#he answered the door with a cast on his leg

[almostwisegalaxy]

Hi! Can you write about the reader being Si-eun's younger sister (either one year or a few months younger) who used to be bullied in school but never talked about it? She doesn’t confide in Si-eun or their mother until one day when she comes home from school, and this time she really breaks down in front of Si-eun.How would Si-eun react, and how would he deal with this as her brother? (I’m looking for a platonic/angst-to-fluff kind of story.) Thank you so much for your hard work!<333

Up to two

Yeon Sieun x Sister!reader platonic story Part 2

In this story the reader has a shy character and is 14 years old.

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The sky was pouring a fine, almost invisible rain over the city, but Si-eun felt it weighing on his shoulders like a wet blanket. He had come home earlier than usual from high school, abandoning the gray corridors of the building where the boys shouted to exist. Their voices, their postures, their fury... it all exhausted him. He found neither warmth nor comfort in their gazes, not even a shadow of what he unconsciously sought: a sincere connection.

But at home, there was Y/N.

The door had closed silently behind him. The lights were dim in the small apartment, as if even the electricity thought twice before imposing itself too much. And there, on the sofa, sitting cross-legged, Y/N looked up at him. Immense eyes, dark and bright, curious but silent. She said nothing. She almost never said anything. But she looked at him as if he were the whole world. He wasn't the whole world. He was a broken boy who had never learned to love anything but silence. Yet, with her...

"Ddeul-kkot," she whispered.

It was their secret word. A trembling flower. A whispered idea to say "I waited for you" without anyone understanding. He dropped his bag without a word and walked towards her. She held out her hand. He took it without hesitation. Her small, warm palm was the only thing that brought him back to himself.

Yeon Si-eun was not a big brother like the others. He hadn't learned how to be one. He hadn't seen his father love, nor his mother forgive. He had only seen absences, closed suitcases, silences heavy like ceilings that were too low. But Y/N had appeared one day. So small. In the arms of a man who was their father to both of them, but who wasn't really anyone's father.

And since then, she was his.

She would sometimes lie down against him in the bed that was too big for one person. He never said anything. He let her do it. She would snuggle against his back or his chest, depending on the night. He could feel her breath, light, almost regular. He didn't fall asleep right away. Sometimes, he would lie there, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, wondering why his heart was beating so fast, so painfully.

When she was there, he breathed better. He would let his hand slip into her hair, caressing it slowly, as if to say, "stay a little longer." She didn't speak. She didn't ask questions. She simply stayed close to him. And in this blurry and violent world, it was the only certainty he possessed.

They had their code. Simple words, often absurd. "Ddeul-kkot" for "I'm here." "Samak" for "say nothing." "Chik" for "I need you." No one understood them. And they didn't care. It was their refuge, their secret home between coded phrases, shared glances, silences woven like promises.

That day, after school, Y/N had waited for him. As always. She knew when he came home, even if he said nothing. She never jumped into his arms. She wasn't one of those clingy children. But she stayed there, sitting up straight, calm, with that small smile that existed only for him.

"You look sad," she murmured an hour later, as they lay side by side. She had come, naturally. Like every night.

He didn't answer right away. The ceiling was blurry. The streetlights cast an orange glow on the faded plaster.

"It's nothing."

She turned her head towards him. He felt it. And he sighed.

"I wish you had been born somewhere else. That you had a real father. A mother who loves you. That you weren't stuck here, with a brother like me."

She remained silent for a moment, then, slowly, she slipped her hand into his.

"But I'm happy here."

A tear rolled down Si-eun's temple. He didn't stop it. He never cried in front of others. But with her, he no longer wore a mask. He was no longer the strategist of the class, nor the boy who was hated for his coldness. He was just a boy who loved his little sister more than he had ever loved anyone else.

Y/N was not like other children. Not because she was shy or reserved, but because she knew how to observe. She understood adults without speaking, thwarted lies with a gentle smile, manipulated situations without seeming to. It was her strategy. A calculated gentleness. A mastery of silent attention. A gift she used to make people underestimate her, always.

But not Si-eun. He knew. He had seen her do it. He had even seen her pretend to cry so that a teacher would let her out of class, just to bring him his forgotten notebook. He had said nothing. He had just looked at her with silent respect.

One day, she had told him:

"You don't need to fight with your fists. You could win with silences."

He had looked at her for a long time. She had lowered her eyes, a little embarrassed. She wasn't good at long sentences. But she thought them intensely. And he understood them before she finished.

Y/N was not popular. No one really liked her. The neighbors murmured. The schoolmates avoided her gaze. But he, Si-eun, looked at her as one looks at a rare star. She was all he had, and all he wanted to protect. He had never desired something with such gentle obsession. He thought of her every moment. Wondered if she was okay, if she had eaten, if someone had hurt her.

He had the impression that if she disappeared, the world would suddenly go out. There would be nothing left.

And she, with her silent way of slipping her hand into his, of resting her head against him without asking anything, knew all this. She didn't say the words. But she lived them. And that was enough.

That night, before falling asleep, she whispered to him:

"Chik."

He smiled, his eyes closed. He squeezed her hand a little tighter. She was there. And so was he. For tonight, that was all that mattered.

---

Flashback – 13 Years Earlier

That night, it was raining.

Not a peaceful rain. A driving, aggressive rain, as if the sky itself wanted to collapse onto their dilapidated building. Si-eun, almost five years old, was sitting in his tiny room, one arm in a cast, a flickering desk lamp illuminating his worksheets. He didn’t understand everything he read, but he kept going. It was his method for stifling the screams.

Because in the living room, the world was burning.

“YOU BROUGHT THAT KID HERE LIKE IT WAS NORMAL?!”

“She’s MY DAUGHTER! She has nowhere else to go, what did you want me to do?!”

“And me? And our son? Does he deserve this? Does he deserve this SHAME in his own home?!”

Shame.

That word had lodged itself like a thorn in Si-eun’s heart. A shame. A daughter born of a mistake. An error screamed through the walls. He heard her name — not Y/N, not yet — spat out with hatred, tossed around like garbage they no longer knew where to throw.

And in that din, another sound. Tiny. A rustling. A stifled breath.

Si-eun stood up. Slowly. As if moving in a dream. He crossed the hallway — his small steps muffled by the worn rug — and stopped at the living room doorway.

No one.

Except a baby carrier forgotten at the foot of the sofa. Placed there like a cumbersome bag.

He approached. In the dim light, he saw large, wet eyes fixed on him. No tears were falling. But she was trembling. So small. Too still. As if she already knew that making noise was dangerous.

She wasn’t crying.

She didn’t dare.

He picked her up in his child’s arms, clumsily, his cast scraping against the fabric of the baby carrier. She didn’t move. Just a small sigh, a kind of silent relief. As if she knew he wouldn’t reject her.

He went back to his room. He closed the door. He locked it.

When the banging came, he didn’t answer.

“Yeon Si-eun, open up! You can’t do this, damn it!”

“You have no idea what you’re doing! This isn’t YOUR PROBLEM!”

He wasn’t listening anymore.

He sat on his bed, Y/N against his chest, and began to breathe softly. She did too. He felt her heart, a tiny beating drum, against his own.

He was only five, but he understood. This baby, no one was expecting her. No one wanted her. Except him.

She was his now.

The Early Years

They didn’t talk much. Neither of them.

Y/N had that silence born in the womb of abandonment. And Si-eun, he had learned very early that words were used to lie or to hurt. So they lived together, without unnecessary chatter.

But their gestures spoke for them.

When she learned to walk, it was to him that she reached her arms.

When she had nightmares, she would crawl out of her room, drag her blanket into his, and he would hoist her onto his bed without a word. She would snuggle against him. He would place a hand on her head. They would sleep like that.

Always like that.

“Do you think the stars are watching us?” she had asked him one day, her voice hoarse with sleep.

“Maybe.”

“And if we told them our secrets? Would they keep them?”

He had smiled. A rare, fragile smile.

“I think they would listen to you. Not me.”

“You’re a star too. But one that’s forgotten how to shine.”

He had turned his head, surprised. She was already blushing, hiding under the covers.

He had said nothing. But he hadn’t forgotten. Ever.

There was no gentleness in the house. There were only the sounds of breaking dishes, fleeting glances, chronic absences. But between them, there was an invisible cocoon, built in silence and simple gestures.

He tied her shoelaces in the morning.

She brought him water when he coughed at night.

She often fell asleep in his arms.

He watched her sleep. Sometimes, he told himself that she was the only thing that proved he had a heart.

They had invented their own language.

Because real words were dirty, misused, dangerous. So they had created others. Ddeul-kkot. Samak. Chik.

“Ddeul-kkot” to say: I’m still here.

“Samak” to say: Don’t talk about it. It’s okay.

“Chik” to say: Stay.

One day, he had been beaten up at school. A group of older students. He had refused to cry. He had come home, collapsed in the hallway. His bag torn. Blood on his shirt.

She was five years old.

She had knelt in front of him, her small hand on his chin to see his swollen face.

“Chik,” she had said.

He had nodded, his teeth clenched. She had stayed with him all night. She didn’t talk much, but she stayed.

Always.

The tenderness between them was discreet, but visceral.

When she cried, he would place his hand on the back of her neck and pull her against his chest.

When he was angry, she would place hers on his and whisper: Samak.

They had rituals.

In the evening, he would open his blanket for her. She would slip in, as naturally as could be, and snuggle against him. Sometimes she would rest her head on his chest and listen to his heart.

“It beats fast,” she would say.

“It’s because I think too much.”

“Do you think about me?”

He never answered. But he would gently stroke her hair, and she understood.

When he came home from middle school, his gaze empty and his knees scraped, she didn’t ask questions. She would go get the first-aid kit. She would dab a cotton ball on his wound, blow gently, and say:

“You won, huh?”

He would nod. Sometimes not. But she wouldn’t ask for more.

One day, he had cried. One night. He had broken down. He had sat at the foot of his bed, unable to breathe, his fists pressed against his temples.

She had woken up.

“Si-eun?”

He hadn’t answered.

She had slipped out of bed, sat down in front of him, her small hands resting on his knees.

“Do you want me to sing?”

He had nodded, almost imperceptibly.

And she had sung. An invented song, clumsy, with lyrics that didn’t rhyme. But he had breathed. He had held on.

A memory. Precious.

Once, she had fallen at school. A boy had pushed her head against a locker. When Si-eun had come to pick her up, he had seen the red mark on her forehead. He had asked what had happened. She had smiled.

“He said I was weird. So I showed him that weirdos can bite.”

He had chuckled. Just a little. A short, shocked, but proud laugh.

“You’re dangerous.”

“Like you.”

He had taken her hand. She had squeezed it tightly.

They never said “I love you.”

It wasn’t necessary.

Because every look, every gesture, every silence said better than words: You are my only person.

And in that cracked house, in that world of held-back blows and cold violence, they had invented something rare: an indestructible tenderness. A pact without oaths.

Si-eun wasn’t born to love. He hadn’t learned.

But Y/N had given him, unintentionally, the only thing he had never had: a reason to stay.

And she, without saying it, without ever asking, had shown him what it was to be chosen.

Not out of duty. Nor out of obligation.

But because he couldn’t do otherwise.

---

First Year – Eunjang High School

The wind at Eunjang felt alien.

It whipped Yeon Si-eun’s face like a constant slap, reminding him with every step that he was no longer home. Far from the city he knew. Far from the alleys where he had learned to endure. Far from Su-ho, from Beom-seok, from everything he had wanted to protect — and failed.

Su-ho…

Just thinking of his name made his stomach clench. The images returned unbidden: his friend’s body, slumped, eyes half-closed. The screams. The blood. The metallic glint of a bat. The echo of his own heart beating too fast, too loud. Too late.

The transfer to Eunjang had been imposed. A decision made by adults who claimed they wanted to “protect him.” But no one had asked Si-eun if he wanted to run.

And above all, no one had asked him if he was ready to be separated from her.

The Surprise

It was a rainy Saturday, again. It often rained on important days, like a signal. A way for the world to mark pivotal moments.

He was returning from the high school library, bag over his shoulder, his mind tired, his heart drowned in silence. He didn’t like this new environment. Too many unfamiliar smells, too many gazes he didn’t yet understand. And that gang, invisible but omnipresent, like a constant threat lurking in the corridors, ready to erupt.

He had barely placed his hand on the doorknob of his student housing when something shifted in the air.

A presence.

He cautiously opened the door… and saw her.

Y/N.

Sitting on the small bench against the wall. Her backpack against her crossed legs. Her chin resting on her knees. She was waiting for him.

The shock was so great that he said nothing right away.

She raised her head, and her eyes shone softly.

“Ddeul-kkot,” she whispered, a smile playing on her lips.

And then, he smiled too. For the first time in a long time.

A discreet smile, almost stolen from the pain. But a real one.

“You came all by yourself?” he asked, quickly closing the door behind him.

She nodded. No pride, just a matter of fact.

“It’s not safe, Y/N. It’s far.”

“I know.”

He sighed, approached, and crouched down in front of her.

“You could have gotten lost. Which bus did you take? Have you eaten?”

She held out her hand to him. He took it. The simple contact brought him back. It always did.

“I wanted to see you.”

He didn’t answer. He sat down next to her. She rested her head on his shoulder. As if she had done it all her life. And in reality, it was almost the case.

They stayed there for a long time, without speaking. He made her fried rice with the leftovers he had. She ate it slowly, as if it were a feast.

And when she was finished, she glanced at him sideways.

“You’re sad,” she said.

He didn’t deny it.

“Su-ho… is still in a coma.”

Silence. She had never met Su-ho. But she knew. She read his silences like others read books.

“You can talk to me,” she had said. “Even if it’s hard.”

But he said nothing.

She didn’t insist.

The Rituals :

On Fridays or Saturdays — depending on his class schedule, depending on travel — they would meet. Even if it was just a call. Even if it was only twenty minutes.

But some nights, she would make the trip.

She would arrive with a plastic bag containing kimbap she had made, or a box of tteokbokki bought at the convenience store near their old neighborhood.

“It’s not very good,” she would say.

“It’s fine,” he would reply. “You came, that’s the meal.”

They would eat side by side. Sometimes on the floor, legs crossed. Sometimes sitting on the too-narrow bed. They spoke little. But when they did, it was always true.

“I saw you smile with someone the other day,” she said one evening.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Were you following me?”

“No. I saw it in a photo from your school. He had a weird smile. Not like usual.”

“He’s a boy from my class. His name is Park Humin.”

“Do you like him?”

He hesitated. Then nodded.

“He has secrets, like me.”

She smiled softly.

“Then he must be kind.”

She wasn’t jealous. Never. But she wanted to understand those who approached her brother. Because for her, no one was as precious. And anyone who entered his world had to be worthy.

The Absences

Then, one day… she didn’t come anymore.

A Friday. He waited for her. Nothing.

He sent a message. No reply.

Saturday. Nothing.

He worried. Of course. But she had had exams before, school obligations. Maybe she was just busy.

The following weekend, he made ramyeon for two. He let it cool.

The third weekend, he didn’t make anything at all.

She hadn’t given any news.

He had waited. Sent a simple, short, worried “Are you coming?”

She had replied hours later: “I’m tired. Samak.”

And then, nothing more.

No Saturday either.

He had taken the train one Sunday morning. An impulse. A contained panic. He had walked to their building. The apartment was locked. He had waited in the hallway. Two hours.

She hadn’t come home.

When she finally replied, that evening, it was to say: “Sorry. I went to sleep at a friend’s house. I needed to… get some air.”

He felt his stomach clench. Y/N had never slept at anyone’s house. She didn’t like it. She said other people’s houses “breathed wrong.”

But he didn’t insist. He didn’t have the right to insist.

And she… she kept silent.

And yet, he knew she was okay. Not because he had seen her, but because he still felt the invisible thread between them. She existed. She was breathing. But she was drifting away.

The last time she had come, she was wearing flesh-colored tights.

Almost invisible.

But he had seen them. Of course, he had seen them.

Y/N had never liked wearing tights. She said they “itched her legs.” But that day, he had noticed the artificial line at her ankle. He had noted the tension in her movements. She scratched discreetly, glancing at her legs when she thought he wasn’t looking. And that day, she had kept her jacket on, even in the warmth of the apartment.

And then, when he had accidentally placed his hand on her ankle, she had flinched.

He had looked up. She had smiled at him, too quickly.

“I’m just tired,” she had murmured.

He had believed her.

Because he wanted to believe her.

Because he was scared too.

And she, she had closed herself off.

She didn’t want him to see. Not now. He already had too much to bear.

Y/N, in Silence

She looked at herself in the mirror every morning, her fingers tracing the marks that were slowly fading.

The bullying was brutal. Not always, but often. There was blood, screams. Not just words, sneers, whispers that soiled the air. Sometimes a shoulder bump in the hallway. A hand brutally pulling her hair. A poisoned remark.

But above all, there was the isolation.

The certainty of being alone.

She said nothing. She told herself she was strong. She told herself that as long as she could walk to him, everything was fine.

But she had begun to doubt.

And one day, she had told herself that she didn’t deserve to be a burden to him. Not him. Not Si-eun. He had fought for too many things, too many people.

She told herself that if he knew, he would break. He would return to that violence she had always dreaded in him. She had seen that flame, one day, when a man had raised his voice at her in the street. Si-eun hadn’t even hit him. But the man had fled. Cold with fear. Before his gaze.

And Y/N had known: her brother didn’t need to shout to destroy.

He just needed to decide.

She didn’t want him to decide to hit for her.

She wanted to be strong, as strong as him.

So she hid the marks.

She had fallen silent.

And she had stopped coming.

But the distance between two silences, however long, cannot erase bonds woven with such care.

Even in his too-narrow bed, even in the heart of Eunjang’s violence, Yeon Si-eun still sometimes dreamed that she pushed open the door. That she said “Ddeul-kkot” with that small smile.

And even if he didn’t know it yet…

He was going to discover the truth.

And that day, the world around them would change again.

---

There was something almost gentle in the uproar.

Yeon Si-eun walked slowly behind Humin, Hyun-tak, and Juntae, their voices bouncing off the damp brick walls of Eunjang High School. Humin was laughing too loudly, as always, slapping Hyun-tak’s shoulder with every sentence. Juntae, in his own way, was talking about absurd things, a plush toy in his bag and bright ideas in his head.

They weren’t like Su-ho. Not like Beom-seok either. There wasn’t that invisible thread, stretched taut between them, made of survival, silence, and unspoken wounds.

But they were there.

They fought together, shared the injuries, the retorts, the silent glances in the hallways. They got each other out of trouble, waited for each other after class, placed drinks on tables without a word when one of them seemed on the verge of collapse.

And sometimes, Si-eun thought: maybe this is it. Another version of friendship. Simpler. Less torn.

That day, they were coming out of a small confrontation with students from another high school. Nothing too serious — a stupid settling of scores, an exchange of blows, a few bruises stinging under their uniforms. They were dirty, tired, laughing to forget.

He didn’t feel like laughing. But he smiled, a little.

Because they were alive. And in this school, that counted.

They had stopped at an old, half-abandoned café. Humin was tapping on his phone, always halfway through posting something or looking for a joke. Juntae was scribbling on a paper napkin, focused like a child. Hyun-tak stood a little apart, his back against the wall, his eyes narrowed.

That’s when Si-eun took out his phone. A reflex. An old habit. To see if Y/N had replied to his last message. Just a “you okay?” sent two days earlier.

No reply.

He sighed.

Then, almost without thinking, he opened their shared messaging interface. They had been using a family cloud for a long time. She would sometimes upload drawings, photos. Silly screenshots.

And there… he saw the folder.

Named “School,” simply.

He had never paid attention to it.

He opened it.

The first photos seemed ordinary. Class notes. A teacher’s remark. A schedule.

Then.

An image.

Blurry, taken from the side. Y/N, sitting alone in a classroom. Behind her, two girls are laughing, their faces turned towards her. A hand is visible, holding a pair of scissors, like a silent threat.

Another photo. Her locker. The door twisted. Papers thrown inside. Insults scrawled on the pages of a notebook.

Then a video. Ten seconds. A girl pushes Y/N against a wall. A voice is heard: “You’re not so tough when your brother’s not around, are you?”

And another one. Y/N in tears, but without a word. She holds her bag against her like armor. Her knees are dirty. She’s bleeding a little at the elbow.

He no longer remembered his breathing at that moment.

Only the sound his heart was making. Dull, immense.

He had locked his phone, without saying a word.

He had stood up abruptly. His friends had looked up.

“I have to go,” he blurted out.

Humin watched him go, surprised, but said nothing. Juntae just smiled softly, then went back to his drawing. Because they knew too, without asking questions.

He had run to his housing. Taken the train. Swallowed the stations without seeing them. His fist was trembling. His jaw was clenching.

It had taken him three hours to arrive at Y/N’s door.

She had opened it.

He said nothing at first.

Neither did she.

But when he held out his phone, screen lit, and their eyes met…

She had lowered her gaze.

“It’s not what you think,” she murmured.

But her voice was trembling. Too much.

He took a step back. Just one.

“Why… didn’t you say anything?”

She hadn’t known how to answer.

“Y/N, why didn’t you tell me anything?”

He repeated. Louder. His voice was breaking. Tears welled up in his eyes, without him being able to control them.

“Why did you let me believe everything was okay? Why did you stay alone? Why did you lie to me?!”

She backed away, her back against the wall. He saw her silhouette tremble. Her fingers gripped the fabric of her skirt.

“Because you were going to break,” she whispered. “I didn’t want you to break again…”

And then, he cried.

Really. Openly. Without shame.

Not the discreet tears he had learned to hide. Not the usual silence. No.

A raw grief, a heavy, exhausted, ancient sob.

He had collapsed on the floor, his hands over his face, unable to speak, to scream, to breathe. He was crying for her, for him, for everything they had gone through alone when they could have been together.

She had knelt down, timidly. And she had slipped her arms around him.

She hadn’t said she was sorry.

Because there were no words for that kind of pain.

Just gestures.

He held her close for a long time. Until his tears dried. Until his breathing calmed down.

Then, without asking, he took her hand.

“You’re coming with me.”

“But…”

“You’re coming. Now. You’re not sleeping alone anymore. It’s over.”

She didn’t protest for long.

She followed him.

The Housing – After

She had gotten into the habit of always placing her shoes in the same spot.

Of putting her bag against the left corner of the room. Of sitting on the edge of the bed when he was cooking. She didn’t talk much. But she was there.

And he, he checked her messages. Her clothes. Her elbows. Her silences.

He didn’t ask questions anymore, not right away.

But every night, he watched her, as if to make sure she wouldn’t disappear.

She was recovering slowly. She still had nightmares. Sometimes, he would hear her half-crying in her sleep. Then he would place a hand on her back, and she would fall back asleep.

One morning, she had slipped a note on the table:

I’m going to try to get better. For you. But mostly for me.

He had read it. And he had cried again. Discreetly, this time.

They had gone through hell, each on their own.

But now, they had decided to walk together.

And even if the world around them didn’t change…

The inside, it had begun to heal. Step by step.

---

The day Si-eun decided to talk to their parents, he hadn’t slept a single minute the night before.

He had sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, heart heavy like lead. He dialed their father’s number first. He knew it was the easy way out, but starting with him would be simpler. Or at least, less brutal.

The old man picked up with a tired voice. He didn’t say anything kind. Didn’t ask about his daughter.

— You know why I’m calling, Si-eun simply said.

— It’s about Y/N, I assume.

— You knew. You knew what was happening to her. And you did nothing.

There was a silence, then a sigh, like air leaking out of something long sealed shut.

— I’m ashamed, Si-eun. But...

— You don’t get to be ashamed if you keep doing nothing, he cut in.

He wasn’t shouting. But his voice sliced through, firm, sharp like a blade dulled by too many years.

— You and Mom—you’re responsible. You abandoned her. I did too, at first. But not anymore.

— What do you want? For me to crawl to you on my knees? You want money?

— Exactly. I want you to pay. For her therapy, her classes, everything she needs to live without lacking anything. This isn’t a favor. It’s your duty.

He didn’t wait for a response. He hung up.

Their mother, though, had been harsher. Less ashamed. Less compassionate.

— You’re overreacting. That girl is always whining. Do you really think it’s not her fault she got rejected?

He stood up. Grabbed his stuff. Slammed the door on his way out.

They would never live with her.

Y/N knew that. She hadn’t even asked.

In their new student apartment—a slightly bigger two-room unit, poorly insulated but warm—she could finally breathe for the first time in ages. At her new all-girls school, she was no longer “Si-eun’s sister” or “the weird girl from class 2-4.” She was just Y/N. A regular teenage girl. With colorful flashcards, earbuds glued to her ears, a backpack too big for her frame.

And little by little, she became herself again.

The real Y/N.

The one Si-eun had known when she was a baby.

He still remembered. She’d learned to walk and talk almost at the same time, barely over a year old. Out of necessity. She followed him everywhere, two stubborn little steps behind. Always calling out “Oppa! Oppa!” in every room.

She didn’t cry. That was beneath her, even back then—by her own baby rules. But she would sulk. Over nothing. Just to get her brother’s attention. So he’d pat her head. Give her his last cookie. And even now, at almost fifteen, she still sulked. When he forgot her favorite bread. When he told her to sleep earlier. When he spent too much time with his friends instead of her.

He loved it.

Not the sulking itself. But what it meant—that she had that gentle, bratty spark again.

He often thought: she came back.

But the journey had been long.

And for her to return, he had to face the worst.

He found the proof of her bullying “by accident.” An old chat window left open. Screenshots she had probably meant to delete, but hadn’t found the courage to erase. Degrading photos. Mockery. Insults disguised as jokes. Public humiliation.

He spent hours reading everything. Sorting it. Holding himself back from screaming. From breaking things.

Then he confronted their parents. Filed complaints. Notified the school. Sent warnings to those responsible. One of the bullies even changed schools after that. He wasn’t doing it for vengeance or pride—he wanted change. He didn’t want this rotten system to ruin anyone else like it had ruined her.

He also convinced Y/N to see a therapist. A gentle young woman with round glasses and a slow voice who never pushed, never insisted. Eventually, Y/N began to talk. A little. Then a lot.

And one day, she laughed. Not loud. But a real laugh. That of a carefree child.

**

They lived their routine like an old couple in exile.

Breakfast together—or not. Arguing about the dishes. Sharing the heater in winter. Listening to music together. Staying silent when memories grew too heavy.

But the balance was there. Fragile. Uncertain, yet real.

And then one day, came the Hyun-tak incident.

They were coming back from the supermarket, arms full of bags, when they ran into Humin, Juntae, and Hyun-tak at the street corner.

Y/N froze instantly.

Humin, true to form, shouted too loud:

— OH! Si-eun! Is that your sister? Hey little sis, you’re super cute—

But she had already turned and walked away. As expected, Si-eun dropped the bags and went after her.

He knew her: it wasn’t shame. It was fear. She didn’t like strangers. Not yet.

He calmed her down. Brought her back. And she reluctantly agreed to return and say hello. From a distance. No words. Arms crossed.

And then, it was Hyun-tak, surprisingly, who stepped forward first.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t reach out. Just handed her a cold drink, wordlessly, and sat beside her on the sidewalk like they’d known each other forever.

Y/N blinked. Stared. Then took the drink.

Humin looked stunned, like “What? Even I got ignored!”

And Hyun-tak, that smug calm kid, just smiled with the arrogant pride of someone who had accomplished an Olympic feat.

From that moment, he became the one she tolerated the most. Not that they talked much. But he understood her silences. And Y/N… she trusted him. Just like that. Instinctively.

(They fall in love afterward, but that's a whole other story.(⁠´⁠∩⁠｡⁠•⁠ ⁠ᵕ⁠ ⁠•⁠｡⁠∩⁠`⁠))

(Yazzzzzz Story is juste (⁠☞⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)⁠☞ here)

**

That evening, Si-eun came home with a light heart.

He watched his sister place the drink carefully in the fridge like a rare treasure, and she muttered:

— At least he’s not as loud as the others.

— Should I tell him you like him?

— Don’t you dare touch my social life, oppa.

He laughed. She fake-pouted.

And in that exact moment, he knew they had survived.

Not just physically. But truly.

They had walked through darkness.

And now they moved forward, side by side, like before. Two kids in a world too big, but strong enough together to stand tall.

.................................………………………………………

[intakeofbreath]

⎯ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ.

wc: {838} tw: explicit sexual content, masked sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk (from reader), slight overstimulation. note: BACK WITH A VENGENCE!! last few days have been stressful, but i'm free again.

you barely make it through the green room door before vessel’s got his hands on you.

his fingers slide beneath your jacket, tugging it off your shoulders like it’s been in his way all night. it hits the ground without a sound.

his body is still warm from the stage—heat pouring off him in waves, the air between you electric with leftover adrenaline. sweat clings to his chest where the robe fell open, black body paint streaked and smudged, shining faintly under the vanity lights.

he says nothing.

just cups your jaw and kisses you—hot, deep, hungry.

you smile into it, breath catching. your hands press to his chest, sliding up his neck until your thumbs brush the edge of his mask.

he keeps it on, as always.

“you were so fucking good,” you whisper when he pulls back, your lips slick with the taste of him. “the way the crowd lost it—”

he kisses you again, harder.

it shuts you up, but you’re still grinning when he spins you around.

your stomach bumps against the vanity. the lights around the mirror cast a warm glow over your skin, catching on the curve of your waist, the flush of your face in the glass. you glance up. catch his reflection behind you—broad shoulders, mask gleaming white and red, eyes dark and fixed on your body like you’re something to consume.

you reach back blindly, tug at his belt.

