#finally got him to rotate in my head

[brooklynisher]

Day 17: ASK ME ABOUT WHAT’S GOING ON PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE 🙏 /nf (The Jon :])

[alackofghosts]

vierapril day 15 - alternate universe

[calciiumo]

Hello ranger nation... have a rio

[sceletaflores]

LAYING IT ALL ON THE LINE...

꩜ masterlist ꩜ update blog ꩜ inbox ꩜ taglist ꩜ ao3 ꩜

｡꩜°‧➵ PAIR: Joel Miller x fem!reader

｡꩜°‧➵ WC: 4.1k

｡꩜°‧➵ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, post-outbreak, hurt/comfort, joel's pov, general violence, minor character injury, jackson!joel, when he picks an unnecessary fight with you because that's all he knows, mentioned age gap, joel miller as a sad old man, joel miller experiences feelings, oral sex (f!receiving), p in v, clothed sex, unprotected sex, erectile dysfunction? we don't know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he's twenty AND his knees are made of steel (but only sometimes), porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

｡꩜°‧➵ @retrosabers SAYS: thinking about you almost dying on patrol and joel is FUMING, unable to convey just how worried and anxious it makes him. the only way he can even remotely conceptualize his feelings is through a very PASSIONATE rawdogging ♡

｡꩜°‧➵ NAT'S NOTE: everyone say thank you sid for this absolutely luxurious prompt...i'm waiting. i had so much fun with this! i love love love a good semi-angsty, emotionally constipated man having to come to terms with his buried slash repressed feelings in the gritty wake of a near-death experience, like that's my shit. hope y'all love it!

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics!

joel miller realizes that love isn’t just a four letter word…

"Southeast perimeter’s clear. Heading west by the river bed."

“Wow, you’re finally gonna stop gettin’ us lost out here, sunshine?”

“Lost? Please, you cried when I found that shortcut through the cedar thicket.”

Joel listens to you and Tommy bicker over the radio, a forgotten cup of coffee going cold at his side. That's all he can do when you're out there—patrolling in the snow with a few others. He's not proud of how he just sits by like some anxious house wife, listening to the static between check-ins, but he can't make himself focus on anything other than the way your bright voice filters in and out.

He tries not to hover. Tries not to keep the handheld clutched like it's a goddamn lifeline. But he does, eyes glued to the thing like it might crack open and spill you out if he stares hard enough.

Joel's really not even supposed to be listening in like this. Maria's chewed him out more times than he can count each time she catches him hunched over an old radio that he's never bothered turning in, says it'll do him more harm than good worrying over it.

Besides, these channels aren't meant for civilians sitting on their asses at home. He knows that, because that's exactly what he is now—civilian adjacent. Half-retired.

Tommy jokes about it every once in a while, the way Joel's slowed down, the way his joints complain louder than they used to. A while back, he might've laughed too. Now, every little twinge of pain feels like a reminder of what he used to be.

Joel used to be the one they all looked to out on patrol. He could track better, shoot cleaner, navigate faster than most of the younger guys. That's not the case these days. His patrolling has slowed down over the past few years. He only goes out a few times every couple of months, if even that. 

He tells himself it’s by choice.

It’s not, not at all. He’s tired. His knees ache after long rides. His busted shoulder can’t handle the cold without locking up. Jackson’s got a whole rotation now, young joints, faster reflexes, eyes that don’t blur when the wind hits just right. So he doesn’t go out much anymore. Not unless the group is short. Not unless they really need him.

It makes sense. He knows it makes sense.

That doesn’t make it feel right. You out there, miles away in knee-deep snow with a rifle strapped to your back while he’s stuck here. Not out there. Not beside you.

Joel knows you can handle yourself—hell, you’ve proven that a dozen times over. You’re younger. Strong. Fast. Smart as a whip. You can shoot the cap off a beer bottle and you handle a knife better than most people your age. 

Knowing all that still doesn’t quiet the feeling of unease that eats away at him each time you strap on your gear and kiss him goodbye with a, See you later, Miller. Strolling out the door like it’s casual. Like it’s nothing.

There’s a kind of helpless fury in it. A sick twist in his gut every time he watches you ride out. Like he’s some retired goddamn hunting dog. Trusted to guard the porch, but not sharp enough to run with the pack anymore.

Joel adjusts the volume dial on the radio like it’ll make your voice stay longer.

Tommy’s laugh cuts through the speaker. “Didn’t cry. I got snow in my eye.”

“In July? Sure.”

It comes in grainy and light, full of that same teasing bite you always give Tommy—enough to make Joel’s jaw tighten with a quiet, helpless kind of fondness. He almost smiles, but it doesn’t reach past the tight pull in his chest. You’re still picking your way through territory where any tree line might be hiding something.

Joel shifts in his seat, elbows on the table, jaw clenched tight. He tells himself you’re fine. You always are. You have to be.

The channel goes still for a few beats. Then, a crack of static. Some muffled shuffling. And—

“Wait—something’s moving in the trees. Left side, just past the ridge.”

Your voice. Sharper now. Less teasing and pointedly quiet.

“Copy,” Tommy replies, suddenly serious. “Keep eyes on—”

A burst of noise. A flurry of panicked voices overlapping and shouts. The unmistakable sound of gunfire.

Then nothing.

Dead air.

Joel’s heart drops to his boots. “Tommy?” he barks into the receiver. “Come in. What the hell’s happening out there?”

When there’s no answer, Joel shoots to his feet. The chair scrapes across the floor harshly as he crosses the room in two large strides, fumbling for his jacket. “Tommy? Goddammit, someone answer me!”

Nothing.

Joel’s heart thuds violently against his ribcage as he stares at the little black box in his hand like it’s an omen. He feels it rush in all at once—panic, guilt, helpless rage curling cold and mean in his chest. His ears are ringing so loud he doesn’t hear the slam of the door behind him as he tears out of the house and into the cold air. 

Something happened. The group was compromised. You were compromised.

And he’s not there.

He should’ve been there.

Joel doesn’t remember the sprint to the stables. Doesn’t remember shouting at Maria when she tried to stop him at the gate. Doesn’t remember half the ride out. All he knows is that his hands won’t stop shaking around the reins and the bile in his throat tastes like ash—a sick, gnawing pit growing in his gut.

When he finds the group what feels like hours later, just as the sun starts to rise behind the ridgeline—you’re nowhere to be found. His eyes scan the way everyone’s spread out, some with minor injuries and the others patching them up. 

No sign of you.

Tommy plants himself in front of Joel just as he hauls himself off his horse. He doesn’t even feel the way his knees jolt as his feet hit the ground. 

“Where the hell is she?” he rasps, voice so rough it sounds like it’s been dragged through gravel. “Where, Tommy?”

Tommy’s hands are out in front of him like Joel’s a wild animal about to snap. He’s got blood on his hands, but no signs of stab wounds or bullet holes anywhere on him. It’s not his blood. Joel’s stomach turns viciously at the sight, at the thought of whose it might be.

“She’s fine,” Tommy says, eyes wide and placating. “Took a hit, it grazed her side. She wouldn’t fuckin’ stay down.”

Joel knows he won’t feel any relief until he sees you, alive and breathing with his own eyes. “Where.”

Tommy steps aside just before Joel nearly shoves past him, nodding his head toward a rock outcrop a ways away from everyone else.

You’re sitting closest to the makeshift fire, Jesse crouched beside you to clean the gash along your side. You’re bundled in someone else’s coat, hair mussed and blood soaked through your undershirt and spattered across your cheeks.

Visibly shaken. Color drained. Bloody. Alive.

Joel’s throat locks up when your eyes meet his. You give him the smallest, tired smile—like you're trying to reassure him. That look. That stupid, brave little tilt of your mouth like everything's okay even when you're the one bleeding through Tommy's jacket.

It makes something in his chest crack wide open.

“Joel?”

He doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t know what to say.

Doesn’t trust himself for it to be anything good.

Joel takes three shaky steps towards you before his knees give out. 

He drops hard into the snow. He doesn’t catch himself, doesn’t try. Just falls forward like a penitent man bowing at the altar of a God he doesn’t believe in. His breath comes in short, ragged bursts, eyes locked onto the red seeping through your shirt like it's the only color in the whole damn world.

There’s a beat where nobody moves. Jesse freezes, half-done wrapping gauze, and you’re just sitting there, wide-eyed and shaking like a leaf, lips parted like you’re trying to say something—but Joel’s already reaching for you.

He's on you in the next breath. Not rough, not like usual, not with that greedy, hungry touch he normally has after you come back from patrol. His hands are trembling when they find your face, tilting your chin up gently, his fingers brushing away wet blood and dirt.

Tommy glances away. Jesse too, both men busying themselves with helping the others. It feels too private, even out here in the open.

“Goddammit,” he chokes. “God—baby–”

His voice breaks on the last word. Breaks, something sharp and gutted and boyish, nothing like the hardened man who's grown to guard his emotions like they’re classified. Your hands hover uncertainty over his shoulders, the side of his face. You’re worried. He can see it plain as day, written in the wavering line of your mouth.

“Hey—hey, I’m okay,” you say, voice low and urgent. “I’m fine. Look at me, Joel, I’m fine. It just—it just grazed me, okay? I’m fine.”

You’re not fine.

You’re too pale. You’re stone-cold. Your blood is still tacky on your shirt, drying beneath his body's warmth.

Joel presses his forehead to yours and exhales like he’s been kept underwater, and you were the surface he’d been clawing to.

You whisper his name again, quieter this time, and he shushes you. “Don’t—don’t talk, just—let me—” His fingers press to the pulse point at your wrist like he still needs proof. “Let me feel you.”

You don’t say anything else.

You just hold him.

And Joel doesn’t cry. He can’t. Something won’t let him, but he stays there in the snow for a long time, holding you like a man who thought he’d never get the chance to again.

The ride back to Jackson is quiet.

You fell asleep half-way through, head lolling back against Joel’s shoulder as you both sat in the saddle, your body loose with exhaustion and the emergency pain meds Jesse had in his pack. Tommy rides ahead, checking the trail, but Joel barely looks up. He just holds the reins with one hand and holds you tighter with the other.

You’re taken to the infirmary the second everyone files through the gates. Joel sits by your bedside in stormy silence, hands curled into fists and resting on his knees, the only thing keeping him together.

You talk to the nurse on duty. You even joke with her, cracked voice and tired eyes like it’s all part of the routine. Like getting shot is just another part of the job. And Joel sits there while someone else wraps you in new bandages and checks your vitals.

It makes his blood boil.

All he can think about is the way your voice cut out on the radio. The way he didn’t know if you were dead or bleeding out in some field, alone. And now you’re laughing. Now you’re telling the nurse, “I’m fine really, just sore.” And it makes him want to tear the whole fucking clinic apart.

Joel doesn’t say a word until you're cleared to leave. 

Not on the short walk back to your house. Not when you’re walking through the door, cleaned up. Patched. Your shirt’s gone, replaced by his coat and a thermal blanket around your shoulders.

Not when you nudge his arm gently like you’re testing the waters. Not when you say his name soft, like it might keep him calm before you’re heading towards the bedroom.

It doesn’t.

The moment the door shuts behind him, Joel erupts.

“You got a fuckin’ death wish?”

You freeze in your spot halfway across the room, turning to face him.

Joel doesn’t move. Just stands there, fists clenched at his sides. His voice is low, shaking with barely concealed rage. “You gonna tell me why you thought playin’ saviour was worth bleedin’ out in the snow?”

You don’t say anything for a few beats, eyebrows drawn together in a hard frown as you look at him. “What was I supposed to do, Joel? Jesse was pinned, Tommy would’ve taken the hit. I didn’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice!” Joel grates, stepping towards you. “You could’ve picked you. You could’ve stayed the fuck down like Tommy told you to.”

“I was trying to keep your brother from getting shot in the head,” you snap, the tension finally striking a flint. “I made a judgment call.”

“You made a stupid call,” he spits, voice loud and blistering. “You don’t get to do that.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you repeat, your body growing stiff and tense.

“You shoulda fuckin’ stayed down.” Joel growls. He doesn’t even look at you when he says it—just rips his flannel off, tosses it hard at the wall.

You don’t flinch. Don’t even look away from him as his shirt falls and crumples into a heap on the floor. “What?”

“You heard me,” he snaps, turning to look at you again. His eyes are dark, fiery. “Jesus, you—do you even fuckin’ think sometimes? You were hit. You knew you were hit, and you kept goin’. You didn’t stop, didn’t stay down like you were told.”

He steps closer, eyes boring into yours, face twisted with something too furious to be rational. “You fuckin’ chose to be a goddamn hero, huh? Run into gunfire like it ain’t a fuckin’ death sentence? That it?”

He can see the second your expression changes, your own anger rearing its ugly head now, bitter and hot. “Don’t do that. Don’t make this about me being reckless when you know I was just trying to keep people alive. I did what I had to do.”

“No!” he snaps, pointing a finger at you, furious and stricken all at once. “What you had to do was come home. That’s it. That’s all.”

You blink at him, breath caught in your throat.

Joel can’t stop, all the emotions he’s been dealt over the past three hours finally boiling over and spilling through his lips before he can think twice about what he’s saying.

“You could’ve died,” he growls, pacing now, hands dragging through his hair roughly like he’s trying to rip the anger out of himself. “Two fuckin’ inches to the left and that bullet would’ve torn straight through your gut. You think you’d’ve made it to town in time for that? Huh?”

“That’s not fair.”

“No,” he snarls, spinning on you, voice cracking. “It’s not fuckin’ fair. Nothin’ about this is. You go out there, and I sit at home waitin’ to see if today’s the day I lose you. That the last thing I heard is your voice cuttin’ out in the middle of a fuckin’ ambush. That’s what I got to live with now. That’s what I saw every time I closed my eyes on that ride back.”

You stand there, lost for words. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“I know you didn’t,” Joel says, suddenly quieter, throat thick. He swallows hard, looking down, shaking his head like he’s trying to get a grip. “But I still almost lost you. And I don’t—fuck—I don’t know what the hell I’d do if that ever—”

His voice cuts off, ragged. Then he’s in front of you again, cupping your face with both hands. “You’re not allowed to do that to me again,” he whispers fiercely. “You’re not allowed to scare me like that.”

“Joel…” You lean into him, slow. Cautious.

Joel meets you halfway.

His mouth is on yours in a heartbeat—hot and bruising and pathetically desperate. His big hands frame your face, thumbs dragging down your cheekbones as he licks a wet stripe over the plush seam of your lips.

You gasp into his mouth when he pushes the blanket off your shoulders, when his palms skate down your sides to grip your hips hard. Not too rough, not yet, but he’s holding you because he needs you rooted. Anchored. Here.

Joel kisses you like he’s still furious at you, like he hates how much he needs you, like he’s punishing you for making him feel so afraid. It’s not soft, all teeth and tongue as he devours you, stealing the breath from your lungs.

When he pulls back, his mouth is wet with your spit, lips pink and swollen. “Need to taste you,” he mutters. “Need to feel you.”

Joel sinks to his knees before you can respond, breath huffing harshly against your stomach. His fingers tug your zipper down with frantic urgency, hooking his thumbs in your waistband to peel your pants down your legs in one swift motion.

There’s no teasing. No smugness. Just a heavy, sharp hunger carved into his face like stone as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing you to his greedy eyes. His hands slide under your thighs, lifting one over his shoulder as he brings his mouth to you like a man possessed.

The first drag of his tongue is slow. Reverent. Hot and wet as he parts the slick seam of your cunt with deliberate strokes that make your spine arch. He groans like your taste knocks the wind out of him, and then he latches on like he’s got a point to prove—to himself or you, he’s not sure. All he knows is that worshipping you is the only penance that could soothe the panic still clawing at his insides.

“Joel.” Your hands tangle in his hair, chin falling to your chest as you gaze down at him.

He sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue relentless, nose pressed deep against you. You whimper, twisting his hair in your grip, hips twitching—Joel doesn’t let you go anywhere. He’s got you trapped, your body pinned with his mouth buried between your thighs like he plans to die there.

It’s filthy, obscene—the way he devours you. Lips slick, beard growing damper with each swirl of his tongue, eyes half-lidded but still trained on your own.

Your eyes are glassy, pupils blown wide and black as spilled ink. There’s sweat beaded on your brow, lips parted and swollen as you let out small huffs of air.

Your thighs are trembling. You're soaked, arching against him, whimpering his name with tears welling in your eyes. And still—still—he won’t let up. He needs this. Needs to make you fall apart. Needs to prove to himself you’re alive by the way your body sings under his touch.

Joel can’t stop. Not until your thighs shake and you’re moaning that you’re gonna come, gonna come, Joel, please—

And you do. You fall apart on his tongue with a broken sob, legs clenching tight around his ears, hips grinding down into his mouth in weak twitches and shudders. He growls and holds you still, licking you through every last tremor until your body goes limp and threatens to sink to the floor.

Joel doesn’t let you fall—he lowers you down gently, like you’re made of spun glass, even as his hands skirt over the hem of your shirt. When he pulls it up, revealing the bandages wound tight around your side, he pauses. His gaze lingers on the wound. Jaw clenched. Something soft and wrecked flickers in his eyes.

Your hand comes up to cup the side of his face, your thumb running over the scar across his temple so gently it has his heart throbbing in his chest. “I’m okay,” you whisper. “Still here.”

Joel takes your wrist in his hand, lowering it down enough to press it hard over his heart. “You feel that?” he breaths. “That hasn’t stopped hammerin’ since I heard your voice cut out.”

You nod slowly. Your fingers curl into his shirt. “I’m sorry.”

Joel squeezes your wrist, turning his head to press a soft kiss to your forearm.

He climbs up over you, chest to chest—the jut of his cock where it tents the denim of his jeans grinds over the sensitive span of your cunt as he settles himself between your legs. He’s thick, heavy even through all the layers. 

Joel’s free hand snakes down his body, making quick work of his belt. He rips his zipper down, freeing his cock from the confines of his soaked boxers and letting it slap up against his stomach.

You moan at the sight of it—hard, straining, the tip a dusty red and wet with pre-come. Your legs widen unconsciously, thighs twitching on either side of Joel’s hips.

Joel takes himself in his hand, fist tight over the base of his cock as he runs himself through your puffy cunt, slicking the skin of his cock with your wetness. “Gonna fuck you,” he breathes, lining himself up between your legs. “Gonna feel you around me, baby, need it so damn bad.”

Joel slides in with one long, smooth stroke, your slick making it easy, and the groan he lets out sounds like pain. Like relief. Like he might lose his mind from the heat of you. Your breath hitches at the stretch, head lolling back against the hardwood as your nails dig into his shoulders.

“Mine,” he grits through his teeth, forehead pressed to yours, his hips grinding deeper as you cling to him. “You’re mine, baby. Always—always mine.”

You nod, panting, eyes glassy. “All yours,” you whisper. “Only yours, Joel.”

And then he moves.

Hard.

Desperate.

Unrelenting.

He fucks you like you’re the only thing tethering him to earth, like if he stops, he’ll unravel entirely. One arm hooks under your knee, pushing you open, deeper than before. His hips slap against yours, raw and hopelessly, but it’s not about getting off.

It’s about feeling you.

Every squeeze, every tremble, every gasp that leaves your mouth when he hits that perfect spot. 

Joel’s never felt like this before.

So angry.

So scared.

So in love.

He fucks you like he’s trying to imprint himself inside your body. His thrusts stitch you back to him, sealing you inside his chest so you can never leave. A mess of skin-on-skin and heat and slick as the two of you meet again and again and again.

“Could’ve lost you,” he growls against your throat. “Fuck, honey, I could’ve—Jesus—”

You wrap your arms around him. “You didn’t,” you whisper. “I’m here, Joel—I’m yours—”

He groans, hips stuttering, thrusts turning frantic. He can tell he’s close, that he’s been close since he sank to his knees in front of you.

“Say it again,” he pants, slamming into you with a low, wrecked noise. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp. “Always yours—fuck, Joel—”

You wrap your arms tighter around him, pulling him closer. Your nails dig into his skin through the thin layer of his undershirt, legs locking around his waist to keep him pressed against you like you’re scared he’ll let go.

Joel doesn’t let go. He’d never let go. Not even when you moan his name like a prayer, not even when your nails rake down his back, not even when you gasp out a warning, your voice thin and needy. “Joel, I—gonna—”

“I know, baby. I got you.” His hand snakes down between you, finding your clit and rubbing quick circles over it, desperate to feel you come. “Wanna feel you. Need to—fuck—need to feel you, sweetheart. Please.”

You shatter in his arms with a broken sob, clenching hard around him as your body jerks, overwhelmed and too raw to hide it. Joel feels you pulse around his cock, the tight warmth of your cunt milking him.

It’s too much, and he’s coming with a groan that sounds like it’s been clawed from his chest. He buries himself to the hilt, hips jerking with every pulse, breath catching in your ear. “Fuck, fuck—” he pants, voice hoarse, “—love you, I love you, I thought I lost you, baby, I can’t…”

You’re both trembling when it ends.

Joel holds you there for a long time, forehead resting against yours, still buried deep inside you. He still won’t let you go. Not yet.

Eventually, when he’s calmed, he pulls back just enough to look at you.

You expect that same look from earlier—rage, fear, guilt—but it’s not there. Just love. Just deep, aching relief.

“I can’t lose you,” he says quietly. “I wouldn’t survive it.”

You reach up, trace the curve of his brow, the edge of his jaw. “You won’t have to,” you whisper.

Joel kisses you again. Softer this time. Sweeter. A delicate press of lips against lips. His fingers stroke your cheek, pulling back enough for his eyes to trace along your face. He follows the line of your brows, the shape of your nose, the soft curve of your lips.

He can’t feel anything other than love.

Gentle. Solid. Steady.

It’s only love.

mini nat's note: everyone please send good vibes for my hell sent ch*m final on monday...i literally need all the luck i can get. thank you so much for reading! mwah.

[scopophobia-polaris]

So, to add on to Navi's post, because her whole read for the original was getting screenshots from the game to debunk what was said, of course....we are now here. I want to tell you that no one here disagreed with your conclusion about Ganondorf being a victim. What we here disagreed with was the method you used to get there. Simplifying Ganondorf down to solely good or solely evil is something this Fandom does all the time with little to no nuance. And even though you have written an eloquent essay, Published even! You twisted or outright made up parts of the game to get to your conclusion. In essay writing, that's called a logical fallacy, and the whole essay either twists what happens in the game or outright gets it wrong.

Now people are probably gonna wonder why I'm treating this like a big deal or why I'm speaking so blunt, because this is by all means very stupid fandom drama.

But I think when you're a college prof and you get an essay published and it's online for people to read everywhere without you, one, not giving the context behind Ganondorf's creation and the coding of his appearance and motivations, two the complexities of a corporate conglomerate in a notoriously socially conservative country taking aesthetics from countries who were historically colonized. And Three, The way that video games are a collaborative effort with usually no singular vision, this is very true at nintendo despite what people may think, and at any moment changes can be made for any reason by team leads or executives that would hinder or even hurt a story. It detrimental to the audience reading it that you do not provide them more of a couple of screenshots

Basically, many things go into a story and now I'm taking this more from a DOYLIST view right here talking about Nintendo. But I'm doing this because you keep trying to say..... well fuck man do I need to pull up more examples? Navi got them all, the whole essay is you trying HEAVILY to imply that Nintendo MEANT to do all of this, as in intentional in the story, idk I feel crazy, words have meaning, specific wording has implication, oh and this dosent even get into how localization can change things 😃😀 wording has meaning and sometimes translators don't have cultural contexxxtttttttt and to not even mention about Nintendo's history or even the short hand that comes from Ganondorf's design and the historical Orientalism behind it feels like a disservice to the paper, but much more qualified people then I have discussed the way Ganondorf is written and probably would love to discuss or link to previous writing again if asked.

And this is a cold take but Nintendo isn’t the place you should be looking to for deep story telling, they will always be a corporate entity first and the bottom line is a general audience, this does not mean JUST KIDS this means to a generalized population. And this is extremely cynical but a lot of people cant even handle the complexity of a female character who is mean, like Midna, do you really think people would handle a Ganondorf like how he is in Tp being portrayed in any form of film language as good????? This game dropped 5 years after 9/11, Nintendo was never gonna lose out in money like that.

And Dude people have given so much shit to HUGE fanartists and comic authors about their work portraying Ganondorf in a sympathetic light, you would of thunk more people would of picked up on Ganondorf's story being written as tragedy if there was something in the game that actually DID that. Maybe they would of written a blog post about how Midna saw Link kill Ganondorf and was ashamed of that or Ganondorf TOTALLY said the history of light and shadow will be written in blood thing before the final battle, you think people would of talked about huh why did Ganondorf say that there or something and maybe went 🤔 instead of it being argued that Tp Ganondorf had the weakest writing of the series until TotK threw a pile of flaming shit at my door with a picture of Ganondorf on it.

Navi also goes in depth on how Hyrule has not exactly stagnated like what was claimed in History of Light and Shadow by using the Goron merchants and Yeto as examples.

Rynling has stated that the cause of the stagnation and decline is due to an ineffectual leader that has "Not allowed its people to be revitalized by change and diversity."

Now I am familiar with the flaws of an undetermined national unity, I am very familiar with the subject, but I’m not going to speak like an authority. Id rather let someone much more qualified make that post and I link back to it, because i know its coming. But Navi said in her post that the idea of what could of happened at Arbiter's Grounds can completely blow over someone's head if they didn't play OoT first, and I think more or less this is accurate, certain things are lost in Wind Waker even with the recaps, but I wanna join in on this in my own way...

Rynling....you may say Hyrule has been on a decline during Tp......you may even think OoT had a more stable Hyrule or some shit.....i THINK YOU FORGOT ABOUT THE PLOT OF OCARINA OF TIME BAYBEEEEEEE

THE SUPPLEMENTAL MATERIAL THAT I CAN PULL UP TO PROVE MY SHIT ABOUT OOT HYRULE BEING DOG SHIT IN COMPARISON TO TP

Like if you're seriously gonna link me and Navi to your essay then I am about to go full BTW it's a Sativa and eat that bitch after midnight cuZ we YELLIN ABOUT OCARINA OF TIME ON THIS POST FOR EVERYONE🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

All of Ocarina of Time's narrative is haunted by the civil war, the whole reason why Link is being raised in the woods is cuz of the civil war, the Sheikah are implied to have died out during the same conflict, and well its said that Hyrule was unified during it

Civil War yet the translators use unified the country like it WASNT under a sole ruler before? Hello? I need to go back through the Japanese script for the game again to see if i missed something of the game and freak it harder. And do realize the Deku sprout in this screenshot says fierce war but every where else, including the Zelda wiki (not fandom) its CIVIL War.

The Gate to Death mountain and Simultaniously the fence at Zora's river gives us and idea that peace was....tenuous at best downright hostile at worse given relations with the Gerudo

so today we gonna do some fun comparing and contrasting the Gorons and how they are treated in OoT to TP

and we gonna start with his racist ass BHJBHDBHKCJW

I mean, damn remmeber how mad Darunia is at Link for being the supposed royal family messenger? Link Unlocking the door to Darunia's room with Zelda's lullaby, I think it's a little funny that Darunia is hung up , you know, like he knows this is some disrespectful shit

Hey wannna hear some shit? The gates at the edge of death mountain aren't guarded by Gorons and were not built by them you can tell, the only way to visit the mountain is to get permission from the King to go up and not from the people that actually live there

God and like, there is something about the way Darunia locks himself in his room, like he does it to keep the ruby safe from all the other Gorons being so hungry that he's frightened they're gonna eat it, he doesn't know what to do on how to act about the Dodongos that Ganondorf summon on him for not giving over that rock. It qlmost sounds like when Ganondorf came in and Threatened Darunia, and that he (Darunia) sent a message to the royal family asking for help, why else would he be expecting someone to come meet with him?

"If I'm not mistaken, you came out here to eat the red stone too! Well, too bad! It's not here! What? That's not why you're here? You're looking for a "Spiritual Stone?" You must mean that delicious-looking red stone that was once displayed above the city! I was so hungry that I thought it would be OK to just give it one tiny, little lick...so I snuck up there. But it was already gone! I think Big Brother took it away. He always says that everyone is after that red stone! Big Brother has shut himself up in his room saying, "I will wait in here for the Royal Family's messenger!" this is a quote from the Goron that you can find on the middle of the rope bridge thing in Goron city.

Yeah so he sent a letter or something and no one answered yeesh.

contrast this all with TP where OH LOOKS WHO'S GUARDING DEATH MOUNTAIN

so in TP spoilers, this happens

Kakariko is more connected then ever! Renado here is wondering what the hell is going on with their FRIENDS. And yeah the Goron elder Gor Coron is trying to keep the last few people from kakariko left safe, and other Gorons, i mean, theyre keeping a piece of the fused shadow in there. also the way that entry into the temple goes in this game is cute, Darunia was freaking it cuz everyone is starving, but here Link wrestles his way up a mountain to ask the Gron elder whats happening since he was asked to come here by Renado, Gor Coron goes DAMN

unless......?

IDK ITS LIKE? ITS SILLY? Idk Hyrule isnt the best place but why try and act like this doesnt happen during TP?

so where am i getting at with this? the hell was going on back during OoT? If things are so odd and weirdly tense with the gates gaurds and non responses

"As time passed, the Triforce became a legend, and the different people of Hyrule forgot the laws and wisdom that the goddesses had left behind. Warfare and strife became common in Hyrule, as the armies of the Zora marched on the Hylians. The Gorons fought the Gerudo. It seemed every race of Hyrule was at the other's throat. Only the secluded Kokiri, sheltered by their magical forest and the Great Deku Tree, were spared the destruction of Hyrule's civil wars.

After 50 years of ceaseless combat, there arose a Hylian King of great wisdom, courage and power. Through his brilliant military campaigns and wise diplomacy, he was able to bring the varied people of Hyrule into a tenuous harmony. Treaties of peace were signed, and prosperity once again seemed to bloom in Hyrule. But no sooner had people declared peace in Hyrule than trouble once again stalked the land."

Tenuous Harmony, could you imagine if they dropped a line like this in Creating a champion? The tumblr side of the fandom would go fucking nuts with that info like OHHHHH SHIT WAS GOING ONNNNNN

This was ALL on the offical Nintendo Zelda website back when oot was the big game out, we have this cuz someone saved it to the wayback, THIS SCREENSHOT WAS FROM DECEMBER 14TH 2001, ABOUT A FULL YEAR AND A DAY UNTIL WIND WAKER WAS RELEASED IN JAPAN. THAT'S INSANE RIGHT???? ‼️‼️🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

And then it all probably got deleted once wind waker became the new thing!!! Or when they wanted to modernize and deleted it!!! THAT SUCKS RIGHT????

And what's worse is that it introduces some new info and also clarifies something. Hey you know when I made that post like damn Darunia racist as hell

"Warfare and strife became common in Hyrule, as the armies of the Zora marched on the Hylians. The Gorons fought the Gerudo."

NO WHERE IN THE GAME THE LEGEND OF ZELDA OCARINA OF TIME IT SAYS THIS, IT DOES NOT STATE THERE WAS CONFLICT BETWEEN THE GORONS AND GERUDO.....LIKE DIN GET YA KIDS.....IM LOOKING EVERYWHERE FOR SOMETHING I MUST OF MISSED.

But Like oh hey a fucking explanation to why he just fucking says that, I figure it was cuz of Ganondorf trying to almond mom all of them or that he kept talking to the King and well.....Navi already showed the GENERAL reaction to the Gerudo in castle town.

it went from oh hes just racist to dARUNIA AND GANONDORF HAVE HISTORY????

But the interesting one is why did thy Zora "marched on the Hylians."

Like sitting here like, I know a comic made in Germany shouldn't be a be all end all in shit I knew it never was and it would like. If you put this in warrior cats canonicoty categorization would be considered lower down supplementary material dubious canon, but their are things in the comic AND the Himekawa manga that behinds some behind the scenes actions given that LINK'S MOM HAS A MOSTLY CONSISTENT DESIGN WHAT THE HELLLLLLLL. And I always thought the Goron Zora war thing was stupid but Nintendo then had that out on their website, what the hell was going ON.

Because idk i didnt think much of Zora De Bon XVI and the Hyrulien King's relationship but

Now a days the Zelda website is much different and does not have lore pages like this anymore, it's more like a summary of the timeline. But yeah actually Nintendo approved shit, Hylian/Zora war.

Hyrule is progressing, its just going slowly, Hyrule is not AS stifled by its monarchy or a lack of integration during TP because Hyrule IS integrating, is people's are intermingling like is hasn't before during this game.

And this isn't even to get started on the E3 demo of Twilight princess that the trip that Link is supposed to take at the beginning of the game was to be the representative of Ordon at the "Hyrule summit

and Hyrule is described in a VERY specific way

Kingdom of Hyrule and neighboring realms? like theyre all not under the crown? so like???? FUN, that didn't end up making it in the game. the dailouge that is, But the remints is still there in the way the game is made up, like how OoT is built off is civil war bones

actually funny, Navi just got me screenshots of the way the dialouge was changed here

Like stuff clearly changed during the demo and finished game, I should of been touching more on the intricacies of how like shit was just change for no reason sometimes but uh....

But maybe @rawliverandgoronspice would want to one day like about games industry stuff if you ever want to 😭 I know you're super passionate on this and I wish I like even off hand mentioned something about how like TP is also effected by how games are made but I didn't and I'm a fool but games are complicated as hell and that post you made talking a bit about it was fun ya know 👉👈 and the Beta of Tp changes a LOT of stuff, one Rusl really is like a brother to link in the way he messes with him, it actually makes some weird Nintendo licensed shit saying hes like a big brother to Link made WAYYYYY more since with the Beta in mind, but....that also mean they tried to keep the big bro vibes....but then put the dad ones in there too like.....uh...did..someone not change his summary anywhere?

that was my big thing i wanted to talk about, navi's already touched on everything else i just think the parallels here between the Goron quest between OoT and TP changes in such a nice way.

