#hi Hor ♡

[rebornologist]

thank you for writing for khr again ❤

aaaa Hor!! I do it all for you my sweet ♡♡♡

[syluses]

separation anxiety

⤷ caleb experiences a rut after a long time, and it just so happens that you’re in his path.

cw. 18+ smut, hybrid! caleb, knotting, dubcon if you squint, breeding, obsessive/possessive behavior, perv caleb, fem human! reader, ruts, size difference, also a lil breeding, 3.5k words because i physically struggle to write smut without a preamble, reader is ovulating and it triggers his rut this time for whatever reason

an. saw this trope going around & wanted to try it <33 he’s got that DAWG in him 💪 also i cant decide if hybrid caleb gives german shepherd vibes or samoyed vibes…. that moments post lives rent free in my mind tho idk (>_<)

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, & 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅! (๑´ `๑)♡

Caleb would say he hates you for the time you’re gone, but it’d be a big fat lie. His love for you, big and bursting in his chest, deepens in the quiet windows where you’re present at work or running errands throughout Linkon before returning home to him.

There’s a permanence of you in his mind and being. He wants it no other way.

His devotion for you doesn’t necessarily drown him- no, you’re always there with a lifering waiting- but it certainly sweeps him up and threatens to.

He gets a bit ahead of himself sometimes, he’s aware of that; energetic, bulging at the seams with vigor; whether it’s an integral part of his personality or just a consequence of his breed, the pound he came from never quite knew. Your Gran never figured that out, either, and for as sweet and trying as she was, she soon realized she couldn’t foster him for long.

Because he was a big boy, hungry for attention and wired to please, well-meaning but oft over involved with personal space— and he brought a loaded package that your Gran just couldn’t sign her name off on, not after a few months, anyway. She tried her best before nudging him into your care, because she sure as hell wasn’t about to give him up to that squalid pound or the streets again- and besides, the mutt liked her granddaughter; all those visits she paid throughout the summer obviously endeared Caleb to her, and quickly.

You admit, it’s a mite difficult to juggle between long days at work, little tasks that drag you from point to point throughout Linkon, and your own personal life on top of caring for a hybrid stowed away in your shoebox apartment— but your grandmother was all but sapped of her energy then, turning to you for aid although she seldom ever did, and you’d always lend a hand where you could.

The mutt- Caleb, is his name (and you call it fondly even as he’s pawing at your thighs for attention or drooling on your collar)- has grown on you considerably in the past half year, anyway.

You won’t let him down or leave him at the curb. He’s yours. The red collar you bought him says as much, printed with your number on a silver plate, and he wears it not because you make him but because he’s proud of it.

He’s a good boy, he is. He always has been and for that you’re thankful.

Except, this week he’s… different.

As of a few days ago, it’s like he’s been testing the waters- and your patience- on just how far he can go before you tell him off or say bad dog. He must find them warm because he’s just been diving deeper as the week progresses.

You don’t know what to do. He’s oddly aggressive. It’s not rare at all for him to follow you all around your apartment, but he’s foregone the very last shred of respect for your personal space and nips when you try to push him away. Not hard enough to actually hurt- the yip you make is more surprised than anything when he pulls you back in and licks at the small red patch- but you look wounded at it.

Because Caleb doesn’t bite— he just doesn’t.

He wraps you up in seemingly endless embraces and breathes your smell in until he’s dizzy, laughing into your neck like a giddy child. He does this every time you try to leave for work and he’s made you late for it.

Maybe it’s just because you’re ovulating and a little hormonal, but it makes you quite sour and the mood stays even when you return in the afternoon. He’s never liked when you’re gone, sure, but he’s always been there to see you off at the door with a pout as you scratch behind his ear- more or less tame about it.

Your patience really frays at the odd uptick in his possessiveness, though. It’s hurtful.

You’ve always treated him less like a pet- a hybrid- and more like a friend, and you feel quite indignant for it when he growls and tells you that he hates the smell of other men on you, hearing none of your excuses that it’s ‘just coworkers’, glaring at you like some brainless extension of him. You feel less like a person and more like an object, a streetlamp in which he emerges from the shadows for just to piss on to show it belongs to him.

He’s touchy. Snippy. Glued to your side at all times. It’s concerning and frustrating and confusing all at once.

By the fifth day mark, on Friday night, you’re tuckered out by it and don’t question where he is when you return home early from a shift and he’s, uncharacteristically, not there to greet you.

A red collar however, laid on the floor, its tag glittering under dim hallways lights, strikes you as both curious and unsettling.

He never takes that off. No- says it’s his way of showing you and the whole world that he belongs to you, and— have you been too impatient with him lately? Brusque? Maybe you’re a little hormonal but it’s no cause to get short with him, even when he’s acting up, and what if he no longer wants you as his owner—

A gasp.

You find him in your bedroom, humping your pillow, yowling as he comes undone- unawares- and the walls spin as you nearly faint.

You drop your purse. “Caleb!” You shriek, and a visible shiver rolls down his spine as he turns around.

“Bad dog!”

✦

You sleep on it.

Well, you wash your sheet and your pillowcases- and then you sleep on it.

Maybe you overreacted. If anything, you should be grateful for what you walked in on because otherwise, he wouldn’t have known how to tell you he’s been going through a bit of a hot phase- the first of his you’ve experienced- and doesn’t know how to control himself.

You blush just thinking about it, shame knocking in your chest as your heart beats heavy. You feel awful for walking in on him for a number of reasons. One of them being he came all over your bed- and his tummy- and you had to clean both up through furious tears as you peeled your covers off the mattress and pointed him off in the direction of the bathroom, telling him to run the faucet and quick.

A pass of guilt, the fear of you being angry with him, made its round across his kicked expression but he held off on arguing.

For the first documented time in the whole week, Caleb appeared mellow- not agitated, restless, or tense- and rather crestfallen, and you noted it only vaguely as you irately turned on the washer.

Now, it’s in the forefront of your brain.

Well, if he’s been going through some kind of rut lately, it only makes sense he’d be all kinds of pent up, and that his release (albeit in an inconvenient way and place) would provide some relief.

It’s closer to noon when you finally exit your bedroom and meet him at the sofa- the same one you’d all but banished him to last night. He prefers to spend his nights with you, either curled up at your side or splaying his full weight over your back- a breed-relative habit, you’re sure. You’ve heard of some other kinds who enjoy a room to themselves or do just fine with the couch, on their lonesome— But not Caleb.

He looks tired but perks up when he hears you patter down the hall, violet eyes lighting when you timidly take a seat.

With a bit of hesitation, he inches closer until you sheepishly wave a hand and he barrels into your arms.

“Ah- Caleb-“

Before you can even apologize for your jumping the gun last night, he beats you to the punch. “M’ sorry. You don’t hate me for it, do you?” He sighs into your collar and you shiver, “I wish you could understand what it feels like- I wouldn’t have done it if it was somethin’ I could control, I hope you realize that.”

You swallow, digesting his words as you belatedly place a hand on his head to pet. He positively melts. “Y-Yeah,” you mumble back. “It’s okay. I actually wanted to say sorry too. I- I didn’t understand what was going on…”

A deep groan looses from his throat, his chest swelling with content as you itch that spot behind the furry ears say upright on his head. They give a few twitches as he leans against you and wraps his muscular arms around your middle, resting his chin by your shoulder.

“It’s my fault, though, not yours. I didn’t know how to tell you- I was worried you’d just end up scared’a me, or…”

His pause instills interest in you. Your fingers smooth back his brown locks, mussed from fitful sleep, and he sighs. “Or what?” You press softly.

You pull him back just enough to get a look at him, his cheekbones almost shiny with a dusting of pink. His thick brows furrow together.

“Or that you’d leave,” he whispers.

Your eyes widen. You lasso your arms around his neck and pull him to you, your head slotting above his shoulder as his fingers quickly move to support the position, one hand perched at your thigh and the other braced at your side.

“Nonsense,” you grumble at his ear, a bit angry at the suggestion. “I’d never leave you.”

Something hard, then, prods at your middle- too fleshy to be something in either of your pockets- and you stiffen at the realization as it comes a beat too late.

Caleb’s voice is breathy at your ear, low, his tail thumping on the cushion. “Yeah?” He murmurs, a pang of heat stirring in your belly at the sound. Suddenly aware, you gently go to push at his broad chest but he stops you with an imploring look- although the desire, brewing in dilated pupils, isn’t lost on you- and musters a pout.

It looks out of place, the wholesome gaze marred by hunger as it reshapes his puppyish look.

“Even when I am no better than a bad dog?”

Your brow quirks, “I didn’t mean it,” you whisper, wide-eyed as his eyes bore into yours. Every micro expression you make is being catalogued and noted with utmost care, his pink tongue darting out to wet his chapped lips as they grow dry.

“It’s okay if you did,” he murmurs back. “I’m just glad I have you around to remind me of my place…” Long, slim fingers reach up and you watch, unseeingly, as they stroke your cheek, his other hand creeping dangerously close to the waistband of your sleep shorts.

He chuckles, but the humor wanes quickly.

“Otherwise, I’d always be misbehaving. Do you even know what you do to me?” His voice is meaningful, torrid, as he draws in and the tip of his nose brushes with yours. You can’t find it in you to move as your thighs- the ones he slithers a singleminded hand in between- begin to roil with unexpected warmth.

You plant a hand to his chest, shying away, “C-Caleb-“

“Don’t worry,” he says sweetly, “M’ not gonna hurt you. I just….” He lets out a sigh, long and perhaps just a bit exaggerated- but it has the intended effect on you. You purse your lips and feel a trace of guilt twist in your heart.

“You drive me crazy. Y-Your smell- I don’t know why this is happening, either. Honestly? I haven’t had a rut in a couple years. But this…”

Caleb lets out a soft noise of pleasure, lending his full weight to you when he breathes you in and shakes.

When he speaks next, his words come out raspy and so low you hardly register them as his breaths grow labored- they’re all you can hear as the living room space shrinks down to just him and the knuckles that dare to dip into your panties.

“This is just too unfair. You won’t leave me hangin’, pretty,… w-will you?” Breathy. With an undeniable streak of need. You can’t miss the lust that usurps the softer parts of him and makes him look less puppyish and cheerful and more wolfish, calculating.

And, well, when he puts it like that, how could you?

✦

He doesn’t fuck you on the couch. He takes you to your bed and fucks you there like a lover would.

He fucks you deep and fast- to his credit, he doesn’t hurt you, staying true to his word, but the possibility of bruises becomes a nearer thing when he folds your legs back and his grasp becomes constricting, plunging in and out of your cunt with rapt focus. Indigo eyes glow with something feral, like you’ve given him no choice but to claim his ownership over you through sloppy kisses and clinking teeth as he pounds into you, driven him into a corner- but his touch turns worshipful when he presses his forehead to yours and moans.

“Ah- y-you feel so good, so tight,” he compliments, words almost slurred. His pupils expand and he looks no different than a drunken, babbling man, his cheeks a rosy red.

His murmurs are wet against your lips as they graze and mush with his, Caleb’s face so close to yours that his lashes tickle your brow as he gawks at you, so entranced by whatever it is he’s seeing to look away.

A fluffy tail sways unevenly behind him and touches your leg on occasion, almost like it’s trying to curl around you, prickling and eager. Every part of him gravitates to you. You’re the ground beneath his feet. Fertile land.

“And you’re all mine, okay? Nobody else’s. I want you to wear my scent- to carry me with you no matter where you go. You have to promise me you will- mmph- That sound good-?

“C-Caleb—“

You groan when he stuffs himself deeper inside and you swear you feel his length throb inside your walls, stretching. The veins running along his shaft carve out a new pathway in you, one special and just for him, as his balls- heavy and fat, with a hell of a lot to give- slap against your ass. Slick oozes out from the squelching seam of you, coating his thick cock but you still struggle to accomodate his size despite the lubrication.

He’s made to make you feel as if you’re losing your mind. You snatch your jaw with your own hand to keep the flurry of high-pitched sounds from spilling out lest they embarrass you, but he shoos it away and cuffs your wrists with a hand splayed over them.

“Nah- I wanna hear you, baby. You can’t keep holdin’ out on me like this... I’m giving you my all right now, so it should be pretty obvious that you can do the same, yeah?”

A mewl punches out from your lungs half a second later and he seems quite contented at that. He sighs, closing his eyes, saying,

“I’ve been good all along. Can’t you play the part, too? I just want you to see how much I really love you,” his confession is by no means considered casual what with the passion in which its conveyed, but you can’t help but feel it’s a little sudden, said a little too quickly, and you wonder if he means what he says or if the rut is responsible for all these novel, amorous feelings in him.

I mean, he’s probably too wrapped up in the moment to even contemplate his own admissions as they all spew out—

“Caleb, too big—“ you gasp, cutting him off, and he lets out a strangled kind of noise when your walls clamp around him.

Holyfuck holyfuck holyfuck do it again, he wants to say, suffocate me, but nothing comes out and he realizes after a long second that his vision has whited completely. He can’t see anything; he’s in a fuzzy, dazzling world with the blinders on and all he can smell and feel is you- your scent, sugar sweet and about as inviting as a barstool pulled out, envelopes him and he can’t breathe. Can’t speak.

He fucks into you with reckless abandon, huffs you in like it’s his final breaths, and then lets it all go without care for anything else. Far as he’s concerned, everything he knows is defined by you. This is a give and take relationship: he actually gives a damn about your opinion of him and takes all you have to offer.

He’s in love, puppyish and clumsy but fuck you lead the way and lead him on.

“Shh, I know,” he rasps out, steaming up your neck like a fogged window pane as he insinuates himself there. Your whole body feels like a furnace, burning up for him as he opens you up and tucks himself inside.

“I know it’s big, but you gotta be ready for-“ he clips his sentence short, thinking better of it.

He wants to warn you of his impending knot- the one that’ll no doubt leave you yelping and writhing away from him- you certainly deserve as much of a foreword to it, but part of him is just so terrified you’ll reject him or deny him the priviledge of shoving it inside you and fuck he can’t have that.

Caleb’s nothing if not loyal. He’s also nothing if not selfish. That’s always been a wriggling bug he’s tried to stomp out but it remains in the baser part of him, only amplified by the intense rut that came right out of the blue.

He wants you singing his name and bonded to him (or as much of a bond the two of you can form), and so that’s what he’ll get.

He’ll apologize later, and you will forgive him. So all’s fine.

“Y-You can take it,” is the simpler thing he settles on, and you let it pass, because between the fat cockhead splitting you apart deliciously and the sweet, somewhat perturbing nothings he gushes at your ear, you’re deaf to most of everything.

But when you come- unexpected and sharp, overwhelming your senses as your hips ruck up and he has to pin you down in place and ride it out with you as you cream around him- the scream you let out rings in your ears and so does his ferocious grunt. It’s loud and you’re so numb as seconds pass that feel like eons; pointed teeth teasing at the squishy chunk of your shoulder, invoking a buried sense of alarm.

And then he’s biting down hard- not just nipping- the pleasure thankfully driving off the pain as he ploughs inside, muffling a string of curses as he picks up his pace. Caleb gets sloppier and sloppier and then he’s burning white-hot inside you and moaning like a pornstar, pelvis juddering as he comes.

“Mmh- f-fuck- Good girl!” he rewards with half a brain, fucked out into perfect oblivion, and for a second you wonder why his voice sounds more meant for comfort than praise- until you expect him to pull out but he doesn’t, something big and round forming at the base of his cock that has his eyes fluttering back as it pops in. He goes boneless on top of you as every limb of yours stiffens and coils around his broad back.

You scream his name. He shivers.

It feels enough to shatter your mind- the pain searing you, but the ghost of pleasure that creeps up along your nervous system makes you go like jelly beneath him, helpless to whatever he’s got planned for you.

“C-Caleb, you-!”

“Yeah, a bad dog, a bad dog,” he stammers, whimpering at your earlobe, “I know, baby, I know. Just- don’t shut me out, okay? I- It’ll be over soon, just- ah- loosen up around it, okay? It’ll feel so much better that way. Just… hold on to me.”

“I-It hurts-!”

“Ngh, shhh…” He trembles out, shifting to sample a broken mewl from your lips, cupping your jaw with all the love in the world and staring at you as if you told the sun to rise this morning. “Be a good girl and take it, mm? Your pussy’s squeezing me so tight, I think she wants it too, but she has to relax a little first, yeah? Mm… I could give you a whole litter of pups. Give your Gran a bunch of cute lil granbabies to drive her crazy.”

You choke on your own spit, the brunet letting out a near delirious chuckle at the idea and your reaction to it before his brow gives a wince, your walls instinctively trying to push his swollen knot out.

“Wha- Caleb, is that even-?”

“I don’t know,” he kisses your forehead tenderly, his tail giving a heavy, excited thump behind him on the bed as you grab the sheets for dear life and they wrinkle, pinched like your conflicted expression.

“But I’ve been dyin’ to try it out for myself.”

[luveline]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐬

Aaron sets the record straight when an overheard conversation convinces you that you’re not good enough for him. 5k

c: fem, hurt/comfort, fluff, suggestive theme (non-graphic implied sex scene). hotch is a good husband. requested here  

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“Honey, this is Clint McMoore. We went to college together.”

You step into Aaron’s side. Clint McMoore is a handsome older man with silvering hair and a beard that looks out of control. His bowtie is loose around his neck, and his cheeks are blotchy with drink, but Clint smiles at you and offers his hand. “How do you do?” he asks. 

“Quite well, thank you.” You’ve been practising fancy dinner talk with Aaron’s friend Emily for weeks. She has all the political background you’d needed to see yourself into the culture. “It’s nice to meet one of Aaron’s school friends.” 

“While you still can,” Clint says with a chuckle. Something about being in your forties is obscene to these men, as though death waits for fifty candles to snuff them out. 

“Clint and I were in the Student Theatre club together, our first year.”

You grin, smile laced with teasing. Each time you’re reminded of Aaron’s young interest in drama, you have to focus very hard on not laughing; the Aaron who has his hand to your shoulder isn’t one you could envision on stage. “Did you perform together?” you ask. 

“Saturday Night Fever,” Clint says. 

They laugh and reminisce. You find these sorts of events hard to keep up with, but you come when Aaron asks because he so rarely asks you for anything. He hasn’t mentioned knowing that you don’t like coming, But perhaps he hasn’t noticed —it’s not like you to frown, not when you’re with Aaron. The way he treats you, he probably thinks you’re the happiest girl in the world. 

There’s a contentedness to be found when he touches you. He spreads a hand against your lower back and you let yourself sink into his side, curled into his embrace and amazed at the giggly laugh he lets out as Clint brings up the ‘King of the River’ tattoo Aaron has hidden beneath his shirt. You’re tempted to kiss his cheek.

Clint asks, “Isn’t that right?” and forces you back into the conversation. 

You’re wearing a dress you panicked over for days. It’s black, cut playfully just above your knees with small petal sleeves. Your necklace is of a delicate chain and a not so delicate pearl —a black Tahitian South Sea pearl that glows pink and green in the light. For you, Aaron wrote, his pretty scrawl inky across a square of scalloped card from atop the box. I’m in love with you. Forgive me for not having the courage to tell you in person. 

Your Aaron is quiet. Some days he comes home from work and doesn’t manage more than a sentence. Some days he can barely speak at all. But there are nights when he holds you to hold you and talks in murmurs against your ear, and he’s good at making calls when he’s away. Talking or not, smiling or otherwise, Aaron finds a way to let you know he loves you, and that’s all you care about. 

“Excuse us,” Aaron says, giving Clint a rare, warm smile, “I’m being flagged by my boss.” 

Sure enough, Erin Strauss is beckoning Aaron with a strange pained look.

“Nice to meet you,” you say quickly to Clint. He repeats your goodbye, and you and Aaron swerve around him. 

“He was nice,” you murmur. 

“Yeah, he’s okay.”

“How come you fell out of touch?” 

“Oh, you know how things go, honey, you forget all the people you meet and make room for new ones.” He kisses your cheek. “And besides, he used to gossip like my mother. Why don’t you go find JJ?” 

“You’ll be alright?” 

“No, maybe not.” He squeezes your elbow quickly. “Go, find some hors d’oeuvres, at least.”