“here?” you tease, voice breathless. “what if someone hears?”

his hands curl around your hips, firm.

“they won’t.”

you gasp when he pushes your skirt up, both hands skimming the backs of your thighs like he’s flipping pages he’s read a thousand times. he drags your underwear down slowly, letting the elastic catch and snap against your skin before it falls to the floor.

he kneels behind you—just for a second. just long enough to kiss the back of your thigh, open-mouthed and wet. his tongue grazes the crease where thigh meets ass. your knees nearly buckle.

then he’s up again. standing. pulling his slacks low enough to free his cock.

he strokes it once, slow, lazy. just enough to tease himself.

you arch your back, offering yourself with a breathy laugh. “what, you wanna admire me first?”

his voice is quiet, low. “always.”

he guides himself to your entrance, rubbing the thick head through your slick folds. teasing. dragging the tip up and down—until you whimper, hips rolling back against him with desperate little gasps.

“you’ve got that look,” you whisper, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “like you’re gonna wreck me.”

he doesn’t answer.

he just thrusts in deep, slow and deliberate.

you whine, fingers clawing at the vanity top, struggling for purchase. he fills you all at once—hot, thick, stretching you until your eyes roll back.

“f-fuck—vessel—”

his hands grip your hips, thumbs pressing hard enough to bruise. he doesn’t wait long—just gives you a second to adjust before pulling back and driving in again. again. again.

it starts fast and stays there. deep, rhythmic thrusts, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing off the dressing room walls, the slap of his body against yours drowned out only by the breathy sounds spilling from your mouth.

you push back against him, meeting each thrust with greedy, desperate energy.

"just like that—god, you feel so good,” you gasp. “don’t stop, don’t fucking stop—”

his fingers slide up your spine. then back down.

not pushing. not guiding.

just feeling you.

you shudder under the weight of it—his attention, his restraint. how much he’s giving you even in his silence.

his pace falters when your walls flutter around him.

“you like watching, don’t you?” you breathe out, eyes locking with his in the mirror. “you love seeing what you do to me.”

his breath catches. just barely audible.

you reach between your legs and rub slow circles over your clit, moaning when the pleasure sharpens instantly.

he groans low in his chest. then his hand covers yours.

he takes over.

his fingers work you in tight, relentless circles while he fucks into you with deeper thrusts, driving up into your softest spot, again and again, until your knees shake and your voice cracks.

“yes—vessel—i’m—fuck—i’m gonna come—”

“good,” he murmurs. “show me.”

you mewl his name, body tightening, trembling, falling apart in the best way. your orgasm rushes through you like heat—white-hot and dizzying.

he doesn’t stop.

he fucks you through it, deeper now, slower, like he wants to feel every second of it. he grips your waist tighter, hips stuttering once—twice—then he spills into you with a muffled groan, head bowed, fingers bruising where they hold you steady.

neither of you move.

for a long moment, the only sound is your breathing—heavy, uneven, shared.

he stays inside you, forehead resting between your shoulder blades, one hand still tangled in yours on the vanity.

you close your eyes. sigh. “you’re quiet, but i can feel how much you want me.”

his fingers tighten slightly around yours.

“that’s the point.”

[magnagaruzenmon]

Dragon and Kirin II

so tumblr wouldn't let me do this all in one go so here's the second part

Yunjin arrived not long after, parking next to Roland’s car with a slight sigh as she stepped out. She could feel the same pull—god, the pull—gnawing at her, making her heart race with something she wasn’t prepared to feel.

When she walked up to his door, Roland was already standing there, waiting. He wasn’t looking at her like a rival anymore—he was looking at her with something more intense.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice soft but edged with her own impatience.

Roland didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached out and took her hand, guiding her inside. As soon as she stepped into the living room, she felt the change in the air—the pressure of the curse intensifying.

They didn’t say anything as they walked to the back porch, where the blanket was still spread out on the grass. Roland had clearly planned to spend some time outside, and now it felt like the perfect place to both escape and confront everything.

They sat on the blanket, and for a few moments, they stared at the stars. But the silence between them wasn’t peaceful. Every passing moment seemed to deepen the urge between them, and neither of them could ignore it.

Roland let out a heavy sigh, stretching his arms out behind him. “I’m not gonna lie, Yunjin,” he began, his voice low and thick with the weight of unspoken things, “this is… insane.”

Yunjin’s throat tightened, and she could feel the heat in her chest spreading. Why the hell was she even doing this? She should have walked away. But as she turned toward him, her eyes locked onto his, and she knew—just knew—that she couldn’t. Not now.

“I know,” she murmured, almost as if to herself. “But I can’t seem to shake it. You. This… whatever this is.”

Roland’s hand found her shoulder, brushing it lightly before moving lower, his fingers lingering on her arm. The touch made her heart race, the cursed magic pulling them closer, pressing them together like magnets.

The heat between them was unbearable now. Roland shifted, and as he did, their legs brushed together. The shock of it made both of them freeze for a moment before Yunjin whispered, “I swear to god, I can’t stop thinking about how close you are. Why does this feel so… impossible?”

Roland chuckled darkly. “Because it’s a curse, and neither of us can walk away from it.”

His hand slid up her arm to the back of her neck, his fingers massaging lightly. She swallowed hard, her pulse quickening as she felt a rising need to be closer to him.

She leaned into the touch, her breath shaky. “Why are we so fucked up?”

Roland’s voice was quiet but intense. “Because we don’t know how to stop fighting… and maybe because we don’t want to.”

As they sat there, under the vast sky, their thoughts spiraled into something far deeper—intimate, emotional, raw. Roland’s hand slid down to her waist, and for a moment, everything felt right. She wanted to let go. She wanted to lean into the heat between them.

But they couldn’t. Not yet.

The curse pulsed through them both, a constant hum at the back of their minds, reminding them that they couldn’t escape.

The night was quiet, save for the soft rustling of the leaves and the occasional hum of distant creatures. Roland and Yunjin sat side by side on the blanket, both staring up at the sky, their backs leaning against the cushions of Ureni. The stars above seemed endless, their soft glow casting a gentle light on everything, including the two of them.

The tension that had been simmering all evening hadn't dissipated. If anything, it had grown more pronounced now, the curse continuing to feed their emotions in a way neither could ignore. They sat in silence for a while, the weight of everything hanging between them.

Roland stretched out his legs, the heat in his chest still pulsing from the drive. He could feel the pull of Yunjin next to him, like gravity pulling at him with an irresistible force. He tried to focus on the stars, anything to keep his mind off of how close they were, how her presence made every inch of his body ache for her.

“You know,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft, “I didn’t expect this. All this magic shit… and you.”

Yunjin tilted her head slightly, her eyes flicking toward him. “What do you mean, ‘me’?”

Roland turned his head to look at her, his expression half-amused, half-serious. “You. I never thought I’d care about someone who gets under my skin as much as you do. But here we are.” His hand found the edge of her sleeve, fingers brushing lightly against her skin. The subtle touch made his pulse quicken, but he didn’t pull away.

Yunjin smirked, leaning slightly into him, her shoulder brushing his. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she said with a teasing tone. But the words came out a little softer than she intended, like something more genuine had slipped through.

Roland snorted. “Yeah, well, I think you’re the only one who could get away with insulting me and be this close.” He grinned, but the heat in his chest flared again, stronger now. “God, I want to kiss you again. But I don’t know if I can stand the consequences.”

Yunjin raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smile. “I thought you liked consequences.”

“Yeah, well,” Roland muttered, “not the kind that makes me want to strangle you and kiss you at the same time.”

Yunjin burst out laughing, and the sound was like music to his ears. He couldn’t help but smile, the curse driving him to express things he usually kept buried. “What? Something funny?” he asked, his voice teasing.

Yunjin shook her head, still grinning. “You’re so… you.”

“Not a fan, huh?”

She looked up at the stars, her expression softening. “No, it’s just—” She paused for a moment, the words slipping out before she could stop them. “I like how real you are. How you don’t hide anything. Even when it’s just us… you’re not pretending to be something you’re not.”

Roland blinked, surprised by her honesty. He shifted slightly, his body pressing a little closer to hers without him realizing it. “Thanks, I guess,” he murmured. “You’re not bad yourself. You’re a lot more… soft than I give you credit for.”

Yunjin scoffed, but there was a hint of warmth in her voice. “You just love insulting me, don’t you?”

Roland smirked but didn’t reply. Instead, he stretched again, trying to fight the growing warmth in his body. But as he did, his gaze drifted to her legs, and for a brief moment, all he could think about was how soft they looked, how perfect they seemed.

“God, I swear you have the most kissable legs I’ve ever seen,” he muttered without thinking.

Yunjin’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

Roland froze, realizing what he’d just said, but the curse didn’t let him pull back. “I—uh, didn’t mean it like—”

“Sure you didn’t,” Yunjin teased, her lips curling in a mischievous smile. “Well, now that you’ve said it…”

Before he could respond, she leaned over and nudged him with her shoulder, the warmth of her body pressing against his. He could feel his pulse quicken again, the curse pushing his emotions and desires to the surface in a way he couldn’t control.

“God, I’m so tired of this,” he groaned, closing his eyes. “I’m trying to think straight, but all I can think about is you.”

Yunjin let out a long sigh, her breath warm against his cheek. “I get it,” she said softly. “I really do. It’s like we’re both just… stuck here.”

“Yeah,” Roland muttered. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to punch someone and kiss them all at once.”

Yunjin chuckled, resting her head on his shoulder. The way she settled against him made Roland’s heart skip a beat. He could feel the pressure building in his chest again—his mind screaming to pull away, but his body betraying him, pulling him closer to her.

The curse’s influence was undeniable now, but in a strange way, it didn’t feel entirely bad. It felt… right. Even as their bodies flushed with desire and longing, there was something comforting about the closeness. The pull they felt toward each other was overwhelming, but it was also the only thing that made sense in the chaos.

As they lay there under the stars, the curse continued to force their feelings to the surface, leaving them both struggling with the mix of frustration, attraction, and something deeper that neither of them was ready to admit.

“I swear to god, you’re the worst,” Roland muttered as Yunjin shifted slightly, her body brushing against his once more.

“Stop complaining,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “You like it, and you know it.”

Roland sighed, his lips almost grazing her hair. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the soft rustle of the night around them and the distant stars above. Their bodies were so close, it was hard to tell where one of them ended and the other began.

“I like the way your hands fit on my waist,” Roland blurted out suddenly, his eyes fluttering shut, the words slipping from his lips without warning.

Yunjin let out a soft laugh. “Well, I like the way your voice sounds when you’re frustrated,” she admitted, the words tumbling out before she could stop herself.

The curse had them trapped—twisting their emotions and desires into something unavoidable. But for the first time that night, as they lay on Ureni, surrounded by the stars, the connection between them felt real. And neither of them could bring themselves to pull away.

The night had grown quieter, softer. Ureni’s enchanted cushions adjusted to their weight as Roland and Yunjin lay side by side, the stars above them gleaming like ancient runes burned into the sky. A subtle breeze rustled the trees, cool against their flushed skin.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. The air was thick with something heavier than silence—desire, yes, but also something more tender, something harder to name.

Roland shifted, one arm under his head, the other brushing against Yunjin’s hand. His gaze lingered on her profile: the slope of her nose, the faint curve of her jaw, and especially her lips—full, soft, irresistible.

He exhaled, long and slow. “God,” he murmured. “Your lips…”

Yunjin blinked, eyes turning toward him. “What?”

“You have the sexiest, most plump, kissable lips I’ve ever seen.” His voice was low, cracked at the edge. “I swear, I’ve been trying not to stare all night, but it’s impossible. I can’t stop thinking about kissing you. Again. And again. And again.”

Yunjin’s breath hitched.

For a second, the stars seemed to pause.

She sat up slightly, propped on her elbow, the vulnerability behind her gaze stark and unguarded. “You really think that?” she asked, voice quieter now. “About my lips?”

Roland rose up a bit to meet her at eye level. “Of course I do. I’m not saying it to be smooth. I mean it. I think they’re beautiful. They make me want to say stupid things. Like poetry and shit.”

Yunjin let out a tiny, choked laugh—but there was no hiding the emotion welling in her throat. “When I was a kid… I used to get teased for them all the time. People called them fish lips, pillow lips, said I looked weird or fake. Even during training, during idol stuff, they’d photoshop them or tell me to smile in a certain way to ‘tone them down.’”

Roland’s brow furrowed, his expression darkening. “They’re insane.”

She looked away, cheeks flushing pink—not from the curse this time, but real, remembered shame. “I spent so long trying to hide them. And then you just—you look at me like they’re the best thing about me.”

Roland reached up slowly and brushed his thumb along her bottom lip. “Because they are. You don’t need to hide them. Not from me. Not ever.”

Yunjin’s lips parted slightly under his touch, and for a breathless beat, neither of them moved.

Then the curse surged between them again—pulsing, pushing.

And they gave in.

Roland closed the distance and kissed her, this time slower, deeper, but no less desperate. His lips melted against hers like they belonged there, like this was the kiss they were always meant to share. Yunjin clutched the front of his hoodie, pulling him down with her, heart pounding like thunder in her chest.

She kissed him like she was reclaiming every cruel comment she’d ever swallowed, every edited photo, every fake smile. And Roland kissed her like he could worship every inch of her until she believed him.

When they finally pulled apart, gasping quietly under the stars, Yunjin leaned her forehead against his.

“I really love that you love them,” she whispered. “That you see me like this. It means more than I know how to say.”

Roland brushed his fingers through her hair, resting his hand gently at the nape of her neck. “And I love that I get to be the one who tells you. Over and over again. Until it sticks.”

They laid back again, bodies still warm from the kiss, hands now laced together over Yunjin’s stomach. The stars glittered silently above them, and for a rare moment, the curse didn’t feel like a burden—it felt like a gift.

Roland and Yunjin slept curled into each other’s warmth, breaths slow and synchronized. But though their bodies rested, their minds were anything but still.

The curse, relentless and buried in their subconscious now, reached deep into their dreams—and gave them each other.

Roland stood in the smoking ruins of a shattered planet, laser fire slicing across the sky. His cloak was torn, his armor scorched, but he kept marching—leading a ragged line of rebel fighters against the brutal Empress who had conquered half the galaxy.

She was ruthless. Seductive. Unstoppable.

And she looked like Yunjin.

She descended from her obsidian ship in heels that clacked like gunfire, hips swaying, her black bodysuit form-fitting and glinting with celestial runes. A long cape fluttered behind her, and a glowing scepter pulsed with power in her grip.

Roland raised his blade. “Your reign ends here.”

Yunjin smiled, dark and honeyed. “Does it, my little rebel?”

She walked toward him slowly, her voice a velvet trap. “You’re so tired of fighting, aren’t you? I could give you everything—comfort, control, a warm bed, my lips on your neck while the stars burn around us.”

He gritted his teeth—but his weapon wavered.

She stepped closer, fingers brushing his jaw. “Let me show you how much sweeter surrender can be.”

His mouth opened to argue, but nothing came. Only heat. Only her.

And her whisper: “Be mine, Roland.”

For Yunjin her dream was grounded stood in a recording studio, frustrated and flustered.

The producer was brilliant. Genius-level frustrating.

And he looked like Roland.

Headphones hung around his neck as he scrubbed through their latest track, tweaking beats, muttering to himself about cadence and meaning and “emotional throughlines.” His hoodie sleeves were pushed up to reveal inked forearms and calloused fingers that tapped across the control board with maddening precision.

“Can you just trust the melody for once?” Yunjin groaned, leaning against the vocal booth’s glass. “It’s not all angst and tension, you know.”

Roland didn’t even glance up. “Angst and tension is what sells.”

“But this song is about longing.”

“I am longing,” he shot back, voice low and intense. “You think I work this hard for nothing?”

Their eyes locked.

Something softened in her. The admiration, the heat, the way his shoulders moved when he played with a synth pad—it all hit her at once. She stepped into the booth with him, closer than she needed to be.

“I hate how good you are at this,” she murmured.

“You love it.”

She flushed. “Maybe.”

He looked at her, really looked. “Then sing it for me. The way only you can.”

Her heart fluttered. He made her feel like she mattered—not just as an idol, but as an artist.

And something in her—deep and aching—wanted to stay in that booth forever.

In the real world, their fingers curled tighter around each other in sleep. Roland’s lips parted as he mumbled, “…Your reign ends…kiss me again…”

Yunjin shifted closer with a soft hum, whispering into his shoulder, “…Play it one more time…only for you…”

Ureni glowed faintly beneath them. The stars flickered above like a thousand unspoken wishes, and the curse pulsed once—soft, dreamy, content.

For now.

Morning light spilled in soft and golden through the camper windows, filtering through gauzy curtains and casting warm streaks across the sleeping forms inside.

Roland stirred first.

His eyes cracked open, lids heavy, brain slow to catch up. For a moment, the dream—galactic war and velvet-tongued empresses—still clung to his consciousness like dew.

Then he felt her.

Yunjin, curled against him in perfect trust, her breath brushing his collarbone, her legs tangled with his. Her fingers had unconsciously woven into his hoodie as if anchoring herself there.

His breath hitched faintly. He looked down, saw the way her face softened in sleep—unguarded, peaceful, even cute. Something in him melted.

Instead of rising, he shifted, pulling her in tighter, arm curling protectively around her waist. His eyes fluttered shut again.

Later…

The peace was broken by the sharp buzz of Roland’s phone skittering across the nearby countertop.

He groaned, reluctant, and peeled himself away from Yunjin’s warmth like it physically hurt. She grumbled something unintelligible, but didn’t wake.

He grabbed the phone, already knowing who it was.

“Yo, you awake?” came Leo’s voice, far too chipper for the hour.

Roland rubbed his eyes. “Good morning, Mr. Valdez.”

“Eugh. Don’t ever say that to me again.”

“Just a little revenge for asking me a dumb question,” Roland muttered, leaning on the counter with a smirk.

Leo laughed. “Hey, for all I know, your girlfriend could’ve picked up. I’m just trying to be polite.”

Roland had a reply—several, actually—but he let it go. Progress.

“Is the Strongjaw ready?”

“Yessir,” Leo replied. “Fully charged, freshly warded, and weaponized with your weird little custom requests.”

“Great. I’ll pick it up after breakfast.”

“Looking forward to it. And hey—congrats on the soft launch,” Leo teased before hanging up.

Roland just groaned, tossing the phone onto the couch before heading into the small kitchenette. He didn’t bother changing out of his hoodie. Just cracked eggs into a pan, chopped peppers, grated cheese. Something simple. Familiar. The smell of butter and toasted bread began to fill the air.

Behind him, still on the lying on Ureni, Yunjin stirred. Her arm reached out automatically for the warmth she no longer felt—and came up empty.

Her heart clenched. Not panic, not sadness. Just…absence. A longing she didn’t expect.

The scent of omelets pulled her up.

She padded into the kitchen, hair messy, voice still thick with sleep. “You cook too?”

Before Roland could answer, the curse struck.

“God, you’d make such a good househusband,” Yunjin said suddenly, blinking like the words had bypassed her brain. “You cook and clean and make your place feel so… safe. The earthy tones, the natural materials—it feels alive.”

Roland raised an eyebrow, but slid a plate her way along with a mug of coffee, already fixed the way she liked it.

Yunjin took a bite and groaned. “You got my order perfect.”

And again, the curse dug deeper.

“I wish I could get you pregnant,” she said casually, then froze as the words hit her own ears. “Like… take care of my good boy while he carries my babies.”

Roland looked up at that, clearly stunned, but said nothing.

Yunjin’s gaze flicked to his face. She noticed something new—his usually amethyst-toned eye marks had shifted. The edges had tinges of teal now, the glow subtle but distinctly different. Even the ring around his irises had changed hue.

She opened her mouth to ask—but stopped. Whatever it was, he wasn’t ready to talk about it. So she just ate, admiring how focused he looked as he plated his own meal with calm efficiency.

He sat next to her instead of across, shoulder gently resting into hers as he started eating.

“You’re so clingy,” Yunjin teased softly.

And then, like a sigh, the curse let another truth slip from her lips.

“Is everything okay, jagiya? You always look so tired…”

Roland blinked at the term of endearment, but didn’t call it out. He just gave a small smile.

“Just the ADHD crash,” he said, nudging his egg with his fork. “If I’m not locked in on something, my brain just tries to power down.”

Yunjin snorted. “Don’t worry. After this quest, I’ll keep you up all night.”

Roland’s head snapped up. Yunjin’s face was quickly going crimson.

She stared at her plate. “I—I didn’t mean like—okay, maybe I did, but shut up—”

He chuckled and bumped her shoulder lightly with his own. “Well, obviously you’re the first girl who’s matched my freak. Of course I melted. Doesn’t make me a sub.”

“No,” Yunjin said, grinning now. “But it does make you mine.”

They both flushed at that—but neither corrected it.

They finished breakfast in a kind of cozy silence, sitting close enough to feel the beat of each other’s hearts, like a rhythm only they could hear. The curse simmered in the background, gentle for now.

But it wasn’t done.

Yunjin insisted on driving to the garage where Leo had stowed the Strongjaw, citing the most ridiculous reason possible.

“So once this quest is over,” she said, flicking on the turn signal with a flick of her wrist, “I can ditch you as fast as possible.”

The curse didn’t let that one hang.

“I wanna get all dolled up for you, take you on a date, then show you off like my hot little prize.”

Roland blinked slowly. “That’s… a leap.”

She gave him a smug little smirk. “Didn’t say I’d actually do it. Just said I wanted to.”

He didn’t answer, but the smirk tugging at his lips said enough.

The drive stretched on under a warm spring sun. They passed through a patch of tall wildflowers bending in the wind. Yunjin, never one to tolerate silence for too long, glanced at him again.

“Jagiya,” she said playfully, the nickname slipping out too easily, “you’ve been so quiet. Is everything okay?”

Roland opened his mouth to shrug it off.

But the curse had other plans.

“You remind me of Maki from Jujutsu Kaisen,” he said flatly, and then immediately grimaced.

Yunjin lit up. “Oh my god, that’s so hot. She’s literally the coolest. Why is that a problem?”

Roland sighed. “Because I see myself as Yuta. All tragic loyalty and too much power and no idea what to do with it. I don’t know what that means for us.”

Yunjin let out a proud, almost musical laugh, her hand briefly slapping the steering wheel. “You really aren’t beating the sub allegations, jagi. Also—thank you. Also, also, you’re an Aquarius. Of course you don’t know what to do with your feelings. They’re like a tidal wave in a wine glass.”

“That feels like a gross oversimplification of my internal process,” Roland muttered, looking out the window.

Yunjin glanced sideways again. Her expression softened. “Okay, but seriously. What’s going on? You’re… different today. Muted. Focused. Yesterday you were expressive and loud and flirty and—don’t say it was the curse. That was still you.”

He exhaled and didn’t fight the pull this time. “We’re about to go on a quest,” he said. “And I need to be clear-headed to make sure you don’t die.”

The way he said it wasn’t romantic. It was factual. Grounded. Like he’d already considered every way things could go wrong.

Yunjin’s hands tightened on the wheel. “I appreciate it, really. But you don’t need to protect me like that. I can take care of myself.”

Roland didn’t hesitate. “That doesn’t change anything. You’re my responsibility. I won’t let any harm come to you.”

Yunjin blinked, stunned. Her throat tightened—but she didn’t have a response.

They finished the rest of the drive in silence. Not cold. Not angry.

Just tense, charged, and quietly intimate.

Like something between them had shifted again.

And neither of them knew what to do with that yet. They arrived to Leo’s Garage in silence as Yunjin smiled as she saw The Strongjaw.

The Strongjaw wasn’t just a ship. It was a floating beast of metal, solar panels, and sleek hybrid design—half magic, half tech, all Leo Valdez chaos.

When Roland and Yunjin pulled into the gravel lot outside the makeshift garage—really more of an aircraft hangar with vines growing through the ceiling—Leo was already waiting with a shop rag over his shoulder, goggles on his forehead, and an energy drink in one hand.

“Well well well,” Leo said with a grin. “If it isn’t the galaxy’s hottest power couple.”

“We’re not a couple,” Roland and Yunjin said at the same time.

The curse didn’t care.

Yunjin added, entirely against her will, “Although we do have incredible sexual tension. Just magnetic, really.”

Roland didn’t blink. “You’re not wrong.”

Leo wiggled his eyebrows. “Love that for you.”

Roland stepped out of the car and gave the Strongjaw a slow once-over, nodding with approval. “You really did it.”

“Course I did. You think I take commissions for fun? Okay, yes, sometimes I do. But yours was special.” Leo looked at Yunjin, then back at Roland. “I knew you’d need it. Big feelings quest? Big ship energy.”

Yunjin walked around the side of the ship, admiring the glowing runes etched into the hull. “This is seriously amazing. It looks like it could punch a hole in the moon.”

“It probably could,” Leo said casually. “But don’t try it. The moon has, like, a union.”

Roland turned to Leo. “Weapons?”

“Loaded. Hidden. And voice-activated. I even installed a coffee maker.”

“Bless you.”

Leo was about to respond when Yunjin stretched lazily and sighed, “Roland looks so good when he gets serious. All quiet and tactical. It’s like watching a wolf figure out how to steal a lamb.”

Roland didn’t even flinch. “You callin’ yourself a lamb now?”

“I’m calling myself whatever you wanna devour,” she said before slapping a hand over her mouth.

Leo burst out laughing. “I love curses. This is great content.”

Roland turned to Leo with deadpan delivery: “You done?”

“Nope,” Leo said brightly. “But I am gonna give you the keys before you two start making out on the landing ramp.”

He tossed the enchanted ignition crystal to Roland, who caught it one-handed.

“Fuel’s full, weapons charged, ship AI’s a little sarcastic, but she likes you already.”

Yunjin was still frozen, visibly trying to stop herself from blurting something else out.

“Thanks,” Roland said. “We’ll take good care of her.”

“You better,” Leo said, backing away. “Because if you crash that beauty while making cursed honeymoon eyes at each other, I will haunt you.”

“Noted,” Roland replied.

They boarded the Strongjaw, tension simmering between them like an unspoken promise and a ticking time bomb.

And they hadn’t even left the garage yet. The Strongjaw purred to life like a beast roused from slumber. Roland moved through the ship’s control deck with a familiar ease—checking gauges, flipping levers, calibrating the navigation glyphs that hummed with celestial power. The sky outside the garage’s retractable dome flickered with early morning light, bathing the metal panels in gold.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he muttered to the ship, “Let’s see if Leo didn’t screw up the ether thrusters again.”

Yunjin stood at the edge of the deck with crossed arms and an impressed expression. “You really talk to your ship like it’s your girlfriend?”

Roland shot her a smirk over his shoulder. “She listens better.”

Moments later, the Strongjaw lifted into the sky with a deep mechanical groan, slicing through the clouds like a shark breaching water. The world below grew smaller—rolling hills, shimmering rivers, the sprawling grounds of the country club now nothing more than memory.

They cruised at altitude, engines steady and wings wide. The cockpit quieted, save for the soft hum of flight and occasional ping of celestial readings. Yunjin spun a chair around and sat backward in it, pulling out her phone.

“Alright, if we’re gonna be stuck in this flying tin can for days, we need a playlist,” she said.

“Already got one,” Roland replied without looking up from the wheel.

Yunjin raised a brow. “Oh really? What’s on it? Just screaming and the occasional haunted banjo?”

But then the first song played.

It was “Gnarly” by Katseye—the exact song they’d bickered about during the statue unveiling. Yunjin blinked in surprise as the catchy synths pulsed through the ship’s speakers.

“Wait, you put this on here?”

Roland shrugged. “It grew on me.”

The next track rolled in. It was “Fire in My Heart”, a Le Sserafim B-side—one Yunjin had written during a lonely winter tour. Her eyes widened.

“You know this one?”

“I like the bridge. The way the chords twist under the melody—it feels… honest.”

More songs followed: blues riffs dripping with grit, ancient folk ballads about star-crossed lovers, grimy techno, a protest rap in three languages, and even a twinkling indie pop track that sounded like hope on a rainy day. Then came another Le Sserafim song—“Run Wild.” Another one she’d written. Another one she’d poured herself into.

“You’ve been stalking my discography, haven’t you?” Yunjin teased, trying to sound casual but failing to hide the fondness in her voice.

“Maybe,” Roland said, not looking at her. “Or maybe I just like the way your songs make me feel seen. You don’t write like a pop star. You write like someone who’s been through it and came out swinging.”

The cockpit fell silent for a beat.

Yunjin smiled softly, watching the clouds roll past below. “You’re full of surprises, Aquarius.”

“And you’re still loud for someone who writes such emotionally devastating lyrics.”

They shared a look. The kind that lingered just a little too long. Then Yunjin hit shuffle again. They floated somewhere over the Great Lakes, the sky vast and blue outside the curved viewpanels. Inside, the Strongjaw glided on autopilot, the systems humming quietly underfoot while the playlist shifted to something slow—soft R&B with a groove that slinked like honey over silk.

Yunjin, sprawled across the worn captain’s couch, drummed her fingers along her thigh. She turned her head toward Roland, who was finishing a check on the stabilizers with his usual focused frown.

She smirked. “You know, for someone who listens to this kind of music, you dance like a retired gladiator.”

Roland arched a brow, arms crossed. “And you would know this how?”

“I’ve seen you avoid the dance circle like it was cursed.”

“Maybe I was waiting for someone worth dancing with.”

The silence that followed was thick and glittering.