And like this doesn't get into other shit about TP, like if we wanna deep dive into shit ya don't gotta do it by twisting the story, like I was going and talking to @blackautmedia to ask with some help when it came to like.......god idk what i even said anymore i was going a mile a minute. He wants to write his own thing on Twilight princess so im not gonna step on his toes but he has recommended Arabs and Muslims in the Media: Race and Representation after 9/11 by Evelyn Alsultany, the link I provided here is too her website and her page on the book this link here is from her own site that has a pdf of a part American Quarterly with a paper by the same name.

Anyways i wanna reflex for a moment cuz ive been up for hours finishing this because my brain wont stop unless i do. But the thing that by all means started this, was not your reblog linking me and Navi to your essay, or that there is 2 versions i found out where the paper published one had a lot more context to why you wrote your tumblr post the way you did, Navi helped me get the parts that were cut, please realize removing these does not remove the sentiment from the essay, its baked in.

fanfic, its a popular Fan interpretation that there was fighting between the Gerudo and Hylians after Ganondorf was caught trying to take the triforce, but this is not stated to of happened in the lore itself or even has evidence to back it up other then the Implications of Arbiter's grounds theory

UGHHHH AND THIS AGAIN "Twilight Princess Delivers a subtle yet poignant protest against neoliberal discourses of empire reflected in the rhetoric of heroism inform the geopolitical movements of Japan throught the twentieth century"

WHAT ARE YOU FUCKING TALKING ABOUT......

i dont mean this in a stupid ass way, im saying where the hell was about the protest thing, wait i really shouldt take from the published one cuz you actually dumbed down the line for tumblr

anyways again, where, Navi made it clear enough with her own post that, no, the way that Ganondorf is animated has no sympathy for him until the light is literally leaving him. Hell Twilight princess inst very kind to the gerudo either given that the only thing said about them is that they were thieves and nothing more. Like somehow OoT is more empathetic to the Gerudo, it doesn't just call them thieves, it aint great its not even good its just a bad portrayal of a people, and yet somehow OoT is willing to show the Gerudo in a neutral light at points then TP ever did.

but the reason i decided to just throw down a post is cuz i was pissed that you went after Ezlo for reblogging ME and NAVI's posts and purposefully misunderstood their fuckin wind waker post about ZELDA YOUTUBERS

dude you had them getting genuinely harassed by people with 0 reading comprehension that thinks a snarky reply to a tumblr post means its 100% correct. Webbed. Site.

anyways, I hope people don't take this as a right or wrong way to interpret a piece of work, as stated before, I read your essay, navi read your essay, you changed parts of Twilight Princess to get to the conclusion of you paper...And im gonna be real but it's kinda crazy that you're using post colonial melancholia for this when it's got some.....well something like idk i need someone to do a full ass review because there are point where i gently raise an eyebrow im gonna be real. but also like

like how do you read his book and then miss out on this, one of your whole big aruments is that hyrule is stagnate and not multi cultural and i had to grab screenshots and Navi had to get shit from the game.

like damn, do yall ever uh feel a strange sadness when dusk falls? i do. Idk this is one of the first and last times Nintendo ever delt with Ganondorf with some form a sympathy for him, cuz we got the dragon explosion in totk its like oh he's turbo evil now and he exploded you exploded him and yet the Gerudo probably still gotta pay for his shit from a billion years ago anyways idk idk idk pot shots at totk again.

I know you dug around a little for that post, and I understand from the numerous people that dmed me about that, you probably went on making an essay on their post so you could sound smart again.

And to be clear, I was told to drop some shit i was about to say about you because no one wants to start fandom drama, neither do I truly and any jab on the post itself would just be rude. people change and some people only learn to shut the hell up, so we'll keep it at that. I just hope you really don't truly recognize some of these people you started shit with.

So yeah tldr, uh.....idk, im going in for an autism screening in a month

also me watching the ending to windwaker cuz i wanted to say something about stong endings TP fans im sorry But Wind waker's ending hits no matter what best sequal to OoT thats isnt Majora's mask

The History of Light and Shadow

At the end of Twilight Princess, Ganondorf delivers one of his most memorable lines, “The history of light and shadow will be written in blood.” He is not wrong. As the player has witnessed over the course of Link’s adventure, Hyrule is haunted by ruins and ghost towns, a mere shadow of what it once was. The landscape is filled with numerous sites of past violence and empty spaces visibly marked by decay and wasted potential.

When Zelda tells Link and Midna that “these dark times are the result of our deeds,” she is referring to specific historical acts of imperialistic aggression. Hyrule established hegemony over its outlying territories by crushing the rebellions against its advances, but the kingdom has suffered from cultural stagnation as a result. Without the dynamic diversity symbolized by Ganondorf, Hyrule finds itself in economic and political decline, isolated from any contact with the world beyond its shrinking borders.

As a representative of a marginalized group of people who have been attacked and driven from their homes, Ganondorf is a tangible manifestation of the horrors of imperialism. He must be defeated, but doing so does not address the underlying problems that have resulted in Hyrule’s decline. I therefore want to argue that Twilight Princess uses Ganondorf to deliver a subtle yet poignant protest against the discourses of empire reflected by the dualistic “light and shadow” rhetoric of heroism that has resulted in tragedy and regret.

Keep reading

[dunham-doodles]

A Picture Worth A Thousand Words

Remmick x fem!reader

2k words | Pure fluff

Summary: (AU - Remmick survived the juke joint.) It’s 1964 and you’re an artist who decides to draw the handsome stranger who keeps turning up at your door every night.

Tags: yearning; soft and sweet; lingering gazes; touching scars; 1960s music; puppy!Remmick; touch starved!Remmick

A/N: I wanted to borrow an idea I’ve seen used with Astarion from Baldur’s Gate 3. I love love love the idea of an artist drawing the face of a vampire who hasn’t seen their reflection in God knows how long.

“Hold still,” you ordered, “I don’t wanna mess this up.”

“This ain’t gonna hurt, is it?” Remmick said playfully.

“It will if you keep moving,” you shot back, only half joking. “Eyes on that horizon, boy.”

“Yes ma’am,” he drawled out, rolling his eyes lightly. He tilted his chin in the direction of wherever horizon meant. Although his tone was sarcastic, a grin curled at the ends of his lips.

The night air was crisp. It was the beginning transition of spring into summer where the days warmed the skin like an embrace from a loved one but the nights remained cool like a reminder of their absence. The town had eased into sleep around you.

You thought the best thing about living out in the middle of nowhere was that there was no light pollution. Despite the dark, the sky was alight with hues of deep purple and blue like an ocean dotted with pinpricks of multicolored stars. In school, they taught you the names of each and every constellation that rotated with the seasons.

You found him right under Polaris. You had been awake after losing track of time. You were locked into your paintings so intensely, you didn’t see the sky turn. The ashtray was loaded with burnt out cigarettes, remnants of smoke curling in the warm glow of the single lamp glowing on the end table. You kept the window open to air out the smell, the soft trickles of a sad guitar playing through your stereo speakers filtering through the pane.

He stood at the end of the dirt path that served as your driveway, hands in pockets, curious, as if he were contemplating going up and installing himself into your life. You weren’t going to get a say in when or how.

You turned down the record as he got closer.

“There’s no need to do that,” he said, hands stretching out in the open air, “I came up here to ask what you was playin’ is all.” His blue eyes pleaded innocent.

“Lonnie Johnson,” you stated, an edge to your words.

He hummed low in his throat. “She sure knows how to play.”

“He,” you corrected, “Lonnie’s a dude.”

“H-He,” the stranger repeated, “He sure knows how to play.” A beat of silence strung between you awkwardly. He shuffled his feet underneath himself. “You wouldn’t mind if I sat and listened, wouldja?”

You chuckled to yourself. A strange white man asking you if you minded if he sat and listened to your records in the dead of night? Your eyes took a precautionary glance over where the trees met the boarder of your land for any sign of unsavory movement.

“You alone?” you asked finally. He nodded his head. You pursed your lips, weighing your decision in your mind. You turned on your heel, away from the window. You crossed to your record player, moved the needle to the beginning track, and turned the sound up a little louder.

You met the eyes of the stranger’s once more. His features reflected his gratitude. He leaned against the strong post of the porch landing and closed his eyes, taking in the music.

You shook your head. What a weird man.

He kept finding his way to your home every night after sundown.

“Whatcha got spinnin’ tonight?” he’d ask you without fail. You’d tell him anything from Etta James to Freddie King and he’d happily sit his ass down on your porch no matter who poured through those speakers.

Some nights he came with some 45s he thought you would like.

“The guy on guitar has to be one of my favorites from this decade,” he said, pushing the small disc into your hands. To be honest, you thought his music tastes were a little too old. Nothing he gave you was dated past the forties. But still, you admired the gesture. In return, you gave him a more modern musical education, opening his ears to the sounds of the 60s. He was floored the first time he heard Hendrix.

“Find a new favorite guitar player, did ya?” you teased.

It was nice having him to share your nights with. He didn’t make too much of a fuss; didn’t ask for anything to eat or drink, despite your offerings. He was perfectly content listening to your music and asking questions about your art. He praised the paintings, kept saying they belonged in the Louvre rather than hidden in this small town. You shooed away his compliments like water off a duck’s back but you couldn’t stop the blush creeping into your cheeks.

One evening, you decided you were gonna join him out on your porch. Armed with your drawing pad and a tin of charcoal sticks, you rocked yourself gently on your porch swing with your big toe. You had tucked yourself into an oversized crochet blanket, preserving your warmth as you waited for the sky to dim. You had the radio on instead of playing a record to save yourself from having to leave your seat. The tinny voices crackled over the sounds of the crickets singing.

“Evenin’ Remmick,” you called when you saw him crest your driveway. He told you his name some nights ago and you kept it on your tongue whenever he was near. You just liked the way his face lit up like Christmas whenever you said it.

“You waitin’ for me?” he asked, a hand pressed to his chest.

“Sure looks like it,” you replied. He crossed over to your place on the swing but leaned against the post of the porch landing instead. “You ain’t gonna sit by me?”

Remmick jolted like he touched an electric fence. “I didn’t know you were offerin’.”

You scooched over to make room for him and patted the empty space. “I don’t bite,” you winked. A smile tugged at his lips as if he were keeping down a really good joke.

The swing groaned under his weight. Your heart flip-flopped at the proximity of him. His brown hair curled at the base of his neck, grown too shaggy. His face was pocked with unkempt whiskers and a white scar cracked the left side of his cheek. You wanted to trace that scar with the tips of your fingers.

His blue eyes watched you carefully. Watched for any indication that his nearness was offensive somehow. He kept himself small, not daring to brush your skin. He moved as if you were on fire and he was trying very hard not to get burned.

“You’re gonna be my muse,” you declared.

“That’s the first time I’ve been called that,” Remmick smirked, “What do I gotta do?”

You picked up a charcoal stick and told him to face forward, keep his eyes on the dirt path ahead. The charcoal scratched the surface of the paper, debris crumbling onto your lap.

Santana crooned over the speakers on your radio lying on the kitchen counter inside. Remmick shifted under the weight of your presence.

“I think I like your music better,” he mumbled.

You breathed out a small laugh without looking up. “You’re too kind. Your taste isn’t too bad either. You just got an ol’ soul.”

Remmick pursed his lips. “You could say that.”

“Did you grow up here?” you asked softly.

He shook his head. “No,” he sighed sadly, “You?”

“Nope. I moved out here a few years ago.”

“How come?”

“Just wanted a change. The city was too loud.” Your eyebrows knit together in concentration. Remmick took this moment to steal a look at you.

Your eyes flicked up at him through your eyelashes. The tips of your ears turned crimson. “Eyes forward, Pretty Boy.”

“Pretty Boy?” he tossed the name around his mouth like a shiny token. You bit your lip to keep from saying much else.

You twisted the length of your charcoal stick to match the angle of his nose before copying it onto your page. His shoulders slowly began to relax. His hands brushed down his thighs, right where your knee almost touched him. He curled his fingers as if to check that they were still operational.

“Can I look yet?” he asked tenderly. His pinkie stretch precariously, bridging the gap between you two. You could feel his nail ghosting on your bare skin. Your heart leapt into your throat, the lightest of touches already turning your nerves into an inferno.

“Just gotta work on the shading,” you replied meekly. He nodded, correcting his head. His finger never dropped. He began to soothingly stroke your knee back and forth, keeping time with the new song that played. It tickled you.

It was harder to concentrate now. From the briefest of looks, you noticed his jaw clenching and unclenching, chewing on words he almost felt ready to say. And what would those words be? What could he possibly say to make your heart race any faster?

To ease it along, you pushed your knee further into his touch. Remmick inhaled sharply in response. He closed his eyes, finally allowing himself to melt.

“Okay,” you said after a while, “I think I’m done.” You pressed the pad of paper to your chest before revealing it slowly to him. He cradled the pad in his calloused hands like it was a newborn.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, “This is me?” He asked the question like he wasn’t sure what he looked like.

“It’s a rough sketch,” you admitted, “If I gave it more time, I could clean up the lines and be more precise with the shadows.”

“When did I-?” he wondered under his breath. His fingers brushed the hair curled around his ears to the hair on his chin, trailing all the way to the scar that marked him. His brow furrowed as if remembering the fresh wound marring his face and the blood and pain that came with it. He covered it fully with his hand, ashamed to have you look upon it any longer.

“How’d you get that?” you asked tentatively.

His eyes tore reluctantly from his portrait. “I, uh…” he paused, “The war.” He locked back onto the sketch, studying it as if he hadn’t seen his own face in centuries.

“Is… Is everything okay?” you whispered. You gently pressed yourself into his side.

“Yes,” he murmured. He straightened his back and finally met your gaze again. “Yeah, everything’s good.”

“Y’know, you can tell me if you hate it,” you chuckled, trying to make it light. “Don’t gotta spare my feelings.”

“No, I love this! I love—,” he started. “You did an amazin’ job.”

“You can keep it,” you said. Your hands met his and you lightly pushed the drawing pad against his chest. You leaned into his space, your touch lingering on his. Your thumb rubbed the side of his hand, returning the gentleness he showed you. Remmick’s lips parted slightly, exhaling a shallow breath.

“Thank you,” he spoke. His voice frayed like he hated that he broke the silence. You smiled softly at him. Your fingers reached and stroked the angry crevasse on his cheek.

He looked so fragile being held. His eyelids fluttered as he bathed in the warmth of your hand. He winced like it hurt but his head leaned into you instinctively. A soft trembling sound slipped past his lips.

“You are a wonderful muse,” you said. You leaned in and planted a delicate kiss on that scar. He dipped his head slipping past your ear before nuzzling in the crook of your neck. You gathered him into your arms, wrapping the blanket around his broad shoulders. Your fingers stroked the relaxed curls of his dark hair. His arms lifted with difficulty, still unsure if he was allowed this much, and rested around your waist. When you didn’t fight him, he pulled you in closer. You began to hum along to the song that wept from the radio.

The last thing you remembered before falling asleep was the steady rocking of the porch swing on the light breeze and the feathery trail of kisses tied with promises of everlasting happiness.

[creamecafe]

hii could u write something for Dae-ho set in the mingle game and its basically just him protecting reader and always keeping them at his side. 🫶🫶🫶

"As long as I'm here, no one can hurt you"

Summary: What the request says

Pairing: Dae-Ho x GN!Reader (No pronouns used)

Warnings: fluff, comfort, pining

Word Count:

Author's Note: Thank you so much for requesting. I hope you enjoy!

Want a request for a Squid Game character like this one? Check out my latest post, read my request guidelines and send a request!

Read on Wattpad & AO3 here

It's a miracle that you have made it to the third game. You were sure you were going to die in the second game, but thanks to the team you had, you were more than determined to still stay alive

Out of all them, there was one that you kept looking at. Dae-Ho. You couldn't help but find him cute. This certainly wasn't the place to have feelings as you could die before telling him.

It was the same for Dae-Ho, trying to make sure everyone is ok and that the team survives. But it was something with you.

He felt safe with you, and wanted to protect you. Even if it meant giving his life for you.

The announcement for the third game came, you were worried, but wanted it to be over it. Dae-Ho noticed you being anxious and asked if you okay

"Are you okay?"

You stopped zoning out and looked at him with your heart pounding.

"What? Y-yes I'm ok thank you." Nodding trying to reassure yourself.

"I think this might be the last game I play in." You chuckled knowing deep inside you dreaded the idea

"Hey look at me."

You did as he said. "Don't say that, you have us."

He held out your hand to hold it. You looked at it and hesitated putting your hand out but you held it. A tight squeeze was given but not too rough. It was a sign of reassuring.

He gives you a smile and you did too not of full happiness but someone is here to care about you.

All of you guys were called for the game. You got up and stayed close to Dae-Ho. He looked back at you and nodded. You did the same.

It was the same, climbing up those colorful but dreading stairs to the next game. Every minute or two, Dae-Ho made sure you were right behind him.

You finally reached the game and saw a carousel in the middle with horses and so many doors of different bright colors for a Pre-K setting.

"Welcome to your third game." The woman's voice from the previous games you heard came on the speakers.

"The game you will be playing is Mingle. Let me repeat. The game you will be playing is Mingle."

Turning your head to look at Dae-Ho, he's already looking at you.

You quickly look away not to make the situation worse. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable as well.

"All players, please step onto the center platform. When the game starts, the platform will begin to rotate, you will hear a number. You must form groups of that size, go into the rooms, and close the door within 30 seconds."

"Oh this game? We used to play something similar on school trips. We formed groups by hugging." Jung-bae exclaimed.

"Yeah. Instead of hugging, we go into those rooms" Dae-Ho mentioned.

"If the number is bigger than six, we'll get the additional people we need." Gi-Hun

And if it's less than that? You thought in your mind

"But what if it's smaller than five? Like three or four

You turned your head to Dae-Ho. It's like he read your mind exactly.

"No matter what happens, don't panic. Let's stay calm," Young-il nods. "We'll make it out together. Here."

Those words echoing in your mind, there wasn't enough time to doubt if your group would stick with you.

You've seen how quickly people are to turn against each other especially in the Red Light, Green Light.

But you're more than determined to stay alive, just to see Dae-Ho's face every chance you get.

Young-il puts the back side of hand out to form a truce. One by one, everyone is putting their hands on top of each other. You were the last one.

"Y/N. Are you in?" Gi-Hun asks.

Dae-Ho looks at you with worry in his eyes. You had no choice and no knowledge of trusting others in this game, so you put your hand out on top.

Dae-Ho becomes relieved at this.

"One, two, three. Victory at all costs."

Sighing at this with relief, you guys begin to spread out. The carousel is starting to spin

People scream out in fear. Lights go out and the light in the middle where horses out lights ups and music plays.

Children are singing about holding hands and ringing around.

Dae-Ho holds your hand lightly. He grazes your hand with his thumb. You don't look at him, as you fear you'll die doing so.

It suddenly stops. The number is 9. People are running out frantically pairing in groups of 9. Dae-Ho doesn't let go of your hand.

"We need 3 more." You said. Your group ran looking for 3 more.

A old lady, her son and another woman goes up to you guys.

"Are you guys 3?" Young-il asks

"Yes we're." The old lady nods frantically.

"Quickly we got to get into a room" Gi Hun exclaims

Your feet were starting to move, but the grip of Dae-Ho holding your hand made you move even faster.

All of you guys rushed into a room and closed the door. The room was filled with heavy breaths. There was a click on the lock meaning that the room was closed and nobody can get in or out.

Right now, you have never been more grateful to be alive in playing a game

It wasn't long before you heard gunshots, and it was safe to assume it was those who didn't pair up or get into rooms in time.

Now that you're safe, you look at Dae-Ho and he does too.

"Is everyone ok?" Dae-Ho asks

There was a lot of yes. That answer might change throughout the game seeing how long each of us might last.

The door lock clicked and you guys were allowed to come out. There were bodies on the floors and blood splattered. "Take off your mind off those bodies or you'll be one of them" Your mind was telling yourself.

"We got this" Dae-Ho talks to you

"We do" You smiled. Don't know how many smiles it will take to keep going, but you're ready to prove his point.

The game started again and the carousel spins. You hold out to Dae-Ho's hand.

Now the number was 4. Young-il grabs Jung-Bae and goes to find two more people. That's left Gi-Hun, Jun-Hee, Dae-Ho and you left.

There was no time to waste. All four you ran to a room and locked yourself in. Gi-Hun was looking around for Young-il. You pulled him back in.

The gunshots came again. The lesser the number, the more likely people will betray each other.

How long this game will last, you don't know. All you know is that you have people here to help you. Even if it's just one person, it makes all the difference.

The doors clicked and it was time for another round. The panic and adrenaline of it all keeps coming back. But Dae-Ho is making sure you're by his side, even if he may die in the game as well.

Six the group was. Dae-Ho said you and him were going to go and find another group. Luckily you did and you managed to still be alive locked in a room.

Now it all came down to the very last game. There were less people than the game started. You wanted to finish this for once and for all. While the carousel was spinning and music playing, you place yourself in movement ready to run and holding Dae-Ho's hand.

"2" The voice said.

It felt like time was going slow once it announced the number. Everybody is rushing to get into a room. Time's running out.

You felt a hand pull you back and you fell to the ground. Dae-Ho heard your scream and saw someone trying to stop you from going into a room. Someone else was already in the room that you guys were planning to go into.

Dae-Ho could go into the room and that would already make it two. But he's made it too far to leave you.

He ran and punched the guy that pushed you. He put you back on your feet and dragged the other guy out. He slammed the door shut and the timer just came to zero. The guy on the other side begs and bangs on the door.

A pink guard shoots him and the noises stop.

"Are you ok?" Dae-Ho rushes to you.

Still shaken at what happened, at the fact you almost died if it wasn't for him to save you, you nodded.

"Yes I am. Thank you."

There was a moment of silence between you too as you were catching your breaths.

The door clicked and you both came out.

"Y/N! Dae-Ho!" Both of your names were being called

Gi-Hun, Young-il, Jung-Bae and Jun-Hee run up to you guys and you all hug each other.

"I'm so glad you guys are ok." Jun-Hee smiles

You're also relieved that everyone else is fine and made it out alive. You could return back to the dorms.

Walking down back the stairs and into the dorms, everyone was mostly silent but some talked.

You ran up and tapped Dae-Ho on the shoulder.

"Hey Dae-Ho?"

"Yes Y/N?"

"You could have gone into the room where the other guy before you dragged him out, why didn't you?"

Dae-Ho took a pause before responding.

"I have lost many people when I was a marine, seen people get killed in front of me. I can't let it happen to you."

He starts to become close to you but not too close.

"As long as I'm still alive, I'll make sure you're fine. That's a promise I tend to keep Y/N."

Those words stuck with you. You could die in the next game, but right here at this moment is a reason to keep going.

Taglist:

@hobinistaworld

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[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 piña colada

synopsis: some women just can't take a hint... good thing Zoro's only got eyes for one girl.

cw: nsfw (oral: female receiving), this woman is really shameless, surprisingly tender Zoro, you two are so in love, kinda magical ngl, etc.

"Hey, there," a woman—who was in the tiniest bikini known to man—hummed, tone low as she approached the lounge chair. "I don't think I've seen you on this island before."

'For fuck's sake...'

Annoyed, Zoro let a heavy sigh out from his nose, not even bothering to glance in the girl's direction as his sunglasses shaded his harsh side eye.

You'd think after seeing eight other women walk dejectedly away from his umbrella, the others would catch the hint?

"Not interested," he stated, curtly, hands firmly tucked behind his head as he looked out to sea.

The woman chuckled, softly, completely ignoring his comment and taking a seat in the sand.

She sat criss-crossed, dropping her hands in her lap and using her arms to slightly push her tits together, attempting to endearingly lean closer to your swordsman.

"Don't be so hasty," she sweetly smiled, taking his rudeness in stride. "Haven't even given me the chance to speak."

"Well, that's 'cause I really don't give a shit what you say otherwise," he sighed, shutting his eyes.

"I can name ten other men off the top of my head that would beg to differ," she countered, slyly.

"I'm not other men."

"You certainly aren't..."

'Walked right into that one.'

His brows flattened, and for a moment he wondered if this was a real person talking, slightly glancing around to see if he could find a camera crew of some sort.

Yet, to his surprise, there was none.

"I have a girlfriend," he dealt the finishing blow, delivering the final line that scared away all the other women from before.

He could finally get some peace and quiet.

"I don't see her here," the woman shrugged, simply, as if what he just said made no difference to her.

Zoro threw his head back with an irritated groan, wanting nothing more than to drop kick the woman away and go back to napping.

This was all Luffy and Usopp's fault.

The crew had been docked on a tropical summer island for a few days, and for all of them, you and Zoro had gone down to the beach together and lounged in the sun—tanning, napping, eating, and drinking in rotation.

But on that particular day, the boys had whisked you away to go explore some cove they found on the beach's edge, leaving your swordsman to fend off the wolves by himself.

And at first, it wasn't that bad.

The girls that approached were polite and had pure intentions, and actually respected his wishes when he said he was uninterested.

But numbers four through eight?

Hell, the woman sitting next to him?

Less so.

"Are you deaf or somethin'?" he asked, brows furrowed as he sat up, not appreciating her comment at all. "I already told you, I'm not interested. So get lost."

"Oh, c'mon," she rolled her eyes with a laugh. "There's no way you actually have a girlfriend. No girl in her right mind would leave her man alone on a beach like this, especially if he was as handsome as you."

"Maybe that's why she's my girlfriend and you're not," he scoffed, sarcastically.

Her brow twitched, the remark clearly striking a nerve as her posture suddenly straightened, her sickeningly sweet tone turning sour in a second.

"Well then, maybe your girlfriend can step up and we can see who's really the shit," she spat, standing from her spot in the sand. "Since she's so fuckin' great, let's see how she fares in a fight."

A smirk rose to the woman's lips, her hand coming to rest cockily on her hip.

"I might not look it, but I'm this island's martial arts champion... And I've yet to lose a fight. So let's see how she does with her face in the sand."

Zoro paused a moment, almost disbelieving, lifting up his sunglasses and taking a breath to see if the woman was serious.

She was.

Deadly serious, actually.

'HA!'

The man threw his head back in a burst of uproarious laughter, the sound causing the woman to jolt with surprise, and slight fear.

She'd never seen his expressions range anything past annoyance, so seeing him so amused seemed almost uncanny, especially since he was nearly howling with hilarity.

But he couldn't help himself.

You, the woman with a bounty over one billion?

You, the woman with the devil fruit of the personified spirit of death?

You, the woman who has fought literal monsters with her bare hands?

Lose to a random martial arts lady on a peaceful summer island?

It was almost too much.

The woman's brows furrowed, face warming at the mockery.

"The hell's so funny?!" she huffed with a childish pout.

Attempting to regain his composure, he wiped a tear from his eye, slightly clutching his stomach as his laughs died down.

"She'd fuckin' kill you," he chuckled, shoulders bobbing. "Like actually."

Furious, the woman broke into a long-winded tirade about why she would win... or how badly you would lose... or something along those lines.

If he was being honest, he zoned out the moment she started talking, something more interesting seeming to catch his eye.

You.

Like a dog with a bone, he watched, mesmerized, as you made your way over, hips looking ripe and tender for the grabbing.

'Goddamn...'

After days in the sun, you'd developed a delectably smooth tan, the sunscreen you had him apply earlier giving your skin an alluring shine.

Eyes scanning over your body, he took in the light (f/c) of your bikini, which had a few complimentary, (o/c) flowers decorating its corners, along with the waist beads resting lazily over your stomach, not to mention the gold anklets and bracelets that littered your ankles and wrists.

You looked good enough to eat—a thought he didn't mind indulging in later.

"Hey! Are you listening to me?" the woman continued pestering him, her hand coming up to rest on his bicep.

Huge mistake.

Faster than she could even see, Zoro grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand off and staring her down with a deadly glare, his patience long since run thin.

The woman froze, fear slowly creeping into her chest at the sharpness of his eyes.

He looked like he had half the mind to slit her throat right there.

"I'm only gonna tell you this one last time..." he warned, tone leaving no room for argument. "Get. Lost."

Roughly, he let go of her, and she quickly scrambled to her feet, scurrying back over to the safety of her friend's towel just as you arrived.

"Hey, Zo'!" you chirped, taking a seat on your swordsman's lap as you took a sip of your cocktail, which was in a cut-off coconut.

"Hey, pretty," he greeted with a smirk, placing a kiss on your neck. "Whatchu got there?"

"Some kinda coconut-rum drink," you answered, plucking the pineapple off the rim and taking a bite out of it. "The guy at the bar called it a Piña Colada."

Zoro nodded, "S'it any good?"

"Might be a bit too sweet for you," you shrugged, holding it out to him. "But try it."

Leaning forward, he sipped a bit from the straw, his nose scrunching slightly.

It was incredibly sweet.

"Yeah, I figured as much," you giggled, amused by his expression as you took it back. "By the way, who was that girl that went running away from here? She looked scared."

Slightly, you leaned over to glance at her, who was sitting not too far away, and raised a brow as she quickly turned around, terrified by your gaze. 

'The hell?'

"Was she in trouble or somethin'?"

Zoro chuckled, knowingly, his hand sliding up your side to give your hip a lackadaisical squeeze. 

"Nah," he shook his head, finally leaning back and allowing himself to relax in the chair. "Just needed help takin' a hint."

"So... I miss anything while you were on your trip with Luffy?" Zoro asked with a smile, slowly gliding his oar through the sparkling ocean.

You lit up with excitement, suddenly reminded of the events of the day.

"I wish I dragged you along! You woulda loved it," you sighed, leaning back in your spot in the canoe. "Turns out this island isn't as peaceful as we thought. When we went to the edge of the beach, we found tons of monster-sized crabs and lobsters, all of them strong as hell."

You smirked, holding up your fist.

"Me an' Luffy made a game over who could beat the most, while Usopp kept count. And we ended up in a draw."

'Damn.'

That blew his day fighting off women right out the water.

He should've gone with you.

"What about you? Anything interesting happen while I was away?" you asked.

"Eh," he shrugged, moving his oar to the other side. "Nothin' worth mentioning. My day was honestly pretty boring."

But he was hoping to change that.

While you were gone, he found Nami and Robin on the beach, and managed to weave through theirs sea of admirers in order to ask some advice.

Things had been going really great between the two of you, and since you were always so good with surprising him with gifts and gestures, he wanted to try his hand at it.

Of course, he had no idea where to begin.

And while Nami was little to no help, spending most of the time talking his ear off about how brutish and hopeless he was, Robin recommended taking you out to the nearby cove for a romantic night.

So, after scrounging up his island allowance and buying some booze and a canoe, he swept you away, all of the day's tribulations fading to the back of his mind as he watched you sit down in his lap.

"Y'know, this is really sweet of you, Zoro," you smiled, your fingers carefully tracing the scar across his chest. "Makin' me feel all special..."

He nodded, eyes raking over your face with an almost analytical look.

God, you were so fuckin' pretty.

It was almost baffling.

If he wasn't in this canoe—

"Figured you deserved something nice," he cleared his throat, warding off the less than decent thoughts creeping into his head.

He couldn't keep the romance up if he was too busy thinking about jumping your bones.

But little did he know... you were thinking the same thing.

Shifting your position, you rested your knees on either side of him, smoothly moving to bury your face in his neck, placing firm, meaningful kisses on his flesh. 

Instinctively, the man leaned into your touch, one of his hands coming up to steady you at the small of your back, while the other continued to paddle.

Gliding your manicured hands up his body, you rested them on his strong shoulders, using them for purchase as you continued to nip at him.

His chest rumbled with a deep hum at the feeling, relishing in the way your lips felt against his pulse point, sucking a hickey onto his skin.

Yet, just as it was getting good, you pulled away with a soft pop, moving to obscure his view of the water.

"I'm blockin' you. You can't see. What're we gonna do?" you grinned, cheekily, continuing to move in front of him as he tried to peer around you. "Oh, my Gods, we're gonna crash."

He looked up at you with a small smirk and a raised brow, amused, as you continued your antics.

"Oh, no. What's gonna happen?"

Suddenly, his hand roughly pulled you into his side, a soft squeal leaving your lips as he chuckled, allowing you to wrap your arms around his neck and continue your kissing assault while his two hands returned to the oar.

Nuzzling into the crook of his neck, you peppered lazy kisses on his skin, your hand coming up to card through the hairs at the base of his neck.

Tenderly, Zoro placed a few kisses of his own on your shoulder, his eye perking at the sight of your destination.

Robin had given him impossibly thorough instructions on how to get there, which is the only reason why you two hadn't miraculously made it to the next island.

"Hey..." he lightly nudged you as the boat approached the shore. "We're here."

Lifting your head, you carefully flew out his lap, touching down on the dry sand as he hopped into the shallow water, walking around to the back and pushing the canoe onto the shore.

"Oh, wow," you gasped, in awe at the beauty laid before you. "This is beautiful! Look at the view"

The moon hovered over the water, making the waves crystallize like diamonds below, just as the stars in the ink-black sky.

The sea breeze wafted your hair and cooled the sweat on your body from the heat of the day.

It felt good to get away from people, the serenity too nice to put off.

Suddenly, Zoro scooped you up, you in one arm and the case of booze in the other as he began walking toward the cove.

"It gets better," he smirked, leading you over to where the tall rocks flattened out and arched upward, turning themselves into a natural cabana.

Placing you down, he quickly gathered some sticks from nearby, before bringing them back and starting a fire.

And as he did so, you couldn't help but marvel at his body, thick, corded muscle flexing and extending under his skin at each minute movement, looking delicious enough to bite.

And that wasn't the blood-sucker in you talking.

You sighed in contentment as you tipped your head up towards the sky, admiring the stars twinkling above

Finishing up, Zoro plopped down beside you and threw an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side with a proud smile.

"Nice, right?" he chuckled.