You find neither JJ nor finger foods. The gala you’re attending is being held in a hotel in the richest part of D.C, and the events hall is huge. The ceiling is a fantasy, glass and miles upward, overhead chandeliers dangling lower, dousing the crowds below in a light that’s clean. The rich and powerful gather at the edges of the room, though the performance toward the back of the room is watched by a few tens of couples with flutes of champagne held in gloved hands. 

You hadn’t worn gloves. Hadn’t thought about it until you got here. Honestly, you felt grateful enough that JJ texted you to tell you to buy a shawl; if you weren’t wearing one you’re sure you’d feel bare. 

What you’re lacking in fancy is made up for by your earnestness, or so you’d like to believe. You aren’t rich nor powerful, but Aaron’s a good man and you his good wife. You work hard, which is more than some of the richest in the room can say. You hold your head high without a second thought. 

The hall is confusing. Tables are set but you aren’t sure Aaron said anything about a dinner service. Wait staff carry silver platters and hold bottles of champagne, but each time you approach one they seem to have already headed in another direction. JJ and Derek are both supposed to be here tonight, but you haven’t seen either of them since you arrived. You cast your gaze for Derek’s figure, searching for an easy gait and a strong set of shoulders. You cock your head waiting for a hint of JJ’s practised, polite laughter, but any familiar signs are gone. You can’t even find Aaron anymore, and your shoes are pinching your toes.

Disaster. You should’ve listened to Aaron when he told you to size up, just you doubted his knowledge of ladies shoes considering how rarely he wears them. Stupid man, you think to yourself, lovingly yet ruefully as you sit down at one of the uninhabited tables to the very side of the room. Knows everything. Tonight, you’ll limp back to the car and he won’t bother saying I told you so, he’s too good for it, which is worse. He’ll give you one of his amused smiles. He might offer you a massage. 

Ridiculous man, you further to yourself, biting back a cheesy smile as you peel your shoe from a sore foot. If you shove your hand deep enough into the toe you can stretch them out a little. 

“Darling.” 

You look up. Clint McMoore’s resurfaced just a table away with his back to you. A sweet-faced woman with brown hair sits adjacent to him, her shoulder under Clint’s hand. 

“You’ll never guess who I just bumped into,” he says. 

Me, you think. 

“Aaron Hotchner and his new wife.” 

“You didn’t,” the woman says. 

“I knew you’d be envious of that,” he laughs. “Charlotte, she’s unbelievable.” 

Your stomach does a strange flip. He’ll say something nice, you insist, but you know his tone is a precursor for gossipy nonsense. 

“I’ve never seen such a mismatched pair,” he says. 

Charlotte rolls her eyes at him. “Well, what were you expecting? They were married after six months of knowing one another. I couldn’t so much as tolerate you until our first anniversary.” 

“Hardy-har.” 

“What’s wrong with her, then?” Charlotte asks. 

“Nothing like that, Charlotte. She seemed perfectly pleasant–”

“But?” 

“But, she’s nothing like Aaron’s usual woman.” 

“Hm, I said as much when we saw their wedding photos.“ They both laugh. “It’s not like she had much of a chance. First Haley, and then that Beth, the designer, she’s in Milan now–”

“He seems rather besotted, in any case,” Clint says. “Very lady and the tramp.” 

“Gentleman and the tramp.” 

“Don’t be cruel, Charlotte.” 

You know in a way that Charlotte is kidding, but you boil up with anger the moment you recognise what it is they’re implying. Then they laugh, and your anger quickly finds itself taking a crueller shape. 

You slip your foot back into your shoe slowly. Your throat feels dry and then warm, like a crux of smouldering coal stuck in your windpipe as you stand, jerkily, hand stiff where it holds your weight on a silken tablecloth. 

You blink and stare at the floor. It’s marble. It’s shot through with dark veins like a drop of ichor in water. 

What the fuck? 

You aren’t sure why you’re leaving the hall until you’re walking down the steps of the hotel and turning along the skirts of a hedge. A low brick wall lies in front of it, just short enough to sit on with your heels. Your coccyx stings with the force of how hard you go down. 

Your head races with hurt feelings. 

You’re not unaware of your husband’s past loves. It comes as no surprise to you that people regard Haley and Beth highly —Haley was extremely beautiful and veritably brave, intelligent, kind-hearted. Beth was funny, Aaron said, and not too much else. Being a designer in Milan hasn’t been mentioned before, but it’s impressive. They’re both impressive, and– and his usual woman. 

You rub the starchy stockings stretched over your knees. 

What had they meant by usual woman?

Mismatched? 

It hadn’t felt mismatched when Aaron asked you to marry him. It wasn’t six months after knowing one another as Clint’s wife suggested, but it wasn’t much more than that. He proposed to you after eight months together, and you were married two months later, which is incredibly fast to some people but it just hadn't felt fast when he asked. It was exciting —it still is. 

“Would you marry me, if I asked you to?” he’d said, some seven months after you’d agreed to be his girlfriend. Your head in his lap, his fingers rubbing at the soft skin of your nape. A sleepy Sunday morning like any other, you suppose that was a proposal in itself, but you hadn’t realised that when you murmured, “Yeah, handsome. I would.” 

You thought it was just love. Making innocuous comments about the future is part of falling in love. It’s terrifying to tell someone that you’d like to live life in their lap, but you tell them, and they tell you to go ahead if you’re lucky. 

He asked you to get married a few weeks later. “I had to talk to Jack,” he explained, “or I would’ve asked you then and there.“

You’re a wife suddenly, a step-mother, a partner. Aaron would’ve sold the house and bought you a new one if you wanted him to, but you like his life. You’ve always felt like you fit right in. 

Angry again, you scrub at your knees with itchy palms and practise how you’re going to tell Aaron about his cruel friend. Gossipy was right, what a lark, and you’re not perfectly pleasant, you’re a delight, you hadn’t said one bad word to Clint and you didn’t deserve to be whipped and twisted into a bad joke between sips of Cristal. 

Your eyes burn with the injustice of the thing. 

Rawness overtakes. A thudding in your chest turns painful, neck wrought with tightness as you hang your head. Hiding from the cold air. November brings with it a promise of chapped lips the longer you stay there, biting into your thighs as your hands turn stiff with disuse. 

She was unbelievable. 

“Y/N!” The shout is sharp. You’ve never heard Aaron’s voice at that level or with that level of formidability, carrying from the bottom of the hotel stairs. You twist in shock on the wall and watch in real time as his face fills with relief. “Honey,” he says, calling but not half as scary as he jogs to you, “are you alright?” 

“What?” 

“You scared me,” he insists, bending down to hold your shoulders. “Nobody’s seen you for the last fifteen minutes, sweetheart, we talked about this. You can’t just disappear, you left your purse on the table, I thought something happened to you.” 

You startle at his scolding. “I–”

“You should feel my heart.” 

“I didn’t mean to come out here.” 

“I wish you would’ve let somebody know,” he says. His frown softens slowly, but the concern around his eyes remains. “What?” he asks. 

“Sorry.” 

His eyes finally soften. “No, I’m sorry. It’s alright, I just worry when you’re not with me.” 

“That’s romantic.” 

He holds your cheek, pulling you in, and gives you two gentle kisses. Your lips part instinctively to receive them. “We’ll get our things and go home. It looks as though dinner isn’t happening.” He smiles. “Why were you out here?” 

“Scavenging for food.” 

That gets a laugh out of him, and another nice kiss. “You tried your best.” 

—

Aaron takes you home, and when dinner’s been cleared away, when you’ve showered and he’s undressed, he pulls you toward the bed and kisses you warmly. His eyes track from your face to the tucked corner of your towel, a silent Can I?

You let him take it off. He lays you out, and for a while you’re only his. His wife, his half, his to tease and turn and delight. He says “Beautiful,” against your thigh, says, “Honey, is that okay?” says, “Please, I’ve got it, I have you, just let me have you…” 

After, he tells you he loves you, his voice still ever so slightly high in contrast to usual dulcet tones. 

“I love you, too,” you say. 

His breath comes fast. Your lap is a mess he’d wiped as clean as he could manage, the memory of him bearing down on you yet to fade. He lies on his stomach beside you with his arm over yours, his face turned into you, his nose on your cheek. 

“Are you alright?” he asks softly. “You feel tense.”

“Mm.” 

“No, did I hurt you? You’re rigid.” His hands fret a line down the side of your chest. “You didn’t…” 

You hadn’t said anything, because he really hadn’t hurt you. But the thoughts you’re having now are intrusive —am I okay? you think. Do I measure up? He’s never made any indication that you’ve let him down, not in sex or anything else, but you’re unbelievable. 

You swallow a lump. “Sorry,” you say, the lingering ebbs of pleasure twisting into tears faster than you can stop it. 

“Are you crying?” he asks under his breath. 

You suck in a breath as he pushes onto his hands. 

“These aren’t good tears,” he says. 

He’d know. They’re not. 

Aaron reaches over you to turn on the lamp on the nightstand before settling, his hand cupping your waist. It’s too much suddenly, too bare, he’s too much to look at as you squeeze your eyes closed. “Sorry,” you squeeze out. 

“What did I do?” he asks, holding you carefully. “Please, sweetheart, what’s hurting? I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s not you.” 

“But something does hurt?” 

“No, no, I’m okay.” You cover your face with your hands. When you start to sob, it shakes the entire mattress, Aaron’s hand wobbling where it cups your ribs. 

“Please.” His thumb works a soft spot into your skin. “Honey, please, you can’t cry now without telling me what’s wrong.” He tries a laugh, but it falls flat. “Honey. Honey.” 

It wasn’t the sex. He never does anything wrong, he’s so gentle even when he isn’t, and if he did you’d only have to tell him, but the rush of being touched by him so nicely, fuck, the way he’d been looking at you, the way he took your face into his hand as he moved —you’re not trying to be a crier, but he makes you feel like you’re everything and you’re just not. 

He looks sick. 

“It wasn’t you, it was at the gala,” you manage. 

For a long while after, you can’t get a word out. You shiver and sob as Aaron scoops you into his chest, his nose in your shoulder waiting for you to calm down. He rubs your waist, fingers parted and waving slowly as he shushes you. Not to make you stop, though. He’s reassuring. 

“What happened at the gala?” he asks quietly. 

“It’s so stupid.” 

“No, it’s alright. Can you tell me what happened? Did someone hurt you?” 

You wrap your arms around his head. It really is stupid, you feel smaller than an ant under the shadow of a giant heel. Aaron doesn’t waver when you struggle to answer, feeling around behind you for a pillow and helping you against it. He kisses your forehead. “Let me get you something to wear.” 

You catch his wrist. “It wasn’t you, wasn’t–” You lift your chin. 

He kisses you. “Okay,” he says simply. “Let’s get dressed.” 

He dresses quickly, bringing you underwear and one of your sleep shirts, a loose fit. You shuffle into them and watch him patiently as he cleans the small mess of the evening away. You’re sniffling softly when he returns to you, sitting with his back to your thighs. 

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry if I read things wrong. I never would’ve initiated anything if I knew you were feeling like this.” 

You laugh weakly, worriedly, looking at him through your lashes. “It made me feel better,” you admit.

“If this is better, you must’ve been feeling awful.” 

You relax as he puts his hand on your thigh. 

“In the time I left you to talk to Strauss, something upset you. JJ and Morgan didn’t see you. So someone in the gala said something or did something that made you leave. If you tell me who it was, I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.” 

“You’re trying to bargain with me,” you mumble. 

“I’m just telling you what can be done. I can take care of things.” 

“It’s nothing… nothing so severe. You’ll wonder why I–” You give an unexpected sob. “Made all this fuss.” 

“I don’t think I’ll wonder,” he says. 

You laugh through tears. These ones are slow, your eyes already itchy from crying. 

“Please tell me.” He tries teasing instead of sternness, lowering his face to yours. “Or I’ll cry too.” 

“Aaron.” 

“I will. You think I can’t, but seeing you crying like this, it’s more than enough ammunition.” 

You let out a breath, admitting defeat. “Your friend, Clint? I overheard him with his wife. He didn’t have very nice things to say about me.” 

“What could he possibly have to say?” Aaron asks with a frown. 

You pull the sheets up your legs. “He said I’m… unbelievable, and I don’t think he meant it kindly. Said that I’m not your type, and that I… I had no chance of measuring up, because of who you’ve been with before. They were laughing about our wedding photos.” Your throat feels pressed into by a hot poker. “They said we were the gentleman and the tramp.” 

His eyes squint. He looks disgusted, and for an uncomfortable moment you feel like it might be directed at you, but then he scoffs. “What a crock of shit.” 

“Aaron!” you laugh. 

“What could Clint McMoore possibly know about marriage? This is his fourth wife. And to imply that you’re any sort of calibre below the women I’ve dated before isn’t just misogynistic nonsense, it’s not true. You are the most beautiful women I’ve ever met, and what’s that supposed to mean, gentlemen and the tramp?” He gives you such an earnest glare of confusion that you can’t for a second doubt what it is he’s saying. “I’m sorry, honey, I think he’s allowed himself a few too many nightcaps over the years. Perhaps he’s suffered a stroke.” 

“Aaron, don’t say that,” you chide, secretly very pleased. 

“Our wedding photos,” he says, his hand drifting further down your leg to rest just shy of somewhere more intimate, “are beautiful. You look beautiful. Clint would’ve writhed in jealousy in the pews if he’d been invited, because he would’ve seen it for himself.” 

“I just sat there while they laughed at me,” you mumble.

“What were you supposed to do?” His hand travels out, to your hip, and then he holds you by the waist with both of his hands. They have a way of making you feel encapsulated, big and strong and careful on the bump of your hips. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Nothing,” he says, meeting your eyes with his usual tender-hearted compassion. “You weren’t supposed to do or say anything.” Aaron appears younger than he is for a second, his eyebrows raised, eyes big and brown as they track over your lips. “Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise he was like that. I’m sorry you had to hear that.” 

“I guess I’m just worried he’s right.” 

“He’s not right. You are everything to me.” Again, he puts weight on the word, roughly said, like it takes a lot from him to say it. “I’m lucky to have been with women who were beautiful, and intelligent, but if there’s a question of you measuring up, there’s no competition. I’ve never been this in love.” 

You take a shaky breath. “Never?” you ask. 

He holds your gaze. “I knew it when we met. That's why I couldn’t wait to ask you to marry me.” 

“You said you weren’t getting any younger.” 

“Well, I’m not, but not everything’s about my age, you know,” he says, giving your waist a playful squeeze. 

”You said it.” 

“I did. That felt easier to say than, if I don’t marry you soon I might implode,” —he shuffles forward, encroaching on your legs and pressing his lips to your cheek— “would’ve just,” —he kisses your cheek, before turning your head— “wasted all that time waiting for someone else’s idea of the right time,” —and he kisses the other cheek, his nose skirting up your face— “wishing I was your husband when I could just,” —he smiles into your eyebrow as his hand slips under your shirt, holding your bare back— “ask.” 

“I’m glad you asked me.” 

You’d cried then, too, but it was less to do with a rush of adrenaline that knocked you out of balance and more to do with how lovingly he’d taken your hand as he asked. You knew from that moment on that someone was going to take care of you for the rest of your life. He’s doing it right now. 

“I love you,” you say, forcing your arms over his shoulders. 

He pulls you in so much that you lift from the mattress. 

“I love you. Are you sure it wasn’t me that upset you? I have to check.” 

“No. What you did to me wasn’t particularly upsetting.” 

He laughs. “Are you sure? You can look a little teary–”

You shush him quickly.

He tips your head to the side to kiss your ear. “Maybe next time, you can tell me about whatever upset you beforehand.” 

“And you can make me feel even better.”

His laugh is nearly inaudible, but his lips are by the side of your head. You hear it, the warmth of his breath kissing the shell of your ear. 

—

Aaron likes to see you in your sweatpants. You look nice in everything, especially your dresses for the evening events he often drags you to, but he likes it when you wear sweatpants because it opens a window. You’ve purchased the wrong size, too big and too long, but you’ve tied them at the waist and you make do. You’re wearing the big shirt he helped you into the night before, sitting on the couch with your ferried breakfast. 

The night before has been washed away, no sign of tears or upset. You have a clean, bright face, one he’d quite like to kiss, or hold, or have pressed to his neck, but none of this is unusual. Your eyes look sore, if he really looks. He’ll make you a compress after breakfast. 

Dropped off by Jess an hour ago, Jack sits beside you picking at the breakfast tray. You’re sharing a plate. You don’t ever mind. 

“Are you eating that one?” you ask. 

Jack immediately nudges half of a chocolate chip pancake your way. “Was the gala fun?” 

“Uh, sure. Saw your dad’s friends. But they had a weird thing with the caterers and we had to get dinner on the way home.”

“You could’ve made dad cook.” 

“I guess, but we were tired. What did you have for dinner?” 

“Jess made spicy chicken. It was amazing.” Jack squints at you. “Your eyes are puffy, Y/N. Are you sick?” 

“I think I might be a little. Not enough to make you sick too, don’t worry.” 

Aaron piles the last of the pancakes onto a plate and carries them to you in the living room. “Here, you two.” 

“Did you eat?” you ask. 

He loves you, bending over to kiss your forehead right in the middle. “Yes.” 

“How come they didn’t have dinner at the gala, dad? I thought that was the whole point,” Jack says. 

He sits down next to Jack on the couch. You cut a big square of pancake and grin at him, seemingly pleased with your breakfast and Jack’s sense of humour. 

“It was a disaster, that’s all. No food, barely any wine, and terrible, awful company.” 

“I thought Miss Jareau went?” 

“She did. But besides her and a handful of others, it was a party for sad old people.” 

“And you didn’t have fun?” Jack asks. 

You laugh so hard tears gather in the corners of your eyes. Aaron cups Jack’s shoulder, surprised when his son doesn’t duck away from the touch. The older he gets the less affection he requires, so it’s nice for Aaron to hug him sideways and be allowed, better that you finish your choking laugh with a hug of your own. “Jack, thank you for that. I think you cured whatever illness I had,” you say.  

“Hey,” Aaron says. 

You run your hand up his neck. Your wedding ring catches against his jaw. 

“It was worth going, though, to see your step-mom in her nice dress,” Aaron says, peeling away from Jack so he has room to breathe. 

Jack turns to you, and his smile is audible, “Do you have any pictures?” 

“I didn’t take any, sorry.” 

“Just think of her now but in a dress, and that’s how beautiful she looked,” Aaron says. 

“Dad, don’t be gross,” Jack says, cutting into the pancakes with his fork.

“It’s not gross, it’s just a fact.” Jack drops pancake down his front. Warm chocolate chips stain his t-shirt. “Missed your mouth, bud. I’ll get a rag.” 

He’s up as quickly as he sat down, running his fingers along your arm and to the palm of your hand, touching you until he can’t. He heads back into the kitchen. His phone is beeping on the table, screen flashing with each new text. 

Penelope: boss, I think the thing you asked for is illegal 

Penelope: also, I assume you were kidding? 

Penelope: so while making it that every link on McMoore’s computer freezes the desktop would’ve been very very funny, I didn’t do that 

Aaron had been kidding, emphatically, because illegal activities aren’t his style. It was a sarcastic suggestion, and yet he’s disappointed nonetheless. 

Penelope: I just signed him up for a bunch of recovering narcissists forums and an email subscription for self help, and maybe also a free online class about manners and etiquette 

Penelope: And I ordered that big canvas for you. It was the one of you guys cutting the cake, right? 

Aaron texts her back quickly: Thank you, Penelope. I couldn’t work out the dimensions online. 

Penelope: You’re welcome! I live to serve :D 

The canvas will look good in the entryway, Aaron believes. Somewhere you can see it, and remember exactly what it is he thinks of you; his eyes glowing with love where he’d been staring at your face, his hand guided yours atop the knife as he traced your features, and you cut that first, fat slice of cake. 

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

thanks so much for reading! please think about commenting, liking or reblogging if you enjoyed I love knowing what you think!❤️

also small note: this fic is in no way meant to diminish haley im a haley supporter usually (these days at least!) and I just didn’t mention her for brevity’s sake

[madamechrissy]

=͟͟͞♡ Healing Hearts =͟͟͞♡

=͟͟͞♡ Pairings:-Doctor Gojo x Intern F!Reader

=͟͟͞♡ Summary- You are the top Surgical Doctor intern, along with Maki, Yuta and Toge. You all are exhausted from passing the first month, sixteen plus hour days, days you don't even go home, all to get a top spot with the star Surgeon, Dr. Gojo, your resident doctor and boss. Or as you call him, Dr. Hojo. He's takes nothing serious but his surgeries it seems, and has a reputation for being a player, but he has that top spot, so you want to prove your worth! You just have to ignore those stupid butterflies he gives you, and those pretty blue eyes, along with his interest in you, and focus!