The music pulsed on—slow bass, vocal runs curling like incense.

Yunjin stood.

“Okay, Mr. ‘Maybe,’ prove it.” She held out a hand. “Dance with me.”

Roland hesitated, a flicker of nerves in his shoulders. But then—maybe because of the curse, or maybe because the air between them was already thick with everything they weren’t saying—he took her hand.

Their bodies found a rhythm almost too easily.

It wasn’t a practiced choreography, just the slow rocking of two people standing too close with nowhere else to look but at each other. Roland’s hands found her hips. Yunjin’s arms slid around his neck, fingertips brushing the edge of his braids.

He leaned down slightly. She leaned up.

“Not bad, gladiator,” she murmured. “Didn’t know you had this in you.”

“Neither did I,” Roland replied quietly. “But you make it… easy.”

The song spun on, and their steps got smaller, slower, like they were afraid to break the spell.

Yunjin rested her forehead against his. Her voice was a whisper.

“I’ve never felt this kind of tension and comfort at the same time.”

Roland closed his eyes. “That’s what you do to people. You disarm them while making them want to fight for you.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she considered kissing him again.

But then her stomach growled loudly.

Roland pulled back and laughed. “I guess that’s our cue.”

She pouted. “Way to ruin the moment.”

“Lunch first. More dancing later.”

Yunjin gave him a mock salute as she turned toward the galley. “Fine. But next time I pick the song.”

“Deal,” he said, still watching her, still wondering when exactly she’d become the gravity center of his whole sky. Lunch on the Strongjaw was simple—grilled paninis with thick-cut ham and cheese, a little bowl of fruit each, and cold barley tea that Roland had made without fanfare. The ship’s galley wasn’t big, but with the sunlight slanting through the wide observation windows, it felt like a quiet haven in the sky.

Yunjin sat cross-legged on the built-in bench, her hair loosely tied up, cheeks still flushed from the dancing they’d done just moments before. Roland slid into the seat across from her with easy calm and handed her a plate.

“Thanks, jagiya,” she said, teasing, but with a real softness behind it.

Roland gave a small nod and started eating.

A few bites in, the curse stirred.

“You’d make a good husband,” Yunjin said suddenly, blinking mid-bite. “Like, really good. You cook, you clean, you know how to hold a baby—probably. Also you’re stupid hot when you get serious. That’s got to count for something.”

Roland glanced up. He didn’t smile. He didn’t flinch. He just… took another bite of his sandwich.

Yunjin blinked. “Okay, what the hell?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“You didn’t fluster. You didn’t blush. You didn’t immediately blurt out something unhinged about my thighs or my dominance or how you want me to peg you under a full moon—what gives?”

That got a short laugh out of him, but it was low, distant.

“You haven’t really been hit by the curse today,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Not like yesterday. Not like…me.”

He sighed, leaning back. “It’s not that I’m immune. It’s just… this always happens when I’m on a quest.”

“What does?”

Roland glanced toward the window, watching clouds drift past as the ship hummed steadily through the sky. “I don’t shut down, exactly. But my brain reroutes everything. All my energy goes toward planning, anticipating risk, staying aware. There’s no room for big emotions. They just… get quiet.”

“So…you stop feeling?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “I stop feeling loudly. I don’t forget the feelings exist. They just wait in the background until the mission’s done.”

Yunjin stared at him, something twisting in her chest. It wasn’t that he was avoiding her. He just… wasn’t fully there. Not in the same way as before.

“So the curse doesn’t have any big emotions to amplify,” she muttered, finally piecing it together. “Meanwhile, I’m over here blurting out full fantasy scenarios and domestic dreams because I can’t stop feeling everything loudly.”

Roland gave her a faint, almost guilty smile. “Yeah.”

The silence that followed wasn’t tense—it was heavy. Not with resentment, but with understanding. Yunjin let it sit before she leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm.

“You don’t have to carry the whole quest in your head, you know,” she said, quiet now. “I’m here too. I’m not just… the emotional support girlfriend the gods threw in to mess with you.”

His eyes flicked to hers. The ship groaned faintly underfoot.

“I know,” he said. “That’s the problem.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You’re not just support. You’re… special. And I can’t afford to lose you out here. No one gets me like you do and while I know you can protect yourself my heart overrides my knowledge and says, “you have to be smarter and faster than her so she can be safe” .So yeah. I put my feelings on mute. I focus on the mission. Because that’s how I keep you alive.”

Yunjin’s throat tightened. The curse had nothing to do with what he said—she could tell. It came out too clean. Too honest.

For once, she had nothing clever to say.

So instead, she reached across the table and rested her hand lightly on his.

They sat in silence, drifting gently through the sky—one of them ruled by a chaos of feeling, the other bracing to keep it all at bay.

As they passed deeper into Siren territory, the air grew thicker—glimmering with gold dust, the wind shifting in unnatural rhythms like breath between whispered words. The first notes of the Sirens’ song began to snake through the sky, haunting and elegant, brushing against Yunjin’s magical earpieces with the faintest tickle of temptation.

She tightened her jaw, focused on the gauges—until she realized something strange.

Roland wasn’t wearing earplugs.

At first, she thought he’d forgotten. But then she noticed his body language: calm, unhurried, and utterly unaffected. He was scanning the dials, adjusting trajectory, fingers tapping to the beat of some silent rhythm in his head. Completely unbothered by the Sirens that hovered just outside the ship.

“Wait,” she asked, squinting at him. “Why aren’t you wearing earplugs?”

He barely glanced up. “Sirens don’t affect me.”

“…Are you deaf?”

Roland smirked faintly. “Nah. It’s the whole ‘emotional detachment during quests’ thing. Everything in my head quiets down. Muted desire, dulled instinct. Can’t tempt what isn’t reacting.”

Yunjin was about to call him full of it—until the shadows shifted.

Teval manifested without warning, descending from the upper deck in a slow, menacing spiral. The massive dragon coiled itself protectively around Roland’s torso and legs like smoke made solid. Its black and teal scales shimmered with impossible depth, and its piercing eyes locked onto Yunjin with measured suspicion.

Her breath hitched.

The dragon wasn’t roaring, wasn’t posturing—but somehow, that made it more terrifying. Like it knew it didn’t have to try.

And Roland?

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even blink.

“He does that sometimes,” he said casually, as if commenting on the weather.

Yunjin stared. “You’re… so weird.”

“Wouldn’t be wrong.”

As the Strongjaw cruised over the Siren Isles, ethereal beings floated up from the sea, their translucent bodies gliding effortlessly through the sky. They sang—beautifully, tragically, dangerously. Their voices would’ve broken her down if not for the wards. But Roland?

He chatted with them.

Chatted.

Adjusted the wind rig. Tightened a bolt. Made a crack about their harmony needing work.

And they… listened.

Yunjin leaned back, arms crossed, watching him through narrowed eyes.

But the more she watched, the more her perspective shifted.

At first glance, Roland always seemed loud. Flashy. Smart-mouthed and proud. The kind of guy who’d crash a party just to liven it up.

But now… watching him drift from station to station, his gaze sharp and unreadable, his aura impossibly still… she saw something else.

Something older. Something deeper.

She remembered stories.

Whispers from other campers about Roland’s quests. How he fought monsters with brutal precision, but never for glory. How he stayed up nights tending to wounded teammates. How he nearly died dragging a kid out of a collapsing temple, not because it was heroic—but because someone had to. Because no one else could.

People called him reckless. Hot-headed.

But now she saw the truth:

Roland wasn’t reckless.

He was protective.

Loud when it helped others feel safe. Dismissive to keep fear at bay. Brash because it made people laugh—even when he was breaking inside.

Underneath all the flirt and fire, Roland was nurturing. Grounded. Constant.

A boy born of war and art, carrying the weight of his friends like it was muscle memory.

And when he wasn’t carrying others?

He carried silence.

She blinked, chest tightening as the realization sank in.

No wonder the Sirens can’t touch him. There’s nothing in him to tempt when he’s like this. No open wounds. Just resolve.

Yunjin felt the curse try to rise, but it fizzled for once—not because she was resisting, but because there was something more powerful than the spell in that moment:

Understanding.

She let herself look at him a little longer, just watching the way Teval curled tighter whenever the Sirens got too close, the way Roland’s fingers moved like they were born to fly this ship.

And quietly, to herself, she whispered:

“…You’re not a storm. You’re a lighthouse.”

The moment the Strongjaw cleared the last shimmer of Siren territory, the pressure in the air broke like a wave. The unnatural silence lifted, replaced by the soft hum of the ship and the whispering winds that always followed it. Teval uncoiled from around Roland like a shadow slipping off a candle, leaving him with a small nod before vanishing into the ether.

Roland, as always, moved with quiet efficiency—checking stabilizers, logging their heading, adjusting the energy core settings with that focused, distant air Yunjin was starting to recognize too well.

And it was driving her insane.

She leaned against the railing near the galley hatch, arms crossed tightly, her whole body a live wire. The curse buzzed through her bloodstream like heat lightning, tugging on everything unsaid. Her heart felt too big for her chest.

She watched Roland pause at a control panel, brow slightly furrowed, his mouth set in that impassive line.

He didn’t even look tired.

He looked… unreachable.

And something inside her snapped.

“Roland,” she said sharply.

He turned, eyebrow raised.

She didn’t give him time to ask anything. She strode over, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him into the galley. He didn’t resist—just followed, curious and composed, letting the door close behind them with a soft hiss.

“What’s—”

“I can’t do this,” she interrupted, her voice shaking. “I can’t pretend I’m okay with you just shutting off like this. I know you think you’re being smart. Efficient. Whatever. But I see you, Roland. I feel you.”

The curse surged up inside her like a tsunami, and the words spilled out of her mouth, unfiltered, raw, and burning:

“I want to dominate you, Roland. I want to cuddle you and kiss every part of you and make you feel so fucking safe that you never have to be cold like this again. I want to take care of you. Worship you. Make you let go. Make you need. You walk around so guarded and muted, and I get it—but please, just…”

Her voice cracked.

“Please let me in. Just once. Let me see the part of you that’s scared. Let me be your safe place. You don’t have to be a fortress with me, jagiya.”

Roland didn’t speak right away.

He looked at her—really looked. His eyes, still edged with that deep teal ring, flickered as if something ancient and exhausted was stirring beneath the surface.

And then, for a breathless second, she saw it.

The tiniest fracture in the armor. A flicker of vulnerability in his expression so brief and naked it made her heart squeeze.

He reached up, fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face, his touch almost reverent. His voice, when it came, was low and quiet.

“I don’t know how to let go… without falling apart.”

Yunjin stepped closer, cupping his jaw with one hand, thumb stroking over his cheek.

“Then fall apart with me.”

She kissed him then—not wild or desperate like before, but slow and deep, like a promise. Roland melted into it, one hand gripping the edge of the table, the other curling around her waist as if afraid she’d vanish.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The hum of the ship, the distant sky around them, the curse—none of it mattered in that moment. Just skin, and breath, and closeness.

When they finally pulled apart, foreheads pressed together, Yunjin whispered:

“You don’t have to be strong every second, Roland. You’re not alone anymore.”

He closed his eyes.

And this time, he didn’t shut down.

Later that day, the Strongjaw sliced through the clouds like a blade, steady and swift. The sun filtered in through the stained-glass panels Yunjin had insisted on installing for “vibe reasons,” casting soft reds, greens, and purples across the deck.

Roland leaned back in the pilot’s chair, one hand lazily steering, the other sipping from a cold canned coffee. His earlier intensity had softened into something looser, lighter. The moment in the galley had shaken something loose—he could feel it in his chest like a door cracked slightly ajar.

The ship’s playlist was shuffling gently through the music they’d curated together. It was an eclectic mix—folk, techno, metal, blues, and sprinkled in between, the unmistakable sound of K-pop.

Then the first synth notes of “Crazy” by LE SSERAFIM hit the speakers.

Yunjin’s head popped up from behind a stack of charts. She blinked once. Then, her grin stretched across her whole face.

“Oh, it’s on.”

Without missing a beat, she bounded into the center of the deck, her energy completely unhinged as she began belting out her parts—loudly. Too loudly. It wasn’t that she was off-key (never that), but she was singing with the abandon of someone performing in their bedroom mirror with a hairbrush mic and no one watching.

Roland chuckled, glancing back at her. “You done pretending you’re subtle, now?”

Yunjin twirled dramatically, finger pointed at him like she was on stage. “Excuse me, sir, this is called artistry.”

He laughed under his breath, and for once it wasn’t sardonic—it was warm. “You sound like you’re trying to summon a demon with vocal runs.”

“That’s just my power, jagiya,” she said, already diving into the next verse, voice full of playful fire.

Roland tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in rhythm, nodding along despite himself. And when the chorus came, he actually joined in—quiet, gruff, and slightly off tempo, but trying.

Yunjin froze mid-spin. “Did you just sing with me?”

Roland shrugged, eyes on the sky. “Maybe.”

“You’re a closet fan.”

“No I'm pretty open, about being a fan ask Oliver. You wrote good music. That song hits.”

Yunjin clutched her heart in mock agony. “I swear to the gods, if you weren’t so dense and annoying, I’d marry you on the spot for saying that.”

Roland just smirked. “Too bad I’m dumb. Now you’ve got a real dilemma.”

“UGH,” she groaned, flopping onto the bench beside him, flushed and laughing. “I hate how much I like you.”

“Blame the curse.”

“Don’t care.”

They sat there, cruising through the sky, Yunjin still softly singing the bridge under her breath while Roland kept steering, the edges of his lips curved just slightly.

For once, the world didn’t feel heavy. Just music, teasing, and the open sky.

As they continued their quest, the weight of the journey finally caught up to them. With the sky darkening to deep indigo and Ureni purring quietly atop the deck, they decided to rest. Roland pulled a blanket from the cabin while Yunjin gathered a mess of pillows. They laid them out beneath the stars, nestled together in a little cocoon of softness and warmth.

The night air was cool, brushing over them like whispers, and as they cuddled, Yunjin glanced up at Roland’s stiff jaw, the tension coiled in his shoulders.

“You’ve been tense all day,” she said, brushing her fingers over his hand. “What’s going on in that overclocked brain of yours?”

Roland sighed, deeply. “I don’t know. I guess… I’ve always felt like I had to over-perform. I’m not a demigod or a magician. No divine inheritance. Just raw skill and willpower. So if I’m going to survive in a world like this, I have to be the best. That means leading, protecting, guiding… even when no one listens.”

Yunjin groaned softly in empathy. “Tell me about it. I’m not even the oldest in Le Sserafim, but I swear I have to ‘unnie’ everybody 24/7. And then they roast me for the smallest things. I love them, but… sometimes I wanna punch the group chat.”

“But you’re perfectly happy being a mommy?” Roland teased.

Yunjin smirked and climbed over him with a dangerous gleam in her eyes, straddling him in one fluid motion. “Just because I want you to submit to me doesn’t mean I wanna lead everything,” she murmured, pinning his wrists to his sides. “There’s a difference.”

She leaned down and kissed him—not hot and wild like her posture implied, but slow, tender, and full of weight. It lasted only seconds, but when she pulled away, Roland’s breath hitched.

She rolled off him with a victorious little grin. “Good night, jagi.”

Roland groaned into the pillow.

As they drifted into sleep they found The air tasted like static.

Roland stood inside a chamber carved from a black hole’s edge—walls rippling with starlight and shadow. Chains of light hung loosely around his arms. Not tight enough to restrain. Just symbolic enough to insult.

Empress Yunjin entered with the slow, predatory confidence of someone who owned the space. Her robe was embroidered with supernovas, her crown like a halo of moonlit daggers.

“They’re not coming for you, jagi,” she said. “But that’s fine. You were never meant to follow. You were always meant to rule.”

She snapped her fingers. A throne of obsidian and dying stars surged from the floor behind her. She sat and crossed one leg over the other, watching him like he was both prey and consort.

Roland looked away—but not fast enough to hide the longing in his eyes.

“Oh no,” Yunjin purred, stretching her leg out and tilting his chin back with her heel. “Look at me. You think I don’t see the warlord in you? That old shadow pacing behind your eyes?”

He clenched his jaw. “That part of me ruins things. It’s not who I want to be.”

“It’s exactly who you are,” she whispered. “And I adore him. The commander. The voidmancer. The part of you that doesn’t apologize for power.”

She stood and walked a slow circle around him, trailing her fingers across his chest. “You wear the mask of control so well. But I want the real you. The one that dreams of conquering not because he must—but because he can.”

Roland’s breath quickened. His body betrayed him before his voice did.

“You could stand beside me,” she said, lips brushing his ear. “Not beneath. Not above. Beside. We would raze empires. Command gods. Shake the sky until stars fell from fear.”

He didn’t answer. Not aloud. But his eyes… they burned now. Not with rage, but with something deeper.

Desire.

Yunjin kissed him again, slower this time. Not to seduce—but to unlock.

“Let it out,” she whispered. “Don’t protect me from your truth. I want the whole fire.”

Golden lotus petals floated lazily through the air. Yunjin found herself in a grand temple open to a sky that bled soft pink and amber. The cushions were plush. The air sweet. And seated before her was Hathor, reclining like she owned the concept of leisure.

“You’re falling,” the goddess said with a smile, sipping honey-wine. “And not gently.”

Yunjin flopped dramatically onto a pillow beside her. “You think?”

Hathor hummed. “You love him. The tenderness, the bravery. But mostly, you love that he’s a mystery even to himself.”

Yunjin’s fingers curled into the silk beneath her. “He shuts down on quests. Not like he’s hiding—more like… he disappears. Everything warm about him goes cold. But sometimes, I see flashes—rage, ambition, heat. And I think: that is the part he fears I’ll run from.”

“But you run toward it,” Hathor said softly.

“I want to touch that part. The one that wants to dominate, protect, destroy. I want him to know it’s safe with me. All of him is.”

Hathor leaned forward, placing a hand over Yunjin’s. “You’re not afraid of the warlord. That’s rare.”

Yunjin’s eyes misted. “I don’t want him to be alone in his fire. I want to step into it with him. Kiss him inside the storm. Let him know I’m not made of glass.”

“Then stop waiting for him to open the door,” Hathor whispered. “Sit beside his silence until he realizes it’s okay to speak.”

Yunjin exhaled shakily. “It hurts. Being this close and still feeling like he’s not all the way here.”

“Then remind him what’s waiting when he returns,” Hathor said with a wink.

Yunjin leaned back, eyes drifting closed. “I want to be the one he gives himself to… when no one else is watching.”

In the quiet of sleep, Yunjin’s fingers found Roland’s.

He stirred, murmuring her name like a plea. She, still drifting on dream-silk, whispered, “Let me in…”

Their bodies shifted closer.

Above the ship, the stars spun slower now, like they were listening.

The first blush of dawn crept across the ship’s deck in streaks of rose and amber, spilling over the tangled forms of Yunjin and Roland. The blanket had long since slipped off them, revealing the way their limbs had found each other in sleep—fingers entwined, legs brushed together, foreheads almost touching.

Yunjin stirred first, lashes fluttering as her mind clawed its way up from dream-soaked heat. Her body felt molten, her skin fevered, and her heart—gods, her heart was racing.

Roland.

She looked at him—his jaw tense even in sleep, lips parted slightly, his breath shallow and quickening. He was dreaming. Of her. She could feel it—like the residue of her own dream plus his was still coiling through the air between them. The Empress. The throne. The warlord beneath his skin. She could still feel his hunger like it had been hers.

And then his eyes snapped open.

For a heartbeat, they just stared at each other. Neither moved. Neither spoke. But something shifted.

The weight of the curse slammed into them like gravity suddenly remembered its job.

Yunjin launched forward first, her fingers tangling in the collar of his shirt as her lips crashed into his. Roland groaned into the kiss, hand immediately coming up to cup the back of her neck, pulling her in deeper, closer, tighter. There was no hesitation, no gentleness—just raw, pent-up need.

Her legs slipped over his hips, straddling him again like last night—but this time, there was no teasing smirk. Just hunger. Desperation. Worship.

Roland’s hands gripped her waist, grounding himself through the press of her body against his. She kissed him like she was tasting something she’d been denied for too long, and he returned it like he didn’t care if it burned him alive.

“I dreamed of you,” she whispered against his lips. “Of your power. Your fire. You were caged… but you wanted out.”

“I dreamed of you,” Roland growled back. “Commanding me. Tempting me to give in. You saw all of me—and didn’t flinch.”

Yunjin shivered. “I don’t want pieces of you. I want all of you. Even the part you keep locked behind those eyes.”

Her hips shifted against his, pulling a sharp gasp from his throat.

“And I want you,” he panted. “Not the sweet kiss goodnight. The real you. The one who wants to pin me down and take everything she’s been denied.”

She moaned, deep and low, and kissed him again, this time slower but just as intense. Their mouths danced—lips, teeth, tongues—breathless and aching. Roland rolled with her, flipping them so he hovered above now, forearm braced beside her head.

But even in that position, Yunjin smiled, triumphant.

“You’re still holding back,” she whispered.

“So are you,” he whispered back.

They kissed again, slower now, tasting, exploring, savoring. It wasn’t soft—but it was honest. Their bodies moved together like magnets starved of touch.

And for a few stolen moments beneath the rising sun, the curse wasn’t a curse.

It was permission.

Permission to want. To need. To burn. They arrived at the temple ruins not long after, the curse continuing to ravage their bodies and hearts.

The temple ruin groaned as the last seal broke, light flooding out in a brilliant pulse of aether and stardust. Roland and Yunjin stood in the center of it, flushed, sweating, hair wild and singed at the edges. The artifact—an obsidian relic shaped like a blooming lotus, humming with divine energy—floated between them, glowing faintly.

“We got it,” Roland said, voice hoarse.

Yunjin nodded, breathless. “Yeah. We did. Cool. Great. Amazing. Now let’s get the fuck out of here before I pin you to the wall and start worshipping your neck with my mouth.”

There was a beat of silence.

Roland blinked. “…That wasn’t supposed to come out loud, was it?”

Yunjin groaned and slapped a hand over her mouth. “Nope. Nope. This is so bad.”

“Right. To the ship.” Roland grabbed the artifact, then grabbed her hand without thinking—and she gasped like he’d kissed her again.

“Oh my gods, your fingers are so long—and strong—you could ruin me in like four different positions—ugh, stop, shut up brain, shut up brain!”

They sprinted back through the jungle ruins, dodging vines and traps and wild magical feedback, both of them red-faced, panting, and muttering wild confessions they couldn’t stop.

“Your thighs should be illegal,” Roland growled as they vaulted a broken wall.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve imagined you calling me mommy—AGH! I hate this curse!”

“I’d let you step on me. Just once. Maybe twice.”

“I want to tie you down and read poetry to you while you whimper.”

“Yunjin, please!”

They burst back onto the deck of the Strongjaw in a flurry of limbs and longing, tossing the artifact into the containment shrine as Roland slammed the launch panel. The ship shuddered to life, engines roaring like a warcry.

Yunjin strapped herself in, cheeks bright red. “Don’t look at me. If you look at me I’ll say something about how your voice makes me want to sin.”

Roland flicked switches furiously. “I’m not looking. I’m not looking. You’re literally perfect but I am not looking.”

They shot through the clouds like a rocket, tearing back across the sea toward the Legionary Country Club, the skies shaking as Teval coiled around the ship to guide the fastest possible path. Yunjin swore she could hear the dragon laughing.

“You’re so unfair,” Roland muttered under his breath. “You’re smart, and hot, and powerful, and all I wanna do is make you breakfast in the morning and then pin you to the kitchen counter.”

Yunjin let out a strangled sound.

“I wanna bake you cookies,” she hissed. “Like, every week. I want you to cry over how good they are. I want to ruin your life with baked goods and then smother you in kisses.”

A pause.

“…That sounds amazing actually,” Roland said.

“I know!” Yunjin cried. “Which is why we need to fix this now!”

The Strongjaw shot toward the club like a bullet of pure desperation, cursed with too much honesty, too much tension, and no more time for games.

As the country club rose into view, gleaming gold and marble under the rising sun, Roland and Yunjin stared at it like it was salvation.

“Do you think Aphrodite will actually lift it right away?” Roland asked.

“She better,” Yunjin growled. “Because if she doesn’t, I swear I will drag you into the nearest linen closet and do unspeakable things to you while listing every single thing I love about your stupid beautiful face—”

“I would not stop you,” Roland said through gritted teeth.

They didn’t even wait for the ship to fully land. The ramp dropped with a hiss, and they were sprinting across the marble steps before it hit the ground.

“APHRODITE!” they both yelled at the same time.

From inside, there was a delighted sigh.

“Well, that didn’t take long.”

The atrium of the Legionary Country Club was shimmering with magic. Aphrodite stood barefoot atop a pedestal of soft pink quartz, surrounded by a glowing circle of roses and silver sand. Her eyes sparkled with far too much satisfaction as Roland and Yunjin burst in like wild, panting animals.

“Back so soon?” she teased, tilting her head.

Roland nearly stumbled forward, cheeks flushed and jaw tense. “Take. The. Curse. Off. Now.”

Yunjin didn’t even speak. She just pointed wildly at her mouth, then at her head, then at Roland’s thighs like she didn’t trust herself to form real words.

Aphrodite sighed in faux disappointment. “Fine, fine. Though I do think it was working beautifully.” She raised a hand, and soft pink light flowed between them. “By my divine will, I release you from the binding of your hearts’ unspoken truths.”

The magic snapped like a thread stretched too far. Yunjin stumbled slightly, breath catching in her chest. Roland exhaled like he’d been holding something in for days.

Silence followed. Heavy. Tense. Everything was back to “normal”—but nothing felt normal anymore.

Because even without the curse… Their eyes locked. And everything was still there.

The heat. The hunger. The yearning. And now they didn’t have any magical excuse to blame it on.

Yunjin took one slow step forward. “So… that’s it? Curse’s gone?”

Roland nodded once, but his eyes didn’t leave hers. “Yeah.”

“Cool. So now I can kiss you because I want to. Not because I’m cursed.” Her voice was low and certain.

Roland’s voice dropped to match. “Yeah. Same here.”

And just like that, she surged forward—and he caught her mid-step. Their mouths crashed together like a spell in reverse. It wasn’t chaste. It wasn’t polite. It was a kiss that said you were mine before I admitted it and you’re mine now, and I’m not pretending otherwise.

Somewhere in the distance, a glass shattered.

Oliver dropped his smoothie. “Jesus Christ, it’s happening.”

Sakura gasped and clutched her pearls. “Oh my gods. It’s real. They’re in love.”

Chaewon whispered to Django, “Pay up. I told you they’d kiss first.”

The kiss finally broke, but neither of them moved far. Roland’s forehead rested against hers, hands tangled in the back of her hoodie. Yunjin’s fingers gripped his collar like she was scared he might disappear.

“I’m not scared anymore,” she whispered.

“I’m not holding back anymore,” he answered.

From the edge of the atrium, Aphrodite clapped slowly. “Finally. Now that is power couple energy.”

And from that moment on, no one dared to argue it.

Not with the way Roland looked at her like she was gravity.

Not with the way Yunjin stood beside him like she dared the world to try and pull them apart.

Later that day, the four of them gathered for lunch under a shaded veranda at the Legionary Country Club. The sun dappled through vines above, casting soft gold across the table. The food was good, but Yunjin couldn’t stop staring. Roland looked… relaxed. His shoulders weren’t rigid, his jaw wasn’t clenched. He still had that coiled fire in him, but now it radiated with purpose, not pressure. He was confident—still intense, still unpredictable—but grounded. Like he had finally accepted that he didn’t have to fight himself to be whole.

Yunjin’s heart fluttered. Then, in the middle of a conversation about Ureni’s growing ego, she leaned in with a sweet smile and purred, “When we get home, I’m gonna wrap my thighs around your neck and squeeze till you pass out.”

Roland didn’t flinch. He didn’t blush. He just raised an eyebrow mid-sentence and replied, “Promise?”

She bit her lip. Across the table, Sakura choked on her lemonade. “I thought the curse was gone!” she squeaked, eyes wide.

Roland nodded as he casually speared a piece of grilled chicken. “It is. I just still want Yunjin to make a mess of me.”

Yunjin’s voice dropped to a husky murmur. “Oh? Is that an invitation for me to sit on your face?”

He glanced at her with that lopsided grin that made her knees weak. “Only if you really do it.”

Yunjin batted her lashes like a vixen in heat. Roland laughed, low and wrecked. “Stop looking at me with those bedroom eyes.”

“What? It’s not my fault you look like a meal,” Yunjin said, pressing her leg along his under the table, slow and deliberate.

Oliver groaned into his salad. “Are you two just like this now? Intense and gross 24/7?”

Roland leaned back with an arm draped over Yunjin’s chair. “Only when it’s appropriate.”

Yunjin grinned wickedly. “Besides, we just got our brains back—we’re making up for lost time.”

Sakura whispered to Oliver, “They’re totally in love.”

Oliver replied dryly, “They’re totally insane.”

But when Roland looked at Yunjin and she looked back—like the universe stopped spinning just long enough for them to exist in each other’s gravity—it was clear to everyone at that table: they weren’t just a couple. They were a storm, a force of nature. And nothing was going to stand in their way now. The meal continued, but Roland didn’t. At least, not really. He pushed food around on his plate, made the occasional comment, even nodded when Oliver started ranting about the ethics of divine interference in pop music. But his eyes? Locked on Yunjin like she was a five-star entrée and he hadn’t eaten in days.

