tongue around it before sucking and nibbling gently. She thought it was dirty yet surprisingly hot. Despite initially feeling shy, Karina couldn't tear her eyes away, her embarrassment fading away as raw desire took over. She wanted to learn, to please her daddy the way her mother was doing, with skill and unapologetic lust.

Her hands hold your thighs in place, leaving you open and vulnerable to her playful exploration. You feel the bed dip as she shifts her position, getting more comfortable as she eats you out. Then you feel her tongue pushes past your sphincter, filling you with an indescribable sensation as it slides into your ass. You moan loudly, your hands grasping the bedsheets as she begins to eat your ass with passion and expertise. The swirling and probing drives you wild with pleasure.

“You taste so fucking good” Irene murmurs between licks, her warm breath washing over your sensitive skin. You can’t agree more. The feeling of her tongue probing your ass, the wet sounds of her eating you out, it’s driving you out of your mind with lust. You’ve never experienced anything like this before, and you can’t get enough. Your cock is rock hard, throbbing desperately, begging for attention.

Irene must have sensed your need because she reaches up with one hand and wraps her fingers around your length, stroking you in time with her tongue swirls. The combination of her tongue and her hand on your cock is too much to bear, and you feel your orgasm building quickly.

“Oh shit, I’m gonna cum!” you warn her, your breath coming in short gasps.

“Cum for me, baby” she growls, as she continues her relentless duo treatment. Her words push you over the edge, as your cock pulses in her hand, shooting ropes after ropes of hot cum onto your stomach and chest. Irene laps at your hole for a few moments before, using her tongue to clean the cum off your stomach and chest. “Mmmm, delicious” she purrs, licking her lips.

After letting you rest awhile, Irene resumed her lesson. “Lesson number 2, you must make good use of the assets you have” Irene said while glancing over at Karina’s chest. You agreed… your girlfriend was really well-endowed, and she had one of the most mouth-watering tits in your opinion. The woman who stood before you is not far behind.

You see her nipples were hard and erect, and the valley that formed between both of her mounds was deep and inviting. You gulped, having a hint of what Irene was planning to do. Just as you expected, Irene squeezed her tits together, creating a warm, soft tunnel for your throbbing shaft. Slowly, she lowered her breasts onto your cock, engulfing you in her soft flesh. You groaned, your eyes rolling back in your head as pleasure unlike any you had felt before spiked through you.

Irene's tits were like two pillows, the feeling of her nipples dragging teasingly along your sensitive shaft made it even better. She began to move up and down, her breasts squeezing and massaging his cock. Slowly, you feel your flacid cock springing back to life, to its full length again. "Fuck, that feels so good," you hissed, your hips thrusting gently to meet her movements.

Irene giggled, a sexy sound that vibrated through your tits and directly to your cock. "You like these tits, don't you?"

"Fuck yes," you growled. Lowering some spit between her mounts, she sped up her movement, turning it into a sloppy tit fuck. The sight of your shaft disappearing and appearing with each stroke, the string of saliva that connected from her chin to her tits, the visual pleasure was too much for you to handle as you sensed your orgasm approaching again.

To add to the final blow, Irene leaned her forward, capturing your tip every time it reappeared from her valley giving them a firm suck. Irene was a skilled seductress, and she was giving you the best tit fuck of your life. "I'm going to cum, Irene," you warned, your breath coming in short gasps. "Cum for me," she urged, squeezing her tits tighter around your cock. "Cover my tits with your hot cum."

You couldn't hold back any longer. With a roar, you came, your cock spurting cum across Irene's tits. She gave a delighted cry as your warm seed coated her, streams of cum sliding down her cleavage, some landing on her face which she happily licked clean. "That's it, baby," she cooed, milking your sensitive cock with her tits.

As your orgasm subsided, you leaned back, a satisfied smile on your face. Irene's tits were glazed with your cum, a sight that made your semi-hard cock twitch. "That was incredible," you murmured. “Come and clean me up dear” Irene beckoned her daughter.

Karina, hypnotized by the sight of your cum on her mother’s porcelain skin, moved over and started lapping hungrily at the skin of Irene’s mound, ensuring every spot was clean. Maybe it was the lack of action while watching both of you or maybe secretly your girlfriend was just a cum slut who loved the taste of it. Nonetheless the erotic sight before, made your cock throb.

“Think you have one more load for me?” Irene said, as she spread her already wet snatch, indicating where she wanted it this time. Nodding your head, Irene climbed on you and straddled you. Then, she impaled herself on your cock, her tight, wet pussy sliding down your length swallowing it in one swoop.

Karina watched, her breath quickening, as her mother rode you with expertise, her hips moving in slow, sensual circles. Irene had control like no other woman you ever had before, she was clenching her walls at just the right pressure to send you overboard. "Oh, fuck, Irene," you groaned, your eyes rolling back in pleasure. "Your pussy feels so good."

Irene chuckled, “You like that, huh, bet you never felt pleasure like this”

Karina felt a mix of emotions—jealousy yet arousal at the same time. She wanted to please you the way her mother did, to make you feel that level of ecstasy. But a part of her was also aroused watching the scene unfold and also the knowledge that her own mother was a sexual goddess, capable of driving a man wild.

Irene increased her pace, her hips moving faster, her breasts bouncing with each thrust. "That's it, take it all," she moaned. "This is how a real woman rides." You were in paradise, your cock buried in Irene's tight, experienced pussy while you watched your girlfriend aroused face, her eyes fixated on both of you. As if to taunt Karina more, Irene leaned forward and whispered to her daughter. "Your boyfriend has a delicious cock, Karina,”. "But I'll bet he's never been fucked like this before. I'm going to make him cum so hard, right inside my tight pussy."

Karina's jealousy spiked, but it only fuelled her desire. She wanted to feel that cock inside her again, to show her mother that she could please you just as well, if not better. But for now, she had to succumb to her mother's superior skills, learning from the master. Irene's pussy clenched around your cock tighter this time as she rode you harder, her juices flowing freely. "Oh, fuck, I'm close," she moaned. "I'm gonna cum all over you” .

Then, you felt Irene's pussy walls contract, her orgasm rippling through her body. This sent you over the edge, and with a grunt you released your load deep inside her, even though it was little compared to their first few orgasms. Irene moaned, her body shuddering as she milked your cock with her pussy, determined to extract every drop of your cum. As their orgasms subsided, Irene leaned back, a satisfied smile on her flushed face. The sheets had grown damp with your sweat and the air thick with the scent of sex.

"Now, Karina, my love," Irene said, her voice still breathless. "Let's see if you can make him cum like that." That was the last thing you heard, before your eyes become heavy and you drifted off into sleep, having been drained.

The next day, as the morning sun shined through the curtains, you stirred from your deep sleep, having been completely drained the previous night, your mind still hazy from what happened.

You feel a peculiar warmth underneath the bed sheets, still groggy, you blinked and sobered yourself up before realising what that feeling was. It was a wet lip on your morning wood. You groan at this familiar feeling, before lifting the sheets to see Karina giving you head, with her stepmother Irene beside her guiding her. You wondered how long they had been at it.

“Morning sweetheart, I was just teaching Karina a few more things, let’s see if she has learnt a thing or two” Irene then grabbed Karina's hair, directing her movements as she sucked on your thick cock. Karina moaned around your shaft; her eyes filled with devotion as she followed her mother's instructions. Irene set a slow, torturous pace for you, making sure Karina took her time, savoring every inch of your hardness. As Karina bobbed her head up and down, her mouth sliding over your veiny cock, Irene would occasionally grab her hair and push down, forcing her to gag on your length, a feat Karina previously could not do.

You let out a low groan, your eyes rolling back in pleasure as you feel your shaft pushing through the barriers of her gag reflex. The sensation of having your cock deep in your girlfriend’s inexperienced throat, her warm saliva dripping down your shaft, was almost too much to bear. But Irene wasn't done teaching her daughter. She guided Karina's by her hair to move to one side of your shaft, dragging her lips along the length of your shaft.

Then Irene positioned herself on the opposite side of her daughter, mirroring her daughter's movement, ensuring that no spot of your cock was missing as they continuously dragged their tongue up and down your length, making you feel both pairs of warm lips on your throbbing cock.

“Fuck.. this feels so good” You grunted. Irene continued guiding Karina to move lower, causing her tongue to trace a path along your shaft before reaching your balls. “Let’s see If you learnt anything from yesterday”.

Upon hearing this, Karina sucked one into her mouth, massaging it with her skilled tongue, eagerly slobbering it, mimicking her mother’s movement from yesterday. At the same time, Irene moved higher, planting her lips at the tip of your cock, and in one swoop gobbled your entire length with her skilled mouth. Your hips bucked slightly at the dual stimulation, your breath coming in sharp gasps, as you feel your cock being worshipped by the pair.

Irene looked up at you, her eyes sparkling at how much control she has over you. "Do you like this? Having two hungry mouths pleasing you at once?" She teased, her voice sultry and seductive. You could only manage a nod, your words failing you as you surrendered to their skilled mouths.

While Karina was not as skilled with her tongue, she made it up with enthusiasm for sure. Karina eagerly lathered your balls with saliva, at times licking up a pathway to your hilt. At one point she even tried to fit both into her mouth, slurping away eagerly as she worshipped them.

You feel the wet heat of their mouths, the slickness of their tongues, and the tightness of their lips as they work in perfect harmony. The sensation is indescribable, their mouths a wet, warm heaven, sucking and licking, mouths and throats working to please you. You begin thrust your hips gently, fucking Irene’s face, unable to control yourself as they send you spiralling towards ecstasy.

Then being the good student Karina is, she moved lower, nuzzling your balls with her nose as her tongue snaked out to tease the sensitive skin behind them, eventually reaching your sensitive hole. Her tongue traced circles around your ass, sending shivers down his spine. She worked your hole eagerly with her tongue, rimming, sucking, licking and probing it, in her efforts to recall the lesson that her mother had taught her.

The sensation of having your cock sucked while your ass was worshipped was overwhelming. You could feel your balls tightening as your cock throbbed. Irene must have sensed you were close, for she quickened her pace, bobbing her head more rapidly. She chuckled proudly as she saw her daughter becoming increasingly skilled.

You warn them, your voice hoarse and rough, "I'm gonna cum, I can't hold it!" Not that you were going to hold back, the pleasure is too intense, and you could’nt wait to explode and paint their pretty faces. Irene looks up at you, her eyes hungry, licking her lips as she says, "Fill my mouth, let me taste all of you”.

You reach down, threading your fingers into Irene’s hair with one, and your girlfriend with another. In one swoop you shoved, both of them to press their face deeper into you — Irene into her throat and Karina into your ass. At this point you were too overwhelmed to care especially if Irene could handle the rough treatment, which of course she could.

With one final grunt, you unleash your orgasm, your cock pulsing as you fill Irene's mouth with your hot seed. She swallows greedily, moaning as your cum hits the back of her throat, her tongue lapping at you to get every drop but it was too much, and it soon began to fill her mouth, some dripping down her chin, down your shaft. Karina moved to lick and kiss your balls, lapping up at every drop that her mother missed, ensuring not a single drop was wasted.

"Delicious" Irene smiled.

As you came down from your high, Irene then cupped her daughter's chin, holding her close as she dripped a mouthful of cum into her mouth. Karina's eyes widened at the taste of you, but she soon closed her eyes in pleasure, swallowing obediently, before leaning in to exchange kisses, their tongues swirling together with the taste of your cum lingering on their tongues, enjoying the cum swapping. The sight before you made your hard again almost instantly.

"Now, my dear Karina, it's time for lesson number 2, do you remember what it is?" Irene grinned. Karina nodded. Karina positioned herself on your side once again and squeezed her large breasts together, creating a channel between them for your cock. She was more definitely more well-endowed than Irene in this area. Irene was not far behind, squeezing her own luscious breast together. Together, the two women guided your cock between their breasts, the soft flesh enveloping your sensitive shaft.

You groaned, your head falling back as pleasure spiked through you. The feeling of two sets of tits squeezing and massaging your cock was indescribable. The duo moved in sync, their tits gliding up and down your shaft.

Karina whimpered softly, the sensation of having her mother's breasts pressed against her and at times her hard nipple would glaze across her own, which only added to her arousal. "That's it, baby, fuck our tits” Irene chuckled at how much control they had over you.

Karina giggled at the sight too. "You like our tits, don't you?”

“Fuck yes” You growled as you held their shoulders and begin to thrust your hips gently driving your shaft between the two valleys before you. Irene looked to Karina and whispered in her ear, guiding her once more.

"Use your tongue, Karina. Lick the head as it appears between our tits." Obediently, Karina extended her tongue, lapping at the engorged head of your cock each time it emerged from their cleavage. She swirled her tongue around the tip, tasting the mixture of her saliva and his pre-cum. They continued their sensual tit-fuck, the soft flesh of their breasts providing the perfect amount of stimulation. He sped up your thrusting, sliding your cock between their tits, the pleasure you felt was indescribable. Sensing your orgasm approaching, they stopped their relentless assault.

“There are holes for you to fill” Irene said while reaching over to spread her daughter’s hole. Staring at her pretty pussy made you spring into action. You wasted no time in taking control. You positioned Karina on all fours with her ass raised invitingly, her pussy already glistening with her juices. She arches her back further, her curves seducing you to take her harder. “Fuck me Daddy”.

You lined up your throbbing cock with her entrance, teasing her by dragging the tip through her slit, making her whimper. With a sharp thrust, you buried the entire shaft deep inside her, eliciting a moan of pleasure from Karina. The warmth of her pussy envelops you instantly. “Fuck baby, you are so tight”.

Irene, ever the eager participant, refused to be left out and crawled beneath her daughter. As You began to set a steady rhythm, pumping in and out of Karina's tight pussy, Irene lapped at her clit, sending jolts of pleasure through her body. Whenever your shaft slid out, Irene would take the opportunity to lick and suck on it, tasting her daughter's juices, before guiding it back into Karina's waiting hole. At one point, you were alternating between Irene's warm mouth and Karina’s cunt, giving each equal attention, switching after a few thrusts.

You could tell Irene was incredibly aroused in this position when she slipped her hand between her thighs and rubbed her folds. The room echoed with the lewd sounds of sex—the wet slapping of flesh, the moans and gasps of pleasure, and the occasional smack as you spanked your girlfriend’s ass, watching it bounce with each thrust.

Karina's body trembled as an orgasm built within her, her mother's tongue working relentlessly. Sensing your girlfriend’s orgasm through the tightening of her walls, you quicken your pace, thrusting deeper and harder into her. “Cum for us babygirl”.

Understanding the message, Irene bit down on Karina’s swollen nub, sending her into overdrive, convulsing as waves or orgasm swept through her. As Karina cried out, her body shaking through her orgasm, you pulled out, your cock glistening and slick. Irene, ever eager for more, pounced, taking your shaft in her mouth and sucking greedily, tasting her daughter's juices mixed with your pre-cum.

You moaned, enjoying the sensations of her mouth, before pulling her up for a passionate kiss, your tongues tangling as both of you shared Karina's sweet essence. Irene and you took a moment to admire Karina's satiated body, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. Her eyes sparkled with satisfaction, but there was more pleasure to come.

You smiled at Irene, with your lustful eyes, you wanted her again. You gestured to the bed, and Irene laid herself down, spreading her legs wide, her mature pussy exposed and glistening. You positioned yourself between Irene’s legs, teasing her by rubbing the head of your cock along her swollen pussy lips. She whimpered, bucking her hips slightly, desperate to feel him inside her. “Come and fuck me hard” she demanded with a certain dominance.

“Oh, I will, you desperate slut” With a swift thrust, you penetrated her, filling her tight pussy again with your throbbing cock. Irene moaned loudly, her head throwing back as she savoured the sensation of being stretched and filled. "Oh, yes! Fuck me like that”

You could tell it has been years since she had her sexual needs fulfilled. Maybe it was because she was a single mom for a long time you guessed. You set a steady rhythm pounding Irene’s wanting hole with deep and ferocious thrust. “Come here baby, let mommy teach you how to eat a pussy.” Irene beckoned her daughter with a finger.

Karina, still catching her breath, smiled deviously as she crawled onto the bed, hovering over her mother. Then she lowered herself onto her mother's face, presenting her pussy for Irene's eager mouth. They locked eyes as they began to move in sync with your thrust. Irene ate her daughter out with expertise, her tongue and fingers working in unison as she licked and sucked on Karina's clit, never breaking eye contact. "Oh, Mom! Suck my clit! Oh, that feels so fucking good!" Karina cried out, her eyes rolling back as she felt her mother's tongue bringing her more pleasure.

Meanwhile, you continued pounding Irene's wet cunt, as her walls massaged your shaft with expertise. You reached forward, grasping Irene’s hips for more stability, and pulled her onto your cock, impaling her on your length. The three of you found a rhythm, a symphony of sex. You fucked Irene, who ate out Karina, who rode her mother's face. Moans and cries filled the room as they each pursued their own pleasure. Karina's juices flowed freely, drenching Irene's face, as Irene’s own pussy clenched around your cock, milking you for all your worth.

As you felt your orgasm approaching, you quickened his pace, thrusting deep into Irene's greedy cunt. “Fuck I’m cumming” You groaned. “Let us cum all cum together” Irene said in her sultry voice before diving her tongue back in swirling her tongue around Karina’s sensitive folds driving her over the edge. Karina, chasing her orgasm began to also grind her pussy against Irene’s mouth, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through her body, and she reached down to massage her own breasts, pinching her nipples and tugging on them.

Within a few moments, she cried out, her body trembling as waves of pleasure crashed through her, her juice flowed into Irene’s mouth, who swallowed eagerly, revelling in the taste of her daughter. Simultaneously, you hit your peak, your body tensing as you emptied your load deep into Irene’s pussy. Irene moans, feeling the warm cum filling her up. Irene's eyes shone with lust and satisfaction as she watched her daughter ride the waves of pleasure, all while feeling her own pussy stretched around your shaft. The addition of the warm spurts in her, sent her to the edge, clenching around your shaft, milking every drop of cum out of you.

She looked up at Karina, her face shiny with her daughter's essence, and beckoned her down for a kiss. Karina dismounted, and leaned down capturing Irene’s lips, their tongues swirled, tasting the sweet lips of each other. As they kissed, you slid out of Irene's pussy, your cock spent, and watched as your cum dripped out of her, pooling on the bed beneath her.

Irene broke the kiss, and reached down, smearing the cum on her fingers, and held it to Karina's mouth. Karina opened wide, sucking her mother's fingers clean, moaning softly as she did so, tasting the mixture of fluid. “Come clean mommy up , baby girl”

Obediently, Karina, never one to waste a drop , immediately crawled between Irene’s leg, her mouth seeking out her cum-filled hole. She kissed and licked Irene's sensitive pussy, cleaning up every last bit of your sticky offering. "Mmm, you taste so good, mommy," Karina murmured, her lips brushing against Irene’s swollen pussy lips. "Your pussy is so sweet, and Y/N cum is so delicious. I could eat you both up all day."

Irene giggled with satisfaction and pride, her body still recovering from the orgasm. “Alright time to clean up, I have some errands to run, before I can teach both of you more lessons”.