=͟͟͞♡ Contents/warnings- MDNI- Warnings- overuse/incorrect use of prescription meds, angsty asf in places, scene of a medical procedure, heavy subject matter, some sexual tension. Reader, 26, Dr. Gojo 34- Grey's vibes - this chap, misuse of prescription drugs, snorting said drugs, light angst, explicit sex, like A LOT of sex, oral (f recieving) talking you through it, multiple positions, TOXIC attraction, possessive Gojo, yandere tendencies tbh, lots of drama and feelings =͟͟͞♡ WC this chap- 9k

♡ Reblogs and comments appreciated if you enjoy ♡

=͟͟͞♡ Part Seven =͟͟͞♡ Playlist =͟͟͞♡ Masterlist

Part Eight

“It’s beautiful here, Satoru. Thank you.” You’re in the most elegant of dining rooms of this restaurant, already so fancy you feel just a little out of place, but Satoru seems to know everyone, grinning as they fawn over him and you.

“I had a feeling you’d love it. Plus this way some privacy.” His voice drops just an octave, rushing over you in waves, the desire you feel for him is hard to ignore, but you know you need to learn more. Despite the temptation of his plump lips as they smirk just a bit, while the waitress pours you each a glass of wine.

You sip it then, moaning at the taste. “What is this!?”

“House plum wine, it’s our specialty.” She smiles at you sweetly, then eyes Satoru, leaning over just a bit, you can tell she’s trying to get his attention, far too close to him for comfort. “Dr. Gojo, would you like your usual?”

“That depends on what my girl here wants.” He doesn’t have to say that, do that, you two don’t even know what you are, but here he is, an arm around you, essentially brushing off the pretty waitress to hold you close. “What are you thinking, love?”

Love.

Satoru is calling you love. God if you don’t wish it could be true, that maybe Satoru could love you enough, maybe he does in his own way, but it’s a cruel torture, the worst sort of joke. To love someone who clearly doesn’t love himself, despite the outer appearance that he does, the cocky, conceited jokes, the winks and smirks so self sure.

But you’re already learning, it’s to hide something.

“You pick for me, maybe some seafood?” He nods then, and spits off two orders that you don’t even understand, smiling as he hands her the menus, you notice she looks just a little dejected. “Did you sleep with her, Hojo?” Satoru gasps, putting his hand to his chest then.

“Rude! Calling me some floozy hmm?”

“Well, you were?” He sighs now, tilting your chin up just a bit.

“Before I kissed you, after that it was over.” His thumb brushes your lower lip, when they bring in appetizers for you all, sitting on pretty ceramic plates, the soft music gently flowing in as the doors open again.

“You love to fuck my brain up, Doctor.”

“Love to fuck more than that, intern.” His voice is soft, flowing over you as he pops a little hors d'œuvre in your mouth, watching you as you chew it thoughtfully, eyes fluttering shut as it hits your taste buds. “That look, fuck. Is that better than me?”

“So much better.” He chuckles when you laugh a bit.

“So… how was the day, overwhelming?” You nod, sighing, as the two of you start to talk about Choso now, the device possibility, so much today alone had gone on, but then every day at the prestige hospital was rather hectic.

The plates are served, and you both find it easy to be on this date - a true date - not a rushed little bar encounter, or a night spent at each other’s homes, it felt so real and tangible. The topics get a little heavier soon, dinner is done and dessert is being served, the most decadent little morsels you could imagine, as more of the sweet wine fills your bloodstream.

It’s so perfect for a moment you forget how you got here, forget just how horrible it was before, and he can almost pretend that you don’t need to know his flaws. But you have already seen him at his bad point, you already know some of what makes him not good enough for a girl like you, but he can’t prevent himself, he wants you and only you, and he needs it like he needs air.

“Why are the doses so high? High tolerance?” Your question is soft and delicate, as you ask the question carefully, sipping your drink once more and looking right into his pretty blue eyes, a conundrum of feelings scattered in them like stars.

“Very high, I’ve always had one, could drink a fifth and act straight- I’m not much of a drinker though, a little wine here and there.”

“Well thank goodness, drinking with Xanax…”

“Yeah, Klonopin, Ambien, all of them don’t go too well with it.”

“And how do you function? Honestly, the levels…”

“The more you take them, the higher the tolerance. But I typically don’t just snort them, unless I need them to hit quickly. But even then, that night in the locker room I had taken several.” He’s quiet, as are you, remembering the night so vividly. “I was upset and overdid it, even for me.”

“Upset because of our fight.” He nods now, jaw clenching.

“I don’t want to lose you.” Satoru strokes your cheek, you feel it, your emotions rising, heart pacing in your chest, as you struggle to keep your composure.

“But you never want to live together? No kids I guess I get now, no marriage I can understand, but how do you not live with someone ever? I don’t mean now or even soon, but never? It’s like you’re afraid to let someone in.” Satoru runs a hand through those silky white locks, frowning then.

“The main reason for that is,” Satoru sighs a bit, as he leans so close to you, you practically taste the sweet plum wine on his breath, mingling with yours, before he leans back, his adam’s apple bobbing with a gulp. “I think whoever would live with me, would grow to hate me.”

Your heart shatters at his words, tears swimming in your vision, hating that this man could feel that way. You ease back yourself, looking up at blue eyes that hide far, far too much pain, slipping a hand up the softness of his sweater, then higher, brushing along the line of his jaw. He’s watching you so seriously, like he’s waiting for a blow, jaw so tense you try to rub it to ease it.

“Oh, Satoru…” Your voice is shaky as you speak, taking a tremulous breath, hand now slipping up over a high cheek bone, brushing across where he’s flushed just the lightest shade of pink.

“You know a little more about me now, but it can get bad, my depression - it’s a reason I’m on it all. And the reason I work constantly, but at home alone sometimes… It's really bad. And I get… angry, frustrated. Fuck I can be mean, you’ve seen all of it.” His hand comes to brush your hair off your shoulder, fingers long and elegant against the delicate slope of your shoulder.

“Think I can’t handle that?” You raise a brow at him. “Have you met my ex, he was a shit.”

“Yeah you have bad taste.” You roll your eyes, but your breath catches when his fingers dance along your shoulder, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “You could handle it because you’re strong, doesn’t mean you should.”

“I think you’re mean to yourself.”

“Oh?” He frowns now, hand falling.

“Yes, you’re afraid to let anyone know you, because you want them to think you’re ‘perfect’.”

“Ouch, psychiatrist is your calling.” He’s trying to make light of it, a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes, but you cup his face now, leaning forward, his lashes lower, eyeing your bitten lips, dying to press them against his. Dying to kiss every inch of you all over again.

“I want to know all of you. I won’t get scared away easily, if you have a bad day, you could talk, tell me. We could… I won’t tell you not to take them, but you could talk to me first. Before you…”

“Snort them?” He cuts you off, and you nod, Satoru sighs now, easing his head further against your touch, as his hands come to grip your waist. “Are you asking me to take them as prescribed, intern?”

“I think they’ll last longer and be used less, yes.”

“Is it a doctor’s order?” His lips quirk up, but he’s hiding it, the vulnerability now, you can feel it, even as his hands warm you through the layers of your cashmere sweater, igniting so much held inside of you.

“It’s a special request from a girl who adores you.” Satoru blinks back emotion, pulling back completely, making your lips tremble, heart hammering. “I shouldn’t have said it…”

“No, no.” He needs to compose himself, your words almost break him then, words he never knew he wanted or needed, but to come from your perfect lips, he feels you gripping his chest like a vise.

“It’s just a gentle suggestion. I’ll date you anyway. Okay? Satoru I will never judge you, ever.” He almost cries, someone so strong reduced to tears because you make him feel more than he should.

He doesn’t deserve you.

Your hand comes to his shoulder, he’s still turned away in the elegant dining room, the two of you alone, soft music filtering in from the restaurant, mingling with the gentle noise of laughing and chatting couples and friends. But the two of you are alone, and all you can hear is your heartbeats, yours erratic, as you wonder if you’re asking too much, pushing too hard.

“If I wasn’t selfish I’d leave you alone, I’d let you go be with someone who can give you everything.” Satoru’s words are hoarse, as he turns back to you now, and you see tears in his beautiful azure eyes, bringing tears of your own, burning your eyes. “You’re young, you think you could fix something so broken.”

“I don’t want to fix you, and you’re not broken. Stop it. I’m not that young, okay? I have my own experiences in growing up quickly.” Satoru sighs now, shaking his head.

“Shit, you had no parents… I’m sorry. I’m not… thoughtful.”

“You are. You’re more than you give yourself credit for. Are you perfect, no, you’re kind of a mess.” He smiles a bit, as you’re swiping tears, he hates it, you seeing them, seeing his weakness.

You’re his weakness.

“But there’s a lot of good. A lot.”

“Don’t deserve your presence.”

“Satoru…”

“I don’t. But I’m greedy, baby, so I’ll take you anyway.” He yanks you to him now, against his hard body, a hand tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck, brushing your own tears with his other hand, before thumbing your lower lip, running the pad of it across your lip. “I’ll take anything you give me.”

“Why’s that, hmm?” Your eyes flutter shut when he kisses your cheeks, then your nose, your eyelids, your hands grip his sweater, body overheating.

“Because I can’t get you off my fucking mind, out of my heart, you’re seeped in so fucking deep, do you know?” He’s kissing down the side of your neck, moaning as he hears your soft cry. He loves you, fuck he does. He doesn’t know how to say it, he doesn’t know if he deserves to speak it, if it will just hurt you in the end.

“You think you haven’t sunk into my soul, Satoru Gojo?” Your words make him pause, pulling away and looking down at you, brushing back your hair, his other arm possessively wrapped, pulling you so close you’re almost on him. “I’m falling.”

Shit, you said it.

He pauses, then exhales, a shaky breath with a soft moan, before making you gasp, when he stands, picking you up shoving aside your ceramic plates of untouched desserts, and sits you right on that thick white table cloth. Your heart hammers in your chest as you stare into eyes that reveal it all, swirling with every emotion he tries so hard to hide.

“I’ve already fallen for you. Fallen so fucking deep it’s killing me slowly, breathing your air but not holding you, kissing you,” he does just that now, as you whine into his mouth, his words washing over you. “Being deep inside you, feeling you, kills me so much I fucked it up, and I’ll fuck it up again.”

“Satoru, you-” He’s slammed his lips once more, an arm on either side, pinning you to the table, stepping between your spread thighs, kissing you stupid, drugging you like the xanax in his bloodstream.

“But I’m selfish, so selfish, I’ll let you be with someone like me, even though I should love you enough to be with someone who deserves you.” You’re sniffling, shaking your head, but he cups your face, eyes devouring you, and you sink deeper and deeper into the pit that is your feelings. “I will take anything of you.”

“Then have me, all of me.” Satoru moans and pins your wrists, as he presses you back on this high, fancy banquet table, yanking up your top, his hand slipping up it, your chest heaving as he finds you over your lace bra, making you cry out.

“I can’t let go if we do it again. I won’t let you leave, I wish I was fucking kidding, do you really wanna get dragged down with me?” His words are dark, but you are past pretending, caring, any of it. You just nod, and he sighs, shaking his head, hand slipping down under your waistband, finding your slick heat, moaning as he does. “I can’t let you go.”

“Then don’t- ah!” He’s running his fingers between your drenched folds, so ready to sink his cock in you again, fill you like your body is begging for, looking down at your pretty face, already fucked out from a touch. A face so pretty he’s not sure he deserves it either. “Please…”

“Gonna be mine, hmm? You sure sweetheart?” His desperation breaks through, and you nod now, giving him the go ahead, he moans softly, sinking two fingers deep in your tight entrance, pressing up just so, you scream out at it before covering your mouth, realizing though alone people could still hear. “No.”

He yanks down your hand, and you’re biting your lip, gasping and gripping his wrist, which flexes as he fingers your slick walls, that grip him so good he almost cums from it. “C-can’t be quiet…”

“I need to look at your face when you cum. You can’t cover it.” You’re whining out, as his intense gaze and his fingers press your spot, like he knows you so fucking well. “I want to see your mouth open, your eyes roll back, wanna see the sweat that breaks out on your brow.”

“F-fuck…” You’re barely able to function, your walls convulsing around his thick fingers, soaking and loud, echoing in the elegant room, mixing with your soft cries, so drunk off him your head spins.

“No one can make you feel this, huh baby?” He’s insane again, his eyes dilating, like he’s in some fucking trance as he plays you, as you drown in his eyes, swirling storms that you can’t stop looking into. “Asked you a question sweetheart.”

“No one.” He moans then, fingers even deeper, thumb pressing into your twitching little clit, all while he watches you unravel.

“That’s it, let go f’me. Wanna watch you fall apart.” You do then, cries muffled barely by you biting the fuck out of your lower lip to the point it’s almost bleeding from your teeth tearing your skin, as your pleasure washes over you in waves, back arching up, and Satoru nearly cums from just watching you, feeling you. “Beautiful, fuck.”

“Please, in me.” Your whisper destroys him, surely even though you’ve rented the room anyone could just walk in, but you’re far past caring any longer, and he’s ready to give you all of him, you wouldn’t even care if a whole restaurant saw you at this point, cunt pulsing around nothing when his fingers slip out.

“Fuck, I want to but I can’t keep quiet.” His lips quirk up just a bit, and you breathlessly giggle, perhaps the first time you’ve felt relief since it all, as he puts those fingers to his mouth, sucking them up and exhaling. “Come to my place.”

“So much for taking it slow.” You murmur, sitting up now with his help, shaking when he presses a kiss to your lips and you taste your sweet arousal all over him, kissing it right off him. Satoru sighs, cupping your face, hand entangling in your hair, pulling it at the nape of your neck, making your head fall back.

“I’ll fuck you slow if you want.”

“Shit. Let’s go.”

The drive through the snow is quiet, aside from music Satoru has slowly playing, and you’re snug against him, hand brushing up and down his chest, like you can’t get close enough to him, and he’s kissing you at every stop light. You’re so fucked up on him, on how your panties are soaked against your leggings, the heat warming the two of you so much.

“Need to be inside you, fuck.” He’s murmuring, his hand slipping to your waist, while you kiss on his neck.

“Focus on the road.” You’re breathless when he softly whimpers, while you find a spot right on his neck.

“Shit…” He’s clenching the wheel, cock leaking precum again, dying to bury itself in your slick little cunt. When the two of you finally get to his place, he’s quickly dragging you inside, kissing you desperately, yanking your sweater right off. You’re hastily repeating the action on him, gasping when he turns you around, unsnapping your bra and letting it fall.

He’s pressing you against the front door, littering your shoulders with bites, hot and hungry, his hand slipping down your spine, sending shivers down your body, as he brushes hair off the nape of your neck. “Satoru, please.”

“Let me savor this, been dreaming of you all week.” You’re whining out when he turns you again, kissing you hungrily, big hands gripping your tits as he’s yanking you against him, thigh between yours, making you eagerly grind against him. “You’re all I’ll ever want.”

“Don’t say that, mmm.” You’re shaking your head and he sighs, on his knees before you then, unbuckling your boots and easing them down, as your breath comes quicker and quicker, echoing out loud, mixing with the pounding of blood rushing through to your ears.

“I’ll never want anyone else.” His raw declaration terrifies you, fuck you know he’ll probably hurt you, damaged beautiful man, so opposite of you it’s insane, but you’re drawn to him with inexplicable need. His blue eyes under white lashes are drunk when he finally glides your leggings down, moaning when he sees you. “You’ve ruined your panties, baby.”

“Mnh! Please…” You’re gripping his shoulders to balance, throwing your thigh over his shoulder, gripping you by your ass so rough you gasp. “F-fuck!”

“Let me drink you, please, I need you so badly baby.” He’s damn near slurring his words, lapping a stripe over your panties before he pulls them to the side, revealing your glistening, drippy cunt. “God look at you.”

Your moans are throaty when he’s drinking you up against the door, fuck you’d not even made it a step inside before he does, before he’s soaked from you, dripping all over his pretty face, and he can’t get enough of you. He’s moaning, fucking your tight entrance with his long tongue, soaking you into his tastebuds, never wanting to leave your thighs.

He looks up to see your pretty tits bounce as you grip his hair, head falling back to smack the door, while Satoru laps up all your arousal, groaning against you, making it vibrate. “I’m c-cumming!”

“Good, cum all over me.” You’re done then, cunt gushing so much he can’t catch it all, it’s falling down his chin, even when he gulps as much as he can, feeling your quivering cunt grip and pulse around his tongue. You’re blinded as it hits so hard, you nearly collapse, but he’s holding you firm, kissing your clit, neglected aside from little bumps of his nose.

“Oh my god…” You’re delirious, so much held back for so long for him, fuck even before you were so afraid to get hurt you held back, but you’re done holding back any longer, you’re so ready to let him have all of you. “Take me.”

“Fuck…” He stands up so quickly you get dizzy, snatching you up in his arms, kissing you hungry, messy, while he carries you to his room, hastily flicking on the soft lights.

“Why on?” You murmur, blinking your fuzzy vision as you land on his soft, plush bed, in his spotless fucking room, gripping his egyptian cotton sheets, thick and soft as he unbuckles his belt with a click.

“I need the lights on to see all of your anatomy.” You bite that lip again, thighs pressing together, leaned up on your hands as you hungrily watch him strip fully, pretty, perfect cock springing out, begging for attention. You go to grab him but he pins you down, shaking his head. “Won’t last if you touch me, wanna embarrass me?”

“You always last long, Doctor Gojo. Think I don’t miss touching him?” He exhales now, lifting a thigh, pressing his leaky tip at your entrance now.

“You can after, I need to be inside you.” You nod then, giving him the go ahead, and he shoves inside so deep you scream, so ready it’s insane, you can’t stop your shaking, convulsing while he breathes so heavy over you, one hand on your wrists still, pinning them to the pillow. “Fucking feel you.”

“Mnh!” You’re already fucked out from two, three strokes, splitting you in half like only Satoru Gojo can. Your cunt stretches to accommodate, gushing down his veiny length, down his heavy balls that smack your little ass hole now, as he pounds your cunt so merciless.

But that’s not all that fucks you up, no it’s his damn eyes, so dark and desperate for you, he can’t rip them from your face, fucking up into you harder, losing himself while your hands go numb in his grip. “God, never felt anything this good.”

He’s whispering words in your ear, as he rests his head, snowy locks tickling your cheek, the loud sounds of skin smacking in the air. He pulls back, watching the bulge move inside you, putting his hand over it to feel him fucking you, his cock moving slowly in and out, all while he feels you pulse around him. Your head falls back, hips arching, slick walls just gripping his cock way too good.

But mostly he sees your pretty face, screwed up in pleasure, a face he didn’t think he’d get to see again, and he dies over it. Letting your wrists free, you touch his abdomen, fingers running over perfectly defined muscles, slick with sweat from his exertions. You watch them flex and tremble, slipping higher to his chest, feeling his erratic heartbeat against your palm.

“Satoru…” You’re breathing out his name, so close now, he leans over you again, his other hand dipping between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing it in circles, pressing against the twitchy little nub, watching you fall apart.

“Need to cum all over my cock, don’t you baby?” You just nod, ever so weakly, drowning in him, in Satoru, words threatening to spill from your lips- just how much you love the man that you’ve only scratched the surface of. “Then cum f’me, all over my cock, make a mess. Ah, that’s it sweetheart, almost there.”

He’s talking you further over the edge, slamming his cock so deep then you do fall apart, nails pressing and leaving crescent shapes in his back, head falling to the side for his teeth to sink into. Your orgasm washes all over you until you’re weak, twitching and shaking, just gasping for breath, the sounds sinking into his ears, as your pleasure injects into his veins.

You are the best high there is.

“God, you’re perfect.” You shake your head weakly, and he slows, lifting his finger off your clit now, slowing his stroke to agonizing slowness, in and out, letting you feel every single inch, every ridge and vein on his cock. “You are. I never want you to leave this bed, fuck.”