Yunjin noticed it immediately. The way his gaze dragged over her collarbones, paused at the curve of her waist, then dipped to where her legs crossed slowly under the table. She could feel it—his ravenous desire—not just in his stare but in the way his breathing hitched every time she shifted in her seat. It lit her up from the inside out.

So she leaned into it.

“I’ll be right back,” Yunjin said sweetly, standing from the table with the grace of a goddess on a mission. She stretched—just a little, just enough to make Roland’s jaw tighten—and then sauntered away toward the kitchen to grab more lemonade, hips swaying like the world was her runway.

Roland watched her go like a starving man watches the last piece of meat in the world walk away.

Sakura sipped her drink. “Do you need a minute, Romeo?”

Roland, still tracking Yunjin’s every step: “She knows exactly what she’s doing.”

Oliver stabbed his fork into his plate. “We know exactly what she’s doing. You’re not even blinking.”

“Why would I?” Roland murmured. “Look at her.”

Yunjin returned, a smug smile playing at her lips, her hips swinging with even more purpose now that she could feel the burn of Roland’s gaze devouring her. She set the pitcher down and leaned over to pour him a glass, whispering close to his ear, “You gonna keep staring at me like that or are you gonna take a bite?”

Roland’s eyes darkened. “You better hope I don’t.”

Yunjin gave him a wink before settling into her seat again, absolutely glowing. Her posture was a little taller now, her smile a little wider. It wasn’t just the curse, or the chemistry—it was pride. She felt sexy, powerful, wanted. And she had the man to prove it.

Sakura leaned toward Oliver. “They’re going to combust before dessert.”

Oliver didn’t even look up. “I give them ten minutes.”

Ten minutes passed.

Then fifteen.

By the time dessert hit the table—cherry tarts and strawberry mochi—Roland and Yunjin were in a full-blown flirtation death match that had Sakura looking for the nearest exit and Oliver massaging his temples like a man at the end of his patience.

Yunjin delicately licked a smudge of cream from her thumb, eyes locked on Roland as she said, “Mm. Sweet. But not as sweet as I know you are when you beg.”

Roland didn’t flinch. He leaned forward, forearms on the table, his voice low and dangerous. “You think you’re in control, Jagi. But you haven’t even seen what I’m like when I stop holding back.”

Yunjin’s breath hitched—just a little—but she covered it with a sultry laugh and reached over to wipe the corner of his mouth with her thumb. “Then maybe you should show me sometime. You know… if you’re not all talk.”

Roland caught her wrist gently, not enough to hurt, just enough to make her feel held. His eyes smoldered. “Careful. Keep teasing me and I’ll remind you what happens when you dare a voidmancer.”

She blinked, heat rising to her cheeks—and elsewhere—but she didn’t back down. “And you think I’m scared of a little darkness? Please. Id wear your shadows like silk.”

“Gross,” Oliver muttered into his mochi.

Sakura’s eyes had gone glassy with secondhand tension. “You two are like watching a dragon and a kirin flirt in a glass house.”

Yunjin just smiled smugly and leaned back in her chair, stretching like a satisfied cat. Roland bit his lip. Hard.

“What?” she purred.

He exhaled. “You’re doing it again.”

“What am I doing?” she asked innocently.

“You’re making me imagine things I really shouldn’t be imagining at the table.”

“Oh no,” she mock-gasped. “What ever shall we do?”

“Get a room,” Oliver and Sakura said in unison.

Yunjin winked at Roland, then licked her spoon slowly and deliberately, never breaking eye contact. He groaned, long and low, and finally tore his eyes away for mercy’s sake.

But it was clear—they were going to keep circling each other like predators in silk until one of them finally snapped.

And everyone at the table knew: it was only a matter of time.

The night air was thick with heat and longing as they stepped out of the club, the stars hanging low like they were eavesdropping. Roland followed Yunjin across the parking lot, their fingers grazing but never fully interlocking—charged, teasing, aching.

Yunjin unlocked the car with a flick of her wrist, but neither of them moved to get in. The doors remained untouched as they stood beside it, the engine silent but the tension roaring.

“You’ve been looking at me like I’m the main course all night,” Yunjin whispered, eyes glinting as she leaned against the hood, arms crossed under her chest, pushing everything just slightly higher.

“You are,” Roland murmured. “And dessert. And breakfast. And the reason I might never recover.”

Yunjin’s lip curled in a smirk. “You gonna keep talking or are you gonna finally shut up and kiss me?”

That was all the permission he needed.

Roland closed the distance like a man starving, cupping her face as he crashed his mouth to hers. It wasn’t soft or sweet—it was raw, desperate, weeks of tension unraveling in the heat between them. Their bodies pressed close, the metal of the car cool against Yunjin’s back as his hands roamed over her waist, her hips, memorizing the shape of her with reverent urgency.

Yunjin pulled him closer by his collar, deepening the kiss, tongue sliding against his with a hungry, eager sigh. Her leg hooked around his thigh as he groaned into her mouth.

“I’ve wanted this,” she gasped between kisses. “Gods, I’ve wanted you.”

Roland grinned against her lips. “Then take me.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she said, voice a low growl. “Not unless you’re ready to let me wreck you.”

He bit her bottom lip gently, eyes alight with mischief and heat. “I’ve been ready.”

She pulled back just far enough to look him in the eyes. “Backseat.”

They scrambled in without grace, barely closing the doors behind them. The car filled with foggy windows and tangled limbs, kisses seared between panting breaths. But even in the frenzy, there was laughter—whispers of affection. Roland nuzzled into her neck. Yunjin clutched his curls.

Their bodies didn’t fully cross the line—but they came damn close.

When they finally collapsed side by side, flushed and breathless, Yunjin giggled. “We’re disgusting.”

Roland kissed her shoulder. “And we’re just getting started.”

[strawb3rryg2l]

How to lose 'Bob' in 10 Days, Part 3

Characters: Bob x Y/N, Robert Reynolds x Y/N, Sentry x Y/N, The Void x Y/N

Summary: You thought you'd lost, your husband, Robert Reynolds forever. Consumed by the Void and the chaos it left behind. But then you woke up in a world not your own. One where he's alive. Where he goes by Bob. Where he doesn't know you. To him, you’re a stranger. You have 10 days to lose him, before everything falls apart. But the cracks are already forming. Time stutters. Reality bends. And something followed you here, something made of grief, memory, and everything you refused to let die. As you try to lose Bob in 10 days, the world unravels with every lie you tell yourself. You’ll have to make an impossible choice: hold on to the man you love, or face the truth and finally let him go. Because if you don’t... this world won’t just end. You might go with it.

Word Count: 2,355

Warnings: A dark twisted version of How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, spooky, creepy, Spoilers maybe? (Please let me know if I should add anymore.)

Note from the author: This is my work, and I will be posting on here and @ strawb3rrygal on Archivesofourown. Keep in mind these are my ONLY TWO accounts. Please feel free to reblog if you like it! I've been working on this one as I write my other fic 'The Temp' which you can also check out if you'd like.

New here? Go back in time -> Part 1 , Part 2

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Y/N jolted upright in bed, heart racing. Sunlight poured in through the blinds too bright, too clean, casting perfect white lines across her comforter. Her mouth was dry. Her limbs were heavy. Her thoughts were a foggy mess.

She blinked slowly, trying to swallow the thick lump of confusion in her throat.

Her bedroom looked… normal. Unmoved. The cotton sheets tangled around her legs. Her shoes neatly by the door. Her purse on the hook. A small breeze floated in through the cracked window, lifting the corner of an unpaid bill on her desk. And yet—

She couldn’t remember how she got here.

She tried to retrace it, like stepping backward through a dream, but every memory frayed at the edges. The bar, the hallway, the writing on the wall. Bob leaning in to whisper something in her ear. And then…nothing. She had no memory of calling a cab, or unlocking her door. Just that oppressive electric music still ringing in her ears, and a vague, crushing weight in her chest.

Y/N ran a hand over her face. God, did I dream all of that?

She dropped her head back against the pillow with a groan, staring up at the ceiling like it might answer her. She stretched and turned to her left side sighing briefly. And then she saw it. A photo. On her nightstand. Her stomach clenched. She reached for it with a shaky hand.

It was the same photograph from the basement. A candid shot, her Robert, smiling in the sun, caught mid-laugh. She hadn’t seen this photo in years. So it wasn’t a dream. Her breath hitched. She brought the picture closer, inspecting every detail. The old brown leather jacket he loved, the softness in his eyes, the worn paper edges… And then, like something tightening around her ribcage, she remembered the number.

Slowly, she looked down at her hand.

There it was, faint, almost smudged in parts, but still visible etched into the skin of her arm in his handwriting. A number. His number. The one she’d told herself she wouldn’t text. She exhaled hard, chest rising and falling as she tried to steady her breath. Her skin felt clammy with adrenaline. This wasn’t just a strange night. Something was happening. And it wasn’t done with her yet.

She stared at the number on her arm.

Her phone sat just inches away, silent, unassuming, the portal to something she wasn’t sure she was ready for. Y/N reached for it slowly, her thumb hovering above the screen, heart thudding against her ribs. What if he doesn’t answer?Worse what if he does? She hesitated a moment longer, then took a shaky breath and typed the number in. It felt like dialing a ghost.

The call rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

Each second stretched like wire.

“Hello?”

His voice. It wasn’t over the top, not dramatic. Just... tired. Cautious. Deep, a little hoarse like he’d just woken up or hadn’t slept at all. Her mouth went dry.

“Bob?”

A pause.

“Yeah.” His voice sharpened slightly. “Who is this?”

She swallowed. Her grip tightened on the phone.

“It’s Y/N.”

Another pause. This one deeper. He said nothing. But she could feel the weight of the silence growing.

“I— I think we talked last night,” she continued. “At the bar. You gave me your number.”

Silence.

Then, carefully. “I don’t remember giving anyone my number.”

Her pulse spiked. “You… don’t?” she asked.

“No. And I don’t usually write on people’s skin.” There was a shift in his tone now, no longer just cautious. He sounded unsettled. Like something was clicking together in his head that he didn’t like. She had a distant memory of Robert, her husband, when they first met he hadn’t touched her. Not once. At the time, he was still trying to understand how to control his power, as to not push anyone into a ‘shame’ room.

“I woke up with your number on my arm,” she said, more firmly now. “And I have a photo of… My— my… Someone I knew. From the room. Downstairs. The one that’s not supposed to exist.”

He was quiet for so long she thought the call had dropped. But then he exhaled. Slow. Controlled.

“Where are you right now?” he asked.

“My apartment.”

“Don’t go anywhere. Don’t talk to anyone else about this.” Another beat. “I’m coming over.”

The line went dead. Y/N lowered the phone slowly, staring down at it like it had just turned to ice in her hand. She was alone again. But not for long.

———————————————————————————————————————

The knock on her door came at 10:04 a.m., exactly twenty seconds after she’d realized she wasn’t wearing pants.Y/N froze on her living room floor, clutching a spoonful of peanut butter and staring at the front door like it had personally betrayed her.

She blinked at the front door like it might vanish if she stared hard enough. Another knock came, a bit louder this time. She glanced down at herself, sleep shirt and avocado pajama shorts that. Perfect. She shuffled to the peephole, spoon of peanut butter still in hand. When she saw who it was, she almost dropped it.

Bob.

Dressed in all black, just like the night before. Except now he was holding a brown paper bag. His expression was unreadable, somewhere between “I brought you breakfast” and “I may or may not be a government experiment.” He knocked again. A polite three-tap rhythm, like someone trying to appear normal but still bearing the weight of weird.

Y/N cracked the door. “You.”

He tilted his head. “Me.”

They stared at each other. The tension wasn’t heavy. It was… curious. Bob raised the bag. “I brought croissants. Thought they’d go with your existential crisis.”

“You assume I’m having one.”

“You answered the door holding peanut butter like it was a weapon.”

Touché. She sighed and stepped aside. “Fine. But keep your shoes on. My place isn’t clean enough for barefoot intimacy.”

He shuffled in a little awkwardly, shoulders hunched, looking around her apartment. “You’re surprisingly awake for someone who, and I quote, ‘bolted from the physical plane’ last night.” He chattered lightly.

“I don’t remember getting home… or telling you that.”

He glanced around. “Do you always black out after tequila and ghost warnings, or was that just a Thursday thing?”

She followed him with narrowed eyes. “You’re awfully chipper for someone who may or may not have been haunting my dreams.”

“Listen,” he said, plopping onto the edge of her couch, “Haunting is not my style”

He placed the croissant bag on the coffee table and looked around. His gaze landed on the framed photo on her nightstand. The photo. Robert. Her Robert. Still smiling from inside the silver frame like nothing had changed, like he wasn’t dead, like he hadn’t been ripped from her life like a page torn mid-sentence.

Bob stood slowly, walking toward it. His hand hovered over the frame. She reacted instinctively. “Don’t touch that.”

He paused but didn’t look away. “I’ve seen him before.”

Her throat tightened. “I’ve seen him. In my sleep. Or somewhere close to it.”

She didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t even told Bob who that man was. That it was him, a version of him. Blonde, blue eyes, different style, still they were different versions of the same peron. But before she could question him further, he turned to her and pointed to her arm. “That’s my phone number?”

She blinked. Then looked down. There, still faint but undeniably real, was a string of digits scrawled across her wrist in looping cursive. His number. Her voice dropped. “That’s your handwriting?”

He made a face. “Please. I write like a gremlin with caffeine withdrawal. That’s practically calligraphy.”

She exhaled shakily and sat down across from him. “This is insane.”

A silence settled between them, not awkward, not quite heavy, just real. Like the air had agreed to hold its breath while they figured this out. Then his stomach growled. Loudly. “Okay, spooky energy aside,” he said, brightening a little, “can we please eat one of these croissants before I start chewing on your decorative candles?”

She laughed, surprising herself. “Fine.” A beat. “This is a really weird morning.”

He hummed in acknowledgement as he rummaged through the paperbag, taking out croissants. He had gone to the kitchen, and placed a paper towel neatly on the counter as to not leave crumbs everywhere. It was hard. He looked like the man she loved and lost.

Bob handed her a croissant and gave her a half-smile.

She accepted it and chewed in silence for a moment, her mind racing. None of this should be happening. And yet… somehow, having Bob in her apartment, cracking dumb jokes, made her feel a little less like the world was spinning out of control. He leaned back, balancing a mug she hadn’t even realized he poured. “So, what’s the plan?”

“For what?”

“For this ridiculous ten-day dating challenge you’re secretly trying to run on me. Don’t look shocked. I remembered. You went on and on in the phone call about how you’d try to make me fall for you and then dump me for work. It felt very network TV.”

She stared at him, stunned. She could not remember telling him that. “And you still showed up?”

He shrugged. “Croissants. Mild haunting… A cute girl.” He said shyly. “I’ve said yes for less.”

Y/N blinked. Then laughed. For the first time in days, no, months, she actually laughed. The weight of grief, confusion, fear… it didn’t vanish. But it shifted, just a little. Like maybe, just maybe, there was room in her chest for something else. Like hope.

Bob was halfway through his second croissant by the time they decided maybe leaving her apartment and going out for a walk and some coffee was a good idea.

“I mean, if we’re going to pretend to fall in love and crash spectacularly,” he said, mouth still partially full, “we might as well do it with some caramel machiattos.”

Y/N raised a brow. “You’re very comfortable being manipulated.”

“It’s coffee, not a blood pact. And hey, maybe I’m manipulating you. Ever think of that?”

“Is that a threat or a flirt?”

“Yes.”

————————————————————————————————————

Y/N had a strategy. She’d written it down in her Notes app on her way home from work. The heading was Operation: How to Lose ‘Bob’ in 10 Days. Which was very fitting, since you know… Underneath it were bullet points she typed:

Talk about marriage on the second date

Cry (a lot) in public

Force a pet name (maybe: Snugglebums)

Sabotage his laundry

Collect his hair for a “future clone”

???

It was chaos. Glorious, embarrassing, secondhand-cringe chaos. But that was the point. She wasn’t supposed to succeed in seducing him, she just had to convince Bob she was completely, undeniably, un-dateable. That way Elise would get off her back. She’d fulfill her part of the deal. And maybe, just maybe, she’d forget how much he still reminded her of her dead husband.

That last part was trickier. Because Bob… wasn’t running.

“So.” Bob said leaning across the table. They’d sat at the coffee shop Bob had chosen, because he swore they had the best hand crafted beverages here. “Day one of our not-love story.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” Y/N replied, eyeing the specials. “I’m supposed to be the charming one. You’re supposed to be… brooding. Distant.”

Bob gasped theatrically. “Are you trying to box me into a trope?”

She laughed again. God, this man was dangerous. His humor was dorky, his timing weirdly perfect, and even when he wasn’t trying, he made her feel… lighter. Like a tether in her chest had loosened just enough to breathe. The moment softened until the waitress reappeared and accidentally knocked a pitcher of water off a tray.

It didn’t fall. It froze mid-air. Like time had hiccuped. Bob and Y/N both went silent, eyes locked on the floating pitcher, suspended in a shimmer like it was trapped between seconds. Around them, no one noticed. Conversations continued. Cutlery clinked. Sunlight moved across the table like normal. Then a blink. The pitcher crashed to the ground, water spraying across the floor.

No one flinched. No one reacted. Except them.

Bob looked at her, voice low. “Did you—?”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “I saw it too.”

The waitress didn’t apologize. She just blinked slowly and walked away, mumbling something about “entropy being cute this time of year.”

Bob leaned in. “Okay, not to alarm you, but I think the coffee shop might be haunted.”

Y/N’s lips twitched. “You picked the spot. And by what, is it the ghost of caramel’s past?”

“By vibes,” he corrected. “And possibly quantum instability.”

She snorted. “That’s the name of my memoir.”

He pointed a finger at her like he was tagging her in a cosmic joke. “See? You’re starting to have fun. Admit it.”

“I’ll admit it,” she said, smiling despite herself, “when this stops feeling like I stepped into a sitcom written by David Lynch.”

By the time their drinks arrived the air between them had shifted. Laughter came more easily. Her walls felt less like a fortress and more like a flimsy picket fence. And Bob, despite the weirdness, despite everything that should’ve sent him running, was still there. Still watching her like she was something familiar, even if he couldn’t name it yet. At one point, while reaching for more sugar, their fingers brushed. Neither of them pulled away.

He looked at her with quiet curiosity. “So, what happens next?”

She sipped her hot beverage and leaned back, smirking. “Next? I start doing everything in my power to make you fall in love with me.”

“And then you break my heart?”

She nodded.

“And you think I’ll let you?”

That gave her pause.

Because the truth was… she didn’t know. Something about Bob wasn’t going according to plan. Something told her he might be here for her, not for the game. Or maybe they were both being played by something much bigger than the both of them.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's Post Note: I thought I'd share part 3 already!

[covenofstars]

Burn between the lines

Stack x Reader (female) x Mary

18+

First time trying like smutty writing 🧍🏻‍♀️I’m sorry if this sucks

Enjoy tho

The juke joint was quiet, except for the hum of broken neon and the low thrum of rain against metal. The city was still bleeding from the last job—so were you, in places that didn’t show. You sat on the edge of the mattress, breath shallow, clothes still clinging from the run.

Mary stood near the window, half-lit in the glow. Stack leaned against the door, arms crossed, eyes fixed on you. Watching. Waiting.

“You’re shaking,” Mary said, finally, stepping closer. Her voice was low, velvet with an edge. “Too much adrenaline.”

“You’re not exactly calm either,” you replied, glancing between them.

Stack gave a quiet huff. “You want to burn it off? Or keep pacing around like ghosts?”

Mary was in front of you now, sliding her fingers into your hair, tugging gently until you looked up at her. “Let us take care of you tonight.”

You didn’t answer—not with words. Just nodded. They moved like predators who knew exactly where to strike.

Stack’s hands were rough against your waist as he tugged your shirt off, lips dragging along your neck while Mary’s cool fingers unzipped your pants, knuckles brushing heat. Everything melted fast—fabric hitting the floor, bodies pulled together in heat and tension.

Mary kissed you hard, all sharp teeth and soft sounds, while Stack's mouth found your chest, dragging a moan from you that echoed in the room like a confession.

When you hit the bed, they didn’t waste time.

Stack settled between your legs, broad hands gripping your thighs as he dragged his tongue over your aching center—slow and deliberate, like he wanted to memorize the taste of you. He groaned low in his throat when your hips bucked, and the sound of it made your whole body pulse.

Above you, Mary straddled your chest, her thighs slick and shaking. She cupped your face, eyes dark. “Touch me. Like I know you’ve wanted to.”

You obeyed, fingers gliding over her wet heat, watching her head fall back, her lips part with a gasp. She rocked into your hand as Stack’s mouth worked deeper, hungrier, until you were unraveling under both of them—caught between fire and fire. The slick heat between her thighs pulsed against your fingers, and a low groan escaped her lips. The sound resonated through you, a visceral connection that transcended the silence of the room.

Below, Stack’s ministrations grew more intense, his tongue a relentless flame licking at your core. Each stroke sent waves of sensation through you, building a frantic need that threatened to overwhelm. His hands tightened on your thighs, anchoring you as your hips began to lift involuntarily.

Caught between their ministrations, the tension in your body coiled tighter and tighter. Mary’s rhythmic movements above mirrored the insistent pressure below, each touch driving you closer to the edge. The broken neon cast long, distorted shadows on the walls, witnesses to the raw, primal connection unfolding in the quiet hideout. You were no longer just bleeding; you were burning, consumed by the fire they ignited within you.

[2222bad]

WHO’S AFRAID OF DIANA ROSS?

[a terrible dream reawakens a heartbreaking reality] | 1.9k words

WARNINGS: infidelity , mentions of sex , angst , :((((

[1986]

the jet lag hit you before the sun could. your private car back to your address was air conditioned and tinted. you could barely make out the images blurring by you outside as you rode back to encino, a ride much faster than you’d remembered it ever being. you weren’t complaining, though. you wanted to see michael as soon as you could.

“beats england any day, huh?” your driver jokes with a grand smile back at you.

you don’t question how he knows you flew in from gatwick. it was probably the terminal number that gave it away. maybe it was the raincoat slung over your briefcase. you were wearing it, but necessity caused for it to be stripped as soon as you landed. the weather forecast predicted a damningly hot day ahead, but, strangely, you didn’t feel it on account of your high spirits.

“that’s right,” you say with a smile that said ‘it’s good to be home.’

within a blink it seemed, your car left you on lindley stood in front of michael’s tucked away apartment. dangling keys in hand, your feet floated to the unit door. you were quiet, you knew you had to be to surprise him. you screwed the key aside at a snail’s pace, your nose inches away from the lock to keep an eye on it, being careful not to make any noise.

inside it was like your bags soared from your hands. there was no burden in your shoulders. and… nothing in the apartment. well, save for the basic things you remembered. but there were no throw pillows, no discarded mail, no empty glasses you’d have to clear from the coffee table. and it looked foggy inside. like a photograph. a grainy pause in time like there’d been no exposure or sunlight. his voicemail box was gone, too. there wasn’t a message of his coming or going.

maybe he left a note?

then, someone giggled his name. that someone wasn’t you. a jagged lump caught your eye in the hall as your eyes flickered past the front room. again, your feet floated to the spot before you could blink. a pair of dark heels: kicked off. your ears tuned to a low, underwater sound: a moan.

you crept closer to the sound despite the feel of your heartbeat pressing in your backside. your body and mind went separate. you weren’t sure where the severe had began, but it was stark. a better you would have thrown yourself out of there and ran until your legs burned out, but this wasn’t that you.

a convenient sliver of light cast itself in the hallway. you stood there, peering into the crease. the door was one you knew well. on the other side of it was the man you thought you knew well. you caught a glimpse of movement. a rotation of legs like two king cobras yet to be defanged.

you blink.

suddenly, the door was open. and there she was.

diana.

diana in a way you never wished to see.

michael reacts. his eyes were wider than ever.

diana scrambles to robe herself, rubs the smudges of lipstick from her face.

if you could see your heart then, you’d know it was burned. the ashes caught up in your throat when you breathed. infected every bit of you like a wildfire’s descent. but, strangely, you didn’t cry. you didn’t sputter. or shout. you just watched michael, covered by a sheet on his footboard. cowardly with his head down.

“how long?” your voice speaks. calm, precise. as if nothing was wrong at all.

your ring finger feels like a swelling. you’d never been more aware of that rock tied around it. besides, of course, the beautiful day on which he gave it to you. all of those beautiful moments…tarnished in one fell swoop.

when he doesn’t answer, you push closer. your feet dont float this time, they storm.

“how many fucking months, michael?!” you scream, the tears in your eyes daring to quiver over the ducts. to break the dam like you wished to break everything around you. “huh?! the whole time?!”

diana is stunned and remarkably muted. as is michael, whose lip quivers something awful. his hands quake in the face of the wrath.

“eight months…” he says, his eyes dodging you like the fists of street fighters in a brawl. he looks to diana, holds her eyes like he did yours once. the way he could just…

it was all you needed. you nearly ripped your finger off removing that ring.

“couldn’t wait until i was gone, huh,” you mumble to yourself like a madman. “couldn’t wait.”

your heart took over your body. the heat was unbearable now.

when the ring left your hand, it ricocheted off michael’s flinching arm with a pointed thud. he was curled up, covering his head and heaving.

you were gone before he could say anything else. you weren’t sure if he did. or if he would. in the moment you didn’t care. you had no bags, felt no sunshine, felt no love. just your pounding heart and the tears in your eyes that, somehow, wouldn’t fall.

you body jerks up. you find yourself in a mess of sheets. a dream. yes! clutching yourself, feeling your dampened skin, feeling how real it was, you sob. with your head in your hands the tears came viciously. you thought they’d never stop. not even to catch your breath of ash, so suffocating and horrible.

your quivering hand falls next to you and feels in the silence. he’s not there. michael’s not there.

sailing across the second floor, your feet are crisp on the ground. you rush to the stairs, your body aching. with a white knuckle to the banister, you hear sounds again. giggling—talking downstairs. your knees nearly give. he wouldn’t. he wouldn’t while you were upstairs in bed? he wouldn’t. but did you even know that for sure?

you had to. you had to know.

coming closer to the commotion, shadows cast themselves on the wall. two heads. the voices fizzle into background chatter, their words indiscernible. then michael’s voice soars over, his giggle ripe and excited. his shadow’s head goes back. but now you can only see the one. you start to ease a little.

curling into the room, you move like a worried child. you hold yourself tight, afraid of what you might see.

but it’s just him, laughing at pee wee’s playhouse.

“hi, sleepyhead!” he grins in the way that always made you want to run into his arms, nestle there and stay forever. “wanna watch with me? it’s just the reruns, i promise. i’m not watching without you.”

you paddle over through your fog, a frown placed where your sweetness usually laid. you curled up with him anyway, his body was warm and soft. like the most perfect teddy bear. hard to be deceiving.

“must’ve been real tired, huh?” he squeezes you close and kisses you affectionately on the head.

when you don’t even give a huff of a reply, he pauses and turns off the tv with the remote control by his leg on the couch.

“you alright?”

on the coffee table, your stoic stare glares back at you. a daunting pose on the cover of vogue italy that your agent dutifully mailed to him before it was published and pressed. the light reflects against the plastic that he didn’t even bother to take off.

“i had a dream…” you mumble into the embrace. he waits for you, his breath steady in his lungs. “about the condo…”

you feel him readjust his body, his hands finding new places to hold you that feel awkward and forced.

“in encino?” he wonders softly. you can tell the look on his face is one full of questioning. like the slow tread in a lion’s den.

you nod, but your head feels like it’s full of lead that your neck can’t hold.

“that’s funny,” he says. it’s all he says. you both know he hasn’t lived there in years. not since you two were married, and especially not since you left california for work. eight months ago…

you look up at him. he looks back at you, his composure remarkably kept. his hand cradles the back of your head, whispers of comfort pool from his fingers.

“do you love me?” you whisper, your felt eyes bright with the light of doubt.

he answers with a smile that took him no hesitation to find, “of course i love you. im crazy about you.”

“do you really?”

“yes.” he laughs, the sound full of breath.

“are you seeing her?” you ask, just to try. to poke this soft thing you knew to be your lawfully wedded. he didn’t answer, unsure how to. his body became fragile, like glass. but your eyes began to glare. you would break through it. “are…you seeing her?”

“n-no,” he says and evades your eyes. his heart now beat through his skin.

there was a crack in your walls, not the physical, but the wall inside you’d built this foundation of love on. it went from your stomach, sinking, to your chest, shocked, to your face that gathered heat from your throat and burned upward into a look of pure grief. denial, pain.

he feels you pull away from him, slowly backing off the couch like you just had the realization that somebody had placed a sleeping viper on the cushions.

“baby,” he tries, reaching out his arm to you, “baby, i—i love you.”

“don’t.” you shove your finger at him, shaking. inside of you pours out a bloodcurdling shout. covering your face with your hands, you tear away. bumping into the wall, into the staircase, into the bedroom as michael’s footsteps chase after you to no avail.

your clothes flew from the hangers in the closet, your important jewelry from their precious case, your photographs from the nightstand. you stuffed the empty luggage with all you could fit.

“baby, talk to me. please, talk to me. come on. stay with me!”

he wraps his arms around you, his hands begging. you feel his head on your spine, his fingers dig into your shirt.

“let me go, michael.”

“it was just one time.” his pleading came rapidly as you fling him off of you like a flea on a dog. “i—i was weak, i was foolish. we can work this out, can’t we? baby?”

burden weighed down your shoulders as you grip your bags with a stunning conviction. you looked as stern as an army man.