"Mom, you're insatiable. But I love it." Karina chuckled back. This had been a whirlwind of pleasure for you, and you collapsed back onto the bed, a satisfied silence filled the room as three of you recovered from your post-orgasm bliss. Shortly after Irene left to wash up and run her daily errands.

You gazed intently into Karina’s eyes, her disheveled hair plastered to her forehead after the session. Gently stroking her cheek, you stirred her from a short nap, causing her to blink awake and meet your gaze. “Want to join me for a shower?” you asked softly. “Daddy’s so naughty” She cheekily giggled before you led the way hopping into the shower room to wash up together. The session continued in the shower with both of you exploring and enjoying each other more alone.

After drying off, you both head to the dining room, where the smell of breakfast wafts through the air. Karina’s stepmom, Irene, has left for errands, telling you to enjoy breakfast and that she’ll see you both later. The dining table is set with a mouthwatering spread of pancakes, crispy bacon, fresh fruit and a glass of orange juice set for both of you. You both take a moment to appreciate the spread before you.

Despite her wild side in bed, she knows how to take care of both of you even outside the bedroom. “Damn, you’ve got a lot to learn from your mom” You teased Karina, causing her to pout jealousy. “Unfair, you even gave most of your load to her, instead of your pretty babygirl!”

You noticed Karina’s pout and immediately softened your tone. “Hey, don’t be like that,” you said, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You know I love you the most.” You smiled reassuringly. “Even you got to admit your mom’s irresistible in bed , but that doesn’t change how much you mean to me. You’re my number one, always.”

Karina’s frown slowly faded as she looked at you with a cute affection. “Really? You promise?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” you assured her, pulling her into a warm hug. “I would do anything for you!”

“Anything” she mischievously asked. Innocently, you nodded your head. “Well, don’t you think it is only right we return the favour to mom?” Karina asked.

“Oh? That sounds interesting, care to explain what my babygirl means?” You smiled, intrigued at her suggestive comments, eager to hear the details of her cheeky plan. Karina leaned in and whispered her cheeky plan into you. “Damn you are so naughty babygirl… but I like it”

“Oh, please daddy is as bad as me, look at how hard are you from hearing the plan” Karina says while pointing to your hard shaft straining at the boxers. Well, we all know what’s for desserts, before she pulls down your boxers revealing your already hard cock and devoured it for her morning breakfast.

As the day continued, you and Karina busied yourselves in the kitchen, preparing a special dinner for Irene as well as for your plan to kick in. You both put a lot of effort into making it perfect—carefully choosing ingredients, setting the table, and drinks to make it a memorable meal… well you were sure it was going to be memorable anyways.

When Irene finally came home, she saw the spread and was delighted. “What’s the occasion?” “Oh, there’s no special occasion, really. We just wanted to do something nice for you and show our appreciation for how good you have taken care of us. We thought you deserved a little treat.” You winked at the double meaning in your sentences. Irene’s eyes softened, clearly touched by the sentiment. “That’s so sweet of you both,”

Irene tasted the food, and she was visibly delighted. The flavors were just right, and her enjoyment was evident. As the evening wore on with a few more glasses of wine and chatter, you noticed a change in her demeanour. She seemed unusually flustered and slightly flushed, fidgeting around in her seat as you noticed her rubbing her thighs together.

You exchanged a glance with Karina, and she gave a slight nod knowing things were working. Inside the food, both of you had added aphrodisiac to heightened Irene’s arousal without her knowing. "Hey, mom, is everything okay?" Karina asked, faking innocence. Irene looked at the both of you with a tinge of embarrassment before offering a sheepish smile. "Oh, it’s nothing, really," she said, a bit flustered. “I’m feeling a bit worn out from today, so I think I’ll head for a shower and get to bed early.”

“Oh please take care aunty, we will clean this up” You assured her, as she made her way upstairs to her bedroom.

You and Karina chuckled and quickly cleaned up the dining mess before sneakily tiptoeing to her mother’s room and hiding quietly for phase 2 of your plan. As Irene stepped out of the shower with just a towel covering her body, Karina sprang into action, surprising Irene as she shoved her onto her back, the towel spilling open revealing her full glory. Physically , Karina was taller and stronger , she wrestled the still surprised Irene straddling her and grabbing her wrist, before a sharp click was heard. She had successfully secured both of Irene’s wrist to the bed frame.

“Karina? What…” Her voice trailed off as she slowly realized her predicament. “Shh” She placed a finger on Irene’s lips, shushing her. “You have taught us many things. Today we are going to teach you a lesson… a lesson in patience, and you are going to learn that the sweetest thing always requires waiting.”

“You are going to watch as I pleasure my babygirl right here in front of you” You added. Irene's eyes widened as she strained against the handcuffs. “You wouldn’t dare!” she protested.

“Oh I will” “and we are going to make you beg for your release” With that you secured both of her feet to the foot of bed frame to ensure that her legs were spread. Then you began to strip, revealing your toned body and the thick, 7-inch cock that was already stiff. Irene's eyes locked onto your dick, her mouth watering, the stimulant through the food makes her pussy throb with excitement. She however refuses to let her pride down and pretends she is disinterested. “Let me out” She snapped.

In the meantime, Karina had headed over to the laundry basket in the corner of the room, picking up the fresh black thongs that were just worn by Irene. “Damn, mom, this is drenched, you must have loved the food so much” Karina said while striding over back to the bed frame. At that moment Irene realised the whole setup was planned since the dinner. “What did you put in the food!?”

“Just a little stimulant for you” Karina chuckled before using two fingers to push the wet spot of the thong out and lowering it to Irene’s nose let her inhale her aroused scent. “Look at how naughty you smell mom”

“Stop it. Let me…..” Before Irene could protest any further, Karina stuffed the thong into her mouth forcing her to taste herself, silencing any further noise.” “MMMM” You see Irene struggling against the restraints, her protest muffled. “You wouldn’t be needing that mouth unless you want to beg!” Karina glinted before positioning herself between Irene’s thighs, blowing lightly unto Irene’s mounds. Her folds were already glistening from arousal, and the breath sent more electricity onto her throbbing cunt.

Both of you were going to edge her continuously, teaching her the value of patience until you finally gave her her release. "We're going to take good care of you, Irene," "But first, you are going to watch. I want you to see how much your daughter enjoys my touch." With that, you turn your attention to Karina.

You turned her around and pulled her towards you, crushing your lips to hers in a passionate kiss. Your hands roam her body, sliding under her top to grasp her perky breasts. She moans into your mouth, her hands tugging at your shirt. Breaking the kiss, you trail your lips down her neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there. Your hands find the waist of her shorts, tugging them down to reveal her smooth, bare pussy. She's already wet for you, her juices glistening. She too was turned on at the success of her plans and having the beautiful experience Irene at both of your mercy.

You kneel before her, your tongue snaking out to taste her. She tastes of the sweest honey, and you moan as you feast on her pussy. Your tongue flicks her clit, circling it before sucking it gently between your lips. Karina bucks her hips, her hands tangling in your hair as she cries out. She was more aroused than usual. Irene watches, transfixed, her breath coming in short gasps, she tries her best to rub against the bedsheet to gain whatever sort of friction she could, while still trying to maintain her image and pride.

You can see the yearning in her eyes, but you're not done with Karina yet. Sliding two fingers into her soaked pussy, you curl them, searching for that sweet spot that will send her over the edge.

"Oh, fuck, yes!" Karina cries out, her body tensing. "Right there, daddy. Don't stop!"

You added a third finger, stretching her, as you suck her clit harder. Her thighs tremble as you bring her closer and closer to the edge. Her breath comes in short, sharp gasps, and her juices flow freely over your hand. "Look at me, Mom," Karina pants, her eyes screwed shut in pleasure. "Watch me cum for Daddy."

Sensing her orgasm, you positioned Karina to hover over Irene's face as you increased your thrusting. Irene's eyes snap open, fixed on her daughter's heaving chest and the erotic sight of your fingers plunging in and out of her pussy. Karina's body bucks wildly, and her juices gush over your hand as she cries out in bliss, a gush of squirting splashing Irene’s face, soaking it.

As Karina's orgasm subsides, you stand, your eyes locking with Irene's. You can see the pure lust in her gaze now, and a hint of pleading. She wants this. Karina bends down, removing the fabric from her mouth and wiping Irene’s face with it. “Ready to beg now?”

“Please….” She whimpered, tugging at the handcuffs.

“Please what?”

“Please, touch me, I need that cock”

“Where do you want it?”

Irene hesitated, a certain uncertainty in her eyes, but the need is stronger at this point. “In my dirty cunt”

“Call him Daddy” Karina whispers, her hot breath in Irene’s ear. Irene’s eyes fly open, and she glares at Karina, refusing to submit.

“Fuc……” Before she could finish, the soaked fabric was once again stuffed in her mouth, this time a mix of Karina’s juice could be tasted. “Well then you won’t be needing this mouth again” Watching your girlfriend's dominant side was certainly a sight to behold.

“Watch closely as I fuck your daughter, and you’re going to love every second of it” You added.

You led Karina once again to position between Irene’s spread legs at a diagonal so Irene could see the full picture. Karina’s hands rested on the bed, supporting her as she presented her glistening pussy to you. Then, positioning yourself behind her, you grasped her hips firmly, pulling her back unto your cock, as you thrust into her. Irene's eyes started intently at the raw desire between both of you. "Oh, baby, you're so wet for me, does being in this position turns you on this much" Karina just nodded in reply, too busy enjoying the pleasure of your shaft plunging into her warmth.

Irene's mouth went dry as she watched your thick, veiny cock glide effortlessly into Karina's welcoming warmth. Karina gasped as you filled her, her body trembling with pleasure. You set a relentless pace, pounding into her with deep, powerful thrusts, making sure each sloppy thrust could be heard by Irene. "Oh, yes... fuck me... harder," Karina panted.

Irene couldn't tear her eyes away from the erotic spectacle. She felt her own pussy growing wetter as she witnessed the erotic scene before her. Then using one of your hands, you pushed Karina’s head forward, unto Irene’s core. “Taste that sweet pussy while I fuck you” Karina complies, her tongue swirling around Irene's clit as you continue to pound into her from behind. The sight before you is enough to drive you wild—two beautiful women, their bodies entwined, working in harmony to pleasure you and each other. Irene gasped as Karina's warm, wet tongue swirled over her sensitive clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body, she was finally getting some attention and relief on her throbbing mound. Karina's skilled mouth teased and tormented her, licking and sucking her folds, driving her wild.

Karina's fingers joined her tongue, sliding effortlessly into Irene's dripping pussy. She curled her digits, plunging it deeper, but just as Irene's hips bucked with the promise of release, Karina withdrew her hand, denying her the climax. “MMM” Though her voice was muffled, you and Karina understood her protest. “Not yet, you will cum when you are ready to call him daddy and beg”. You could see Irene’s body arching off the bed, trying to fuck herself into Karina’s hand, but the cuffs restricted her.

Karina waited a few moments before she resumed her sensual assault on Irene's pussy, her fingers delving deep, her tongue flicking Irene's clit with expert precision. Irene's body trembled, her wrists straining against the handcuffs as she fought the overwhelming need to climax. Each time she was about to climax, Karina would deny her time and time again.

You could see her resistance crumbling each time she is denied of her orgasm until finally she mustered all her strength and spat out her gag, screaming “Please Daddy, I..I can’t hold on much longer, let me cum”

You and Karina, grinned , having your goal finally achieved. “Shall we let her cum?” Karina turned and looked at you while you were still pounding away. “Cum for us Irene!’’ you demanded “Let us see how you lose control”

Karina sensing her orgasm reached forward and pinched Irene’s nipple, tugging it hard, while thrusting her finger at an incredible speed. That was all it took. Irene's body arched off the bed, her back bowing as she cried out, her orgasm washing over her in powerful waves. Her pussy clenched around Karina's fingers, and as if a dam had broken, she squirted in spurts uncontrollably, some even landing on you.

The sight before you drove both of you crazy. Karina’s body tightened around you, her pussy pulsating around your cock as she climaxed as well. You continue a few more thrust into Karina before you reach your own climax. With a final, powerful stroke, you plunged deep in, your cock pulsating as you filled her with your hot cum.

“It is your turn to clean my pussy mom” Karina mounted Irene again, rubbing her cum-filled cunt unto Irene’s face. At this point Irene had caved, no longer resisting, she stuck her tongue deep into the folds and lapped eagerly, eating your cum directly out of Karina’s pussy and cleaning it completely. You could tell she was incredibly aroused from this, as her core was leaking, soaking the sheets below her. “Please… I need more.” The aphrodisiac was clearly doing wonders and making Irene lose her mind.

“What do you need?” You teased knowing clearly what she wanted.

“Need your cock in me.. please”

“Please who?”

“Please Daddy, fuck me, use me, fill me” You smiled, as if the first begging was not enough, this served as a confirmation that you have successfully mindbroken her at this point, into just a vessel chasing pleasure.

You lean down, your tongue extending to lick a broad stripe up her pussy, your palms digging into her thighs and you force her legs wide open. You see a tinge of disappointment through her eyes, that it was your tongue not your cock on her. “Please I need your cock”.

“Patience, girl”. You dived back in, your tongue delving deep into her wetness, tasting her sweet nectar fully. You eagerly feasted on her, your tongue lapping at her leaking juices, circling her clit and sucking them gently between your lips. She tasted so fucking delicious. Her moans fill the room, and she bucks her hips into your mouths, longing for more friction and stimulation, chasing her relief. Karina watches, a satisfied smile on her face. She moves behind her mother, crawling beside you, and slips a pillow under Irene.

“Mom, do you know what lesson number 1 is?” Irene’s eyes immediately widened at her suggestion. “I bet you are as sensitive as you say men usually are here” Karina says while circling her backdoor, pressing her thumb against Irene’s asshole, confirming what she meant.

Before Irene could respond, Karina got under you, pulled Irene's ass cheeks apart and buried her face in the crack of her ass, her tongue probing the tight rosebud. Irene gasped at the sensation, her body tingling as two tongues danced across her most sensitive spots.

"FFFFUCC---"

“So delicious, so sensitive here” Karina murmured.

You could tell Irene was in heaven from how she was squirming with the duo stimulation. Perhaps it was the fact she was more sensitive in her backdoor that her glistening pussy became an even wetter mess. Not that you would mind, she tasted so delicious as you kept lapping up her never ending fountain of juice.

You plunged two fingers into her soaking pussy and curling them to find the G-spot. Meanwhile Karina simultaneously pressed a finger on the rosebud, trying to gain entry to her sacred hole. Irene’s leaking juice served as the perfect lubricant , however when she felt the pressure on her tight orifice , she reflexively clenched both holes, tightening her walls around your fingers, while denying access to Karina’s fingers.

Suddenly, a loud slap echoed through the room, as you see a red handprint slowly formed on Irene’s pale skin; Karina had delivered a hard spank. “Relax mom, you are going to love this” Irene began to ease her muscles , allowing the finger to break past the tight ring, entering her sacred ass, stretching and stimulating her.

The moment the finger was fully in , Irene shatters, her body convulsing as a powerful orgasm rips through her. She cries out, her voice filling the room as her juices gush over your hand. Her body shakes uncontrollably, her breaths heavy from the intensity of the orgasm.

“Wait a minute, you are an anal virgin?” Karina gasped with shock in her face, the walls squeezing around her fingers with tons of resistance, as if foreign to the experience made Karina ponder on this.

“My , my, looks like this mature vixen , have some experience she is not good at” Irene closed her eyes, her face red from embarrassment at the cat out of the bag. You give her a moment to recover, her body still twitching with aftershocks. Then, you position yourself at her entrance, rubbing the head of your cock along her holds, before slapping it against her clit.

“Fuck me, please, daddy fuck me now”

You were not going to deny her further now that she has complied. You thrust into her, filling her with your length. She's so tight, her heat enclosing you, and you groan with pleasure. You start to move, slowly at first, withdrawing almost entirely before plunging back into her.

Meanwhile, Karina had slipped a second finger to Irene’s ass, scissoring and stretching her as if preparing her for what was to come. Irene felt tighter than usual , her pussy was squeezing so hard on your shaft, and you figured that your baby girl must have been doing a stellar job. You continued to slide in and out of her sloppy pussy in a steady rhythm, reaching down to capture one of tits into your mouth, sucking it roughly. You could feel Karina’s fingers through the thin walls that separated Irene’s holes, which further added to your pleasure.

Suddenly, Karina's fingers leave Irene's ass, leaving a gaping hole that twitches with desire. She quickly makes her way to the wardrobe, opening it quietly as if not to disturb the intense pleasure you're delivering to Irene. As Karina rummages through the wardrobe, you keep pounding Irene's pussy, your pace relentless.

As Karina reappears, you notice what she is holding in her hand, a rather massive dildo . The dildo is slightly smaller than your cock, and you can't help but wonder how it will feel to watch it disappear into Irene's ass. Irene was too focused on you fucking her, that she did not notice what was in stall for her.

With a devilish grin, Karina presses the tip of the dildo against Irene's pink hole. You see Irene's eyes widen as she realizes what Karina is up to. “Wai—” Before Irene could finish her sentence, Karina sank the toy into Irene’s tight hole, slowly inching it bit by bit, trying to get it to be buried to the hilt.

“FUUUCKKKKK” Irene screamed, her body shaking as she experienced a rush of sensation unlike anything she'd felt before. The fullness, the stretch, it was almost too much, and yet it sent her careening toward the edge of ecstasy. You can't take your eyes off the sight before you. Karina grips the dildo firmly, thrusting it in and out of Irene's ass with increasing speed and force. Irene's ass cheeks jiggle with each penetration, and you can see the dildo stretching her hole, making it gape. You resumed your motion, fucking Irene’s pussy and ass in unison with Karina. Irene was in ecstasy, her eyes rolling back as she gets double-penetrated by you and the dildo.

"You like that, you dirty milf? You love being filled by my cock and a dildo in your ass?”

Irene can only manage a nod with the pleasure she was receiving.

"You're our little slut, aren't you, Irene? Taking it from both ends like the good girl you are."

As you continue to fuck her pussy, you feel your balls tightening. The sight of Karina pounding Irene’s ass with the dildo and the fact that it was making her already tight pussy even tighter was pushing you closer to the edge. You know you’re not going to last much longer.

Irene was the first to hit her peak, spiralling out of control as her body was possessed by the most intense orgasm she had ever experienced. “I’m cumming!” She screamed, her body convulsing violently. Her ass clenched around the dildo, milking it as if it were a real cock. Her pussy contracted snuggly around your shaft, squeezing you tighter.

"Oh, fuck, I'm gonna cum," you groan, your body tensing.

"Yes, Daddy, cum inside me, let me feel your warm cum again" Irene moans, her body moving frantically beneath you.

Before you could explode into her, Karina pulled out your cock and deepthroated you down to your base, her nose pressing into your stomach. Your cock pulsed as you filled her throat with your hot seed, your breath ragged. Irene whined at the absence and having your seed stolen from her.

“You have had enough of his load for the past 2 days, this belongs to me” Karina says and she wipes the remaining droplets of cum on her chin before sucking her fingers dry.