You lazily nodded, wanting to stay there forever—among the water, stars, and him.

You peered up at him through your lashes, hesitant to speak in fear of ruining the moment.

Slowly, he wrapped his arms around you, engulfing you in them. And you let yourself be pulled into him, sighing when your head met the crook of his shoulder.

You embraced him back, crushing your breasts against his hard chest. 

There, you two stayed, holding each other, linked together like magnets.

"You smell nice," he murmured into your skin, taking a deep inhale of you. "Like coconut."

You smiled, shyly, warmth rising to your cheeks at the compliment.

And after a few silent seconds, he pulled away from you, his eyes dark as the night sky.

"I'm gonna kiss you," he stated, curtly, his gaze alight with enamor.

You didn't get to say a reply, too preoccupied with the lips pressing against yours.

The kiss was hungry, your lips moving against each other's like you both were starving for one another.

And you were.

You could tell Zoro wanted the same thing you did when his hands moved below your waist to squeeze your ass, the feeling making you moan into his mouth.

He replied with his own grunt and pulled away, his eyes glazed over with lust.

"I wanna see you," he stated, his voice a deep rumble.

There was a molten tenderness in his gaze that had you shivering in pleasure and anticipation, wondering what else he had in store for you.

So you stripped.

Catching the hint, your hands glided up your back, pulling the string of your bikini top and letting your breasts fall out of the cups, along with the strings to your bottoms.

Zoro's eyes raked over the sight of you as if you were a piece of art he was admiring in a museum.

"Shit," he softly hissed to himself, amazed at the sight of your brown, hardened nipples.

You softly whimpered at his calloused hands caressing your sensitive breasts, causing him to move on to other matters.

He leaned in and latched his lips onto one of your nipples, where he began to suckle on.

You threw your head back to stare at the endless sky, your mouth open in an O as pleasured moans fell from your lips.

You couldn't help yourself, especially when Zoro began to suckle and flick his tongue along the sensitive bud of your nipple, his hand kneading your other breast in the process.

Then he switched, giving your other breast the same treatment.

Your hands found his hair, your fingers aimlessly wandering through the green strands.

You were ruining its somewhat even style, but he didn't seem to care.

He was more concerned with nibbling along your nipple, making you sharply inhale before your voice choked on a broken moan.

You couldn't take it.

All of this was going straight to your core, which was now throbbing and begging for attention between your thighs. 

"Please, Zo'..." you whined, gripping his hair. "I need you to touch me."

With a cocky smile, the man nodded, slowly leaning forward to lay you down in the sand.

Your eyes flitted up to the torch lit beach across the water, realizing any eagle-eyed person could come out and see you naked.

"Wait... what if someone sees us?" you asked, uncharacteristically timid.

A devious smirk rose to his lips, and he pressed a reassuring kiss on your lips.

"Let 'em... They'll be in for a show."

Gently, he pried your thighs open, revealing your sobbing, wet core.

You watched his face change from playful to downright feral as he stared at your cunt.

You flushed at his expression.

'Gods, give me strength...'

"Zoro, I'm serious—"

He shushed you, leaning forward to press wet kisses along your inner thighs.

"No more talkin', pretty," he growled against them. "All I wanna hear is my name on your lips."

He continued to pepper you thighs in kisses while his hands pinned your legs apart, his hold on you firm.

He didn't want you hiding from him.

And it felt good.

You didn't stop him when he dove right into your pussy, first peppering your lips and clit in open-mouthed kisses as if he was making out with them.

It had been so long since the two of you'd gotten intimate like this, you nearly forgot the way the man worked his mouth.

Especially when he started to flick his tongue against your clit.

His tongue swirled around it and flicked it gently based on your responses.

And shit, you were responding well.

Your body couldn't help but react pleasantly to the sensations—your toes curling; your back arching; your eyes fluttering shut; your mouth falling open into an O as moans and gasps fell from your lips.

Zoro was not only good with his tongue, but good with his hands.

He reached up and played with your titties, tweaking and pinching your nipples according to your verbal cues.

"H-Harder, please!" you begged, to which he pinched the hard, brown peaks a little harder, the burst of pain making you gush all over his lips.

"Fuck, Zo'," you moaned. "That feels so good..."

Zoro hummed approvingly into your cunt, the vibrations making your clit quiver pleasurably.

"Keep feelin' good for me, pretty," he said between the wet flicks of his tongue on your rosebud. "Lean back and wrap your thighs around my head f'me."

Before you could even say anything, he was already tugging you closer by your ankle, earning a squeal from you.

He stood on his knees for a moment, taking you in.

His lust-blown eyes trailed up and down your naked form, drinking in every part of you.

Then he inhaled deeply, as if struggling to process the sight in front of him.

"Christ, you're so fuckin' gorgeous," he huskily said.

You had no idea what to say to that.

All you could do was shyly smile up at him as he stared down at you, both of you enchanted with each other.

Then he was ducking back down and throwing your thighs across his shoulders with ease, wrapping your legs around his head.

This gave him better access to your pussy so he could easily tongue-fuck you.

As soon as you felt the wet muscle entering your wet folds and his nose brush against your clit you were in heaven.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head and your hands found his hair, gripping the blonde strands as your hips began to grind shamelessly into his face.

"Mmm-hmmm," he hummed approvingly, keeping up the pace.

He didn't pause or slow down.

He continued to work your pussy just how you wanted, making you see stars behind your eyelids and cry to the moon above.

It didn't take long for that feeling of release to dawn on you.

You couldn't help it.

His tongue just felt too good.

Plus, the atmosphere and the whole idea of getting caught in such a risque position turned you on more than you'd like to admit.

Zoro must've realized you were close because his jaw started to move fast, accompanying his tongue-fucking with porn-worthy grunts of his own that nearly threw you over the edge.

"Fuck, Zoro!" you whined. "M'gonna come!"

Eagerly, he hummed into your pussy, pulling his tongue out of your hole and proceeding to suck on your clit while his finger began to stroke the outside of your slit, barely touching your insides.

But it was enough to push you further and further down that road to releasing all over him.

His darkened eyes flicked up to yours, staring you down between your thighs.

"Come for me," he demanded. "Come for me, baby. Don't fuckin' hold back."

He grinned up at you, his eyes glistening in the moonlight.

He attached his mouth to your pussy again, and ran it until you couldn't help but fall over the edge.

"Come for me," he groaned into your cunt, becoming gradually louder as your moans reached higher pitches. "Come for me. Come for me. Come for me."

And you finally did.

That tight knot in your core finally snapped and a wave of euphoria washed over you as you came all over Zoro's face and eager lips with a loud moan.

You saw the entire galaxy and beyond as your pussy gushed, your body shivering and shuddering.

Your back arched and your hips widened into Zoro's face, trying to keep as much of the feeling going as possible.

When it finally faded, you were left feeling tired, spent, and oh-so good.

Zoro lazily cleaned you up, taking care to not overstimulate you as he ran his tongue over your sensitive, twitching core.

Then he lifted his head up away from your thighs, giving you a peak of his chin and mouth shining in your juices.

With the moon in his glazed eyes, he hummed to himself.

"You taste better than the rum."

[heethera]

˖*°࿐ •*⁀➷ 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐥?

➜ summary: what happens when your ex-best friend lawyers you into marrying him? exhibit a: the marriage contract you both wrote and signed when you were twelve.

pairing: lhs x f!reader, wc: 18k words , genre: work romance, fluff, slight angst (not really) w: rude jokes, cussing, kissing, implied sex

12 YEARS AGO

Twelve was a ridiculous age.

At twelve, you knew just enough to survive. Water was good. Hunger sucked. Sleep was non-negotiable. You understood that cereal could be dinner if no one stopped you, and that bruises from falling off your bike hurt less than the sting when Park Jongseong, your first middle school crush, told you your pigtails were uneven. For some reason, that hurt.

But love? Love was still the kind of thing you learnt from watching episodes of Phineas and Ferb when you were bored or whatever drama your mum had playing on the TV in the background. You didn’t really understand what it was.

All you knew was that it probably had the same colour and scent as Lee Heeseung.

It was the summer of 2014, and you were lying flat on your stomach across Heeseung’s bedroom carpet, the pattern of the rug imprinting little diamonds into your knees. The fan overhead creaked in slow, lazy circles. Outside, someone’s dog wouldn’t stop barking. Inside, Heeseung was twisting around with a new fidget toy he got from the dollar store. 

“Do you think I’ll have a boyfriend twelve years from now?” you asked, chewing the end of your pencil.

He didn’t even look up. “Beats me.”

“Hee, I’m serious,” you pressed.

With a groan as dramatic as his limbs were long, Heeseung finally glanced up. “What do you even want me to say?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, pencil now balanced horizontally between your upper lip and nose like a moustache. “I’m just thinking.”

Heeseung leaned back against the side of his bed, gaze flicking to the ceiling like the answer might be hidden in the fan’s creaky rotations. “Twelve years from now… we’d be—” He held up a hand, counting quietly. “Twenty-four.”

“That’s the age my parents got married,” you said, as if that somehow doomed you to a ticking clock.

Heeseung made a face. “Gross.”

You frowned, dramatic in the way only preteens could be. “I wanna get married.”

He clicked the fidget toy shut with a snap. “What is it with you and boyfriends lately?”

“I mean… twenty-four is old, Heeseung. Way old.”

“Barely,” he replied, then paused, his brow quirking slightly. “Besides, someone’ll like you.”

You cradled your face in both hands. “What if they don’t?”

He reached out and poked your cheek with the back of his knuckle. “You’re pretty. I’d like you.”

You blinked at him. “You would?”

“Sure.” He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “But not now. You’re weird.”

You cracked a smile. “Hm, so you think I’m pretty… that’s not what Park Jongseong said last week when I beat him at basketball. He said I looked like a ‘sweaty worm.’”

“Oh yeah.” Heeseung snorted, eyes crinkling. “That was funny.”

You launched a cushion at his face in retaliation. He caught it with one hand, barely blinking.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, tone casual as he dropped the cushion to the floor. “When we’re twenty-four… we’ll get married.”

You blinked. “What? Why?”

“Just in case,” he replied with a shrug. “If you don’t have a boyfriend and I don’t have a girlfriend. Then we’ll get married.”

You stared at him, unsure if he was joking. Heeseung always said ridiculous things—like how he was going to invent a chocolate that never melted, or become the first person to skateboard across the ocean. But this? This was different.

“Really?” This time, you sat up properly, legs crossed beneath you, your heart doing something weird and fluttery in your chest.

“Yeah.” He nodded like it was the most reasonable thing in the world.

“Are you just saying that?”

Heeseung shook his head. “We can pinky swear on it.”

“A pinky swear?” you scoffed, arms folding. “That’s, like, so elementary school. We need something more binding.”

“Like what?”

You rummaged through your pencil case, digging out a crumpled sheet from your favorite Hello Kitty notebook, half-covered in doodles of stars and lopsided flowers. “A contract.”

Heeseung leaned closer, peering over your shoulder as you smoothed the page flat on the carpet. “You’re seriously writing this down?”

“Absolutely.” You grabbed a glitter gel pen and scribbled across the top in loopy, uneven letters: Marriage Pact – Do Not Ignore (Even If You’re Famous or Rich)

Heeseung burst into laughter. “What kind of title is that?”

“A legal one,” you replied seriously, already underlining it twice. “Sign here, please.”

Heeseung took the pen from your hand, tongue sticking out slightly as he wrote his name in slow, deliberate strokes. Then he passed it back.

You signed yours underneath, dotting the “i” in your name with a tiny heart.

And just like that, two twelve-year-olds, were legally bound by glitter ink.

-

12 YEARS LATER

You slammed your apartment mailbox shut with your foot, flipping through the envelopes as you climbed the stairs.

You sighed. “Electric. Insurance. Internet. Phone. Rent. Water,” you muttered, voice rising with each envelope. “Can’t believe we live in a world where they charge us for clean water.”

You shoved the stack under your arm and nudged the apartment door open with your hip, stepping inside and closing it behind you with the heel of your foot.

Jake looked up from the couch. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You held up the bills with a deadpan stare. “If ghosts came in white envelopes and demanded a fuck ton of money, then yeah. Paranormal as hell.”

Jake looked up from the couch, controller still in hand. “Again?”

“Yes, Jaeyun. Bills happen every month. That’s what we signed up for when we became roommates.”

You tossed the stack onto his lap. He sighed and paused his game, the TV screen freezing on a very intense moment in Mario Kart.

He flipped through the envelopes, brows furrowing as he read each one aloud. “Electric. Insurance. Internet. Phone. Rent. Water.”

He looked up at you with disbelief, “Can’t believe we live in a world where they charge us for clean water.”

“That’s what I said!” you replied, dropping your bag by the side of the couch and kicking off your shoes.

Jake was about to make another sarcastic comment, but then he paused.

He squinted at one of the envelopes, holding it up by its edge like it might bite. “What’s a Lee Heeseung?”

You stilled. “…What do you mean?”

Jake held it up with two fingers like it was radioactive. “Someone named Lee Heeseung addressed a letter to you. Wait…Lee Heeseung… sounds familiar. Isn’t this the guy who–”

You lunged forward, snatching the envelope out of his hands so fast the paper rustled.

He started to stand. “Wait—”

But you were already on your feet, clutching the envelope to your chest like it held state secrets.

“I’m going to my room,” you said quickly, already halfway down the hall.

Jake called after you, “You can’t just run away!”

But you were gone.

You dropped the envelope onto your desk and began pacing, feet dragging slightly over the worn hardwood floor. Back and forth. Hands on your hips, then rubbing the back of your neck, then up through your hair like you could physically scrape the panic out of your scalp.

Lee Heeseung.

You hadn’t heard that name in six years. Not since you were 18. What the hell was he doing sending you letters after 6 years of ghosting you? Letters, of all things. Not a text. Not an email. A letter.

You rubbed your face with both palms, fingers pressing into your temples. Your entire body felt tight with confusion. 

You stared at the envelope for a long second.

Should I open it? you asked yourself.

Your fingers twitched.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you were already tearing into the envelope, clumsily slicing the top open with your nail. The paper ripped slightly at the corner from how fast your hands moved. The letter slid out, crisp and neatly folded.

You read it, then stood in silence, blinking. Mouth open. Eyes wide. Brain empty. You were confused. Stunned. A little stoned but from shock. Absolutely floored. Like someone had drop-kicked your frontal lobe.

This letter is to formally present the enclosed documentation for legal execution of a prior agreement, namely a childhood contract between yourself and one Mr. Lee Heeseung. The aforementioned contract, signed voluntarily at age twelve, contained a clause regarding marital union at the age of twenty-four should both parties remain unwed.  Pursuant to this clause, Mr. Lee Heeseung has submitted the original document, legally notarized, and formally requests your signature on the attached marriage certificate to fulfil the terms of said agreement.  Please review the enclosed documents at your earliest convenience. For any clarifications, feel free to contact our office or Mr. Lee directly.

Your mouth moved but to be honest, all you could manage was:

“What the fuck is wrong with him.”

-

You were late.

You weren’t usually late. In fact, you were one of those annoying people who showed up fifteen minutes ahead of time and still apologised for making others wait. But today? Today was the one day you really didn’t want to be late.

Your first day at your big girl job and here you were, sprinting toward the building that held your future career by its palm.

​​Your shoulder bag bounced wildly against your side as you dodged a man holding a suspiciously large iced coffee, barely avoiding a full-blown caffeine collision. The turnstile doors loomed ahead sleek and metallic. You jabbed your access card against the reader. You slipped through and finally looked up.

And then you saw Jake.

“Hurry up!” he called, gesturing frantically as the elevator chimed. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into getting the bus without you.”

You jogged over, breathless. “Well you’d be late and you know I get the nervous poops.”

He glanced at his watch. “Yeah but couldn’t you have held it in? You know how they say the first impression counts.”

You rolled your eyes as you stepped in beside him. “They also say to surround yourself with supportive friends, but look how that turned out.”

Jake grinned, holding the door for you. “Touché.”

The elevator doors slid shut with a polished ding, sealing you and Jake into a box of brushed metal and awkward first-day jitters.

“I still can’t believe we got the last two spots at Aureum,” You said, “The Aureum.”

“Well,” Jake  said, trying to catch his breath, “we fought our way here and beat out that no-good Park Eunmi and her bratty—”

“Jake.” You shot him a warning look. “We’re adults now. We don’t go around talking shit about people we won’t even be seeing anymore.”

He blinked. “Weren’t you the same person who called her, and I quote, a ‘two-faced conniving bitch’ yesterday?”

“Like I said,” you replied, smoothing your blouse, “I’m an adult now.”

As two of the newest Junior Marketing Associates, you and Jake had beat out over a hundred applicants. A hundred other applicants who probably practiced their interview answers in the mirror a million times before. And somehow, two under-slept twenty-somethings from a shared apartment with a broken microwave made it through.

Your eyes flicked around the office, trying to drink it all in, endless cubicles with glowing monitors, people tapping away at keyboards like they were born doing it, voices murmuring through headsets, and behind closed doors, offices that belonged to people with email signatures way fancier than yours.

You clutched your lanyard a little tighter. 

“Come on in, guys. Sit down, sit down.” A man in a blazer and slacks stood by the doorway, gesturing everyone inside with brisk efficiency. His voice was clear, professional, and used to being listened to.

You followed Jake into the room, quietly settling into one of the twelve chairs arranged in a half-circle around a low conference table. The space was bright, glass walls on one side, soft overhead lighting, and a large flat-screen monitor mounted neatly in front. A clicker and laptop sat idle on the table. The chairs were surprisingly comfortable.

“I’m Park Jongseong,” the man announced once everyone had filtered in. “We’ll be starting orientation in about five minutes. We’re just waiting for the head of department to arrive, and then we’ll get going.”

The name hit you oddly. A little familiar. Park Jongseong. It tugged at the back of your memory, but you brushed it off. Probably a coincidence. Jongseong wasn’t exactly rare.

He continued, tone practised. “Before that, let’s take attendance. Please scan the QR code on the screen, log in using your company ID, and mark yourself as ‘present.’”

The screen flickered to display the code. A few people reached for their phones immediately.

“If you have any questions, feel free to ask,” he added, hands clasped in front of him, his expression neutral but approachable. The lanyard hanging around his neck read Human Resources – Manager. That explained the ease, the polished tone. He’d clearly done this many times before.

You unlocked your phone and scanned the code, fingers moving over the login screen. Jake leaned over slightly to peek at your screen, making sure he was doing the same thing right.

You tried to focus, but the name still lingered somewhere in your mind. Park Jongseong.

You shook your head, returning your attention to the task at hand.

It couldn’t be. Not that Jongseong. Right?

“Okay, he’s here,” Jongseong said, glancing toward the glass wall. He gave a quick nod to someone just out of sight. “Please use my company email if you have any HR-related issues. Thank you, and I’ll see all of you after this session.”

He stepped aside, and a man entered the room.

“Good morning everyone, I’m the head of department,” the newcomer said, tone cool and efficient. “For anything related to your job, your submissions, deadlines, or team responsibilities, they will come through me. Understood?”

A quiet chorus of nods followed. You nodded too, still focused on your phone screen. It was taking forever to load. You squinted, trying to figure out why, until you realised you’d typed your employee ID wrong. You had tapped 7 instead of 6.

You tapped back, correcting it, only half-hearing the voice that came next.

“Right,” came a quiet chuckle. The voice was warmer this time, slightly amused. Familiar. “Sorry—I forgot the intro bit. I’m Lee Heeseung. You can call me whatever feels comfortable."

Your finger froze on the screen.

The pen you had been holding slipped from your hand and hit the floor with a small clack. You stood up so quickly your chair scraped the polished floor, every eye in the room swivelling toward you.

Heeseung paused mid-sentence, glancing in your direction. His gaze landed on you and stayed.

Your breath caught. Your brain refused to supply anything useful, like words.

Heeseung blinked, the faintest trace of recognition crossing his face but he said nothing.

“Is there an issue?” Jongseong looked up from his tablet, glancing around before his eyes landed on you. His brow furrowed slightly. “Hey, aren’t you—”

“No.” You shook your head a little too quickly, a little too firmly. “Nope.”

“But you’re—”

“Not her.”

Jongseong paused. “You didn’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I’m not who you think I am,” you replied, already feeling the heat rise to your face.

“But how do you know who I’m thinking about?” he countered, eyes narrowing slightly.

There was a long, loaded beat of silence. You could feel Jake watching your exchange, an eyebrow raised.

You exhaled.

“Okay,” you muttered, shoulders slumping slightly. “I’m her.”

“I knew it,” Jongseong said with a grin, nudging Heeseung with his elbow. “I told you she looked familiar. Didn’t you just send her that stupid lawyer–”

Heeseung cut in, his voice even. “That’s enough.”

The room was silent. 

You cleared your throat, brushing your hair behind your ear and reaching for your pen like none of that had just happened. “Anyway. Please continue, Mr. Lee.”

“Of course,” he said smoothly, stepping to the front of the room. “Where were we?”

And just like that, orientation resumed.

You sat stiffly in your seat, eyes glued to the screen at the front, pretending to take notes on the company’s mission statement while internally drafting your resignation letter in all caps.

You could feel it.

That unmistakable weight of a stare, burning, pointed, patient. Heeseung’s gaze practically drilled through the crown of your head. And you couldn’t bring yourself to look up. Not once. Not even when Jake elbowed you under the table, trying to stifle a grin.

Unbelievable. Out of all the possible outcomes in this capitalist hellscape, this was what you got?

As if that wasn’t enough to emotionally flatten you, you'd also just received a letter from his lawyers three days ago.

Because apparently, a glitter-gel-penned contract you made when you were twelve still counted.

-

“What the fuck was that?” Jake hissed, yanking you halfway out of your new ergonomic chair before you could even take a seat.

You blinked up at him. “What do you mean?”

He gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “The whole thing with Mr. Lee and Park Jong… something.”

“Seong. It’s Park Jongseong,” you corrected, brushing down the front of your blouse as you stood properly this time.

“Yeah, that. What was that about?”

You glanced around quickly. The office floor was open-concept, dotted with neatly arranged cubicles, each one separated by low partitions and decorated with cheerful onboarding folders and branded pens. Too many ears. Too much glass.

“Could you not ask me about it when his office is right there?” you muttered, trying not to move your lips too much.

As if summoned, the two of you instinctively turned your heads.

Heeseung’s office sat just a few feet away. And through the transparent wall, you saw him.

Already looking. Directly at you.

You and Jake immediately snapped your heads back around like guilty children caught cheating on a test.

You could feel the heat rush to your face. Jake ran a hand through his hair and muttered, “He definitely saw that.”

“Of course he did,” you whispered.

“Okay. Lunch,” Jake said, already tugging on your sleeve. “You’re telling me everything.”

-

“Do you remember that guy I told you about… when we first met?” you began cautiously, already regretting this entire conversation.

Jake didn’t even blink. “The almost ex who broke your heart? The one who vanished without a word, no texts, no emails, just poof? The guy you cried over every night for the first two months we shared a dorm? That guy? The one who had you in sweatpants for so long our professor personally pulled you aside after our first group presentation to suggest dressing like you hadn’t just escaped a deadly house fire?”

You gritted your teeth. “You could’ve just said yes.”

“I like my answer better,” Jake replied, flashing that annoyingly smug grin of his.

You rolled your eyes, arms folding over your chest. “Fine. Yes. It’s… that guy.”

Jake’s eyes widened so fast. “Holy fuck. Wasn’t he the one who, correct me if I’m wrong, lawyered you into marrying him like 3 days ago?”

You nodded slowly. “I doubt it’s even legal, but… yes.”

Jake leaned back in his chair, the disbelief painted across his face shifting into something almost amused. “This is highly coincidental,” he said, voice rich with sarcasm. “Almost like…it's fate.”

You stared at him for a beat, then stabbed your spoon into your bowl and shoved a mouthful of meat in before mumbling through it, “If this is what fate is, then fate’s a fucking bitch.”

-

“Do you think they’re dating?” Heeseung asked, eyes fixed on the other side of the company cafeteria. 

Jongseong followed his line of sight.

Across the room, you and Jake were seated at a small corner table, trays pushed aside, both of you laughing, loud and unbothered.. You were leaned in close, practically in tears from whatever Jake had just said.

“Looks friendly to me,” Jongseong shrugged. “Don’t tell me you’re still in love with her. Thought you hated her.”

“I do,” Heeseung said quickly. “It’s just—I don’t know. I mean… she was right in some sense.”

Jongseong didn’t miss a beat. “Dude, she didn’t even show up at the airport. You waited there like an idiot until the last minute. You almost missed your flight.”

Heeseung gave a tight laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe she was busy…”

Jongseong raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, I don’t blame her,” Heeseung said quickly. “She was scared. She thought long distance would ruin us. That we’d fall apart, stop being friends, stop meaning something to each other.”

Jongseong turned his head, slow and deliberate, fixing him with that look, the one he always gave before saying something brutally true.

“Well,” he said, voice calm, “are you friends now?”

Heeseung said nothing.

“Didn’t think so,” Jongseong muttered, then grinned as he picked up a piece of kimchi. “Are you also forgetting who you video called the first hundred times you cried in Canada?”

“Why do you love bringing that up?” Heeseung groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

Jongseong took a long, smug sip of his drink, barely suppressing a grin. He turned back to his tray of cafeteria food before pointing his chopsticks at Heeseung like they were an accusation. “Because it’s funny.”

Heeseung didn’t respond, just glared at his soup.

Jongseong raised an eyebrow. “So by the looks of it, I’m guessing you really got Beomgyu to send that lawyer letter to scare her?”

“To be fair,” Heeseung muttered, “I didn’t know she’d end up under me.”

“You’re an idiot,” Jongseong said through a mouthful of rice, chuckling as he shook his head. “But if you wanna get all weirdly poetic about it, I guess this is kinda like destiny, isn’t it?”

Heeseung stared down at his tray, “Well,” he muttered, “if this is destiny then destiny’s a fucking bitch.”

-

Listen…Heeseung was smart.

He climbed Aureum’s corporate ladder in less than two years, thanks to an impressive portfolio born out of his time in Canada. Moving there had been a blessing in disguise. Academically, professionally, it launched him. He made the most of it. Graduated top of his class, turned internships into job offers, turned job offers into power.

But for all of Heeseung’s intelligence, his work ethic, and his calculated rise, if there was one thing he was consistently stupid about, it was you. He didn’t understand it. In fact, he couldn’t even explain it. You were the one area of his life that turned logic into mush and rationality into dust.

It started as a joke. A stupid, drunken mistake that should’ve stayed buried under the dim lights of some bar on a Thursday night.

It was happy hour. He and Jongseong were at their usual spot, a watering hole they swore they were too old for but kept returning to anyway. One tequila turned into four. Somewhere between rounds, Heeseung started rambling, slurred sentences about you, the past, and that dumb glitter-pen marriage pact you’d made when you were kids.

Jongseong, drunk and equally dumb, grinned and said, “Dude. You should actually send her something. Like get lawyers involved. Just to freak her out.”

Heeseung, handsome as ever and dumb as a fork, blinked. His eyes widened. “Wait. That’s… actually kind of funny.”

“No it’s not,” Jongseong had said, already laughing. “That’s what makes it brilliant.”

Which is how, somewhere around midnight, Heeseung scrolled through his contacts, called the first legal name he recognised, Choi Beomgyu, law school graduate, part-time legal consultant and said:

“Hey, can you help me draft a marriage contract?”

-

It had been two days since you started working at Aureum.

Coincidentally, it had also been two days since Heeseung had done any actual work.

Each morning, like clockwork, he walked in, tailored suit, briefcase in hand, and Prada shoes. He placed his bag neatly on the desk, powered on his computer, clicked into his emails… and then lost all sense of purpose. The first thing he did every morning was type a message to Jongseong. 

Subject: emergency i madonna die i mgona die shes lookihng voer pretty pretty u think shell love me back ohne day? Actually im jk i hate her but if hate why prtty? omg shes lookg voer...pretend teim oding work im doing many work work is fun work is cool Work . im work Best Regards Lee Heeseung Head of Marketing | Aureum & Co. 📞 +82-10-XXXX-XXXX ✉️ heeseung.lee@aureumcorp.kr 🌐 www.aureumcorp.kr “We don’t do average.”

He’d hit send. Then he'd type a second variation and send that too. On the first day, Jongseong had replied with “You good?” On the second, he didn’t respond at all. By day three, Heeseung didn’t even expect a reply. He was just venting into the void.

Heeseung told himself he just wanted a moment. A single conversation. A little closure. Maybe an opportunity to push your buttons, mess with you, throw you off your game. Because as far as he was concerned, you still owed him that. And now, here you were.

Still stupidly, infuriatingly pretty.

-

He sat behind his desk, legs crossed under the polished oak surface, sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms, eyes fixed on the list of new hires. 

But all Heeseung cared about was one thing: getting you alone.

He had crafted a plan that was equal parts desperate and genius, hosting a Getting to Know You session for each new employee. No one could question it. 

Nishimura Riki—Ni-ki. A boy with his hoodie still half-zipped, hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks like he was allergic to authority. He entered without knocking, took the seat opposite Heeseung with zero urgency, and stared blankly at the offered glass of water. Said maybe six words in ten minutes. Heeseung didn’t mind. He respected the quiet ones. Good for him.

Next came Kim Sunoo.

He bounced into the room like the sunlight had a personality and sat with both palms flat on the table like he was bracing for takeoff. Heeseung barely finished the question—“How’s working here so far?”—before Sunoo launched into a detailed narrative about his family, his dead turtle, and the emotional trauma of overwatering a succulent. At one point, he teared up. Heeseung slid the tissue box across the table silently. You know what, good for him too.

Then came Yang Jungwon.

Jungwon knocked twice, entered with a clipboard, and sat like a model intern. His back straight, pen ready, shoes perfectly aligned under the chair. He answered every question clearly, thoughtfully, and didn’t overshare once. Heeseung liked him. He even made a note in the corner of his notepad: Promotion material.

And then Jake Sim.

Jake entered all smiles and sunshine, like he was walking into a brunch spot instead of a corporate office. His tie was off-centre. Shirt sleeves rolled too high. Hair a little too perfect. He slid into the chair across from Heeseung, crossed one ankle over his knee like he owned the place, and grinned.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

The office suddenly felt hotter. Like the air conditioning had given up. Heeseung straightened the papers on his desk even though they were already perfectly aligned, mostly just to stop himself from flipping the table.

“So,” he started, lacing his fingers together and leaning forward with faux interest, “do you see yourself working here long?”

Jake nodded, no hesitation. “Yeah, working at Aureum is honestly a dream. It’s been on my list of dream companies since uni.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. “One of your dream companies?”

Jake blinked. “Uh—well, yeah. I mean, I had a few, but Aureum was definitely—”

“So what you mean to say,” Heeseung said, leaning back slowly in his chair with a smile that was definitely not a smile, “is that you’re disloyal.”

Jake froze. “What? No! That’s not—”

Heeseung picked up his pen and made a note on the paper in front of him. It had nothing to do with Jake. He just wrote ‘boring. lame. has uglier hair than me.”

He didn’t hate Jake Sim.

He despised him.

No real reason, of course. Except that Jake seemed to be exactly the kind of person you were comfortable around. The kind you laughed too easily with. The kind you sat next to at lunch and leaned into like it was natural. Didn't help that Jake was incredibly suave and handsome. Damn it.

It wasn’t personal.

Except it completely was.

Heeseung exhaled as soon as Jake left the room, running a hand through his hair and glancing at the final name on the list.

Your name.

He cleared his throat, stood up, and walked to the small mirror near the bookshelf to fix his hair, like that would somehow fix everything else.

And for the first time all day, Heeseung felt nervous.

You cleared your throat, then knocked. Heeseung looked up instantly.

His smile appeared before he could stop it, quick and unguarded, warm enough to light the whole damn office. Then, as if remembering himself, it vanished just as fast. His expression flattened into something more controlled. Nonchalance, he reminded himself. Be cool.

But it was hard to be anything close to composed with you standing there. Your head poked through the doorway, eyes bright and curious. That little hairclip still holding your bangs to the side, the same way you used to wear it when you were younger. Your hair fell in soft waves over your shoulder, reaching just past your waist. It swayed slightly as you tilted your head.

“Can I come in?” you asked, voice soft.

“Yeah,” he said, sitting up straighter, shoving a file to the side like he hadn’t just been zoning out for ten full minutes. “Of course.”

Heeseung gestured to the chair across from him, and you made your way over, smoothing the front of your blouse before sitting down. The cushion dipped beneath you, and for a moment, you didn’t speak. Neither did he.

Heeseung cleared his throat. “Well… I already know you.”

You looked up.

A small pause.

“Do you want me to go?” you asked, half-standing.

“No!” he blurted, way too fast. He cleared his throat again, more controlled this time. 

Heeseung leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the desk, fingers tapping once against the wood before stilling. He glanced down at the paper in front of him, your employee profile probably and cleared his throat.

“So,” he began, voice measured, “you’ve been placed in the campaign strategy team.”

You nodded. “Yeah. That’s what the onboarding email said.”

He hummed, eyes scanning the paper like he didn’t already know what it said. “You’ll be working on the upcoming brand relaunch. A lot of external collaboration, internal pressure, long hours.”

“I’m okay with that.”

“You sure?” He looked up now, eyes sharp. “Because I need people who follow through. Who don’t just start strong and then bail when things get inconvenient.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

Heeseung shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “I’m asking if you’re the kind of person who sticks around when things get hard. Or if you’re more of a… run-and-disappear type.”

There was a pause. 

You stared at him, jaw tightening. “Is this about Aureum, or about us?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

And that was answer enough.

Something in your chest twisted. “Because if you want to drag the past into this, you better say it plainly. Don’t wrap it up in company protocol and pretend it’s part of my fucking job description.”

And then, quieter, more bitter, he added, “It’s just… I thought you were serious about things. But apparently, you were only serious when it was easy.”

The room felt colder.