“where you goin’?” michael says, trying to make himself big as his frame blocked the bedroom door.

“move out of my goddamn way!”

all grace in you was gone. all the apologies or gold in the world couldn’t make up for the tear that sat in your heart.

he hesitates, seeing the burning in your eyes, he just about falls to his knees. his body full of sorrow, he throws himself away from the doorway. he doesn’t move for a while as you storm off, thinking he knew better to just let you be. but the tumbles of heavy bags down the stairs made him jump. his hands were on the banister before he could even think.

“it was a mistake, i’d take it all back if i could!” he cries. you were at the bottom of the staircase, bags recovered in your hands. “i-i love you.”

“how many times did i ask you?!” you rage, tear-stained cheeks glistening under the grand chandelier above. “how many times did you lie and say you didn’t want anything to do with her?”

he stands there, frozen in space.

“screw you!” you spit up at him, glaring and hard. “screw you for wasting five years of my life when all i did was love you!”

out the door, you tug the ring from your finger and figure he’ll find it glistening on the lawn tomorrow when the sun evaporates the dew.

until then, you’d walk until your legs burned out.

--

request by @melodyyybubbles <333333333

IM SORRY TO BREAK HEARTS

[cosmogyros]

me, excited about fixing my sleep schedule: turns out the light at midnight last night

me at 3 a.m., after three hours of repeatedly almost falling asleep and then being jerked back into wakefulness by my upstairs neighbor seemingly jumping up and down on the floor right above my head so heavily it makes all the furniture rattle against the walls: finally gets out of bed and gets dressed and goes upstairs to pound on his door and ask him to pleeeeeeease go to bed already

[sakuraszn]

ft. timeskip katsuki bakugo

summary: you and katsuki got into a fight last night but he’s not leaving the next day without his kiss.

“You Still Mad?”

The sun had barely risen, casting a warm, hazy glow through the bedroom window, but you were still wrapped up in last night’s argument like a thick-ass winter coat. You hadn’t even looked at Bakugo since you both woke up, let alone spoken a word to him.

He noticed. Of course, he did.

Now, he stood by the front door, arms crossed, already in his hero gear, watching you with narrowed crimson eyes. His gauntlets hung from his belt, meaning he was giving you extra time before heading out.

“Tch,” he sucked his teeth. “You still actin’ like that?”

You didn’t answer, just sat on the couch, scrolling through your phone, legs tucked under you.

Bakugo took a slow step forward, then another. “Y’know I ain’t leavin’ without my shit, so you might as well quit actin’ funny.”

Silence.

His jaw twitched. “Oh, so we playin’ this game?”

Still nothing.

Bakugo exhaled sharply through his nose before yanking his gloves tighter. “Alright.”

Before you could react, he marched over, plucked the phone right out of your hands, and tossed it onto the couch.

“The fu—Bakugo!” You snapped, looking up at him.

“There it is.” He smirked, tilting his head. “Finally got your attention.”

You folded your arms, scowling. “You really that pressed over a damn kiss?”

He scoffed, looking down at you like you were the dumbest person alive. “Uh, yeah? That’s my good luck for the day. You want me out there fightin’ villains without my daily dose of you?”

Your lips twitched, but you forced the smile down, turning your head away from him.

Bakugo, not having any of that, leaned down, caging you in with his arms on either side of you. “Oh, so now you mute?”

You rolled your eyes. “Katsuki, go to work.”

“You know I’m not leavin’ without my shit.”

He was so close, his breath tickled your skin. His scent—warm spice and a little bit of leftover sleep—wrapped around you. You hated how familiar it was, how much you’d miss it if he actually left without kissing you goodbye.

“Why do you even care?” You muttered. “I’m still mad at you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you say that,” he murmured, fingers slipping under your chin to tilt your face up. “But I know you. You don’t wanna be mad anymore.”

You huffed, but his touch was soft, gentle. A contrast to how brash he usually was.

His thumb traced your bottom lip. “Lemme fix it.”

Before you could protest, he kissed you. Slow. Deep. It wasn’t just some quick peck or heated make-out session. It was that I-know-you-love-me-so-stop-frontin’ kinda kiss.

And, like a damn fool, you melted into it.

His hands slid down, gripping your waist, pulling you even closer. His lips moved with yours, lazy but demanding, like he had all the time in the world. Then, right when he knew he had you, SMACK.

His palm connected with your ass, making you gasp into his mouth.

Bakugo smirked against your lips. “There she is.”

You shoved at his chest, but he barely budged. “Your so damn annoying.”

“Yeah?” He nipped at your lip before pulling back, smug as ever. “But you still love me.”

You exhaled, finally giving in. “Yeah, yeah. I love you.”

“Damn right you do.” He leaned down, stealing one more kiss, slow and sweet, before finally stepping back.

You watched as he grabbed his gauntlets and strapped them on, the usual cocky attitude in full effect. Right as he reached the door, he turned back, grinning. “Oh, and don’t think I didn’t catch that lil’ smile. You ain’t slick.”

You rolled your eyes, but he saw the way you bit your lip.

Bakugo chuckled, shaking his head. “See you later, dumbass.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you sitting there, heart still racing.

© sakuraszn! xoxo

[tobeholyistobeempty]

husband john price who goes to the end of the earth when his wife gets captured by an enemy group for leverage. husband john price who is still haunted by it, even when you’re back safe in his arms.

He doesn’t hear you come in.

Not over the silence. Not over the creak of leather beneath his elbows or the slow crackle of the fire in the hearth. The study is dim — warm, yes, but not alive. A space that once held meaning. Now it just holds him.

You don’t say a word. Just pad across the hardwood with gentle steps. His eyes are cast toward the fire — half-burnt logs, amber glow flickering across the hard line of his jaw and mingling with the smoke of his cigar. He hasn’t shaved in days. Not since long before he got you back. Hasn’t even thought about it. You know, because you counted each time he moved.

Three. Each to the kitchen, then back.

You pause for a moment, watching the grief calcify in his silence.

He looks like he’s been carved down to bone by fear and sharpened again by rage. The kind of rage only a man like him could carry. Cold. Surgical. The kind that doesn’t explode. It eats.

There’s a bottle of whiskey on the table next to him, half gone. You wonder how much of it he poured into the hollow that had your name carved into it. How many nights he drank your ghost down just to keep breathing.

You stop in front of him. No words yet.

Just you — bare legs, one of his dress shirts curtaining your frame, sleeves rolled up past the elbows. It smells like him. Cologne and smoke and something older. The scent of a man who nearly lost his world and hasn’t quite figured out how to let it back in without crucifying himself with the hurt.

“John,” you murmur softly.

He looks up.

And Christ — you weren’t ready for the way he looks at you. Not because he’s crying. He’s not. He’s past that. But because his expression is starved. Hollowed out. Like he spent every second of your absence chewing through every scenario that didn’t end with you in front of him, wearing his clothes and looking at him like you never left.

“I’m here,” you whisper. “It’s okay.”

He sets his cigar down, hand reaching out — rough palm sliding along your thigh like he’s checking for something, proof maybe, or pulse. You step between his knees without being asked, fingers finding the back of his neck, thumb brushing scruff made coarse by time.

His forehead presses to your stomach. Just rests there.

You can feel the breath he drags in — shaky, uneven, filled with everything he hasn’t said in the seven days he spent chasing hell to get you back.

“I should’ve gotten there sooner,” he says. His voice sounds like smoke and splinters. “I—”

“You got there.” You trace the age on his skin. He holds you tighter for it. “You found me.”

“Not a goddamn thing would’ve prevented that.”

You don’t answer that — just hold his head in your hands, willing your fingers to grow roots. Like the only thing you can offer now is proof of life.

He doesn’t ask you to forgive him for the days it took to reach you. Doesn’t apologize over and over for something he knows you'd never ever blame him for. It’s military. You know the job. The risks that often reap the rewards. And you — you know better than to tell him you’re fine. Because fine is the word people use when everything inside them is still bleeding. And besides, he isn’t really asking if you’re okay.

He’s asking if you’re still his.

So you climb into his lap, straddling his thighs. Not to fuck — not to forget. But to exist. With him. Inside the silence. Inside the ache. Inside the echo of what might’ve been lost if he hadn’t fought like hell to get to you.

“I had plans,” he murmurs, curling his lips into your neck. “For after. For now. Thought about what I’d say when you walked through the door. About how I’d ask if you wanted to get out of this life. Find something quieter. Something that doesn’t strip the good from our skin.”

You shift, press your forehead to his. Let the smoke on his exhales stick to yours. Let the ache burn through your throat.

“And now?”

He kisses you. “Now I just want to feel you breathe.”

[oreo-creampies]

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮; 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: voyeurism, assistant/sugarbaby!reader, playfully mean(to you)!sugardaddy!ceo!geto, ceo!gojo, taped on vibrator, small butt plug (no anal), edging, window sex, masturbation, squirting on the window, control orgasm, calling suguru sir, service sub!reader, bdsm hints, light begging, dirty talking, heavy praise/light degradation, hints at sharing you, spanking, biting

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧: Suguru squeezing the ass of his cute little assistant. He loves hearing her soft squeal when he does it

Oreo: I’ve been fighting a headache trying to get this one done because I have a night need to be fucked like a whore against a window while gojo watches

Suguru looks past Jin, rock hard beneath the desk. You’re beautiful struggling to maintain your composure. Holding up his hand Jin falls quiet. “Bring me a glass of water.” Smirking when you stiffly stand, clenching your thighs together.

Clenching your thighs together, keeping eyes casted down, clasping your hands in your lap. Biting your lip, fighting for your life not to moan when the vibrator taped to your clit pulses faster.

You’re so close to cumming on Suguru’s sofa with one of his employees explaining their concerns. Soaking your underwear, your cunt clenching nothing. Your ass squeezing the small training plug.

“Yes sir!” Your voice is shaking, your whole body burning, cunt throbbing and tingling from the immense pleasure.

Turning away from Jin’s curious gaze. “As you were saying Mr. Jin.” The vibrations stop, the reprieve is welcoming and disappointing. Your sensitive clit twitches from getting worked up so close and the sudden lack of stimulation.

Opening the fully stocked mini fridge built into the wall, pulling out the bottle of water and a chilled glass from the cabinet beside. The toy vibrates on your soft clit, slapping your hand over your mouth, fighting yourself not to moan.

Ignoring Jin’s drawl, purely focusing on maintaining your slipping composure and not spilling the water. Throwing the plastic bottle into the recycle, grabbing the chilled glass of water, trembling. Getting lost in the sweet pleasure, it vanishes.

Taking a deep breath turning around to face your sugar daddy and his employee. Suguru isn’t looking at you, smiling at Jin. “Thank you for bringing that to my attention, I’ll see to it that’s taken care of, please see yourself out.” Pressing the button under his desk for the doors to slide open.

Jin nods his head, clasping his hands behind his back. “Yes sir, thank you.” Stiffly walking past Jin, grateful he finally leaving. Going around Suguru’s desk. Holding out his glass of water, his warm thick fingers brush your’s.

Pushing himself away from the desk. His thick bulge in his black dress pants, “Good girl, thank you for the water.” Squeezing a handful of your soft ass, you softly gasp, glancing over to where Jin stands on the elevator peering with wide eyes through the closing office doors.

Suguru massages your cheek. the toy vibrate on your soft clit. “Don’t cum, not yet.” Standing up, grabbing your jaw, gently prying you mouth open with his thumb. Taking a sip and spitting it into your mouth. “Swallow, but you can’t cum yet.”

Setting the cup down, unbutton your dress shirt. “Please! I don’t know how much longer I cannnn!” Clenching your trembling thighs together, knees buckling, legs weak. You grab onto Suguru’s hard, thick bicep.

Getting off on his massive height, unable to stop thinking of fat cock he has for you underneath his pants. Stroking his cock through his pants. “A little bit longer, you’re so hot squirming, struggling not to cum just to make me happy.” Tugging your skirt down, for you to step out of.

His phone buzzes, whining when Suguru answers, “Nasty pervert, I’ll fuck her against the glass for you to watch.” Putting his phone on speaker on the desk. “She such a slut she will get off on seeing you stroke your cock to her.” Slipping your shirt off, unclasping your bra, he can’t get them off fast enough.

Tears trickle down your face, Suguru wipes away one with his thumb. “Aw my sweet little slut is crying cause she can’t cum yet.” Turning to face the window, grabbing your leg lifting showing Satoru your sloppy wet cunt.

Begging, crying, cunt dripping. “I’m gonna! Please! I can’t hold back! It’s too much.” Grinding your hips back, Suguru’s hard cock pressed against your lower back.

Satoru unzips his pants, dropping them with his underwear, sitting down, squirting lube into his hand. “Fuck she sound hot whining like that.” Suguru turns you to face the window, lifting your legs giving Satoru standing in large window his office a perfect view.

“Cum!” Thick warm cum splashes into the window, trickling onto the ground. Trying to close your legs, shifting trying to get away from the intense stimulation.

Groaning in admiration, gliding two this fingers into you. “Nnn so warm n wet, perfect little cunt for my fat cock to ruin.” Taking the toy off your clit, tugging on the jewel of the butt plugged.

“You’ve been wearing this for two hours let’s give your ass a break. Mm fuck I can’t wait till I can fuck her into a gabbing cum filled mess.” Gliding the plug out of your ass, setting it on his desk.

Suguru crouches, slapping your ass biting your cheek, enticing soft whimpers. Holding onto your hip to steady you. Your head is fuzzy, legs wobbly, you haven’t cummed that hard before. You want more. “Wanna cum again, please sir take care of my needy cunt.” Spreading your legs, and bending over when he dips his head between, lovingly kissing your soft cunt.

Gliding his finger in, getting off on how your soft cunt take his fingers. “You been such a good slut for me, I’ll take such good care of your sweet tight cunt for you. After you can sit in my lap during the meeting. Then we can go home, have a candle lit dinner.” Biting your ass, sucking roughly groaning, pumping his finger faster.

Satoru’s breathy moans coming through the phone. His jerking his cock faster, sliding his hand through his soft white hair, tugging. His mouth dropping open, checks flushing pink. He slows his pace, smirking and winking at you. “You’re such a beautiful dirty whore getting off on watching me jerk off while he plays with your cunt.”

Smiling at Satoru, “I’m a pretty dirty whore who likes it getting fucked in front of you.” Suguru stands up, squeezing your ass, sliding his hand up your waist. Gently playing with your nipple, biting your shoulder. Tilting your head to the side, he trails kisses up

Satoru pleads “Let her press her beautiful slutty ass on the glass. Lemme see your sloppy beautiful cunt and sweet ass.” Looking up at Suguru for his approval, he spins you around on your high heels.

Unbuttoning his shirt, slipping it off. Suguru is beautiful with his thick pecs, sculpted abs, broad shoulders slim waist and fat cock that rests on thick balls. “Let him see what’s gonna be taking good care of my fat cock.” Admiring your sugar daddy, bending over gliding your fingers into your needy cunt.

You want to cum again despite squirting. Suguru and Satoru always bring out an insatiable lust within you. You’d proudly be their cum stuffed whore.

Buzzing the front desk, “Don’t send or allow any calls through until I say otherwise, take a message if it’s urgent thank you.” Pressing your ass to the cold glass, shivering. Playing with your nipples, soft rubbing them, moaning the moment he lets the button go.

Suguru groans, you love the erotic way he sounds. “Nnn fuck send her over when you’re done, I wanna turn. You can put her plug back in. Wanna see her pretty ass stuffed mmm, gonna cover her soft cheeks in cum.” Grabbing Suguru’s cock, when he comes close, kissing his head.

He grabs your hair roughly turning you around, pinning your tits to the glass, keeping your ass out. Lining his fat, veiny cock up, you spread your legs apart pushing your hips back. “If she can walk sure, but you can’t fuck her ass not yet. Im taking her training slow, no reason not to savor perfection.” Spitting on your ass, smearing it with his thumb, gliding it in.

Keeping a firm grasp on your ass, groaning in pure relief. “Nothing else better than being inside you. Nnn making my legs go weak, you’re too perfect.” Grabbing your wrist, holding it behind your back. Offering your other wrist for him to hold together with one large hand.

Oreo’s m.list

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

pairing Joel Miller x Female Reader summary It’s getting harder for Joel to ignore the way he feels about you—especially on the night you try on new clothes just for him. [post-outbreak, fluff, mildly suggestive, 1k] a/n Here’s something short, sweet, and low stakes as I work on longer requests. Joel is down bad, but don't tell anyone.

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

Want is a brave, unabashed thing. There’s no ignoring it when it arises as a persistent hum beneath Joel’s skin. Like a brewing storm you can’t escape, the inevitability of the tide as it barrels towards the shore. It’d been years since he felt something rise within him so strongly, yet it insists he welcomes it back like a friend. 

Joel shifts where he sits on the foot of your bed. The sound of your shuffling continues to emit from the closet. He runs a heavy hand through his hair, then scratches the back of his neck. It’s a restlessness he doesn’t quite know what to do with as he waits for you to reappear. It doesn’t help that he can hear every sound you make on the other side of the door—hangers clacking, fabric rustling. 

With a once-dormant facet of his imagination, Joel attempts to paint a picture of the in-between. Of everything he can’t see right now—the slow glide of the clothes over your skin, the graceful way your limbs maneuver. He’s never considered himself much of an artist aside from the creations he forges with his own hands, but he’s certain that with you as his muse, his mind’s eye alone is meritable. 

The door opens, and there you are. 

It’s another sweater this time, but he swears this one fits you better than the rest. It’s a lovely shade of cream with a V-cut neckline and structure that clings to you frame enough to accentuate your shape. Joel nods before any question is asked of him, and your smile is well worth it. Flattered and shy all the same. 

“You like it?” 

“‘Course I do,” Joel insists. “C’mere. Lemme get a good look.” 

Come here. They’re words he’s getting used to rolling past his lips so freely. They’re sweet. It’s as if the ability to beckon someone like you into his proximity is a well-aged wine he’s finally allowed to indulge in. Like the wonder you are, you listen, ready to be drunken in. 

Any hesitance on your end is feigned. You don’t want to seem too eager as you pad between Joel’s spread legs. Outside, the sunlight is fleeting, but it’s enough to illuminate him and your bedroom dimly. His brow bone casts a slight shadow that makes his eyes appear even darker than they are. Another is cast beneath the curve of his jaw onto his thick neck. That intensity doesn’t transfer into his touch. His hands are cautious as they reach out to feel the fabric, as if you’ll startle or step away. But he forgets that it’s you who’d wanted him in your orbit for so long. 

“Feels real nice,” he says. “How do you like it?” He looks up into your eyes as his hands settle on your waist.

“I love it.” You cup his cheek and brush a thumb over the scruffy skin. Joel leans into your touch. “Saved the best for last.” 

“Looked gorgeous in everything.” His voice comes out thicker. 

This sliver of the evening was never about any of the clothes. It was about you wanting to share your findings with Joel and letting him into a little part of your world that he’d never sat in on before. It was all so casual that he forgot, if only for a moment, that the world hadn’t fallen apart. There’d been a pleasant tug in the wait. A small thrill whenever you stepped back through the door donned in something new. What struck him even more was that these first glances were just for him. 

“Is this your favorite too?” The smile on your lips suggests you already know the answer. 

Joel’s cheeks warm. “Yeah, I… yeah.” 

Your hand doesn’t leave his face as you say, “What about it?” 

Joel swallows the lump in his throat as his neck warms. If you’re not messing with him, he’ll be damned. You watch how he combs through his mind for an answer you already know resides in the forefront. Even though he spirals all the more, he’s grateful that your sweet laugh flows into the air before he can stammer through an answer. 

Your free hand rises to cup his other cheek, and he wishes he could look away to preserve whatever remains of his pride. But Joel helplessly looks up at you because that’s what he is these days. Helpless. Despite himself, he begins to smile too. Then you lean down to capture his lips. It’s not the type of kiss you pour into with all that you are but one that’s much lighter. So much so that it borders on playful and comes to a premature end. 

A heavy exhale escapes him as you finally let go of his face. “You like makin’ things hard for me?” His question is gruff and honest, but there’s affection in his eyes. 

You pretend to think. “What’s hard?” you ask. “You, my question, or both?” 

Joel’s stomach flips. “Real funny, ain’t ya?” 

“Scooch back, and we can find out.” 

You motion for him to move further back on the bed, and he listens, eyes stuck on you. Joel scoots until he’s in the center, biceps flexing with his effort. The mattress dips as you climb to join him, walking on your knees until you can straddle his lap. Joel's head meets the pillows when you place a hand on his chest in a silent encouragement to lie down. The rise and fall of his chest grows more pronounced. So does the tightness in his jeans.

“I like the way it fits,” Joel finally says, voice small and measured. “You got a real nice figure.” Your gaze softens as you look down at him because you can hear his sincerity, the underlying shyness. 

“Drive me crazy all the damn time. Ain’t even gotta try,” he says, hands steadying your waist as he shifts beneath you. “S’getting awful hard to pretend that ain’t the case.”

He gives you a gentle squeeze then. “Swear I don’t mean any disrespect.” 

Joel holds his breath when your fingers move to the first button of his shirt. You pop it undone before moving to the next one, then the next. He makes a small, pleased sound when you lean down to kiss the exposed skin. He’s warm and earthy. 

“The feeling’s mutual,” you murmur as you undo another button and kiss the next portion of revealed skin. “Hope this is okay…” 

“It’s more than okay,” he assures, breath catching in his throat.

-

Thanks for reading! All likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. I promise I see them all. 

JOEL MASTERLIST

ALL MASTERLISTS

[hungharrington]

thinking about getting fingered by Steve in the backseat of his car and being crowded against the door and sitting at an awkward angle but not moving because the thought of his fingers losing that spot is a million times worse than the sore neck… just UGHHH 😩

a hungharrington fic? in 2025? i'm just as surprised as you <3 1.3k, fem!reader, what the prompt says hehe MDNI this entire blog is 18+

The numbers on the dashboard blink in the night, reflecting the late night hour.

From the outside, Steve's car looks unassuming, parked in between the trees out by Skull Rock.

You're given away only by the faint fogging of the windows, though you have little doubt of how steamy they'll be soon enough. With the hot heat of Steve's mouth against the skin of your neck and the surety of his fingers, curling closer between your thighs, it's not an if, it's a when.

"God, I missed you s'much," He murmurs heavily. His words get smothered beneath his own fervent kisses, your skin tingling beneath the attention. He can't bring himself to break away from you for more than a moment.

Steve had headed out of Hawkins for the better part of a week, dragged by his parents who wouldn't take no for an answer. He'd returned just tonight, maroon car glinting the last of the evening sun up at your window.

You'd slipped down and taken the passenger seat always reserved for you.

And then, somewhere between there and now, Steve had cajoled you into the backseat, his hazel eyes bright with an adoring lust as he nipped at your neck.

"Missed you too," You gasp breathily.

Tilting back, your head gently hits the glass of the car window behind you. Your hair wipes some of the fog off and Steve nibbles a soft lovebite under your ear, soothing it with his tongue. His hands paw hungrily at your waist and you grapple to find purchase on his shoulders.

"Not as much as me, baby," Steve pants.

He finally pulls himself back from his affectionate attack on your neck, eyes darker, face flushed. His hand on your waist slides forward, following the line of your hips forward, down, til he's cupping your cunt. You think you get a little lightheaded from the way your blood rushes south, gloriously hot at the touch.

He kisses you, his groan seeping into your mouth. It fills your head, heavy and sticky with lewd thoughts.

"Thought of you every," He rubs you through the denim softly. "Damn," Another rub, more pressure this time. "Day."

You keen, hips canting forward, searching for more of that delicious friction. Steve gives you what you want; he always does. You reward him, your hands on his shoulders shifting. You twine your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, just how he likes it.

The inside of the car feels much, much warmer now. The windows can't be seen through anymore and it seems to cast the red light of the dashboard clock much further. Steve's heavy breath fanning across your face is the loudest thing in the car.

You should've worn a skirt, you think— right as Steve asks, "Can I?" his hand now up, thumbing at the button of your jeans.

His check-in douses the ember within you with gasoline, burning hotter, brighter, in an instant. You know what he's asking for, know exactly how well Steve knows how to use his fingers. The thought of them buried in you, crooked just right, suddenly has you aching for it.

Nodding, you murmur out your yes' as you shuffle about, working to kick off your shoes quickly. Steve pulls back to not be in the way, jumping back in time to help you peel the denim off from your legs.

You manage to get your fingertips beneath the elastic of your panties before you're interrupted.

"Keep them on," Steve says, knocking your hand aside. He surges back in, his fervour undulled, and his large hands find your hips, tugging forward.

You end up slightly perched in his lap, slightly pressed into the back corner against the window and the seat. It's an awkward position but when the warmth of Steve's fingers pet your cunt again, cotton stickier now, you can forgive it. You sling your arms around his neck to get closer.

"That's it," Steve murmurs lowly. He ducks his head to reignite every lovebite left on your neck as his fingers get bolder, pressing firmer. Your breath gets thinner, chest heaving more and more.

"God, my girl," He breathes, fingers spreading the wetness up and over your clit tantalizingly. You mewl at his too-soft motions, needing more.

"Steve," You urge.

He doesn't make you wait. Pinching the edge, he pulls your panties to the side and then dips his fingers into the well of slick wet waiting eagerly for him.

You make matching groans; Steve moaning at heat of your inviting cunt, wrapped around him, and you sighing at the way his long digit sinks into you, slow and so sweet.

"Steve," You say his name again, this time a honey, lusty thing.

Steve breaks his kiss to moan against your neck, feeding on the obvious salacious eagerness in you. His finger draws back and then he sinks it back in, beginning slowly to fuck it in and out.

"Missed you," He whispers. A second finger prods at your entrance and eases in gently, sending a streak of something white hot down your spine. Your arms around his neck tighten.

"Missed this," He continues, still a whisper. He's picking up the pace now, having found a lazy rhythm, fingers sliding in and out of your cunt so perfectly that it makes your clit twitch, envious and missing out.

You whine into the crook of his neck. "Me too."

Then, just as you think the angle of your back might be just a tad too uncomfortable, Steve curls his fingers.

A gaspy noise escapes your throat. Desire pulses wildly and you can feel the way you flutter around his fingers. Steve's other hand on your waist tightens, gripping you tightly.

"Fuuuck," He groans. "I missed that too."

Then he does it again, fingers crooked to hit that perfect spot that makes you feel like you might cry if he rubbed it too much. Your noises sound much louder now, jagged and pitching up.

"You're such a tease, honey," Steve accuses, his motions not slowing. "Keeping me from this. Keeping all your cute noises to yourself."

And, as if he'll know what it'll do, he stretches his hand, veins bulging in his forearm, and plants his thumb on your clit. You jolt against the new stimulation, another cute gaspy noise, and Steve moans against your neck.

His hand keeps moving, fingers still plunging into your sopping cunt, thumb rubbing tight, small circles on your clit. You cling to him, hips rolling to meet his strokes, the heat in you building, suddenly desperately fast. Your breathing comes out heavy and if it's not a moan, it's his name that slips from between your lips.

"Feelin' good? M' making my girl feel good?" He says raspily. "You deserve it, being left alone. So mean of me."

Something fiery swells within you and you inhale sharply, squeaking out Steve's name in warning. His hand, which must be cramping much like your poor back, still rocks into you, unfaltering.

"C'mon, let me have it. Please," He pleads. "Let me see you cum f'me, honey."

The sincere thread in his voice, the genuine plead, is what unravels your last ties. You tremble, lusty and quivering sounds that you bury away in his neck, as you ride his fingers through a dazzlingly hot high. It drags on, nerves glittering with a fresh coat of pleasure that have you whining Steve's name pitifully.

When your breath starts to settle, Steve eases his fingers out, already beginning to pepper little kisses along the side of your head.

"That was big, huh?" He says. It's mostly care in his voice but there, in the back, is a smidgen of smugness.

"Shhhh," You shush him, still gathering yourself, eyes closed. You body gives a volatile twitch when Steve politely moves your panties back to their original position. "I'm deciding if that was worth fucking up my back a little bit for."

Steve makes a wounded noise, realising that he'd had you crowded up in an uncomfortable position the whole time. He's a worrier. That's enough to make you lift your head off his shoulder, eyes lidded low.

"Mmm, decided." You hum, the pleased smile of post-bliss on your face. Steve softens at the sight of it, at your easy happiness. "Worth it."

[missdynamighttt]

head empty, thoughts full of secretary! reader trying to seduce boss! katsuki with all kinds of tactics.

it had started as a harmless crush. at least, that’s what you told yourself when you first landed the position as katsuki bakugo’s personal secretary.

you’d taken the job expecting the usual: long hours, impossible demands, and a hot boss matching with a fiery temper. what you hadn’t expected was how quickly you’d develop a maddening crush on him.

the man was the whole package— infuriatingly good-looking, sharp as a blade, and unapologetically confident. he had a way of dominating any room he walked into, and you found yourself daydreaming about him far more often than was appropriate.

there’s just something about him that’s just... irresistible. maybe it’s the way his tailored suits hug his broad frame, flexing his muscles no corporate worker should have.

or maybe its the way he looks at you, not with false pleasantries or the cool look of someone trying to be liked. it was a raw, unapologetic gaze (glare), one that made your heart race in ways you’d never expected.

fuck, you didn't want to be just his secretary—you were determined to be something more.

so, you began with the basics. a tighter pencil skirt here, hugging your curves just enough to make his eyes linger when you walked by. a blouse with a slightly lower neckline there, where one extra button undone gave just a teasing hint of skin.

every time you walked past his desk, he’d have to force himself to look away from the sway of your hips. every time you bent over to sign a document, displaying your perfect ass, he’d swallow and his jaw would clench.

when you walked in to drop some paperwork on his desk, his eyes lingered just a second too long on your chest before he coughed and barked, “didn’t i tell you to knock?!”