“You can have this instead” Karina pulls the dildo out of Irene's ass with a wet, sucking sound before roughly shoving the toy into Irene's mouth, making her taste her own ass. Irene's eyes widen in surprise, but she obediently sucks on the dildo, her tongue swirling around it.

You both moved to stand beside the bed, chest heaving, and watch Irene lying satisfied, her body spent and sated. She’s been thoroughly pleasured, and you and your girlfriend know you’ve given her a lesson and experience she’ll never forget. You exchange a satisfied glance with Karina having completed your mission. Uncuffing her, you softly rubbed her reddened wrist and exhausted all of you crashed onto the bed.

The moment Irene was free, you see her eyes darken, revealing a certain determination. “I am not done with the both of you.”

“Uh Oh…” You looked over to Karina seeking some sort of sort but instead found a mirrored look of apprehension. You both were fucked literally and figurately and you did not know why you had agree to this plan. This was going to be one hell of a long night for the both of you.

It was 7.30 am, you had phased in and out of sleep the whole night with Irene constantly fucking you, not giving you a single second of rest. “Cum for me again” You opened your eyes, seeing Irene riding your shaft vigorously , your dick lodged deeply inside her tight ass this time. To be frank , your dick hurts at this point and you felt dumb for giving an already insatiable slut , aphrodisiac, and as if that was not bad enough, to taunt into submitting to the both of you.

You were forced to give one more orgasm, this time barely anything came out, you were utterly spent. 10, 15 , 20? You do not even remember how many times you were made to cum, nothing was coming out at this point. Your girlfriend was not any better, her hands were handcuffed above her, and you see not one but two dildos deep inside both of her holes. Her body was lifeless at this point. Irene was definitely one to return the favor , and double it literally.

The door swung open suddenly.

“Kar…….WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON”

Yeji has just reached home from her trip and the sight before her left her bewildered, as she eyes Irene down, bouncing up and down your shaft. This was definitely a dejavu moment for you.

“Care to join?” Irene smirked.

“You guys are fucking crazy” Yeji started intently for a moment clearly aroused , her face flushed, before she slammed the door. You swear you could tell that Yeji's stared longer than usual as if she was actually considering Irene's offer.

“why the fuck did I introduce them together” you hear Yeji stomping away while complaining about her regrets of bringing you and Karina together. Little did any of you know, Yeji might very well be heading to her room to enjoy some personal time with the scene that unfolded before her.

Irene quickened her pace, unfazed by what happened and it was not long before another painful orgasm was forced out of you. With that last orgasm, Irene finally left to take a shower and continue with her day. You were so relieved that it was finally over and you could rest. Leaning closer to Karina, you kissed her forehead. “You’re crazy for this,” you said with a smile. “You love crazy,” she replied back. Karina nuzzled into you, and both of you settled in to catch some much-needed rest, too tired to even bother removing her handcuffs.

Ending notes

As always leave comments, suggestions , and request as per the masterlist requirements! If you like to commission a piece do drop me a pm! Hope you guys enjoy this. I left the ending open might do a part 2 but not confirmed. Am working on sex swinger cruise part 2 which will be out at the end of the month! (Hopefully) once again thank you for my first 1k notes and 1k followers (1.1k now actully) Deeply appreciate this community.

#kpop smut #red velvet smut #karina smut #aespa smut #irene smut #irene red velvet

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pollyannawog · 11 months ago

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I just want to say I adore your Kieranpon fic. Its so well written and I just love what all you added to the lore. I've been reading through every story for the au and they all have such different takes on the same premise. I'm curious on if you read any other kieranpon fic before starting your own?

Thank you!! I’m so flattered people like my writing, honestly I worry about being too clinical and/or overwrought at times so it’s nice to hear that people enjoy it :D No actually, I don’t remember if any of the others existed when I started (it was a while ago, I write all my fics to completion in advance before releasing any of it, lest I lose motivation) and I surprisingly don’t read a lot of fanfic myself. I think it’s lovely though that so many other people have been inspired by the concept, more creativity in the world is always a good thing!

#polly speaks #asks #anonymous #Kieranpon au #kieran Pokémon #the boy with starry eyes #it’s a trick I learned to take advantage of how my terrible brain works #if I write it all in advance then the excitement of sharing inspires me to actually complete the whole thing #and if I don’t no one’s gotta know. win win #I tend to be pretty selective with what fics I read and I’m also a pretty busy person #(I say wasting plenty of my time on tumblr every day)#(shhhh)

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silence-between-seconds · 1 year ago

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🎺🎺🎺🎺AND NOW THE MOMENT WE'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR🎺🎊🎊🎊

my fic is no longer a WIP

i did it y'all i wrote 24k+ words about dead gay wix. the genderfluid dream of a fic is complete and man i am so proud of myself

tagging some of the lovely people on the site @jaylienpotter@illustratinglaura@accio-sriracha@good-old-fashioned-lover@lilbeanz@daydream-of-a-wallflower @her-midas-touch @hermioneswifeee

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forlix · 10 months ago

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𝐚𝐜𝐞・h.h.

— volleyball superstar and your personal hell hwang hyunjin proposes a trade-off you can't refuse: his matchmaking services for a passing anthropology grade. the plan is foolproof in theory; in practice, it is something else entirely.

words・15.2k

pairing・volleyball player!hyunjin x tutor!reader (gn)

genres・college!au, sports!au, fake enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn. two polar opposites sharing one soul. a seungjin fic if u squint. loosely inspired by the manga/anime haikyuu!!

warnings・mentions of anxiety, fear of failure, heartbreak, loneliness, and self-image. course language and callous banter (as always) ft. suggestive flirting and one kms joke. some of the referenced players and coaches are real; this fic is not.

playlist・collision by stray kids・value by ado・waiting for us by stray kids・eternity by bang chan・dreaming by smallpools・fly high!! by burnout syndromes

a/n・writing this felt like returning to my roots tbh. i love volleyball and i love sports aus and i love, love hwang hyunjin. thank u to my sahar for bringing this fic to life with me, as always; i can no longer write for him without also writing for you. i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i adored writing it. happy late birthday, our jinnie, our hyunjin, our forever ace; you are so unbelievably loved ♡

“Not a word out of you,” you say, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the lecture hall with a heavy-handed flick. “I’m serious.”

Hyunjin glances up at you with a frown. “When did people stop saying good morning?”

Your lack of an immediate comeback tells him the situation is dire. He observes you for a moment, his mouth falling open, hanging still, then curving into a slow, serpentine smile.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Please, angel.”

“No! Leave me alone.”

Hyunjin slumps back into his seat, thinking hard. The solution occurs to him with a poke of his tongue into his cheek. “Coffee on me for a week.”

At this, your hands stop rummaging in your bag. You cock your head, your interest piqued. Got you.

When you finally humor him and turn around, you’re flinching like you’re in pain, eyes closed and breath held and all. He giggles and leans in for a closer look. Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes if he wasn’t so flummoxed by the state of your forehead.

“What the hell did you do?”

“Tried to cut my own bangs,” you sigh. “It didn’t go very well and now I look like Rock Lee.”

Hyunjin lets out a forceful laugh. “You’ve seen Naruto?”

You open your eyes. Only then does Hyunjin remember how little distance he left between your faces, when he’s staring straight into them and all the strange, starry speckles they hold.

The air between you curdles like sour milk.

Things are awkward between you often, he’s realized recently. What’s more, he didn’t think he was capable of being awkward with anyone anymore until he met you. It was your ill-fated seat that he chose to sit next to on the first day of ANTH 111, your ill-fated lap onto which he chose to spill his Americano, and the rest was history (or, in this case, anthropology). His tongue ends up in sailor’s knots with every smart-aleck comment and pitiful laugh you’ve given him since. Maybe there’s more to it, maybe there isn’t—Hyunjin doesn’t think about it much. He doesn’t like thinking in general.

You pull away from each other in unison. You clear your throat, glancing elsewhere.

“Of course I’ve seen Naruto,” you quip, and everything is normal again. “Why do you seem surprised?”

“Because you’re so scholarly.”

“I am not scholarly.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You go to a park to play chess with old people on weekends.”

“I need to get my steps in somehow.”

“You didn’t know what Urban Dictionary was until I told you to look up—”

“God, I learned so much about you that day."

“Your favorite social media platform is Quizlet,” he bursts, exasperated. “Quizlet.”

“It is not.” An introspective pause. “Or is it?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Hyunjin throws his feet up on the chair below him, jabs in your direction with a bandaged finger. “There is no way you enjoy watching 2D men beat each other up in your free time. I don’t buy it.”

“Honestly, I thought you’d have more to say about my current appearance than my hobbies.”

He does, though. Matter of fact, he’s been curating a list since this conversation started: Vector from Despicable Me, Dora the Explorer’s hot older sibling, Spock. You face-planted into a lawnmower. You mistook a paper shredder for a hat. It goes on.

But then his head turns. Your eyes meet again. He’s reminded that it’s hard to sustain an inner monologue and look at you at the same time, Vector resemblance and all.

He reaches up, nudges a lock of your hair over a centimeter or so, and gives the patch of forehead a gentle flick.

“Watermelon,” he mumbles with a sickening smile.

You divert your attention to your lecture notes with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You’re getting soft.”

He spends the entire lecture daydreaming about tropical coastlines.

“I only get coffee from that one place on the east side of campus, by the way,” you say as you’re strolling out the building together, “and I get it a very specific way. Can you handle it?”

“Your faith gets me out of bed in the morning,” Hyunjin deadpans. “I’ll handle it, love. Text me your order.”

All of a sudden, you position your hands close to your stomach, the lapels of your jacket casting them in shadow. Your fingers begin to move in a sequence that he’d recognize anywhere.

“Body flicker jutsu,” you whisper, and then you’re scurrying off without another word—but you do glance back at him to gauge his response. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the main quad’s busy thrum.

Hyunjin gapes at your retreating figure for so long that phosphenes start prancing around his field of view. Then he heads to the gym. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Hyunjin stops lacing up his shoes to see Coach Bang standing on the court’s sideline with a grim air about him. He glances at his captain, confused.

“Don’t look at me,” Minho says mid-stretch. “Godspeed.”

“Thanks, cap.” Useless.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. It’s all fluorescent lights and spotless white walls, the only decorative fixture a picture of his siblings, parents, and dog in front of the Sydney Opera House, framed and facing him atop his desk. Hyunjin once snuck the thing into the bathroom, an innocent plot to satiate his curiosity, and promptly discovered the man’s propensity for violence. He’s packing beneath those dry-cleaned polos, by the way.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “You can read, right?”

“Yes, coach,” he sighs. Everyone’s expectations for him are subterranean.

From: Park Jinyoung «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Not good See email from Hwang’s antopology professor below . He submitted the complete script of the Trolls movie instead of his mid term paper and now he’s failing the class . Not good . Sort out ASAP JP Sent from my iPad

Bang snatches up his mouse and scrolls, his ears turning scarlet. “Wrong email.”

“Yep.”

From: Kim Kyeyoung «[email protected]» To: Park Jinyoung «[email protected]» Subject: Regarding Hwang Hyunjin To Director of Athletics Park, I am writing to inform you that, as of yesterday, Mr. Hwang Hyunjin has a D- (64.9%) in ANTH 111: Cultural Anthropology, due to his submission of the complete script of a kids’ movie instead of his midterm paper. It is disappointing to see Mr. Hwang trivialize and ridicule my class to such a degree. Please see to it that he reorganizes his priorities lest his Student-Athlete Participation Agreement do so for him. Regards, Kim Kyeyoung Professor of Anthropology

“That’s bullshit!”

“We’re in agreement there.” Bang folds his arms over his chest, throws his foot over his knee. “Do you know what your Student-Athlete Participation Agreement says?”

“Does anyone?” Hyunjin scoffs. Bang whips out a form and brings it to eye level, the thing covered from top to bottom in microscopic Times New Roman. “No way you just had that.”

“I had it delivered ten minutes ago,” Bang confesses, then clears his throat and begins to recite. “All student-athletes must complete the academic term with a C or higher in all courses, should they wish to continue their participation in athletics thereafter.”

Hyunjin stiffens. “What the fuck? I’ve never heard—”

“If any Department of Athletics personnel,” Bang continues, raising his voice, “have reason to believe that a student-athlete will not be able to satisfy this requirement, they are encouraged to utilize resources such as academic advising or peer tutoring in guiding said student-athlete back onto the correct path.”

He shoves the piece of paper across his desk. “Read that name aloud for me.”

Hyunjin stares at the signature at the bottom of the page, scrawled so carelessly that most of it deviates away from its designated line. There is a rare hollowness in his chest that he recognizes as anxiety. With it comes a glimpse of a life without volleyball, the question of what little of him would remain.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” he says under his breath.

The office goes silent. Bang tucks the form back into his drawer. It closes with a gentle click.

Then comes the yelling.

“The Trolls movie? Trolls?! Are you fucking with me, Hwang?”

“It was a cultural reset! The pinnacle of modern media! How’s that for anthropology?”

“BAD!” Bang explodes, gesturing to the email emphatically. “VERY, VERY BAD!”

Hyunjin slumps over, dejected.

“You’ve never had trouble with school before.” He leans over his desk imposingly. “What the hell happened this semester? What changed?”

Nothing is the first answer that comes to mind, but Hyunjin’s pulse spikes like a lie detector. Upon the inside of his eyes replays a scene of a certain someone with watermelon bangs doing teleportation jutsu at him from a few yards away, wearing a smile made of some kind of space dust that astronomists haven’t discovered yet.

He grits his teeth, annoyed. This is what happens when he thinks.

“Beats me,” he fibs. “Typical junior year stress, maybe.”

“Does any of it have to do with Piazza?”

Hyunjin shudders.

It just might, actually.

Modesty has no place in the career he’s had: high school national champion turned ace hitter in both the South Korean U21 roster and regular rotation for Seoul National University, the best collegiate volleyball team in the country. His name has lived at the top of ranking lists and the center of gold medals since he turned old enough to qualify for them; the press believes him the instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution. It’s a mouthful, he knows.

It was never a question that he would go professional; the question was who he should talk to and where he would go.

At the start of the school year, Bang, acting in place of the agent he was advised to find and never bothered to, gave him a list of people to reach out to. On the very top was none other than Roberto Piazza, the chairman and head coach of Allianz Milano, one of the most eminent club teams in the world—and current home to Hyunjin’s personal idol, outside hitter Ishikawa Yuki.

Hyunjin thought his poor coach had finally succumbed to his old age. The thought of stepping onto the same court as Ishikawa felt sacrilegious, let alone donning the red, white, and navy blue of Allianz Milano with him. But Bang slapped him on the back of the neck and reminded him that going professional was equal parts preparation and opportunity; he was never going to know the answers to questions he didn’t ask. Hyunjin was coerced to fire off an introductory email despite his reservations.

Piazza replied within the week.

For the last five months, Hyunjin has been fighting with tooth and nail to manage his expectations. He scrolls past the team’s social media posts like they burn his eyes. He replies to Piazza’s emails right before working out with Changbin under the assumption that whatever the shredded libero does to him will eviscerate his brain. If his world is made of dreams, this is the one at its very core, imbued with destructive potential the second it became attainable.

But that’s the last five months. The last five weeks have been you kicking him in the shin because he’s laughing (or trying to make you laugh) and the professor is staring; you listening to him rant and rave about volleyball when he knows you couldn’t care less about the sport; you relaying the contents of your class readings like hot gossip, your eyes wild and hands flying around because you can’t contain your excitement. You, you, you.

He cards a hand through his air, regaining focus. “You know how I feel about Piazza.”

“Expect the worst, hope for the best.” Bang’s chair skids backwards as he stands up. “I think it’s a good approach.”

Suddenly, he is directly in front of Hyunjin, low enough to meet his eyes. His hands rest upon his shoulders firmly.

“But hope is hungry, and it will consume you if you let it,” he says. “Do not let it, Hyunjin. I’m not asking.”

Even while being squeezed to a pulp and regarded with the cold intensity of a statue, Hyunjin can’t help but feel anchored, somehow, to the floor of this miserable office. Protected.

Bang lets go of him. “I’m not asking you to find a tutor by the end of the week, either.”

Hyunjin groans. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”

A set of bandaged fingers appear in your periphery to place a paper cup onto your laptop. Accompanying the smell of fresh coffee is that of smoky rose, as decidedly douchey as ever.

“I thought you said your order was complicated.”

You look up from your phone to see Hyunjin plop into the adjacent seat. His long, caramel-colored hair is damp and unstyled in the aftermath of a morning shower, droplets of water pearling on the lapels of a navy blue windbreaker, layered over a white long sleeve. You recognize the outfit by now as game gear.

“Was it not?” You ask.

“It was an Americano, love. I walked up to the cashier and placed an order for an Americano.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you could handle that much.” He flips you off as you squint at the cup. “Someone wrote their number on the lid, by the way.”

“What? Really?”

“No.”

He shoves you hard enough for your upper body to drape over the opposite armrest; you’re still cackling by the time you’ve straightened up again.

“Why did you get this, anyway?” Hyunjin grumbles. “I thought you had a sweet tooth.”

“I do, but you don’t.”

Only then does the fool understand that you had no intention of charging him in coffee just for a haircut reveal. He takes back the coffee hesitantly.

“Thanks,” he says at last. “Nice of you.”

“I know, right? Hated it,” you respond, and he almost chokes on his first sip.

You almost choke on nothing when Kim Seungmin materializes in the aisle adjacent. He holds out a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “Yo.”

Hyunjin dabs it up mid-sip. “I fully forgot you were in this class.”

“Well, I’m due for my weekly appearance.” Seungmin slips into the seat directly below you, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hi,” you say, somehow managing to stumble over the single syllable the word has. You thank your lucky stars that you fixed your hair yesterday.

You like Kim Seungmin. Not just in the cutesy, crushy way, but in the “I would relinquish all of my rights for you” way where you spend every waking moment cursing out whatever stroke of misfortune placed Hyunjin in the seat next to you instead of him. He’s funny, gorgeous, and talented—a vocal performance major with a student-athlete contract—and you think your infatuation is more than justified. Hyunjin thinks it’s hilarious.

You side-eye your blonde adversary, prepared to see one of three things: a suppressed laugh, a dramatic eye-roll, or a mature kissy face that usually results in the first option. You’re met with something far more worrisome.

He’s thinking.

That can’t be good.

Suddenly, his phone screen lights up with a text that temporarily wipes the conspiratorial gleam from his eye. Hyunjin scans it over and groans. “Can this guy do his fucking job?”

“He wouldn’t have to if you didn’t quit,” Seungmin answers. “I’ll never forget you, Manager Hwang.”

“Shut up.” You peer at Hyunjin, silently requesting an explanation. “Our captain is forcing us to help him look for a new team manager. We need one for playoffs because of some stupid U-League rule—Seung, why do you look morose?”

“I’m mourning.” Seungmin does look morose indeed. “Hyunjin committed larceny last year and our coach punished him by making him our team manager for the rest of the season. It was so funny.”

Hyunjin slides down his seat. “It was the worst experience of my life.”