“Mmn… you don’t…”

“I do.” He’s kissing you deeply, and that is when you fall off the imperceptible ledge he had you on, that’s when you kiss him back with fervor, giving a heart you’re terrified he will break, but how can you not? How can you not drink this man is, even knowing the pain that will follow.

Satoru flips you with ease, he’s got you on your stomach, as he hooks a thigh over yours, smacking your ass and groaning as he watches it bloom with his handprint. “Ah!”

“I need you to be mine, can you? All mine?” He is insane, but you’re insane too, nodding, knowing the version of ‘his’ is so different from what you truly think of.

Are you willing to fall?

He’s got a hand around your throat, shoving his thick cock back inside you, breathing right in your ear, even his breaths, so heavy and desperate push you on further. Your head falls back, ass arching against his pelvis, when he slams so deep inside you, long body taking over your much smaller one, as his very essence wraps you like the darkest shadow.

Darkness, swirling, heady mixing with the scent of him, with the feel of him, when the deprivation of everything but him happens, and you’re getting your throat squeezed at the sweetest pressure. “Tiny little neck, like it when I squeeze?”

You weakly whine in response, when he pushes you to that edge again, you’ve lost count of how much pleasure he’s brought you, how many orgasms wreck you, as he chokes your throat, squeezing just perfect on your pressure points. It’s fuzzy, your mind, it’s all gone, instinct only allowing you to feel the pleasure instead.

“Want me to fill you up baby? So full of me?” You nod eagerly, as Satoru busts inside you, hot white cum coating your quivering walls, and you lose the last thread you had left in your brain, the last thing connecting you to anything rational.

“Ah!”

“Fuck… god, she’s milking me for it all…” He’s slowing his strokes, exhaling now, while he peppers kisses across your shoulder, then up your neck. “Fuck I didn’t know I’d get to ever again.”

“What would you have done?” He eases out now, sighing and continuing his kisses all over your chest.

“What would I have done?” You nod then, sitting up a bit, legs pressing together, cunt throbbing, you feel his cum seeping out of your abused little hole now, as he runs his fingers down your smooth legs.

“Yes, gone to your Hojo ways?”

He laughs softly, shaking his head, kissing your ankle now, as you’re still reeling from what had just happened. “I’d have jerked off and snorted pills and cried.”

“Shit.”

“Mmhmm… shit, can I snort a xanax once more before I call it quits?” You blink a bit, and he grins. “I wanna snort one off your cunt.”

“No! What!?”

“Inner thigh?” You’re torn between thinking it’s hot and thinking it’s bat shit insane, he sees it, smirking. “It’s a dream of a dying man.”

“You’re not dying, you're just insane.” You’re still trembling from how hard you’ve cum, and he’s too pretty pouting like that. “Okay once.”

“I love you.” You snort, shaking your head, when he drags a tray from the table, black and gold filigree designs, xanax bar crushed with quick skill, like he’s done it a million times. You tense a bit, watching him gather it with a razor blade, then onto a thick cardstock. “I thought xanax tasted the best, until your pussy.”

“You’re comparing me to chemicals?” You cross your arms, and he grins, the devious psycho doctor that he is, coming to lean over you now, spreading a thigh.

“Nothing tastes as good as you, but xanax is close.” You’re watching with quick breaths as he sprinkles the white powder on your inner thigh, exhaling nervously when his snowy white hair bends down. “My nose will never be the same.”

“It’ll be happier, you know.” He smiles up at you, snorting the powder up quickly, his breath far too close to your cunt, you’re whining softly at the sensation, as he laps the residue up with his tongue now, moaning. “Does Xanax taste that good?”

“It does. Here.” He’s leaning up, kissing you now, and you moan as his saliva drips against your mouth, and you taste it.

“Must be acquired.” You whisper, saliva string dripping between your lips, and you see it, his eyes dilate, his body relaxes.

“Nothing tastes as good as you. Especially with my cum pouring from you.” He’s shoving the tray aside, prone position again, licking your cunt and groaning. “God I knew it would be the best mix.”

“Mnh! You’re f-fucking insane…”

“I know, baby.” He’s lapping his cum out of you, while you grip him, and he’s fully fucked up, the xanax hitting and making him enjoy your pretty cunt even more.

“Last time.” Your soft cry warns, and he sighs, nodding, pulling your lips apart to watch more of his white cum leak out of your slutty hole.

“Last time, doc.” You roll your eyes at him, but it’s soon them just rolling back, when he’s sucking on your clit, and it drools all along him.

“F-fuck!” Your hoarse voice just makes him impossibly more ready, pressing his still sticky cock against the mattress.

“Again.” His quiet command is impossible to ignore, you simply nod just a bit, swallowing nervously, when he leans back over you, slamming his thick cock so deep so soon, it shocks you, making you scream out, as he moans in pleasure, damn near a quiet growl. “Fill you up every day.”

“Satoru…”

“Every minute, every hour. Fuck you in every room in that goddamn hospital.” You’re unable to speak when he pulls back, watching his bulge in your tummy move with every agonizingly long stroke, jerking those hips just so. “Every corridor, I’ll drink you up in every elevator.

“Insane, f-fuck!” He laughs a bit, the drug has clearly entered his blood stream, you see it on his face, unleashing whatever bits he’s apparently been holding back from you.

“Am I insane? Or are you, for lying under me sweetheart?” Your lips part, but you can’t form a word, instead just another cry as he fucks you harder into his soft, dense matress, the blankets and sheets crumbling beneath you, your hands gripping harder and harder.  “Answer me.”

“You’re the c-crazy one.” He laughs even as he shoves his cock so deep you scream, drooling tip smashing a cervix already hurt from him pummeling it just minutes ago. “Insane fucking man.”

“You love it though.” You won’t answer, not this insane man with far too much in his bloodstream, the man ruining you over and over, breaking you apart with his strokes to put you back together with his kisses.

“Think I love it?” Your whisper is against his lips now, he leans over you, soft white locks falling over his brow, as he studies your face so carefully.

“I fucking love you.”

What.

Huh.

What!?

You’re blinking in confusion, wondering if he��s finally fucked you actually stupid and not just theoretically. You can’t even answer, when he pulls back once more, slamming his cock and bottoming out, stuffing you so full you can’t stop your scream, hoarse and then weak. He cups your face with one hand, sighing as he shakes his head over you.

“I do love you. It’s why I can’t ever let you go.” You’re too stunned and confused to find any sort of word, any protest. “You don’t have to say it back, just you need to fucking know.”

You’re cumming once more, and he’s pulled with you, groaning and busting deep inside you, his words disorienting right along with his cock filling you up so much you feel it everywhere. Satoru’s in your cunt, your stomach, your goddamn head, and your fucking heart.

He’s everywhere.

*****

The next morning, you yawn, stretching in Satoru’s luxurious bed, reaching to find the rumpled sheets are cool. You sit up now, hearing the front door click, standing on the plush rug and stepping out of his room now. He smiles as he walks inside, and you lean on the doorway for a moment, seeing two cups in his hands.

“Morning, sweets. You finally have joined the living.” You giggle a bit, stepping closer now.

“You kind of zonked me.”

“Must be the xanax on your pussy.”

“Satoru!” He’s just grinning now, setting down your cups and pulling a multicolored pill case out of his jacket.

“What, it’s probably a hell of a high.”

You watch him, methodically taking each med, smiling at you as he hands you your coffee, and something breaks your heart then, that he thinks he needs just that much. Seeing your hesitation, he frowns a bit, swallowing them up with a sugary concoction, a little foam on his lip that you gently swipe away, studying the man illuminated by the sun filtering in through his floor to ceiling blinds.

“What is it?” His question is soft, curious, you look down at the cup, shaking your head a bit.

“Nothing.”

“Tch, one thing you suck at, is lying.” He sips his drink again, stepping closer, eyeing your sexy body in his dress shirt, so long on you it’s precious, the sleeves rolled up several times, he sees the outline of your body as the sun showcases it, making him ache again.

God he can’t get enough of you.

“I just wish you didn’t need so much. I’m not judging you, I promise. I’m not… trying to ‘fix you’ you’re a grown man. But it hurts to see.” Satoru falters then, as if it’s not what he expected, coming even closer until his hand presses on your waist, gently but firmly, burning through the thin layer of his white dress shirt.

“Last night is the last time I’ll snort them, okay? I will respect what you asked. But you… don’t believe me.”

“No, no, I do. It’s just… so many. On an empty tummy?”

“Need to feed me then hmm.” He’s trying to make light of it, push it off, but you have trouble letting that go, and he sees it then. “Wanna know why I’m on each one?”

“Do you want to tell me?” He nods now, pulling out one of his black kitchen stools at the bar.

“Sit.” You do just that, and he sits next to you, legs wide, setting his cup down on the pretty granite counter that damn near shimmers it’s so clean, shit all of Satoru’s house is spotless.

You suppose you get why he wouldn’t want kids, or even pets it seems, everything has its order, its place.

“I was once a lowly intern like you.”

“Lowly!” You shove at him playfully, he chuckles a bit, but the laugh doesn’t quite meet those eyes, snowy long lashes lowering while his fingers brush on your bare thigh, leaving intricate networks of goosebumps in their wake.

“I was one and not as good as you, shit not close. You’re remarkable, you know.” You pause at that, cheeks heating up at his praise, when he’s so close, too close, intense eyes boring into you. “It’s one of the reasons I fucking love you.”

“You shouldn’t say that…”

“No? Why?”

“Because you don’t really mean it…”

“Oh, honey,” he rests his forehead on yours as he takes a breath, hand gripping your thigh so tightly, while you start to lose focus. “I mean it.”

“I’m scared shitless, Satoru.”

“I know.” He kisses your forehead then, smiling just a little sadly. “I was not as bold then, not like you, not even close. I was scared to fuck up, so much pressure with my family, and already I was with Hime.”

“Oh I imagine a lot of pressure.” Your soft voice comes, as you put your head on his shoulder, hugging his strong arm over his coat, letting him speak as you try to reign in your own emotions.

“It was. But with her as well, we were at a constant war, a back and forth to piss each other off. Shit she would bring people home, so would I, and at a point I got so depressed, that we were stuck together- also pressured to have kids. Archaic fucking mentality.”

“Yeah… I see.” You can’t look at him not when he brings it up, you don’t even want to think of it right now, the fact that you probably won’t get that if you stay with Satoru.

And you can’t imagine a world where you don’t always love him.

“So I was very tired after we had a thirty six, remember your first?”

“Oh god yes.”

“And I… missed something. I was so tired, I…” His voice breaks, and you pause, looking up at him now, hating the sorrow on his perfect features. “I fucked up, and someone died, because of me.”

“Satoru, no-”

“Yes. Yes they did.” He’s so tense he’s shaking now, shutting his eyes and shaking his head.

“We all make mistakes, we’re just human-”

“No, I needed to be perfect. Top of my class, top of every interns, fuck I have always been the best at everything. And then, the guy was dead because I was sleeping.”

“You cannot blame yourself!”

“I do. That’s when I decided I needed to make sure I wasn’t tired, and then I tried a few different meds, but adderall? Fucking perfect. Literal speed and pure focus.” He speaks of the medication like it’s a lover, soft in his caressing voice about it, smiling just a bit. “Then however, I was so hyped up, I couldn’t come down at night.”

“So… Ambien.” He nods.

“Ambien, knocks me the fuck out. But during the day, I was still under so much stress, living with the one mistake I made, and knowing I could never do it again, also the stress of the marriage. It was overwhelming, that was when I realized I needed a good anxiety med.”

“Xanax.” Your soft voice is met with his nod.

“Best anti anxiety there is, but it is strong, I found it worked best with Klonopin, a mix of the two? Couldn’t care less about shit in the world, and my mind is so fucking crystal clear. And that, intern, is how I became the top doctor there is, and how I’m about to be the top surgeon, and run the hospital.”

You blink a few times now. “You are?”

“Yeah I haven’t told anyone yet, but you should know.” He cups your face so gently, kissing your lips, tasting like the frappuccino, pure sugar as his lips dance across yours. “You’re brilliant, caring, fuck you’re gonna be such a perfect doctor, I can already see it.”

“Thank you, Satoru.” You kiss him back, gently, sighing as you sit in his embrace, in his quiet kitchen.

“I could get over the… living together. If you wanted one day.”

You blink at him then, shock, confusion and… of course happiness, making you gasp. “What?”

“You’ve seen it, and still choose to deal with me. Why, I don’t know… but I want to be open to it for you. I can’t… I never want kids, or marriage, but I could try to live with you.”

“Ah.” You pull back, and he swallows then, feeling how tense you are. “What if it happened by accident?”

“Pregnancy?”

“Yes.”

“Abortion.”

Your eyes go wide, mouth dropping. “What!?”

“It’s the simplest solution, but if you wanted to go off birth control, I could just get a vasectomy. It’d never come to that.” You can’t explain the devastation his words bring, and he notices your demeanor shift, cursing. “I need to work on how I say things, shit.”

“I would never get one.”

“What?” His shock is evident. “What do you mean never?”

“Never. Personally. I’m for them of course, we help perform them, and I’ll always respect a woman’s right to choose that. But I would never.”

“I see.” He looks away for a moment, then sighs. “I’ll get one, so shit never comes to that.”

“Satoru, that’s permanent damn near? What if you want kids later-”

“I never will.”

“With someone else!?”

“It’s only you. I only want you.” He’s kissing you now, dragging you against him, the stool itself screeching along the titles, breathless as he stares up at you. “I will never share you, with anyone or anything, I just want you. I can give you all that I fucking am, everything I have, anything.”

“I just… mmm…” He’s desperate in his kisses again, hands slipping up your thighs, and you feel the mix of arousal and terror growing in your heart.

“I love you.”

“Don’t say it if-”

“I do. I love you, only you. Fuck more than any drug, I’d inject you so goddamn deep baby.” You’re gasping out when he’s standing picking you up like you’re nothing, mouth devouring yours, kissing any sense away you had left. “I’ll make you so fucking happy all the time, you could walk all over me and I’d thank you.”

“Satoru!”

“Use me. Any way you need.” He’s got you laid out on his kitchen table now, exhaling as he sees your glistening cunt, eagerly unbuckling his jeans as he slips a finger between your slit. “Love your body, fuck.”

You’re crying out when he has his cock out so quickly you don’t process it, as he leans over you, still half dressed, you grip his jacket, legs trembling on either side while he runs his tip along your folds. He kisses you when he presses in, and you’re so tight he can barely get that thick, mushroomed tip in, you cry out against his lips as he groans.

“Perfect, tight little cunt, fuck.” He’s pulling back, shoving deeper, as deep as she could take him, and your eyes roll back in pleasure at the burn, the impossible stretch, while he kisses down your breasts, lapping a nipple over his own dress shirt.

“Oh my god.” You’re trembling when he pulls out again, going deeper, deeper inside your snug walls, which pulse and drool around the invasion, as he kisses his way back up your neck.

“I love you. Only you. God, just you.” Satoru kisses your worries away, and it’s not a good thing, it’s a horrible thing, because how the fuck can you even think of anything of your future when you can’t think. “I want you here, every fucking day.”

“Shh.” You kiss him now, desperate and hungry, hips arching off the cool wood to take more of him, he groans as he sinks deeper, and suddenly your phones are both going off, and you all know.

“Goddammit.” He groans out, kissing you again. “Getting called in.”

“We should…”

“No, you’re cumming first.” You gasp when Satoru yanks you down, turning you and pressing you against the table. “Arch that pretty ass, intern.”

You do just that, and Satoru’s yanking on that dress shirt, using it as leverage to fuck into you as your legs just dangle there off the floor, and you scream out your pleasure, earning his satisfied moan. His strokes are mean, brutal, but you want them - no - you fucking need them, need Satoru to fuck all the problems out of your goddamn head.

And fuck does he.

“L-love you…” He pauses now, cock throbbing inside you, leaning over and tilting your face to his, eyes glimmering, black again - from you or the cocktail of pills, you don’t know - so intense you can’t breathe.

“How could you love someone like me?” His broken voice makes you shake with sobs, you shake your head now, as your phones go off again.

“I do love you, Satoru. I do.” He whines out as you’re clenching him so fucking tight, kissing you desperately, a hand under your chin.

“God, those words, fuck. I’m dreaming.” He buries his face against your neck, slamming in so hard you both whimper, the arm that’s wrapped slides down, finding your pretty little clit that he loves to toy with, feeling you shaking in his grip, tightening down like a vise. “That’s it, cum f’me baby, you can do it.”

You fall apart in his embrace, lost in his pleasure, in his obsession, knowing this is a horrible idea, knowing this is a horrible person to fall for. Knowing you’re going to fucking lose yourself, but you eagerly give it all to him, to Satoru Gojo, who’s got you drooling, swiping it off as the wet noises of your slutty cunt mix with his filthy string of cuss words and tender declarations.

You’re in so deep you may never climb out.

*****

One Week Later

“Hey pretty doctor.” You smile at Choso later that afternoon, so excited for him now that you got the news.

“Hello Choso, you’re gonna love me.”

“I already do!”

“Mhmm.” You’re giggling as you shut the door, coming up to put a hand over his, and watching his heart rate jump. “Relax.”

“You’re too pretty, I'm sorry.” He’s pouting far too cutely, as you sit on the edge of the bed now.

“We just got the call, there’s a heart at another hospital.” His violet eyes light up, then dim, lashes lowering. “This is good, Choso, it is.”

“What if it doesn’t…”

“It will work. I know it. You’ll have the best surgeon-”

“And you?” You smile now, nodding at him, seeing his exhale of relief. “You’re gonna see all of me huh?”

“All your insides.” You both laugh, your hand still on his, he turns his own, thumb bruising your knuckles, making you just a bit flushed.

Your heart is stolen by a selfish doctor, but Choso is probably the sweetest human you’ve met, and you’ll be damned if anything happens to him. He’d chosen not to do the device yet, and to his benefit, because now he wouldn’t be weakened by a previous surgery.

“You’d make the best mom you know.” It’s so random you blink a bit, and he sighs, shaking his dark head. “That’s weird to say, you just have a nurturing instinct, you remind me of how my mom was.”

“Oh, was she amazing, hmm?” You try to play it off, and he nods now, as you stuff all your fucking feelings down.

This week has been amazing with Satoru, he's stayed at your place one night, you at his the other, you perform surgeries better and better as a team, he’s thoughtful, perfect, everything. He’s more considerate of things and what he says, he’s not seeming like he’s over using the prescriptions, you cannot complain one bit about Satoru and how much he’s trying.

But the elephant in the room is just what Choso casually said.

You’re giving it up forever.

“She was amazing, and I try to be that way with my little brother.”

“Oh, Yuuji, I’ve met him a few times now, he’s so sweet!”

“He is a good kid. I helped raise him with dad… gone.” You frown now, nodding and understanding.

“Mine is gone too. I appreciate you saying that Choso, it’s nice to know someone thinks I would be.” Hearing the pain in your voice suddenly, his thumb pauses its strokes.

“Who wouldn’t think that? Do you think you’re too busy for a kid or…”

“No. Not that, um.”

You suddenly feel it, the emotions hitting, you’ve been crying a lot for no good reason the past few days, hearing Choso was getting a heart was a bright spot, along with Satoru’s presence. But that’s always tinged with uncertainty, with pain, so very bittersweet in its beauty.

“It’s personal. I talk too much to you, I’m sure I-”

“Stop it, I love talking to you.” You lean forward, pressing a kiss on his cheek then, which blushes right away, bright pink. “You’re fast becoming a very good friend to me. I was so excited to tell you.”

“I’m glad you did. I didn’t know if… it would happen.” He smiles as you pull back, brushing your hair back just a bit. “You really are my angel.”

“Am not!” You’re giggling when the door opens, and Satoru sees the two of you, jaw tensing as he does. He knows you’ve gotten close, and Choso is so happy when you’re around everyone has let you focus on him lately.

But it smacks him in the fucking chest.

He wants to rip you off of him then, you’re his and only his, and he can’t stand for people looking at you let alone touching you. You peer back and smile at him, so pretty of course Choso is falling, clear as fucking day. He knows it’s not on your end, he knows he has you cumming on his cock every day, multiple times a day, but still something is infuriating him in that moment he can’t describe.

“Tell him the good news?” He smiles, putting on a mask like he doesn’t wanna pull your hair and drag you to him, like he doesn’t wanna fuck you until you can’t even look at anyone.

He knows it’s bullshit, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t run through his goddamn head.

“She did, I’m really excited. You’re the best, right Doc?”