"the door was already open!" you smiled as you walked out of his office, feeling his eyes on your ass. a small victory, but you’d take it.

katsuki was a coffee fiend, obviously. strong, black, and bitter— no sugar or nonsense too, just like his personality. his day didn’t properly start until a steaming cup of coffee was in his hand, the aroma practically fueling his sharp focus and no-nonsense demeanor.

so you started getting coffee for him too, along with a handwritten note with his coffee cup that said: “for the most handsome boss ever!! xoxo, your prettiest secretary,”, before signing your name on it and sliding it onto his desk, meeting his glare.

“you tryna butter me up or somethin’?”

“of course not! just simply stating facts, boss.”

his ears turned red, but he didn’t answer as he took a sip of the coffee. and when you looked at his drawer one day, you saw he saved all the notes you gave him. you counted that as another win.

you “accidentally” scheduled a late-night meeting that required you both to stay in the office after hours. by the time the clock struck 9, the dim glow of his desk lamp was the only light in the room, casting sharp shadows across his sharp jawline.

you took a seat across from him, pretending to review a document, uncrossing your legs deliberately slowly. his eyes flicked to the movement before snapping back to his paperwork, his jaw tightening.

as the silence stretched on, you made your move. leaning back slightly in your chair, you let the tip of your heel trail slowly up the leg of his slacks, starting at the ankle and dragging upward, your movements deliberate and teasing.

katsuki froze, his pen stilling mid-signature as his sharp red gaze shot up to meet yours, the faintest flush creeping up his cheek. “what the hell are you doin'?”

“i think we should go to dinner,” you tilted your head with a playful grin.

his brow twitched, his expression a mixture of disbelief and irritation. “the hell kinda way is this to ask someone out?”

“its efficient,” you said, keeping your tone light as the tip of your heel slides up and down his ankle. “plus, i'm getting tired of you waiting to ask me. and let’s be honest— you’ve been staring at me long enough to know you’re interested. at least a little bit.”

for a moment, he just stared at you, the silence stretching as his jaw clenched and unclenched. then, katsuki let out a low, gruff chuckle, a sound you didn't know you needed to hear.

“you’ve got some nerve, don’t you?” he muttered, leaning back in his chair as a smirk tugged at his lips. “fine. dinner.”

he huffs, pointing a finger at you. “but don’t think this means you’re gettin’ any special treatment outta work. and if you're late, i'll make you do fuckin' inventory for the next damn month.”

“wouldn’t dream of it,” you smiled, already planning what to wear.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ posting a little faster because i made some of these while working on older bro's bsf fic!! hope you enjoyed, tempted to make a part two <3

[81sainz]

DIET PEPSI ★ L. NORRIS

★ PAIRING: boyfriend!lando x female!reader

★ GENRE: NSFW

★ SUMMARY: in which lando pulls over to watch the sunset with you in his porsche; things take a turn from there.

inspired by “diet pepsi” by addison rae

★ WORD COUNT: 1.2k

★ WARNINGS: car sex, semi public sex, nasty kissing, making out, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, teeny bit of praise cause I can’t help myself, cumshot. lando is soooo sweet. I think that is all! please be noted this is only semi proofread.

★ AUTHORS NOTE: finally! making my formula 1 fic debut! I hope you all enjoy this. I started writing this somewhere before summer break and unfortunately just got to finishing it. life…am I right? I guess the lyrics hold true because my boy has won 2 times since then! I know this one’s a bit short, but feedback is appreciated!

“Are you sure no one is up here?” you asked your boyfriend as you unbuckled your seatbelt.

Lando reached over slightly and gave your thigh an affirmative squeeze. “It’s fine, I was looking around.”

The two of you were on a drive in his 911 carrera and pulled off to a small spot up on a hill that overlooked the city. It was later in the evening and the sun was setting; casting an orange glow over Lando when he turned to you.

“You look so pretty in the light. Come here.”

Lando adjusted his seat before helping you over the center console and gearshift of his vehicle.

“I don’t want to break anything.” You spoke out loud with a laugh as Lando had his hand on your leg to help you.

Lando shushed you. “You’re fine, I’ve got you.”

You were in his lap within seconds; adjusting the skirt that you were wearing slightly to get more comfortable.

“Comfortable?” Lando brushed your hair off of your shoulder before planting a few kisses softly onto your skin near your collarbone.

You hummed in response, nodding before combing your fingers through his soft curly hair as his mouth made its way up to your neck.

You let a small whimper escape your lips when Lando’s teeth scraped your skin slightly.

Your hand tightened in his hair as you rocked your hips into his lap; feeling his bulge through his jeans.

“Fuck.” Lando swore under his breath as his hands roamed your thighs and to the curve of your ass underneath your skirt.

“I want this off of you.” Lando glanced up at you quickly for any sign for him to stop before unbuttoning and unzipping your skirt, removing the item of clothing from your body and throwing it into the passenger seat.

You mentally thanked yourself for the outfit choice of yours.

“Wow.” Lando let out a sigh, leaning to kiss you again as his hands returned to their place on your thighs, and moved up to your waist.

You were eager for him, grabbing a hold of his white button down shirt for any way to get him closer to you.

Lando shifted in the driver seat, his hands holding your hips as his jeans brushed against your cunt.

You let out a moan into his mouth, and Lando took that as an opportunity to tongue kiss you; reaching up to grab the nape of your neck with one of his hands.

Pulling away slightly with a hum, you noticed Lando’s breathing to be slightly more erratic than before.

“Baby, I need you..” Your voice faded when Lando kissed you again. You knew you didn’t really have to say anything; Lando knew you like the back of his hand.

“I’ve got you.” Lando mumbled, guiding you to rest your knee up onto the door panel of his porsche. “Stay like this for me, ok?”

You nodded, biting down onto your bottom lip as he locked eye contact with you.

Lando quickly glanced in his rearview mirror to check if anyone was around; still nobody.

He pulled the fabric of your underwear to the side, audibly groaning at how easily his middle and ring finger slipped inside of you.

You let out a whimper, squeezing onto his bicep for some stability.

“Oh my fuck, why didn’t I take you home?” Lando was talking to himself, because there was no way you were going to answer him.

There was absolutely no space between the two of you, as this car was not ideal.

You could hear the squelching noise coming from underneath you, making you look down; covering your mouth to stifle your moans. There was nothing that Lando hated more than when you hid from him.

“Get that hand off of your mouth, sweetheart.” Lando spoke, slipping a third finger into your cunt; knowing you’d react.

“Good girl, gonna cum for me?” Lando asked, kissing your jaw and down towards your collarbone. “Hmm?”

You were breathless, but still managed to use your words. “No.” You paused, your voice sounding like a whimper, grabbing onto Lando’s shirt as you tried not to fall apart. “I need you to fuck me, please.”

“Fuck, are you sure?” He asked, his face centimeters from yours. Lando was taken aback at your forwardness, but willing to do anything you wanted.

You hummed, nodding before kissing him. You moved your hand down between your legs; feeling the now very prominent bulge in Lando’s jeans.

He let out a deep throaty groan at the contact. “Fuck.”

You tried to unbutton his jeans really fast, but with your position on his lap it wasn’t working.

“I got it, I got it.” Lando’s larger and more steady hand replaced yours as he worked his pants down to leave enough room for his cock.

You let out a sigh when you felt him teasing the head of his leaking cock against your folds. “I can’t believe we’re doing this here.”

“What?” Your voice was breathy as Lando gripped your hips to lower you down onto him. Your question was instantly replaced by a moan of his name.

“Nothing.” Lando grunted before throwing his head back. “God, how do you feel so fucking good?”

He still had a grip on your hips; hitting all of the right spots that drove you insane.

“Hmm- Fuck!” You cried out. “Right there, right there.”

“Shit.” Lando swore, letting go of you with one hand to have you look at him. “You’re cumming already?”

You eagerly nodded before Lando suddenly crashed his lips with yours. The kiss is sloppy; messy.

You could feel your thighs starting to ache, and a tinge of overstimulation when Lando applied pressure to your clit with the pads of his fingers.

Gasping, you pulled away from the kiss, swearing under your breath as Lando was pulling another orgasm from you so quickly as you still fucked yourself on his cock.

“You can give me one more, yeah?” His voice was low as his hot breath ghosted your face. “Make a fucking mess out of my car.”

In your attempts to slam down onto him harder, your rhythm faltered as you came again. Your legs were now shaking as you clenched around Lando’s cock.

The sun was almost down, making it somewhat difficult to see his reaction; but you had an inkling that he had to be close.

“Lando…” Your voice was a slight whimper again, making Lando wince. “Cum in me, please.”

“God im close, im really fucking close.” Lando spoke, sucking in a shallow breath through gritted teeth.

It wasn’t too long after that he finally reached his peak, nearly holding you down on his lap as he grunted expletives as he tried to be as quiet as possible.

“Lando…” you winced as you already felt the mess between your legs. “Stay inside of me like this.” You leaned into him, resting your head on his heaving chest.

“We can’t stay here.” You could tell Lando was smirking by the way his voice sounded. One of his hands smoothed out your hair before he kissed the top of your head. “I know you’re tired, but we can’t.”

“I know.” You huffed, exaggerating a pouty attitude. “You’re so warm.” You kissed Lando near his mouth a few times, making him scrunch his nose.

Finally you sat up, letting Lando help you off of his lap and into the passenger seat. The two of you fixed your clothing before Lando leaned over the center console to kiss you.

“Okay, take me home.”

[candy69gurl]

Hmphh M' Sleeping !!

PAIRING Step dad!Gojo Satoru x f!reader, Step dad!Toji Fushiguro x f!reader, Step dad!Nanami Kento x f!reader, Step dad!Geto Suguru x f!reader, Step dad!Sukuna x f!reader, Step dad!Shiu Kong x f!reader, Step dad!Hiromi Higuruma x f!reader, Step dad!Kamo Choso x f!reader [seperate]

SYNOPSIS After a long day, when your step dad returns home to find you asleep, looking all innocent and tempting...They are unable to resist touching you!

WARNING stepcest, taboo, somnophilia, non/con (but you like it), pre-established relationship, comfort, nipple sucking playing & pinching, p in v, dirty talks (duh), pussy eating fingering, use of four arms for pleasure (sukuna), cock warming, clit rubbing, soft sex, clit rubbing with cock, blowjob, m!masturbation

NOTE I'm just a girl (with daddy issues) ... Some people may find the contents unpleasant. Simply block and move on; please do not make disparaging remarks about me; if you do, prepare to get trolled by my moots. Please read the warnings and do not do this at home (duh)

◈ SATORU GOJO

Gojo saunters into the house, a tired smile on his face, "Daddy's home!" he calls out, hoping to hear your voice in response, but, he hears nothing but silence. His footsteps carry him upstairs, concern beginning to creep in as he pushes open your bedroom door.

He pauses in the doorway, taking in the sight before him. The dim light casts shadows across your face, highlighting the soft curves of your lips and the delicate lines of your features. His steps are quiet and careful, almost hesitant, as he approaches you.

He gently brushes a loose strand of hair from your face, feeling the warmth of your skin under his fingertips. His heart skips a beat at your sight, looking so peaceful and innocent. But then he notices something strange - his shirt, the one he wore yesterday, draped over your shoulders, exposing your chest. His gaze drops to the hemline of the shirt, where it pooled above your waist, leaving your stomach bare.

He raises an eyebrow, his amusement warring with his confusion. "Wearing my shirt, huh?" he teases, trying to lighten the mood.

As Gojo continues to tease you, his fingers dance lightly across your lips, tracing the curve of your neckline, and then lower still, to the swell of your breast barely contained by his shirt. Your skin ignites at his touch, sending shivers down your spine. As he leans in further, his warm breath tickles your ear, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin.

"You shouldn't wear my clothes, you know.. They are too big for you," he murmurs, his voice low and sultry, sending heat coursing through your veins. Without warning, his lips close around your nipple, drawing it into his mouth.

"Mmm, you're driving me crazy," he groans, suckling softly. His free hand reaches up to cup the other breast, his thumb grazing its peak. "I can't help myself, you know."

He pulls back slightly, his eyes gleaming with mischief. His hand slides down your body, tracing the edge of his shirt where it meets your shorts, lingering for a moment before moving back up again.

"Is this what you want, hm?"

His voice is thick with desire, his words heavy with innuendo. He doesn't wait for an answer, instead, he dives back in, his lips closing around your nipple once more. This time, he sucks harder, his tongue flicking against the tight bud. You could feel yourself getting wetter, your body responding to his touch despite your sleepy state.

"You're so responsive, always ready for me," he growls, his voice rough and deep. His fingers trail down your stomach, dipping into the indentation of your navel before continuing southwards.

As Gojo continues his exploration, his fingers brush against the thin fabric of your shorts, sliding easily between your legs. He moans softly, feeling how wet and ready you already are for him. He can't believe how responsive you are even in your sleep.

"Oh, baby," he whispers, his voice thick with lust. "You're so fucking wet for me."

His finger slips inside you, slick and smooth. You moan softly, your hips bucking involuntarily, seeking more of his touch. He chuckles low in his throat, loving the way you respond to him.

"So eager, so desperate," he says, his voice filled with satisfaction. "Always wanting me, even in your dreams."

He adds another finger, thrusting slowly but steadily, watching as your chest heaves with each movement. Your breathing becomes ragged, your body writhing beneath his touch.

As Gojo removes his clothing, revealing his hard member, his eyes never leave yours. There's a mix of excitement and mischief in his gaze as he positions himself at your entrance.

"That's right, sleep tight," he whispers, his voice thick with desire. "Let me take care of you."

He can't help but smile as he hears you mumble softly, calling him "Daddy." It sends a thrill of pleasure through him, knowing that you've accepted his presence.

He responds with a low, rumbling laugh, "That's right, baby. Daddy's here." He gently pushes inside, feeling you clench around him. He coos softly, urging you to keep sleeping as he starts to move.

Each thrust is slow and deliberate, designed to awaken your senses without fully awakening you. It feels like a dream, yet at the same time, it feels so real. You can feel every inch of him, every push and pull, and it's driving you wild.

Gojo watches you closely, his expression a mixture of desire and tenderness. He knows you're not fully awake, but he can't resist giving you pleasure, even in your sleep. Each time he moves, he watches your face, gauging your reactions, making sure you're comfortable.

"Daddy's gonna make you feel so good," he promises, his voice gravelly with desire. He picks up the pace, pounding into you, his movements strong and purposeful.

You moan softly, your body responding to his touch even though you're still half-asleep.

Gojo watches you closely, his expression a mix of desire and tenderness. He takes his time, savoring every moment of this intimate connection. With each thrust, he sees the emotions flashing across your face, the pleasure and trust that you're giving him.

"You're so beautiful," he groans, his voice thick with passion. "And mine.. all fucking mine to claim.."

He can't help but speed up, driven by the need to give you as much pleasure as possible.

As Gojo continues to move, you begin to overcome slumber, whispering lazily, "Daddy, I missed you so much." His heart swells with warmth at your words, and he responds with a low, reassuring growl, "I know, baby. I'll make it up to you."

His thrusts grow stronger, more demanding. He nuzzles your neck, leaving a series of tender kisses and love bites, punctuated by gentle nibbles. Then, he sinks his teeth into your skin, marking you with a passionate hickee. His mark is a mixture of pain and pleasure, a testament to the connection between you two.

With each thrust, Gojo can feel your body tightening around him, drawing him deeper inside you. Your moans become louder, more urgent, signaling your impending climax. You cling to him, your fingers digging into his back, your desire mirroring his own.

Finally, you reach your peak, your body convulsing around him, releasing a wave of pleasure that shakes you to your core.

As you continue to tremble in the aftermath of your orgasm, Gojo groans, "Shit, baby, keep squeezing me like that... Ah!" His own release is near, the tension building within him reaching its peak.

Your eyes drift shut, your words slurred as you mumble, "Daddy, m' sleepy." Despite your words, your body continues writhing, still responding to his touch.

Gojo grins, his heart swelling with affection for you. "Alr, baby, just a few more minutes," he promises. His thrusts become more insistent, filling you completely with each powerful stroke.

As he thrusts, he watches the emotions play across your face - pleasure, exhaustion, and contentment. His own release builds, and finally, he feels it burst forth. He groans, pouring himself into you, sealing the bond between you two as you both collapse into each other's arms.

"Sleep, baby," he whispers, cradling you close, protecting you from the world outside. And as your breathing steadies, he knows that nothing will ever come between you two. Nothing and no one.

◈ TOJI FUSHIGURO

The darkness outside is eerily silent as Toji returns home, his eyes scanning the surroundings as he walks, trying to shake off the lingering scent of death. The bloodstained clothing clinging to his body seemed to weigh him down, and his mind racing with thoughts of the deed he have just committed. He needs to wash the evidence off his hands, and there's only one person, he knows he can find solace from- you.

With cat-like steps, Toji creeps into your room, his eyes adjusting to the dim light within.

As Toji approaches the bed, he gently props himself up beside you, careful not to disturb your peaceful slumber. With a soft whisper, he scoops you into a gentle embrace, wrapping his arms around you tightly. The tension in his body begins to dissipate as he inhales deeply, taking in the sweet scent of your sleep-warmed skin.

His lips brush against yours, showering you with tender kisses. "Ah, I missed ya so much," he whispers against your ear, his breath hot and labored. "Just being near you calms my soul." He nuzzles against your shoulder-space,, his lips tracing the contours of your features as he speaks. "Your body is so warm," he murmurs, his voice husky with emotion. "It's intoxicating."

He pulls back slightly, gazing at you with an adoring look. "You can't imagine, how much I love you.." he speaks, his voice trembling with sincerity.

As he speaks, his hand drifts down to cup your breasts, his fingers gently kneading the soft flesh, " Ah I missed these too."

You stir slightly at his touch, your eyelids fluttering, but your deep slumber stops your movement soon.

Your body responds instinctively to his touch, your nipple growing stiff beneath his fingers. Toji's eyes gleam with excitement as he notices, his grip on you tightening ever so slightly.

"S-shit," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "You're so responsive, even in your sleep."

Toji wraps his arms around you, his sweaty and bloody scent wafts up to fill your nostrils, carrying with it the heavy weight of his guilt. Despite the overwhelming aroma, your subconscious seems to crave the comfort of his presence, and you exhale deeply, embracing the sensation of being wrapped in his arms.

With a gentle tug, Toji pulls you closer, shifting his position so that you slide onto his chest. Your body molds to his, and you settle into the curve of his torso as if you were sinking into a cloud. Your small frame rests comfortably on his chest, and his arms wrap around you, holding you close. The softness of his clothes provides a makeshift mattress, and you seem to instinctively snuggle deeper into his embrace, your head resting on the crook of his neck.

As Toji's hands move down your body, his fingers deftly sliding your panties off your hips. The fabric whispers against your skin as it's removed, leaving you exposed and vulnerable to his touch. His clothed cock presses against your bare pussy, the friction generating a subtle tremble in your loins. Wetness seeps from your center, staining the fabric of his pants with its warmth.

Despite the sudden intimacy, you remain entranced in a somnambulant state, your body responding instinctively to the stimulation.

"Mmm...ahh..." you mumble sleepily into his neck, your breathing growing heavier as your body trembles with pleasure. Toji's grip on you tightens, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

"Oh, you're so wet," he whispers, his voice husky with desire. "You are making me so hard, mhmm. "

He continues to stroke himself against your pussy, the pressure building with each passing moment. Your sleepy eyes begin to flicker open, but you don't seem to fully register the situation, instead simply reacting to the sensations being inflicted to you.

Toji's fingers wrap around your hips, lifting your ass upward as he frees his swollen cock from his pants. The tip of his penis glints in the dim light of the room, slick with precum. He pauses for a moment, his gaze locked on your sleepy face, before slowly guiding himself into your waiting heat.

As he pushes deeper, his movements deliberate and slow, your sleepy eyes gradually open, taking in the surreal scene unfolding before you. Your pupils dilate as you process the reality of the situation, your breath catching in your throat.

"A-ah!" you moan softly, your voice barely audible above a whisper, as Toji's cock slides deeper into your depths. Your gaze remains fixed on his, a mixture of confusion and arousal etched across your face.

Toji's eyes burn with intensity, his face twisted in a mixture of passion and desperation. "Ohh~ you're so tight," he gasps, his voice strained with effort. "So perfect."

As he withdraws, his cock slips almost entirely out of you, leaving only the swollen head nestled within your entrance. Your muscles contract reflexively, squeezing him.

Toji's grip on your hips tightening as he plunges back into your depths. The motion is slow and deliberate, each thrust building upon the last as he seeks to claim every inch of your body.

"I missed fucking ya, so much," he growls, his teeth bared in a fierce snarl. "I needed ya so badly."

The words are spoken against your ear, his breath hot and rank with the scent of blood and sweat.

As Toji continues to thrust into you, his pace steady and deliberate, your initial moans of pleasure begin to fade away. Your body relaxes, succumbing to the gentle rocking motion, and your eyelids droop once more.

Soft, contented purrs escape your lips, harmonizing with the rhythm of Toji's strokes. Your breath grows deeper and slower, your body swaying in time with his movements. The tension in your limbs eases, replaced by a sense of relaxation and surrender.

Toji's eyes burn with intensity, his gaze locked on your face as he reads your reactions. He slows his pace further, allowing himself to become lost in the sensation of being buried deep within your warmth.

"Ah, yeah... you're so relaxed, aren't ya?" he whispers, his voice low and husky. "You're letting go, giving yourself over to me."

He pauses, his cock still deep within your depths, and gazes down at your face. Your eyelids flutter, your breath slowing further as you continue to purr softly.

"Good girl," he whispers, his voice filled with satisfaction. "You're so good for me."

Toji's hands dart up to your chest, grasping the hem of your top and pulling it upwards. The fabric strains against your skin as he tugs it over your head. His own shirt follows suit, peeling off his torso to reveal his chiseled physique.

Your nipples, previously softened by your sleep, now re-harden as they graze against Toji's chest. He wraps his arms around you, his palms pressed against your back as he draws you in closer. The friction between your nipples and his chest creates a tantalizing sensation, sending shivers down your spine.

"You feel so good against me," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "Like you were made for me alone."

Toji's hips pick up speed, his cock bruising your gummy walls as he rocks his body against yours.

As Toji's movements intensify, your hands unconsciously reach up to grasp his hair, tangling your fingers within the dark strands. Your sleepy moans grow louder, your body beginning to tremble with pleasure.

The sound of your moans sends a wave of excitement coursing through Toji's veins. His eyes blaze with intensity as he gazes down at your face, his grip on your hips tightening as he buries himself deeper within your warmth.

"Ahh, yeah... you're loving this, aren't ya?" he growls, his voice low and husky. Toji's grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as he drives himself deeper into your depths. Your nails dig into his scalp, your hands pulling his hair down as you arch your back cumming all over his cock.

As your walls clamp continuously against his shaft, Toji's climax builds, his movements becoming more erratic and urgent. Your body flexes beneath him, your nails digging deeper into his scalp as you writhe in ecstasy.

With a final, brutal thrust, Toji pulls out of you, his cock spurting forth a stream of semen that splashes against your back. The fluid arcing through the air, coating your skin with its sticky warmth.

"Ahhh, yes!" Toji bellows, his body convulsing with release.

As the adrenaline begins to wear off, Toji's movements slow, his chest heaving with exertion. With a gentle push, he guides you backward onto the bed, careful not to disturb your peaceful slumber.

Once you've settled into the blankets, Toji curls his body around yours, wrapping his arms tightly around your shoulders. His chest presses against your back, his warm breath rustling against the hairs on the back of your neck.

As the silence washes over you, your eyelids drooping with exhaustion, Toji's grip on you tightens, his big fingers intertwining with yours.

◈ NANAMI KENTO

Nanami sighs heavily as he enters the living room, kicking off his shoes and tossing his jacket onto the couch. "Ugh, Gojo..." he mutters under his breath, shaking his head. Working with the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in history isn't exactly easy, especially when the man seems to enjoy pushing his buttons.

After removing his tie and undoing the top buttons of his shirt, Nanami heads towards the bathroom to wash away the stress of the day. As the warm water cascads over his body,

He lets out a small groan of relief. The hot water seeps into his tense muscles, helping ease some of the soreness from his long day at work. He runs his fingers through his wet hair, ridding himself of any product, before rinsing thoroughly.

Stepping out of the shower, wrapped only in a towel, Nanami decides to pay a visit to you in your room before heading to bed.

You were fast asleep, your hair slightly disheveled and your features relaxed, looking almost peaceful.

Nanami approaches your bed softly, watching you sleep. He feels a pang of affection for you, and can't help but lean down to place a kiss on your forehead. Your skin feels warm against his lips, comforting.

Suddenly, your arms wrap around him, trapping him there. At first, he stiffens, surprised by your sudden movement, "What's this?" he asks softly, his voice laced with amusement. "Trying to keep me here?"

As Nanami stands there, caught in your embrace, you pull his head further into your chest. He feels a slight resistance at first, but soon relaxes, letting his cheekbones press gently against your skin.

He balances himself on his two hands, leaning into you and resting his body weight against your chest.

The cold water droplets from Nanami's damp hair fall lightly onto your warm chest, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. You tighten your grip on his head, reveling in the feeling of his body pressed against yours.

Nanami tries to shift and wiggle free from your hold, but quickly realizes that it's futile. With a soft chuckle, he gives up and allows himself to remain in your embrace.

Despite his best efforts to resist, Nanami finds himself becoming increasingly aroused. Your scent fills his nostrils, sending a wave of desire through him. He tries to ignore it, knowing that he should not indulge in such thoughts, especially given your current sleepy state.

But as your warmth envelops him, and your heartbeat syncs with his, it becomes harder and harder for him to fight the urge. He can feel his arousal growing stronger, straining against his towels begging for release.

Nanami lies there, trapped in your embrace, you mumble his name in your sleep. He responds with a muttered curse under his breath, his frustration mounting, knowing he shouldn't, he can't help but reach down and remove the towel that covers his body.

With his arousal growing stronger, he rubs his hardened cock against your thigh, seeking relief. You stir slightly in your sleep, but don't awaken fully. Nanami continues to rub himself against you, the friction sending shivers down his spine.

Feeling guilty for using your body while you're asleep, he whispers a soft apology, "Sorry, baby." Despite the remorse, he can't bring himself to stop. The sensation of your skin against his erection is too intense, too pleasurable.

Nanami continues to move slowly against your thighs, his breathing becoming heavier with each passing moment. He wants nothing more than to bury himself inside you right now, but he knows he can't do that to you while you're asleep.

You unconsciously rub your thighs together, catching Nanami's dick in between. This motion causes his arousal to peak even higher, and when your grip on his head loosens, he takes the opportunity to get off your chest.

He positions himself closer to your core, feeling your wetness through your panties. A low, primal groan escapes his lips, "Shit," he murmurs, unable to contain his excitement any longer.

In one swift motion, Nanami pulls your panties to the side, revealing your swollen bud. Nanami touches you intimately, you keep sleeping, completely unaware of his actions. He watches your face carefully, searching for any sign that you've woken up, but your expression remains peaceful and serene.

Then he starts to rub his dick against your clit, eliciting a soft whimper from your lips. You squirm slightly in your sleep, your body responding to his touch despite your unconscious state.

Burying his face in the crook of your neck, he inhales deeply, taking in your sweet scent. He continues to rub against your sensitive bud, his movements slow and deliberate. He wants to savor this moment, to make sure you feel everything he's feeling. His breaths become ragged and uneven, his body trembling with anticipation.

Eventually, he can't take it anymore. He lifts his head, trailing kisses down your neck and chest, pausing briefly to suck on your clad nipple, causing you to stir in your sleep. You instinctively arch your back, pressing yourself into his touch.

Nanami smiles, pleased with your reaction. He gradually increases the intensity of his movements. Your body jerks in response, and he can feel your arousal building rapidly. Moaning softly against your neck, he can barely contain his own excitement.

Your eyes slowly flutter open on hearing him groaning and whimpering in pleasure. Noticing his movements, you decide to keep quiet, choosing to enjoy the pleasure he brings without interrupting him.

His climax approaches soon, he pulls your top up and finally releases with a loud moan, coating your stomach with his seed. You close your eyes again, relishing the sensation.

Once satisfied, Nanami rests for a moment, still hovering above you. After a few deep breaths, he climbs off of you and settles beside you, wrapping his arm around you protectively. He kisses the top of your head gently, whispering a gentle 'sorry' again. You stir slightly in your sleep, but don't wake up entirely. Instead, you snuggle deeper into his embrace, feeling content and safe in his arms.

As you both lie there, wrapped in each other's arms, Nanami can feel your rhythmic breathing slowly soothing him. The last remnants of his stress and fatigue melt away, replaced by a sense of peace and contentment.

Slowly, he drifts off into a deep sleep, his body finally able to rest after the long day he's had..

◈ GETO SUGURU

Over the years, your relationship with Suguru, who you refer to as your stepfather, had grown complicated. On the surface, he appeared to be a caring and attentive guardian, providing everything you needed. But beneath the façade, you knew that he detested non-sorcerers, including yourself.