Neither man seems inclined to elaborate on the mention of larceny. You choose to digress. “Can I ask why?”

“He had to be responsible,” Seungmin whispers. “For other people.”

The top of Hyunjin’s head stops right next to your armrest. You reach over and pat his hair in faux sympathy. “Poor thing.”

“Hardass refused to do it again this year, so now we’re recruiting.” Seungmin props an elbow upon the back of his chair, looks at you contemplatively. “I don’t suppose you have four hours to spare every day.”

Hyunjin scoffs from below you. Loudly. “This one? Team manager?”

“I can see it.”

“I can see killing myself, maybe.”

The next time you reach for him is to hit his forehead. A crisp smack resounds around the barren lecture hall. Hyunjin cusses into his seat cushion.

“Seems like a great candidate to me,” Seungmin muses, and the warm smile he gives you mirrors onto your face before you can think better of it. God, it’s pretty. You wonder how it would feel pressed against your own.

Hyunjin is now completely out of sight and halfway onto the floor. “I miss when you didn’t come to class, Seungmin.”

Eighty minutes later, you’ve just emerged from the classroom when Seungmin calls out to you. You come to such a sudden halt that Hyunjin almost trips over you, but you barely notice him stumble, utterly enraptured by the hand Seungmin brings to the strands of hair by your ear, the fingers that dust your cheek as they pluck a small piece of lint from out of the tresses.

“Sorry.” He flicks it away with a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t unsee it.”

You manage to thank him just before your whole body ceases to function. Hyunjin sidesteps the two of you, yawning.

Seungmin excuses himself not too long after you reach the main quad. You also turn to leave, sparing Hyunjin a curt farewell in the process. He hooks his pointer finger around the handle at the top of your backpack and lugs you backwards with infuriating ease.

“I didn’t like that at all,” you say.

“I don’t care. I have something to tell you.”

“You have a kid, don’t you?”

“Wha—huh? Who do you think I am?”

“The one-night-stand’s poster child. The champion of the contraception industry.”

“Yeah, contraception industry. It’s right there in the name.”

You can’t argue with that. “What do you have to tell me?”

A shadow of hesitation flits across Hyunjin’s face. Your smile falters. Is it possible that you’re about to have a serious conversation with him for the first time? Maybe you should’ve saved the secret son bit for another time.

“I’m failing anthro.”

So much for a serious conversation.

“Come again?”

He repeats the mystifying statement.

“You’re joking.” The look on his face says otherwise, though, and your eyebrows disappear into your hair. “You’re failing anthro?”

“I just said that, yes.”

“You’re failing anthropology?”

“Mhm.”

“Just so we’re clear—you’re failing Introduction to Cultural Anthropology?”

“Yes. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

This is the best day of your life. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Yeah, well, our professor has no media literacy,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Hyunjin clears his throat. “Anyways, I was thinking—”

“Wow! Congratulations. That’s a big—oomf—”

Hyunjin puts his entire hand over your face. Your mangled noises of protest go unacknowledged.

“I was thinking,” he continues, pushing your head around like a stick shift, “you and I can work out some kind of deal.”

You shove his wrist off you with a revolted groan. “I think I just ate some athletic tape.”

“Happens. You wanna hear the deal or not?”

“Does it involve ingesting more sports equipment?”

“Do you want it to?”

“Just tell me the deal, boy.”

“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “If you help me pass this class, I’ll set you up with Seungmin.”

Your head performs a triple-axel on your neck. You are unable to respond for what feels like multiple hours. Finally: “I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”

“On which part?”

“All of them. Everything.”

Hyunjin sighs, then scans the courtyard. His gaze settles on the student union a little ways off. “Are you hungry?”

You pick up a sandwich and a smoothie in a state of nervous stupor. One would think it’s the prime minister you’re about to have lunch with and not an imbecilic left-side hitter eating from three different entrees at the same time.

He’s chosen a table a few yards away from a planter of flowering cherry blossom trees. You feel jealous eyes on the side of your face as you take a seat across from Hyunjin, but they don’t know that his telephone pole legs still bump against yours even with them drawn as close to your body as anatomically possible. Or that he’s drawing up a literal Ponzi scheme on your sandwich wrapper. You wager you’ve had better company.

“You like anthropology. I like listening to you talk about anthropology.” He traces over the wrapper’s left corner. “And I kinda want you to boss me around. That weird?”

“Yes, definitely,” you mumble around a mouthful of bread. “Go on.”

“Conclusion one: you should be my tutor.” He taps in place as if applying a finishing touch, then swaps to the opposite side. “You also like my teammate, but he’s neck-deep in volleyball and music this semester, which makes him hard to get a hold of—for most people.”

“Let me guess. Not for you.”

“Ten points to Ravenclaw.” His British accent is nightmarish. “Seung and I live in the same building. We get dinner when we go back from practice together. Conclusion two: you should come with us.”

“To dinner or to practice?”

“To both. Which brings us to my third and final conclusion—”

He slams a fist onto the center of the wrapper.

“—you should manage our team.”

“I knew it!” You slam the table as well, your smoothie wobbling upon impact. “You’re trying to swindle me! You can’t pay for my labor with more labor. What do you take me for?”

“It’s not labor, dumbass! Ask our last manager! He didn’t do shit!”

“Yeah? Who was your last manager?”

“Me!”

Oh, right. “But you hated it!”

“I hate everything that isn’t playing volleyball. Try again.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “You said you’d kill yourself if I managed you.”

Hyunjin starts balling up your sandwich wrapper. “It’s true. I thought about you and my coach getting along and promptly got a rash. But it makes so much sense: you do whatever you want during practice, tutor me afterwards, and then you and Seung can eyefuck over ramen or something. My coach hops off my dick, you hop on Seung’s—”

“STOP!” A girl drops her receipt not too far away, startled by your outburst. “Stop right there. I get it. Stop.”

“It’s a good plan.” He slings the paper ball towards the nearest trash can. It drops into the hole without so much as a brush against the rim. “You know it is.”

You’re loath to admit that you do. “When did you even come up with all this?”

He flicks a thumb in the direction of your anthropology class. No fucking wonder he’s failing.

“What is this, mock trial?”

The owner of this voice is the third man you’ve seen today donning that navy windbreaker, white long-sleeve combo. He has a face that reminds you of your neighbor’s cat from back home, sleek and sharp and only slightly sinister. There’s a dash of humor in his expression as he approaches your table like he’s enjoying the company of a court jester.

“Slamming tables like fuckin’ tariff lawyers,” the cat-man hums, lifting a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “I could see it from all the way inside.”

“Captain!” Hyunjin crows, dabbing him up without missing a beat. They really do that like breathing. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”

“Really? I thought you’d be avoiding me like the rest of our homunculus team.”

“I would never.”

“You did. Yesterday. When you saw me and started running in the opposite direction.” He pauses for emphasis. “As fast as possible.”

“Well, that was yesterday. Today is a new day.” Hyunjin tosses you a proud glance. “And today, I bring you a new team manager.”

You stiffen. “I haven’t—”

“Is that so!” When the stranger smiles at you, you feel the same satisfaction you did every time the cat let you scratch her on the chin. “Music to my ears. What’s your name, cutie?”

You catch Hyunjin’s eye across the table; he nods enthusiastically as if saying go on, then. You briefly picture yourself strangling him with his own athletic tape. You then picture yourself hopping on Seungmin’s—

Rigidly, you throw a hand out to the cat-man, your face aflame.

“Y/N,” you grumble. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

He shakes on it heartily. “Likewise. I’m Minho. Welcome to the team.”

“Yes, welcome to the team,” Hyunjin parrots, looking positively jolly. You gnash your teeth together so hard your jaw throbs.

He’s lucky that his proposal holds so much water. He’s lucky that you don’t plan to strangle him until after you try that eyefucking thing.

You do kick him under the table, though.

The team has five weeks to prepare for the Korean University League, the biggest college-level volleyball tournament in the country. You have five days to learn how the hell athletic tape works. You can’t tell which is the bigger endeavor.

“I’m going to cause him irreversible skeletal damage,” you tell Changbin.

The team’s libero is twice as kind as he is talented, a full-time sweetheart working part-time at the university’s sports medicine clinic. Only your first week on the job and you’ve already decided he’s the only person on Earth you would permit to usher you through the gym at 6:45 A.M., a roll of athletic tape pressed to your back like a pistol.

“You will not,” Changbin answers. “One, because this won’t involve his skeleton, and two, because I wouldn’t ask you to help if it did.”

“You’ve misunderstood me,” you return as the two of you stop in front of an examination room. “I want to cause him irreversible skeletal damage.”

“Oh.” He opens the door with a frown. “Oh dear.”

Inside, Hyunjin is sitting cross-legged on top of a taping table, fitted in a loose gray tee and athletic shorts. He watches in pessimistic silence as you enter the room and beeline straight towards the shelf on the right. You slip a thick binder into your hands and bury your nose inside it without so much as a greeting.

“I am going to get maimed,” Hyunjin tells Changbin.

“Have some faith, both of you,” Changbin replies sternly. You find the pages you’re looking for and begin poring over them like you’re cramming for an exam. “You’ll be fine, Jinnie. Y/N studied.”

“Studied?” He repeats. “For this?”

“I’m pretty sure Quizlets were made.”

“Three, to be exact," you interject, sticking out your hand. “Now tape me.”

Hyunjin mouths the words tape me in baffled silence. The latter obliges your request with a smile. “See? What could go wrong?”

The answer to that, actually, is a lot. Especially after Changbin gets called away to help stretch out a teammate named Felix who allegedly “sprained his ass,” leaving Hyunjin to you and your binder.

You detect no smoky rose in the air around him today, just the subtle smells of cedar and cypress—laundry detergent or shampoo, maybe. Figures he doesn’t wear that insufferable cologne to practice.

“Go easy on me, yeah?”

While Hyunjin’s tone is teasing, yours is downright somber.

“I can’t promise anything.”

With that, you turn your palms face-up in a silent request for his hand.

A few strands of hair fall into your face as you lean in for a better look. It’s the first time you’ve seen his fingers untaped; they’re pretty, long and slender and surprisingly manicured, but also battered in their delicacy, the veins running over the back of his hand and forearm prominent, his bottom knuckles discolored from the healing bruises they bear. His hard work is palpable upon the smooth skin as evidently as if tattooed.

Hyunjin says your name in close proximity. You respond with an absent hum.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

“No. Maybe a little.” You let his hand fall free and go to rummage for supplies. “Fine, yes. Very.”

“But you made Quizlets. You’re prepared for anything.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You realize only after spotting the gentle smile on his face that he’s making fun of you. “I hate you.”

“Actually,” he hums, “I think you care about me, love. That’s why you’re nervous.”

“Nonsense—I care about disappointing Changbin. That’s it.”

“And me. And hopping on Seungmin’s dick. All these things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

You try to tackle him. Hyunjin catches your hands a few inches away from his face, fingers closing around your wrists with obnoxious agility.

“Have you lost your mind?” You whisper-shout, your face on fire. “Don’t bring that up here. I’ll maim you for real.”

The laugh that explodes out of him throws his entire body backwards, turns his eyes to crescent moons and his mouth into a little rectangle. You hate that you don’t hate when that happens.

“My bad, my bad. It slipped out. I won’t—”

One incremental shift of Hyunjin’s body later, you find that you’re precariously, alarmingly close to one another.

So much so that you notice the mole beneath his left eye for the first time, that you're nearly cross-eyed looking at it. That the tip of your nose actually brushes against his before you pull away with a quiet intake of breath.

Things are awkward between you often, you’ve realized recently. You’re both professional yappers, always quick to digress, quick to find a new topic to bicker about before the awkwardness marinates. But hours later you’ll look back on the interaction and still remember how the air shifted: like a layer of dust had been blown away and something untouched and unknown was discovered just underneath.

Since you’ve met him, Hyunjin has spent more time on your nerves than on your mind. You’re not exactly losing sleep over such a circumstantial acquaintance; you know that his presence in your life will end the way it began, naturally and anticlimactically and inside the ANTH 111 lecture hall. Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed when your heart and stomach launch into an elaborate gymnastics routine in the wake of something he says or does, just as they’re doing now.

Hyunjin glances into your right eye a moment, then your left. The mole just below his left eye disappears when he smiles, the expression soft, saccharine, and sincere. How anyone casually looks the way he does is beyond your abilities of comprehension.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Your face continues to burn, now perhaps for different reasons. “What for?”

He lets go of your wrist, sweeps the lock of hair that keeps getting in your eyes behind the cuff of your ear.

“Caring about me.”

Then he flicks your forehead. You recoil with a quiet ow.

“Now stop stalling and tape me, dumbass.”

“Okay,” you mutter, rubbing the injury tenderly. “No need to get violent.”

It turns out the arduous taping procedure described in the instruction manual is for serious hand injuries. Hyunjin splints his fingers together for support, not rehabilitation, so it takes all of five minutes for him to talk you through his process. You finish taping both of his hands with nineteen minutes to spare. So maybe the Quizlets were overkill.

As you’re walking him down to practice, you take his hand and lift it to eye level, scanning your craftsmanship dubiously. “It’s not too tight, is it?”

“It’s perfect.” He swivels the hand around and grabs onto your entire face, the sensation by now eerily familiar. “Want another taste?”

You shove him down the stairs that remain. Unfortunately, there are only two. “You are truly grotesque.”

The gym has come to life since you arrived earlier this morning, now illuminated by shining ceiling lights in addition to the sun spilling through high, narrow windows. Most of the team has yet to step onto the court, still stretching or jogging along the sidelines: Minho and Coach Bang are talking strategy on the bench, the coach taking notes on a handheld whiteboard every now and then; Changbin is leaning over a recumbent Felix below the scoreboard, presumably trying to fix his ass.

The only one already with a ball in hand is Seungmin, setting to himself by the net. Once, twice, thrice straight up in the air, and then he glances in your direction and sends the fourth towards the left side of the court in a buoyant arc.

You only glean bits and pieces of the next few seconds. Hyunjin is at your side one moment, making a break for the net the next. His arms draw backwards in perfect synchrony. Feet hit the floor with laserlike intent. His entire body unravels like a fraying chrysalis as he rises to meet the ball, pounds it over the net and into the ground at an angle so clean that the sound of its landing resounds within your ribcage. It rebounds over the railing of the second floor and barely misses the doorway of the examination room you just emerged from.

Hyunjin drops lightly back onto his feet, following the ball’s tumultuous trajectory with proud eyes. A leftover breeze tosses a strand of hair over the bridge of your nose, and time starts moving again.

“Oi, this isn’t your backyard! Go pick that up!” Their coach booms, though his words lack their usual bitterness after what he just witnessed his ace hitter do.

Hyunjin swivels towards Seungmin first. “Crazy bitch. What the fuck was that?”

“Lower and faster. Further from the net too,” Seungmin returns. “How’d it feel?”

The grin on Hyunjin’s face reminds you of a wildfire, untamed and all-consuming and frightening in its fervor. “Like we just won everything.”

He tousles your hair as he jogs past you and back up the stairs to fetch the volleyball. Seungmin waves at you with one hand and palms another ball into his other. His face is warm and bare, his slim build flattered by his volleyball gear. You’ve witnessed few people so nice to look at and even fewer things as elegant as his setting form. But you are still thinking about Hyunjin—and you can’t move.

It is debilitating, watching somebody do the very thing they were destined for.

A little less than a week later, Hyunjin is approaching hour three of spewing hot garbage into a Word document when he decides to give up and call you.

“Hello?” He immediately starts laughing. “Where the fuck are you?”

You poke the top of your head into the shot of your ceiling, gesturing to your headband. “My face is preoccupied at the moment.”

“Oh, you have to show me. Please.”

You flip your phone up for no more than half a second. A camera shutter goes off, followed by a shriek so loud that it peaks your mic.

“Motherfucker!”

He basically sprints to his camera roll. His prize: you with your face slathered in cleanser, hair pinned back by a Miffy headband, looking like the abominable snowman if he liked cute merchandise.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I’ll treasure this forever.”

“You’ll be punished, Hwang.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You brandish your middle finger at him in response. He props his phone up against his computer screen with a chuckle.

“Aaanyways, I have a thesis statement to run by you.”

The first thing you did as Hyunjin’s tutor was help draft an email to Professor Kim, begging her to let him resubmit the two essays he royally botched. She replied with a lengthy quotation from her syllabus, specifically the section that talked about (and prohibited) resubmissions, but ended up making an exception for Hyunjin on account of the “truly piteous timbre” of his email. You fell out of your chair laughing when he read you her response.

“You should’ve opened with that.”

“I tried, hello? Someone distracted me!”

“Read. It. Before I change my mind.”

You spend a few minutes at most on the thesis itself, advising him to avoid passive voice, answer the prompt, establish a refutable argument, the works. Then he asks you a question about the research topic itself, allusions to the afterlife in Ancient Egyptian artwork, and the tutoring session takes a turn into what feels like a podcast episode.

You talk about the God of Death, Anubis, and his connections to the underworld; the elaborate, lavish funerary rituals intended to ensure the souls of the dead traveled safely; the vibrant murals that flanked their final resting spots as pictorial requests for divine protection. And you talk about them all with such confidence, such eloquence, that it’s as if you’re leading him through a history museum rather than talking to your phone as you do your skincare. He could listen to you for hours. He does, actually.

Around 1 A.M., Hyunjin stops typing mid-sentence when you come into frame for the first time, collapsing into your bed with a sigh of relief. Your eyes are soft and sleepy as they blink at your screen, strands of damp hair clinging to your cheeks. He feels his heart physically shift inside his ribcage when your mouth stretches into a yawn. It is the same sensation as the time you shot him a smile over your shoulder and he couldn’t move for ten minutes.

With that, his attention span has run its course.

“Baby,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s stop here, okay? You seem tired.”

You open your mouth as if to protest, only to yawn again.

“I suppose I am. Will you keep working tonight?”

“I think so. I hit my stride.”

“Text me if you have questions, then. I’ll respond when I wake up.”

“Okay.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smiles. It copies onto Hyunjin’s face incurably quickly.

“I had my doubts about this tutoring thing, you know.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, you told me this class was the closest thing to daily naptime you’d experienced since preschool.”

“It really is.”

“You also told me you would rather slam your tongue in a car door than read more than three sentences in one sitting.”

“I really would.”

“And you once referred to academia as ‘Virgin Village.’”

“Didn’t you come up with that?”

“No, hello? I live in that village.”

He grins. “I know. I just wanted to hear you admit it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, don’t threaten me with a good—”

“What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t think you would take this seriously, but I’m happy to be proven wrong.”

Hyunjin leans back. “Well, turns out I might give a fuck about anthropology after all.”

“Really?”

“No.”

You pretend to punch him through the screen. It’s so cute that he forgets to think before he opens his mouth next.

“But I do give a fuck about you.”

There’s nothing crazy about the statement. You’re friends, sort of. You manage his team. It would be strange if he didn’t. But the seconds that follow are terrible, a silent prophecy of something disastrous, like a cloud of rubble before an avalanche, the standstill during a star’s final breath. And Hyunjin’s heartbeat is hounding against his ears like a performance of traditional taiko.