You inhaled slowly, the words slipping out before your brain could catch up. “You left. Not me.”

Heeseung flinched but you caught it. That flicker of something raw behind his eyes. But then, just as quickly, his expression closed over, sharp and unreadable again.

“No,” he said flatly. “You left first.”

Your breath hitched. “How did I—?”

“I needed you,” he cut in, his voice low, rough, brimming with a bitterness that stung more than you were ready for. “I could’ve used support. A friend. Anything. But the girl I loved the most—” his jaw tightened, “—she left me first.”

“I—”

“So before you paint me out to be the villain,” he said, his eyes dark, voice thick with something between anger and heartbreak, “think about how you ignored me after I told you I loved you.”

Your mouth opened, then closed, your chest rising and falling too quickly. “I didn’t ignore you because of that—I…” The words caught in your throat like they were afraid to come out. “How was I supposed to react? We finally—finally—got together and then right after, you told me you were leaving.”

“It wasn’t my choice!” he shouted, the words shattering between you like glass.

There was silence after that. Not the passive kind, but the kind that stung, like a slap in the middle of a quiet room.

“Mr. Lee,” you said, tone cool, professional, clipped. “I would like to leave now, since this meeting has had nothing to do with my job and everything to do with some attempt to lower my pride or exert some kind of personal power play that I don’t want any part of.”

You reached for the doorknob. And that’s when he panicked.

His mind raced, grasping at anything, everything, until one sentence tumbled out of his mouth like the world’s worst reflex.

“You’re supposed to be marrying me.”

The words dropped heavy into the room like a weight you hadn’t seen coming. You froze, hand still on the doorknob, back turned, breath caught somewhere in your chest.

“Did you think that lawyer letter was a joke?” His voice was quieter now, but there was something about the way he said it—like he was testing the air between you, like he wasn’t sure if you’d laugh or scream.

Slowly, you turned around, brows drawn together, the confusion and disbelief etched across your face. “Heeseung, that was a contract from when we were kids. Do you really think I’m some kind of idiot?”

He didn’t flinch. “It still stands actually… unless you want to get sued.”

You blinked. “Are you fucking with me?”

Heeseung held your gaze, mouth twitching into a slow, lopsided smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Do I look like I’m fucking with you?”

And then, he started walking toward you. Steady, unhurried steps that somehow made the air feel thinner with every inch he closed between you. Your heart began to pound erratically in your chest, loud enough you were almost certain he could hear it. Damn him for looking like that—like a fucking model in fitted slacks and a shirt that clung just right to his frame.

He stopped in front of you, close enough for you to catch the faintest scent of his cologne, clean and a little woodsy. God, he was hot.

“Because I’m not.”

“You are insane!” you hissed, voice rising.

“I’m not the one yelling in a see-through office,” he replied, gesturing lazily to the glass walls.

You paused, suddenly aware of the four to five people from accounting who were staring directly at the scene. You cleared your throat and lowered your voice only slightly. “I am not marrying you, Heeseung.”

He clicked his tongue and placed his tea down. “Did you read the bottom? The fine print?”

“I’m not reading anything that came from you and your fuckass lawyer,” you snapped.

Heeseung sighed, took off his glasses, and rubbed his temples like you were the one being unreasonable. “If you bothered to read a very legal document, you’d know that... it’s either marriage,” he paused to take another sip, “or you pay $20,000.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“$20,000,” he repeated, a little too casually. “As outlined clearly in the exit clause.”

Your jaw dropped. “And where is a girl who JUST started working supposed to get that kind of money?”

Heeseung shrugged, stepping closer. His footsteps were slow, annoyingly calm. He stopped right in front of you and gently lifted your chin with two fingers, like he was mocking you. “Well,” he said, voice low and irritatingly smug, “that’s up to you.”

You swatted his hand away, hard. “I am not marrying you,” you repeated, practically growling.

“So you’re giving me the $20,000 then?” he offered again, tilting his head, lips forming a mock pout.

You narrowed your eyes, then without thinking, leaned in and bit his fingers.

“OW—what the f—” He jerked his hand back with a laugh. 

“I should’ve bit your face,” you muttered.

Heeseung grinned through the sting, shaking his hand. “Or... and I’m just spitballing here,” he said, stepping back with an exaggerated stretch, “I let you go—no marriage, no payment—if you do everything I say for one year.”

You stared at him like he’d grown three heads. “You’ve lost your mind.”

“Come on,” he said, tilting his head slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. “Just a year of doing whatever I say.”

You crossed your arms. “Three months.”

“Eight,” he shot back, without missing a beat.

“Four.”

“Six.”

You squinted at him. “Five and I don’t get you coffee.”

“Nope. Six, and you do exactly what I say.”

The air between you crackled, neither of you willing to back down. You stepped closer, closing the space between you with slow, deliberate steps until you were standing toe-to-toe in front of his desk. He didn’t flinch. If anything, he leaned in, eyes dark with challenge, the corners of his mouth curling like he was already claiming victory.

Your nose nearly brushed his. “Fine,” you hissed. “Six months. But if you so much as make me iron your stupid ass fancy Prada suit, I’m out.”

“Okay,” Heeseung said smoothly, his voice low and maddeningly smug. His breath fanned your face. “But you should know, I don’t wear wrinkled suits.”

-

And thus began the worst month of your life.

Day 1: He made you sort his alphabetised collection of business cards… in cursive. Handwritten. On new cards. With a quill. “It builds character,” he said..

Day 5: He scheduled a client meeting at 7am. You arrived. There was no client. He strolled in at 10 with a latte and said, “Wow. You’re early. How driven.”

Day 6: Assigned you to shadow a client. You followed a random man around a bookstore for 45 minutes before he texted: “Wrong guy btw.”

Day 9: Email subject line: “URGENT – FOOT EMERGENCY.” The body? “Buy me socks.” No context. Follow-up email: “With little cartoon frogs. The happier the better.”

Day 11: He asked you to water the plants in his office. None were real. One was a coat rack. You watered it anyway. He thanked you with a straight face.

Day 13: He demanded lunch delivered to his apartment. On your break. You found him mid-couch, watching Shrek 2 with subtitles and a face mask on. “Wanna join me?”

Day 16: Made you create a 23-slide presentation titled: “Why Lee Heeseung Is the Greatest Asset to This Company and Mankind.” You had to present it. To two confused interns and Park Jongseong, who heckled the whole time.

Day 18: Sent you to buy exactly 50 blueberries. “Not 49. Not 51. 50. Count them.” You did. The cashier thought you were insane.

Day 23: Assigned you to “reorganise the supply cabinet.” Inside was a single banana, a picture of himself and Jongseong’s car keys.

God. you hated Lee Heeseung.

-

The soft clink of chopsticks against a lunch container echoed across the sleek, minimal office. Jongseong sat casually on Heeseung’s guest couch, feet kicked up, poking at his lunch.

“You know,” Jongseong began between bites, “this little revenge you’ve got going on? Don’t you think it’s starting to get a little...much?”

Heeseung didn’t look up. “What’s much?”

“You made her pretend to be a floor tile last week.”

Heeseung barely blinked, expression flat.

“And to be fair, she was very convincing,” he muttered, like it was a genuine compliment.

Jongseong set his chopsticks down, suddenly serious. “Hee. Be honest. Are you trying to punish her, or are you just scared to talk to her like a normal human being?”

Heeseung’s lips parted, but no words came out. His jaw flexed. The silence stretched, and for the first time in weeks, he hesitated.

“I don’t know,” he finally said, voice lower than usual. 

Just then, the door swung open. You strode in without knocking, your eyes on fire and your movements sharper than necessary. You slammed a paper bag on his desk, the contents shifting loudly inside.

“Here’s your goddamn lunch,” you snapped, not sparing him a glance.

And before he could even process the noise, you turned on your heel and stormed out, leaving the door wide open in your wake.

A beat of stunned silence passed.

Jongseong blinked. “You sure she’s not poisoning that?”

Heeseung finally looked down at the crumpled paper bag, then at the door you’d stormed out through. He didn’t move for a moment, fingers hovering near the bag, like it might explode.

Then, with a low sigh, he leaned back in his chair, swivelling slightly toward Jongseong. “Can you check if she’s had lunch?”

Jongseong narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“I’m just saying, she’s been running around all morning like a lunatic. Maybe she skipped lunch.”

“Why don’t you check yourself?” Jongseong smirked, already enjoying this. “Or better yet, pack it for her next time. Maybe write a little note with hearts on it.”

Heeseung groaned and rubbed his face with one hand. “Jesus. I’m not in love with her.”

“I never said love,” Jongseong sang. “You did.”

Heeseung glared at him. “I’m just doing what a responsible boss would do. Basic leadership. Workforce efficiency. You know, keeping employees from fainting.”

“By micromanaging her blood sugar?”

Heeseung pointed at him, still scowling. “Shut up and just go check.”

Jongseong stood, grabbing his soda and grinning. “Whatever you say, boss.”

As he walked out, he muttered just loud enough for Heeseung to hear, “Bet if she skipped lunch, you’d hand-feed her a five-course meal.”

Heeseung didn’t respond. He just turned back to the lunch bag and quietly moved it a little closer to his side of the desk.

-

You were done. You hated Lee Heeseung with every fibre of your being.

You had been mid-task, setting up a fragile product display for a major investor walkthrough—when the shelf gave way beneath your hand. One of the glass panels slipped, and in your rush to keep it from shattering, your palm dragged hard against the sharp metal edge of the support frame. You hissed, sucking in a breath as pain bloomed across your skin, followed by a streak of red pooling fast..

It wasn’t life-threatening, but it was definitely more than a paper cut. You stood frozen for a second, blood dripping onto the glossy marble floor, the scent of antiseptic and showroom polish mixing unpleasantly in the air.

Heeseung was across the room but moved in an instant, almost stupidly concerned. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice sharp with something that sounded a lot like panic.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, clenching your hand as if squeezing the pain away.

“Let me see.” He was already digging in the drawer for the office first aid kit, grabbing a pack of antiseptic wipes and a bandage like it was muscle memory.

You pulled your hand away before he could touch you. “Can I go now?”

He froze. “I’m just trying to help. Stop being so stubborn.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “Are you serious right now? You’re the one who sent me to fix a million-dollar display alone. Don’t act like you suddenly care.”

Then you walked off without another word, your wound throbbing in time with the storm brewing behind your ribs.

Heeseung stood there, staring at the streak of blood you left behind on the polished floor. The silence in the showroom echoed louder than it should’ve. The first aid kit was still in his hands, unopened. For once, he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

Had he been too harsh?

The thought circled, bitter and biting. He meant to keep things light, or at least ridiculous. Make you squirm a little. Maybe even get back at you for leaving him all those years ago. But this? Watching you walk away, shoulders tense, hand bleeding—this didn’t feel like winning.

It felt like being the asshole.

He set the first aid kit down a little too hard on the nearest counter and exhaled slowly. Damn it. He hadn’t wanted to actually hurt you.

Maybe Jongseong was right. Maybe this whole thing was going too far.

And maybe, just maybe, he needed to stop acting like he wasn’t still in love with you.

But god, you made it so damn hard.

-

You hadn’t spoken to him. Not once. Not since that night.

You hated what he’d turned into, this cold, distant version of the boy who once knew you like the back of his hand. He was still familiar, his face carved a little finer now, his jaw set a little firmer, but everything else? Foreign. A stranger wrapped in the skin of someone you used to love.

He used to be yours.

The boy who’d race across districts just to find that one ridiculous snack you were obsessed with because the local mart ran out. The one who never let you cry alone, whose hoodie always smelled like laundry powder and peanuts, who sat silently beside you, his arm around your shoulder, steady as a heartbeat.

He wasn’t that boy anymore. He wasn’t the one who once turned to you, eyes soft and sure, and said, I love you.

Not anymore.

But somehow, even through the pounding in your chest and the sting behind your eyes, you couldn’t help but feel it, that awful, twisting weight in your stomach. Guilt.

Because he was right.

You had left him first. You had pulled away. When he needed you the most, you had shut down, locked the door, and disappeared behind your own fear.

He was scared. Of course he was. Scared of leaving everything behind. Scared of starting over in a place where no one knew his name or the way he liked his coffee or how he bit his lip when he was nervous. Scared of being alone in a country halfway across the world. And the only person he had counted on to be his constant, you, had walked away.

-

6 YEARS AGO

Heeseung’s palms were sweating. His grip on the bouquet tightened, the white petals of the daisies trembling ever so slightly, your favourite flower. He glanced at his watch, then at his shoes, then back again, heart pounding louder with each passing second. It was noon. You’d be here any moment.

And he felt like he might be sick.

Just yesterday, everything had changed. His parents had sat him down with carefully measured smiles and voices too gentle to be comforting, ‘We’re moving to Canada. It’s a good opportunity. It’s what’s best for the family.’

But what about him? What about you?

His throat turned dry, mouth full of words he didn’t know how to say.

Today was supposed to be your first date. The start of something new, something real. Just two days ago, he’d stood under the willow tree with shaking hands and a confession written at the back of his hand. Then, he’d told you he liked you. And you had kissed him for the first time. 

This day was meant to be perfect. But now, all he could feel was the weight of goodbye on his shoulders and it stunk.

And then there you were.

Pretty as ever, like he hadn't just found out his universe was crashing just the day before. You waltzed into view with a skip in your step, a loose, ribboned blouse tucked into jeans, your hair tied up in a ponytail that swayed with every bounce. Your eyes were wide, full of light, full of him, and everything in you screamed excitement for the day ahead.

“Flowers?” you grinned, raising a brow. “Didn’t think you were the type.”

Heeseung’s lips curved before he could stop them. “Then maybe you don’t know me as well as you thought.”

And just like that, the knot in his chest loosened. Just like that, he remembered how you always made him feel. Like everything was okay even when nothing was.

Then you smiled. And he was wrecked all over again.

You reached out, fingers finding his, lacing them together. “So…” you murmured as your hands swung between you, “where we going today?”

“I’m not one to spill secrets.”

“Oh? And is it a crime to wonder what my best friend has planned for our very first date?”

Heeseung winced playfully, biting his lip. “God, the word friend is starting to drive me insane.”

You laughed, soft and teasing. “Well, you haven’t actually asked, so I can’t just go around calling myself your girlfriend. That’d be… desperate.”

“You could reek of desperation,” he said, gaze steady, “and I think I’d still be in love with you.”

You let out a low whistle, raising a brow. “Damn. Dropping the L bomb already?” You leaned in with a crooked grin. “Didn’t peg you as a simp, Lee.”

“And I didn’t peg you as a hater,” Heeseung shot back, his smile matching yours.

Heeseung led you down a winding trail, hand in hand, until the trees parted to reveal a quiet creek. The afternoon sun filtered through the leaves. A few couples lounged on checkered blankets, laughter drifting through the breeze. It was peaceful, idyllic.

“Ta-da,” he said, stepping aside with a grin so wide it made your heart stutter.

Before you was his surprise: a small picnic set up just for the two of you. A rattan mat stretched across the grass, a modest basket nestled in the middle. Inside were some store-bought sandwiches, your favourite yoghurt drinks, and tucked beside it all, two small square canvases with a neat set of watercolours.

“We’re painting,” he announced proudly.

You stared at him, then burst into laughter. “So we’re being secretive and artsy now? Who are you and what have you done with Lee Heeseung?”

He nudged your shoulder, feigning offense. “Hey, I can be romantic.”

“Oh please, you totally stole this off Pinterest.”

“Guilty,” he admitted shamelessly. “Honestly, it’s a miracle I even got Jongseong to help set this up while I distracted you.”

As if summoned by name, Jongseong emerged from behind a tree with a dramatic sigh.

“I swear, I do the darndest things for you,” he muttered, stepping into view, brushing off invisible dirt. “Now enjoy, lovebirds. Just remember, if the ravens start circling and steal your food, don’t come crying to me.”

The two of you had spent hours painting and teasing, talking over each other, laughing so hard it echoed off the trees.

“That’s supposed to be me?” you scoffed, squinting at his canvas. “Why are my eyes two completely different sizes?”

“It’s a work in progress,” Heeseung said, scandalised, snatching the canvas back. “Stop looking at mine!”

“I can’t help it! It’s like watching a train wreck happen in slow motion.”

“Oh, like yours is any better?” he shot back, rolling his eyes. “Why are my eyes so far apart?”

“They’re not!”

“They’re a mile away from each other,” he groaned, holding his face dramatically.

You gasped. “I think they look nice!”

“You made me look like E.T.!”

“They look nice, you’re just picky!” you snapped, pointing at the eyes you’d painted. “They’ve got that same sparkle your eyes have! See? Both pretty.”

He blinked. Then his cheeks turned pink. “So you do think my eyes are pretty.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“You just said that.”

“No, I said my painting was pretty.”

“Oh, so now we’re pretending?” he drawled, a slow smile curving on his lips. “We kissed two days ago, and you’re back to acting like calling me pretty is a scandalous revelation? Pretending we’re just best friends again?”

His arm brushed behind you, anchoring against the mat, his body leaning a little closer, warm and steady beside yours.

You swallowed hard. “Well… you are my best friend.”

“Am I?” His voice was softer now, like velvet.

You nodded, a breath catching in your throat. “Y-Yes.”

He hummed, tilting his head. “That’s a pity. I really liked kissing you.”

Then he leaned in. His eyes flicked to your lips and you froze. You waited, heart pounding, lips parted slightly, breath shallow. Eyes fluttering closed.

And then…

Nothing.

You opened your eyes to find him gone, leaned back with a smug grin and the audacity to be laughing.

“You fucking asshole,” you hissed, shoving him with a pout, arms crossed tight across your chest.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” Heeseung wheezed, still laughing as he reached for your wrist, trying to pull you back.

You turned away, refusing. “You just love embarrassing me.”

“Aww, come on, I was joking.” He bumped his shoulder gently into yours, trying to peek at your face. “You looked so cute.”

“You just want to humiliate me for your own selfish amusement.”

“Aw, baby, please—I was kidding—”

You both froze.

Baby.

Your head turned slowly. “What did you just call me?”

“Nothing.”

“You called me the b word.”

“I’d never call you a bitch,” he said quickly.

“No, not that b word.”

“Best friend?”

“Heeseung.”

“Okay, okay,” Heeseung said, hands raised in surrender, the corners of his lips still twitching with that smug, boyish grin of his. “Fine.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than it should have, stretched tight between you like a string neither of you wanted to pull too hard in case it snapped. The leaves rustled above, a soft hush from the wind, but you couldn’t hear any of it over the way your heart was pounding.

You cleared your throat, trying to sound casual but your voice still came out sharper than planned. “If you’re not gonna ask me to be your girlfriend, then fuck it.”

He blinked, startled. “Huh?”

You turned your body fully to face him now, cheeks hot, but your eyes steady. “Heeseung?”

He straightened a little, eyes narrowing in confusion, like he wasn’t sure if he was being messed with. “What?”

Your lips curled upward, small but sure. “Will you be my boyfriend?”

Heeseung stared.

And for a moment, there was nothing. No cheeky remark or flirty deflection. Just silence.

You hadn’t expected silence. You were bracing yourself for a grin, for the way he’d pull you into a hug and say yes like it was the easiest thing in the world. But he didn’t.

“Hee?” you said softly, your voice faltering, a knot of dread starting to twist in your chest. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“I… can’t,” he whispered, barely audible.

You blinked. “What?”

Heeseung’s gaze dropped to the rattan mat between you. His fingers curled into the fabric like he could steady himself with something solid, something real, but the words still caught in his throat. How was he supposed to say it? How could he tell you now after everything? After the daisies. After telling you he loved you. After you asked him that question.

“I’m leaving,” he said, suddenly. The words spilled out like they’d been choking him.

You laughed, but it was hollow, disbelieving. “Leaving?"

“My dad,” he murmured, eyes still downcast. “He got a job offer. In Canada. We’re moving. I’m going with him.”

You sat there for a second, like the wind had been knocked out of you. And then you swallowed hard.

-

You hated reliving that memory.

It haunted you in quiet moments, when the house was too still, when a familiar song played, when someone said his name by accident and the air shifted. That gnawing, hollow ache of losing your best friend. The ache of watching someone who once felt like home turn into a goodbye you never got to say properly.

You’d stopped talking to him not out of cruelty, but because every word felt like watching him slip further away. Because you were scared. Because it hurt. Because loving him and losing him at the same time felt unbearable. You were selfish, and you understood that now. But he was leaving. And what did a couple of teenagers really know about long distance? About staying in love through time zones and silence?

You told him that. You stood there crying and told him it wouldn't work. That it was better to end it before it hurt more. He shook his head. He believed that if you loved each other enough, you could survive anything.

But what could you have given him that would make him stay?

You were no one special. Just a girl. And deep down, you’d convinced yourself he deserved better, someone who could give him everything he was reaching for.

Your own insecurities… they were the cracks that broke everything apart. And by the time you realised that, by the time the fog of fear cleared and you understood what you’d done, he was already gone.

Instead of blaming yourself, you clung to bitterness. You told yourself he was the one who left without saying goodbye. You told yourself he should’ve told you the date, that he should’ve made it clearer. You told yourself that if you had known, you would’ve run to him. That you would’ve fought harder.

But he didn’t tell you.

 And you didn’t ask.

 And that was the end of it.

You sent message after message after he left. DMs, texts, half-drafted emails, all swallowed by silence. No reply. No closure. You watched his life unfold through your screen. New friends. New places. A girlfriend.

He looked happy.

And in some twisted, aching way, you knew you had done the right thing. You had let him go.  And maybe he was never yours to keep.

-

PRESENT

“Did you eat the last cronut in the pantry?” you asked, narrowing your eyes as you kicked Jake’s shin under the table.

He flinched and gave you an innocent look that was anything but. “Nope. I think that Ni-ki kid did.”

“Aw, man,” you groaned, sinking further into your chair.

The two of you were slouched in the company conference room, half-heartedly going over the slides for a pitch that your project manager, Park Sunghoon, had asked you to prepare. The room was quiet except for the tapping of your laptop keys and Jake’s occasional groan of disapproval whenever a client email annoyed him.

Then your elbow nudged into his side. “Hey, do you think Park Sunghoon’s hot?”

Jake barely glanced up. “He’s alright.”

“Alright?” You stared at him like he had personally offended you. “Dude, look at him. Jawline? Chiseled. Eyes? Big and brooding. And those muscles—my God, I can see them through his shirt.”

You pointed through the glass wall of the conference room where Park Sunghoon stood in conversation with another colleague, Jungwon, looking far too polished for a Thursday.

Then a throat cleared behind you.

You froze. Jake froze.

The two of you slowly turned around to find Heeseung standing at the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face and a very prominent vein pulsing in his jaw.

Your squeal was high-pitched and unmistakably guilty.

“Mr Lee! We were just working,” Jake said quickly, voice smooth but eyes flickering with panic.

You didn’t say a word. Still not speaking to Heeseung. Not after what he had essentially made you do.

Heeseung shifted awkwardly in the doorway, scratching the back of his neck like he wished he’d knocked first. “I—uh—I need one of you to be my assistant for tomorrow’s meeting in Busan.”

“Busan?” Jake blinked, his brows lifting. “I can’t. I’ve got that strategy consult with Sunoo.”

Then Heeseung turned to you. His voice gentled, just slightly. “You?”

You nodded, keeping your eyes fixed on your laptop screen, fingers still tapping random nonsense into the spreadsheet just to look busy.

“I’ll get a car to pick you up at eight,” he said, hesitating like he wanted to say something else. But he didn’t.

You nodded again. Still didn’t look at him. And then he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him, but his presence still hung heavy in the air like the scent of cologne he always wore.

Jake let out a long, low whistle. “You guys are so dead.”

-

Heeseung had told you to pack light. Light, as if you weren’t being dragged into a two-day conference in Busan with the human equivalent of the devil. Unfortunately, there was no suitcase small enough to prepare you for the storm of spending that much uninterrupted time with Lee Heeseung.

It was 6 in the morning, and the sky was still the kind of grey that made everything look sleepy and slightly unreal. You stood outside your apartment building, rubbing your eyes, a hat over your messy hair.

Jake stood beside you like a 1960’s housewife sending off her husband. Dressed in a hoodie tossed over his pyjamas, yawning every three minutes, he looked one gust of wind away from collapsing back into bed.

“You can go back inside and sleep, Jake.”

“I know,” he said, rubbing his eyes, “but I need to see you get into the car safely or I’ll assume someone kidnapped you and I can’t pay rent alone.”

“You could just say you care about me.”

“And where’s the fun in that?” Jake grinned. “God, you’re shivering,” he muttered, before shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders without another word.

Just then, a sleek black car pulled up to the curb. Right as Jake tucked the jacket around you, the window rolled down, revealing Heeseung behind the wheel.

You blinked. “I thought you were sending over a car.”

“He couldn’t make it,” Heeseung said coolly. “So I’m driving us there.”

Your jaw dropped. “You want me to sit in a rolling asylum with you for five hours?”

“Just get in,” he said with an eye roll, already unlocking the doors.

You turned to Jake dramatically. “If I don’t make it back, it means Heeseung has killed me and buried my body in the woods.”

Jake snorted. “Don’t be dramatic,” he said, before softening. “But seriously, text me every hour just so I know you’re alive.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Bye! Be safe!” he called out, watching as you reluctantly opened the passenger door and slid in, still wrapped in his jacket.

And just like that, the trip began.

-

The first hour passed in heavy silence, broken only by the occasional shuffle of your legs adjusting uncomfortably or the low hum of the road beneath the tyres. You stared out the window, arms folded, trying to pretend you weren’t painfully aware of Heeseung sitting just inches away.

Then, out of nowhere, he cleared his throat. “So… are you and Jake together?”

You choked on your own saliva, coughing into your elbow as you glared at him. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

Heeseung nodded, unbothered, eyes fixed on the road.

Another three minutes of silence wrapped around the car. You sighed, leaning your head against the window.

“But if you must know,” you muttered, “no. We’re not.”

“Oh,” he replied, nonchalant. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You turned to him, brow raised. “Never had a female friend before?”

His lips quirked. “Had one. Just like you. In fact, I think it was you.”

That shut you up.

-

You trailed behind Heeseung, dragging both your suitcase and his, the wheels rattling against the tiled floor. Somewhere along the line, you'd just… assumed this was your role for the trip. His assistant. His shadow. His indentured servant, thanks to that ridiculous contract or what would’ve been a $20,000 debt hanging over your head if you refused.

You didn’t complain. Not out loud, at least. But inside, you were already cursing every single decision that led you here.

But before you could even reach the hotel lobby, Heeseung turned around and without a word, took both suitcases straight out of your hands.

“I can do—” you started, blinking.

“Shh,” he said, not even looking at you as he cut you off with a single syllable, raising one hand dismissively.

You stared at him, stunned, as he coolly rolled the two bags into the hotel. Like you hadn’t spent the last hour building him up in your head as the undefeated king of petty power plays.

And now he was carrying your luggage.

You hated that your heart skipped a little.

“I have a reservation Under Lee?” Heeseung said to the hotel receptionist, casually placing both suitcases beside the counter.

You stood just behind him, twiddling your thumbs and trying not to look like someone being dragged into a hostage situation.

“Oh!” the receptionist squeaked, her eyes lighting up. “Lee Taehyun, right? This must be your beautiful new bride! You two look so good together!” She beamed, completely unaware of your soul leaving your body. “And for newlyweds, we actually have a special promotion going on, rose petal turndown service, champagne on ice, and, of course, a complimentary aphrodisiac dessert to spark the honeymoon magic.” She winked.

You sputtered. “No. No, no. Absolutely not. We’re not Lee Taehyun or Lee whatever-he-is. We are Lee Heeseung. Could you please check that instead? Thank you.”

Heeseung scoffed beside you. “Calm down.”

“Calm down?” you hissed, turning toward him with wide eyes. “She was about to sell us off to the forest spirits and feed us magical truffles so we could get pregnant and return here every anniversary for the rest of our cursed lives.”

Heeseung sighed, rubbing his temples like he’d heard this exact flavour of overthinking from you a hundred times before. “Still as dramatic as ever.”

You huffed, crossing your arms and looking away. Okay. Maybe you had gone a little off the rails with the cursed honeymoon fantasy, but still. Aphrodisiacs? Really?

“…Whatever.”

“Oh, right!” the receptionist chirped, tapping away at her keyboard. “Here we have it—a suite reserved for Mr Lee and his girlfriend.”

Heeseung blinked. “Suite?”

She nodded, all smiles. “Yes, sir. One king bed, ocean view, complimentary couple’s spa vouchers. Booked by a Mr Park Jongseong.”

Heeseung’s eye twitched. “No, that can’t be right. I got Jongseong to reserve two single rooms.”

She frowned, double-checking the screen. “I’m afraid this is all we have under your name. Mr Park Jongseong booked you a suite.”

Heeseung let out a slow exhale, the kind that clearly said I’m going to murder someone when this is over.

Fucking no-good Park Jongseong, he thought, gripping the edge of the counter. Ruining my life once again.

“Well, can you change it to two single rooms?” Heeseung asked, voice strained but still clinging to the last threads of patience.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the receptionist said with an apologetic smile. “That suite is the only room available tonight.”

“No, but—”

“It’ll be fine. Thank you!” you cut in brightly, grabbing the room key from the counter before he could dig himself deeper. You turned and started walking toward the elevators without looking back.

Heeseung followed, flabbergasted. “How is this fine?”

“Oh, relax,” you said, pressing the elevator button. “We’re just sharing a room.”

“Ten minutes ago, you looked horrified at the idea of someone thinking we were a couple, and now you’re suddenly fine with us sharing a bed?”

You turned to him with a sweet smile. “Oh, we’re not sharing a bed. You’re sleeping on the couch.”

He scoffed. “No, I’m not.”

“Oh yes, you are. I’m a woman.”

“And you also owe me $20,000.”

You turned your head sharply toward him, narrowing your eyes.

Heeseung smirked. The elevator doors slid open. This was going to be a very long trip.

-

This was one of the rare times you’d seen Heeseung serious and you hated to admit it, but it was kind of… annoyingly attractive. The way he stood there, hands tucked into his pockets, voice steady and low as he discussed strategy and projections like he actually cared. His posture, his tone, the faint crease between his brows, it all screamed quiet authority.

“I heard you’re quite the hopeless romantic, Mr Kim,” Heeseung joked mid-discussion, flashing a polite smile.

Mr Kim, a big-shot client who’d made waves in the industry, chuckled. He was currently planning to invest in a luxury jewellery company as a surprise anniversary gift for his wife. Conveniently, Aureum had just acquired one of the most prestigious jewellery lines in the country. Heeseung saw it as a win-win.

“Well, I’m sure you’d understand, Mr Lee,” Mr Kim replied, eyes glinting knowingly.

Heeseung cleared his throat. “Of course.”

The truth? He was bluffing. Completely. 

Heeseung had heard stories from others who’d worked with Mr Kim, he valued authenticity, sentiment, sincerity. The only reason the man was even entertaining a partnership with Aureum was because Heeseung had, against every corporate bone in his body, lied and said they were alike. That he too was deeply in love, devoted to his long-term partner.

Meanwhile, you were perfectly content by the buffet table, happily snacking on hors d’oeuvres. Free food, no responsibilities? You were thriving.

“I’d love to meet her,” Mr Kim said suddenly, sipping his drink. “You said you brought her here today?”

Heeseung hesitated for only a beat before nodding. “Uh, I did.”

Mr Kim looked around. “Where is she?”

There was a long, tense pause. Heeseung glanced around the room, praying for a miracle. Then his eyes landed on you, halfway through chewing a mini tart, looking entirely unbothered and, in his opinion, far too cute for your own good.

“There,” he said, pointing. “She’s right over there.”

Mr Kim followed his gaze and smiled. “She’s beautiful. Seems just like what your type would be.”

Heeseung forced a smile, hand loosening slightly around his glass.

God, you were gonna kill him.

Then you wandered over, completely unaware of everything, happily licking tart crumbs off your thumb. “Have you tried the tarts?” you said cheerfully. “They’re so good.”

Heeseung turned to you. “There you are,” he said, voice dripping with sudden warmth. It was…weird. You looked at him, eyebrows raised, but he was already putting on his best smile. “I was just talking about you to Mr Kim.”

You blinked, gaze shifting to the man in front of you. Oh. Mr Kim. You knew who he was. Big client. Even bigger deal.

You quickly bowed. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Ah,” Mr Kim said, smiling warmly. “Heeseung tells me about you all the time.”

Your head snapped toward Heeseung. “He has?”

“He told me you were beautiful,” Mr Kim continued, chuckling. “And I see now he didn’t lie.”

Your eyes narrowed just a fraction, head tilting. “He did?”

“You seem surprised,” Mr Kim said, raising a brow, clearly confused by the disconnect.

Then you felt a light poke on your back. Heeseung leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper against your ear. “Play along and I’ll let go of the $20,000.”

You straightened immediately, laughing a little too quickly. “Oh! I’m just surprised he talks about me, that’s all.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Mr Kim said warmly. “You’re beautiful. The two of you look beautiful together.”

And then you froze.

Beautiful together?

You gulped, lips twitching into a forced smile. 

Back in the hotel room, you slammed the door behind you, nearly tripping over your own suitcase.

“You’re insane,” you snapped, spinning on your heel to face Heeseung.

“Look,” he said calmly, shrugging off his blazer and tossing it onto the couch, “just do this for two days, and I let go of the twenty grand. Seems like a win-win, doesn’t it?”

You stared at him, jaw dropped. “I can’t even stand being in the same room as you for two days, and you want me to pretend I’m your fiancée? You are actually, clinically insane.”

Heeseung gave you a lazy smile, then leaned against the table. “The deal’s already done. Once these two days are over, you’re free. Mr Kim’s contract is worth a million dollars to the company. So either you suck it up and act like you're in love with me… or you pay me one million—plus the existing twenty thousand you already owe.”