You decided to take extra care in ensuring that you didn't provoke him. You maintained a distance, avoiding any actions that might anger him. Despite the knowledge of his disdain, you still loved him dearly and appreciated his efforts to care for you.

Unbeknownst to you, Suguru harbored more than just an affectionate bond for you. He had developed a deep love - almost possessive - towards you, the only non-sorcerer he cared for. This complex emotion manifested itself in a more physical manner than he intended.

As you moved around the house doing chores, you often caught a glimpse of him watching you from a distance. A chill ran down your spine as you felt his eyes on you. You tried to shake off the feeling and continued with your tasks.

Today, he is out again, committing mass slaughter of mankind, but you cannot say anything, you don't have the power to.

Night fell upon the house, and as slumber begins to settle in your eyes, your thoughts drift to Mimiko and Nanako, the two girls Suguru treats like daughters. You envy their close bond with him, wishing for a similar connection of love and care.

But... Somewhere in the dark, shadows dance, and footsteps crept softly across the floorboards. Suguru... His figure moves silently, as though he's haunting the space. His eyes are dark pools of secrets, reflecting the moonlight that trickles through the windows. He approaches your bed with calculated steps, his gaze locked onto you, his eyes dark from the guilt he commited a while ago.

The distance he's kept all these years felt unbearable, and he could no longer suppress his desires. With guilt pressed on his chest, he slips into your room, closing the door softly behind him. Maybe today's the day he will finally show you, how much he loves you in a different way of course. How much different you are than other non sorcerers. The moonlight cast an ethereal glow on his face, revealing the turmoil within him. Swiftly and with great care, he climbs onto the bed, positioning himself beside you.

You stir slightly, sensing a presence in the room, but it's not enough to wake you up. Unaware of his intentions, you remain oblivious to the events unfolding.

Gently, he reaches out pulling down your panties, exposing you to his gaze. His fingers caressing your inner thighs, sending shivers down your spine. The tenderness of his touch contrasted with the sternness he displays towards others, creating an intoxicating mix of emotions within you.

His gaze lingers on the glistening folds between your legs, he takes a deep breath, steeling himself before leaning forward. His lips brushes against your inner thighs, a feather-light touch that sent shivers through your body.

You stir slightly, but sleep keeps its grip on you. You don't wake up, allowing him to continue. His tongue slides against your sensitive nub, causing a wave of sensations to wash over you.

As he pleasures you, his whispers filled the air. "I've waited for so long, Y/N. I can't wait anymore..."

The words are a testament to the torment you both have endured, the passion of him for you that has built up over time. His cravings are no longer hidden, and he allows himself to indulge in the pleasure that you offer.

His every touch, every lick, is a declaration of the love he holds for you. Despite the disgust he feels towards non-sorcerers, you are the ONLY exception. You are his forbidden fruit, the one thing he can't resist.

As his pace quickens, you feel the tension mounting within you. His dirty words echoing in your dreams making you wetter, intertwining with the pleasure he is providing. And though you sleep, your body responds to his touch, yearning for the release that awaits you both.

His mouth never leaves your sensitive flesh, his tongue dancing in a rhythmic pattern that draws you closer to the edge. The cool night air seems to vanish, replaced by a wave of heat that envelops the room.

As he tastes you on his tongue, he can't resist stroking his own erect member. With every movement of his hand, he gets closer to his own release. The friction creating a symphony of sounds that adds to the ambiance. His breath hitches his body tensing, a clear indication that he is nearing his climax.

Meanwhile, your body responds to his touch with fervor. The sensations overwhelming you, pushing you further into the realm of pleasure. Your breaths becomes uneven, your moans soft yet audible.

He keeps stroking himself. His thumb circling your nub, as his tongue delves inside you, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire being. His groans blending with your moans, creating a melody filling the once peaceful room.

In that moment, your eyes flutter open, catching sight of the unusual sight before you. There he is, kneeling between your legs, his eyes locking onto you with a strong determination. Seeing him like this, so intimate and vulnerable, sends a jolt of surprise coursing through you.

Unable to process what you're witnessing, you simply stare at him. He offers you a sheepish smile, as if asking for your understanding. Though the situation is confusing and unsettling, the tenderness in his gaze commands you to stay silent. You allow him to continue, surrendering to the waves of pleasure crashing over you.

His movements become more frantic, the intensity increasing as he nears his climax. His moans against your sensitive skin intensify, his efforts to hold back dwindling. The anticipation builds within the room, thick and palpable.

In that moment, curiosity gets the better of you and you muster the courage to ask, "Daddy... do you love me?"

The question hangs heavy between you, as if testing the boundaries of their unspoken agreement. To your surprise, he answers without hesitation.

"Yes, of course I do, darling," he whispers, his voice raw and full of emotion. Before you can process his response, he shifts position. His member now brushes against your slit, the contact sending sparks flying through your body. He kisses your jawline, his lips tender against your skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

The sensation of his kisses and licks combined with the pulsing of your now throbbing clit against his member pushes you over the edge. Shuddering under his touch, your clit pulses wildly against his member, messing all over his cock.

At the same moment, his control snaps. With a guttural roar, he finds his release. Hot streams of liquid paint your stomach, marking you with his essence. The last remnants of his restraint slip away, and he collapses onto you, panting heavily.

In that moment, as your heartbeats synchronize, you're reminded of a certain truth. Despite everything, the love between you and Geto, the complexities that bind you together, remain unbroken.

◈ RYOMEN SUKUNA

Uraume stands before Sukuna, bowing their head in reverence. "My lord, how did it go?"

Sukuna's grin grows wider as he begins to recount his tale. "Ah, Uraume, it was glorious! I slaughtered the humans by the hundreds, reveling in their screams and pleas for mercy. Their fear was intoxicating, and their blood was sweet nectar to my palate." He chuckles to himself, remembering the thrill of the hunt.

As Sukuna finishes his tale, his gaze turns to Uraume. "And where is she?"

Uraume bows their head. "My lord, she is deep asleep, and I did not think it wise to disturb her."

Sukuna's eyes lit up with excitement. "Ah, my little girl is asleep, is she?" Sukuna steps into your room, his eyes adjusting to the darkness. The moonlight filters through the window, casting an eerie glow on the scene before him. His eyes land on you, and he is taken aback by what he sees.

You are lying on the bed, one of your hands buried deep within your panties, your breathing heavy and labored. Your robes are barely containing your body, and Sukuna can see the outline of your breasts underneath. His eyes narrow, and he can sense the desperation emanating from you. He approaches you, his four arms flexing as he moves closer.

As he reaches you, he gently grabs your wrist, pulling your hand out of your panties. Sukuna's eyes remain fixed on you as he gently kisses your forehead. He takes off your robe, and you stir in your sleep as the cool air caresses your skin. He adjusts you in his lap, and your eyes open slowly, his two members pressing against your back.

Sukuna's eyes gleam with excitement as he thrusts one of his members into you. You moan loudly, while your body adjusts to his size. His other member rubs against your asshole, sending shivers down your spine. Two of his hands grasp your hips, holding you in place as he continues to thrust. Your body starts to move with his, and you feel yourself getting closer to climax.

You lean onto his chest, and your breathing becomes slow and steady. The whole day you did nothing but annoy Uraume, now you are resting on Sukuna's chest, while he thrusts inside you. Sukuna's eyes never leave your face, watching you with a mixture of desire and tenderness. His thrusts become slower and more gentle, holding you close to his chest.

You start drifting off to sleep again, mumbling softly, "I missed you, daddy." Sukuna's heart skips a beat, and he smiles. He whispers back, "I missed you too, brat." His member continue to move slowly inside you, while you fall asleep in his embrace.

Suddenly, you feel Sukuna's big abdominal tongue stroking your tummy. It's soft and warm, and it sends shivers down your spine. You jolt awake again, moaning in pleasure as Sukuna's member continue to move inside you. Your body begins to respond to his touch, and you feel yourself getting even wetter. Sukuna's eyes gleam with excitement as he watches you squirm under his ministrations. His tongue continues to stroke your tummy, and you wrap your legs around his waist, trying to pull him deeper inside you.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Sukuna says, his voice low and husky.

You nod, unable to form words. All you can do is moan and squirm against him, desperately moving your hips for release.

"I knew you'd like that," Sukuna says, his smile widening. "You always did enjoy my special touches."

His tongue continues to slide against your stomach, moving in slow circles. You feel yourself getting closer to orgasm.

As you approach orgasm, Sukuna suddenly pulls out his member and inserts another one into you. You gasp in surprise, feeling the sudden change in pressure. But Sukuna doesn't stop there - he begins to grind the first member between your abdomen and his own abdominal tongue, creating a sensation unlike any you've ever experienced before.

You writhe beneath him, your body trembling with anticipation. The combination of sensations is almost too much to bear, and yet...you crave more. You feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your senses heightened to the point.

Just as you're about to reach your peak, Sukuna's other two hands come into play, fondling your breasts and tweaking your nipples. You mewl in pleasure, your body bucking against his.

And then...he pinches your nipples.

It's too much. You explode into orgasm, your walls tightening around his member as you squirt all over him. His own climax hits him, his dick slipping out of you, and you feel the warmth of his fluid splashing across your face and his chest. You collapse against him, panting heavily.

Sukuna chuckles lowly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Hmmm.. You did great," he says, his voice rough with desire. His abdomen tongue gives a long lick on your oversensitive clit, you shudder against him, whining and panting.

After your orgasm, you drift off to sleep, your body still twitching occasionally as you fall into a deep slumber. Sukuna, however, does not join you. He sits there, his chest heaving slightly, his eyes never leaving your sleeping face. He smirks, satisfied with the sight of you sleeping peacefully after the intense moment you just shared.

As the night wears on, he lays you on the bed and stands up, stretching his muscular frame. His members are still slick with your juices, glistening in the moonlight. Sukuna walks out of the room, leaving you alone in the dimly lit chamber.

He pauses at the doorway, to gaze at your sleeping body before speaking softly," Uraume will be coming soon to check on you." The sound of the door creaking shut, soon audible. You're left alone in the silence, your body still humming from the intense experience, your breath coming out in short spurts. Wave of slumber washes over you, and you snuggle into the bedding, your mind replaying the moments of you and your step daddy together <3

◈ SHIU KONG

As you lay in bed, half-asleep, you could hear the distant sound of the front door creaking open. The sound of footsteps made its way up the stairs, and you knew your stepdad was home from another long day at work.

Stepping lightly onto the floorboards to avoid making any noise, Shiu tiptoes towards your bedroom door, catching a glimpse of you in your sleep. You are sprawled out on the bed, fast asleep, lips slightly parted, your chest gently rising and falling with each breath.

He hesitates for a moment, considering whether to wake you or simply watch you from afar. His gaze lingered on your lips, imagining how soft they would feel under his own.

Shiu finally makes his decision, pushing the door open just wide enough to slip inside. He walks towards your bed, and leans down, brushing his lips against your cheek, a faint smile on his face as he whispers softly, "Hey, kiddo, how are you doing?"

You could feel the stubble of his moustache against your skin and catch the distinct smell of his cigarette smoke.

Your response to his presence ,barely audible - a soft, almost imperceptible purr. Your hand reaches out unconsciously, gripping his hair gently, holding onto him for a brief moment, acknowledging his presence.. This small display of affection catches Shiu off guard, causing a warm feeling in his chest. He reluctantly pulls away, ready to leave your room.

But as he turns to go, he can't help but notice the way you lick your lips and bite your bottom lip in your sleep, an innocent gesture that sent a wave of desire through him. It's more than he could handle..

As he watches you, he notices your lips tremble slightly, adding another layer of complexity to the situation. Something about this sight compels him to trace the edge of your lip with his fingertip, watching as it responds to his touch.

His thumb brushes against your bottom lip, sending shivers down your spine. Before either of you can stop it, he slips his finger into your mouth, feeling the warmth and softness enveloping his digit.

His breath hitches at the sensation of your warm mouth around his finger, desire coursing through him like an electric current. This intimate act is both enticing and unsettling, causing him to harden despite his relationship to you. The lingering stress from his work melts away, replaced by a raw, primal need.

Feeling his erection growing stronger under his trousers, Shiu struggles to maintain control. This unexpected turn of events, coupled with the stress of his demanding job, has left him caught between desire and duty.

His finger slides in and out of your mouth, eliciting small moans from you in your sleep. Each movement brings him closer to losing control, yet he finds himself unable to look away. His chest rises and falls rapidly, every deep breath fueling the fire within him.

With great difficulty, he pulls his finger from your mouth, his eyes never leaving yours. He can't deny the arousal pooling within him, but he also understands the gravity of what just happened. The line between duty and desire has been blurred.

Shiu swallows hard, acknowledging the evidence of his arousal pressing against his trousers. His mind races, torn between relief and embarrassment. His thoughts jump from the implications of his reaction to the fact that your saliva still coats his finger.

Without warning, he reaches into his trousers, using the slippery digit to stroke himself through his boxers. The sensation is intense, made all the more potent by the imagination of your lips wrapped around it.

His fingers glide over his erection, matching the rhythm of your breathing. The contrast between your innocent slumber and his explicit actions adds an element of taboo.

"I shouldn't be doing this," he whispers hoarsely, his voice raspy with desire. Despite his words, he continues to stroke himself, drawing circles around the head of his penis.

His gaze lingers on your face, searching for understanding or forgiveness. The lines of anxiety etched into his own face soften slightly as he watches you sleep, oblivious to the turmoil unfolding next to you.

"But I can't... I can't stop." He murmurs, speeding up the pace of his movements.

Unable to resist any longer, Shiu climbs onto the bed, positioning himself above you. He rubs the tip of his erection with your cheek, the moisture from earlier creating a slick surface on it.

As he presses down, your lips part involuntarily, the head of his penis slipping past them effortlessly. You adjust instinctively, your tongue darting out to taste him. It's an erotic dance of sorts, with both of you responding to primal urges without conscious thought.

His hips rock slowly, guiding you around his body. The sensation is foreign yet exhilarating; he can feel your warm mouth engulfing him inch by inch. He winces slightly, a low groan escaping him.

Despite his efforts to remain silent, the sound reverberates throughout the room, filling the space with a heavy silence. He stares at the ceiling, his heart pounding wildly, desperate not to wake you.

Your sleeping form moves unconsciously, your throat bobbing over its shaft as you continue to explore its length. His grip tightens reflexively, your actions pushing him closer to release.

"Oh God..." he breathes out, his breath ragged.

The intensity builds, and without realising it, he begins thrusting into your waiting mouth, moving faster and harder. His moans become louder, no longer containing the growing passion within him.

Despite his efforts to be discreet, the sounds carry across the room. They're uneven, bordering on frantic, painting a picture of unrestrained desire.

In the midst of it all, you finally wake up from your sleep. Your eyes flutter open, blinking rapidly in the dim light. The scene before you is shocking, but it doesn't deter you. Instead, you wrap your lips more firmly around him, sucking harder.

He jolts upright, eyes flying open wide, when he registers your consciousness. He freezes momentarily before resuming his erratic thrusts. Apologies echo softly in your ear, muffled by your actions. In spite of everything, you continue to serve him, your teeth grazing his shaft gently.

His apologies dissolve into pleas as he grasps your hair, tugging lightly. "Daddy needs your warm mouth so bad. Please forgive me." His words are thick with emotion, betraying the turmoil within him.

Your sleepy eyes flutter again, meeting his pleading ones. Your slow, drowsy movements were replaced by increased suction, setting a rhythm that matches his movement.

He releases it into your mouth suddenly, cum spilling hot and thick into your throat. A strangled cry escapes him, his entire body shaking with release. As he comes down from the high, he pulls out of your mouth, giving you time to adjust.

Gently, he scoops you into his arms, cradling you tightly against his chest. His heart pounds heavily in his chest, guilt and gratitude battling for dominance.

"I'm... I'm so sorry," he mumbles, closing his eyes tightly. "Thank you, Y/N." His words are mumbled into your hair, an admission of relief and regret.

You hug him tightly, whispering "It's okay. No problem" into his shirt. His scent surrounds you, grounding you in the surreal experience.

As the adrenaline fades, he drifts off to sleep, holding you close. For now, at least, everything seems to fall into place.

◈ HIGURUMA HIROMI

Hiromi spends long hours at work, tirelessly chasing justice for his clients. He's known for taking on challenging cases others might deem hopeless, often putting in extra hours to ensure he leaves no stone unturned in his pursuit of truth. As a result, he rarely has time to spare for anything else, leaving little room for leisure or relaxation.

When he isn't in court or meeting with clients, he's buried in mountains of paperwork, pouring over every detail meticulously. Even at home, you often find him poring over files or discussing strategy with colleagues late into the night. His dedication to his profession knows no bounds, and it shows in the relentless pace he maintains daily.

Thus, instead of finding his little girl sleeping in her room, he arrives home to find her curled up on his bed. What could you do? You missed him so much; it's like you rarely get to see him.

"You shouldn't be here," he repeats, his voice low but firm. A mix of worry and disapproval fills his eyes as he gazes down at you. "Why aren't you in your own room?"

His fingers brush gently against your cheek, the touch surprisingly tender despite the seriousness of his tone. He seems concerned for your safety and comfort, wondering why you chose to sleep here instead of your own room. His brow furrows further in confusion and concern.

You shift slightly, reaching out in your sleep and grasping his hand, pulling it closer to your breasts. The words "please stay with me" escape your lips, soft and uncertain. Your action catches him off guard, and for a moment, he stands frozen, his heart pounding loudly in his ears.

His eyes flicker between your face and his hand, now resting lightly upon your breast. This unexpected contact sends a wave of heat rushing through him, confusion mingling with arousal. He tries to process the sudden shift in dynamics between the two of you.

Very slowly, he removes his hand from your breast, feeling each curve beneath his palm before reluctantly withdrawing it. His gaze lingers on your face, turbulent with a myriad of complex emotions - part protectiveness, part confusion, and undeniably lust.

"My sweet girl..." he murmurs, running a hand through your hair, "I am here now.."

Hiromi hesitates, then carefully lies down beside you, wrapping his arms around you gently. Despite the shock of your actions, he can't deny the vulnerability in your request for his presence. His heart rate slows as he holds you, feeling your warm breath against his chest.

For several minutes, he simply lies there, stroking your hair and whispering soothing words into your ear. Then, he starts kissing your cheeks, then your neck, providing comfort through touch and warmth. Each kiss is deliberate and slow, filled with affection and care

As his lips trace along your skin, you feel a surge of warmth spreading across your body. You cling tighter to him, not wanting him to leave.

Hiromi pauses, his lips hovering above your collarbone. "I am here, don't worry" he promises softly, his voice husky with unspoken desire.

With careful fingers, he lifts one of your legs and places it across his hips, using the other hand to massage your calf gently. As he works his way up, he notices the dampness of your shorts, the fabric clinging to your thigh. His heart skips a beat, and he freezes mid-stroke.

Swallowing hard, he leans closer to your ear, his voice barely audible. "Why...are you wet, sweetheart?" His tone is cautious, a mix of curiosity and concern. He's unsure how to interpret this new development, but the tenderness in his voice remains unchanged. He's still trying to provide comfort, yet his mind races with questions and uncertainty.

"Is everything okay?" he asks softly, his fingers tracing delicate circles on your inner thigh, hesitant yet unable to resist touching you. He needs answers, but more importantly, he needs to make sure you're safe.

Your silence hangs heavy in the room, the weight of the situation palpable between you both.

In response to your silent plea, you scoot closer to him, pressing your damp core against his half-hard dick. The friction is deliberate, seeking relief or perhaps some form of comfort. As you move against him, he starts to stiffen, feeling your insistence through his clothing. The friction ignites a fire within him, the sensation sending waves of pleasure coursing through his body. His breath hitches, and he grips your waist tightly, struggling to contain his reaction.

His mind swirls with conflicting thoughts - desire, confusion, guilt. This unexpected turn of events leaves him speechless, torn between stopping you and giving in to his primal urges.

Despite the unexpected turn of events, he doesn't push you away. Instead, he wraps his arm around you more tightly, guiding your movement subtly, matching your rhythm.

Hiromi's voice is hoarse when he speaks, his words thick with emotion. "Are you...in heat?"

Hiromi's question hangs in the air, heavy with implications. In response, you hum softly in your sleep, the sound both affirmative and inviting. It confuses and excites him simultaneously.

With a deep breath, he reaches for your shorts, slowly peeling them down along with your panties. Your wet core is exposed to the cool air, glistening under the faint light. He stares at it for a moment, conflicted but undeniably turned on.

With trembling hands, he pulls you closer, his tongue darting out to lick at your clit. The salty taste of your arousal electrifies him, and he groans quietly against you.

As he continues to pleasure you, you moan sleepily, bucking your hips for more friction. His movements become more confident, his tongue exploring every inch of your swollen flesh. He watches your reactions closely, amazed by the powerful effect his touches seem to have on you.

"Oh god, Y/N..." he breathes out, his voice thick with desire. "You're so wet..."

His fingers dig into your hips as he continues his tongue invasion, your moans growing louder with each pass of his tongue. He can't believe how responsive you are while you are sleeping, your body arching beneath him willingly.

Hiromi's brings his fingers to your folds, his fingers slide effortlessly into your wet heat, causing your eyes to flutter open in surprise. You gasp softly, your muscles clenching around his digits as he pushes deeper.

He smiles to himself, his fingers curling upward to stroke the front wall of your pussy. You let out a sleepy moan, your hips rocking instinctively against his hand.

Without hesitation, he withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his pants to lubricate his already-erect shaft. The motion is swift and efficient, his eyes never leaving clenching hole as he frees his hardness.

Hiromi plunges his tongue into your hole, his strokes becoming more urgent as he stimulates both your pussy and himself. The sensations are overwhelming, and you moan softly, your eyes half-opening to meet his gaze.

Hiromi's eyes lock onto yours, his pupils dilated with desire. He's mesmerized by your sleepy, aroused state, his fingers tightening around his shaft as he continues to pleasure you. The sight of you, responding to his touch like this is both thrilling and confusing, but he can't seem to stop.

Your hand wraps around his hair, gently pulling his head closer to your center. The pressure forces his nose against your clit, sending a jolt of electricity through your body. Your breathing becomes labored, your moans growing louder as you rock your hips against his face.

Hiromi's eyes flutter closed, his nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply, drinking in your scent. He's completely absorbed in the moment, his senses overwhelmed by the intimacy of the act. His fingers continue to stroke his erection, his movements becoming more frenzied as he chases your release.

His tongue darts out, tasting the sweet nectar of your arousal. He sucks gently on your clit, his fingers pumping his erection in time with the motions of his mouth. The combination of sensations is intoxicating, and you feel yourself teetering on the edge of climax.

The pressure builds to a crescendo, and you shatter around his tongue, crying out in ecstasy. Your walls contract, trying milking his tongue for every last drop of pleasure. He licks and suckles, coaxing out every last tremor from your climax.

As you ride the aftershocks, he brings his cock closer, rubbing the tip against your still-sensitive clit. He moans loudly, his hips jerking in response to the stimulation. The sensation is too much for him to handle, and he releases on your thighs, coating your skin with his seed. The pleasure is intense and sharper than any legal victory he's ever experienced.

After his release, Hiromi takes a few deep breaths, his body trembling with exhaustion. He collapses next to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your head.

◈ CHOSO KAMO

The sound of moans and the mention of his name stop Choso in his tracks like a bullet hitting a target. His heart races and his breath hitches. Is this real? Could it really be you, making those sweet noises?

He slowly moves closer to the door, trying to listen better. The sound comes again, "Choso.. mhm- daddy." it seems softer this time, almost like you need him. His cock grows hard in response, throbbing painfully against his pants. He's never thought of you this way before, but now the image of you, pleasuring yourself while calling out his name, is burned into his mind. His dick twitches in his pants, straining against the fabric. He looks down, seeing a wet spot forming there.

"This isn't right, you're not supposed to want your stepdaughter like this." But the taboo nature of it only makes the desire grow stronger. Slowly, he reaches down and adjusts himself through his pants, trying to ease the pressure building up.

Choso hesitates at the door, frozen like a deer caught in headlights. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. You're asleep, peaceful and innocent looking. Your cheeks are flushed against the pillow, and another pillow is nestled between your thighs, mimicking the motion of being fucked moving gently as you make soft, sleepy moans.

With a deep breath, he steps into the room, shutting the door gently behind him. He approaches your bed, looking down at you as you sleep. The sight of you, even in sleep, is arousing. Your face squeezed on to the pillow, those soft moans escaping from your lips. He feels like he shouldn't be here, watching you, but he can't help it. As much as he tries to fight it, he can't deny his curiosity.

"I am here baby, do you need anything?," Choso asks quietly, his voice barely audible.

His eyes trace over your form, taking in the sight of you. The gentle rise and fall of your chest, the way your thighs clamp around the pillow. He swallows thickly, feeling the heat rush to his face. He should leave, shouldn't he? But he can't seem to tear his gaze away from you.

"Hey.. Is everything alright?" he asks again, his voice barely above a whisper. He wants to reach out, to touch you, to make sure you're alright. But he knows that would be wrong. Still, he can't stop himself from reaching out, lightly brushing a stray lock of hair from your face.

You reply in your drowsy state ,"N-need Cho daddy so bad", Choso's breath catches in his throat. He had heard you correctly. You need him, Daddy, so bad. Heat floods his cheeks, but he can't look away. You move restlessly in your sleep, your legs shifting apart slightly. His eyes follow the movement, catching sight of your dampened panties.

He swallows hard, his voice rough as he asks, "Do you need my help with this?"

Your response is a soft hum, and he sees your lips part slightly. You're so vulnerable, so exposed in your slumber. Choso's hand trembles as he reaches out, gently pulling your panties down, revealing your glistening slit. He takes a moment to admire the sight, the wetness glistening in the moonlight filtering through the window. His cock throbs painfully at the sight, aching to be inside you.

"Baby, do you want me to help you feel better?" he whispers, his voice shaking. He knows this is wrong, but he can't resist the temptation any longer.

Slowly, Choso slides his finger into you, marveling at how tight and wet you are. He can't believe this is happening. You're so responsive, even in your sleep. He pulls back his finger, coated in your wetness, and brings it to his mouth. Tasting you sends a thrill through him.

Undressing hastily, he discards his pants and boxers, revealing his erection. It's throbbing, desperate for release. He positions himself above you and gently circles your clit, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. Your eyes start to open, but you're still lost in the haze of sleepiness. You nuzzle your face into the pillow, a soft whimper escaping you as he begins to thrust into you.

"Shhh, it's okay, baby," he murmurs, trying to calm you. "Just enjoy it. Let me take care of you."

Your eyes focus on him, wide with confusion and desire. "Daddy..." you mumble, not quite understanding what's happening.

"It's okay, just relax," he says, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "I'm going to make you feel good."

He continues to thrust into you slowly, gently at first, letting your body adjust to him. Your moans become louder, more distinct, as he increases the pace. You arch your back, meeting his thrusts, your hands gripping the sheets tightly.

As he fucks you, you start to come alive. Your hips buck against him, urging him deeper. You're so responsive, so eager. He can tell you're close, your breaths quickening, your nails digging into the sheets.

"That's it, baby," he whispers, his voice ragged. "Let go for me."

You let out a cry, your orgasm washing over you. Your inner walls clench around him, milking him as you climax. Choso groans, unable to hold back anymore, he quickly pulls out of you, watching as you collapse back onto the bed, gasping for air. He can't wait any longer; his release is imminent. He strokes himself a few times, aiming for your back.

A hot stream of cum lands on your skin, followed by another. He keeps cumming, covering your back in his seed. His breath hitches as he finishes, collapsing next to you. His heart pounds in his chest, his breaths shallow.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," he mutters continuously.

You turn to face him, your eyes full of gratitude. "Thank you, Daddy," you say softly, reaching out to touch his face. "That felt so good."

Without waiting for a response, you wrap your arms around him, pulling him close. He protests weakly, but he doesn't struggle. You snuggle against him, feeling his heartbeat under your ear.

[drewsephrry]

Love Island: Episode 7 - Sparks Fly

series masterlist

pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader

words: 5.7k

warnings: cuss words, sexual innuendos, alcohol consumption

The sun creeps over the villa, golden light scattering across the pool and casting soft shadows through the trees. One by one, the islanders start to stir as the lights flicker on.

“Morning, guys.” Abigail calls out, voice sweet but still groggy. A few murmured replies and a chorus of groans answer her back. From the far side of the room, JJ’s soft snores cut through the noise. He is still dead asleep, sprawled across the bed, completely ignoring the makeshift pillow wall Cleo had built between them.

“Bro, seriously?” Cleo grumbles, trying to shove him onto his side. Nothing. She pushes again. Still nothing. Topper snorts from across the room.

“How is he still out cold?” He laughs. All heads turn to JJ, mouth agape, drool at the corner of his lips, snoring like a freight train.

“Aww, he looks so cute when he's sleeping.” Sarah coos, hands clasped dramatically. Cleo rolls her eyes.

“Yeah and he's a freaking menace when he's not.” That gets a wave of laughter from the room.

Y/N chuckles, watching Cleo’s struggle from her bed. But her focus drifts, her eyes falling to the arm slung over her leg. Rafe’s still buried under a pillow, blocking out the sun. He hadn’t let go of her all night. Even now, half-asleep, his fingers rest on her thigh like he’s anchoring himself to her.

She lets out a quiet breath, then glances to the other side of her bed. Ryan’s already sitting up, hoodie on, hair wild, his glasses halfway down his nose. He turns to her with a sleepy grin.

“Morning.”