He says good night in a haste. The call ends. He stares at the wall of his bedroom in a muddled haze for who knows how long.

Then he opens his texts.

Hyunjin: We have team bonding tomorrow btw Hyunjin: Don’t forget Y/N: i forgot. Y/N: pick me up at 6:45? Hyunjin: 🫡

He picks you up at 7:53.

You approach his car with your fists balled and your eyebrows knitted together like a mean old curmudgeon and he’s walking too close to your lawn.

“His fault,” Hyunjin says before you start yelling.

Minho simpers at you through his open window. “Hey, you! So glad you could join us!”

You fix the man with a judgmental glare as you slide into the backseat. “Aren’t you the captain? Why are you this late?”

“Whoa, okay. I would’ve scheduled this for earlier if I knew right now was honesty hour.”

“You did schedule it for earlier,” you say. “You scheduled it for way earlier.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me, Minho.”

“I can too. Tell ‘em, Hwang.”

“I want nothing to do with this.”

When you step through the doors of the arcade, you’re met with a surge of sensory input that you haven’t experienced in years. The air hangs thick with the smells of greasy concessions; everywhere you look are flashing screens and neon signs, stuffed animals and fading posters; clamoring against your ears are the sounds of games being won or lost, of balls being pocketed or launched, and of a horde of fully grown men spectating a match of Dance Dance Revolution so passionately (and loudly) that they’ve scared everyone away from that side of the room. You recognize the current competitors as Changbin and Jeongin.

“I’ll go pay,” Hyunjin says. “How much time do we want?”

“Infinity,” Minho answers. Hyunjin doesn’t move. “Two hours.”

He flashes him a thumbs-up. “And you?”

“I’m okay, I think.”

“No you’re not,” the two men answer in perfect unison.

You glance between them warily. “I don’t mind watching, seriously. I don’t even know how most of these games work—”

“There’s Tetris,” Hyunjin cuts in.

You purchase an hour.

One would imagine the point of the evening is to break the SNU men’s volleyball team, not to bond them. You’ve never seen so many strained blood vessels in your life. Nor have you heard of half the insults they spew at each other as the night goes on. Felix has to pay a fee for lodging an air hockey puck in the side of the MarioKart machine. Changbin loses at skee-ball and has to down an XL slushie like it’s a shot. It’s a scary amount of boyishness expressed in scary ways.

But they’re happy. You’ve picked up on it when they’re on the court, noticed the raw elation they emanate just from playing together. Yet, their closeness has never been more evident to you than tonight. The men are either laughing or making someone else laugh, arms draped over each other at all times, equally happy to celebrate victories as they’re eager to punish losses. It dawns on you at some point that you’re glad to be here with them, grateful to be a part of something so special—especially because there’s Tetris.

“Have you ever considered going pro?” Hyunjin asks over your shoulder.

You waited until most of the team was distracted to slink off to your beloved machine. Hyunjin tagged along, undoubtedly with the intention of making fun of you, only to be rendered speechless by your mastery. He’s been watching in a state of stupor, forearms propped against the back of your chair.

You don’t respond for a while, too focused on a precarious patch to even blink, let alone partake in conversation.

“I already did,” you finally answer.

“Sorry, what? You played professional Tetris?”

“In middle school. Then I got bored and switched to backgammon.” You pause. “Then I got bored again and switched to chess.”

“How do you look like this with these hobbies?”

Your run ends a few minutes later with a somber sound effect. You turn around in your seat with an anguished groan. “I think I’m washed.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You just set a new record by three hundred thousand points.”

“It’s a small pond,” you say, and an idea occurs to you. “Do you wanna try?”

“I get the feeling I don’t have a choice.”

“Then you’re smarter than you look.”

“Well, you look—”

His eyes move between your shoes and your face, and then his voice is an inaudible mutter as he sinks into your seat. You think you hear something along the lines of unfair.

“What was that?”

“Ugly. I said you look ugly.” He cracks his knuckles. “Now let’s break some fuckin' blocks.”

When Hyunjin learns that the pieces can be rotated (so six or seven attempts later), a man walks into the arcade.

He has hair the color of dark chocolate, the face of a fairy prince—and he’s with someone. The two of them appear arm in arm, laughing at something he said. He looks at this person the way astronomers do to the sky.

Something shatters inside you like old porcelain.

Your hands loosen around the back of Hyunjin’s chair. You can’t watch. You can’t think. You can only feel a void of disappointment rip open, stretch over you like an elongating shadow.

“Seung!” That’s Jisung, you think. “You made it!”

“Yo, sorry we’re late.” That’s Seungmin. That is undoubtedly Seungmin. “Dinner took longer than I thought.”

“Min, are you sure I’m allowed to be here?” You don’t know who this voice belongs to and you’re not sure you want to. “I feel like I’m intruding—”

“Hwang,” you say suddenly. “I have to go.”

He turns around, confused. An unattended block falls into a terrible spot on the screen behind him. ”Already?”

“I forgot I had an important call to make.” You turn away, training your eyes on the patterned carpet. “Sorry. I’ll see you around.”

You have touched Hyunjin’s hands many times. He’s asked you to tape his fingers every day since the first; he likes the way you cut off his circulation, says it helps him hit harder. But you never hold his hand so much as you examine it, the act stiff and unfeeling, cordoned within the professional pretense of athletic treatment.

Now, Hyunjin catches your hand like a gardener repotting their favorite flower: delicately, careful of leaving its roots intact and petals untouched, but firmly, securely, so the flower continues to stand tall even when it’s been extracted from the soil, not even a speck of dirt slipping through the cracks between their fingers. That is the image you conjure when he slips his between yours, his metal rings cold where his fingertips are warm.

He says your name. There is a pinch of pain in the word, and you know that he knows.

“Do you want to be alone?”

You have never been asked such a thing—you have never asked to be asked such a thing—but, for some reason, the question brings tears to your eyes.

“Yes, please,” you whisper, and you pull your hand away.

When you stalk past him, you hear Jisung notice you, call out to you, a note of worry in his question. You also count three pairs of eyes on your back: one concerned, the next confused, and the last you are wholly incapable of meeting.

Unknown to you is the fourth pair fixed upon the top of the Tetris machine, where you’ve left your phone.

You emerge into the parking lot. The frigid air stills your mind for a fraction of a second, the last moment of mental quietude you will allow yourself that night.

Hyunjin’s right; the team manager doesn’t have to do much.

Coach Bang allows you to come to whichever practices and games you feel like, during which you might at most lug around a ballbag or fill someone’s waterbottle before holing up somewhere to do your own thing. But you like the people you work for too much to do so little for them, so you attend everything your schedule allows.

Last week, you could be found helping Minho put up the volleyball nets before practice, your laughter echoing throughout the spacious gym as he complained to you about his biochemistry professor’s distinct “cabbage scent.” Or running to grab materials for Changbin as he treated his teammates’ injuries like you were assisting an orthodontist giving someone a root canal. The dinner invitations you extended to Seungmin were always turned down, but his teammates were more than happy to assist you and Hyunjin in your quest to establish the best kimbap joint in the area once and for all. You even had a heart-to-heart with Coach Bang during one of the team’s water breaks, in which you managed to get half a smile out of the guy; Hyunjin was convinced that was his way of asking you to elope. You spent more time in the gymnasium those ten days than you had your entire college career.

Then came the arcade.

Five days have come and gone. You haven’t attended practice since, but you still see Hyunjin every morning at anthropology. The two of you sit in uncharacteristic silence for most of the lectures. You’ve taken the best notes of your life. He doesn’t mention the previous weekend; he doesn’t mention much of anything.

In person, that is.

That Friday afternoon, you’re reading on the terrace of the library when you receive a text. It’s from Hyunjin, a two-minute voice note. You hesitate for a moment, stick a pencil into the gutter of your textbook to save your place, and slip your earbuds in. You listen to it.

Then you listen to it again.

And again as you wrap up your study session and go home. Again as you cook yourself dinner and load the dishwasher. Again as you shrug on a jacket and pocket your keys, setting off on the familiar trek to the gym.

As for what you plan to do there on a Friday night, long after the team has finished practice, you haven’t the slightest clue. You continue to move regardless, fueled by the feeling that there is where you need to be.

Coach Bang is leaving the building just as you’re approaching it. He halts in his footsteps and raises his eyebrows when he notices you. The man has always been difficult to read, but his face is exceptionally opaque now. Maybe it’s the shadowy landscape; more likely it’s the uneasiness that began to mount within you once you noticed the lights in the gym were still on.

“It’s been a while,” he greets.

“Coach,” you return, lowering your head. “I want to apologize for—”

“Save it,” he says, not unkindly. “There’s nothing to apologize for, alright? The team is lucky to have you.”

You manage a grateful smile. “I’ll be back starting next week.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He starts to walk away, stops himself, and glances into the illuminated building. “I would give him some space, by the way.”

Your uneasiness morphs into anxiety as you watch his broad back retreat into the shadows. You remain outside the gym for a few minutes more, accompanied by the distant melodies of cricket chorales and the muffled squeaking of shoes against laminated hardwood, the harsh sounds of flesh meeting leather.

Briskly, you walk home, rummage around, and return to the gym ten minutes later with your textbook tucked beneath your arm. This time, you unlock and enter the building without a moment of hesitation.

Hyunjin is positioned multiple yards behind the service line, rotating a volleyball in his hands. A high toss, two resounding steps, and a collision like the crack of a whip. The previous ball has barely landed in the furthest corner of the court when he’s picking up the next, retreating to the same spot to do it all again. His tank top is the color of charcoal over his sweaty skin, his hair auburn where it’s plastered to his neck. He’s alone.

You only catch sight of Hyunjin’s face when you descend the stairs. His expression is crystalline, hardened with concentration and fortified by courage, but fragile all at once, rendered delicate by fatigue and fear, spilling from his every seam and splintering off his person like a broken vase. You recognize it as clearly as if you were looking at a picture of yourself from the worst years of your life.

“I was told to give you space,” you call out, and Hyunjin drops the volleyball he’s holding.

His lips fall apart. Nothing comes out of them. The only sounds to follow are your footsteps as you make your way towards the bleachers, a vertical wall of plastic now that they’ve been retracted for the night. You fold your legs into a criss-cross as you take a seat at their base.

“Is this enough space?”

More silence. You gesture to the volleyball nervously.

“Don’t make me go further, please. I’m not ready to die.”

Finally, this earns you a smile. It’s not much, but it loosens the nervous coils in your heart, permits your lungs to contract once more, and it remains on his face as he swipes the ball back into his hands. You open your textbook.

The rest of the night elapses in turning pages and soaring volleyballs. You don’t care for minutes or hours; you give him all the time in the world, as he did you.

The only time you glance at the clock on the wall is around midnight, when Hyunjin hobbles to the middle of the court and collapses. You’re worried at first. Then he rolls onto his back and releases a guttural groan into his hands, and your held breath comes out a laugh. You set down your book and stand up.

There’s a lake of perspiration forming around him. You pay it no mind and flop onto the floor, your eyes instantly narrowing beneath the fluorescent lights.

“How do you see under these things?”

“I don’t,” he returns. “I complained about it to Coach once.”

“And?”

“He made them brighter.” Sounds about right.

Hyunjin spends the next few minutes catching his breath, his chest rising and falling in your peripheral vision. You sift through your mind for phrases of consolation or gestures of support and come up empty. You wish you had Hyunjin’s way with words.

But you think about the way his smile reached his eyes as he thanked you for caring about him, the tenderness with which he caught your hand at the arcade, the I give a fuck about you he blurted before ending the study call. You think about the voice note. It’s not that Hyunjin has a way with words; it’s that he’s brave enough to break the silences that you can’t, like he perceives your anxiety for the aftermath, shouldering the responsibility so you won’t have to.

This cannot be his burden alone.

You inhale. “What’s on your mind?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer right away. You give up on squinting and close your eyes. The lights are still bright enough to dance around the murky darkness.

“I don’t think I know how to put it into words.”

You nearly laugh; you know how that feels. “Don’t think, just talk. I’m here.”

The same advice you gave yourself seems to work on him as well.

“Do you remember Ishikawa Yuki?”

His role model.

“He’s currently playing for a club team in Italy called Allianz Milano.” He blows out a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to their coach, Roberto Piazza, for the last six months.”

The gears in your head creak in their effort to process the implications of these words. “Holy shit, Hwang.”

“He emailed again, this morning. Said he was coming to the tournament later this month, he’s excited to see me play in person, whatever. And it hit me, finally, that this is all real. Like, this is actually happening to me. I spent all of today freaking out and asked Coach to let me stay back after practice. Usually, it wears out my brain if I tire my body, but it only half-worked today. I couldn’t wrap my head around anything. I still can’t.

“I am who I am because of that man, and now…I have a shot at playing with him. I keep asking myself why I’m not—not happier. I should be bouncing off the fucking walls, no? If I told my past self that this would be happening to him one day, he—he would—”

You open your eyes, confused by the sudden silence.

Hyunjin is sitting up next to you, staring intensely into the bleachers. You first notice the tip of his tongue prodding into his cheek, then his shuddering breath. He lifts a hand to his face, pressing against his eyes.

You stop thinking after that.

You sit up with him. When you settle your fingers around his wrist, he allows you to pull his hand back to his side. But he turns away as if trying to hide from you; he squeezes his eyes shut as if that would obstruct your view of his pain.

You reach to cradle his face, bringing him back to you. The cuff of your sleeves wipe at the saltwater on his cheeks, push the hair off his forehead with gentle sweeps. The two of you are close, close enough that your lips would meet the space between his eyes if you so much as lost your balance. His gaze traverses to your face, but you resolve not to meet it. You know you will traipse into uncharted territory the moment you do.

“Don’t fight it.” You trace over the hill of his cheek. “Healing becomes easier if you let yourself hurt. Trust me, Hyunjin.”

His first name should feel foreign on your tongue, yet you suspect the syllables have accompanied you all your life.

“You don’t have to continue if you can’t.”

“S’okay.” Hyunjin lifts your hand away from his face, presses a kiss to the base of your palm. “I want to.”

You feel yourself stumble ungracefully into the uncharted territory from before; does he do the same?

“I used to play volleyball on this expanse of cracked blacktop, behind my primary school. It was pretty brutal on my feet—I blew through so many different pairs of sneakers my mom almost made me quit.” He smiles at the memory. “But every time I came close to quitting, I’d go home and rewatch the same USA vs. Poland match from the 2008 Summer Olympics I asked my dad to record, and I’d promise myself it would be me on some other kid’s screen someday.

“That kid would tell everyone who’d listen about how cool I am. That I’m a secret superhero. That I’m living proof humans can fly if they really, really try—just like I talked about the volleyball players I grew up watching on my TV.

“The other day, Coach told me that hope would consume me. I thought it was just some senile drivel at the time, but..I think I get what he means now. I would do anything and everything to make that kid proud—even if it meant losing myself.” He lowers his head, auburn strands falling into his eyes. “That’s what’s on my mind.”

Amidst the ensuing pause, a storm approaches. It does not come in the form of rain or snow, sleet or hail, no; it is a gathering of words unsaid and emotions unacknowledged, all emerging from the deepest chambers of your heart in synchrony. The same entities you used to scapegoat for all the times things were awkward between you and Hyunjin when you were the culprit all along. You and your blind cowardice.

The storm tears open the seam of your lips. You do not resist; it’s long overdue.

“Every time Changbin sees you, he turns into a smitten schoolgirl,” you say. “He is physically unable to contain how endearing he finds you. He told me so himself.”

Hyunjin looks at you with widened eyes. You think you can see your own reflection in them, and you are the spitting image of a lighter dropped into gasoline, unstoppable in your vehemence.

“Jeongin comes to you for advice before anyone else,” you continue, “even for things related to school—which I still find hard to believe, I’m not gonna lie. But you have his best interests in mind, and it shows in everything you do for him. Of course your opinion matters more than anything in the world.

“I know you think he can’t stand you, but you are the reason Coach Bang loves this job, why he loves this sport. It’s written all over his face every time he calls you something mean, every time he makes you run another lap, every time he looks at you. You’re like a son to him. Everyone sees it but you.”

“Then there’s me.” You pause to catch your breath. “When I think about what my life used to be, I remember a lot of things. I remember loneliness. Insecurity. I remember my books and my backgammon boards and the way I taught myself to disappear inside them so the world would never find me. I remember avoiding mirrors like a vampire because I didn’t like seeing my own reflection. I remember feeling like I had to put on someone else’s personality every time I left the house because nobody would want to know me for me. All I ever wanted was a place where I could be myself, love myself, without consequence. I have yet to find that place.

“But I found a person. Someone who wouldn’t know time and place if they kicked his dick into his body. Someone who thinks instant ramen is high in nutritional value because it comes with dried vegetables. Someone who sweats the same amount of rain the Sahara Desert receives yearly—your body is not normal, by the way.”

Hyunjin giggles; it is soft and short, a small, tearful huff into the quiet air that makes you feel like you’re flying.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you say. “Your sense of humor sucks and your taste in coffee is so boring and you are the one with no media literacy, not Professor Kim. But I love spending time with you. I love who I am when I’m around you. And none of that has to do with volleyball.”

The next time you blink, you discover that he’s not the only one with tears in his eyes. How long has that been going on?

“There’s so much about you to be proud of, Hyunjin.” You give him a watery smile. “That kid will be spoiled for choice.”

When Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, you fall into each other like going to bed after a long day. Your face burrows into the crook of his neck in your embarrassment; he is laughing and crying at the same time when he mumbles something into your shoulder: “I knew you cared about me.”

You are so happy for the comedic relief you could sob. It helps that you already are.

“How the fuck are you still sweaty?” You choke out, and you think you like his cologne after all.

Six days later, Hyunjin opens the door of his apartment.

A fun-sized flurry of black and white barrages into the hallway outside and almost runs headfirst into the figure waiting there. You fall to your knees like you’ve just been gravely wounded, emitting an ear-piercing wail to match. All it takes is a few good head scratches for Kkami to stop yipping bloody murder and start whining for attention instead.

Upon minute five of watching you and his dog cuddle in the hallway directly outside his home, Hyunjin sighs.

“Can you come inside, please? My RA will think I’m doing some freaky shit again.”

You side-eye him as you walk into his apartment, Kkami perched happily in your arms. “What, exactly, does freaky shit entail?”

He smirks as the door falls shut. “You want me to tell you or show you?”

You turn to Kkami, disgusted. “Your owner’s a bit of a pervert, my dear.”

Kkami licks you on the chin. Hyunjin’s eyes narrow to slits.

“Traitor.”

Naturally, Hyunjin’s parents chose the eve of his final anthropology exam—and the week before the tournament that will determine the trajectory of his career—to ask him to look after Kkami for a few days. He nearly canceled their plane tickets himself, but his impromptu roommate is currently ransacking your face with kisses on his couch, and he thinks your laugh complements his studio better than any decoration.

“Do you want anything to drink?” He calls from the kitchen area.

You meander over, Kkami (still) perched happily in your arms. “What do you have?”

“Alcohol.” He opens his fridge far enough so you can peer over his shoulder. “Americanos.”

He stops speaking.

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Wait—and apple juice.”

“You are about to be a professional athlete.”