You stared at him. Then blinked. Then stared some more.

Your brain scrambled for a response, but all it managed was a silent scream and a thousand curse words you couldn’t legally say out loud.

You gulped, glaring at him through gritted teeth. “…Fine.”

-

It was the night of the conference. The hotel ballroom was already packed, sleek suits, designer gowns, the clinking of wine glasses, and enough perfume to drown in. Just the thought of having to smile and lie to at least a hundred people about being Heeseung’s loving, devoted fiancée made your stomach twist.

Earlier, Heeseung had sent you to a nearby salon, muttering something about how he refused to walk in with someone who “looked like they just rolled out of a laundry pile.” You’d wanted to punch him. But now, walking out of the room, you… almost didn’t recognise yourself.

Your hair was done in a half-up ponytail, the rest curled into soft, elegant ringlets. The makeup was natural but glowing, and the pink dress they sent up fit so well, hugging the right places, flowing gracefully just at your knees. Pink ballet heels, delicate dangling earrings brushing your collarbones. You looked like you belonged here.

But you didn’t feel like it.

Heeseung had already left for the conference earlier, texting only once to tell you where to meet him and, of course, to not embarrass him.

Charming.

You stepped into the corridor, a bit dazed, and decided to take the longer route through the golf course. There was a lake just beyond the path. The air was crisp, the sky painted with fading pinks and purples. You’d never stayed anywhere this fancy before. It felt like walking through someone else’s life.

Then you spotted it.

A lady in a chef’s hat, sprinting awkwardly across the green grass, arms outstretched, chasing something. A blur of white darted ahead of her.

A rabbit.

Your eyes widened. Were they going to cook it? Serve it at dinner for the hotel guests? You knew people ate rabbit. You weren’t someone to judge—“let people eat what they want” was practically your moral code—but the way the rabbit bounced in terror, its tiny legs scrambling to escape?

No. Nope. Couldn’t do it.

Without hesitation, you lifted the hem of your dress and ran. Full sprint. Across the grass, heels sinking slightly into the dirt, heart thudding as you caught up. With an ungraceful lunge, you scooped the bunny into your arms.

“Please don’t kill him!” you cried, standing defensively in front of the chef.

The chef skidded to a stop, looking at you like you were the crazy one. “What?”

“I know he’s probably delicious, but please! Don’t do it!” You clutched the rabbit tighter. “He’s scared! Look at him!”

The woman blinked… then chuckled. “Miss.”

“I’ll give you money,” you blurted. “I don’t have much but I’ll transfer to you some, just please, let him go!”

She laughed harder now, motioning to the other side of the lawn. “Miss… the rabbit’s a family pet. We’re just trying to get her back into the hotel suite. You see?”

You followed her finger and saw another staff member standing sheepishly beside an open rabbit cage.

“Oh.”

The chef blinked at you for a second, startled, before her features slowly softened into a smile, wide, warm, the kind only older women could pull off.

You were still clutching the rabbit like it was a child in danger.

“Oh, sweetheart,” the older woman said, chuckling as she approached you gently, palms raised like she didn’t want to startle you this time. “We’re not gonna cook the bunny.”

You blinked, still catching your breath. “So… you’re really not going to cook him?”

She laughed, her whole frame shaking. “No, darling. This naughty girl escaped from our suite when the door was left open. We’ve been trying to catch her for the last twenty minutes. But thank you for your… enthusiasm.”

You looked down at the rabbit, who blinked lazily in your arms.

The chef stepped closer and gently took the bunny from your arms. But before she stepped away, she paused, looking at you with a fond smile.

“You’re too cute,” she said softly, tucking a loose curl behind your ear. “Such a kind heart, and so pretty too.”

And then the chef walked off, humming to herself, rabbit nestled contently in her arms like none of the chaos had just happened.

You glanced down at your watch—and froze.

“Crap!” you hissed, eyes widening. You were 10 minutes late. You were supposed to meet Heeseung 10 minutes ago, and knowing him, he probably already assumed you'd either bailed or spontaneously combusted. You lifted the hem of your dress and took off running, again, heels clicking wildly against the marble floor as you made a mad dash through the hotel.

-

Heeseung stood at the entrance of the ballroom, posture stiff, hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored suit. His tie was perfect, his expression… not. He had done the early rounds, greeted the important names, planted the seeds for tonight’s main pitch, and now all he needed was his fake fiancée.

He looked down at his watch for the fourth time. Then toward the entrance. Then back at his watch. He groaned under his breath, jaw tightening.

Of course you were late. Of course you’d leave him hanging, tonight of all nights. He was already imagining himself pulling out his phone to text you a series of snarky messages when the ballroom doors opened. 

And then you stepped in.

Heeseung's breath caught mid-sentence, mid-thought, mid-everything. Time didn’t slow down; it stopped. He swore the music dimmed just to make space for the sound of his heartbeat. There you were, framed by the golden light of the chandeliers, hair curled into soft, glimmering ringlets that fell perfectly over your shoulders. Your heels clicked gently against the floor, matching your earrings that caught the light with every step, brushing your collarbones like a secret. You looked perfect. 

And Heeseung? Heeseung forgot what air was. Forgot that this was a business event. Forgot that this was pretend. All he could think was that no one else in the room existed but you.

You made your way toward him, a little breathless, cheeks warm, your eyes meeting his with that familiar glint of mischief and irritation and something softer underneath. He cleared his throat, awkwardly adjusting his collar like it was suddenly suffocating him.

“You’re… late,” he muttered, voice low, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably—because all he could think was how the hell do you look this pretty and expect me to act normal?

“I was trying to save a bunny,” you said, completely serious. Your brows were drawn together in the most sincere little frown, concern written all over your face like you were still thinking about the damn rabbit.

Heeseung blinked.

You had that look in your eyes, the one where they went all wide and sparkly and impossibly earnest. 

He was this close to melting. Just folding into your arms right then and there, because what the hell. Who gave you the right to be this pretty and this adorable? He wanted to squeal. He wanted to throw a chair. He wanted to tuck you under his coat and never let you do anything dangerous or heartbreaking or normal ever again.

But instead, he cleared his throat, forced his lips into a flat line, and muttered, “Yeah, well… you were still late.”

Pathetic. Even his pretend-annoyed voice sounded whipped.

-

Heeseung found himself standing beside Mr Kim near the open bar, both nursing glasses of champagne. The conversation had drifted from projections and sales to something lighter, more personal but Heeseung’s shoulders were still stiff, his eyes constantly flicking toward the far side of the ballroom to you.

You were talking to people. Merging into a circle of clients and industry professionals as if you belonged there. He watched as you laughed politely at something someone said, nodding attentively, gesturing animatedly when it was your turn to speak. He caught the way someone leaned in closer when you talked, how another man offered you a drink with a too-eager smile.

He clenched his jaw and looked away.

“She’s quite charming,” Mr Kim said, following Heeseung’s gaze with a subtle smirk. “Looks like she’s handling herself just fine.”

Heeseung chuckled stiffly. “Yeah, she tends to make a good impression.”

Mr Kim smiled knowingly, taking another sip of his drink. “My wife was talking about someone like her earlier. Said she saw a girl in a pink dress out on the golf course and thought she was watching a Disney princess chase after a rabbit.”

Heeseung nearly choked on his drink.

“Begged the chef not to cook it,” Mr Kim added, clearly amused. “Turns out it was our family pet. Apparently your fiancée offered money to save it.”

Heeseung groaned under his breath, rubbing a hand over his mouth to hide the grin trying to creep up. “That sounds… exactly like her.”

“She’s adorable,” Mr Kim said warmly, his tone turning unexpectedly sincere. “Rare to see someone so real in a room full of people wearing masks.”

He paused for a beat, then added, “To be honest, I wasn’t sold on the jewellery deal at first. Didn’t see the heart in it. But my wife couldn’t stop talking about that girl—your fiancée. Said any company that attracts someone like her must be doing something right.”

Heeseung’s fingers tightened slightly around his glass. His eyes found yours across the ballroom, animated and smiling as you spoke to a small group. For a second, something soft bloomed in his chest, something he hadn’t meant to feel.

He nodded once. "She's perfect."

-

The conference had gone better than expected, and the energy in the room had shifted to celebration,champagne flutes half-filled, smiles looser, jackets coming off shoulders.

“If I may,” Mr Kim said, standing tall at the front of the ballroom, his voice warm but commanding enough to draw the attention of everyone in the room, “I’d like to invite someone very special to say a few words.”

The chatter died down instantly.

“Him and his fiancée are the reason I’ve decided to move forward with our partnership with Aureum,” Mr Kim continued, smiling. “It wasn’t just the impressive numbers, or the sleek portfolio, or even the pitch, which, I’ll admit, was still excellent. It was the authenticity. The human touch. In a world full of polished presentations and rehearsed lines, it’s rare to meet someone who speaks like they still believe in what they do and that’s why I’m here.”

Then Mr Kim’s eyes flicked toward him, his smile widening just a little. “Mr Lee. Would you join us for a quick toast? Perhaps say something about your lovely fiancée as well?”

Heeseung froze.

You almost choked on the crabcakes you were devouring.

Heeseung’s hand froze mid-air, fingers curled slightly around the stem of his glass. His eyes widened just a fraction, enough for you to see the panic ripple beneath the surface of his carefully maintained expression.

He stood slowly, giving you one last glance like he was walking straight into a firing squad, and made his way to the front of the room.

Mr Kim clapped him on the back. “I’ve always admired honesty, Mr Lee. Let’s hear what love sounds like from someone living it.”

Heeseung stepped up to the mic.

The room quieted. The seconds stretched. You watched his throat bob, watched the slight tremble in his fingers where they gripped the edge of the podium. He was freezing.

And Mr Kim noticed.

The man tilted his head, expression beginning to shift, curiosity folding into doubt.

You stood.

Heeseung’s eyes found yours immediately. And you didn’t think. You just walked.

You made your way up to the stage, your heels clicking softly against the ballroom floor, your heart pounding. You reached him, gently touched his arm, and turned to the mic. Heeseung stepped aside without a word, his jaw still tight.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice light but clear. “My fiancé’s not really used to a big crowd.  He’s the kind of guy who can negotiate million-dollar deals without blinking, but ask him to express a single human emotion in public and he acts like he’s being held hostage.”

A soft laugh rippled through the room.

You turned slightly, your gaze catching Heeseung’s from the corner of your eye. 

“Well...uh...Heeseung and I… we’ve been friends for as long as I can remember,” you began, “Then at the age of 18 left me for Canada. Canada. Can you imagine? Leaving this—” you gestured to yourself with mock offense, “—for Canada?”

The crowd laughed, a ripple of amusement breaking through the room.

You smiled, softer this time, your voice dipping gently. “We drifted after that—stopped talking, stopped being us. And then… he came back. Somehow, we reconnected, and, as fate would have it, he was actually even more insufferably annoying than I remembered.”

Another laugh bubbled from the audience, gentler this time.

“He knew exactly how to push my buttons. He was cocky, arrogant… God, I hated him. Made me do the dumbest things. Made me run the craziest errands. Like, have you ever seen someone counting exactly 50 blueberries in the middle of a supermarket? If you have, that was probably me.”

The room stilled, the laughter fading like it had never been there. The shift was subtle—just the way attention turned sharper, the way even the background music felt like it had lowered itself into a hush.

“But somehow…” you continued, your voice softer now, almost hesitant. You turned your head fully, locking eyes with Heeseung, and the noise of the room blurred around the edges.

“After all those years, after all the silence… I realised something.”

You drew in a breath, one that trembled slightly on the way out. “I blamed him for so much time lost. I blamed him for leaving, for not telling me when, for not trying harder. But I forgot…”

You paused. The truth sat heavy on your tongue, but it needed to be said.

“I forgot to blame myself,” you whispered. “And I never apologized.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around the mic. The words felt raw, too honest, and somehow… exactly why you had hated him back then. Because loving him hurt, and you didn’t know how to carry that without turning it into anger.

Heeseung’s expression shattered—composure gone, his eyes soft and stunned, like you’d touched a place inside him he thought you’d never reach again. There was something breaking open in his gaze. Something unspoken but unmistakable.

“Till now,” you finished, voice barely above a whisper.

And then, with the ache growing full in your chest, your eyes still locked on his, you breathed into the mic.

“I’m sorry.”

The word hung in the air louder than you intended. You wiped the single tear that rolled down your cheek, hoping no one noticed. But then it hit you, you were still on stage. Still holding the mic. Still standing under a literal spotlight in front of dozens of clients and colleagues.

You cleared your throat and plastered on a small, tight smile. “And of course,” you said lightly, forcing the laugh into your voice, “none of this would have happened if we weren’t madly in love and getting married in exactly” ,you glanced at your imaginary watch, “three months and four days. But who’s counting? Apparently, bridezilla herself!”

The crowd laughed. A few people even let out soft awws, and someone near the front clapped.

You gave a stiff little bow, muttered a quick “thank you,” and then got off the stage.

And ran.

You had somehow found your way back to the golf course. You walked faster, heart pounding, heels sinking slightly into the grass. You didn’t want him to find you. Not like this. Not when your walls were crumbling and your heart was screaming things you weren’t ready to say out loud.

But then, a hand gripped your wrist, gentle and firm, stopping you in your tracks. You spun around, startled, only to find Heeseung behind you. 

“What you said back there,” he said, voice low, shaking slightly, “did you mean it?”

“What?” you blinked. “I was just lying to get him off our backs. You know. I was doing my job as your fake fiancée, remember?” You tried to laugh it off, but it came out hollow.

Heeseung didn’t even flinch. “It didn’t seem like a lie.”

You scoffed, looking away. “I was just tryna get the $20,000 off my back, Heeseung.”

“You still love me,” he said, cutting you off. His voice was raw now.

You froze. “No, I don’t—”

“Stop lying to yourself!” Heeseung shouted, the words cutting through the quiet night, raw and ragged, like something inside him had finally broken loose. “Stop lying to me! I can’t take this anymore!”

His voice echoed across the empty golf course, full of something desperate and real, something that made your chest tighten and your breath catch.

“That girl…” he said, voice cracking, “that girl I was in love with… who I still am in love with—she’s in there somewhere. I refuse to believe she didn’t show up at the airport.”

“Heeseung,” you breathed, eyes wide, frozen in place.

“Why?” His voice wavered. “Why didn’t you come? Why didn’t you show up? Why did you just… shut me out after I told you I was leaving—”

“Because!” you snapped, your voice breaking as you finally let it spill. “Because I’m selfish!”

Heeseung paused, taken aback. His brows pulled together.

“I didn’t want to get hurt,” you whispered.

“That’s not the truth,” he said quietly.

“It is,” you insisted, but your voice wavered.

Heeseung shook his head, stepping closer, eyes locked on yours. “You’re lying.”

You ran a trembling hand through your hair, your voice cracking as you looked away. “Fine! You want the truth? You really want to hear it?”

Your chest rose with a sharp breath, the words clawing their way up. “It’s because I thought… I thought if you stayed, I’d ruin you.”

You turned, eyes burning as they met his. “You were 18, Heeseung. 18. You were so smart. You had this whole brilliant, blinding life ahead of you. A future so much bigger than anything I could give you. And me?” Your voice broke. “I was scared I’d be the reason you didn’t shine. That you’d look back one day and realise you settled.”

You swallowed hard, “So I let you go. Because it felt easier to lose you than to stay and watch you wake up one day and realise you made a mistake by choosing me.”

Heeseung’s breath caught, his entire body tensing. “Why?” he asked, voice cracking, his voice growing louder each with each second passing by. “Why would you think I’d ever regret choosing you?”

You turned your face away, “Because I was scared, okay? I was 18. I was still trying to figure out who I was, let alone what I meant to you. And then suddenly I had to make a decision that felt like it would shape the rest of your life.”

You faced him again, voice rising with the ache in your chest. “You were leaving for this big, shiny life. New country, new people, new everything. And I—” You choked. “I didn’t want to be the reason you stayed and resented it.”

He stared at you like he didn’t even know how to speak. “What was good for me?” he echoed quietly, like the words were something sacred. Then louder, sharper—“You! You were! I fucking loved you so much, how could you not see that?”

“Then why didn’t you tell me when you were leaving!” you cried, your voice breaking under the weight of years unsaid. “I would’ve come. I would’ve come, Heeseung. If I’d known—if you had just told me when—”

“Yes I did!” Heeseung’s voice cracked again. “I wrote it. In the letter.”

You froze. “What letter?”

“The letter I gave your mom,” he said, breathless. “The one I—God, I gave your mom a letter. I told her to give it to you.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“What fucking letter?” you whispered.

“I gave your mom a letter,” he said again, quieter this time. “It had everything. The date. The time. Everything. I thought you didn’t come because you chose not to.”

“My mom… never gave me a letter,” you said softly, the words tumbling out like a secret you hadn’t known you were holding.

Heeseung’s eyes widened. “What?”

“If I did know, I would’ve shown up,” you continued, your voice cracking at the edges. “I would’ve told you not to go. I would’ve begged you to stay.” Your throat burned.

“I didn’t mean to leave,” Heeseung said quickly, shaking his head, his voice full of urgency. “God, I didn’t just leave. I waited. I waited until the last possible second. I looked for you until they started calling my name for final boarding.”

Your eyes brimmed with tears, heart pounding. “Now I know you didn’t.”

Heeseung took a shaky step forward. “And now I know you didn’t ignore me. You didn’t walk away.”

You nodded slowly, unable to speak as the tears slipped down your cheeks. Before you could hide, before you could even wipe them away, Heeseung stepped forward and gently tugged you into him, his arms wrapping around you like they were made to.

He pressed your head to his chest, where his heart was beating fast and loud, just like yours. One hand cradled the back of your head while the other brushed against your cheek, wiping your tears.

Then, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I never stopped loving you,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’m sorry for the shit I put you through.”

And this time, you didn’t hold back.

“I should've asked. I'm sorry.” you whispered back.

You tilted your face up to him, eyes still wet but softer now, like the storm inside you had finally started to settle. Heeseung looked down, gaze flicking between your tear-streaked cheeks and the curve of your lips, his thumb still gently resting beneath your chin.

And then you leaned in.

The both of you were hesitant at first. But the second your lips met, everything else slipped away. His hands in your hair, your fingers gripping his tie.

The kiss deepened. His fingers curled around your waist. Then, without warning, he tapped your thigh twice.

You understood immediately, jumping up as he caught you with ease. Your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, and he held you there, effortlessly.

Your lips never parted, not even as he turned and started walking, steady and sure. The golf course faded behind you, quiet except for the occasional rustle of wind.

He pulled back just enough to grin against your cheek. “As much as I like the idea of christening the 9th hole… I think we should take this somewhere less… open.”

-

The door clicked open behind you, but you barely registered it.

In one breath, Heeseung had you in his arms again, his hands firm at your waist, his lips crashing onto yours. There was nothing hesitant about it. Just years of built-up longing released in one desperate, searing kiss.

He guided you backwards gently, lips never parting from yours, until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed. You stumbled slightly, gasping into his mouth, and he caught you with a quiet laugh, pressing you down with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

“Jongseong’s gonna have a field day with this one,” he whispered, grinning against your skin.

You let out a soft laugh. “Well, Jake too.”

He pulled back just enough to raise an eyebrow at you. “Did you really have to mention Jake when I’m trying to put some moves on you?”

“You mentioned Jongseong first.”

“Yeah, but… Jake’s gross.”

“You’re just jealous.”

He scoffed. “What if I am?”

“Then you’re stupid, because Jake’s like a brother to me.”

“I wanna fire him.”

You snorted. “You can’t fire him without an actual reason, dumbass.”

Heeseung groaned, flopping onto the bed like the world had betrayed him personally. 

“This is so unfair. I fall for a girl and her emotional support dog comes in the same package.”

You rolled your eyes, hovering just above him with a smirk tugging at your lips. “Now are we making out, or are we gonna keep talking about our friends?”

“I definitely prefer the first option,” he muttered.

And then his hand slid to the back of your neck, and he pulled you down into him again, his lips meeting yours, firmer this time, no hesitation. Just heat and honesty and a kiss that felt like it had been years in the making.

-

Morning light spilled in through the hotel curtains, soft and golden, casting gentle shadows across the sheets tangled around your legs. You blinked slowly, the haze of sleep clinging to your lashes, the warmth beside you anchoring you to a reality that felt too perfect to be true.

Heeseung was still asleep, bare-chested, one arm slung lazily over your waist, hair a complete mess, lips parted slightly like he’d fallen asleep mid-sentence. His face, usually so composed and sharp, looked peaceful like this. 

You smiled, fingers brushing lightly over the curve of his shoulder.

Then you sat up. And screamed.

“Heeseung!” 

 He jolted awake like someone had lit a fire under him. “What? What—what’s wrong?”

“We’re late! The breakfast meeting!”

For a second, you both just stared at each other, completely frozen in chaos. The clock read 8:43. The meeting started at 9.

“Shit.”

You scrambled to untangle yourselves from the sheets, clothes flying across the room as you grabbed the first items in reach, your skirt halfway zipped, his shirt buttoned all wrong.

Heeseung stumbled while trying to put on his socks, nearly falling face-first into the carpet. “Why didn’t we set an alarm?!”

“Because someone was too busy whispering sweet shit in my ear and kissing my shoulder for an hour.”

“Well excuse me for being emotionally available for once!”

You both raced around the room like it was on fire, bumping into each other, yanking open suitcases, swearing under your breaths, and then suddenly, just as you were jamming a shoe onto your foot, Heeseung grabbed your wrist and spun you toward him.

“Wait,” he said, breathless. “Just one. Please.”

You blinked. “Hee, we don’t have time.”

“Just one,” he whispered, already leaning in. “One kiss.”

You sighed. Let your hands wrap around his collar as he kissed you, messy, rushed, and full of everything you’d both been too stubborn to say for years.

When you finally pulled away, both of you slightly dazed, Heeseung grinned. “Totally worth it.”

You smacked his arm. “Let’s go, idiot.”

And hand in hand, grinning like fools, you bolted for the elevator.

-

It’d been a few days since everything had changed. Since the night on the golf course. Since the hotel room. And since well, you and Heeseung had…done stuff. Multiple times.

You weren’t official but you were… together. Always orbiting each other like you were tethered by something invisible. No one knew. Not Jake. Not your team. And definitely not HR, which, unfortunately, was Park Jongseong himself, a man with a love for company policies and a suspicious sixth sense for office romance.

And so, here you were. In the office pantry with Jake, who was minding his coffee.

Jake nudged your elbow as he poured milk into his mug. “So, how was the trip with the devil himself?”

You sipped your coffee. “It was fine.”

“Fine? Really?” Jake squinted at you. “Damn, I thought you were coming back with at least three things I could use to file an anonymous complaint.”

You shrugged, avoiding eye contact. “Y’know… actually, he’s not that bad.”

Jake slowly turned to face you. “Not that bad? He made you pretend to be a floor tile.”

You winced. “Okay, yeah, but—look, we were both kind of crazy. I spat in his coffee once, so like… we’re even.”

Jake nearly dropped his mug. “Even?” He stared at you like you’d just told him you’d taken up sword-swallowing as a hobby. “Who are you right now—wait.” His eyes narrowed. “Wait, wait—oh no.”

You froze.

Jake’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god. The two of you hooked up, didn’t you?”

You opened your mouth then closed it. 

Jake looked personally betrayed, “I knew it. I knew you were all weird this week! Who the hell goes to the janitor closet for breaks?”

You froze mid-sip, eyes darting away.

Jake’s jaw dropped. “Heeseung was in there, wasn’t he?”

You blinked.

“Oh my god—you two did it in the janitor cl—EW!” Jake staggered back like the mental image physically harmed him. “I eat lunch near that hallway!”

You held up a hand. “First of all, we did not—”

“You hesitated! That was a hesitation!”

“Jake, if you don’t shut up, I swear I’m going to tell Jongseong you said his HR memo font choice was ugly.”

Jake rolled his eyes, lowering his voice only slightly. “Fine but just so you know, this doesn’t mean I like him. He’s still an asshole.”

You shrugged, sipping your coffee like this wasn’t the most ridiculous conversation you’ve had in weeks. “Good. Because he hates you too.”

Jake blinked. “What the fuck did I do?”

You shrugged, “Exist.”

-

Heeseung sat at his desk, fingers flying across the keyboard as he finalised the proposal for Mr Kim. It was clean, sharp, every slide perfectly aligned to close the deal he’d been working for almost half a year. A deal that, according to the company group chat, had already been deemed one of the most high-profit wins in Aureum’s history.

He should’ve been riding the high of corporate glory.

But none of it really mattered. Not compared to the fact that he’d come back with you.

He tried to stay focused but every few minutes his eyes drifted upward, toward your little cubicle across the hall. You were hunched slightly over your desk, tongue peeking out the corner of your mouth in concentration.

He rested his cheek on his palm, watching you like an idiot. You were so pretty.

And then you looked up.

Your eyes met his, and instead of pretending he hadn’t just been caught openly simping, Heeseung grinned because ever since the two of you were unofficially official, he didn’t even bother to hide it anymore.

You tilted your head, smirking. Then sent him a flying kiss.

Heeseung squealed. Audibly. And sent one right back with two hands like a dramatic fool.

And that was when the office door swung open.

“What the fuck are you doing?” came Park Jongseong’s voice, disgusted and traumatised all at once.

Right. Glass walls. Stupid, transparent, company-branded glass walls.

Heeseung sat up straight, clearing his throat. “I was… practicing.”

Jongseong blinked. “Practicing what, exactly?”

“…Nevermind."

Jongseong sighed and muttered "You're so weird,” before walking out.

Then the door opened again.

“Wait...I smell something,” Jongseong declared.

Heeseung didn’t even look up. “What?”

“A HR violation,” Jongseong said with a sniff, eyes narrowing.

As much as Heeseung loved Jongseong, god, the man could be such a self-righteous pain when it came to company policies.

“I don’t smell anything,” Heeseung said, typing without looking.

“No, no. I smell it. There’s a strong odor of office romance in the air and it reeks in here.”

“You must be sniffing yourself.”

“Oh please. This company only hires uglies.”

“You’re not the catch you think you are, Jongseong.”

“Yes I am,” he said with absolute confidence, “and I will find out who is reeking of romance. It’s horrendous.” Then, dramatically, he turned to Heeseung. “Is it you?”

Heeseung gulped, eyes twitching. “Couldn’t be me.”

Jongseong stared harder. “You’re right. You reek too much of a man who hasn’t gotten laid in three years because he’s been secretly in love with his subordinate.”

Heeseung blinked. Deeply offended, but smart enough not to give in. “Yeah sure. Whatever you say.”

Then, without warning, Jongseong spun and pointed directly at Jake, who had just walked in with his smoothie.

“It’s him!” Jongseong gasped. “He has the cheekbones for it. Look at him—he looks gorgeous. No way this man isn’t pulling chicks.”

“Cheekbones?” Heeseung scoffed. “They’re more like rotten apples. Don’t you think?”

“No. This man looks like he was carved by God himself.”

“Or the devil, actually.”

“No. Look at him,” Jongseong insisted, grabbing Heeseung’s shoulders and spinning him toward Jake. “He looks like a piece of Renaissance art with a gym membership.”

“He looks like three-day-old underwear.”

“You’re just jealous… because… oh my god.” Jongseong’s eyes widened, turning to face Heeseung fully. “He’s dating her, isn’t he?”

“What?” Heeseung looked at Jongseong like he’d just suggested he was secretly a lizard.

“That’s why you’re extra moody today,” Jongseong gasped. “Because Jake and her are together. And that leaves you all alone.”

Heeseung’s stomach flipped violently. He hated the image of you and Jake together. He hated the way Jongseong even said it like it made sense.

“They’re not together,” he snapped.

“Well, if they are, we could always just fire Jake,” Jongseong offered casually, sipping his coffee.

“We are not—” Heeseung paused. “Hold on. That’s a good idea.”

“Well, then she’d have to go too. Because, y’know, also dating Jake.”

“Oh. Right.” Heeseung grimaced. 

Jongseong raised a brow. “Not like you care though? You fucking hate her.”

“Actually, people change,” Heeseung muttered. “She apologized. She’s… not that bad.”

“Not that bad?” Jongseong repeated slowly, squinting.

He looked at you through the glass. Then at Heeseung. Then at you again. Then back at Heeseung.

His mouth dropped open.

“It’s you,” Jongseong gasped, pointing between the two of you like he’d just cracked a government conspiracy. “It's you two!”

Before another word could escape his mouth, Heeseung shot up from his chair and launched himself at him.

Jongseong barely had time to react before Heeseung had tackled him into a makeshift headlock, one hand slapped over his mouth as the two of them stumbled into the corner of the office.

“Let go of me!” Jongseong struggled, flailing under Heeseung’s grip. “I have rights!”

“Not until you promise you won’t say a word!” Heeseung hissed, tugging on Jongseong’s shoulders and trying to wrestle him into silence while Jongseong kicked wildly at the air.

Outside the office, you and Jake stood with your coffees, watching everything unfold behind the glass.

Jake blinked. “What the hell do you think is happening in there?”

You shrugged, casually sipping from your mug. “No clue. Glass walls don’t help if they built the place like a soundproof aquarium.”

Back inside, Jongseong finally managed to pull Heeseung’s hand from his mouth long enough to shout, “I am a man of the people! I have to report this monstrosity!”

“Calm the fuck down,” Heeseung gritted through his teeth, still trying to keep him pinned. “You’re a HR manager, not Captain America.”

Jongseong wheezed, flailing. “The people must know!”

“The people can suck it!” Heeseung growled, still halfway wrestling Jongseong into the carpet.

“Jongseong, I swear to God, if you’re the next obstacle to us getting back together, I’m never forgiving you.”

“I—I—” Jongseong wheezed, still pinned beneath Heeseung’s arm. “When the hell did you get—so—strong?”

Heeseung didn’t even flinch. “Pilates, bitch.”

Outside, you took another slow sip of your coffee, eyebrows raised. “Five bucks says Heeseung bribes him with cake to shut up.”

Jake nodded. “Ten if it’s that strawberry shortcake from the café downstairs.”

“Deal.”

Jongseong finally shoved him off, crawling backward until he could breathe. “Okay, fine!” he huffed, adjusting his rumpled blazer. “You seem pretty serious about her.”

Heeseung straightened, flicked his collar, and gave the smuggest little smirk. “I am.”

There was a pause.

Then, softer this time, “So please?” Heeseung added, meeting Jongseong’s eyes. “Could you just… keep it down?”

Jongseong looked at him. Then at you through the glass. Then back at Heeseung.

He sighed deeply, like he was about to betray his entire code of ethics. “Fine.”

Heeseung grinned. “Thank you.”

“But the second you start getting gross in meetings, I’m reporting both of you to HR which is me.”

“Deal,” Heeseung said, already pulling out his wallet. “Strawberry shortcake?”

Jongseong paused. “Extra whipped cream.”

Heeseung nodded. “Done.”

-

You knew it was a risk.

The moment Heeseung had grabbed your wrist in the hallway and tugged you into the janitor’s closet with that familiar look in his eyes, the one that always made your knees weak and better judgment nonexistent, you knew.

And yet here you were.

Pressed against the wall between a mop and a bucket, lips tangled with yours. His hands roamed your waist with urgency, and your fingers were tugging at his tie.

“This is your fault,” you whispered against his mouth.

“You kissed me first,” he murmured back, breathless, grinning.

“Because you looked hot during the finance meeting!”

“You said profit margin like it was a dirty word!”

You were about to argue when—

The door opened.

“Oh my GOD,” Jake’s voice rang out, horrified.

“What the hell—” Jongseong's words trailed off as he stepped in behind Jake, immediately shielding his eyes with a clipboard. “I knew it. I knew it! I’m reporting the two of you to HR.”

You scrambled to fix your blouse, cheeks burning. “Jake, shut the door!”

“You’ve scarred me. I need therapy.”

“Technically,” Heeseung said, calm as ever, “we’re on our ten-minute break.”

“That’s it,” Jongseong snapped. “This is the third time this week I’ve caught you two doing something borderline illegal in the fucking mop closet. I’m reporting you. I’ve been way too tolerant.”

“How about a hundred bucks and we pretend this never happened?” Heeseung offered smoothly.

Jongseong paused. Then grinned. “Damn. Didn’t know I could go blind for ten minutes, but apparently, I can. Nice doing business with you.”

Jake blinked. “Wait, how about me? I can still report this to HR too!”

“You’re lucky I don’t fire your ugly ass on the spot.”

Jake scoffed. “I told you two months ago—I don’t want your ratty-ass girlfriend. You can stop being weird about it.”

“Ratty?” you gasped, hand to your chest like you’d just been stabbed.

Jake rolled his eyes. “You know I’m exaggerating. You’re the prettiest princess in the entire damn kingdom.”

You giggled. “Hee, apologise to him.”

“Absolutely not. He just called you pretty right in front of me.”

“Am I not pretty?” you asked, feigning offence.

Heeseung groaned. “You’re very beautiful. Which is exactly why we’re in this situation in the first place!”

“Well, then, could you please apologise to Jake?”

Heeseung sighed, dramatically pained. “Fine. I’m sorry, and I don’t hate you.”

Jake blinked. “…Thanks?”

“Now,” Heeseung said, already tugging the door shut again, “can we have five more minutes?”

“NO!” they both shouted in unison.

The door slammed shut anyway.

Jake stared at it, traumatised. “I’m never opening a janitor’s closet again.”

Jongseong nodded solemnly. “I’ve seen things. I need bleach.”

“Join the club.”

[velvetures]

Got Me Snoring

A/N: One of my favorite things inspired by all the Ghost/König cosplayer TikToks using that one, song audio. Summary: Ghost admits getting head is boring. Reader isn't happy with that idea and goes about changing his mind. T/W: NS/FW 18+ Only, blowjobs, deepthroating, size kink if you squint, spit?, cursing, aggressive tension?, taunting, not proofread, and it's been a long ass time since I've written full-on smut.