“Morning.” She replies, matching his smile. “How was your first sleep in the villa?” She asks, voice soft. He grins.

“Honestly? Best sleep I’ve had in ages.” He replies and she laughs.

Her mind drifts back to her own first night. Struggling to sleep, tossing and turning and overthinking. Lying beside Rafe who made her feel safe enough to melt into him, even though they were practically strangers.

“Y/N?”

She blinks, pulled back to reality.

“You zoned out there.” Ryan says gently. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah.” She says quickly, flashing a smile and looking down to fidget with her ring. “Just tired.”

Ryan nods, but before he can say anything else, Abigail leans over to ask him something, giving Y/N space. She turns back toward Rafe just as he peeks out from under the pillow, rubbing his eyes. His tan chest rises with a slow breath and there’s a fresh stubble dusting his jaw. Somehow, it makes him look even more unfairly attractive. She swallows and looks away just as Kiara’s voice cuts through the room.

“What do you think Maddy and Kelce got up to in the Hideaway?” Kiara asks and the room lights up with reactions as guesses start flying.

“They definitely hooked up.” Topper says, still half-asleep but already causing drama. Alyssa and Cleo immediately start arguing with him.

The door swings open before the debate gets too heated and Maddy walks in, glowing, with Kelce trailing behind her in nothing but boxers and a smug grin.

“Morning, lovebirds!” Kelce yells, doing a lap around the room before throwing himself on Rafe and Y/N’s bed.

“Dude!” Rafe groans. Y/N grins and glances at Maddy, who’s laughing along with the others.

“Someone’s in a good mood.” She mutters.

Kelce beams. The girls all turn to Maddy, who’s sitting on her bed, eyes on her nails, a soft smile still lingering on her lips.

“Someone’s in a good mood.” Y/N mutters. Kelce beams, nodding like a bobblehead. The girls immediately zero in on Maddy, eyes wide with curiosity.

“Spill!” Kiara demands.

“You’re gonna tell us either way.” Topper adds and everyone murmurs their agreement.

“Guys, don’t pressure them.” Y/N cuts in, voice quieter.

Rafe hears it and wonders if it’s a jab, leftover tension from their argument the night before. Kelce, catching her tone, reaches out and gently taps her calf.

“You good?” He murmurs, reading her a little too well. She gives him a small smile and a quick nod. Kelce’s eyes flick to Rafe and he picks up on the tension between the two. He gets up from the bed, brushing off Rafe’s legs and claps his hands.

“I need coffee injected in my veins. Boys, come on!” He heads toward the door with a dramatic stretch. “Damn, it’s a good day!” He yells, making the others crack up as they follow him.

Rafe lingers for a beat, grabbing his phone and water. He looks down at Y/N.

“We’re gonna talk later, yeah?”

There’s something hesitant in his voice. Hope, but also worry.

She meets his eyes and nods softly.

He leans down, presses a kiss to her forehead and follows the others out.

Once the boys leave the room, the girls immediately pile into Y/N’s bed. Sarah’s the first to cling to her, adjusting her sunglasses. Maddy flops onto the bed with a giddy squeal, beckoning Abigail to scoot closer.

“Okay, spill!” Alyssa practically begs.

“Okay, so…” Maddy begins, clearly enjoying the attention.

“What did you two do?” Sarah grins.

“JJ’s convinced you guys hooked up.” Cleo throws in with a smirk.

“Girls, let her talk!” Y/N interjects, rolling her eyes playfully.

“Thank you, Y/N.” Maddy says, clearing her throat. “So, first of all, the hideaway? Gorgeous. Hearts everywhere and the bed? Huge and insanely soft.”

The girls murmur excitedly as she continues.

“Anyway, we talked a lot. Just figuring out how compatible we actually are. And I’m really glad we did, because we’re totally on the same page.” She pauses, her voice softening. “And…we talked about you.”

Maddy turns to Y/N, whose brows furrow.

“Me?” Y/N repeats, caught off guard. “Wait, what? Why?”

Maddy chews her lip, choosing her words carefully.

“It wasn’t anything bad. Kelce just noticed how close we are. He told me he still cares about you, probably always will, even if you’re part of his past. He just wanted to make sure things between us were cool before him and I got more serious. He doesn’t want you to get hurt. And honestly, I get that and I don't want that either. So…are we good? I want you to be honest. If you’re not okay with it, I’ll back off, I mean it-”

“Maddy.” Y/N interrupts gently. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re my friend. I want you to be happy. Yeah, I care about Kelce, I don’t want him getting hurt either, but I’m moving on. He should too. If what you two have is real, then I’m all for it. Trust me.”

Maddy nods, then pulls Y/N into a grateful hug.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She murmurs as the other girls smile.

“Okay but did anything happen?” Cleo asks impatiently, needing her gossip fix. The girls laugh as Maddy pulls back.

“Let’s just say…the salon opened.” Her smirk says it all and the girls gasp.

“The what?” Abigail asks, confused. Cleo points to her own shorts. Abigail’s eyes widen.

“Oh!”

“Wait, yours or his?” Kiara chimes in.

“Both.” Maddy mumbles, reaching for her water bottle as the girls erupt in squeals, shaking her from excitement.

“What kind of service did you get?” Cleo teases. Maddy giggles, blushing.

“Just…a really nice mani.” She reveals and the girls scream again, laughing.

“Genuinely so happy you got some.” Sarah grins and they all laugh again.

“Alright, what did I miss?” Maddy claps her hands, calming them down. All eyes turn to Y/N. She exhales.

“Nothing’s really changed with Rafe and I's situation. Last night, before bed, he said he wanted to talk today. That’s it.”

The girls give her quiet, sympathetic looks.

“I hate to ask but…are you okay?” Maddy says gently. Y/N shrugs.

“I don’t know. Things were going so well and now…I’m just confused.” She absentmindedly fiddles with her ring.

“It’s not your fault.” Cleo says firmly. “Even if your talk triggered something, it’s on him for not being honest.”

“It’s not only about honesty.” Y/N says softly. “He wasn’t ready to open up and I get that, I-”

“Don’t make excuses for him.” Kiara cuts in. “You’re allowed to be understanding, but that doesn’t mean he gets to walk away or lash out at you.”

The girls nod in agreement.

“Can we not talk about me for once?” Y/N pleads. “I feel like I’m always the topic and it’s exhausting.”

“We’re just worried.” Sarah says, rubbing her back.

“Yeah, I know, but-”

“Don’t you dare say ‘it’s fine,’ I will literally kick your ass.” Cleo warns. Y/N chuckles, hands up in mock surrender.

“Okay, I won’t.” She grins. “But it is gonna be fine.” She quickly hides behind Sarah to dodge Cleo and the girls break into laughter as she pretends to launch herself over.

Once things settle, Y/N clears her throat.

“Hey, Kie…I’ve been meaning to ask about…you and Pope.”

Kiara shifts uncomfortably.

“Last night, when he suggested the hideaway, it kinda looked like you wanted to run.”

The girls all turn to Kiara, waiting. She sighs.

“I’m gonna be honest with y'all, I’m not feeling it. He’s cute, he’s smart, sure. But he’s just…not my type. I’ve tried, but every conversation feels awkward.”

“Have you talked to him?” Y/N asks, but Sarah quickly grabs her arm.

“Wait, have you guys even kissed?” Sarah asks. Kiara hesitates.

“We had a peck. But…” She makes a face.

“Oh, Kie.” Maddy says sympathetically.

“You really haven’t told him?” Cleo asks.

“Not yet. I haven’t found the right time. And I don’t know how to say it.”

“You should do it soon.” Cleo urges. “You’ve been coupled up for a while and Pope seems into you. He deserves the chance to meet someone who actually connects with him.”

“Like you, babe?” Maddy teases, drawing a few giggles. Cleo blushes.

“No! Stop.”

“You like him!” Sarah shouts, setting off a round of gasps.

“No, I don’t.” Cleo says, arms crossed.

“You totally do!” Maddy sings. “Cleo and Pope, sitting in a tree-”

“Finish that and I’ll end you.” Cleo threatens and Maddy pretends to zip her lips.

“Come on.” Y/N grins. “It’s cute.”

“I don’t have a crush on him!”

“Cleo-”

“I’m just confused, alright?” She finally says. “There was nothing with John B, Kelce and I had no chemistry and JJ…please. But Pope…we have had a few chats and he gets me. Like, really gets me.”

The girls stay quiet, letting her talk.

“I just…I see the way he looks at Kiara. He really likes her. And I don’t want to be his second choice.”

Silence lingers for a moment.

“I’ll talk to him.” Kiara says at last. “But you should too.”

“Okay.” Cleo nods slowly.

The girls smile at the honest moment, the tension melting just a little.

Meanwhile, outside, after Kelce’s loud bragging session with the boys about ‘his girl’ and his night with Maddy, Rafe and Topper head to the kitchen. While Topper casually whisks eggs, Rafe finishes plating the avocado toast he just made.

“Forgiveness avocado toast?” Topper teases, raising an eyebrow. “What even happened last night? It feels like I missed an entire season.”

Rafe lets out a heavy sigh.

“We got into it. There was this talk with John B, JJ and Sarah…about exes. And I just…I don’t talk about my past. She tried to comfort me or get me to open up and I snapped. Like…full-on snapped at her. And I hate myself for it. She was just trying to help and I shut down.”

Topper nods, quiet for a beat.

“Maybe…talking to her, actually opening up, might help. Not just about the fight. About everything.” Topper tries as Rafe rubs the back of his neck.

“Yeah, except if I do that, she might actually hate me.”

“It can’t be that bad, dude. Everyone’s got baggage.” Topper says, narrowing his eyes. Rafe leans in closer and drops his voice.

“I cheated on my ex.”

Topper freezes at the confession.

“What?”

“It was a dumb mistake. One I regret every day. But if Y/N finds out...she’s not gonna look at me the same.” Rafe explains while Topper stares, trying to process.

“Damn. I don’t even know what to say. That’s…a lot. But I still think you should talk to her. She’s understanding. She might not get your side, but she’ll listen. That’s gotta be something.”

Rafe exhales slowly and grabs the plate and a glass of orange juice.

“Yeah, I…I’ll try. Thanks, man.”

“Anytime.” Topper gives him a light shoulder tap as Rafe heads toward the bedroom.

He carefully pushes the door open. The room falls quiet. Every girl turns to see who entered. Y/N’s face drops the moment she sees him.

“Ladies.” Rafe offers a small, respectful nod. He makes his way to Y/N and hands her the plate, setting the juice on her nightstand.

“I know you don’t usually eat breakfast ‘cause it makes you nauseous.” He says softly. “But I made you avocado toast. Extra crunchy, just how you like it. And the juice…no pulp.”

The girls blink at him in awe.

“I think I’m in love with you.” Maddy whispers, earning an elbow from Kiara.

Rafe’s eyes never leave Y/N’s. She stares back, stunned, her heart pounding. Sarah nudges her, trying to prompt a response.

Y/N still frozen in place, Sarah reaches over and steals a bite.

“Just gonna…try this.” She announces, chewing dramatically. Y/N finally blinks and shifts her gaze.

“Thank you.” She murmurs. She sets the plate aside and reaches with one arm, offering an awkward hug. Rafe leans in to accept it.

“Anytime.” He whispers, his hand brushing her arm before he pulls away. “I’ll see you later.”

She nods and he walks out without looking back. The moment the door closes, the girls erupt.

“I’m still kinda mad at him.” Cleo admits. “But that was…really sweet.”

“Right?” Kiara nods, glancing at Y/N, who’s still staring at the door. Sarah leans forward.

“So…what are you gonna say to him?” Sarah asks, making Y/N tear her eyes away.

“I think…I want him to apologize. Properly. First.”

“Exactly!” Kiara chimes in, arms crossed. Y/N sighs.

“I like him. A lot. And I know things are moving fast, but what we’ve built already…it’s real. And now I’m stuck between being angry and completely floored that he made me breakfast with everything exactly how I like it.” She groans, rubbing her forehead.

“I’ll marry him myself if you don’t.” Maddy says, making the girls laugh. Abigail looks sheepish.

“Okay, I don’t know the whole situation and I know it’s messy, but...can I have a bite? That looks insane.” She points to the plate. Y/N chuckles and cuts a piece for herself before passing it over. Soon, the plate is in the middle of the bed and all the girls are groaning and moaning over how good it tastes.

“Okay, this toast slaps.” Cleo says, avocado smeared at the corner of her lips.

“Damn you, Rafe Cameron!” Kiara shouts dramatically at the ceiling, sending everyone into laughter.

A little later, the girls are out in their bikinis, lounging around the villa, chatting with the boys and cooling off in the pool. Topper is in the middle of a conversation with Kelce when Y/N strolls past, heading toward the couch where Maddy is painting Kiara’s nails.

Topper lets out a low whistle.

“Y/N?” He calls. She glances over her shoulder, offering a smile and a wave.

“Hey. You boys doing okay?” She asks, sipping from her water bottle. Topper nods, gesturing for her to come over.

“Do you…wanna talk for a minute?” He asks. Y/N glances back at the girls, then shrugs and walks toward the pool steps. Kelce reaches out to steady her as she makes her way down and settles into one of the pool chairs. Carefully, she adjusts her mic to keep it dry and places her bottle on the pool’s edge.

“Everything okay?” She asks, scanning their faces. Topper nods in response.

“Yeah. I just…wanted to check in. How are you holding up?” He asks, crossing his arms curiously.

“What did he tell you?” She smirks, her eyes narrowing slightly, amused.

“Dude, I told you she’d see right through us.” Kelce exclaims, hitting Topper's shoulder while grinning. Y/N gasps dramatically.

“Were you two trying to ambush me right now?”

Topper chuckles, raising his hands in defense.

“No ambush. I just…I hate seeing you both like this. He’s like a brother to me and you’re honestly the sweetest girl here. Watching you guys upset like that over a situation that could easily be fixed. It sucks.”

Y/N drops her gaze to her hands.

“I tried, Top. I really did. And he still pushed me away.”

Topper sighs, exchanging a look with Kelce.

“We know.” Kelce says. “But you two have unreal chemistry. Everyone sees it. Don’t let it go to waste over…whatever this is. You're both being stubborn about it.”

“I’m not being stubborn.” She mutters, crossing her arms. Kelce shrugs.

“Okay, maybe not. But you both care. A lot. And this is not worth losing what you have.”

She leans back with a frustrated sigh.

“I like him.” She murmurs. “And I hate this. All of it. Like…it didn’t have to go down like that. If I hadn’t been so pushy or-or…needy or if he was more open to talking about it, maybe it’d be different.”

Her eyes land on the ring on her finger. She turns it slowly, lost in thought.

Before either of them can answer, a shadow looms behind her, someone approaching. Topper and Kelce glance up, Y/N still unaware, lost in her thoughts.

“Is now a good time to talk?” Rafe's deep voice cuts through the noise, making her stomach twist. She glances at the boys, who smirk like this was part of some master plan. Ignoring them, she looks back at Rafe and gives a small nod.

She stands, grabbing her mic pack and water bottle, then follows him over to one of the couches tucked away from the rest of the group. As they sit, Rafe clears his throat and pulls off his sunglasses, finally meeting her eyes.

“First off…I just want to say I'm sorry.” He begins. “I was acting stupid. Immature.”

She doesn't respond, just stares down at the pillow in her lap.

“Y/N…” His voice falters. “Can you look at me?”

She turns, meets his gaze and exhales slowly.

“I really like you.” He says, softer now. “And I know I messed up. But you’ve gotta understand, my last relationship is…it was tough on me. And I’ve never really talked about it with anyone before and maybe that’s why I handled all of this so badly.”

He pauses, searching her face.

“I’m not saying that makes it okay. I just...I want to move past this. Can we? Can we just try again?”

Her eyes search his face, flickering with hurt, confusion, and something dangerously close to resignation. Then she slowly shakes her head.

“I’m not just going to move on and pretend this didn’t happen.” She says quietly, voice tight but steady.

“I know I pushed about your ex. I get that it’s a sore spot and maybe I shouldn’t have gone there. But, Rafe…” She pauses, the words catching in her throat, “I want you to feel safe with me. I want to be someone you can talk to. Someone you trust.”

“Y/N-”

“Let me finish.” She holds up her manicured hand and he nods, lips pressing into a thin line as he falls silent.

��We’re in here trying to build something real. And real doesn’t mean shutting people out when it gets hard. I was there for you, Rafe. Last night, I was right there trying to understand you and you left me in the dark. And it's not the first time either.”

Rafe exhales, like he was holding his breath the whole time, the weight of guilt visible in the way his shoulders slump.

“I know. I know you were. And I appreciate it. I do. I just…I can’t talk about it. It’s off-limits.”

“You said you wouldn’t shut me out again.” She reminds him and her voice breaks slightly.

“I know.” He says softly. “And I promise I won't do that again."

She looks down at her hands, fidgeting with the strap of her water bottle. She shakes her head, the gesture slow, like the words physically sting.

“How am I supposed to believe you when I don’t even know if you’re being honest with me now?" She asks, obviously hurt. Rafe has no answer. He stares at her like he wishes he could take it all back, but knows he can’t.

“I don’t want to fight.” She whispers. “But I don’t want to feel like I’m the only one fighting for this either.”

She gets up, sighing as she pushes herself off the couch, her voice barely audible now and she starts to walk away.

“I cheated on her.”

Her feet stop mid-step. The words hang in the air like a crack of thunder. Slowly, she turns back, eyebrows drawn tight.

“What?” She asks. Rafe leans forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing at his face. He can’t look at her.

“My ex. I got drunk at a party and ended up in someone else’s bed. I was stupid. I ruined everything. And…fuck, I don’t even remember most of it. But it happened. And I hated myself for it." He finally looks up at her, eyes glassy.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to think less of me. T-to see me as that version of myself. Because I’m not him anymore. I swear I’m not.”

Y/N just stares. Still, silent, stunned.

“Can you please say something?” He asks, voice raw. She blinks, like she’s trying to shake herself out of it.

“What the fuck?”

“Y/N-”

“How could you do that to someone?” She snaps, her voice rising with emotion. “Why?”

“I was messed up. I wasn’t thinking. I’ve done the work, I’ve taken responsibility, but it’s not who I am anymore. I swear.”

He reaches for her hand, but she pulls away like he’s burned her.

“I don’t know what to say.” She whispers. “I just…I need time. I need to process this.”

“Y/N…”

But she’s already turned. And this time, she doesn’t stop.

Rafe stays frozen on the couch, the space she left behind feeling emptier than he thought possible. All that’s left is the echo of her disgust and the ache in his chest where her trust used to be.

Y/N makes her way over to Sarah, who’s chatting with Abigail and Maddy. One look at her and Sarah’s smile drops instantly.

“Hey, hey. What’s going on?” She asks, noticing Y/N’s trembling hands and the shaken look on her face. Y/N sinks into the seat beside them, still clearly reeling.

“We…talked.” She replies, voice low. “He…fuck.” Her fingers thread anxiously through her hair.

“What happened, Y/N/N?” Maddy asks gently, placing a comforting hand on her back.

“He told me about his ex.” She finally says.

“That’s…good, right?” Abigail offers carefully. “I mean, you’ve been wanting him to open up.”

The girls watch her, waiting, unsure.

“He told me…” Y/N pauses, trying to find the words. “He told me he cheated on her.”

Their eyes widen in unison, a heavy silence settling in.

“What?” Sarah blurts, brows furrowing. Y/N just nods.

“Yeah. That was my reaction too.” She says with a bitter laugh.

“Oh my god. What did you say?” Maddy asks, her voice soft with concern.

“I told him I need time to process. He kept saying how much he regrets it, how much he hates himself for it, how he has changed, but…I don’t even know what to think.”

Sarah wraps an arm around her, rubbing her back.

“It’s a lot. You don’t have to figure it all out right now.”

Y/N doesn’t respond, just stares down at the floor, her mind clearly miles away.

“I’m just…I don’t know how to feel about this. Or-or what I should do. I…I am…it’s so confusing.” She leans back into the couch, letting her head fall against the cushion with a frustrated sigh.

The girls exchange glances, quiet and gentle in their support. Maddy offers a soft smile and pats her thigh.

“We’re here, okay?” Sarah says. “Whatever you need.”

Y/N nods faintly, lips pressed into a thin line, still lost in thought.

Later that afternoon, the girls are getting ready upstairs while Rafe, Topper and Kelce are in the bedroom.

“I told her.” Rafe says, pulling a pair of jeans from his closet.

Topper looks up, puzzled. Kelce keeps ironing his shirt, barely reacting.

“Told her what?” Topper asks, reaching for his deodorant.

“About my ex.” Rafe replies. “That I cheated on her.”

Kelce’s head snaps up.

“Wait-what?” He asks, his brows furrowing. Rafe exhales, pulling on his jeans.

“Yeah. That’s why I didn’t say anything last night. I knew it would hit her hard. And the way she looked at me…fuck, man.”

“Are you being serious right now?” Kelce says, staring at him.

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Rafe asks as he shoots him a look.

Kelce shakes his head slowly.

“Dude…you should’ve told her from the start. Trust is a huge thing for her. I mean, obviously.”

“Obviously?” Rafe repeats, eyebrows knitting together. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kelce turns off the iron, hesitating.

“She didn’t tell you?” He asks. Rafe glances between them, confused.

“Tell me what?”

“I don’t know if it’s my place, but…” Kelce pauses. “Before she and I got together, she was with this guy. Real piece of shit. Untrustworthy as hell. One day, she caught him in her bed with a girl she worked with.”

Rafe freezes, mouth slightly open.

“Shit.” He mutters, rubbing a hand over his buzzed head. “She never told me that. No wonder she was so upset.”

“That, plus being paired with someone who’s done the same thing?” Topper adds and Rafe scoffs.

“I’m not that guy anymore. I told her I regret it. Every bit of it.”

Kelce carefully slips on his shirt so as to not wrinkle it.

“Look, man. Let her have some time. Then talk to her, like really talk. No yelling. No ego. No stubbornness. Just…be honest. Let it be a conversation, not a war.”

Rafe nods slowly, eyes drifting to the bed he’s been sharing with her.

“Yeah.” He murmurs. “I will.”

As the islanders share laughs and drinks, Y/N and Cleo sit by the firepit, able to observe the rest of the group from a distance. JJ is walking on his hands, slowly making his way toward the pool without realizing it. Everyone watches in anticipation, waiting for the inevitable and when he finally topples in with a loud splash, laughter erupts all around. He emerges from the water, yelling and cussing them out as they double over.

Y/N chuckles and turns to Cleo, who’s clearly zoned out. Her eyes glued to Pope, who’s mid push-up competition with Topper. It doesn’t last long though as Pope gives out quickly and Sarah, being the sweetheart she is, immediately goes to comfort him. Y/N snaps her fingers in front of Cleo’s face.

“Girl.” She snaps again, finally catching her attention. Cleo blinks and turns to her.

“Don’t. Please. Don’t start.” Cleo warns.

“Dude.” Y/N pauses. “Just go for it.”

Cleo scoffs and shakes her head.

“He’s into Kiara.” She mutters, adjusting her skirt. Y/N gently grabs her hand, not letting her look away again.

“You’re wasting time by not giving it a chance.” She pauses. “Cleo, you’re so gorgeous and so kind-hearted and smart…it’s…you like him. And I know that may scare you or maybe you're scared of getting rejected, but it doesn’t hurt to try.”

Cleo looks up at her.

“Ho, are you a mind reader or something?” Cleo asks, narrowing her eyes playfully.

Y/N bursts out laughing, giving her a light slap on the thigh.

“I’m just saying…have a chat with him. You’re here to explore connections and hopefully find the right one. Maybe Pope is it.”

Cleo hesitates.

“But… what about Kiara…she-”

“She said she’d talk to him first. I know.” Y/N nods. “But I don’t think you should wait anymore. Plus, you know how Kie feels. It’s not like you’re stepping on anyone’s toes.”

Without warning, Cleo wraps her arms around Y/N in a tight hug, catching her completely off guard.

“I love you, little one.” She mumbles against her shoulder.

“I love you too, C.” Y/N says, hugging her back. Cleo pulls away and stands, adjusting her skirt again.

“Wish me luck.” She says lowly.

“You don’t need it.” Y/N smiles, standing and giving her a little push forward.

Cleo stumbles slightly before making her way toward the beanbags, where Pope is lounging with John B and Sarah.

“Hey.” She says, approaching with a soft smile. Everyone greets her with wide grins.

“Pope, do you…do you mind going for a chat?” She asks, glancing briefly at Sarah, who smirks knowingly.

“Yeah, sure.” Pope says, getting up and dapping John B before following Cleo to the couch under the terrace.

As they sit down, Cleo adjusts her skirt, smoothing the fabric across her legs.

“You look nice, by the way.” Pope says, nodding toward her. “That color really works on you.”

“Thanks. It’s Maddy’s, actually.” She glances down, smiling faintly. He nods.

“Still. It looks good. I mean, you do. I mean, the skirt does too, just…yeah.” He fumbles a little and she lets out a small laugh.

“How’ve you been finding it?” Cleo asks, shifting the conversation. “You know, the whole Love Island experience?”

“Yeah, it’s been good so far?” Pope shrugs and she raises an eyebrow.

“You’re asking me?”

He chuckles at her comment.

“No, no, I mean, yeah. It’s been…interesting.”

Cleo nods.

“What about you?” He asks and she sighs.

“Definitely a rollercoaster. Between the couplings and JJ’s snoring-”

“Oh my god, that's him?” Pope laughs, leaning back. “It's been driving me insane.”

“You’re lucky you’re across the room. I’ve got him snoring right into my ear.”

They both laugh and for a moment, things feel easy.

“I like this.” Cleo says after a beat, her voice softer now. “This?” Pope looks over, brows furrowed slightly.

“You. Us talking like this. You have this…calming energy. I feel like I can just be myself around you.” She swallows. “And I’ve been thinking about it and I just…I’m gonna say it. I’m attracted to you. And I don’t know if you’ve felt anything too, but I wanted to see if maybe there could be…something.”

Pope doesn’t respond right away. He just stares at her, lips parted slightly, blinking like he didn’t expect this.

“Usually this is the part where someone responds.” Cleo lets out a nervous laugh.

“I'm sorry. I just…” Pope finally says, shifting in his seat. “I didn’t really see this coming.”

“Oh.” Her smile falters, just a little.

“Not that…it’s not bad. I just…” He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. “It kind of caught me off guard.”

“Right. Yeah. I get it.” She nods slowly, looking away.

“I’m sorry if that’s…like, if this is weird now.” He adds quickly.

“It’s not weird.” She says, though the words are a little too fast. “It’s fine. I just…wanted to be honest.”

They sit in silence again, but this time it’s stiffer, more uncomfortable. Cleo’s hands fidget in her lap. Pope stares at a spot on the ground.

“I should probably head back to the girls.” Cleo says eventually, standing a little too quickly.

“Yeah. Of course.” Pope says, not quite meeting her eyes.

She gives him a tight smile and walks off, leaving Pope sitting there, still trying to make sense of what just happened.

In the kitchen, Y/N reaches into the fridge for another drink when Ryan strolls up beside her.

“Hey, you.” He says, flashing her a grin and finger guns before immediately shoving his hands behind his back. “Sorry. I get weird around pretty girls.”

She laughs under her breath.

“I’ll let it slide since you called me pretty.” She replies and he clutches his chest like he’s been wounded in the best way.

“You want anything while I’m here?” She nods toward the fridge.

“A chat with you sounds ideal.” He pauses, then adds. “Oh, and maybe a soda? Since you’re offering.”

She blushes, grabbing a can for him along with her own drink, then turns back to him.

“Lead the way.” She says.

Ryan leads her toward a couch tucked at the back of the villa. The same one where she and Rafe had their fight earlier. She hesitates for a beat before following.

“You good?” Ryan asks once they sit. “You keep drifting off on me.��

“Yeah. Just got a lot on my mind.” She blinks, grounding herself. He nods, letting the moment hang.

“This about Rafe?” He asks and her head snaps to him.

“Did he say something?”

Ryan shakes his head.

“No. Just…felt like something was going on.” He replies, making her exhale and nod.

“Good instincts.” She mutters and he smiles.

“My instincts told me to come talk to you, so I’m gonna trust ‘em.” He pauses. “But hey, if you ever wanna talk about it-”

“No.” She cuts in softly. “I wanna get to know you.”

“What do you wanna know?” He nods, settling more comfortably into the couch. She taps her lip, thinking, before her lips turn upright into a playful smirk.

“What’s Sabrina like?” She asks, making both of them chuckle.

“She’s very short. And super sweet.”

“Yeah, I figured.” She chuckles again. “You live in New York, right?” She asks, switching gears.

“Yeah. Been there a few years now. Love it. Really great job opportunities. What about you?”

“I’m from there.”

He pauses.

“No way. That’s a sign.”

They both smile, easing into easy conversation, until her phone buzzes. She glances down and her smile fades.

“Shit.” She mutters. “Guys, I got a text!”

The villa falls quiet as they snap their attention towards her. Rafe looks up from across the yard, eyes locking on Y/N and Ryan sitting way too close for his comfort. His chest tightens.

“‘Islanders, pucker up because tonight you’ll be taking part in the Kissing Challenge. #kissandmakeup #hotandbothered’” She reads the message aloud.

The group erupts in excitement. Y/N shoots Ryan an apologetic look before hurrying off to find the girls.

Across the yard, Topper claps a hand on Rafe’s back with a smirk.

“Well, the text did say kiss and make up.”

Rafe doesn’t respond. His eyes are still locked on her, determined to win her back.

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