“What the Italians don’t know won’t hurt them. You want apple juice, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

“Maybe. Can you open it for me? My hands are full.”

Hyunjin does so with far less reluctance than he feigns. You thank him jubilantly, popping the straw into your mouth.

“Let’s get this over with.”

At 10:32 P.M., all is calm. You are sitting on the floor, your back against the side of his mattress. Hyunjin is where the universe intended: curled up in bed, both him and his laptop lying on their sides. You have studied eight out of ten units in only two and a half hours, and the night is still young. Kkami is but a fluffy, sleepy Oreo by your waist.

At 10:33 P.M., the Oreo begins to retch.

You startle a foot into the air. Hyunjin is out of bed and on his feet in the blink of an eye, the very image of a dog dad on duty. He grabs three different things off the kitchen counter with one hand and scoops up the long-haired chihuahua with the other, and then he’s kicking open the door.

Seungmin appears out of thin air carrying two heaping bags of groceries. Hyunjin nearly knocks him and a month’s worth of fresh produce down four flights of stairs.

“Hyun—Kkami?” Seungmin swivels. “Yo, what the fuck is—”

Hyunjin is already out the door.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin squats off to the side, pouring fresh water into a portable dog bowl. A little ways away, Kkami is throwing up ebulliently; a set of footsteps approaches.

“What is this thing?” Seungmin squats down next to Hyunjin, picking up the piece of patterned fabric lying on the grass.

“Kkami gets sad after throwing up,” he sighs. “His blanket makes him feel better.”

Seungmin watches the chihuahua for a few moments, a soft flinch crimping his features. “He ate too fast again?”

Hyunjin rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Nobody’s gonna take his food from him.”

Seungmin laughs. “I didn’t even know he was on campus.”

“I picked him up last night. My parents are traveling for work—they say hi, by the way.”

“I say hi back. I miss your mom’s cooking.”

“Me too,” Hyunjin says, smiling. “She would love to cook for you again—she’s always saying you’re too skinny.”

“She really is.”

A beat passes; it is then that Hyunjin has an epiphany.

Seungmin was the one who put a volleyball in his hands for the first time. Back then, Hyunjin was the lesser troublemaker between the two of them—a concept that neither of them can wrap their heads around to this day. Seungmin suggested they use the clotheslines in Hyunjin’s backyard as a makeshift net, despite Hyunjin’s dissuading; half of Hyunjin’s father’s wardrobe caught on fire, Seungmin had a black eye for a week, and nobody knows what happened to that volleyball. The two of them have been attached at the hip ever since.

It is a crazy thing, having your best friend as a teammate; a singular flick of the wrist or a point of his shoe and Seungmin will know exactly Hyunjin wants the ball down to the net’s fraying fibers; Hyunjin will be exactly where Seungmin needs him down to the flecks of paint on the volleyball court. Hyunjin has always been Seungmin’s hitter—Seungmin, always Hyunjin’s setter. Nothing will ever change between them so long as that remains the case.

At least, that’s what Hyunjin used to think.

Learning that Seungmin was in a relationship was as much a wake-up call for Hyunjin as it was for you. At first, he was just fucking pissed; how could Seungmin be so stupid as to turn down someone like you, especially when Hyunjin had shot his mouth off about his wingman services? More importantly, how long had his best friend of eighteen years been in love, and why was he the last to know?

Only now, as they wait for his nine-year-old chihuahua to finish barfing, does Hyunjin realize that he can’t remember the last time he and Seungmin talked. Not “talked” as in a brief exchange inside the locker room or the lecture hall, about a new approach he wants to try or what Seungmin got on number four or if he wants a ride to practice—“talked” as in talked, about Hyunjin, about Seungmin, about the eighteen years they shared, about all the years yet to come.

Hyunjin sees his setter every day; he stopped looking for his friend a long time ago.

“Yeonwoo, right?”

He senses surprise in Seungmin without having to look at him. But he also senses a smile, a subtle show that Seungmin recognizes what he’s trying to do—and forgives him.

“Yeonwoo,” Seungmin affirms. “We’re in the same songwriting intensive this semester.”

“Also a singer?”

He shakes his head. “Piano player. Performed at the Carnegie Hall in the United States at, like, seven years old. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so talented.”

“Wow, that’s—hi, old man. You done?”

Kkami walks over with his head hung low and tail between his legs, and Hyunjin hurries to drape the pup in his favorite blanket, pulling the bowl of water in front of him in tandem. Seungmin runs a hand over the top of Kkami’s head as he hydrates.

“You’ve suffered,” he tells him solemnly, and Hyunjin snorts.

“As I was saying—that’s crazy to hear, coming from the most talented person I know. You guys looked so good together.”

“Thanks. It’s weird. I’m happy.”

“You deserve it. You really do, Kim.” They exchange smiles, and Hyunjin gives Seungmin a playful nudge. “When are you introducing us?”

“The arcade wasn’t enough?”

“Don’t insult me.”

“Whenever you want, then.”

“Dinner with my mom, dinner with Yeonwoo,” Hyunjin recounts. “I’m holding you to it.”

“Bet.”

They shake on it. If Hyunjin wasn’t already reassured by Seungmin’s smile, he knows by his clasp around his hand that they’ll be okay.

“What about you?” Seungmin asks. “Are you together yet?”

Hyunjin knew this was coming. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Seungmin strings his hands together, letting them dangle in the space between his knees. “Someone you have questions for that you’re too scared to ask. Someone who’s lived in your mind since the day you met. There’s someone like that, isn’t there?”

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek.

Ever since that night on the gym floor, Hyunjin’s been having these dreams. By the time his alarm goes off in the morning, every detail of the dream has eluded him, leaving behind only a ghost of emotion, akin to the breeze that grazes your face moments after walking past another person.

But then he’ll get out of bed, and walk to that café on the east side of campus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, he’ll order a vanilla latte with extra sweetener, then turn around to see you standing five feet away, holding an Americano and trying not to laugh. And he’ll just know, with everything in him, that you are where his head goes when he’s not keeping watch.

He still addresses you by the pet names you hate. He still finds any excuse to be close to you; he still pesters you like a child with a crush. But now, he calls you his baby like one wishes on a star; his eyes drift to your lips every time you’re within two feet of each other; he makes fun of your likes and dislikes only because he’s happy to know about them at all. Ever since that night on the gym floor.

It’s impossible for nothing and everything to change at once. Two people teetering on the precipice of something cannot withstand a gust of wind so powerful. He’s already hanging off the ledge, losing his grip; where are you?

Next to him, Seungmin lets out a soft laugh. “There is.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say.

“It might’ve been me, at some point,” he hums, returning his hand to scratch the back of Kkami’s ears. “But it has always been you, Hyun.”

Four floors above them and inside Hyunjin’s place, you are pacing between his fridge and his bed, nervously awaiting his and Kkami’s return.

Something catches your eye, wide and flat and hung on the wall by his bathroom door. You approach it curiously, your lips pulling into a fond smile the moment you realize all that’s in front of you.

Many of the photographs are of Hyunjin: him in his preteens, dead asleep in bed while dressed head to toe in volleyball gear, braces visible because his mouth is open; an action shot taken at what must’ve been a U21 match, the South Korean flag stitched into the shoulder of his jersey; him with half a birthday cake in front of him and the rest smeared all over his face. There are headlines, too: Underdog team earns district’s first high school volleyball state title; Hwang Hyunjin proves himself worthy of “ace spiker” label at South Korea V. Croatia U19 match; Coach Bang “Christopher” Chan leads Seoul National University to second consecutive KUL championship. There’s one—Who is Hwang Hyunjin? Meet the twenty-year-old instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution—beside which he’s written the singular word “mouthful.” You laugh; you agree.

But pinned to the corkboard is also a photograph of Minho, surrounded by stray cats in the alleyway outside a K-BBQ restaurant; his parents cradling Kkami in an apple costume; his high school volleyball team silhouetted against a pretty sunset. Him and Seungmin as kids, covered in grime and scrapes but beaming nonetheless; him and Seungmin at age nineteen, stadium lights on their backs, unadulterated elation on their faces as they charge towards each other, beaming still. Changbin piggybacking Felix through the hallways of the gym, neither of them wearing a shirt; Jisung offering Coach Bang a beer while the latter looks direly unamused (you make a mental note to ask about that one later); what looks like a Rock Lee cosplayer grimacing in the middle of your anthropology classroom.

You rush forward as if decreed by gravitational force. Not too far away is another picture of you, in which you boast a Miffy headband and a face full of foaming cleanser. Then another, your eyes narrowed like that of a sniper taking aim as you’re playing Tetris; you with so many volleyballs piled into your arms that you can’t see your own face; your cheeks squished by a bandaged hand after you lost a bet about pandas (they can swim); you clutching your stomach on the library floor, brought to hysterical tears by Professor Kim’s email. You, you, you.

You bring your pointer finger to this last image, tracing it over the curve of your own cheek. You see a dimple on your face you didn’t know you had. You realize it only comes out for him.

It has always been him.

The front door opens. A man with telephone poles for legs and a long-haired chihuahua in his arms appears behind it. You sense in him that something has changed since you last saw each other. The two of you lock eyes.

It’s not awkward this time.

Multiple yards behind the service line, Hyunjin is rotating a volleyball in his hands. It feels solid and sentient, an extension of himself held in cotton-clad fingers. He knows how this story will end.

He moves his eyes to his best friend’s back. Four fingers flash back at him twice, signaling a high lob set to the left, the very play they’ve practiced tirelessly for the last five weeks. The breath Hyunjin blows out of his cheeks seems to crystallize in the air, almost solid in all its exhilaration.

He bends low and throws high. His arms drop behind his body like a spread of feathered wings; his feet fall into place below him like a meteor shower, two consecutive strikes against the earth that fissure its mantle. The lights overhead are bright. His palm pulls taut when it slams into leather. He knows how this story will end.

The volleyball tears towards the ground. It trembles as if scared by all that it holds: the guarantee of a flawless denouement, the catalyst of a radiant future. Hyunjin’s heart is beating hard enough to crack his ribs when he lands back on the ground, when the volleyball lands in the furthest corner of the court. He’s not scared at all.

He balls his fingers into fists.

“JUST LIKE LAST YEAR, BACK TO BACK ON AN ACE—”

An arm seizes Hyunjin’s neck; another drags him onto the floor. His head thuds onto the hardwood with a sound he hears over the whole world detonating. His vision fills with the faces of the people he cares for most, some covered in tears and others rivaling the ceiling with their blinding smiles. He can’t feel most of his body; his sweat drips into his mouth. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

“—DEFENDING THEIR TITLE FOR THE THIRD CONSECUTIVE YEAR—”

His eyes find Seungmin’s among the fray. Their hands clap together with such force that Hyunjin cusses at the impact. Seungmin’s gaze burns into his with a ferocity that Hyunjin plans to take to his grave. His setter. His best friend.

He says something inaudible, but Hyunjin reads the words off his lips, and his eyes fill with tears: we win everything.

“—YOUR NATIONAL CHAMPIONS: SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY!”

Hyunjin’s post-game interview is a lawless affair. He is allowed at most half an answer before a new teammate is barreling over with an animalistic screech or a new friend is screaming congratulations from out of frame.

The reporter is visibly agitated by her final question, unpursing her lips to ask: “Is there anyone you’d like to thank?”

Hyunjin exhales. “You want the short answer or the long—”

Changbin seizes him by the head. Hyunjin bursts into a peal of high-pitched laughter as the libero litters kisses all over his face, nearly crumpling to the floor in his attempt to escape.

“Love you,” he yells before hurrying off.

“Love you too, Bin.”

Hyunjin turns a sheepish smile to the reporter.

“The short answer,” she deadpans.

He starts counting off his fingers. He thanks his family—his first and last teammates, his eternal anchors. His other family, his actual teammates, the best boys he’s ever known. His coach, who will let him call him Chris someday. His best friend and setter, Kim Seungmin, who set a clothesline on fire once and changed his life forever.

In the distance, a figure emerges from the locker rooms. There’s a navy blue SNU banner draped over your shoulders, two overflowing duffel bags in your hands. Jisung and Jeongin run over to take them from you, and the smile you give them is wide and flushed, a remnant of the elation you shared from afar. The three of you start walking out of the gym.

Hyunjin thanks you.

You didn’t ask for the position, he tells the reporter, but some idiot roped you into it, and they’re all so grateful that you decided to stick around. You know the team better than they know themselves—it’s hard to believe you’ve been with them for five weeks instead of five years.

What are you like? What aren’t you like, is the better question. You’re caring, smart, strong; you see so much goodness in the people around you, all while unaware that it is your warmth that brings it out of them. Flowers only bloom in the sun’s doting radius, and so did he.

You have the sort of soul that incurs the scorn of the stars. They are the only ones to deserve you, they'd argue; you’re wasting your potential among humans when you belong to the sky, and they’d be right.

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek, suddenly annoyed.

“Why the fuck am I still talking to you?”

“Pardon?” The reporter returns, but Hyunjin is already vaulting over the bleachers, making a mad dash for the exit. She gives her cameraman an affronted glare. He shrugs.

He explodes onto the concrete, looking around in a frantic haze. He finds the blue banner heading toward the team bus and flanked by his teammates with ease.

He calls out to you.

You glance backwards. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the area’s busy thrum. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram again, but he’s used to this feeling by now. Jeongin and Jisung make themselves scarce.

You’re beautiful. God, you’re fucking beautiful. That was the first thought to enter his mind when he spilled an iced Americano on your lap all those months ago and you looked at him like he hailed from another planet. And it is the first thought to enter his mind now, when he runs up to you and cradles your face in his hands, his touch infinitely, impossibly gentle, and you look at him like he’s everything that has ever existed, everything that ever will.

Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes—if he didn’t have something far better to do.

“Tell me now if you don’t want me to do this,” he whispers.

A stupid smile crosses the face of the smartest person he knows. “My lips are sealed.”

Hyunjin kisses you. He kisses you until the banner around your shoulders is wrinkled under his touch, until your hands are tangled in his hair and aching his scalp, until the breaths you take are breaths you share, passed between your mouths like a puff of smoke before they’re colliding again.

He kisses you until he’s crying, again, until he’s no longer tasting your lips but your grin, and he kisses you only harder when those scornful stars start to dance before him, for you are his, not theirs, and he’s really won everything, now.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Six months later, Hyunjin sees Coach Bang standing a few yards away with a grim air about him. He stops in his footsteps and glances at his captain, confused.

“I know nothing,” Seungmin says, walking away. “Good luck!”

“Thanks, cap.” Hyunjin swears he’s had this exact exchange before.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace still reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. But there are two picture frames on his desk now: one of his family in front of the Sydney Opera House, the other of a band of boys clad in navy blue, draped over one another in exhausted bliss. The latter lends the room a much-needed sense of vitality. Too bad it still houses a rusty cyborg.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “Read.”

From: Nicola Daldello «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Re: Allianz Milano V. Pallavolo Perugia practice game Christopher, Allow me to apologize for my delayed response as I shared your request with Chairman Piazza. It is my great pleasure to inform you that we would love for Mr. Hwang Hyunjin to participate in our practice game versus Pallavolo Perugia. The match is scheduled for Monday, October 7th, 5-7 P.M. CET in the Giurati Sports Centre in Milan. Mr. Hwang will be playing for Allianz Milano as an outside hitter alongside Mr. Matey Kaziyski, Mr. Osniel Mergarejo, and Mr. Ishikawa Yuki. Please let me know of your availability to call regarding Mr. Hwang’s travel logistics. His transportation and lodging costs will be paid for by the club. I’m looking forward to speaking with you and welcoming Mr. Hwang to Italy once and for all. Yours, Nicola Daldello Assistant Coach, Allianz Milano

“I told you, some opportunities just present themselves,” Bang says, turning his monitor back around. “As for next steps, I need a holistic calendar view of your entire month of October, including social ev—Hwang, is that foam coming out of your mo—NOT ON MY CARPET! HWANG!”

In a park about a ten minute walk away, a small crowd of elderly people are scattered across a few stone tables, hunched over the fading chess boards painted into the granite surfaces. Mrs. Choi whisks away Mrs. Baek’s king with a triumphant yelp.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! That opening is unbeatable!” She swivels towards you, shaking a fist threateningly. “You! Get over here. Your reign is over.”

You are sitting cross-legged in the shade of a broad magnolia tree, clearing out your storage. You tried to take a picture of a particularly rotund pigeon to send to Hyunjin earlier and couldn’t even do that. It was then you decided you couldn't live like this anymore.

“As excited as I am to beat you again, Mrs. Choi, I need ten more minutes,” you call back.

She presents you with an unpleasant hand gesture. You turn your attention back to your phone, grinning. Two new notifications sit at the top of your lock screen.

Hyunjin: Omw now. Sorry had to talk to Chris Hyunjin: Same park? Y/N: yes Hyunjin: Who’s our opponent today Y/N: mrs. choi Hyunjin: Not that bitch again Y/N: ?

He’ll be here in eight minutes.

You return to the task at hand. You’ve already cleared out your apps, your documents, and videos; all that’s left is the audio files. You conduct a quick mental review. Surely you’ll live without your downloaded music and accidental voice memos.

Instead of hitting the “delete” button, you extract a pair of tangled earphones from your jacket pocket.

You go back to your texts with Hyunjin, open the shared attachments tab, and scroll for a long time before you find the voice note he sent you seven months ago.

He finds you a sobbing mess.

“Hey, hey, whoa.” He’s on his knees in an instant, gathering your hands into his, a world of concern in the brown of his eyes. Your earbuds fall out and clatter onto the cement below. “Baby, what’s happening? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you say in a flustered haste. “Yes, I’m okay. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s happening.”

“Did that hag do this to you?” He asks this question so seriously. “I’ll beat up a senior citizen, I don’t give a fuck—”

“No!” You let out an ugly laugh through your tears. “No, no. Leave Mrs. Choi alone.”

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

Eventually, your vision clears enough for you to look at the man kneeling in front of you. His roots grow out longer every day, his hair by now nearly equal parts gold and black. A spot of sunlight infiltrates the magnolia leaves and lands on his left eye, turning it the hue of melted bronze.

Your fingers drift to the sides of his beautiful face as you lean in close; he smells like a combination of smoky rose and tropical coastlines.

“I’ll tell you later,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hairline.

He is dissatisfied with this, hooking a pointer finger beneath your chin, guiding your face back to his. He laves the saltwater from your lips, your tongue, and then you’re smiling again, barely able to remember why you cried in the first place.

You rest your foreheads together. “Have I told you that you look like a bumblebee these days?”

He smiles. “Does that make you my flower, then?”

“Because you’re irresistably drawn to me?”

“No, because I wanna put my pollen in—”

You shove him away. “You are grotesque.”

He returns in a flash. “You love me.”

You kiss him again. And again. And one more time for good measure, during which you mumble I do against his lips, and then you remember something.

“Why did Coach hold you back, by the way?” You pull away, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Are you in trouble again?”

“No, no. The opposite, actually.”

Your brow furrows. “The opposite? What—”

“In this lifetime, please,” Mrs. Choi hollers from the chess tables. You roll your eyes. Hyunjin smiles helplessly.