“I am indeed.” Satoru comes up now, tensing as he sees you’re holding hands, and you pull back then, clearing your throat a bit. Satoru sees tears in your eyes. “Everything okay?”

“I told her she’d be a good mom. I think it was extra.”

“No, it was sweet.” You grin now, eyes glimmering, and Satoru feels it like a punch to the gut.

What if he would give you kids, would you fucking leave Satoru over it?

It’s not like he ever can. He knows he’s too selfish to love another person, and too obsessed with you as it was. He couldn’t have a whole child around, and he doubts he’d be any good. Hard to take your kid to practice when you live at work, and are constantly on things to not feel - or to feel.

But this week has been so fucking beautiful, by your side, inside you, on top of you, behind you. Finally confessing his love, and you returning it, why would you not want to keep it? Did he need to do more, to make you happier, so he could make sure you’d stay?

He can’t live without you.

The thought rips him to shreds.

“Ah. Well you need rest, we’re going to get that heart today.” Satoru gently helps you off the bed, and when you all walk out, he grabs your wrist, leaning down. “He’s getting awfully comfy with you.”

“He needs to be happy and strong for this. I’ll help him however I can.” You ease your wrist from his grip, raising your brows at him. “You’re the only person for me, I just care for him.”

“Rationally I know that,” he leans down now, a hand on your hip, pulling you close. “Irrationally, I wanna fuck every thought of him out of your pretty head.”

“Satoru…” He sighs, pulling back now, leaving you trembling in your goddamn scrubs in the middle of the hospital.

“What he said…”

“It was true.” You leave him to ponder it, turning away now. “I’ll see you in an hour to get the heart.”

“Yeah… okay.” You’re walking away too quickly, swiping at your tears as you go, leaving Satoru to curse under his breath.

How can he keep you if he’s not sure he’s worthy?

You rush away from him, trying to compose yourself, until you’re in the locker room, looking at your reflection in the mirror.

You’re happy, right?

This story is slow on updates but I do appreciate Dr. Gojo's 11 fans VERY much hehe. I hope you all enjoyed the toxic fuck fest- let's get Choso a damn heart!! (dw he'll be fine <3) and their drama isn't close to being done.

@lostfracturess @unfortunately-tia @allofffmypeaches @makingtimemine @antisocialinlw @meg3mis @zoeyflower @wstaley2 @bunheadusa @blue-musingss @ameliariddle @labelt-san @jkslaugh97 @shadeowz @gojo1228 @jaeminaur @httpstoyosi @angel1of-death @seeing-stars-alt @bol0-de-morang0 @ghostskilledmyaddiction21 @trishiepo0 @inthedarkshadows000 @gina239 @san-it-is-i-guess @pelicanpizza @gojo1228 @ducky1232 @inthedarkshadows000 @eclecticmentalitypersona @burguhndy @levislug @addehehe @sluttyofgojo @msniks @xixflower @ambiguouslady42 @kiaraandrea @jjknanamin @suguruscousin @silverfangmarks @atiny-99 @thatssoambs @kanekisheart @mahalsuya @kimkimoruo @hoelynecujoh @abiiebibie @procastinatingbitch

[kissingmilfs]

HIIII i have no clue if requests are open if not then so sorry 😓 I was wondering if we can have more perv sevika pretty please and thank you

i’m never opposed to requests esp with pervy sev 🥰ㅤㅤㅤㅤ

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦

ㅤcontent warnings: public sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, sorta threesome, fingering

a/n: added mel into the mix because i have free will. hopefully this is pervy enough. but there’s always more ideas trolling around if not.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦

“i don’t know, sev…” you trail off with an unsure tone as you check yourself out in the mirror.

sevika stands behind you—knotting her tie diligently as she keeps an eye on you through the mirror. “what’s not to know?”

you twist your lips in thought while trying to pull the hem of the dress down. “it’s a fundraiser. i don’t want the pilties forming even more stereotypes about zaun. the dress is too short.”

“no such thing, doll.” sevika finishes with her tie then presses her hand on your lower back. “bend over.”

without hesitation, your hands carefully situate on the mirror and you bend over for sevika. you watch as her eyes immediately drop to your dress riding up. exposing a little peek of your laced thong. sevika groans lowly, looping her fingers through the barely there fabric and lowering it until the thong drops to your feet.

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦

sevika pushes the dress up a little more. her thumbs kneading so close to your folds. “i didn’t say you could wear underwear tonight, baby. and the dress is fine. stop worrying so much.” her thumb dips between your slit—teasing both your clit and entrance simultaneously.

hearing your hushed whimper causes sevika to snap her eyes upwards and find your hooded eyes in the mirror. “you have permission to be as bad as possible tonight, princess.” sevika hand comes down to the swell of your ass with a sharp smack. she chuckles at your scrunched up expression of pleasure. she doesn’t even know if you were listening.

regardless sevika situates your dress back down and retrieves your thong from the carpeted floor. she cleans off her thumb with it then tucks it into the front pocket of her suit.

“car will be here soon, princess.” sevika presses a kiss to your shoulder—leaving you reeling from her actions and words.

at the fundraiser, it was easy to forget sevika’s instructions. still feeling self conscious about your dress and stuck like glue to sevika’s side the whole night. many of important dignitaries come up to sevika—basking her in compliments for her position on the council—praising her for the initiatives in cleaning up zaun and the air pollution. you can tell sevika’s not fully appreciating the placating of politicians. her hand gripping your waist so tightly—you fear she’ll break skin.

after escaping the faux friendliness, sevika pulls you towards some cloisters you hadnt known existed. there’s still people littered around and even servers carrying trays of hors d’oeuvres sevika leans against a column while lighting a cigar. you let her enjoy the quiet and solace as your eyes dance around the dimness of the cloisters.

a shimmer of gold catches your eyes and before you can obtain the source of it—sevika taps your hip. you draw your eyes away with an acknowledging hum. your girlfriend already has a grin on her face.

sevika exhales her cigar before speaking up. “looks like your girlfriend is here.”

you immediately scowl and lift your chin to meet sevika’s gaze. “you’re my girlfriend, sev.”

she laughs heartily. “mhm. true. but you know that’s not who or what i mean.”

before you can repeat for the millionth time the same words—the topic of discussion glides towards you and politely taps your shoulder. spinning around you’re met face to face with the noxian beauty, mel medarda. you hadn’t seen her since she returned home to noxus. her arcane tattoos have expanded since the last time. her hair in elegant braids that are far too long to seem logical.

“m-mel, hi!” your voice comes out in a squeak and you hope to heavens your blush isn’t noticeable.

mel casually checks you out. her eyes roaming from the tips of your feet to the top of your head. her head cocked to the side, as if, she’s amused. “i worried you wouldn’t remember me, love. i certainly find myself wondering if this is really you.”

another flustered blush grows on your cheeks. you rub one arm with the other. “why’s that?”

“oh…no real reason.” mel flashes you such a smile—you step back and sevika places a hand on your waist to steady you.

sevika whispers in your ear, “easy there, baby. she won’t bite.”

mel must’ve heard sevika’s whisper because she chuckles a little. “i bite sometimes. though i hardly think it would be appropriate given the circumstances.”

“eh…she’ll behave if you do.”

your eyes widen at sevika’s words. you attempt to twist around but she grips your waist firmly. mel throws her head back with such a melodic laugh. you swear the golden freckles on her cheeks glow from her laughter. as her laughter dies down, mel clasps her hands behind her back. her green eyes with hints of gold reflect her desire. you cannot tell if she’s always been this obvious or if it’s simply because she has permission.

mel’s hips sensually sway as she closes the distance. she enters your personal space so much so you can smell all the expensive bath oils and flowers used for her pampering routine. mel brushes some hair off your shoulder with a gentle touch. an ache bobs in your throat.

“can i?” mel whispers softly.

you’re not sure what she’s asking permission for. blinking some confusion and heavy desire away from your eyes does nothing to clear the vision of radiance in front of you.

sevika nods. “go ahead.” freely giving both your consent because she knows. she knows you’ve fantasized about mel. heck, sevika’s eagerly indulged in it too. whispering the most profane things in your ear about mel as she plunged two, three fingers inside of you.

before you can even process the magnitude of the exchange, mel’s lips are on your neck. your breathing pauses momentarily as those soft, plump lips find your pulse. at the same time, sevika’s positioning your legs into a wider position. you must be dreaming. you must. nothing so perfect and sinful could ever happen to you.

mel’s teeth grazing around your pulse pulls you back into reality. her hand rests on your opposite hip. they must’ve forgotten the cloisters are open for everyone else at the fundraiser. people still mingling and chatting around. waiters still carrying trays. sevika and mel lust are a joint effort. because the second mel bites into your neck—sevika pushes two fingers inside your waiting entrance. you were soaking wet. simply from mel’s proximity and the overactive fantasies. and they were coming to fruition.

a low moan escapes you and your head tips back on sevika’s shoulder. you hear her chuckle by the base of your ear. mel’s other hand cups her face—holding you in place as she works her mouth over on your neck. she could probably break skin and you wouldnt care. her thumb brushes across the apple of your cheek. the soft gesture juxtaposes everything happening in this corner of the cloisters.

sevika’s fingers steadily stroke your inner walls as mel, now, sucks on the bite mark. you do not even think of the prospect of walking back into the fundraiser with new bruises populating your neck. you can only focus on how perfect mel sounds as she moans into your neck. or sevika’s fingers focused solely on your g-spot—over and over again.

your moans start to grow higher and more whinier. before sevika shushes you—the thumb mel had on your cheek travels across your skin until it finds your bottom lip. without words, you understand the gesture and part your lips for mel’s thumb. for some reason, the touch causes an eye roll to the back of your head.

sevika nips your earlobe. “my pretty, perfect girl. you’re gonna come all over my fingers, huh? show mel exactly how much you’ve missed her, baby.”

you whine lowly around the thumb in my mouth. if mel heard sevika’s words—she certainly doesn’t show it. her lips and teeth focused on leaving her mark wherever possible. your legs tremble causing both women to grip your hips tighter. sevika pulls you closer to her chest and mel presses into yours. mel’s thumb strokes your tongue, moving in and out, as you make the cutest noises she’s ever heard.

her knee slips between your legs. without hesitation she firmly grinds it against your clit. fuck, you moan around her finger. and she actually giggles against your skin. knowingly driving you over the edge with a simple touch. your hips eagerly grind down. chasing the feeling while simultaneously taking sevika’s fingers deeper.

“greedy girl. are you gonna come for me?” mel licks a strip of your skin.

usually that is sevika’s line. but she doesn’t seem to mind. in fact she adds another finger which makes you moan far louder. sevika and mel make eye contact and mel seems to understand the non verbal communication. she takes a step back from you which elicits such a whine of disapproval from you. it doesn’t matter though. not to either of them. sevika bends you forward and curls her fingers precisely. her hips begin moving—similar to her thrusting her strap on into you.

mel steps back into your orbit. your arms instinctively circling her waist as sevika’s fingers drill into you. the side of your head presses into mel’s waist. a symphony of your quiet moans and sevika’s fingers stretching you out—fill all three of your ears. sevika’s eyes trained on the sight of your cunt swallowing her fingers. your folds glistening and spread apart just for her.

a soothing hand comes to stroke your back and sides. you suspect it’s mel. then the stroking turns into nails scratching the length of your back. and then a whisper finds your ear.

“come on, doll. show mel how pretty you are when you come. don’t you think she deserves it, pretty girl?”

you whimper and nod your head on mel’s waist. “mhm…yes…”

both mel and sevika chuckle in unison. your walls flutter then clamp down on sevika’s fingers. her one arm wraps around your waist—knowing whats to come. she focuses solely on your spongey, squishy sensitivity. mel continues the pattern of stroking your back then scratching her nails over the length of it.

then she hooks her finger under your chin and lifts your glazed over eyes to hers. “you’re too cute. time to come, darling.”

and that does it. you whine lowly before the sensations awash. the coil tightening far beyond and threatening to make you collapse. your cunt sucking sevika’s fingers in and keeping them trapped. your lips parted in a pretty o. the sound of your own blood rushing from your head and straight to your pussy. a shaky exhale releases from you and a dam breaks. you relax against mel’s hold as your orgasm, quite literally, trickles out of you.

“shit, baby.” sevika chuckles as she lowly alleviates her fingers from your pussy.

mel helps you stand upright again. guiding your dress back down with such tenderness—you could probably come again. she carefully smooths your hair out while eyeing the hickies she left behind. sevika takes the opportunity to clean you up with the same thong she’s harbored all night. running the fabric along your inner thighs and then swiping it through your folds.

a shudder comes from you with a whine from your sensitivity. mel smiles at you—almost as if you’re a delicate flower she just plucked.

“you did so well, dear.” mel places the softest, most tender kiss on your lips. it almost feels, as if, she never even kissed you. “thank you for looking so pretty for me.”

she extends her hand and sevika drops your thong in her palm. mel curls her fingers around it with a wide grin. “…and for the souvenir.” mel stands on her tiptoes to kiss sevika’s cheek in adieu.

“thanks again, sevika. you were right. i did need this little trip.”

[seospicybin]

EVERMORE.

CHAPTER I

Bangchan x reader x Hyunjin. (s,f,a)

EVERMORE MASTERLIST

Synopsis: When your daughter’s wedding weekend brings you, a former it-girl and Chris, a legendary rockstar back under one roof, the two of you must navigate old memories, unexpected feelings, and the chaos of family. As laughter, love, and a hint of scandal unfold, you're both reminded that some love stories don’t end—they just change shape. (22,8k words)

Author's note: I suggest reading this with an open heart and let it take you places ♡

Chris Bang Shares the Sweetest Surprise: “My Baby Girl’s Getting Married” July 14, 2024 — by Peter Han. Rock legend Chris Bang, frontman of the iconic ‘90s band Bang Theory, shocked fans this weekend—not with a surprise single, but with something far more personal: his daughter Tigerlily is engaged. The 47-year-old musician shared the news on his private Instagram, posting a rare father-daughter photo with the caption: “She used to hold my hand crossing the street, now she’s holding someone else’s. My baby girl’s getting married. God help him.” The post quickly went viral as fans poured in their congratulations (and nostalgia), remembering Tigerlily as the tiny girl who used to appear backstage during Bang Theory’s heyday. Sources close to the family say Chris has known about the engagement for months and has been "surprisingly chill" about it—though insiders claim he gave Julian, the lucky fiancé, “the talk” every overprotective dad dreams of delivering. “He’s proud,” said a longtime friend of the singer. “Even if he grumbles a lot, you can tell he’s thrilled for her.” Tigerlily, an illustrator and low-key darling of the city's creative scene, has kept the relationship mostly private. The engagement ring, however, is anything but. Fans spotted the vintage cut diamond a few weeks back—sparking early speculation that something big was coming. As for wedding details? Chris joked in an interview last month, “I’ll be there in a tux, crying into my whiskey.” We wouldn’t expect anything less.

-

The sun filters gently through the windows of the little bakery-slash-café Tigerlily picked for the cake tasting, its soft golden glow casting a peaceful warmth over the morning. You're perched beside her at a small round table near the corner, notebooks open, samples of cake laid out like precious little treasures on delicate porcelain plates.

It’s surreal, watching her like this—flipping through pages of catering options, seriously contemplating between lavender shortbread cookies and chocolate-dipped biscotti for the wedding favors. She’s focused, her brow furrowed slightly, her pen tapping her chin.

“You’re taking this very seriously,” you tease, breaking off a corner of sponge cake to taste.

She glances at you, mock-offended. “Of course I am. This is the cake. The most important cake I’ll ever have.”

You laugh softly, and she smiles, biting into a piece of vanilla almond before shaking her head. “Not this one. Too sweet.”

You nod, agreeing. “The buttercream’s nice though.”

“I’ll make a note of that,” she says, scribbling a little star next to it in her notebook.

The morning rolls on like that—cake tastings, discussions about savory vs. sweet hors d’oeuvres, the pros and cons of giving out mini olive oil bottles as favors. Eventually, the two of you take a break, coffees in hand, sitting outside the shop under the early spring sun.

Tigerlily leans back in her chair and studies you for a moment, sipping her latte. “You’re glowing.”

You raise a brow, pretending not to know what she’s talking about. “It’s the buttercream.”

She squints at you, unconvinced. “No. It’s something else. You’re… happy. Like, really happy. Did something happen?”

You offer her a vague smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just enjoying today.”

Tigerlily gives you a look that says she knows you better than that, but she doesn’t push. “Well, whatever it is, I like it. You look like someone who just remembered what it feels like to be a little selfish with your joy.”

You chuckle under your breath. “Maybe I am.”

She bumps her shoulder against yours. “Good. Keep doing that.”

You glance at her, your heart warm. “And you keep remembering that your wedding cake is supposed to make you happy.”

She laughs, and just like that, the moment folds itself gently back into the rhythm of the day—the two of you turning back to menus and ribbon swatches, sipping coffee in the sun, wrapped in the easy intimacy of mothers and daughters, quietly grateful for how love, in all its forms, continues to find its way back to you.

Back home, the sun has dipped behind the hills, casting a warm golden hue through the kitchen windows. The scent of garlic sizzling in olive oil fills the air, mingling with the sound of music playing in the background. You’re chopping tomatoes while Tigerlily stirs something in the pan, humming to the music, her movements fluid and light.

There’s something peaceful about this moment. The simple rhythm of cooking side by side, the way your conversation flows in and out of silence so easily—like waves, effortless and familiar.

“You know,” Tigerlily starts as she grates cheese over a bowl, “I love when we do this. Just the two of us in the kitchen. Feels like home.”

You smile, sliding the chopped tomatoes into a bowl. “It is home.”

She glances at you, a soft look in her eyes. “You’ve seemed… happier lately.”

You raise a brow. “You said that earlier.”

“I know,” she says, turning back to the stove, “but now I can really see it. The way you move, the way you talk—it’s like there’s a little spark in you again.”

You pause, stirring the basil into the sauce, trying not to smile. “Maybe I’m just excited about your wedding.”

Tigerlily grins, not buying it. “Maybe. Or maybe it has something to do with a certain someone...?”

You let out a soft laugh. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“Not when I think something—or someone—is making you happy.” She leans her hip against the counter, watching you carefully. “You don’t have to tell me everything. But… does he make you feel good?”

Your hands slow as you stir. You glance up at her, thoughtful. “I guess... yeah.”

Tigerlily nods, her voice gentle. “Then I think that’s enough. For now.”

You reach out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear like you used to when she was a little girl. “You’re wise beyond your years.”

“Thank you. I get it from my mom,” she says with a smirk.

There’s a knock on the door just as you’re draining the pasta, steam rising up in curls. You glance toward the front of the house, wiping your hands on a towel.

“That must be Julian,” Tigerlily says, already untying her apron. “Can you check the sauce for a second?”

“On it,” you call after her, giving the pot a little stir as you hear the front door open.

But instead of the familiar laughter or a fiancé’s greeting, there’s a pause. Then you hear Tigerlily’s voice float back, tinged with surprise, “Oh. Hi.”

You lean around the doorway just in time to see her stepping aside, revealing Hyunjin standing at the door. He’s holding a brown cardboard box. His white shirt clings faintly from the warmth outside, sleeves rolled up, and he looks as casual as ever—until his eyes find you.

“I just came by to drop this off,” he says, lifting the box a little. “Your pottery piece. It’s done. I figured I’d bring it over before I forgot.”

Your lips pull into a smile without you even realizing it. “That’s really kind of you.”

Tigerlily glances between the two of you. And then, casually, with the slyest little smile tugging at her lips, she says, “Well, Hyunjin. Since you’re here… why don’t you join us for dinner?”

Hyunjin looks at her, then at you—his eyes searching for an answer in yours. You give him a subtle nod, soft and encouraging. He smiles, just a hint shy, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be this lucky. “Yeah. I'd love to.”

Tigerlily beams, already heading back into the kitchen. “Hope you like pasta.”

You take a step toward him, meeting him halfway to take the box from his hands. Your fingers brush briefly. “Thank you. For bringing this.”

His voice dips low as he smiles, “I figured you’d want to see how beautiful it turned out.”

You raise an eyebrow, playful. “The pottery or the delivery guy?”

Hyunjin chuckles, slow and warm. “Both, I hope.”

And you’re smiling again—because how could you not?