“All I’m sayin’ is that if she calls again, I’m not about to answer.” Soap’s voice carried from the living space of the hotel room to the kitchenette where you stood microwaving some rice from a convenience store down the street.

After-mission talk always leads to the most strange conversations. Maybe the adrenaline or the high of getting almost killed got everyone in a talking mood. However as the Captain slid behind you to go grab more ice outside in the hallway, you couldn’t help but shoot him a questioning look. They’d been talking about their previous accomplishments and failures in the bedroom for nearly twenty minutes, and thankfully they’d not roped you into the ridiculous conversation but with the Captain leaving out of the room, it drew their eyesight right to you standing patiently for your instant rice to finish cooking.

“What about you, huh?” Gaz was the one to poke a little. “Have any horror stories from the bedroom?” His eyebrows raised in mischievous curiosity as all three men sat staring at you with great intent.

“I’ve faked it plenty of times.” You reply offhandedly, waving a hand at them and going back to staring at the small plastic cup rotating around in the microwave.

You overheard the men pass through the moment of silence with low laughs, most noticeably, Ghost. Who’d apparently found something very funny and decided to grace everyone with the sound of deep and resounding chuckles. With a gloved hand, you take out your food and rejoin them in the room, finding a spot on the corner of one of the beds and crossing your legs to hold the bowl while you watch and listen to more of their recounted stories.

Soap complained more about the one night he’d met up with one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met, and drank himself into oblivion to try and ease his nerves. The only problem was, that when he finally had enough liquid courage to make a move, he couldn’t get it up. Even watching him recount the tale now, you could see his embarrassment. You couldn’t imagine just how beautiful that woman had to be for Soap to give himself whiskey-dick so bad that to this day he regretted the memory and undoubtedly wished he could take it back. Gaz got pressured into retelling the story of the woman he met in Russia just for you since you’d never heard it; Detailing just how she’d been absolutely obsessed with him right from the get-go.

She couldn’t stop fawning over his accent and just how downright good-looking he was. Gaz on the other hand felt very embarrassed and never really tried to take things further on that trip. Fortunately for him, on a trip back a few months later for pleasure, he ran into the woman again and this time around she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Soap and Ghost laughed, poking fun at how utterly exhausted Garrick was when he met up with them in London. His shit-eating grin was more than enough for them to surmise that his little Russian vixen had taken him for a hell of a ride.

Then there was Ghost.

He didn’t have much to say in the way of his own successes, but did share one or two small comparisons with the other two as they kept pulling out detail after detail about the many people they’d met over the years and how they either felt they’d left their mark… or totally fucking missed it. All of it came to a very interesting topic that you suddenly became very interested in when Ghost uttered one single statement that left your mouth hanging open and staring at him almost in disbelief.

“I don’t like someone blowin’ my cock,” his voice sounded flat. Totally unbothered and nearly sleeping at the idea. “Never cared much for it when half doesn’t fit.”

You couldn’t help but insert yourself into the conversation after a long hour or so of sitting like a viewer at a movie. “Wait a second… You mean to tell me you don’t like getting head because you're too big?” The gasp in your tone was obvious, and even Soap and Gaz looked at him a little strangely as if they didn’t truly believe the idea either. It gave you a bit more reassurance in your belief that almost all men enjoyed it. Sure, there was the odd chance that Ghost just didn’t like it at all, but you really wanted to hear his explanation if he’d give you one.

The Lieutenant turned to look at you and nodded stiffly. “Yeah, ‘bout always puts me to sleep.”

It was at this point you felt the slightest urge to tell him he’d never had someone give him a legitimately good blowjob before. But before you could even say something to the contrary, a thought crossed your mind. Ghost didn’t seem like the kind of man who attracted ill-experienced women. Especially when he had already proven throughout the evening that his previous encounters were much more interesting and expansive than even that of yourself. Something a bit… jealous rose inside of you at the thought.

Imagining your Lieutenant laying on his back and hardly making any sort of sound while someone pulls out every single trick in their arsenal to make a blowjob somewhat entertaining or arousing. You didn’t necessarily profess yourself to have a crush on Ghost, due to just how grey the line between operators and anything felt when you spent so much time together under high-stress environments. There was bound to be some level of emotional attachment that devolved past… professional. And for whatever it was, knowing that Ghost had such a bad opinion on the receiving end of pleasure became a challenge you wanted to overcome.

About that time, Price returned with half-melted ice and a half-smoked cigar hanging between his lips.

“Finished talking about chasin’ tail yet?” He grumbled, walking past the group of you still sitting around each other like a bunch of kids getting caught staying up late by Dad at a sleepover. “Wanna go to fuckin’ sleep.”

He dropped the ice bucket down on the dresser with a little thud before settling himself down on the pull-out couch with his hat covering his eyes and both arms resting behind his head with that cigar still puffing smoke rings into the air. Ghost was the first to stand up, making his way out of the hotel room without as much as a comment about when he’d be back or where he was going. Your eyes trailed over his shoulders tapering into a slim waist before giving way again to thick and muscular thighs enhanced by all of gear still strapped to his body. His kit did leave a lot to the imagination. And god did your mind start to wander as both Soap and Gaz began winding down, settling themselves down to sleep for the night or at least lay somewhere quietly so the Captain didn’t lose any more of his patience and kick someone out or force them to pay for their own room. Not nearly tired enough with all of the questions and thoughts about Ghost now floating through your mind, you didn’t care the least bit about laying down or pretending not to care about the fact of the matter and headed out of the hotel room after the Lieutenant as Soap turned out the final lamp in the corner of the room.

The air was a bit cold outside without your jacket, breath materializing in front of you in light wisps of fog with every exhale as you looked down both ends of the hallway hoping to see some sign of where Ghost might’ve gone to. Down on the far left side, a larger cloud of smoke blew past the breezeway entrance and you knew right away that Ghost would be at the end of it. And when your eyes peeked around the corner, you weren’t the least bit surprised to see him with a shoulder resting up against the wall; his back to you with enough of his mask pulled up so that he could smoke a cigarette. The sweet vanilla and cherry smell hit you like a wall, reminding you that Ghost preferred rolling his own cigarettes and used pipe tobacco instead of buying packs of anything else.

Leaves no trace behind… He’d explained without prompting one night after noticing that you’d been watching him.

“Followin’ me now?” His voice heavy with smoke and unhindered by his mask landed directly on you, not even needing to turn around to know you were the one tailing after him.

“Couldn’t let you freeze to death alone.” You reply with a little smile, taking it as your chance to go ahead and walk -slowly- over to him giving him the privacy to smoke without needing to fuss with keeping his face covered.

By standing just at his back leaning against the wall, he knew right where you were, and it put the weight of conversation on him for the moment. He gave you a gruff sort of sound and took another drag off his cigarette before turning just far enough to offer it to you. You take it from his gloved fingers carefully, licking your lips a little in slight nervousness. This wasn’t the first time he’d offered you a hit, but it was the first time you’d ever actually taken him up on it. Seeing the damp rolling paper on the end made you shiver a little; Hopefully, the cold weather would be a good enough excuse to keep him from recognizing your sudden anxiety around him. Wrapping your lips around it and inhaling, you’re a little more than guilty for noticing the taste of Ghost instead of the vanilla and cherry. With a quick glance to your side, you saw his mask was pulled back down over his mouth and his dark eyes were focused right on you as you blew the smoke out of your mouth and back in through your nose. Attempting to hand it back, he just shakes his head.

“You didn’t come out here to be cold,” He finally broke the silence. “What’d you really want from me?”

No matter how long you spent around Ghost, you never got used to just how miserably direct Ghost could be. Like nothing was truly surprising to him or worth being the least bit delicate over. Even if it concerned someone -like yourself- at least attempting to be a little more discretionary. Yet you sighed and took another drag before tossing the rest of it down on the concrete, putting out the ember with the toe of your boot.

“Were you lying earlier?” Your question falls a little short of confident, giving Ghost the impression right away that you were nervous. For a split second, you thought you saw the phantom of a smile under the cover of his mask before it was quickly hidden back under late-night shadow and white paint. Ghost put his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and gave a sigh, making more fog swirl around and through the woven material around his mouth. Another thought of what his mouth looked like flashed through your failing mind.

“Why would it matter?”

You licked at your bottom lip, trying to figure out a way to word this without sounding desperate or downright shameless in front of your commanding officer… you shouldn't be thinking about doing this in the first place. So many more bad outcomes could come of this than the one good one. Even then, it was risky. Leaving you a bit dazed and staring at Ghost.

“Asked you a question. I’m expectin’ an answer.” He pressed forward, a slight swagger in his hips as he got closer to you, resting a hand on the wall and tilting his head a little to the side. Damn near mocking you for being so much smaller and easily intimidated. You look down at your boots for a moment, deciding to just put your money where your mouth is and take the hit no matter the outcome.

“If you weren’t lying…” You look up, internally screaming at how heavy his eyes look down on you. “I’d like to try and change your mind.”

A deep chuckle comes from the Lieutenant in response followed by his heavy hand resting on your shoulder, almost totally engulfing it.

“You’re jokin’,” His voice lowered with humor that made you almost shrivel up and die inside. “Why would I let you do that?” You give a frustrated sigh and take a step back away from Ghost. Mentally and physically distancing yourself from the slight Ghost had given you by accident or otherwise.

“Never mind.” You give a short nod and turn on your heel to head back to the hotel room and find somewhere to curl up on the floor or in a bed with someone and try to sleep off your damaged ego.

Yet five steps away from Ghost, you’re stopped short with his arm snaked around your waist tightly and his mouth resting against your ear with a heavy and hot breath fanning against your neck. His palm spreads over your stomach and squeezes almost aggressively at the soft flesh under your shirt. Tall and wide, Ghost yanks your back flush to his chest as a silent threat.

“Don’t fuckin’ walk away from me,” His low growl makes you shiver. “I’m not finished with ya.”

In an instant, you’re spun around and hauled aggressively with your back against the nearest wall with Ghost’s chest holding you from fighting back. His legs limit your ability to try and escape out from under his arms, and while one hand is flat against your chest, the other restricts both your wrists above your head. Breath evacuates your lungs with the sudden shock of your back against the wall, but your eyes are locked on Ghost’s as he glares at you harshly through the wavering mist of his breath in the cold air.

“Now I’ve got you pacified…” His smirk was clear in tone, outright mocking you by pressing those massive thighs tighter against yours. “Let’s continue shall we?” The gloved hand pressed against your heaving chest slides up to grasp firmly at your chin and jerk it up to look him in the eyes.

“Why don’t you be a good little thing and tell me why you think you could change my mind, and maybe… I won’t punish you for talkin’ shit to your superior officer.” He spat loudly, his face less than an inch from yours, eyes flaming with aggression.

“Sorry Lieutenant…” You mutter stiffly through the struggle of his hand against your jaw. “Thought I could do better.” You add a lot weaker, averting your eyes as far from Ghost as you can.

“What was that?” He made dark fun of you, terribly obvious, and downright happy with himself. “Say it again.”

You squirm in his grasp, only to get your wrists slid up higher on the wall and a thigh shoved between your own to lift your feet almost totally off the ground. Toes tapping the ground, Ghost holds you totally of his own power without the slightest effort needed to keep you held right where he wanted you to be.

“Thought I could do better.” You repeat yourself louder, and more clearly, feeling utterly stupid for enduring such pathetic treatment. Only you knew it was your fault for letting such a pipe dream of an idea come to reality by prodding Ghost about his sex life so confidently. The masked man hummed lowly, tilting his head as he inspected your face lighted only by a small sliver of moonlight creeping around the corner of the hallway.

“Better, huh?” Ghost chuckles darkly, this thumb tracing over the bottom curve of your lip carefully. “That’s a lot of confidence for someone so small.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Size has nothing to do with it.”

Ghost barks laughter, grumbling something under his breath before dropping his hand away from your jaw and releasing one of your hands to press against his groin. You can’t miss his meaning from the massive erection pressing back against your hand and twitching impatiently when your Lieutenant squeezes your hand around it tighter. A growl escapes his throat and he looks up at you with almost evil eyes.

“Still think size doesn’t matter, little one?” He questions, one eyebrow raising above the hemline of his mask.

Your mouth falls open in shock. Not only because of the sheer girth of Ghost’s cock pulsing in your hand but realizing that he was actually taking your proposal seriously no matter how aggressive his mockery of you was. It shouldn’t have been so damn surprising when taking into account just how large of a man Ghost is. Surely everything would be proportionate, and his erection was proof of it.

Your face is enough to make Ghost chuckle. “That’s what I thought…”

It’s enough of a dismissal that thaws your speechlessness and throws you right back into the present with enough of the guts to speak up for your own desires.

“I can do it,” You blurt breathlessly, fingers tracing along the curve of Ghost’s dick and earning a lusty growl from him. “I can make it good. I’ll make it fit.” You nod your head feverishly in an attempt to keep your chance open. Ghost’s eyes widen at your desperation and his cock twitches hard in your palm with the sound of your shallow breaths and pleading eyes.

“You want it, huh?” He questions, mask moving like he’s grinning under it.

“Then get on your fuckin’ knees.”

The moment his hands release you, you feel yourself sliding down the wall until your knees make a bruising thud against the concrete floor in front of Ghost. Your hands holding on his thighs without the slightest care that you were standing in the middle of a hotel breezeway where anyone could see you. A weight settled in your lower stomach with the idea of anyone coming out of their room and witnessing such a sight.

“My belt.” Ghost instructs a bit pinched, looking down at you with his chin almost touching his chest.

You’re frantic yet shaking as your hands slide up his thighs and begin pulling his belt loose, hearing that metallic clink as you pull the two sides apart with a watering mouth. No instruction is necessary for you to know where to go next, and as you unbutton his cargo pants, your free hand palms his cock as you pull down just enough of his waistband to expose him but not make him cold. Ghost’s hands help just a little, settling extra material where he prefers it, almost patiently holding up his own hoodie and t-shirt out of your way as you slid your hands under his boxers.

“Fuck…” Ghost mutters quietly, tensing when your fingers wrap around his base and free him from his underwear.

Your thumb smears over his swollen head soft enough to not make him jerk away with sensitivity, and you lick your lips at just how wet his cock already is from sheer anticipation. Hell, you were turned on too, practically dripping in your underwear at the sight of Ghost with nothing but a perfect dick exposed and ready for your mouth. The first lick is a teasing one. Flattening it over his head just because you couldn’t wait to taste him, gathering up his arousal, and making it a point to swallow with your eyes locked right on Ghost’s. You're certain it’s enough to affect him just by the way he grunts and rests both of his hands against the wall behind you to steady himself.

When your lips wrap around his tip and slide down towards his base slowly, you hollow your lips and suck hard. Almost mimicking drinking through a straw with both hands wrapped around his thick base to restrict blood flow, adding to his sensitivity. You feel his feet flex in his boots next to your thighs and another low grunt. It spurs you forward, sinking down further and massaging your tongue on the underside before raising back up to lick at his frenulum and repeating the process with quiet whines each time he’s unable to hold back some sound.

“Shit-” He hisses after no more than a couple of minutes, jerking his hips back away from you and moving your hands out of the way so he could tighten his own fist around his cock with a heaving chest.

He stays like that for a few moments, undoubtedly trying to stave off the pleasure you’d been giving before his eyes meet yours again and they’re downright hungry and raging with fury that you’d brought him so close without any extra fancy moves or those fake moans that porn always showed. With one quick movement, he stepped closer and tilted your head back until it gently rested against the wall behind you, his cock smearing your own spit and his arousal over your open and awaiting mouth.

“You look pretty like this…” He muttered, rubbing his length over your face and tapping it teasingly against your mouth. “You hungry for more?” You’re sticking out your tongue and nodding right away, earning you a tense chuckle and the feeling of Ghost’s dick sliding into your mouth while his hand cushions the back of your head from the wall.

“Let me feed it to ya,” He grunts. “Shove my fat cock in your mouth and fuck your throat..” He adds with a feral sort of sound mixing with an ever-thickening accent.

You moan around his length, feeling your jaw muscles begin to start aching when your nose just barely grazes his pubic bone and his tip touches the back of your throat. He’s thick enough to qualify as the largest you’ve ever experienced, but you’re not the slightest bit concerned about whether he’ll be able to fit. You know he’ll make it fit if nothing else.

And him utterly pounding your throat sounded so hot that you tried pushing further down on his shaft yourself. Eager to feel Ghost as deep in you as possible. Ghost obliges you, and rocks his hips forward slowly, easing his thick head past that ring of pressure at the back of your throat and cursing under his breath when a wet, gurgling sound vibrates around his shaft as you begin swallowing around him.

“Bloody, fuucckk yes…” His groans punch through the quiet air, far louder than he should be risking in such a public space. But he’s only getting started with this experience as your nose presses against his pubic bone, and his hand flattens against the wall.

“So tight… doggin’ me right where anyone can see.”

It’s the thought that had you so eager, and right away you felt just how much it turned Ghost on too. Because the second he said it, he pulled back just a fraction and pushed himself back down your throat, beginning tight and quick thrusts that made your eyes roll back. He kept a furious pace, growling and holding tight to the back of your head until you tapped at the back of his thigh a few times, and he pulled out with a loud grunt, giving you a moment to breathe. You panted, seeing a thick web of spit connecting your mouth and his tip before watching it break and drip down your shirt.

You’re about to tell Ghost… something. But you instantly lose thought of it when he’s bent down with his mask rucked up just far enough to smash his mouth to yours, shoving his tongue in your mouth and practically eating you from the inside out. You can still taste the salty edge of his skin, and it’s almost heady to have his mouth mingling with yours and sharing his arousal between soft moans and heavy breaths. The kiss is long and feverish, but not near long enough before he’s standing back up and stroking his fist up and down his cock right in front of you like an unreal kind of dream somehow coming to life.

“Please.” You mutter a bit hoarse from the rough treatment of your throat, totally unsure of what you really want most. Between his mouth, words, and dick there’s so much more than just one you desired, but at least one of them needed to be delivered to you to attempt satisfaction.

“Open up, little one…” Ghost whispers face re-masked already, and it makes you whine pathetically, having naively believed he’d allow you just one glimpse at the mouth you’d just tasted. “Need to have more of you.” You’re totally happy to resign by leaning your head back against the wall with your tongue wetting your lips in the cold air.

Ghost starts painfully slow, holding your head on both sides of your jaw and teasing his head against your tongue and the textured roof of your mouth; indiscernible words falling from his mouth and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. You would’ve thought it was nothing more than your Lieutenant just taking his pleasure as offered. But the way his thumbs brushed over your cheeks and his fingers would occasionally rub over the stretched muscles in your jaw gave you the feeling that he was well aware of what you were surrendering to him. As well as how thankful he was to have you on your knees, and looking so fucking angelic swallowing and spitting on his dick like a dirty little whore.

“Let me - Wanna…” His rising breaths and steady strokes begin to falter the longer he thrusts inside your mouth, meticulously avoiding forcing himself deeper in disappointment; resulting in your whining and muffled complaints and pleasure. Had his hands not been purposefully holding you back to prolong the session, Ghost probably wouldn’t have lasted this long.

“P-patience…” His stammer made your chest clench in satisfaction. “Don’t - don’t wanna finish in your mouth…”. That breathy comment nearly struck you stiff as concrete.

You couldn’t believe that after this entire ordeal, Ghost was actually trying to end a blowjob without you finishing it the way you honestly believed it should always end. With you swallowing every last fucking drop that the Lieutenant gave you; wearing a goddamn smile bigger than anyone has ever seen. If he hadn’t been lying and head never impressed him, there wasn’t a chance in Hell you were going to let him finish anywhere that wasn’t down your throat. In a split second, you were shaking your head no and pulling back off his cock with a slight gasp.

“No, finish.” It’s the most demanding and certain you’ve sounded all night. “Finish in my mouth, Ghost.”

His eyes say it all.

They’re wide with his pupils blown at impressive dimensions and his thick eyelashes flutter as his shocked expression forces him to blink over and over again to make sense of you. Mouth and chin covered in spit, on your knees, and literally begging him to come in your mouth.

“Goddamn, you’re so fucking filthy…” He mutters aloud, watching intently as you slide back down over him one more time and begin doing what you wanted to from the very beginning.

Bring Ghost to his knees.

It’s a moment before you have him cursing and holding onto the wall with both hands again as you push deeper and deeper until you're teasing the tip of your nose against him yet again. Unwilling to let him pull you off this time or prolong this. Deserving this release was the bare minimum. Not only did you want to provide him ultimate pleasure where no one else had, but you enjoyed every single bit of it. You needed this as much -if not more- than Ghost.

Heavy and twitching in your mouth, Ghost was teetering on the edge of his orgasm with stuttering hips and one hand sliding down to rest on your head. Not pushing this time, just laying at the crown like your movements were too much to feel with only one part of his body. Short pants were cut short by unintelligible words and strained attempts to say what you already knew.

As if giving your final approval of the idea Ghost had found unacceptable, you push him as deep as you could one final time; Hearing his loud shout echo down the breezeway as both of his hands grabbed harshly onto the sides of your head. Pumping stream after stream of his hot release down your throat you moaned deeply, feeling him gently rock his hips against your face as he rode down his high on shaky legs. You gagged a little as he pulled out, feeling your throat begin to burn in an unfamiliar way that had never followed you sharing a moment like this with another man. Only one look at Ghost’s cock right in front of your face was more than enough to reassure you he’d just been the one who gave you enough of a delicious stretch to feel for days to come.

Your eyes met his and a small little shy smile crossed your sore lips, contrasting the absolutely deplorable -and punishable- act you’d ever committed with a superior officer. Wordlessly Ghost tucked himself back into his underwear and neglected to button his pants back up before dropping to a knee right in front of you and pulling up his mask again to brush his lips against yours.

“Want to taste,” He whispered ever-so-softly, hands holding your head gently.

“Need to taste me inside your mouth.” He added, licking your lips before closing the distance between you for a second time. This kiss was still intense. Ghost controlling the pace and just how much dominance you had, which nearly came to zero when he licked into your mouth, groaning shamelessly. He could taste his release coating your mouth as he utterly overwhelmed you with kisses, licks, bites, and more moans that fell like honey on your ears.

You were the first to pull back for a gasp of air you’d gone full minutes without, feeling your own mouth and body beginning to feel a little weak with exhaustion not typical of a well-conditioned soldier like yourself. Your Lieutenant took note right away and rested his head against yours reassuringly, his nose touching yours.

“You’re too cold to be out here like this.” He whispered, pulling your cheek affectionately and wrapping the other arm around you. “Not gonna let you freeze after that.” He chuckled a bit sluggishly, kissing you again long and chaste.

He pulled his mask back down and gave very little effort to pick you up off your knees and into his arms without question or hesitation. Leaving you feeling like a treasured prize he’d won and refused to let out of his sight for more than a moment. Safe and protected, you couldn’t care one bit about the cold nipping through your thin clothes and resting your head against Ghost’s shoulder as he carried you back to the hotel room the 141 had already retired for the night in.

Expertly avoiding Soap and Gaz laying on couch cushions on the floor and covered with extra bedsheets, sliding around Price’s bed without bumping it, all while carrying you Ghost sat you down on the edge of the bed he’d been keen to claim as his own right when you’d arrived. You were nearly asleep just sitting there when he unlaced your boots enough to tug them off, pulled your shirt off over your head, and replaced it with one of his hoodies. Finally, he takes off your pants and nods for you to move up to the top of the bed, acting just as he would normally. But as he climbed into the bed next to you and tugged you back against him tightly, you realized you’d gotten a lot more than you bargained for.

Sure you might’ve changed Ghost’s mind about getting head… but you weren’t finished yet. Because Ghost was curling his arm around your waist and burying his masked face in between your shoulder blades like cuddling with you at night was the usual way of things. His fingers innocently traced the waistband of your underwear, and he radiated body heat that melted away the fringe sensations of cold on your body easily.

“I’ve made a decision,” He whispers very quietly so as not to wake the others. And you wiggle back a little closer to him, nodding your head as a silent acknowledgment for him to go on. Expecting him to say that you did -in fact- change his mind about getting blown.

“You’re mine now.”

Comments & Reblogs are Appreciated

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Twenty-Three

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, stress + anxiety, 2021 abu dhabi gp

Notes — Don't freak out too much. Or do. I don't mind!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

Abu Dhabi, 2021

The morning light over Yas Island was pale and peachy, slipping through the slats of the hotel balcony and falling in stripes across the rumpled bed and open sliding doors. The paddock below was just beginning to stir, the beep of forklifts, the low murmur of paddock crew setting up for the final race of the season.

Lando was sitting sideways on the balcony chair, legs folded beneath him, hair wild from sleep and one of Amelia’s sleep masks still tangled around his wrist. He had a half-drunk iced coffee balanced precariously on the railing, and he was tapping through a stream of TikToks on mute, occasionally muttering things like “how do people bend like that” and “okay I’m definitely trying that later.”

Amelia was curled beside him on the lounger, wearing his LN4 hoodie (too long in the sleeves, as always), scrolling through tire degradation data on her iPad, her stim ring rotating in fast loops over her thumb. She was quiet. Focused. Chewing gently on the inside of her cheek.

Then, completely out of nowhere, she said flatly, “I think we should get married.”

Lando paused. Finger hovering over the next video. “Wait. Huh?”

“I think we should get married,” she repeated, still not looking up.

He blinked once. Then twice. “Like… married married?”

“Yes.” She hummed. 

His brain short-circuited. “Wait, right now?” he asked, full of alarm and awe. “Like you wanna elope? I mean, we could. Vegas is only, like, eight hours away—no, wait, you need a license. Shit, do I need a suit? Wait, do I need to propose first?!”

Amelia finally looked up at him, blinking slowly. “No. Not right now. I’m saying, I want that. With you. At some point. Soon.”

“Oh,” he said, visibly short-circuiting again, but this time in a much softer way. “Oh. Holy shit.” He scrambled to sit up straighter, hands moving frantically as if he needed to physically shake the surprise out of his body. “Like you want to marry me marry me?”

“Yes,” she said again, frowning at him now. “I’ve thought about it. You’re the person I feel safest with. I want to live with you forever. I want to do life with you. So yes. I think we should get married.” She made a face. “Also, I’d become your next of kin, which would be very useful. I hated having to wait outside for you to be conscious enough to give me permission to come into the medical room. Ridiculous.” She muttered. 

Lando was staring at her like she’d just told him he’d won the lottery and a lifetime supply of Haribo. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “Are we too young? Shouldn’t we be, like, old and boring first?”

“You’re already halfway there,” Amelia said dryly.

He barked out a laugh, then grabbed a throw pillow and bonked her gently on the head. “Oi! Rude.”

She caught it and didn’t even flinch. “I’m serious, Lando.”

His voice went gentler. “Yeah. Yeah, I know you are.”

He looked at her then — really looked. At the sleepy softness of her eyes, the curls pinned messily back, the stim ring she hadn’t let go of all week. He reached over, tugging lightly on the sleeve of his hoodie she was wearing.

“Honestly?” he said. “I’d marry you tomorrow if you asked.”

Amelia tilted her head. “So you don’t think we’re too young? My dad does. Told me so.”

“Baby,” Lando said, reaching up to brush a curl behind her ear, “I’m gonna be with you forever. Whether we’ve got a wedding band or a piece of paper or just… this. Us. You’re it for me.”

Amelia’s mouth twitched into a slow, private smile. The kind she didn’t give to many people. “Do you have a ring for me?” She knew he didn’t. He was shit at keeping secrets, would’ve told her about it already, but she couldn’t resist teasing him. 

His eyes went wide. “Holy shit. I need to buy you a ring. Like right now. Do you like diamonds? Wait, no. You hate diamonds. That was—nope, that was sapphires I think—”

“I made a list,” she interrupted. “Five rings I like. They’re all titanium.”

“Of course you did.” He looked delighted. “You’re so organised. I love you so much it’s actually unreal.”

She looked at him plainly, with that strange and brilliant way she always had of cutting straight to the truth without frills. “I love you too,” she said. “I want you to know that. Before the race. In case… in case Max doesn’t come out on top. In case it all goes terribly wrong.”

Lando’s expression softened, but it was still there, in the background, that vibrating excitement, that adrenaline. (“I think we should get married,” she’d said, as if he wasn’t going to fixate on those words for the rest of his life.) He reached for her hand, squeezing gently. “Nothing’s going to go badly,” he said. “And even if it does, I’ll be there, alright?”

She leaned into his shoulder, pressed her eyes into it. Let them burn with the force of it until tiny white stars appeared in her vision. 

Below them, the circuit roared to life.

— 

The Red Bull garage was a hive of motion. Mechanics buzzed around the car like bees, laptops open, tire blankets coiled, engineers murmuring numbers in clipped, focused voices. The final race. The final showdown. Equal on points. Everything — everything — had come down to this.

Amelia stood just outside the strategy room, headset in hand, her other thumb flicking over her stim ring in rapid, tight rotations. The noise of the paddock was a low hum behind her, like white noise under pressure. 

Max was already suited up, pacing lightly just a few feet away. Despite the stakes, world championship on the line, one shot at history, he was steady. Calm, like always. But she could see the tension in the tightness of his shoulders, the barely-there furrow of his brow.

He looked over and caught her eye. “You good?” He asked, voice low, private.

She nodded, even though she wasn’t entirely sure she was.

Max took a step closer, pressing a hand gently to the small of her back. “Don’t get lost in your head. I need you today, Amelia.”

“I’m not in my head,” she lied, eyes flicking back to the screens. “I’m watching sector data.”

“Amelia.” His voice was firmer this time, and she finally turned toward him. Max softened again. “You’ve done everything right. I have everything I need.” 

She blinked, jaw tightening. “It doesn’t feel like I’ve done enough…”

He cut her off. “You have. We did this together. You’ve changed the way I drive, do you understand how ridiculous that is? You’ve made me better, more precise. More… human, actually.”

“You were always human,” she muttered.

He laughed quietly, the tension breaking just a little. “I’m serious,” he added. “If I win this championship, it won’t be just for me. It’ll be for you too.”

She looked up at him, eyes dark and sharp and wide open. “You’re going to win it.” She told him. 

Max didn’t reply right away, just looked at her like he wanted to remember her exactly like this: calm but blazing, logic and loyalty knotted so tightly together they were indistinguishable.

He reached up and tugged gently on her ear defenders. “Put these on. Let’s go make history.”

Amelia nodded, slipping them over her ears. The world narrowed to radio comms and telemetry readouts, and she let herself draw in one breath. Sharp, clean, grounded.

She would not let him fall.

— 

Amelia threaded her way through the crowded pit-lane, ignoring the cameras and noise. Her MV33 polo was crisp, headset slung around her neck. But her attention wasn’t on the live telemetry or tire temp conversations. It was locked on the McLaren garage.

Lando stood just outside his car, leaning back against the halo, his helmet resting beside him. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, fingers fidgeting at the strap of his glove.

He saw her before she even said anything, and his face lit up. That same irrepressible smile, the one he never gave anyone else quite like that. “You came,” he said, voice soft, almost surprised.

She stopped in front of him, hands in the pockets of her team jacket. “Always. Good luck.” 

His smile deepened. “You too. Big day for you.”

Her fingers curled slightly in her pockets. “It’s... a lot. The strategy’s solid, the setup’s right, but I keep checking things anyway.”

“You always do.” He agreed. 

She gave a small nod, then looked up at him more directly. “You’ve been smooth through sector two all weekend. Stay clean into Turn 1 and you’ll be fine.”

Lando raised his eyebrows. “Oh, you’re giving me race notes now?”

“Just observations.” She hesitated, then added, “I want you to finish. In one piece.”

He reached out and took her hand, pulling it gently from her pocket. His grip was warm, grounding. “I’ll be careful,” he promised. “No hero moves.”

She held his hand tighter than she meant to. “It’s just… everything’s riding on today. For Max. For Red Bull. For me.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “But you’ve already done more than enough, baby. Everyone can see that. ”

She nodded, her expression unreadable; that usual mixture of intensity and quiet overwhelm. “I wish I could stay here,” she said finally. “Just… with you.”

Lando smiled, all softness and mischief. “Then marry me.”

She blinked. “I already told you I want to.”

He grinned. “I’m just making sure you didn’t change your mind.”

“I didn’t.” She told him flatly. 

He bent forward slightly, brushing his forehead against hers, just for a second. “Okay. Good. Now go win your driver a championship, genius girl.”

She stepped back, reluctantly letting go of his hand. “Go fast. Be safe. I love you.”

He gave a little mock salute, but there was nothing teasing in the look he gave her.

She didn’t say anything else. Just turned and walked back across the grid, her posture straight, her steps steady, even if her heart was pulling in two directions at once.

—

The world narrowed to three monitors, the roar of engines, and the rasp of radio comms in her ear.

Amelia sat at the Red Bull pit wall, headset on, back straight, gaze fixed ahead. The sun had dipped just below the horizon now, casting the track in a surreal twilight glow. The lights above the grid blinked on, one by one.

“Thirty seconds,” GP said into her headset. Amelia’s fingers hovered over her keyboard.

“Telemetry’s live. Temperatures look good. Max is calm. Holding revs,” she reported, voice clipped, focused.

Next to her, Christian leaned forward, arms crossed. Jos stood behind them, silent but tense, eyes locked on the feed. Everyone was still. The calm before the storm.

On her peripheral screen, she caught a flash of orange — Lando’s McLaren lining up in P6. Just behind Perez. Right there in the thick of it. Her chest tensed.

Please stay clean, both of you.

The five red lights came on.

Focus.

The lights blinked out.

The engines screamed to life.

Amelia’s screen exploded in movement. Max launched well. Into Turn 1, clean. Hamilton was ahead, but only just. She barely registered anything else until GP’s voice cut through the feed.

“Verstappen P2 into Turn 1. Lando holding P6. All clean.”

She exhaled.

Amelia’s fingers flew across her keyboard, eyes darting between the tire degradation model and the live GPS feed. The opening laps were everything. Settle. Get comfortable. Don’t overextend. Everything had to be perfect.