“Duty calls, my love.”

“Tell me your thing later too?”

“Of course.”

You dust yourself off and stand up, making your way to the battleground. But not before you whisper to Hyunjin, “now watch me beat up a senior citizen.”

He laughs with his whole body, his eyes the shape of crescent moons, his mouth a little rectangle.

“Hypocrite.”

Hyunjin: [1 Audio Message]

This is my seventh take and I’m not recording an eighth. What you get is what you get. I don’t care anymore.

I understand if you don’t wanna talk about what happened at the arcade. I wouldn’t, either. I just wanted to say that you don’t have to do this tutoring thing anymore. I won’t be able to fulfill my end of our deal, so…yeah, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’ve already done so much for us. For me.

As for team manager, you’ll have to talk to Minho and Coach Bang if you wanna quit. Doesn’t sound like a fun conversation, I know—but if that’s what you decide, I’ll have your back. They don’t scare me. Well, they do. But only sometimes.

You’ve been…distant, this week. I’ve known peace and quiet for the first time since we met, and I fucking hate it. I realized I couldn’t care less if you’re my tutor or my team manager or whatever—I just don’t want you to be a stranger. Maybe that’s selfish of me to say, but I’m tired of pretending the idea of losing you doesn’t terrify me. It does. It really fucking does.

I’m gonna end this here, because I almost just stopped recording on accident and I’ll genuinely commit homicide if I have to do all this again. Sorry that this got so long, and…I’m sorry about everything. You deserve better.

Come back to me whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・@automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten・@newhope8・@weedforthoughtz・@hyunverse

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gghostwriter · 3 months ago

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Out of Sunshine

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Having forgotten your dinner date, Spencer comforts his usually sunshine girlfriend Trope:Fluff & Comfort w.c: 1.2k a/n: been very overwhelmed with responsibilities and wants lately that I just needed to write a self-indulgent fic. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

Spencer’s knock on your apartment door was met with silence. It was a starry Friday night and he had arranged a dinner reservation with you, his girlfriend for a year and a half, to the newly opened French restaurant along the main street. With a certain spring in his step, he settled with Hotch, and by extension the team, that he couldn’t be disturbed unless an emergency case comes in—something he silently wished not to happen. He had also picked up a bouquet of your favorites from the local florist. An array of whites that reminded him of the dress he first saw you wearing at the park.

He knocked again, ears straining to hear anything behind the dark wooden door. There was nothing. He balanced the bouquet on one hand and reached for the phone inside his satchel. It was quite unlike you to not answer the door.

The number you dialed is either unattended—

“Strange,” he muttered under his breath. During his morning phone call with you, a much needed routine to tide him through the macabre of his job, you sounded so excited about the dinner he’d planned and had even promised to wear the same white dress that had plagued his eidetic memory. He chuckled in reply before asking any plans for the day. There was a slight pause on your end, no doubt thinking of ways to pass time before night winds down, and you answer—

The studio, he remembered. You mentioned passing by your art studio to occupy time. He sighed in relief as he enters his vintage blue car parked on the the sidewalk, bouquet placed securely on the passenger seat. The clock on the dashboard tells him there’s still time to make it to the reservation, granted he wasn’t sure if you were ready to go.

A non-descriptive tune played from the radio as he turned left to enter the designated parking space of your studio building. It was a mixture of soft piano keys that sounded like spring and sunshine, both adjectives he loved to use to describe you.

When he finally found the courage to fumble his way in asking for your number, the smile that flashed on your face was blinding. It was as if he stared directly into the sun with little to no protection for his vision.

Over the course of multiple dates, he found himself waxing prose about you in his head. The pinking of your cheeks reminded him of strawberries ripening, so tempting to touch with his own pair of lips. The twinkle in your eyes, full of adoration and trust, made him feel strong and protective—like he was some kind of crow guarding his loot of sparkling treasure. And the bounce in your step wherever you’d go had him envisioning a sprig of wildflowers growing from each footprint, the nymph of his very own Spring.

He let himself in the studio, grateful you’ve trusted him with a spare key. “Sunshine,” he called out.

The light inside the four cornered room was on, windows all open for the paint fumes to escape, and there you were, hunched over an easel, furiously painting without any care of your surroundings.

He called your name, softer this time, as if to slowly ease you out of the artistic trance. The timber of his voice and his sudden presence led you to squeak in surprise, paintbrush dropping on the wooden streaked floor.

“It’s me, sunshine,” he raised his hands in front of him in surrender. “It’s me.”

Your nose scrunched up in question, a streak of blue dried paint on your cheek, adorable. How adorable you were in his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” you bent down to grab the brush before resuming your old position.

“It’s 7:50, love.”

You swiveled to face him, eyes wide in distress. Hands promptly reaching to turn over the faced down phone. “No, no—oh my god, I am so sorry!”

“It’s alright,” he tries to placate you but his words of comfort seem to fall on deaf ears. “Really, it’s alright. It happens to everyone.”

Tears were starting to build up in your eyes. Your hands were wrangling with the apron tied around your waist as you mutter a series of apologies again and again. “I’m sorry. So sorry—we can’t make it to our reservation now, can’t we? Spence, I’m so so sorry. I—I forgot,” a sob escaped from your throat. “I don’t know what to do.”

He puts down the flowers on the nearest available space, your stool, and steps into your space. Filling it with his perfume and warmth meant to comfort you. He could see how distressed you were—rocking on your heels, hands unable to stay put, and lower lip sandwiched in between your pearly teeth.

“Breathe. It’s completely fine, love. No harm done. Really, it’s alright.”

The tears come rushing down, staining your flushed cheeks with its tracks. “It’s not—how could I forget?”

“Sunshine, it’s okay. It happens to all of us and I know you’re quite busy, it’s understandable.”

You burrow into his chest some more, afraid of separating from him and the haven he brings.

He continued on. “I also know you’re overwhelmed, the exhibit is just around the corner and I know how important it is to you, I understand.”

Laying your cheek near his beating heart, you mutter a reply. “It’s really not—I don’t want you to think you’re not important to me too.”

His hands cupped your face to stare into your saddened eyes. Spencer couldn’t see the warmth and brightness that was always present in his sunshine. There was a cloud of rain and doubt covering its’ greatness. He understood no one could always be happy all the time but it bothered him to see you breaking down from stress.

“Shouldn’t I be the one worried about that?” he lightly joked. “I’ve cancelled on dates so many times and did those ever make you feel less important to me?”

“No. Never,” you sniffled.

“Then what makes you say I’d think that, sunshine? I would never, I promise.”

The corners of your lips lifted up to a small smile. There it was, the rays of sun peeking behind the clouds, bringing warmth back to the dark crevices of his being.

“I’m sorry about your shirt,” your lower lip jutting out in a pout. The air of anxiety slowly dissipating around you.

Spencer laughed, noting the tear stained marks littered on his purple button down. “That’s alright. Why don’t we order from your favorite Indian place down the block? We can get your favorites and have our dinner date here instead?”

“You’d be okay with that?”

He leaned in to kiss your temples, taking in the twinkle back in your eyes framed by your wet long lashes and the flush on your cheeks from emotion—good and bad.

For Spencer, you had never looked more beautiful. The reason behind of your breakdown was raw, intimate, and it made him see you in a new light. Heat bloomed in his chest, like a series of red roses, filled with love for you.

“Anywhere with you is good for me, sunshine.”

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

#spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid comfort #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic

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chloe-petrichors · 4 months ago

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seething, blooming // jace x reader

your father has always been something of an opportunist, but trying to marry you off to the blacks while he courts the greens? this is taking playing the game to a whole new level.

the rose discovers she is an instrument of war. —victor hugo.

fandom; house of the dragon pairing; jacaerys velaryon x f!tyrell!reader (no use of y/n) warnings; canon au (set after aegon takes the crown but before luke's death bc luke will never die in my eyes), altered timeline (jace and reader are in their 20s), arranged marriage, mention parental death/death in childbed (reader's mother), love at first sight vibes, jace is a flirtatious little shit with his betrothed, tooth rotting fluff, love confessions. word count; 6k+ notes; one day i might write for another man. but that day is not today. jace velaryon u have my heart. i'm not majorly pleased w this fic but it's given me enough trouble and it's as good as it's gonna get! this was longer originally, and was meant to be a bit more political at first hence the blurb/quote choice, but i haaated some of the scenes so ended up scrapping 'em. she's not as long as predicted as a result but still an ok length i think. some of the scenes i scrapped were tragically the smut ones, so have this fairly pg one-shot with the promise of the smut-shot sitting in my drafts coming ur way soon. fair warning that the scrapping of scenes has fudged with the pacing a bit but honestly i can't take this fic sitting in my drafts any longer so here u go!! i have a taglist now, mostly cos eldrith keeps telling me i have to tag her in everything, so lmk if you'd like to be added to it! requests; are open !

the rising sun paints highgarden in shades of pink and gold.

you stand upon your balcony, finger curled loosely over the pale marble as you stare distantly out over the rolling green fields and blooming gardens. the faint bubbling of the river mander in the distance adds to the peaceful morning, the early wash of sunlight coaxing the sleeping world into life. a cool breeze carries the sweet smell of roses and you take a steadying breath, eyes fluttering shut as you tilt your face up to the sun.

it's a morning that starts like many others. you’ve always risen from bed early, the slow blooming of morning stirring you from slumber more often than not. birds chirp and bees buzz and the river flows and you rise with it, like part of you calls to the breaking dawn.

if not for the thick sheaf of parchment discarded on your father’s desk, it could be a morning like any other. but the parchment is there, and this day will be like no other before it.

today, a dragon is expected at highgarden.

a targaryen has not stepped foot in the reach since before you were born. you don’t think even the princess rhaenyra – queen, now, according to some – had come this far on her marriage tour years ago. but your father has taken it upon himself to invite a prince to your home.

you love your father deeply, but in this you think he must be a fool. as lord paramount of the reach he is, in theory, the power of this kingdom. but anyone with a lick of sense knows that it’s the hightowers that the people look to; oldtown is home to the starry sept, the citadel and, perhaps more importantly, the dowager queen’s family line.

the tyrells have only been in power for a few generations, and people’s memories are long. too many know the truth of how house tyrell had been only a steward when the gardener kings had ruled before the conquest. and so too many see tyrell as a house grasping for power that should be beyond their fingers, and your father is apparently determined to prove them all right.

he’s been careful about his neutrality as war threatens to break out between the targaryen kin, brother and sister both claiming their right to the throne and the realm splitting down the middle. your father has not officially allied with either side, walking a careful tightrope to appease both. up until now you had assumed he sided more with the greens, but he’d sent your assumptions crumbling with only a few sheets of parchment.

your father has always been too ambitious for his own good.

gods, how you miss your mother. when she’d been alive, she’d tempered the worst of your father’s foolishness. she’d been a stark before she’d married, steadfast and sensible in the face of your father’s folly. she’d been a woman unlike any other you’ve known; ferocious and a little wild, but with a good heart and a warm smile for any she’d met.

she’d taught you how to be a lady, but so much more than that – she’d taught you to know your own mind. to know when to mind your tongue and when to speak, how to grow your roots so deep you will always stand tall, flourishing and growing like the most determined of flowers. she’d taught you a little of that northern ice, too, reminding you oft that for as much as you were a rose of highgarden you were equally a wolf of the north, and the wolf’s blood has always run thick in your veins.

she’d called you her little winter rose; delicate and steely and a rare bloom, indeed. she had loved you so fiercely you’d flourished with her tender care, just as the patch of winter roses she’d brought from the glass gardens of winterfell had bloomed ‘neath her careful ministrations. a piece of the north she’d brought south with her, a tiny bit of her home that she’d cradled and cared for until the day you’d lost her to the birthing bed.

your little brother is nearing six, now, and many moons have passed since the sudden grief of your mother had overwhelmed you. but, in recent days you have ached with her loss more often, wondering what she would think of your father’s plans, what she would say to soothe your storm of anxiety. with your looming marriage you find yourself missing your mother acutely, the grief a reopened wound in your chest.

because you are a betrothed woman, now, to be married to a stranger, a prince who is sure to be fighting a war against his kin in the moons to come.

the velaryon prince arrives on dragon back as the sun reaches its peak in the sky.

he dismounts his winged steed in an empty stretch of land a distance from the keep itself, and your father greets him there with a host of staff to accompany him back to the entrance courtyard.

your brother leo bounces in place beside you where you stand with the rest of the household in the courtyard, fairly vibrating with energy at the prospect of seeing a real-life dragon. since the news of the prince’s arrival was announced a sennight ago, leo has done little else but babble about dragons and magic and targaryens. you wish you could share his excitement, his sheer uncomplicated joy, but this visit comes with too many conflicting emotions for you to enjoy it at all.

you’ve always known you would not marry for love. you are the eldest child and only daughter of the lord of the reach – love has never been a factor you could afford to consider. you would do your duty and marry for your house, to seal whatever alliance your father deemed important enough. you’d resigned yourself to this fate as a young girl when your mother had told you in slow, halting words the fear she had felt coming south to marry your father.

but you’d not expected to marry a total stranger. you’d thought your father would at least do you the courtesy of allowing you to meet a suitor before betrothing you to them, but in his feverish ambition to sit his blood on the iron throne he’d promised you to a man you’ve never laid eyes upon.

you don’t want to be queen.

frankly, you think yourself a touch unsuited for it. your father has many times bemoaned your wildness, the wolfs blood that drives you to stubborn recklessness. though you’ve mellowed a little with age and experience, you think you’re still a bit too prone to chaos to be queen of the seven kingdoms one day. never mind the complexities added by the fact that queen rhaenyra’s claim is so fiercely contested, and her half-brother is the one currently physically sitting the iron throne.

thinking about the mess you’re marrying into too much makes your head ache, and the blazing noon sun does little to ease it. leo beside you continues to whisper rapidly about everything he knows about dragons, which is actually quite a lot considering his young age. you think absently you might need to have a word with the maester’s again; leo has wrapped most of the household around his finger, and the elderly maester is prone to indulging your brother when he fixates on a new topic of interest instead of sticking to his lessons.

the sound of hooves on cobble stones startles you from your meandering thoughts, and you straighten your spine as your eyes take in the unfamiliar man riding into the courtyard beside your father while your brother finally falls silent.

he’s handsome, at least; a tumble of dark curls brushing his shoulders, a sharp jaw and a strong nose. though you like to think yourself more than superficial, it eases at least some of your worries to know the prince is attractive to you. your mother had done you the courtesy of explaining what was expected of you on your wedding night after your first moons blood, and in secret since you’d perused the library for books detailing more lustful acts in an effort to satiate your unending curiosity.

you’re worried enough about completing your wifely duties without having to worry about finding the man lying with you repulsive, and so you allow yourself a few moments of relief at his pretty face.

your father dismounts first, gesturing for you to step forward as the prince gets down from his own horse. leo moves forward with you, eyes wide and shining with something akin to hero worship as he gazes at jacaerys. you have a wry thought that perhaps he should marry him since he is so clearly already enamoured, but you brush that aside as your father and the prince approach.

“i am most pleased to introduce my daughter, your grace, as well as my son and heir, leo,” your father says as they reach you, his satisfaction in his successful planning clear as he smiles smugly.

you dip into a perfect curtsey as leo bows a touch clumsily at your side. as heir it would traditionally be leo’s job to greet the prince, but when you send him a sidelong glance you see he is too busy making moon eyes at the darkhaired man to say anything, and so you take it upon yourself to speak.

“welcome to highgarden, my prince. we are honoured to host you,” you greet, finally meeting jacaerys’s eyes. they’re a warm amber shade, the noon sun turning them to liquid honey as he looks at you, and you feel your cheeks flush with the appreciation you can see in his gaze as he drinks you in. it seems he does not find you repulsive either, at least.

he sketches a quick bow, eyes never leaving yours, and you feel your heart start to race in your chest at his attention. “it is an honour to be here, my lady, and to finally make your acquaintance.” he smiles at you then, small and a little crooked but there, and your flush deepens. “i look forward to getting to know you better in the coming days.”

you swallow, hoping your budding attraction is not as obvious as you fear it is. your father is looking increasingly smug as he watches the interaction, though it seems to war with some paternal annoyance as jacaerys lightly flirts with you.

“and i you,” you return softly, a smile quirking on your lips.

“—can i meet your dragon?” leo bursts out, seemingly unable to contain himself any longer, and jacaerys blinks down at him in surprise as you resist the urge to press your palm to your face.

“leo,” you scold immediately as your father chortles at his heir’s enthusiasm for dragons. “the prince has had a long journey. you should give him a chance to settle in before demanding anything of him.”

“right you are, my dear.” your father waves to the household steward before turning to the prince. “alyn will show you to your rooms, your grace, so that you might freshen up, and then we have a feast prepared for this evening to welcome you to highgarden.”

jacaerys nods easily as the greeting crowd begins to disperse, the maester corralling leo to take him for his lessons with fond exasperation even as the boy loudly protests. you mean to go walk the gardens, and so you stay standing in place as the prince trails after your father and steward alyn.

he pauses beside you, though, a slight smile on his face as you look up at him questioningly. your eyes catch on the smattering of freckles on his face, and it takes a moment for you to process his words. “i look forward to speaking to you further at the feast, my lady.”

you smile back at him, cheeks flushing once again as his eyes linger on your mouth for a breathless moment. “i shall save you a dance, my prince,” you return a touch coyly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“only one dance?” he teases, eyebrow arching.

you hum, head tilting to the side in mock consideration as something like satisfaction gleams in jacaerys’s eyes. “i shall have to use the first dance to judge your dancing skills, your grace, before i risk promising you another.”

he laughs then, a little surprised but no doubt pleased as his eyes crinkle with his wide smile. “then i shall do my best to meet your standards, my lady.” he dips into a quick bow of farewell, then, as you finally take note of your father lingering on the steps to the keep with raised eyebrows.

“we shall see,” you return as you curtsey.

you allow yourself a moment to watch his retreating back, eyes dragging over the strong line of his shoulders before you internally shake yourself and head to the gardens, thoughts swimming with honey brown eyes and tanned, freckled skin and a slow dawning certainty that while this betrothal may be unexpected, you doubt it will leave you unsatisfied.

the feast is in full swing by the time the prince arrives at the hall.

the minstrels are playing a jaunty tune as couples twirl on the dance floor. you sit at the head table with leo and your father, watching with a careful eye as your brother cuts up his food. he’s only just mastered the art of eating his food without spilling half if it down his doublet, but as distracted as he is by the festivities and the prospect of seeing a dragon close up, you worry he’s at risk of making a mess of himself regardless.

so absorbed in your task you are, it takes a long moment for you to realise jacaerys has arrived. it’s only when your skin prickles with awareness that you look up from leo and catch sight of the prince winding his way across the floor to the head table, eyes fixed on you. your head tilts to the side slightly as you watch him move, graceful and controlled, through the crowd.

he’s in black and red again, just as he had been when he’d arrived. it seems your father had been right when he’d stated that jacaerys favours his mother’s house colours. you smooth your hand over the skirts of your dress, the deep wine-red of the material feeling less out of place now, before standing with your father to greet the prince.

you all exchange pleasantries quickly as the noise in the hall dims, people realising the prince has arrived. your father ushers jacaerys into the empty seat between you and your father as he raises his goblet to the hall before speaking in his booming voice.

you don’t pay attention to your father’s speech, too aware of the warmth radiating from jacaerys who stands only inches from you to focus. you risk a glance at him from the corner of your eyes only to find his dark honey eyes fixed on you, and you cannot help but smile to yourself even as you flush, turning your eyes back to the crowd.

rousing applause and cheers draw you back to the moment, and you catch yourself in time to raise your wine in toast with your father. you go to sit back down as the crowd returns to its revelries, but the soft brush of a hand on your arm halts your movement. you turn expectingly to the prince, a soft smile on your lips.