-

The three of you settle around the dining table, plates filled with steaming pasta and roasted vegetables. The mood is light, cozy, laughter from the kitchen trailing into the soft hum of music playing from the speaker in the corner.

Tigerlily reaches for the cardboard box Hyunjin had placed on the table earlier. “Is this it?” she asks, already opening the lid.

You nod, twirling your fork. “Don’t expect too much.”

But when she pulls out the finished plate, her eyes go wide with delight. “Wait—this is actually beautiful! Mom, you made this?”

“She did,” Hyunjin says proudly, his voice warm. “First try too.”

Tigerlily turns to you, mouth parted in disbelief. “When did you even make this?”

Hyunjin answers before you can. “A few days ago. In my studio.”

There’s a glint in his eye, a teasing edge to his grin as he throws a quick wink your way. “She was… very committed. Focused. Hands-on.”

You nearly choke on your wine at the innuendo hidden in his voice, shooting him a warning look. He only smirks deeper, clearly enjoying himself.

Tigerlily squints suspiciously between the two of you. “Wait. What kind of pottery class was this exactly—?”

A knock at the door cuts her off.

“That must be Julian,” she says, hopping up from her chair and leaving the room.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Hyunjin leans in slightly, his fingers brushing yours under the table before gently, confidently, slipping into your hand. The warmth of his palm is grounding, calming.

You glance at him, heart skipping as he quietly says, “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”

You hear the front door open, Tigerlily’s bright laugh greeting Julian as they come inside. And still, under the table, Hyunjin doesn’t let go.

Julian’s eyes widen the moment he sees Hyunjin sitting at the table. “Oh! I didn’t know our best man joining dinner tonight.”

Hyunjin rises slightly from his seat, giving Julian a quick hug. “I was lured in with the smell of pasta.”

Julian chuckles and teases, “And by my girlfriend's mom, apparently?”

You shake your head and give Julian a playful glare. “Julian, please, just sit down,” you tell him.

The food is warm and comforting, and conversation flows easily. Most of it stays light—talk of flower arrangements, DJ options, the pros and cons of buffets versus plated dinners. Julian and Tigerlily finish each other’s sentences more than once, making you smile. You feel Hyunjin’s thumb brush gently along your palm under the table. It’s barely noticeable, but grounding.

Then, somewhere between the second glass of wine and the tiramisu being passed around, Tigerlily turns to you. “Hey, Mom… what was your wedding like?”

You pause, surprised by the question.

Tigerlily shrugs. “You never really talk about it. I mean… you and Dad. Did you do a big thing?”

You exchange a quick glance with Hyunjin before shaking your head. “No. No big thing.”

Julian tilts his head, curious now too. “Really?”

You smile faintly, brushing your fingers around the rim of your glass. “Chris and I got married on a whim. It was… spontaneous. We were both young and in love and reckless. He was on tour. We were somewhere in between cities—I don’t even remember where exactly—and we just decided to do it.”

Tigerlily blinks. “Just like that?”

“We found this little church. We had a very small, quiet ceremony. No guests. No dress. Just the two of us, the band members and a couple of strangers as witnesses.”

There’s a quiet that falls over the table. Not heavy, just thoughtful. You hesitate a little before glancing at Hyunjin, unsure of how he might take hearing all this. Would he think you were careless? Impulsive? Too much of the past still tangled in you?

But he’s already looking at you and he’s smiling. Soft. Warm. Reassuring. Then you feel it—his fingers wrap gently around yours beneath the table, giving your hand a tender squeeze. It tells you everything you need to hear. That he sees you. That your past doesn’t scare him. That he’s still here.

Tigerlily breaks the silence with a gentle sigh. “That’s kinda romantic though.”

Julian laughs and nods. “Very rock-n-roll.”

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything. He just continues to hold your hand quietly, letting his thumb trace slow, soothing lines across your skin.

The night eventually comes to an end and you send everyone on their way out of your house. Tigerlily gives you a warm hug followed by a kiss to your cheek and Julian takes his turn next.

“Dinner was perfect,” he says. “Thank you again.”

You smile, eyes flicking toward Hyunjin, who lingers just behind them. When it’s his turn, you can feel the air shift—your body naturally leaning toward him, instinct ready to close the space for a hug. But you stop yourself. Tigerlily is right there. And you’re not ready. Not just yet.

Hyunjin seems to understand, offering you a simple smile instead as he says, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you echo, softer than you meant to.

He turns to walk toward his car, and you watch him go, your chest tightening with each step he takes away.

“Hyunjin,” you call out before you can stop yourself.

He turns, brows slightly lifted in surprise. “Yes?”

“I—” You hesitate, then clear your throat. “I need you to help me with something. Inside.”

He tilts his head, confused but nods. “Sure.”

Just as he starts walking back toward you, Tigerlily and Julian pull out of the driveway. She rolls the window down, grinning and waving at you. You lift your hand, wave back. Only when their headlights disappear into the night, do you step back inside and hold the door open for him.

Hyunjin steps in after you. “What can I help you with?”

You close the door behind him and immediately turn on your heel. Without a word, you reach for him and kiss him. His body stills at first, caught off guard—but only for a second. Then he’s kissing you back, his hands catching your waist, pulling you closer.

When you finally break the kiss, breath shallow and cheeks flushed, you whisper, “It was just an excuse. I couldn’t— I'm too embarrassed to kiss you in front of Tigerlily. Or Julian.”

Hyunjin stares at you for a moment, his lips curling into a grin. “So you made me come back inside for that?”

You smile, a little embarrassed. “Yes.”

He chuckles once, low and warm in his chest—and then he’s spinning you around, your back pressing into the door with a soft thud as his body finds yours again. He cups your jaw and leans in, lips brushing yours as he murmurs, “Next time, you don’t need an excuse.”

Your back is still pressed against the door, lips tingling from the kiss Hyunjin just stole, when he leans in again, cupping your jaw and kissing you once more—slower this time, like he wants to memorize the feel of your mouth. You respond instinctively, hands slipping up his chest, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his shirt.

Time feels suspended. The only sound is the quiet hum of the night and the soft breaths exchanged between kisses, one melting into another as if neither of you wants to let go just yet. But eventually, you gently press your hands to his chest, letting your forehead rest against his.

“It’s getting late,” you whisper, voice low and reluctant.

He pauses for a second, lips barely brushing yours, before pulling back with a soft chuckle. “So it is,” he mutters, still close, eyes half-lidded with affection. “And I should be a gentleman and go home.”

You laugh, nodding as you slide your hands down to rest at your sides. “That would be the noble thing to do.”

He doesn’t move just yet. Instead, he brushes a few strands of hair away from your face, his fingers grazing your cheek as he tucks it gently behind your ear. He holds it there for a second, like he’s framing your face with his gaze alone.

“Goodnight,” he says, softly, as if saying it too loud might break the moment.

“Goodnight,” you echo, your voice just as tender.

He leans in and kisses you again—just once this time. Soft, warm, brief. Then he steps back, slowly pulling himself away like it physically pains him to leave.

You watch him walk out, the door clicking shut behind him. And for a long moment after, you stay where you are, heart full, smile lingering.

-

The bridal shop smells faintly of fresh flowers and fabric softener, and the soft classical music in the background sets a dreamy tone. You sit on a plush ivory chair, sipping on complimentary tea, watching as Tigerlily disappears behind a curtain with a stylist and a few dresses in her arms. You're looking at the shop catalog when Tigerlily pulls back the curtain and steps out in her first gown.

You gasp, mouth hanging open and unable to say anything until a moment later. “Oh, sweetheart,” you say, standing up with a hand over your chest. “You look like a dream.”

She spins slightly, admiring herself in the mirror. “It’s nice, right? But I think we can go bigger,” she grins, already cueing the stylist to bring the next one.

The two of you only have one hour and a half to try the dresses and Tigerlily makes a good use of the time by trying everything that suits her style. She slips into the fourth dress with a glimmer in her eyes—and this time, when she steps out, she doesn't say a word.

You inhale sharply. “Oh…”

She stands tall in the mirror, draped in delicate lace and layers of flowing silk. The bodice hugs her perfectly, the train trailing behind her like a soft whisper. She turns toward you, a little breathless herself. “I think this is it,” she says quietly.

You nod, trying not to get emotional. “You look… perfect. Oh, my goodness!”

The stylist hands her a veil, and as soon as it's pinned to her hair, the both of you lock eyes—and tear up.

“Okay,” Tigerlily says, wiping at her cheeks, “that’s enough of me for now.”

You laugh. “What do you mean? You’re the bride.”

“Yeah, yeah. But we’ve got time left in our session, and we’re not leaving until you try something on.”

You blink. “Me?”

“Yes, you. We need to find your dress too. And you’re not showing up to my wedding in some boring beige thing off a department rack. You’re trying on dresses, Mom.”

Before you can protest, the stylist is already leading you to a different rack—sophisticated, elegant evening gowns in rich tones and luxurious fabrics.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” you mutter as she zips you into a soft lilac number.

Tigerlily laughs and pulls out her phone. “Hold still,” she says, already dialing.

You hear a familiar voice on the screen. “What’s going on?” Chris’s face pops up, framed by what looks like a dressing room backstage.

“We’re at the bridal shop. Look what I made Mom do,” Tigerlily grins as she turns the camera toward you.

Chris’s eyes widen dramatically. “Whoa. Okay. Okay—hold on, are we sure you’re not the one getting married?”

You roll your eyes, smoothing the fabric down your sides. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m serious. You look—” he whistles low, “—absolutely stunning.”

You feel a small blush creep up your cheeks. “Stop it.”

“She’s trying to upstage me,” Tigerlily deadpans to the phone. “I knew it.”

Chris laughs. “I mean… if anyone could, it’s her. That dress? Ten out of ten.”

You glance at yourself in the mirror and smile softly. “It’s been a while since I wore something like this.”

“You should wear things like that more often,” Chris says through the screen, his voice quieter now. “It suits you.”

And though the moment is playful, there’s a quiet sincerity in his tone—and Tigerlily catches it too. She glances between the two of you, her eyes softening, but she says nothing. “Alright,” she chirps after a beat. “We’re gonna keep playing dress-up, I’ll call you later, Dad.”

“Bye, sweetheart. Bye, stunning mystery woman,” Chris teases as he waves.

You roll your eyes again but can’t stop smiling as the call ends.

“Okay,” Tigerlily says, arms crossed as she eyes your reflection. “We’re getting that one.”

By the time the two of you pull up in front of your house, the sky is blushing with the colors of early sunset. You unbuckle your seatbelt, still smiling from the day you've had.

“Thanks for today,” you tell her, reaching over to squeeze her hand.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she grins, reaching into the back seat. “I’ve got something for you.”

You narrow your eyes as she plops a glossy pink box with a silk ribbon into your lap. “What’s this?”

“Just open it.”

You untie the ribbon and lift the lid. Nestled inside are some fun bachelorette party essentials—mini champagne bottle, a personalized satin robe with your name embroidered on it, a face mask, a little card that says Bride Squad, and a gold foil invitation.

You lift your gaze to her, amused. “Tigerlily.”

She’s already looking at you with big, hopeful eyes. “I want you to come to the bachelorette party.”

You blink. “No. Absolutely not. That’s your night to go wild with your friends. I’m not—this—look at this,” you hold up the robe, “I’m too old for this.”

“You are not too old,” she says with a huff. “And even if you were, I don’t care. You’re still my best girl. I want you there.”

“Tigerlily, sweetheart, you’re supposed to drink questionable cocktails out of straws shaped like—”

“—Don’t finish that sentence,” she says quickly, then grins. “But yes. And you’re coming.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “You should be partying with your bridesmaids, not your mother.”

“I want both,” she insists, wrapping her arms around your shoulder. “Please? It won’t be all chaos, I promise. It’ll be fun, just us girls, nothing crazy. Just come and be part of it. For me, please?”

You sigh, already losing the battle. “You’re impossible to say no to, you know that?”

She beams, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “That’s the point.”

You look down at the robe in your hands again and let out a soft laugh. “Fine. I’ll come.”

Tigerlily cheers and hugs you tight, rocking you side to side in her excitement.

As you step out of the car and wave her off, you stand at your front door for a moment, still holding the box. Your smile lingers. The robe, the invite, the day you just had—it all makes you feel like you’re slowly stepping into something new, not just for her, but for yourself, too.

-

Hyunjin’s studio is warm with late afternoon light filtering through the tall windows, casting soft golden hues over the clay-splattered floor. The two of you are standing at the workbench, sleeves rolled up, aprons on, fingers already dusted in fine powder.

"You know," Hyunjin says, handing you a neatly portioned piece of clay, "we should make something that fits together. Like puzzle mugs."

You raise an eyebrow. "Puzzle mugs?"

"Yeah," he grins. "Like, yours has a little curve and mine has a little bump and they fit together when we put them side by side."

Hyunjin is an artist yet he suggests something silly like this, you can't help but chuckle at it. “You’re such a romantic.”

“I'm not ashamed to admit it,” he says, leaning in to bump his shoulder lightly against yours.

You just smile, settling in at the wheel as he sets up beside you. As you begin shaping your mug, Hyunjin watches you like a hawk—only under the guise of being your personal instructor.

"Your fingers are too tense," he murmurs after a while, stepping behind you.

"I think I'm doing just fine," you say, even though you secretly enjoy it when he helps you.

"Let me help you," he says anyway, his hands gently slipping over yours as he guides the movement. His chest brushes your back, warm and steady, and his voice is low in your ear. "There... see? Perfect."

You’re pretty sure he just wanted an excuse to be close. “You know,” you tease, glancing over your shoulder at him, “I’m starting to think you just like hovering.”

“What gave it away?” he smirks, not even trying to deny it. Then he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your cheek, lips lingering just a second longer than necessary.

You try to return to focusing on your mug, but every time you settle back into your work, he finds another excuse to touch—helping you fix the handle, brushing clay from your cheek, nudging your hip with his playfully. And each time, he steals a kiss. A peck on the temple. A brush along your jaw. One, right at the corner of your lips that almost makes you drop your clay.

“Hyunjin,” you warn softly, fighting back a smile.

“What?” he says innocently, grinning like the devil as he presses another kiss to the back of your neck. “I’m just helping.”

“You’re distracting.”

“Exactly,” he says, and finally leans in to steal a proper kiss—gentle, warm, slow. His lips taste faintly of the coffee you shared earlier and his hands settle at your hips like they belong there. When he finally pulls away, you’re both smiling, cheeks flushed, hearts beating just a little faster.

The studio hums with a quiet kind of satisfaction—the kind that comes after creating something with your hands, something just yours. You wipe your hands on your apron and step away from the wheel, wandering toward the shelves that line the studio walls. His latest pieces are perched there—soft-glazed bowls, sculptural vases with rippling textures, experimental forms that look like they’re breathing.

You tilt your head, admiring them, fingers tracing the air just above their surface. “I see that you’ve been busy,” you murmur.

From behind you, you feel the slow, steady presence of Hyunjin as he steps close. Then his arms slip around your waist, pulling you gently back against him. His chest warm against your spine. You smile without even realizing it.

“I had inspiration,” he says into your neck, his voice low, his breath teasing your skin.

You turn your head slightly, your body already reacting to the soft press of his lips just beneath your ear. He places another kiss just under your jaw, then another lower, slower, right where your pulse flutters. Your breath hitches.

“Hyunjin…” you whisper, but it comes out less like a warning and more like a sigh.

“Mhm?” His mouth is still at your neck, smiling against your skin.

You tilt your head a little more—partly to tease, partly because you can’t help it—and he takes it as invitation. One hand stays curled around your waist, the other slides along your hip, and when he finally turns your head toward him, his lips find yours in a kiss that starts soft but deepens quickly. His mouth moves with slow purpose, like he has all the time in the world, like he wants to taste every part of you.

When you finally pull back, just enough to breathe, his forehead leans against yours and he murmurs, “I could stay like this forever.”

Your hand comes up to rest against his cheek, your thumb brushing the clay-smudged skin there. “We’d have to eat eventually.”

Hyunjin chuckles, his dimples flashing. “Only if we eat from the couple plates we made.”

You smile, caught in the bubble of this quiet, golden moment, his arms still holding you close. And somehow, even in the silence, you can feel the beat of something new beginning—carefully, naturally, without needing to rush.

Hyunjin's arms are still wrapped around you when he leans in, lips brushing your cheek in a gentle kiss that makes your heart flutter. “Let's go somewhere this weekend,” he murmurs. “Just us. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere far.”

You turn your head to look at him, and he’s already smiling—eyes filled with that kind of mischief and affection that always seems to undo you. You open your mouth to answer, but your thoughts momentarily scatter at the sight of his beautiful face so close to yours, lit with the fading light and warm contentment. You almost forget what you were trying to say.

“I can’t,” you finally manage, with a soft, apologetic laugh. “I have Tigerlily’s bachelorette party this weekend.”

Hyunjin’s smile falters into a playful frown, his brows drawing together. “So… you’re going to have fun without me?”

You nod slowly, teasing. “Exactly.”

He scoffs, mock offended. “What if you meet someone younger and prettier than me?”

You give him a long, dramatic look. “Younger, maybe. But prettier?” You shake your head. “Impossible.”

Hyunjin bursts into laughter, his dimples showing as he grins wide. “You’re so biased.”

“Only a little,” you say, brushing your thumb gently over his cheek. “And you have the bachelor's party too, right?”

He hums, then leans his forehead against yours, his voice dipping lower. “Still… I’d rather be alone with you.”

You smile, cupping his jaw. “It’s just for the weekend.”

Hyunjin groans quietly, burying his face into the crook of your neck like a sulking child. “I miss you already.”

You laugh, soft and breathy, your fingers tangling in his hair as you hold him there. “We’re literally together right now.”

“Not the same,” he mutters, his voice muffled against your skin.

You let your eyes fall closed for a moment, just savoring the closeness, the way your body molds into his so naturally. It’s been a long time since you felt this light, this wanted—this adored. And the truth is, you’re starting to miss him already too.

He rests his chin lightly on your shoulder, the curve of his smile brushing against your skin. You place your hands over his, but then slowly turn in his embrace to face him. His eyes are soft, searching. And in that moment, with his face so close, his hands so gentle on your waist, your heart swells—too full, too fast.

“Hyunjin,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, “I need to say something.”

He straightens, listening and he holds your gaze, giving you all of his attention.

“These feelings between us…” you take a breath, “they’re strong. Maybe a little too strong sometimes. They make it hard to think clearly.”

His brows knit just slightly, not in worry—just in quiet attention.

You continue, “When I was younger, I rushed into things. I followed my heart blindly because that’s what you do when you’re young, right? But now... I’ve learned. I don’t want to make the same mistakes.”

His expression softens even more, lips parting slightly as he listens.

“I want to do this right,” you say. “I want to take things slow. I need you to understand that.”

For a moment, he says nothing. Just watches you, his eyes unreadable. Then, slowly, he nods. “I understand,” he says softly.

Your chest loosens with a breath you didn’t know you were holding. And then a smile curves at the corner of his mouth—playful and warm.

“I can do slow,” he says, tilting his head as his thumb brushes lightly along your waist. “But just so you know... I’m still going to kiss you every chance I get.”

You laugh, a soft, breathy sound, because of course he’d say something like that.

“But only after I ask,” he adds with a wink, “like a gentleman.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart flutters anyway. Slow, you think. Yes. But that doesn’t mean it can’t still feel like falling.

-

The bachelorette weekend takes you to a vibrant coastal city, the kind that pulses with energy even before the sun sets. Tigerlily books a gorgeous suite for herself, her closest friends, and you—even if you keep joking that you're the designated chaperone.

But she’s not having that. “You’re not my mom tonight,” she says as she tosses a glittery, body-hugging dress onto the bed in front of you. “You’re my hot bestie. Now get changed.”

You laugh, holding up the dress. “You do realize I’m going to need a chiropractor after this.”

“You’ll need a shot, not a chiropractor,” she grins, already pulling on her heels. “Come on. Let’s have fun.”

The club is loud, crowded, and alive. Music throbs through the walls, and the lights flicker in time with your heartbeat. Tigerlily's friends are instantly swept onto the dance floor, but you take your time at the bar, ordering a drink just to ease into the chaos.

As you wait, a man—mid-thirties, maybe younger—leans on the bar beside you. “Let me guess,” he says, eyeing you with a slow smile, “you’re not from around here.”

You arch a brow. “That obvious?”