Her gaze flicked again to Lando on the live feed — to the tiny bubble of data they had on him. Still green across the board. Clean throttle trace. No lockups. He was driving smart.

“Max’s rears are starting to warm up. Give him space on corner exit,” she said into the mic, steady as steel.

Behind her, someone handed Christian an updated gap sheet. Jos hadn’t moved.

“Max looks smooth,” Christian muttered. “He’s in this.”

He has to be, Amelia thought. Her jaw tensed.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she could still feel Lando’s hand in hers. That soft look in his eyes. That little grin. You’ve already done more than enough.

But she couldn’t afford to think about it now.

— 

Amelia stood stiffly beside GP and Christian. Her heart thudded in her chest, fast and out of sync with the soft hum of the garage.

Max in P2. Lewis in P1. Hardly any time. A complete and total lack of options.

Then… chaos.

“Latifi’s in the wall,” someone said, voice sharp in her ears.

She flinched. Her pulse spiked. Everything blurred. The Safety Car was deployed.

The paddock erupted into movement; engineers scrambling, radios buzzing, tire blankets being yanked off. Amelia didn’t move. She couldn’t. She stood frozen as her entire world narrowed to the math ticking through her head: the delta times, the tire degradation, the sector gaps. All of it churning like a storm, none of it solving anything.

“Box Max, box now!” GP called.

Max dived in. Lewis stayed out.

She closed her eyes. Please let there be time. Please clear the track.

Someone bumped her arm, but she barely registered it. Her stim toy was clenched tight in her hand, fingers white-knuckled, her breathing shallow. Her lips moved soundlessly as she recited the FIA regulations under her breath, not to anyone, not out loud, just for herself. A frantic, silent ritual. Something to cling to.

Article 48.12… Article 48.13…

Then: “Only five lapped cars may overtake.”

Her vision narrowed. That’s not right. That’s not how it works.

But the words didn’t come. She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t argue. Couldn’t breathe. Her throat had locked up, emotion swelling until she thought she might drown in it. Her ears rang. The cameras clicked. The radio screamed. The Safety Car came in.

One lap.

She didn’t even hear the lights go green, only felt the rumble in her bones as the cars launched back to their limit.

Max lunged at Turn 5.

Gasps echoed up and down the pit lane. Christian was shouting something beside her. Hands were on heads. People screaming. Mechanics leaping. Her knees trembled, but she didn’t move.

Time slowed. She couldn't see the monitors anymore through the blur in her eyes. The noise, the roar of engines, the yells, the chaos, melted into a dull throb.

And then, “MAX VERSTAPPEN, YOU ARE WORLD CHAMPION!”

The world cracked open.

The pit wall exploded in celebration, a wall of noise crashing over her. Mechanics surged forward. Christian jumped into GP’s arms. Jos was shouting, eyes wild. Someone was crying — maybe her. She couldn’t tell. Her legs gave a little, but she didn’t fall.

Instead, Amelia just stood there. Silent. Shaking.

Max had done it.

He had won.

Her vision cleared, just for a second. She looked at the screen. At the car. At his name at the top of the standings.

He had done it.

And the weight snapped loose.

She sobbed, one hard, breathless sound, and finally let herself collapse into the arms reaching for her.

—

Chaos.

Cameras flashed, mechanics hollared, fireworks boomed over Yas Marina — but all Amelia could feel was the ache in her chest as she stood just outside the Red Bull garage, eyes still glassy from the flood of it all. Her arms hung limply at her sides, adrenaline coursing, brain half-short-circuited.

Then—“Baby!”

She barely had time to turn before Lando crashed into her, sweeping her off her feet in a blur of orange and sweat-streaked Nomex. She yelped, half-laughed, and clung to him as he spun her around, both of them breathless and laughing now.

“You did it!” he cried against her cheek, peppering her face with wild, fluttering kisses — temple, nose, jaw, forehead. “You did it, baby, holy shit—you did it. I’m so proud of you, I’m so—Amelia, look at me—you were brilliant.”

“I didn’t drive the car—” she started, dazed.

He cut her off with another kiss, hard and grateful and full of awe. “Doesn’t matter.”

Her arms wrapped tight around his neck, grounding herself in the strength of his hold. He was so warm, his hair damp, eyes alight like he’d never seen anything so beautiful as her in this moment. He smelt so bad, of burnt metal and sweat, but she couldn’t let him go. 

“I was so scared,” she whispered into his collar. “I thought I was going to throw up.”

“You didn’t.” His voice cracked with emotion. “You held it together. You always do.”

A familiar voice behind them, hoarse with disbelief and joy and adrenaline. “Amelia!”

They both turned as Max stormed toward them, helmet off, his face still red from the heat and the scream he’d let out over the line. His grin was wild and gleaming, his eyes glassy, and before she could say a word, he stole her from Lando’s arms.

“You—!” Max shouted, grabbing her by the shoulders and practically shaking her. “You fucking genius! You did it, we did it!”

“Max—!” she laughed, high-pitched and near-hysterical.

“No, no—shut up—Amelia,” he kept going, voice thick. “You gave me that car. You gave me that strategy. You gave me everything. You are—you are my champion.”

Then, without warning, he picked her up, arms locked around her waist, spinning her. She screamed through her laughter, tears pouring down her cheeks again. Overwhelmed in the best way. 

Lando was grinning so wide it hurt, chest heaving as he watched them. And for a single moment, everything around them slowed.

The crowd. The chaos. The race. The history.

Amelia, who once thought she was built to exist only in the background, was now wrapped in the arms of a driver who loved her beyond measure, who saw her as a sister. And behind her, the man she loved, watching on, always there to catch her. One, her brother. The other, the man she was going to marry. 

And for the first time in her life, she was at the centre of something unforgettable.

Something permanent.

A legacy.

—

The party roared on just outside the glass — music thumping, champagne flowing, Max somewhere on someone’s shoulders, drunk on victory and gin tonics. 

Amelia was sitting on the bar, barefoot, her makeup smudged and her voice hoarse from all the laughing and crying. Her MV bomber jacket was draped over her shoulders, and her little black dress had ridden high on her thighs. 

Lando stood between her knees, big hands resting on her thighs. He was grinning like he’d just remembered something ridiculous. “Okay, okay, wait—don’t move,” he said, reaching into his pocket.

“What are you doing?” Amelia asked, blinking at him.

“Making something official.” He pulled out a crumpled little object — sticky from heat, slightly squashed. A red Haribo ring. He held it up between his fingers like it was the crown jewels. “Found it on the snack table in hospitality earlier. Fought two engineers for it. Nearly died.”

Amelia blinked again. “…That’s candy.”

“Engagement candy,” he corrected proudly, stepping closer. “Listen. You said you had a list of five rings you like. This isn’t one of them. It’s better. It’s from me. And it’s temporary. But it counts.”

“Lando—”

“No, shush. Let me be romantic.”

She bit her lip, fighting a smile as he carefully slid it onto her finger, a little sticky, a little too big, but it stayed.

“There.” He beamed. “Now everyone at this party knows you’re mine. Until I can get you the real thing.”

She stared down at it, the ridiculous red candy glinting under the flashing lights, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. “You’re serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life,” Lando said, stepping in to kiss her nose. “You’re it for me, Amelia. Ring or not. Win or not. It’s always been you.”

Amelia swallowed, throat tight, fingers curling around his shirt collar.

“…Can I eat it later?” she whispered.

He burst out laughing and pulled her into him so hard that she squeaked. “God, I love you.”

—

2 Months Later, Monaco

The sun hadn’t fully crested over the terracotta rooftops yet. Monaco was quiet in the mornings, or as quiet as it ever got, and Amelia liked it that way. Her walking trainers tapped gently on the pavement as she walked, one AirPods in, golf ball tucked into the sleeve of her jacket.

She liked the rhythm of this. Her early walks, the cool air, the scent of sea salt and espresso from the cafés opening up for the day. Her world had slowed since Abu Dhabi. Not stopped, never that, she wouldn’t let herself stagnate, but... it had softened.

She turned a corner by the marina, already heading back toward the apartment she and Lando shared. 

“Amelia?”

She froze.

Roscoe trotted up first, tail wagging as he nosed at her leg like an old friend, and she crouched out of instinct, hand moving gently through his fur. And then Lewis appeared behind him, dressed in black, sunglasses perched high even in the shade.

They stared at each other for a beat too long. “Hi,” she said finally, standing, brushing her hands down her leggings.

“Hey,” Lewis said, and his voice was gentler than she remembered. A little guarded. Roscoe pressed his nose into her palm again, entirely unaware of the stiffness in the air. “I didn’t know you were in town,” Lewis added.

“I live here now.” She told him. “With Lando.” 

His brow ticked slightly. “Oh.” Another pause. One that seemed to stretch wider than the marina below them. “I’m surprised,” he admitted.

Amelia tilted her head slightly. “Why?”

He hesitated. “I guess... I didn’t realize you’d—”

“Have a life?” She asked, not unkindly.

He winced. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Okay.” She looked out over the harbour, then back at him. “You were always kind to me, you know. Back then. Before I started working for Max.”

Lewis looked like he didn’t know what to do with that.

“I don’t hate you,” she said, putting it as bluntly as she possibly could.

He smiled, small and a bit sad. “That’s a relief.” They stood there for a beat, Roscoe now sprawled at their feet like a mediator. “You seem happy,” Lewis said finally. His gaze drifted downward for just a moment. Not intrusive — just a flicker of observation, one he couldn’t quite suppress.

Amelia followed it. Her hand was resting lightly at her side, the sunlight catching on titanium on her ring finger. 

Lewis didn’t say anything. But his expression shifted, just slightly.

“I am.” She told him. 

“Good.” He took a breath, then nodded, like he was trying to comprehend it. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“Maybe,” she said, already turning back toward the road. “Roscoe’s always welcome to say hi.”

Lewis chuckled softly. “He’ll be thrilled.”

Back home, Lando would be waking up soon, hair wild, voice sleepy, probably asking where she’d hidden his favourite cereal to stop him from midnight snacking and finishing it all. 

She smiled.

This was her life now. 

And she was kind of in love with it.

NEXT CHAPTER

[yaut-jaknowit]

Left Behind Part 2

Pairing: Dai'stbaen (Male Yautja) x AFAB!Mother!Reader

Word Count: 3410

Summary: After escaping the facility, Dai takes you and his son to his planet. It's not the smartest of ideas but you have no choice. Earth is no longer safe for the both of you. Yautja Prime isn't either. Dai knows how to play the game though. The first obstacle was convincing the council to allow you asylum. There's not enough begging from you or Dai to crack them.

Author Note: I swore I had an ask about this but apparently Tumblr decided to eat it. Heads up, might got a bit MIA. Had things happen at work and trying to figure out life now. IDK

Part 1

Masterlist

Ao3

A warm plate of meat and a glass of light green juice was set on a counter. Austin was already sitting on the ground with his own food, clearly enjoying his first, real meal in about a month. A least, that’s how long you though you were there. There was no sun or clocks. Just the rotation of scientists for the day and night. You were beyond thankful to be out and saved by Dai.

Speak of the man.

Dai’stbaen’s yellow eyes were on Austin, carefully watching him with a critical eye. One you felt a bit uneasy about. Your motherly instincts flared to life despite that being the father.

“It takes time,” you murmured and picked a slice off of your plate. The sound of your voice snapped Dai out of his stupor. You took a bite of the unknown meat and did your best to hide the cringe at the sour taste. The meat was alien but that wasn’t what you were expecting at all. It was food though. After going so long without it, you didn’t let it go to waste.

The alien turned his gaze towards you. He studies you now. “I was sent to find and kill the hybrid… our son,” he says. All of your muscles locked into place. Then, you began to scoot towards your son. You knew deep down if Dai seriously wanted Autin dead though, he would’ve been long gone before getting on the ship.

“But, you didn’t,” you whispered and timidly gazed at Dai.

“But I didn’t.”

The question hangs between the two of you. Why? Why did he save Austin instead of going through with what he was sent to do? Why agree to help you with Austin in the first place? You observed Dai closely as he leaned against the nearest wall. It was hard to read his alien face and know what he was thinking.

He leans back and lets his head rest against the wall eyes closing. “You cannot return to your home but my home will be just as deadly for you and… our son. My tribe won’t agree to his existence.” You could hear something underlining tone though and waited for him to continue. “With my rank, I may be able to convince the elders to allow existence if I train him. He’s already behind but if he can best his chiva, no one could kill him for being a hybrid.”

You stopped mid bite to look at him in horror. “He’s just a child! Your kind will kill a child because he’s a hybrid?! What is so bad about being a hybrid?” you questioned and abandoned your food to march up to Dai. Heated anger burning in your eyes, a passion to protect your son. The very son who’s father had come to kill.

“Everything.” Your face twisted with hurt. “It is a taint on a bloodline. A hybrid will never be as strong as its full blooded other. They are seen as weak. The yautja who aided as well.” His eyes finally meet yours again.

Did he just call himself weak? Your anger spurted out to glowing embers. That you didn’t expect. “So, you regret it. You regret that night.” Yautjas, or at least him, don’t use emotions very often. Just facts and instincts to drive them. The opposite to humans. You drew away from him and hugged yourself. His next move surprised you.

Dai shoved off of the wall and reached out with a hand. His palm cupped you cheek, thumb swiping away a stray tear. “No. No, I don’t. I don’t regret you saving me I saving you. I enjoyed that night. I… I wish I stayed.” The unique alien was showing emotion. More then you’ve ever seen before. “I wish I helped you.”

Words you never expected from him. He’s so stoic but this?

More tears flowed freely. “I was so scared. I-I couldn’t have anyone over to help me. I had to give birth alone! In my apartment and hoped nothing went wrong because I wouldn’t be able to take him to a hospital. I was terrified,” you cried. Then, you lunged forward and wrapped your arms around his midsection. The Yautja tensed up, arms held up slightly, unsure what to do. A few moments past before he mimics you and hugs you back. You sniffed into his chest as he holds you.

.

Before stepping off the ship, Dai has to crudely attach a metal mask over your entire face. It was too large for you face but Dai was able to make it seal. Apparently, the air was more rich in nitrogen then oxygen for you to comfortably breathe. As for Austin, he had to bear the air without aid. He couldn’t show weakness. Even though he is just a child.

You’re lead down the ramp while holding Austin’s hand despite what Dai warned. This was your child. You didn’t care what others though if you seemed to be coddling him. Austin was only give. He’s still a baby to you and deserves to be coddled. Specially after everything the two of you endured at that… place.

Humid heat instantly smacked you in the face and made your clothes feel ten times heavier. You pinched the collared of your shirt and moved it quickly from your body to invite over movement. It didn’t help.

From the ship, Dai brings you into a small village. At the first sight of another yautja, you tugged Austin closer and tucked closer to Dai’s side. He stiffened for a millisecond but did nothing to produce space between the two of you.

Deadly glares were pointed on the two of you. Some eyes filled with confusion or even betrayal. Many kept a wide berth as if you were diseased. Others… were more daring and made attempts to grab at Austin. You reared around on the offender, ready to show how protective of Austin you were. Dai snagged an arm around your waist though and carried you away from the situation. Austin had to run after the two of you to keep up with Dai’s long strides.

He came to a sudden stop. A shadow casted over you. Your head snapped over to see a towering yautja glaring down at Dai’stbaen. This one was at least a head taller, easily more. Your anger washed away with hear freezing the bleed in your veins. This one could easily pop Dai’s head off it wanted to.

“You brough it back. Alive? With the mother?” it snarled viciously and crowded into your shared space. Dai slowly set you back down and guided with on hand to have you stand behind him. You realized the unknown yautja was speaking what must be their native language but the mask was translating to you. “The council will have your head for this. I should take care of the problem before it reaches them.” It steps even closer. Your beats loudly, threatening to explode. You hadn’t even been on the planet longer than five minutes and were about to be killed.

A growl tumbled out of the yautja protecting you. “You have no authority, Luc-ilio. This is an issue for the council, not you.” What parts of his back that weren’t covered, you saw the muscles rippling as he prepared for a fight. You clutched Austin’s hand tighter.

The newly named Luc-ilio stood tall and looked down at Dai. “Who knew an enforcer such as yourself would stoop to such levels to breed. I am glad you declined me for breeding rights now. No one wants your tainted bloodline now,” it sneered before spinning on its heel and strutting away.

Though confused on most of what it had said, you couldn’t help the guilt that pooled in the pit of your belly. Clearly having a child with his has tainted his image to his tribe.

Dai acted no different and carried down the stone path. You followed after him with Austin in tow. The child not understanding a word that was just said. At least the air didn’t seem to be affecting him.

A large pyramid-like building stood tall in the middle of what must be the middle of the town. Dai didn’t stop and marched up the first flight of stairs. You picked Austin up and placed him on your hip before going up the steps. Dai didn’t slow his stride. The steps were meant for someone of his stature, making the journey hard for you. Worst of all, carrying your fifty pound child wasn’t easy either. But you made it to an entrance about one-third from the base of the pyramid. You could feel the mask struggling to provide the necessary oxygen for you.

Two guards stood on either side of the entrance. Both geared up with fancy armor and large spears. Their eyes narrowed on you at first then darkened at the sight of Austin there. You held onto him a little tighter and turned your body away from them.

“The council is in a meeting,” one grunted after tearing its green eyes off of Austin.

“They will want to speak to me,” Dai’stbaen countered and squared his shoulders. The guards look him up and down then snorted.

“Yes. Yes, they will,” the other spoke in a hoarse voice that grated on your ears.

The guards allow you access into the building. You were thankful to get out of the direct heat and sun. It felt like it was cooking you alive.

Once inside it wasn’t much better. There was no breeze to help ease the stifling heat that threatened to suffocate you. More guards were scattered on other doorways leading further and deeper into this tomb. Austin tightened his grip on your clothing and huddled closer to you.

Soon enough, deep down, the three of you reached a grand set of doors. Another pair of guards stood on either side. These two were massive like the first yautja you had seen on the planet. You got a good look at them and realized… Are those breasts? Their woman are larger than their men. Holy shit. They were much larger.

Two spears came down and blocked the door by creating an ‘X’. “The council is in meeting. No entry is allowed until afterwards,” the one on the right, a rich brown hide, stated firmly and met your gaze. Disgust evident in them.

“I must speak to them. This is important,” Dai demanded and stepped forward, urging them to let the three of you in.

The sneer they gave Dai dribbled onto you and Austin. “Male, you have no rights to demand anything. That thing is your offspring.” How did they know? Austin has speckles of red scales along various spots on his body but besides that, you couldn’t see other similarities. You hugged Austin once more and watched them careful. It’s evident that everyone has something against Austin and you for just existing unfortunately.

“Just tell-“ Dai started.

The beige woman stomped her foot down with a growl. “No! Leave now before we finish the job for you and satisfy the council at your slackness.” You gasped and stepped back, ready to flee if need be. The rich brown yautja grinned at the fear you had for them. Who wouldn’t?!

Before either of them could get another word in, the large doors were pulled open.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Another massive Yautja appeared in the door way with a snarl on her wrinkly face. Her golden eyes roamed over the scene in front of her and landed on Austin and you. The center of attention at this point. “In Paya’s name, we ordered you to kill it, not bring the wretched thing here with its mother!”

Dai’stbaen fell to a knee and bowed his head. “Ma’dam Siln-taunh,” he greeted with great respect. Ma’dam Siln-taunh was highly decorated in armor, bones, and fur. Her status clear even to your clueless self. You started to tremble at the deadly look she gaze you. Even Austin whimpered and tucked into your side, burying his face into your neck. “Ma-dam, if I ma-“ he began but was quickly cut off.

“Don’t tell me you-you sired it!” she gasped, mandibles flaring either in disgust or anger or both. Probably both. You took a step back. Her teal blue eyes snapped towards you at the movement. The disgust tenfolded in the blueness.

Instead of cowering or bowing his head in shame. Dai stood tall, head level. “I did. The ooman had saved me but got injured in return. I let her stay with me until she was healed. We g-“ She interrupted him again.

“It should end there. You pay back that duty due to our code and left the soft meat immediately afterwards.” If Dai hadn’t kept you for that month… Austin wouldn’t extist. None of this would’ve happened. And you didn’t know if you would’ve wanted that.

When a pregnant pause entered the air, a figure appeared behind Ma’dam Siln-taunh. Unlink Siln-taunh, she stood there with mirth in her eyes. She found Austin tucked against you, gaze softening. Before you knew it, the rust brown pushed past Siln-taunh with a gasp.

“Oh my goodness!” she said and stopped directly in front of you. Dai’s shoulders tensed up but he didn’t come to your recue. You stared wide eyed at her and took a step away, turning your body away to hide Austin from her. Her overexcitement died off. She took a step back and immediately clamed down. “Apologies. I did not mean to frighten you in such a way. I have never seen a young hybrid before.”

“Calinork, do no,” Siln-taunh growled out. “Get away from them. They are probably riddles with diseases.” Calinork snorted and squatted down in front of you. Your protective instincts continued to flare to like. An unsure glare was set on Calinork.

“He is adorable, ooman,” Calinork stated, ignoring what Siln-taunh said to her. “How old is her? Has he began training yet? He seems big enough.” She was definitely different compared to the beige alien you began to slow relaxed, still on the edge. The lump in your throat was push down.

“He recently turned five… and, uh, no. We don’t do that. He’s not like you guys.” Austin may have half of their DNA, but you weren’t going to let him go fight monsters and aliens. He was going to stay safe under your wing until the day you died. No one was going to hurt him. No under your watch.

She smiled, at least you think it was a smile. “But he is. If he has a lick of his sire’s heart, he’ll do just fine here,” she told you with a confidence you didn’t have. You hugged Austin harder despite the ache in your arms.

Ma’dam Siln-taunh hissed and marched towards thee two of you. Calinork whirled around while standing up at the same time. Dai moved towards you as well, hands flying to his hunting knife at his side.

“That thing will not be permitted to stay here, let alone alive. It needs to be put down like the disgusting, soft meat hybrid it is!” Ma’dam Siln-taunh snarled and tried to get to you, almost bypassing Calinork. Dai pushed you behind him, knife at the ready. Calinork stares the Ma’dam down until she finally stopped. The two of them sizing each other up before Siln-taunh backed down.

“As the right hand of our empress, my word overshadows yours tenfold, little Ma’dam. The hybrid will get to live like any other offspring. He will be trained by the esteemed Dai’stbaen to overcome his chiva at the rightful age of fifteen solar cycles. His mother will wear my seal to ensure her safety. Should anyone come to harm either without reason, punishment will be the last of their worries.”

All four of you stared wide-eyed at Calinork. Her declaration firm in the air. Siln-taunh’s mandibles tightened over her mouth. It looked like she wanted to heavily disagree with Calinork but wasn’t in an position of authorityto disobey the command.

Ma’dam Siln-taunh respectfully bowed her head, muscles strained. “Yes, La’dam Calinork.” There was something in her voice that made you feel uneasy about the whole situation. More than before. You glanced at the back of Dai’s head want comfort and reassurance. The moment far too tense to allow any weakness to reveal itself.

“You’re dismissed,” Calinork sent Siln-taunh away. The beige woman staged for a moment longer, glaring daggers that promised death, then took her leave.

Not all the tension left the hallway. The guards still stood at their post watching the whole thing. Calinork shut the door and lead the two of you away from there and into a private room. The door closed with a soft click.

You finally set Austin down, your arm about to give out. You kneeled down to his height and checked him over, ensuring nothing had happened to him. Dai knelt next to you and gingerly placed a hand on your shoulder. Tears pooled in your eyes but you did your best to suck them back down for Austin.

“Why does everyone want to kill him? He’s just a child, an innocent kid. He’s done nothing wrong!” you broke into a crying fit and hugged Austin close. He was a bit confused but returned the gesture. You didn’t care if Calinork watched. Fuck everyone. “Your kind are monsters for killing children just because they are different.”

Calinork walked around to stand a few feet behind Austin. “Hybrid are looked down because they aren’t pure blooded yautjas. A taint on a bloodline. Only the strong survive in our society. It’s the way of life,” she explained and leaned back against a stone desk built into the ground.

You scowled at her through the tears. You could care less about her being the right hand of the empress. Their whole society sucked. “I don’t care. Let Dai’stbaen disown him and cut his ties. I will not let anyone take him away or kill him. He’s my child!”

Dai looked at you with a hint of hurt in his gaze. Calinork shook her head. “One, it doesn’t like that. Two, even if you could, I wouldn’t recommend you doing that. Dai’stbaen will have to defend you and your child until he can do it himself. All of you have painted a massive target on your back. Dai’stbaen will also have to work twice as hard to gain the favor of the elders favor again.”

At this point, it sounded like being back in that facility was better than here. At least they needed you alive to keep Austin somewhat calm. They just wanted you dead here. No remorse.

All you wanted to do was break down and cry. To sob to your hearts content. There hasn’t been a moment in the last six years that you’ve caught a breath.

Finally, you picked up your head to look at the rust colored yautja in the yellow eyes. “What am I supposed to do?” It feels like you’ve been backed into a spiky corner. Either to be slaughtered by a very murderous race or be impaled by spikes. Neither sounded pleasant or ever merciful.

She steeled her gaze on you.

“Survive.”

.

The cottage-like home that Dai brought Austin and you to was homy. In a way, it was both primitive and modern. The skulls and pelts decorating the walls gave you a cabin feel. Except it was a jungle where the home sat. Thick, possibly deadly foliage around you.

Dai’stbaen sets down the gear he brought off of his ship. “There is only one bed,” he stated and rummaged through the bag. A metal canteen was pulled out. “I do have plenty of pelts to craft another sleeping spot if you wish.” He seemed unsure, almost in a nervous way. After the day’s events, you wanted to just collapse. “You hadn’t gotten much sleep on the way here. All you could do was nod your head and follow after him to a bedroom decorated heavily with skulls. If you weren’t exhausted, you maybe you would’ve had a different reaction.

Instead, you went over to the low, massive bed and flopped onto it. Austin crawled up after you and made his own spot near the middle. The moment your head hit the mattress, you were out like a light.

[disgustingtwitches]

MDNI

Working at a restaurant with 141! (pt. 3)

"All of us under one roof? Have you lost the plot?"

Gaz snorts, all of you sitting at the bar. You shake your head. The thought alone makes you dizzy.

"Just me and you is hectic enough."

Gaz stares at Soap. John laughs, sipping his scotch. You think for a moment before taking your shot. Wait a fucking second. You joke about how they have decided to make your flat nothing short of a base, and if they're gonna be at your place more than theirs they should at least pay some of your bills. They freeze. Johnny nearly jumps for joy, grabbing your face and kissing you,

"Smart fuckin girl. 'N' if we're paying 'er bills, might as weel move in aye?"

That is not what you meant.

"Who knows, maybe it'll stop them from trying to drag 'er in the walk-in."

John shrugs. They cannot be entertaining this bullshit.

"Doubt it."

Simon shoots back his glass. There's a pause. They look at each other. Oh my God they are entertaining this bullshit.

"I'll think about it."

Price finishes his drink. They talk like you're not even there. You're horrified. Four men and you. One apartment. Not just any men, them. Maybe this is all some sick joke.

"You can always say no."

Simon kisses you before you hop out his car. You're not sure if you believe that. Your phone buzzed in the middle of the night, it's the group chat. Soap sends a link to a three bedroom flat,

Thoughts?

Three dots pop up.

Ok.

Simon replies. That's the only they blessing needed to move forward.

Hectic does not describe the move-in process, there are arguments on who's furniture gets moved in, who sleeps where, who gets to use which bathroom. Eventually there was a vote held (not that it mattered, John always had final say).

Anything big enough to accommodate the five of you was moved in. There would be a bed rotation, making sure no one slept with Ghost and Soap at the same time (and if everyone got tired of their shit, there's three beds for a reason.) Gaz and Soap shared a bathroom upstairs, you shared the one downstairs with Ghost and Price (this made sure you and Kyle had enough space for both your skincare products.)

You barely wore your own clothes anymore; with a closet full of clothes that were comfy and looked good on you, why bother? All your love languages included physical touch, so at any given moment, someone was touching somebody in the house. Lots of shared showers to "save water". Simon mostly cooks with the occasional help of you or Johnny. Sunday roast meant the kitchen was off limits for everyone except Simon, God help anyone who even tries to step foot in his territory.

Holidays are chaotic, always loud with a lot of drinking. And sex. Your first Christmas together was particularly memorable. Of course everyone got gifts that they treasured, including you. But you didn't know what to get Simon. Of course he was the type to say he didn't want anything but, that wasn't right. He opened his gift from you, he stared at it, said a simple thank you and slid it into his pocket. There's a game of poker being played in the living room after gifts are opened. Simon leaves to the bedroom,

"M tired."

Everyone else says goodnight, too enraptured by the game. While there's an argument about Johnny's shuffling, you walk to the bedroom. There he is, cranking the little handle on the wooden music box you gave him; it played Danny boy, wasn't bigger than the palm of your hand, and had an engraving on the inside lid.

"It's the words on the first hoodie you gave me."

"Mhm. Didn't have to get me anything."

He says, still turning the handle. Avoiding eye contact. You sit next to him.

"Don't know if you know how much you mean to me, promise I'll show you though."

His voice the softest you've ever heard. He tucks the box back into his pocket. A quick kiss to your forehead before walking back to the living room with you. This was one of the many holidays Simon didn't have to spend alone anymore.

[pawstriez]

“NERDS DO IT BETTER.” | satoru gojo

⟡ tags : nerd! satoru + popular! yn, gojo loses his virginity at the hot cheerleader’s house party - content includes : reader uses she/her pronouns, fem! reader, riding, fingering, inexperienced! gojo, pet names, etc. also shout out 2 my fav @ramonathinks m’ so proud of this piece bae i hope you luv it jus as much as i do !!! MDNI 19+ 3.7K WC

satoru adjusted his glasses nervously as he and geto approached the sprawling mansion, music and laughter spilling out into the warm night air. “i don’t know about this, man,” he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. “parties aren’t really my scene.”

geto rolled his eyes. “come on, live a little! when was the last time you got out and socialized? besides, you-know-who will be here . .” he elbowed gojo with a knowing grin.

gojo flushed, ducking his head. “like [★] would even look twice at me. she’s so far out of my league it’s not even funny.”

“well yeah, not with that attitude!” geto chided. “you’re a catch, gojo. smart, funny, stupid handsome. any girl would be lucky to have you. just talk to her, be your charming self. what’s the worst that could happen?”

“she could laugh in my face?” gojo suggested glumly. “or have her quarterback boyfriend beat me up?”

geto sighed in exasperation, slinging an arm around his best friend's shoulders. “you’ll never know if you don’t try. [★] is single and i’ve seen her checking you out in class when she thinks no one’s looking. trust me, you’ve got a shot. don’t waste it being a pussy.”

gojo took a fortifying breath as they crossed the threshold into the packed house. “okay. i’ll talk to her. but if i crash and burn, you owe me a whole tub of ice cream and a weekend of binge gaming, no complaints.”

“deal,” geto agreed easily, scanning the crowd. “now let’s get you a drink and go find your dream girl.”

and within only an hour and several red solo cups later, gojo could be found sandwiched between two jocks on a couch, only half-listening to their drunken debate about the upcoming game. his eyes kept flicking to where you held court across the room, radiant in a barely-there crop top and mini-skirt as you laughed with your girls. you were a vision, beautiful hair and glowing skin and dangly earrings catching the light. ethereal, untouchable.

what would a goddess like you possibly want with a loser like him?

and as if on cue, your gaze met his and your glossy lips curved in a small secret smile, eyes sparkling with mischief. his breathing hitched and he looked away quickly, face heating. okay, maybe geto had a point about you noticing him . . .

“who wants to play seven minutes in heaven?” your bubbly friend tiffany trilled over the music, brandishing an empty vodka bottle. “let’s make things interesting!”

wolf-whistles and drunken cheers met her suggestion as people began arranging themselves in a loose circle. gojo watched you toss your hair over your shoulder as you joined, a strange fluttering in his stomach. he jumped when geto clapped him on the shoulder.

“dude, this is perfect!” geto crowed. “the ideal low-pressure way to get some one-on-one time with [★]. let's get you in that circle.” he started pulling a sputtering gojo up off the couch.

“wha-geto, no way!” gojo protested, but it was too late. geto had already shoved him into the circle, right across from you. you quirked an eyebrow at him and his stomach somersaulted. was that a pleased gleam in your eyes?

the bottle made a few uneventful rounds - geto got seven giggly minutes with the head of the drama club, a blushing band student got dragged off by her fellow tuba player, and then . . tiffany passed the bottle to you with a significant look. gojo’s heart started smacking against his chest as you placed it in the center and gave it a deft spin, slender wrist twisting gracefully.

he watched with bated breath as the bottle rotated, transfixed. it seemed to spin for an eternity before finally slowing . . and stopping. neck pointed directly at gojo. blood roared in his ears as hoots and hollers erupted around the circle. you were looking right at him, a small smile playing about your glossy lips. “guess s’ jus’ you n’ me, cutie,” you said with a wink, getting elegantly to your feet.

in a daze, gojo stumbled upright, barely registering the good-natured ribbing and back slaps from the other players. you held out a hand to him and he took it automatically, skin tingling where it met yours. your fingers laced intimately through his as you tugged him away from the group . . . and toward the stairs?

“um, [★]?” gojo asked, voice cracking humiliatingly. “isn’t the closet that way?”

you threw a smile over your shoulder and his knees nearly buckled. “i got a better spot in mind. somethin’ more . . private.”

by the time his sluggish brain processed the implications of that, you were leading him into a bedroom. your bedroom, if the riot of pink and stuffed animals everywhere was any indication. you flicked on a lamp, bathing the space in soft flattering light.

gojo stood awkwardly by the door, heart doing double-time as he drank in the adorable organized chaos. various raye, boygenius, and sanrio posters on the walls, rainbow lego sets on the shelves. it was delightfully telling and somewhat . . surprising, so at odds with your smokeshow attitude and queen bee reputation. he was utterly charmed.