“yes, your grace?”

“would you do me the honour of a dance, my lady?”

your lips quirk into a sly smile even as you bob your head in a nod. “i suppose i did promise you one, did i not?”

“that you did, my lady, and i have thought of nothing else since.” dark honey eyes sparkle with mirth as he offers you his hand, and with a quiet giggle you take it and allow him to lead you to the dance floor.

you feel the heat of his hand on your waist like a brand even through the layers of your dress, and it makes your breath catch in your throat. you inhale deeply in an effort to steady yourself as you rest your palm on his strong shoulder, and are immediately overwhelmed by the woodsy scent of him as he claps your hand in his and begins to dance.

you start the dance in comfortable silence, both of you taking a few moments to get a feel for the other and settle into the steps, and when you feel comfortable enough you speak.

“how are you finding highgarden, prince jacaerys?”

“jace, please,” he entreats, and elaborates only when you blink at him in confusion. “my friends and family call me jace, not jacaerys. we are to be married, my lady. it would please me a great deal for my future wife to refer to me as such.”

you nod in acceptance, butterflies erupting in your stomach at his eager expression. “jace it is, then,” you say, and try not to feel the way your heart flutters at his radiant smile in response. “although you have not answered my question. how are you finding highgarden?”

he hums, twirling you as the dance requires and then pulling you closer before responding. “your father has been very hospitable, and it is certainly beautiful here. the grounds especially, though i’m afraid i’ve not had the opportunity to see much of them as yet.”

“a shame we shall have to rectify, i think.” you offer him a small smile as you press just an inch closer, finding yourself wanting to be nearer him. “perhaps i could show you the gardens on the morrow?”

“yes,” he agrees a touch too quickly, and you giggle as his cheeks turn pink. “that is to say— i should like that very much, my lady. very much indeed.”

you lapse into silence once more as the dance reaches its crescendo, and you find yourself reluctant to leave the comfort of his hands as the music pauses while the minstrels ready their next song.

jace seems to share the sentiment, it seems, as his eyes linger on your entwined hands for a long moment before returning to your face. “have i met your standards enough for another dance, then?”

you take a moment to pretend to consider it, eyes narrowing slightly as you hum. he shuffles on his feet as he waits for your response, and you find the nervous motion far too endearing.

“i suppose so,” you concede after a moment, grinning at his smugly pleased smile as he tugs you closer.

“and what about the dance after that?” he asks lightly, something cheeky in his eyes as the music starts up again and he sweeps you along the floor.

“you should not press your luck, jace,” you say imperiously, although the effect is rather ruined by the silly smile on your face as he laughs with you.

jacaerys smirks. “my lady, since meeting you, i have felt nothing but a lucky man.”

you smother a snort, shaking your head at his unrepentant expression. “you are incorrigible.” it comes out a touch exasperated and yet far too fond.

“yes,” the prince agrees readily, a sly twinkle in his eyes. “but i think you rather enjoy it.”

your startled laugh is loud, though thankfully not so loud as to be heard over the minstrels. “perhaps.”

after that, the night is lost to flirtatious banter and dance after dance in your betrothed’s arms as a seed of affection is planted deep in your heart. and when you wake in the morning after dreaming of nothing but jace’s lips and eyes and words, you can think only one thought;

gods, i am in so much trouble.

time passes in a slow trickle of syrupy summer heat.

as the days go by, you find yourself spending more and more time in jace’s company. you’re always chaperoned, of course, a household guard following at a respectful distance wherever the two of you choose to roam. you find the whole thing a touch ridiculous; jace is to be your husband. it’s hardly like spending time together alone would be a significant scandal in light of your impending marriage, but your father insists there will be no doubts about your honour before the marriage actually takes place and so ser dickon is assigned as your reluctant shadow.

the date of the wedding itself remains unset as you and jace start to know one another. your father wishes for the marriage to wait until the war is done – a last-ditch chance to keep his options open, perhaps. Or, if you are feeling generous, a way to try and keep you safe from the greens when war inevitably rages. jace’s mother wishes the marriage to happen as soon as can be arranged – a way to try and ensure further heirs with the uncertainty of war looming, you assume.

you find yourself hoping the queen’s will wins the day as time creeps on. jace becomes ever dearer to you the more you learn about him, and soon you think of your impending marriage with nothing but hope and warm desire.

because oh, how you want him. from the first moment you’d laid eyes upon him you’d been attracted to him, but the more you get to know him, the more your heart opens to him – the more you ache for him. for his mouth on yours, his fingertips on your skin, his voice in your ear. if you were a less reckless woman, a little less shameless, you’d be embarrassed of how easily you think of him in your moments apart.

but late at night when the candles burn low and you are alone in your bed, there is no shame to be found, only the wildness of your wolfs blood and liquid heat as your hand drifts between your legs and you find completion with your betrothed’s name on your lips.

beyond the desire, though, is a slow blooming affection. it feels like every time you learn something new about him or share a new experience together, another petal of tenderness unfurls in your chest. when your father had first told you about your betrothal, you’d not dared to hope for more than civility with your husband-to-be, but now you find yourself harbouring deep fondness on top of steadily burning desire, and you look to your future as his wife with little else but excitement.

you’re not sure if jace feels the same. you don’t doubt he desires you; his flirtation and the weight of his gaze on your form is too frequent a thing for you to think otherwise. but desire is not the same as affection, and though you hope desperately that the way he always seeks your presence whenever he steps into a room means what you want it to mean, you can’t be sure.

after a week passes, you both start to chafe at the relentless presence of ser dickon. it feels like every time you so much as think about inching closer to jacaerys, ser dickon is there with his stern glare of disapproval. and so, when one morning jace suggests taking you to meet his dragon, alone, you are quick to agree.

you leave your guard long behind at jace’s instruction; he doesn’t want vermax crowded with strangers, he explains, but you personally think he seems a little too gleeful at the idea of being alone with you for that to be sole reason behind his insistence ser dickon stays far away. you don’t say anything since you’re equally pleased to finally be spending some time with your betrothed without feeling others curious eyes on you.

your excitement starts to waver, however, as you and jace get closer to his dragon. you’ve only seen vermax from a distance before this, and though it perhaps shouldn’t the size of him startles you. he’s just so large and fierce looking, the sharp spines on his back catching your eye. the beast yawns as you slow to a stop, jace sending you a quick smile before he continues on to greet his dragon with fondness, and the glimpse into vermax’s open maw – gods, there as so many teeth – has your palms starting to sweat.

jace stands beside his dragon, murmuring soothing words in high valyrian that you don’t understand as his hand smooths along his snout. your heart races in your chest, nerves making your hands shake when faced with this great beast. you curse your reckless curiosity, your northern stubbornness that makes it impossible for you to refuse a challenge. you have no idea how jace can look so at ease, the line of his shoulders relaxed and the slightest smile on his face as he talks to his winged steed, but there he stands.

“you can come closer now.” he turns to you, brown eyes shining with excitement and, yes, a hint of challenge.

he expects you to back out, you think, and that realisation has you straightening your spine and pressing your lips together. you twist your fingers in your skirts to hide the way they tremble as you step cautiously forward, eyes darting from jace to vermax and back. when you’re within touching distance of the velaryon prince, he reaches for your hand. the shock of his bare skin against yours arrests you for a moment, the slide of calloused fingers around your wrist startling in how easily it sparks desire in you.

you’re so distracted by the feel of him that you don’t realise until it’s too late that jace has tugged you closer, guiding your hand until it’s pressed to vermax’s scales, and then you’re too busy being surprised by how soft they feel to be annoyed that he’s so easily coaxed you into this position.

you still as the dragon rumbles, swallowing thickly as your fingers twitch against green scales. he blinks lazily at you, an alien intellect gleaming there as he seems to consider you for a long moment, and as you blink back at him some of the fear in your chest shakes loose.

because this is not just some beast, you realise. this is fire and blood and magic made flesh. there is life and intelligence in vermax’s eyes, not one you recognise but one you immediately respect. being this close to the dragon is a heady rush of awe and adrenaline; the knowledge that vermax could so easily harm you at any moment but is choosing not to because he trusts his rider. it’s staggering and wonderful and beside you jace is beaming, eyes shining with happiness at seeing you greet his draconic companion, and you are helplessly, hopelessly, wholly overwhelmed by your affection, your desire, by jace.

you kiss him.

it’s barely a kiss, more a breathless press of your mouth against his, and he startles at the sensation even as his arm loops around your waist. you break apart for the barest moment, nose sliding against his as you tilt your head, and jacaerys sighs out your name with heavy relief before he captures your mouth once more.

you’ve been kissed before, so you know the mechanics of it, but it’s never been like this. his lips move smoothly against yours as his hand flexes on your waist, drawing you closer until your chest is pressed against his. your hand tangles in his hair, fingers twisting in the soft curls and he moans with it, hand dragging up your back to cradle the back of your head tenderly as his tongue sweeps over your lips.

the gentle pressure of it has you gasping and he takes the opportunity immediately, tongue sliding against yours as heat pools in your core. your thoughts tumble wildly, incoherent as you can think of nothing but of how desperately you want more. the taste – the smell – the feel of him is drowning everything out that isn’t jace and you cannot resist it, do not even want to.

you want to kiss him forever, want his hand in your hair and his tongue in your mouth for always. you think he might even let you with how relentless he is, barely giving you a moments pause to catch your breath before consuming you in another desperate kiss.

you finally part only when vermax grumbles, cheeks blazing with heat as you step out of jace’s arms. jace murmurs lowly to his dragon in valyrian, and he nudges his great snout against jace’s shoulder in response before stepping away and curling down into the long grass to sleep. you take the moment to properly catch your breath again, hand pressing to your heaving chest in an effort to soothe your racing heart.

when you peek up at jace from beneath your lashes, you flush deeply at the sight of him. his curls are a mess, his lips swollen and cheeks pink beneath his tan. he looks almost debauched, and it sends a rush of desire through you. you suddenly can think of nothing other than him looking like this only flusher and skin glistening with sweat and in your bed.

the thought startles you into dropping your gaze to your feet, and you shuffle uncertainly. you feel – unsettled. you don’t think there’s anything wrong with sharing a kiss with your betrothed, and yet something like guilt curdles in your stomach as you worry at your bottom lip. you had kissed him. for all that he’d kissed you back, you worry that now he will think differently of you. think worse of you.

a knuckle tucks under your chin, then, lifting your face so that you meet jace’s eyes. you feel small and strangely vulnerable in the aftermath of your kiss, like you have somehow shown him something you never intended to, and the urge to shy away remains. but you are not a winter rose for nothing and so you tuck the doubt away as jace runs his thumb soothingly along the line of your jaw.

“i have been thinking of doing that since the moment you first smiled at me,” he confesses, a hint of shyness in the quirk of his lips even as he stares steadily into your eyes.

“oh.” you blink at him once in surprise, the uneasiness in you finally settling at the fondness in his gaze. “oh. that’s— good.” you curse yourself for your lack of wit in this moment as jace snickers. “i-i mean, i’m glad that it was not… unwelcome.”

your betrothed looks at you with deep affection, then, cupping your cheek and ducking down to press a fleeting, butterfly-soft kiss to your mouth before reluctantly parting from you. “it was most welcome, my lady. most welcome, indeed.” his eyes sparkle with mirth. “i find myself looking forward to the next time you greet vermax, if this is the kind of response such a thing garners.”

“jace!” you narrow your eyes at him in pretend annoyance, even as you smother a giggle with your fingers. “you should not expect me to indulge in such desires again, then, if you persist in being so smug about it.”

his laugh warms you as the two of you fall into easy banter, leaving vermax to his rest and returning to the ever-watchful ser dickon, and all the while all you can think of is how much you cannot wait to kiss him again.

as the air cools with the dying light of day, you lead jace to the gardens.

in the week since your first kiss, jace has oft tugged you into shadowy corners for more kisses any chance he’s had. his desire for you is matched only by your own for him, and as your confidence in your mutual attraction has grown, you have been equally as likely to pull him into a dark alcove to trade sweet words and sweet kisses in secret.

it’s thrilling and exciting and wonderful, but as the week passes you find a growing doubt whispering in the back of your mind.

while you cannot doubt jace desires you, not when he is so relentless in chasing after your smiling mouth, neither of you breathe a word of any feeling between you beyond attraction. perhaps it is reckless of you, foolhardy to fall for him so quickly – but then you are your parent’s daughter, all wolfs blood and deep roots, and you know no other way of being than this.

so you take him to the gardens as the moon rises in the sky, sneak past the night guards and out into the fresh air. you guide him through the blooming flowers and swaying trees, stopping along the while when the fancy takes one of you to stop and examine an interesting bloom or inhale a sweet scent. at least three times he stops you to slot his mouth against yours, to swallow your breathless giggling with feverish kisses, and each time he does it takes longer and longer for you to disentangle yourselves from each other.

eventually, with swollen lips and mussed hair, the two of you reach the winter roses. your effervescent mood becomes sombre as the moon shines on the blue flowers, turning the petals almost silver, and jace seems to recognise the change in atmosphere, a seriousness overtaking him as he watches you approach the flowers.

“my mother planted the first of these roses,” you tell jace as you kneel at the edge of the flowerbed, uncaring of the risk of dirt on your dress as you brush fingers over the pale blue petals tenderly. “winter roses, they are, from the north. from winterfell. she was born a stark, you see, and when she was betrothed to my father the only thing she asked was to be able to bring a few blooms from the glass gardens. she used to call me her little winter rose when i was a child, and she would bring me here and show me how to tend to them.”

jace kneels beside you, glancing at the side of your face before turning to look curiously at the blue flowers. “they’re beautiful,” he tells you sincerely.

“i’ve always thought so, too,” you agree almost absently, stroking the petals in an effort to calm your racing heart. “everyone told my mother she’d never be able to get them to grow so far south. they’re very rare, you see, and need very particular conditions.” your lips quirk up into a fond smile. “but my mother, for all that she became a tyrell, was always a stark at heart. stubborn, you know. and now look at them, thriving.”

you gesture out at the carefully tended rows of roses. “nobody else comes here, now, other than the gardeners and me. i think… i think my father finds it too hard, being here. it makes him miss her too much. so i come here when i need to be alone. or when i wish to be reminded of her. it's the one place in the world where i feel i can be wholly myself, without any pretence or worry.”

jace’s gaze is fixed on you, now, eyes almost black in the faint moonlight as understanding dawns on him. “thank you for bringing me here.”

you nod once, climbing back to your feet, and jace follows you. he watches you so intently, like he’s afraid that you might disappear if he dares to look away. you feel a little like you might, feel tenuous and vulnerable and a breath away from cracking your chest open.

“i’ve never brought anyone else here,” you confess quietly, flexing your fingers with nerves as jace’s lips part in surprise. “i wished… i wished to share this with you. to share who i am, myself, with you, i suppose.” you laugh a little self-deprecatingly. “however pretentious that sounds.”

“it doesn’t,” jace denies immediately. you sense he wants to say more, but he seems to understand that you’re building to saying something yourself, and so he stays quiet, expression earnest and open and fond as he gazes down at you.

“i know it’s perhaps too soon – we have only known each other a few weeks. but i… when i first found out we were betrothed, i was so scared. i worried you would be some arrogant princeling, and i dared not hope for anything more than civility between us. i’ve always known i would not marry for love, but i did not ever consider i would marry a man i had never met.”

you pause for long enough to suck in a breath, feeling a little like the floodgates have opened and you simply can’t stop speaking, can’t stop the feeling pouring freely from you. “and then i met you, and you were so unlike anything i’d expected. i know we still have so much more to learn about each other, and i know that things are— complicated, with the war, and that our marriage may be a ways off yet, but still— i find myself feeling for you, and i cannot hide it anymore. i don’t wish to hide it from you anymore.”

you let the open affection in his face buoy you as you steel yourself, pressing your shoulders back in a mimicry of confidence. “i wanted to show you this part of me, this place, because i….” you hesitate for a breathless moment, biting your lip, before gathering every scrap of courage you possess and diving in headfirst. “i am falling in love with you, jacaerys.”

you inhale the sweet scent of the pale blue petals deeply, let the familiar scent soothe you as jace stares at you with wide eyes. the winter roses are something that, until now, have been so uniquely yours. as you’d told jace, none other than you and the gardeners comes to this corner of the gardens now. the staff that tend so carefully to the flowers know to leave you well enough alone if they stumble across you, skirts splayed on the ground and fingers diligently caring for the roses. you’ve never even brought your sweet little brother, though you can admit that’s for practicality as much as anything else – his childish energy is a bit too boisterous for these delicate blooms.

bringing jace here, bringing him here to confess the deepening affection you harbour for him, feels raw. feels like you’re tearing your heart out of your chest and offering it up to him for perusal, hands bloody and soul bare. feels like saying ‘this is all that i am and all that i have been and all i will ever be and i hope, i hope, i hope it’s enough.’

jace finally, finally speaks, sighs your name, soft and sweet and tender, and hope blooms in your chest.

“oh, my sweet lady,” he murmurs, crowding into your space as he cups your cheek, and the smell of woodsmoke and dragon and jace floods your senses. “i am falling so unbelievably in love with you. only, it does not feel so much like falling as it is like choosing it, like walking into love with you with my eyes wide open and seeing nothing but you.”

it's almost unbearable, the blazing heat of his gaze as he presses his forehead against yours, and it makes you tremble as your hands clutch as his elbows in an effort to ground yourself to this moment, to him. “our betrothal was decided for us without care or consideration for our own desires,” he says, lips brushing against your own with every whispered word. “i know that as well as you, but i need you to know that if i had the choice i would choose this. i would choose you, your stubborn heart, your fierce spirit, your gracious soul.”

his hand slides from your cheek to your hair, holds you so tenderly like you are something precious, and it steals your breath from your lungs as you revel in his unbridled affection. “i care not when we marry, if we marry, in truth, because in my heart you are already mine just as i am already yours.”

he kisses you, then, a desperate and greedy thing, as if he can no longer restrain himself from devouring you whole. and you are just as needy, hands fisting in his doublet as you press yourself against him and somehow finding yourself wishing to be closer still. the world narrows down to him and him only; his mouth, his hands, his hair. you can think of nothing else, and do not wish to, because in this moment you are wholly yourself and he is wholly himself and it’s enough, it’s wonderful and delicate and it’s enough.

and, there beneath the moonlight and amongst the winter roses, deep and enduring affection, the kind of love the bards sing songs about, takes root.

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