“In a good way,” he says smoothly. “You’ve got this whole... mysterious elegance thing going on.”

You chuckle, amused but not buying it. “Mysterious elegance, huh?”

Before he can continue, Tigerlily appears at your side like she’s been watching the whole thing. She slides her arm through yours and grins at the guy. “Sorry, she’s taken.”

You sputter a little. “Am I?”

“You are tonight,” she replies without missing a beat, already dragging you back toward the dance floor.

“Was that necessary?” you ask, laughing.

“Absolutely. That man looked like he was about to write you poetry.”

You shake your head, but you're smiling. “I still got it?”

Tigerlily bumps her hip against yours. “You never lost it.”

The two of you dance. And for the first time in a long while, you let go. You laugh until your cheeks hurt, sway to the beat, sip cocktails with sparkly straws, and feel a version of yourself you haven’t seen in years stretch awake. And you realize—you're not just doing this for Tigerlily anymore. You’re doing it for you.

Despite Tigerlily’s words saying that you’re not the chaperone. That tonight, you're just one of the girls. But the second the night winds down and heels start coming off, the music now just a low thump in the background of your ears, your maternal instinct takes over like second nature.

You count heads and then guide swaying bodies down the hallway of the hotel. One by one, you get them to their rooms—someone’s missing a phone, another forgot their keycard—but you manage. You always do.

Tigerlily is last. She's clutching onto your arm, half-laughing, half-mumbling something about how the room keeps spinning. She can barely walk straight, so you wrap an arm around her waist and hold her steady.

"You’re so bossy when you're sober," she slurs, giggling into your shoulder.

"I’m always bossy. Sober or not," you mutter fondly, helping her into the room.

You ease her down onto the bed and begin unlacing her heels. She flops back dramatically with a groan, like the soft sheets have defeated her.

“No sleeping until you drink this,” you say, pressing a cold glass of water to her lips.

She takes a few sips, grumbling. “You're worse than Julian.”

You smile and gently pull a blanket over her. "Duh! I'm your mother."

Once her breathing evens out and you’re sure she’s asleep, you head to the bathroom to wash off the night. The cool water feels good against your flushed cheeks, and by the time you’ve changed into a loose shirt and shorts, your feet are aching, and sleep is calling. Sighing to yourself that you're indeed too old for this.

You slip under the covers beside her. The hotel bed is wide and soft, and for a moment, you stare up at the ceiling, thinking about how tonight felt like a glimpse into another life. A little wild. A little young. A little free.

Tigerlily mumbles something in her sleep and shifts closer, curling into your side like she used to as a kid after a nightmare. You smile, gently smoothing her hair.

"My girl’s getting married," you whisper to the dark, a little in awe of it all.

You're just about to doze off when your phone vibrates on the nightstand, the screen lighting up with Hyunjin’s name. Your heart does that little skip it always does when it’s him.

You answer quietly, voice soft in the dim hotel room. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he says, and even through the phone, you can hear the smile in his voice. “Did I wake you?”

“Not yet,” you whisper, glancing at Tigerlily snoring softly beside you. “I just got into bed.”

“I miss you,” he says without hesitation.

You smile. “You just called me this afternoon.”

“Yeah, and that was already too long ago,” he murmurs. “How was the party?”

You sigh, rolling onto your back. “Loud. Wild. There was a lot of dancing, a lot of drinking. Oh—and a couple of guys tried to flirt with me at the bar.”

There’s a beat of silence, then—“What?”

You bite your lip, already amused.

Hyunjin groans dramatically. “Were they cute?”

“Hmm… not really my type.”

He scoffs. “So you have a type?”

You let out a soft laugh. “Apparently, yes.”

“Let me guess. Tall. Buzzcut hair. Has paint or clay on his hands at all times. Annoyingly charming.”

You grin into the darkness. “Sounds familiar.”

“I can’t believe you let someone else talk to you,” he mutters, pouting so hard you can practically hear it.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m possessive,” he corrects, “and jealous. And currently imagining you in a crowded club looking way too good while I’m stuck thinking about you while everyone else is having fun at Julian’s bachelor party.”

You shake your head, heart fluttering. “You have nothing to worry about. I spent the second half of the night chaperoning drunk girls to their rooms. I’m pretty sure that killed the vibe for everyone.”

He groans again. “Why are you like this? So good. So angelic.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “I’m not that good.”

“You are,” he says, quieter this time. “You’re kind. You take care of everyone. You have no idea how rare that is.”

There’s a pause. You blink up at the ceiling. “Are you drunk?” you tease, voice softening.

“No,” he says, “Maybe, but also... stupid in love.”

You hold yourself back from smiling but in the next second, you catch yourself doing it on the reflection on the mirror.

“I miss kissing you,” he says suddenly. “I miss the taste of your lips. I keep thinking about it. How long until I get to do that again?”

You go quiet, warmth blooming in your chest, spreading slow and tender. “I miss you too,” you finally say.

He hums. “Do you think about kissing me too?”

You bite your bottom lip and smile to yourself. “Goodnight, Hyunjin.”

“Oh, come on—”

“Sleep well.”

“I’m imagining it anyway,” he says, smirking through the phone.

“Bye,” you laugh, and hang up before he can say anything else.

You set your phone down, heart beating fast, and lie there in the dark for a long moment—grinning like a teenager, feeling like one too. God, you missed this feeling.

-

The energy is electric in Tigerlily’s suite tonight. The whole room glows under soft, warm lights and the scent of vanilla candles mingles with the sugary sweetness of the cakes piled high on the coffee table. Laughter bounces off the walls as music plays low from a speaker tucked in the corner.

You’re all dressed in matching silk pajamas—rosy blush pink with embroidered initials on the pocket, courtesy of Tigerlily, of course. The fabric is smooth against your skin, the kind of luxury that makes you feel girlish and a little silly, but it’s infectious.

Someone pops another bottle of champagne and the fizz makes everyone cheer. Flutes are constantly being topped up, hands full of chocolate truffles and strawberry cupcakes, and someone just declared it was time for a group selfie with whipped cream on their nose.

Tigerlily is glowing in the middle of it all, a tiara nestled into her soft waves and a sash that reads BRIDE TO BE draped over her shoulder. She looks at you from across the room with her eyes sparkling, and you smile back, shaking your head fondly as you take another sip of your drink.

“Come on, you’re not getting out of this,” one of her friends laughs, dragging you toward the bed where they’re setting up for a game of “Truth or Dare.”

“I thought I was just here to supervise,” you tease, sliding onto the edge of the mattress.

“Not tonight,” Tigerlily grins, sitting next to you and leaning her head on your shoulder. “Tonight, you’re one of the girls.”

You feel warm—not from the champagne, but from the comfort of being surrounded by joy. It’s been a while since you’ve had a night like this.

You narrow your eyes at her and say, “Truth”

A collective gasp and a series of excited giggles erupt from the circle of girls, and one of Tigerlily’s friends—a bold one named Minji—leans forward with a mischievous grin. “Okay then,” she says, eyes gleaming. “Since it’s all girls here and we’re already past tipsy, we want to know—how was the sexual chemistry between you and The Chris Bang?”

The room explodes into shrieks and laughter.

You blink, caught completely off guard. “Excuse me?” you choke out, a flush rising up your neck.

“You picked Truth!” Tigerlily sings, covering her face in secondhand embarrassment.

You laugh, flustered but not backing down. “Are we really doing this?”

“Rules are rules!” someone shouts.

You glance at Tigerlily, who is already groaning into a pillow. “I’m only answering this to scar my daughter for life,” you say dramatically, and everyone howls with laughter.

You pause for effect, taking a sip of your champagne with a smirk. “Let’s just say… every night was a new adventure and Tigerlily’s dad is a very skilled lover.”

A wave of delighted squeals and gasps ripple through the room.

“OH MY GOD!” Tigerlily yells, throwing the pillow at you while everyone collapses into laughter. “MOM, NO! I didn’t need to hear that!”

You can barely breathe from laughing so hard. “You asked for it!”

Minji claps her hands gleefully. “Best answer of the night. I have no regrets.”

You and Tigerlily are both flustered—her from horror, you from champagne and the sheer chaos of the moment—but the laughter is infectious.

The room softens as the champagne bottles empty and the sugar rush fades into warm, lazy giggles. The lights are dimmed now, casting a golden glow over the suite as everyone lounges on the fluffy rug or leans into the plush pillows scattered across the floor. One of the girls starts playing soft music in the background, and someone else—Juni, you think—sighs dreamily.

“Okay, okay,” she says, tipping her empty glass toward Tigerlily, “before I start crying for real—can we talk about how lucky we are to know this woman?”

A chorus of “yes” follows, and the room starts to glow with something softer than champagne.

They take turns—each of them sharing stories. Some are sweet, like the time Tigerlily stayed up all night helping a friend through a breakup. Some are silly, like the time she tried to impress a guy at a party and ended up slipping on her own drink. And some… are a little wilder.

“She once went skinny dipping once and almost got caught by hotel security,” Minji blurts out.

“MINJI!” Tigerlily yells, lunging for a pillow.

Everyone’s laughing again, and in the middle of it, Tigerlily covers your ears with both hands. “You didn’t hear that,” she says, eyes wide with mock horror.

“Oh, I definitely heard it,” you say, smiling as she pouts and hides her face.

More stories come, even more heartfelt ones. Her friends talk about how fiercely loyal she is, how she’s always been the glue that holds everyone together, how she lights up every room she walks into. And the whole time, you sit there beside her, watching her cheeks flush pink, her eyes glimmering from the emotions threatening to spill over.

At some point, she leans into your side and links her arm with yours. “I love them so much,” she whispers, voice soft and sleepy.

You press a kiss to her temple. “They love you just as much.”

It’s warm, the kind of warmth that settles in your bones. For a second, everything else fades—the wedding, the planning, even Hyunjin—and all that remains is this moment, your daughter surrounded by love, and you sitting right next to her, proud and full-hearted.

-

The suite is quiet once everyone have left. The laughter has faded into soft snore and the occasional rustle of satin against sheets. You and Tigerlily are curled up on the bed, wrapped in a cozy tangle of blankets and the lingering scent of champagne and cake. Her head rests against your shoulder, her breath warm and slow, still tinged with the sleepiness of wine and emotion. She murmurs something incoherent, and you chuckle softly, reaching up to remove the little sparkling tiara still resting askew on her head.

“There,” you whisper, placing it gently on the bedside table. “Queen of the night, now ready to sleep.”

She hums in response, eyes barely open, and you run your fingers gently through her hair, brushing it back from her face the way you used to when she was a child falling asleep in your lap. For a moment, the years blur — she’s no longer the grown woman about to become a bride, but your baby again. Just your little girl.

Then her voice comes again, quieter this time, like a secret unfurling in the dark. “Mom, do you know the real reason I brought you on this trip?” she asks.

You smile, looking down at her. “Why don’t you tell me, honey?”

She shifts, propping herself up on an elbow, her eyes glossy now, shimmering in the low light. “Because after you told me how you didn’t even get a real wedding with Dad, I realized… this is your first time too. First time doing all of this. First time experiencing... life.”

You open your mouth to say something, but she’s not done. “I started thinking about how much you missed. You had me when you were barely older than I am now. And while everyone else your age was out discovering the world, you were raising one.”

Her voice cracks, and she blinks fast, but the tears slip out anyway. “You missed a lot, Mom.”

You reach up and gently cup her cheek, brushing a tear away with your thumb. “Maybe. But I also gained more than I ever thought I could.”

She looks at you, really looks, her heart in her throat.

“I wouldn’t change a thing,” you continue, voice steady despite the lump forming in your chest. “If I had a chance to do it all over again, I’d still choose this life. I’d still choose you. You were never the thing I missed out on — you were the gift. The best one I’ve ever had.”

That’s when she breaks, she buries her face into your chest, arms wrapping around you tightly as her sobs come freely now. Her words are muffled, broken between sniffles and hiccups.

“Thank you,” she cries, “thank you for being my mom. For everything. For always being there.”

You hold her close, your arms strong around her trembling frame, your lips pressed gently to her hair.

“And I thank you,” you whisper, “for being mine. For choosing me back. You’ll always be my baby. Even when you’re someone’s wife. Even when you’re old and gray. You’ll always be my little cub… my Tigerlily.”

She cries harder at that, and you let her. You stroke her hair, her back, hold her like you did when she was small and scared of thunderstorms.

“I love you so much, baby,” you murmur as you kiss the top of her head.

And in the hush of that hotel room, surrounded by the remnants of a celebration, you feel it — the profound, unshakable bond between mother and daughter. One that no wedding, no passage of time, not even the miles of growing up, can ever change.

-

The taxi pulls away from the curb, and you stand in front of your house, suitcase in hand, the night air brushing cool against your skin. The neighborhood is quiet, the kind of silence that seeps into your bones after a long trip. You unlock the door and step inside, greeted by the familiar hum of home—and the stillness that now feels a little too heavy.

You set your bags down by the door, slipping your shoes off as your gaze sweeps across the dimly lit living room. It should feel comforting to be home, but the silence echoes strangely. Maybe it’s the way the weekend had been so full of life, of laughter, of your daughter’s arms wrapped around you, her voice in your ear. Maybe it’s the realization that her wedding is only a week away. One week until she starts a new chapter—without you at the center of it.

You sigh, about to head to the bedroom when your phone rings. Your heart lifts the moment you see his name on the screen. Hyunjin. You answer with a tired smile. “Hey.”

His voice comes through warm and eager, “Are you home?”

“Yeah,” you say, confused but already softening.

“That’s great,” he replies, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “Because I’m outside.”

“What?” But you’re already moving, already making your way back to the front door, heart kicking in your chest. You pull it open and there he is.

Standing on your porch in the glow of the porch light, hands in the pockets of his coat, smile stretched across his beautiful face. “Hi,” he says, gentle and breathless.

You don’t even think. You throw yourself at him and he catches you with a laugh, wrapping his arms tightly around you, the kind of embrace that grounds you instantly. Your face buries into the crook of his neck, and you breathe him in — warm and familiar, like something you've been missing without realizing.

Later, the two of you are curled up on the couch, mugs of coffee in hand, the glow from a single lamp painting the room in soft gold. You’ve traded your travel clothes for something more comfortable, and Hyunjin hasn’t left your side since you walked through the door.

“I brought you something,” he says with a spark in his eyes, reaching for the small box he placed on the coffee table earlier. You tilt your head as he opens it and pulls out two perfectly shaped mugs. The couple mugs you made together in his studio.

You take one gently, brushing your thumb over the glaze. His signature artistic touches are there—little swirling patterns on the handle, the bottom rim etched with a tiny heart. The craftsmanship is beautiful, but it’s the meaning that steals your breath.

“Hyunjin… they’re beautiful.”

He grins. “I know. You’re getting pretty good at this, you know.”

You raise a brow. “You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m serious. You’re a natural.” He plucks your mug from your hand and places it beside its twin on the kitchen counter. “And I want you to keep them here.”

“Here?”

He shrugs, slipping his arm around your shoulders as he comes back to sit beside you. “Yeah. This is where they belong. With you.”

You blink at him, lips parting. He offers you a sheepish smile, like it’s nothing. But to you, it’s everything. You lean into his warmth, head resting on his shoulder as the steam from the coffee curls in the air between you.

“How was the trip?” he asks softly, his hand running gentle strokes up and down your arm.

You exhale slowly, gaze fixed on the steam rising from your mug. “It was fun. Loud. Chaotic. A little overwhelming.” You chuckle. “Tigerlily made me dance at a club. Can you imagine?”

He smiles into your hair. “I can. And I bet you were stunning.”

You laugh, shaking your head before your voice turns quieter. “But it wasn’t just the party. There was this moment… with Tigerlily. Just us, after everyone left. And in a week… she’s getting married. She’s starting her life.”

Hyunjin listens, pulling you closer, fingers lacing with yours.

“And when I came home… it just hit me. The silence. The shift. Like something changed and I didn’t realize how final it was until I walked in that door.”

He doesn’t speak for a moment, just lets you rest against him, his breath steady and grounding. Then he whispers, “It’s okay to feel that. Change is hard. Even good change. But it doesn’t mean you’re losing anything.”

Your throat tightens at that, your eyes stinging again, but not in a bad way.

Hyunjin lifts your hand and kisses your knuckles. “You’re not empty. You’re evolving. And I’ll be here. Through every version.”

You look up at him, heart aching in the best way. “You always know what to say.”

“I just say what I feel,” he says with a soft smile. “And what I feel is... I’m really glad you’re home.”

You press a kiss to his cheek, lingering there for a moment longer than you need to. “Me too.”

The soft lull of the evening hums in the background—rain patters lightly outside the window, and the room is quiet except for the gentle clink of mugs being set aside. You’re still nestled in Hyunjin’s arms when he tilts your chin up, searching your eyes. His thumb brushes across your cheek as he leans in to kiss you.

It starts slow—familiar and warm, like finding something you didn’t know you missed. But the way he presses into you speaks of how much he’s been holding back. You feel it in the way his hand cups the side of your face, in the way his lips part against yours, deeper, more certain.

“I missed you,” he whispers in between kisses. “So much.”

Your breath catches as his mouth moves again, softer now, teasing. “I kept thinking about kissing you like this…” His lips brush against yours again. “Touching you again…” Another kiss, slower this time, more drawn out. “And now I can’t stop.”

It’s dizzying—the way he says it, the way he shows it with every breath, every brush of his hands on your waist, your back, your hips. You clutch the front of his sweater, kissing him back just as fiercely, tasting the longing that matches your own. But as it grows, so does the awareness in your chest—the deep pull of trust, of something safe and real building between you.

You slow the kiss, your hands rising to cup his face, and you look at him—really look at him. His lips are swollen, eyes dark with affection and something more primal, but his expression softens when he sees the look in yours. “Hyunjin,” you breathe out. “Do you… want to stay over tonight?”

A silence settles for a moment, but only because he's searching your face for meaning. Then, the corners of his lips curl up into a gentle, knowing smile. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I’d really like that.”

He kisses you once more—slow, tender, unhurried now. Like he understands what this means. Like he’s willing to hold it all gently.vAnd in the safety of that moment, with his arms around you and the warmth of his smile pressed against your lips, you realize—Maybe it’s time. Not to rush. But to let yourself be loved.

-

The rain has settled into a soft rhythm outside your window, a hushed lullaby that fills the silence between you and Hyunjin as you lie tangled together in the quiet of your bedroom. The lights are dim, casting everything in amber warmth, and his body is curved around yours like he’s meant to be there—one arm draped across your waist, his fingers tracing absent-minded shapes along your hip. His voice is low and soft when he speaks. “It’s raining.”

You smile, your cheek pressed gently against his chest. “It was raining the night Tigerlily was born,” you murmur, nostalgia coating your words. “The heaviest rain I’ve ever heard. I remember thinking it was the sky weeping with joy.”

Hyunjin hums, brushing your hair back behind your ear as he listens. “Tell me everything,” he says quietly. “Tell me what it was like. Tell me about you. About the parts of you I haven’t met yet.”

You tilt your head slightly, meeting his gaze. He’s looking at you like he wants to memorize it all. So you tell him. About your favorite book as a teenager. About the first concert you ever went to. About how you decided to not go to university and went to auditions instead. About the coffee shop you used to write books in. About the day you found out you were pregnant and how you cried, terrified and overwhelmed but already in love. About how motherhood changed you. About how you still feel like that twenty-something girl sometimes—just trying to figure it out. He listens to every word, never interrupting, never pulling away. His fingers draw lazy circles on your arm, and you can feel the quiet weight of his attention.

You smile softly after a while, your voice dipping into playful territory. “So... do all of that make you rethink this? About me?”

He turns his face into your hair, chuckling. “It makes me love you more.”

And just like that, the moment stills. You shift to look at him, propping yourself up on your elbow as you search his face. “You said it,” you whisper, a bit stunned.

“I did,” he says, not missing a beat. His voice is calm but sure, eyes steady on yours. “I know we’re taking it slow. And I’ll go as slow as you need me to. But that won’t stop how I feel about you. I can’t help it.”

He reaches out, cradling your cheek in his hand. “I love you.”

The words land in your chest like a heartbeat. Warm and undeniable. And then he leans in, kissing you like he means it—with depth, with tenderness, with the weight of every quiet, growing feeling he’s been carrying since the moment he met you. His thumb strokes your cheek as your lips move together, and the sound of the rain outside continues like a hymn for something sacred blooming between you. In this moment, you believe him. You believe in this. You believe in love—again.