“sorry about the mess,” you said, sounding uncharacteristically shy as you perched on the edge of the lacy bedspread. “i know it’s a lot.”

“no, i love it!” gojo blurted, then winced. real smooth. “i mean, it’s really cute. suits you.”

“yeah?” you asked, sounding pleased. you patted the space beside you in clear invitation. “i don’t bite . . unless i’m asked nicely. c’mon, come sit with me, gojo.”

on slightly unsteady legs, he crossed the plush rug to sink down next to you, hyperaware of the warmth of your bare thigh against his denim-clad one. “so, um, i don’t really know how this is supposed to go,” he admitted, rubbing his neck. “i’m not exactly a seven minutes in heaven expert.”

“well, we’ve got some time to figure it out together,” you said, angling your body toward his. “maybe we could start with just talking? get to know each other a little?”

so that’s what you did. you started off with the typical small talk - classes, hobbies, favorite bands. but the conversation quickly deepened and expanded. you found yourself opening up to him, confessing your secret dreams and fears, things you rarely shared with anyone. in turn, he revealed his geeky passions, his insecurities, his hopes for the future.

the more you learned about the sweet, clever, quietly funny boy beneath the nerdy exterior, the more your heart softened and warmed. he was so genuine, so different from the jocks and rich boys you usually ran with. being with him felt comfortable, natural, intoxicating.

at some point, you’d shifted closer to him on the bed, your folded legs overlapping his, shoulders brushing. as you giggled your way through an anecdote, you rested a hand on his strong thigh without thinking. he tensed slightly and you felt a little thrill, a flicker of heat. you squeezed gently, fingertips pressing into firm muscle.

“m’ probably boring you,” you said with a wry smile, glancing at him through your lashes. “jus’ rambling on about myself. we could do something else, if you want. maybe, y’know, uphold the seven minutes tradition . .”

he inhaled sharply and you thrilled at the effect you were clearly having on him. “you mean . . you want to kiss me?”

“i mean, i definitely wouldn’t object,” you murmured coyly. “i like you a lot, satoru. in case it isn’t already obvious.”

his blue eyes darkened behind his glasses. “i really like you too, [★],” he said, voice low and rough. “an embarrassing amount.”

“yeah?” you breathed. “so are you going to kiss me, or . . do i have to beg?”

his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “well, um. i-i’ve never really done anything like that before,” he admitted with an awkward chuckle. “i don’t even know how i’ve gotten this far.”

“that’s okay,” you assured him, placing a hand on his knee and feeling him tense slightly under your touch. “we can take it slow, figure it out together. m’ not exactly an expert either.”

he nodded, looking relieved and grateful for your understanding. emboldened, you leaned in, giving him time to pull away. spoiler alert, he didn’t. his eyes just fluttered closed as you brushed your lips softly over his. they were warm and smooth, molding sweetly to your own. after a moment of stillness, he started to move his mouth tentatively against yours.

you let him set the pace, parting your lips in silent invitation. his tongue shyly traced the seam of your mouth and you opened for him on a sigh. he licked inside carefully, exploring you with gentle curiosity that made warmth bloom through your veins. you stroked your tongue along his, encouraging, and felt him shudder against you.

slowly, you sank back into your mountain of pillows, pulling him down with you. he settled over you carefully, a pleasant weight, strong and solid in all the right places. your fingers tangled in his dark hair as the kisses deepened, wetter, hotter. his own hands skimmed down your sides to settle on your hips, squeezing gently as he rocked subtly against you.

when you finally broke apart, you were both flushed and breathing unsteadily. “is this okay?” you checked, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “we can stop anytime if you’re uncomfortable.”

he shook his head immediately, eyes dark and intense behind his slightly fogged glasses. “no, i don’t wanna’ stop. i want you so bad, [★]. i’m just nervous i’ll do something wrong.”

your heart melted. “you won’t, satoru,” you promised. “we’ll go slow, i’ll show you. s’ all a process, ‘kay? jus’ do what feels good.”

he nodded, some of the tension easing from his frame. you pulled him back down for another kiss, lush and lingering. as your mouths moved together, you fumbled for the hem of his shirt, rucking it up his back. he broke away just long enough for you to pull it over his head and toss it aside before his lips found yours again.

your hands roamed his bared torso greedily, marveling at the lean muscle, the heat of his skin. gojo might look like a lanky nerd at first glance, but his body told a completely different story. you wanted to map every ridge and plane with your hands and mouth, discover all the secret places that would make him shake and gasp and moan. he shivered as your fingers skimmed over his ribs, his stomach, thumbs just brushing his nipples.

he made a hungry sound into your mouth when you lingered there, circling the tender buds questioningly. taking the hint, you tweaked them gently, rolling the sensitive flesh between your fingers. he jolted against you as if electrified, a moan vibrating in his chest.

“y’like that,” you guessed, doing it again and feeling his hips stutter forward helplessly into the cradle of your thighs.

“y-yeah,” he breathed, sounding almost surprised himself. “it feels really good.”

spurred on by his responsiveness, you devoted yourself to taking him apart, finding all the places that made him twitch and pant and whimper so sweetly. you kissed across his collarbones, scraped your teeth over his pulse point, soothed the sting with your tongue. you felt dizzy with him, drunk on the salt of his skin, his scent of clean and arousal, the incoherent sounds he made under your touch.

before long he was squirming restlessly against you, hard and insistent against your hip. “please,” he mumbled into your hair. “i need . .”

“what do you need?” you coaxed, nipping at his jaw. “tell me.”

he shuddered, hands flexing on your hips as he ground subtly against you. “i need — fuck, i need to touch you. need you to touch me. god, [★], i don’t know, i just . . please?”

“shhh, don’t stress, honey,” you soothed even as heat surged through you at his breathless plea. “let me take care of you.”

hooking a leg around his waist, you flipped your positions in one smooth motion, straddling his hips. he gazed up at you with something like awe, eyes wide and dark, lips kiss-swollen. your heart tripped over itself at the picture he made, wrecked and wanting in your rumpled sheets. quickly, before you could lose your nerve, you stripped off your own top and unhooked your bra, baring yourself to his heated stare. his hands came up immediately to cup your breasts, palming the soft weight greedily before catching your nipples between his fingers.

“aah!” you gasped, arching into the touch as sparks shot down your spine to throb between your legs. your hips rolled down against his, your clothed sexes grinding together deliciously. “y-yes, gojo, jus’ like that!”

emboldened by your encouragement, he explored your body just as thoroughly as you had his, broad hands and curious fingers finding all your most sensitive places. you were panting and mewling by the time he reached the button of your skirt with a questioning glance.

“please,” you whimpered, lifting your hips to help him shimmy the fabric down your legs. your panties quickly followed, leaving you bare to his burning gaze. and slowly, almost reverently, he reached out to touch — he couldn’t help it, fingertips skimming up your inner thighs. you shivered and parted them further in silent invitation. his eyes locked on yours as he carefully traced your slick folds, circling your aching entrance before moving up to swirl over your clit.

“show me how you like it?” he rasped, voice low and rough with arousal.

biting back a whimper, you covered his hand with your own, directing his movements. “like this,” you instructed breathlessly, guiding his fingers in tight circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves. “a little firmer, mmm . .”

he followed your lead perfectly, rubbing and stroking until your thighs were quaking and you were moaning brokenly. it felt good, so good, but you needed more. “inside,” you pleaded when coherent thought became difficult. “gojo, please, put one inside . .” he swore under his breath at your words but quickly obeyed, carefully sinking one long finger into your fluttering heat. you cried out sharply at the intimate penetration, hips canting down to take him deeper. he watched your face avidly as he started to pump in and out, curling and twisting gently as he went.

“m-more,” you gasped, head thrown back as he found a particularly sensitive spot. “another, toru, i can take it.”

he groaned like he was the one being pleasured as he pushed a second finger in alongside the first, stretching you so exquisitely. he scissored gently, working you open, before crooking them just right to rub firmly against your g-spot.

you collapsed forward onto his chest with a fractured moan, fingers scrabbling at his heaving shoulders as he massaged that magic button with devastating accuracy. you knew you could easily come just like this, spitted on his clever fingers, but it wasn't what you wanted. not for your first time together.

“gojo,” you panted, catching his wrist to still his movements. “i wan’ you inside . .”

his eyes widened with understanding and he swallowed audibly. “a-are you sure?” he asked hoarsely even as his hips twitched up against yours eagerly.

“i’ve never been more sure of anything,” you said fiercely, holding his gaze so he could read the sincerity there. “i wan’ you, all of you. please.”

he nodded jerkily. “i want you too,” he said, voice low and intent. "so much, you have no idea.”

then he was kissing you again, hot and urgent, his tongue delving deep as large hands palmed your ass, rocking you against his straining erection. you moaned into his mouth, already imagining how he would feel inside you, stretching and filling you so perfectly.

together, you managed to wrestle him out of his jeans and underwear, your focus narrowing to the breathtaking sight of him laid bare beneath you. all long limbs and lean muscle, skin flushed with arousal, cock thick and hard against his taut stomach. he was beautiful, exquisite, unreal.

“let me . . .” you murmured almost to yourself as you shifted down his body, wanting to taste, to tease. but he caught your shoulders, stopping you.

“next time,” he said with a slightly shy smile at odds with the high color in his cheeks, the stark arousal in his gaze. “i don’t think i’d last right now and i really, really want to be inside you when i cum. if-if that’s okay.”

oh, that was more than okay. it was basically the hottest thing you'd ever heard. “definitely okay,”you confirmed a little breathlessly, reaching for the condom you’d stashed optimistically in your nightstand.

with trembling hands, you opened the packet and rolled the latex down his rigid length. he twitched in your grip when you gave him a few strokes, thumb swirling through the bead of moisture at his tip. “fuck,” he choked out, head tipping back. “you gotta stop or i'll . .”

“i know, baby. i know,” you soothed, moving to straddle his hips once more. your eyes locked as you notched him at your entrance, his hands coming up to grip your hips almost hard enough to bruise. “ready?” at his jerky nod, you sank down slowly, taking him inch by careful inch. he stretched you exquisitely, walls fluttering to accommodate his girth. when your hips met his, you were both panting, pulses racing, skin flushed with pleasure-pain.

“god,” he choked out after a long moment, sounding absolutely wrecked. “you feel incredible. so fucking tight.”

you clenched around him experimentally, walls hugging him ever so sweetly, and he bucked up into you with a low groan. “gojo,” you gasped, nails digging into his chest. “you’re so deep, so big . .”

“am i hurting you?” he asked, brow creased with concern even as he visibly struggled to keep still.

“n-no,” you assured him. “no s’ perfect, you feel fucking perfect. jus’ . . go slow. lemme’ adjust.”

he did, rocking into you with shallow little thrusts that gradually deepened as you relaxed around him. soon you were moving together, finding a rhythm, the drag of him in and out sparking pleasure along every nerve ending. you leaned down to kiss him messily, all tongue and panted breaths as your hips rolled and ground in tandem.

“i’ve wanted this for so long,” he admitted between kisses, hands roaming restlessly over your back, your breasts, your ass. “wanted you. still can’t believe this is real.”

“s’ real,” you promised breathlessly, rising and falling faster on his cock as the tension coiled tighter in your core. “i’m real and i’m yours, gojo, all yours . .”

he made a rough sound, fingers digging into your hips as he started thrusting up harder, hitting that perfect spot inside you on every stroke. “mine,” he agreed, voice gravelly and low, sending shivers down your spine. “my [★], fuck, you’re absolutely perfect . .”

you could only moan in response, lost to the sensation of him moving inside you, hitting you so deep, stoking the fire in your belly to an inferno. your thighs burned, sweat blooming on your skin as you chased your peak, so close, almost . .

gojo was close too, you could tell by the telltale twitch and throb of him inside you, his thrusts going erratic. “m’ gonna’ cum,” he warned hoarsely, fingers scrabbling at your hips. “m’ gonna’ cum, m’ gonna’ cum . . i-i can’t h-hold —”

“yes - yes, yes, yes,” you gasped, grinding down hard, fingers flying over your clit. “cum in me satoru, wanna feel you, baby . .”

his hands grip your ass cheeks, spreading them apart before giving you two more sharp thrusts, leaving him cumming with a guttural moan of your name, pulsing hot inside you as you clenched and rippled around him. the feeling of him throbbing and spilling in you was enough to tip you over the edge, a cry tearing from your throat as you shattered around him, cumming so hard you saw white.

you collapsed onto his chest as aftershocks rolled through you, his hips still rocking shallowly into yours, drawing out your mutual pleasure. for a minute, you just panted together, sweat cooling on your skin, pulses calming. you felt him soften up and slip out of you and winced a little at the loss, a tender ache between your thighs. you’d have beard burn too, you just knew it. but it had been more than worth it.

satoru’s hands continued to stroke your back, your hair, as if he was reluctant to let go. you felt the same, luxuriating in his warmth, his scent, the sound of his heartbeat thumping steadily beneath your ear. you never wanted to move.

eventually though, he shifted beneath you and you lifted your head to find him gazing at you with soft, wondering eyes. “hey,” he said quietly, brushing your now-wild hair back from your face. “so, are we like, y’know . .”

“dating?” you finished, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt. “yes, but only if you want that.”

his answering smile was like the sun coming out. “y-yeah, yeah. i want that. i’ve always wanted that.” he leaned up to kiss you slow and deep, tongue delving languorously into your mouth. “thank you. for showing me. for everything.”

“right back at you,” you murmured against his lips, heart so full it felt like it might burst. “m’ glad i got the chance.”

“me too.” he nuzzled his nose against yours sweetly. “so . . whaddo’ you wanna’ do now?”

you pulled back slightly to search his face, seeing both hope and trepidation there. “well, i was thinking . . maybe we could cuddle for a lil’ while longer. then, i dunno’, raid the flooded kitchen for snacks. come back up here n’ skip the party . . we could watch a movie? kinda jus’ . . see where it goes.”

relief and happiness shone from his eyes. “i’d really like that. a lot.”

“good.” you pecked his lips once more before settling back onto his chest, ear pressed over his heart. “s’ a date then.” you knew you’d have to leave this little bubble eventually, face the real world and whatever challenges it might bring. but right now, you didn’t care about any of that. right now, you had gojo, warm and solid beneath you, his fingers laced gently through your hair as exhaustion started to pull you under. you had this perfect moment, and the promise of more to come.

as you drifted off, lulled by his heartbeat and even breathing, a small smirk played about your lips.

damn, guess the rumors were true.

nerds really did just do it better.

★ SUGUGASM 2024 | please don’t copy, translate or share my work on other platforms without my consent.

[mewhenimanangel]

need that, hamzahthefantastic

prev pt. 2*

—synopsis. you run into hamzah again at the bar

notes 🫧: can they please come off hiatus 😢

— 🐞

after appearing in mandy's video, you seemed to have attracted a lot of her and the slushy noobz's fandoms to your accounts. it seemed like every minute your phone was buzzing with new followers and fans, but you were grateful for the traction you received.

it’d been almost two months now and you haven’t seen the group since, just an occasional coffee with mandy - you had your own life and your own friends so you were often too busy.

you turned 21 last week but between jobs and school, tonight was the night to celebrate with your friends.

you were going bar and club hopping with some of your friends, who were running a little late by now but the night was still young.

you got dressed, deciding that your hair and makeup were to your liking when someone knocked your door.

“hellooooo sexy!!!!” your friend, ruby exclaimed checking you out as you did a twirl showing off your outfit before popping your hip. “oh the sexies are gonna be on you tonight, bad!” she squealed before hugging you.

“i’m so glad we’re finally doing this, miss twenty one” she shook you with her tongue out. “i’m ready to get drunkkk, legally at least”

“sorry we’re latee” maia and stella came up from down the hall behind ruby. “you know our people always late” maia joked. “oh my god you look good as fuck. you should take a picture and send it to that ham za guy” she bit her nail suggestively.

“oh my god please, give it a rest” you sighed with a smile. “oh come on. according to the tiktok comment experts, he wants you” maia said. “it also doesn’t take an expert to see how giggly and flirty you guys were in that video” ruby added.

“plus he’s sexy, those tiktok edits really do him justice” stella smirked. “you’re not lying” you giggled.

you grabbed your fur coat, throwing it on before grabbing your purse. “let’s get fucked up tonight girlssss” you and your friends cheered.

you left your cars at your house on account of none of you wanting to drive home drunk and after a few minutes of walking, you made it to the first stop of the night.

it was a little dive bar with live music and you almost immediately headed to the bar for drinks.

maia ordered a round of shots for the group. you rotated between synchronized shots on a countdown - licking, sipping, sucking.

“first *legal* shot!” maia yelled and you cheered.

after about an hour you left the bar, walking down the streets to find your next target.

“yo how are you guys already drunk?” maia asked, slurring her own words as she giggled. “oh you’re one to talk, miss lightweight” stella held her waist.

the target in question was a karaoke bar ten minutes away. ruby opened the door and you all followed her in.

the bar was a nice cozy spot, karaoke stage tucked in the back corner, big bar on the side, and booths lining the walls and there was currently a group of guys on stage, singing good riddance by green day slightly off key.

ruby spoke to the hostess and got you guys a table in the back by the stage. you all ordered a plethora of finger foods - wings, loaded fries, sandwiches, etc. and a steady flow of drinks that the bar creatively named.

you were sipping on a love on the beach and after a bit of convincing, maia signed your table up to sing.

after the last duo was finished and everyone clapped, your group made your way to the stage and the alcohol flowing through your body seemed to take away any social anxiety that sober you would be feeling right now.

you picked bulletproof by la roux and after struggling through the song with giggles, hiccups, and off key notes, you were given a round of applause with cheers that almost seemed like they were just glad you guys were off the stage.

you sat back down in a fit of laughter, turning your attention back to the stage. you were taken aback when hamzah, martin, and freddie go up, you didn’t even realize they were here. you were also shocked to see hamzah with bleached hair, you had to admit it was doing something to you.

they turned on pop!, you couldn’t help but giggle and pull your phone out to record. you made eye contact with hamzah, waving from your seat.

he pulled a shy smile, a little embarrassed. he saw you go up before him and it almost made him not go up, but he was a little buzzed so he wasn’t too nervous.

he didn’t know you’d be here tonight, out with friends he hasn’t seen except for on your instagram. you looked really pretty, your top was sparkling under the cheap spotlight on the ceiling and you were all smily and giggly on stage.

he missed his cue before locking back in to finish the song. he looked at you again as you laughed and clapped with the audience.

“you should go talk to him” ruby nudged you. “but i’m here with you guys, we haven’t hung out in forever.” you said. “i promise you, we’ll be fine. plus he’s looking over here, it looks like his twinky white friend is leaving.” maia pointed out. “martin?” you giggled and she nodded her head. “so what?”

“sooo… he’s gonna be lonely. you don’t want some other girl in here to keep him company before you get a chance too” she continued.

“plus it’s not like it has to be a big deal, just go chat” ruby encouraged. “orrr you could get a lil birthday present” stella winked. you scoffed and took the last sips of your drink before grabbing your phone and going over to him.

“hey” you smiled “oh hey” he put his phone away, smiling back at you. “where’d they go?” “oh martin left to go watch a late movie with mandy or something. and freddie went to the bathroom”

you took that as an invitation to sit down with him. “where’d your friends go?” he asked you. “oh they’re just over there” you pointed behind you to find the three girls already staring back at you and quickly turning their heads away.

“i liked your song” you giggled. “i liked yours too…i didn’t know you’d be here tonight”

“yeah we just got here like an hour ago. we’re just out celebrating my birthday” you told him. “right, happy birthday” he said. “i know, you already texted me last week” “well i just wanted to say it again in person” he smiled.

“wait so no offense but if you just got here, you seem a little drunk already” he teased. “alllright.” you laughed “we were bar hopping, we were at tony’s before this” you told him and he nod his head.

“i’m liking the blond” you pointed to his hair. “yeah?” his voice cracked a little. “i did it myself last week i wasn’t sure how i liked it. but since you like it i love it” he smirked.

you talked for a while, twenty minutes passing by undetected.

your friends came up to the table saying they payed the tab and were gonna head out on account of miah being hammered.

“um i can take you home” hamzah offered, not wanting you to leave just yet. “are you sure?” you asked him. “yep, haven’t had anything to drink. i swear” he put his hand on his heart.

“take good care of her, okay?” ruby told him. “pinky swear” he put his hands together.

“um do you want anything else to drink or eat or something?”

“um just a water lowkey. i don’t need to be any more freaking drunk right now” you told him.

after talking a bit more and finishing your water, you were ready to go. “wait what about it freddie?” you asked. “oh he’s been busy” hamzah pointed behind you to freddie chatting with some woman at the bar.

you put on your coat and followed hamzah out to his car, walking up to the passenger side. “nah i got it” he opened the door for you and let you sit down, inhaling the air around you before closing it and going to his side.

“you smell really good” he said, starting the car. “i mean you look really good…tonight, and always” he awkwardly blurted.

“thank you” you giggled and he smiled. “wait where do you live?” “you’ve been to my house before boi” “i know but i don’t remember the address” you told him your address and he put it in the gps.

he drove the fifteen minutes to your house, occasionally looking at you in the side of his eye. finally, he pulled up in front of your gate.

“i’m kinda glad freddie dragged us out tonight” he said. “oh yeah me too, im glad i saw you”

his eyes flickered down to your lips, the gloss screaming for his attention.

he leaned in and you let him, his lips catching yours in a peck before you kissed back.

you both leaned over the console and he put his hand up to the side of your cheek, slightly entangling his fingers through your hair, simultaneously deepening the kiss.

you put your hand around the back of his neck to pull him closer as your lips moved in sync. the music was only playing at a low volume and all you heard were your mouths moving together and deep breaths.

hamzah dipped his hand under your jacket, resting it on your bare waist that peeked through your shirt. he kissed you like he truly needed it, like it was life or death.

without breaking the kiss you eased your leg over the console as hamzah guided you by your hips to sit on his lap. his hands played with the top of your skirt and he moved to kiss your neck before your foot hit the horn, startling you both.

you looked at each other before laughing and you sighed. “i guess that’s my cue to go.” you joked.

“yeah, you’re probably right. i probably shouldn’t have done that” he said as you climbed back over to your seat. “what do you mean? i kissed you back”

“yeah but i don’t wanna do anything crazy if you’re drunk and not in some car” he said. “hm okay yeah i understand. good night hamzah” you gave him a kiss on the cheek.

he watched you leave and enter your house before pulling off, sighing with both content and discontent.

this was my motivation to finish this chapter

[all444glo]

SATIVA

summary: i’m ngl this is porn with plot LMAO

warnings: 18+, judes an eater, praise kink central

You were excited to see Jude.

It hadn’t even been that long since you’d seen him, but when you loved someone the way you loved Jude, every day apart felt like a week. He rarely made it out to the States during the season, and when he did, it was quick—just long enough for a dinner, maybe a night together, and then he was gone again. You loved how much he thrived in Madrid, but you hated that you couldn’t show him your side of things like he showed you his.

Fortunately for you—unfortunately for him—Real didn’t make it all the way this year. Knocked out of Champions League, no trophies to bring home. He wouldn’t say it, but you knew it crushed him. Still, it meant he had almost a month free before heading back to Europe for pre-season training. And you were going to make every day of it count.

You wore a red tight silk dress, strapless, soft against your skin and clinging to all the right places. You cooked for him, too—baked chicken, mac and cheese, greens, cornbread. Real soul food. Stuff he’d only ever seen online and begged you to make. You liked taking care of him like this, especially when it reminded him of what home could feel like, even far away from it.

But your final surprise? That was sitting on the coffee table.

A perfectly rolled blunt. Yours.

Jude had mentioned it a few times—joking about how he’d never smoked, not even in England. Between drug testing and being in the spotlight, he never took the risk. But here, in Chicago, off-season, tucked away in your apartment? It felt safe. And something about the idea of him being high for the first time around you made you curious.

You had music playing—smooth R&B in the background—and the scent of dinner filled the space when he finally knocked at your door.

You opened it before he could even knock again. “Hey, baby.”

He smiled, his boyish grin that still made your chest flutter. “My shaylaaa,” he murmured, pulling you into a hug. He lifted you off the ground with ease, kissing the side of your face as your dress rode up. “You look... wow.”

You flushed a little, hiding your smile in his neck. “You hungry?”

“Starving.” He stepped in and froze the second he saw the table. “No way you made all this.”

“I told you I got you.”

He set his bag down, still taking it all in, then noticed the blunt.

He looked at you, half surprised, half impressed. “You serious?”

You nodded. “Only if you want to.”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Let’s do it.”

You watched Jude fumble with the blunt, his long fingers awkward as hell around it. He rotated it and inspected it, as if he was holding some kind of alien technology. “Jude why would you have me light this shit if you’re just gonna stare at it.” You said slightly getting irritated, it didn’t matter if he wasn’t smoking anymore cause you sure were. Jude mean mugged you as he took a deep drag, held it in like he was trying to prove something, then let out this sharp cough that caught you off guard.

“Oi, that burns,” he muttered, voice rough, eyes watering.

You smirked, handing him a glass of water. “God don’t like ugly.”

He rolled his eyes as took a slow sip, then blinked a few times, trying to focus. “I’m feelin’... a bit dizzy. Like my mouth’s on fire, but my head’s floaty?”

You laughed softly. “That’s to be expected honey, you clearly got yourself a little buzzed”

He slumped back on the couch, blinking like he was trying to process a million thoughts. “ Not really—this one hit is barely doing anything.”

You nudged him playfully. “You’re a big guy, Jude. Over six foot, what, 220? One hit ain’t finna get you rapper high.”

He groaned, sliding down further, hair tousled, cheeks flushed from the cough. “Feel like I’m on a boat. Sea’s moving, but no engines yet.”

You took the blunt from him and took a few puffs, already feeling your eyes get heavier and heavier. The familiar high creeping in on you, you took another puff once again and motioned for Jude to come closer. You kissed Jude, exhaling all the smoke from your mouth into his. You could tell he was surprised but it only got him higher. You didn’t even need the weed, your presence made him dizzy enough.

You laughed harder as you pulled away, he looked incredibly dazed. “You gonna be alright?”

He looked over at you, eyes glassy but mischievous. “I don’t know, babe. I think I wanna... I don’t know how to say this.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

He cleared his throat, voice a little shaky, “I wanna eat you out. Like, really —’cause I feel like I need to focus on somethin’ other than this dizzy nonsense. You get me?”

You bit your lip, surprised but amused. “You’re all hot and bothered already? Thought that would’ve came later in the night…”

“Shut up,” he said, sitting up straighter, fingers twitching. “I swear, if I don’t get my hands on you, I might pass out. You look so good, I can’t think straight.”

You smiled, sliding closer. “Who knew weed turned you into an eater”

He chuckled, voice soft, “Am I not an “eater” any other time?”

You reached out, took his hand, and squeezed it gently. “I’m gonna hold your hand when I say this, you’re usually not this excited to eat it”

“Love what are you talking about, i’ve literally ripped the gym shorts off of you and ate you in my kit—“

You promptly stood up, tugging him with you toward the bedroom, the haze around him making every step feel a little surreal.

Once inside, he dropped his bags, eyes wide as he took in the sight of you—your dress clinging to your curves, the candlelight casting soft shadows.

“Fuck, y/n, you look—wow,” he whispered, voice cracking just a bit.

You chuckled, walking over slowly, hand trailing down his arm. “You said that already”

“I know,” he admitted, teeth clenching for a moment. “Every time I look at you I remember how much I wanna taste you.”

You laughed softly, the way he said it was so genuine it made your heart flutter.

“Alright,” you said, “but you gotta tell me if you need a break, yeah?”

He nodded eagerly, voice low and needy. “Promise.”

You sat on the edge of the bed, pulling him down with you. His breath hitched as your hands traced the line of his jaw.

“Tell me what you want,” you murmured.

He swallowed, eyes darkening, “I want to make you feel good. I wanna make you cum everyday i’m here.”

You smiled, heart speeding up. “Cmon.”

Your voice was soft but steady as you guided him down between your legs, the silk of your dress rising inch by inch until the back of it kissed your hips. Jude knelt on the floor, fingers pressing into the meat of your thighs like he needed to hold on to something real. His eyes moved slowly, drinking you in like he’d never seen anything so divine.

“You sure?” you asked, the teasing laced in your tone, but your heart still beat hard against your chest.

“I’m not stopping, y/n,” he said, gaze locked on yours. “Not until you’re shaking”

You blinked down at him, lips parting slightly. Something about the way he said it… that slow, quiet confidence… made your stomach twist. His hands ran up your thighs, slow and steady, thumbs brushing just beneath the hem of your underwear.

“Let me have it,” he whispered. “Been thinking about this all flight—he’ll even during my games Don’t make me beg.”

You laughed, just barely. “I thought this was the begging.”

“Not yet,” he murmured, voice low and rich, mouth moving close enough that you felt the heat of his breath through the fabric. “But I can & I will.”

Then he kissed over the cotton between your legs, like it was holy. Once. Twice. His lips moved deliberately, mouthing you slow through the softness, and your hips twitched before you even realized you were reacting. His eyes flicked up, watching the way your head tilted back slightly, mouth parting.

He smiled.

“Yeah,” he cooed, “just like that.”

His fingers curled around the waistband and you lifted your hips to help him, your panties sliding down your legs and tossed aside. Then came the pause — Jude just stared for a moment. Blinking. Lips parted. A breath caught in his throat.

“My lord,” he breathed. “You’re beautiful.”

Your legs shifted slightly, unsure what to do with all that attention, but his hands were quick to press your thighs apart again.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said softly. “Let me see you.” Then his tongue was on you. He started slow, so slow it nearly drove you insane. He was gentle at first, tentative — tasting, exploring. You could feel the way he adjusted, learning your reactions, taking his time like he had nowhere else to be. His tongue traced slow circles, then flattened against your clit, dragging up deliberately. Your hips bucked just slightly as he chuckled against you

“There she is,” he murmured, breath hot against your slick. “Y’like that?” “Mmhm,” you breathed, hand sinking into his curls. “That’s my pretty girl,” he praised, voice thick with hunger. “Give me more. Need all of it.”

Your thighs tried to close around his head, but he kept them spread, arms locked around them as he dove in deeper, tongue flicking in tighter patterns now, confident.

He moaned into you, low and guttural — and that almost sent you over. The vibrations rocked through your core and your hands gripped his hair tighter.

“Jude—shit—right there—don’t stop—” He groaned again like he loved the way you said his name. Then he pulled back just a little, letting his fingers glide into you, one at first, then two, slow and steady as his mouth came back to your clit. Your body arched up into him, eyes rolling back.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he grunted, kissing you messily. “You’re squeezing my fingers like youn want me to come out.”

You whimpered — it was all too much. His voice, his mouth, the pace he’d set.

“I could eat you for hours, y’know that?” he said, licking slow up your center again. “I could’ve done it the first night I met you.”

“You didn’t even know me back then—” you choked out, laughing breathlessly.

“I knew,” he said, voice hard now, tongue teasing your clit again. “I knew I wanted you like this. Mouth full of you. Hands holding you open. You makin’ those pretty sounds.”

Your legs started to tremble and he noticed immediately, never letting up, never losing rhythm.

“Yeah… you’re close, huh?” he said, lips glistening, tongue relentless. “Come on, y/n. Don’t hold back. Let me feel it.”

“Jude—fuck—I’m gonna—”

You fell apart then, hips jerking, a moan tearing from your throat so raw and loud it made the windows shake. Jude didn’t stop — not right away. He kept licking until your legs were twitching and you had to physically push his head back, breathless and dazed.

When he pulled away, his lips were swollen, chin slick with you, and the look in his eyes?

Starved.

You stared at him, chest heaving. “You okay?”

He nodded, crawling up toward you, hovering above. “Still hungry,” he admitted, smiling. He kissed your lips slow and deep.

“Still hungry? You’re insane” You said as your body still trembled faintly. You laid back on the bed, legs loose and splayed, your chest rising and falling in slow, uneven breaths. Jude’s weight shifted beside you, but he didn’t say anything at first — just watched you like he didn’t quite believe what he’d just done. Or what you let him do.

You turned your head slowly, catching the awe in his expression.“You alright?” you asked, voice soft and hoarse, lips curling gently. He nodded, licking his lips absently, still tasting you. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Yeah, I’m good… better than good. You?”

You chuckled a little, brushing sweat-damp hair off your forehead. “Amazing’.”

That made him laugh, the tension cracking a bit. You sighed, letting your fingers spread across his skin, your nails tracing lazy shapes near his collarbone. “You did good, Jude. Real good.”

He smiled at that — not cocky, but quietly proud. “Didn’t hurt, right?” he asked gently. “I wasn’t too rough?” You shook your head. “You are a good eater, I tell you this every time”

He leaned in to kiss your shoulder, then your neck — slow, lingering kisses that felt more like thank yous than anything else.

“Come up here,” you murmured, tugging lightly on his arm until he laid fully beside you, chests pressed together. His skin was still warm from the rush, muscles soft now, loose and pliant.

You tucked your face into the crook of his neck, your arm resting across his waist as his fingers drew slow circles on your back.

“You still high?” you asked quietly, your breath ghosting over his throat.

“A little,” he confessed, chuckling. “Everything feels... floaty. Warm. Like I’m wearing a blanket made out of you.”

You laughed into his skin. “That’s so corny.”

“You love it.”

You sighed into him, letting the comfort settle. “Yeah. I do.”

His hand found yours again under the sheets, fingers lacing together. “I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured. “About wanting to make you cum every day I’m here.”

You hummed softly. “We’ll see if you keep that energy tomorrow.”

“Oh, I will,” he said, voice dropping just slightly again. “But right now… can I just hold you?”

You nodded into his chest as you drifted off to sleep.