The rain is still falling outside, a soft, steady backdrop to the way his body settles closer, his hands moving over the curves of your waist, the dip of your hip. He kisses you again, deeper this time, and his hand slips beneath the hem of your nightdress, starting to inch it upward when you stop him with a quiet touch to his wrist.

“Wait,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hyunjin pauses instantly, eyes flicking up to meet yours, concern etching into his brows. “What is it?”

You swallow, your hand still wrapped gently around his wrist. “I’m not what you think I am,” you murmur, heart beating too fast. “I’m not young anymore, Hyunjin. My body’s not perfect. I have lines, softness, marks from time. I just—” You hesitate, searching for words. “I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

For a second, there’s only the sound of rain and your breath between you. Then he smiles. That beautiful, slow, devastating smile that always seems to unravel something inside you. He leans in, brushing a soft kiss to your lips, then your cheek, then your jaw.

“You think I don’t see you?” he says gently, voice low, threaded with something that feels close to awe. “I see all of you. I’ve seen you laugh, cry, carry the weight of the world with grace. I’ve seen you fall apart and still be strong. And you’re beautiful. So beautiful to me.”

Your chest tightens, something deep and old melting at his words.

Hyunjin lifts your chin so you’re looking at him, really looking. His gaze is steady, sincere. “Let me see you,” he says softly. “All of you.”

And with trembling breath, you nod. Your fingers let go of his wrist, and Hyunjin helps you out of your nightdress with patient care, not like he’s undressing you, but like he’s unveiling something precious. When you're bare beneath him, you brace yourself—but he only looks at you like you’re the most breathtaking thing he’s ever laid eyes on. His hands move gently over your skin, warm and grounding, and then he leans down to kiss you again—slow, deep, filled with everything words can’t hold.

In his touch, in his gaze, you feel it: desire, yes, but also reverence. Love. A quiet promise that he sees you—not just your body, but your story. Your soul. All of you. And to him, you are beautiful.

Hyunjin takes his time with you—like he’s memorizing every inch of your skin, every shiver and sigh. His lips meet yours in a deep, lingering kiss that makes your heart ache in the most exquisite way, and when he pulls back, he trails kisses along your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. Every touch feels like a vow.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, the warmth of his breath dancing over your skin. “I’ve dreamed about this. About you.”

His mouth moves lower, over the slope of your chest, down to the valley between your breasts, his hands cradling you gently as if you might break. He pauses just long enough to look at you again, like he wants to be sure you're still with him, still saying yes—and when you nod, he smiles and continues, kissing down your ribs, your stomach, slow and reverent.

He murmurs sweet things between kisses. “You don’t even know how you look to me,” he says, his voice hushed, like a secret he’s only brave enough to share now. “You’re out of this world. You’re art.”

When he reaches your hips, his fingers ghost over your sides, grounding and careful, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there. Then further—over your thighs, your inner thighs, where his kisses turn softer, slower, like he’s worshiping the very idea of you. And then, like a final act of devotion, he kneels and lifts your foot gently, pressing a kiss to your ankle, then to the inside of your calf, like there’s no part of you undeserving of love. You feel your breath catch in your throat. Not from arousal—though that coils steadily too—but from the overwhelming way he sees you. All of you. And still chooses to love every part.

As he makes his way back up to you, his eyes meet yours again, tender and warm. “I want to know everything about you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Every scar, every story, every soft place you’re afraid to show.”

And when he kisses you again, it feels like surrender—but the safe kind. The kind where you let yourself be seen and loved, completely.

Hyunjin flashes you a smile before he disappears between your thighs like he’s slipping into a world made only of you. His hands settle on your hips with a kind of tenderness that makes your chest ache, grounding you as his mouth begins its slow, deliberate worship on your pulsating cunt. Every flick of his tongue on your clit is thoughtful, every kiss between the folds is reverent. He’s not just trying to please you—he’s trying to learn you, to know you and you’re unraveling beneath him. But still, you’re quiet. Holding your breath. Biting your lip to keep any sounds at bay, your fingers curling into the sheets instead of his hair.

Hyunjin notices so he lifts his head, lips slick and eyes dark with adoration and something deeper—hunger, yes, but also love. “Why are you being quiet?” he asks softly, teasingly. “You think I don’t want to hear you?”

Your breath stutters as you look at him and he leans up just slightly, presses a kiss to your inner thigh. “Let them out,” he murmurs. “All those beautiful noises you’re holding back—I want to hear them. All of them.”

Your pulse thrums in your ears then he lowers himself again with a smile that’s both wicked and gentle. And when he starts again, landing his plush lips on your drenching core, slower this time, more insistent, you don’t hold back. And Hyunjin—he hums his satisfaction against your skin like it’s his favorite sound in the world.

It doesn't take long for Hyunjin’s skilled mouth to take you where you need to. You fall apart beneath him—trembling, gasping, your fingers tangled in the sheets as waves of pleasure roll through you. He doesn’t stop running his tongue between your wet folds until you’re completely undone, your body twitching with the aftershocks, your breath ragged and uneven.

Only then does he pull away, slowly, languidly, as if savoring the last taste of you. There’s a smug little smirk tugging at his lips as he rises, and the look in his eyes—it’s all heat and devotion, mischief laced with reverence.

You’re still catching your breath when he leans over you again, his mouth brushing yours. The kiss is unhurried, deep, and when your tongue meets his, you taste yourself on him—warm, intimate, dizzying. He groans softly against your lips. “Thank you,” he murmurs, voice low and wrecked. “For coming so beautifully like that for me.” His eyes flicker over your face, lips brushing yours again. “You taste so good, I already want another.”

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, your body still buzzing from the high, your fingers curling into his hair as you pull him in for another kiss, and you’ve never felt so wanted, so seen completely his.

After a while, Hyunjin sits back on his knees, eyes locked with yours, his breathing still uneven. Without a word, he reaches for the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head in one smooth motion. His skin glows under the soft light, golden and lean, the shadows carving definition along his chest, his arms, the delicate lines of muscle and bone that move with each breath. He watches you watch him, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face as he unbuttons his pants, not rushed, letting every movement stretch, deliberate and teasing. Piece by piece, he undresses for you—until there's nothing left between you. Then he leans down, his hands bracing on either side of your body as he hovers over you once more, heat radiating from him as his bare skin meets yours. The sensation is overwhelming—startling in its intensity. Chest to chest. Stomach to stomach. Legs tangled and breaths mixing in the space between your mouths.

Your body arches instinctively, responding to the feel of him, the way he fits so perfectly above you. One of his hands strokes along your side, memorizing the lines of you with reverence. His voice is a whisper, brushing your ear as he lowers himself fully against you.

“There’s nothing in the world that feels better than this,” he murmurs, kissing your temple.

With that, he lets the moment settle around you like silk, like warmth, like something you never want to end. Then, your hands lift on their own, hesitant at first. Your fingertips trace the line of his collarbone, down the slope of his chest, across the gentle dip between his ribs. You feel the way his heart races beneath your touch, the way his muscles flex subtly as your fingers explore him. He watches you in silence, his gaze soft, his lashes lowering when your palm rests just over his heart. There’s a faint tremble in your voice when you whisper, “You’re so beautiful.”

His breath hitches. The smallest, most vulnerable sound. A shy smile curves his lips as he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering closed. “You really think so?”

You nod, letting your hand move lower—over the dip of his waist, the subtle trail of muscle that disappears beneath the sheets. “All of you. Every inch of you,” you murmur, and he exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath waiting to hear you say that.

Hyunjin kisses you again, and this time there's nothing tentative about it. It's deep, warm, and possessive—the kind of kiss that curls your toes and makes your body arch instinctively toward his. His hands roam, slow but confident and you gasp softly against his lips when his palm slides down your side, cupping the curve of your hip.

The kiss grows hotter with each passing second, his body pressing you further into the mattress. His breath is ragged when he finally pulls back, just enough to rest his forehead against yours. “Do you have any condoms?” he asks, voice low and husky with anticipation.

You’re still catching your breath, nodding slowly when he suddenly adds with a crooked smirk, “Not that I’m planning to give Tigerlily a younger sibling… not yet, at least.”

You let out a breathless laugh, the sudden flash of humor easing the last of your nerves. “Drawer in the bathroom,” you reply, voice soft but steady.

Hyunjin grins at you, a glint of fondness—and something deeper—shining in his eyes as he brushes your hair back from your face. “Be right back,” he says, and then he leans down, giving you one last kiss—sweet and slow, as if he doesn’t want to leave your lips even for a second—before slipping off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom.

Not long after, the bathroom light flicks off, and soft footsteps pad against the floor. You lift your head slightly as he returns, a quiet smile playing on his lips and a tenderness in his eyes that makes your chest ache in the best way. He walks over with the same graceful ease he always carries, but there's something else now—something deeper in the way he looks at you like he's seeing all of you, and wanting every piece. He sits on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. You hear the soft crinkle of the foil packet, that small sound somehow thunderous in the silence of the room. It makes your skin prickle with anticipation. You can’t see everything he’s doing, but you don’t need to. The intimacy of it, the knowing of what’s about to come, makes your breath catch.

When he finally turns to you again, Hyunjin shifts closer, slow and deliberate, his body warm as it presses into yours. He doesn’t rush. Instead, he leans in gently, one hand finding your cheek, fingers featherlight as they cradle your face. His thumb brushes your skin, and you feel the slight tremble in his breath as his forehead touches yours.

“Hey,” he murmurs softly, like you’re a secret he wants to keep safe.

You look into his eyes, and for a moment, there’s nothing else. Just you and him. Then, he leans in, kissing you with that same softness, his body melts into yours, skin to skin, the kiss deepening as his hand glides from your cheek to your waist, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him. Every inch of you fits against him like you were meant to be held this way.

And in that quiet, sacred moment, nothing else matters but the way he kisses you—as if he's telling you without words just how much he wants you, and how deeply he already cares.

Your fingers curl gently against the slope of his back as he settles between your legs, his body warm and familiar now, like something you’ve known all along.

Hyunjin nudges his nose against your cheek and murmurs, “I’m going to take it slow this time. Really slow.” There's a teasing glint in his voice, soft and sultry, and it pulls a quiet laugh from your throat.

“You say that,” you whisper back, voice already tinged with need, “but you never do.”

He grins, brushing a kiss along your jawline. “I mean it tonight.” And you can tell he does, not just in the way he speaks, but in the way he moves. He aligns his cock to your entrance and then he pushes his throbbing length into you slowly, carefully like he wants you to feel everything.

And you feel it, you feel all of it. Every inch of his hard length entering you, filling you, every breath, every shared heartbeat. The two of you let out a raw, satisfied groan at the feeling of being inside each other, at last.

The moment Hyunjin starts to move, it’s almost too much—the fullness, the stretch, the heat of his cock inside you. Your body reacts before your thoughts can catch up, instinctively tightening around him, your breath catching in your throat.

He lets out a guttural groan, dropping his forehead against yours. “You can’t do that,” he breathes, voice thick and frayed. “If you keep clenching like that, I’ll—” He swallows hard, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “I’ll embarrass myself.”

You try to bite back a smile, only half-successful. “Sorry,” you murmur, not sounding sorry at all.

His eyes open again, and there’s laughter there, but also something deeper—adoration, restraint, the ache of wanting to last. “This is our first time, let me make a good impression,” he playfully says, and then he kisses you again, slower this time—true to his word—as he begins to move with deliberate tenderness, making sure every second counts.

A moment later, Hyunjin moves within you in slow, deep rhythms—measured, reverent, like he’s savoring every second. His breath hitches now and then as he buries his face in your neck, whispering praise between kisses and sighs. “You feel so good,” he murmurs, voice rough with awe. “So warm, so perfect…”

Each word wraps around you, deeper than his touch. “I’m so lucky… to feel you like this. To have you like this.”

Then he leans back just enough to make you meet his gaze, his hand cradling the side of your face. And in that moment, you feel completely seen. Not just your body, but your soul. The walls you’ve built over the years, the scars, the quiet fears you’ve kept tucked away—he sees them all. And he stays.

A wave of emotion crashes over you so suddenly, so powerfully, it steals the breath from your lungs. Your lips part beneath his kiss, but your body trembles beneath the weight of feeling, and you can’t bring yourself to kiss him back.

Hyunjin notices and he pulls back immediately, concern etched across his features. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice soft and urgent. “Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, eyes closing just as the first tears slip down your cheeks.

He stills completely, pulling out of you without hesitation, wrapping his arms around you as if he could shield you from whatever it is that’s hurting you. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers, kissing the corners of your eyes, your cheeks, your jaw. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t,” you choke out, your voice cracking around the lump in your throat. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Hyunjin pulls back just enough to look at you, brushing your hair out of your face, concern still dark in his eyes. “Then what is it?”

Your gaze locks with his, and for the first time, you let the fear rise to the surface. “I’m scared,” you admit, barely above a whisper. “Of this. Of you. Of what I’m feeling. It’s so much.”

He doesn’t say anything right away. He just wipes the tears from your cheeks with the backs of his knuckles, his thumb tracing along your cheekbone gently, grounding you.

You swallow thickly, your voice hoarse. “I don’t want to get hurt.”

At that, a bittersweet smile curves at the corner of his lips, his brows furrowing just slightly. He cups your face in both hands, presses his forehead to yours, and kisses you again—slow and full, the kind of kiss that says everything he can’t yet put into words.

When he finally pulls back, he whispers against your lips, “I'm not going hurt you. I promise.”

In his eyes, you believe him. You pull him close again, wrapping your arms around him, your fingers wrapping around the nape of his neck.

Hyunjin hesitates only a moment—watching your eyes, searching for the unspoken permission—and when he sees it, he slowly slips himself into you again and starts to move, his body rocking against yours in quiet devotion.

It’s different now. The fear is still there, but it no longer weighs you down—it lifts, transforms into something new, something freeing. With every slow thrust, every kiss that brushes your skin, you feel your heart split open, not in pain but in release, like something you’ve held too tightly for too long is finally being set free.

You let him in. You feel him. All of him. The weight of his body, the cadence of his breath, the way his heart stutters against your chest. And in the stillness between movements, in the soft moans and whispered names, in the curve of his mouth against your neck—you feel the truth of the connection between you. It’s real. You hold onto him tighter, not to cling, but to anchor yourself in this moment.

“I’m here,” he murmurs between kisses, like a vow. “I’ve got you.”

With one final, aching stroke, the pleasure builds, wraps around both of you until you fall into it together—his name breathless on your lips, your name a prayer on his. You come undone in his arms, and he follows, holding you like you’re something sacred. In the quiet after, as your bodies settle and your hearts slow, there’s no fear. His skin is warm, his arm wrapped protectively around you as you lay curled into his side, your leg tangled with his beneath the sheets. Your eyes flutter shut as you let yourself melt into him, cheek pressed to his chest where you can hear his heartbeat. It’s grounding, comforting like a lullaby made just for you.

“You okay?” he asks softly, voice raspy from the night but threaded with affection.

You nod against his chest. “More than okay.”

You sigh contentedly, letting yourself soak in the warmth of his body and the calm that settles between you. Nothing about this moment is rushed. Nothing about it feels unsure. It’s just you and him—bodies entwined, hearts open, quiet and full.

-

It's like the rain didn't happen last night as the sun is shining so brightly the next morning. You’re at the stove in your robe, humming to yourself as you flip a pancake, already plating the crispy bacon beside it when you hear footsteps shuffle in—slow, heavy, and unmistakably sleepy.

You glance over your shoulder just in time to see Hyunjin appear in the doorway, shirtless with the sheet from your bed still clinging to one shoulder like he didn’t bother shrugging it off. He’s rubbing his eyes and yawning, but that sleepy smile—so sweet and lazy—stretches across his face when he sees you. He walks straight to you and wraps his arms around your waist from behind, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“You weren’t in bed,” he mumbles, voice gravelly from sleep. “I woke up and you were gone. That’s not fair.”

You laugh softly, continuing to stir the eggs in the pan. “Someone has to make breakfast.”

“Wrong answer,” Hyunjin grumbles, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “I wanted morning cuddles.”

Before you can respond, he’s already turning you around gently and lifting you by the waist with ease. You let out a small squeal as he sets you on the edge of the kitchen island, your legs dangling off the side. He places his hands on the counter on either side of you, caging you in with that warm, sleepy grin on his face. You return the smile, wrapping your arms loosely around his shoulders.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a slow, soft kiss to your lips.

You kiss him back just as softly. “Good morning.”

His smile widens, and then he’s peppering your lips with quick, playful kisses—one after the other, barely giving you time to breathe between each one. You giggle, trying to squirm away, but his arms tighten around your waist and he buries his face in your chest with a content sigh. You rest your hand on the nape of his neck, holding him close, the warmth between your bodies matching the gentle golden light spilling through the kitchen window.

Hyunjin stays nestled against your chest for a long, comfortable moment before he lifts his head and looks up at you, eyes still sleepy but filled with something softer—something warmer. “So…” he starts, voice a little hopeful. “Can we finally take that trip together now?”

You let out a laugh, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Are you forgetting something?”

He blinks. “No?”

You tilt your head, raising an eyebrow. “The wedding is this weekend.”

Hyunjin pauses, then groans dramatically as he drops his head back against your chest. “Nooo, right. That.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, giggling.

He pulls back just enough to look up at you with a pout. “Okay but… hear me out. What if you just told her to push the wedding to next weekend instead?”

Your laughter echoes through the kitchen as you lightly smack his shoulder. “You want me to reschedule my daughter’s wedding so we can go on a trip?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs playfully. “Priorities.”

You shake your head, still laughing. “Anyway, as the mother of the bride, I’m only going to get busier this week with the final prep.”

Hyunjin groans even louder this time, letting his head fall against your shoulder like the world is ending. “Ugh. Being the best man sounded more fun in theory.”

You grin, wrapping your arms tighter around him. “You better take that duty seriously. Tigerlily will haunt your dreams if you mess it up.”

“She already does,” he mutters with a dramatic sigh.

You laugh again, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “You’ll survive. And once the wedding’s over…”

He perks up, eyes sparkling. “Trip?”

“Well, I was going to say...” you pause to pick up your mug of coffee, “coffee?”

Hyunjin gasps in delight as he sees the couple mugs you made filled with hot, steaming coffee. “Coffee first then the trip,” he murmurs with a grin as he picks up his mug.

Before taking a sip, he kisses you right then and there—soft and triumphant, like he’s already picturing you both somewhere far away, together.

-

You open the front door just as the cab pulls away from the curb, revealing Chris standing there with his suitcase in one hand and his daughter Riley beside him, hoodie pulled over her head, nose buried in her phone.

Chris offers you a tired smile, stopping right on the doorway to give you a quick hug. “Hey.”

You smile warmly, stepping aside to let them in. “Hey. How was your flight?”

He shrugs nonchalantly, brushing his hair back as he steps inside. “Fine. Long.”

You give him a knowing look—his eyes are a bit bloodshot and there’s a weariness in the way his shoulders slump—but you don’t push it. Instead, your eyes drift toward Riley, who’s still in her own world, thumbs tapping at her screen, headphones on.

“Riley,” Chris says with a light nudge to her shoulder. “Say hi.”

She looks up for the first time, pulling her headphones down just slightly. “Hi,” she mutters before stepping in and giving you a quick, one-armed hug.

You wrap your arms gently around her, unfazed. “Hi, Riley. Good to see you again!”

She nods and offers a polite smile before slipping past you, already pulling her headphones back on and wandering further inside, eyes back on her phone.

You glance at Chris with a knowing smirk, and he sighs. “Teenagers.”

“She’s grown up so much,” you say softly, watching her disappear into the living room.

Chris chuckles, dragging his suitcase the rest of the way in. “Yeah. She’s got that whole ‘too cool for life’ thing down to an art.”

You close the door behind them and gesture toward the hallway. “Come on in. I’ll show you both your rooms. You can rest a bit before dinner.”

Chris nods, rolling his shoulders. “Sounds good. Thanks for letting us stay.”

You glance at him with a playful look. “You’re still family, Chris. You don’t have to thank me.”

His eyes soften at that, and for a moment, there’s a quiet understanding that passes between you—years of history wrapped in a single look. “Still,” he says, “thank you.”

Later that afternoon, the house feels warm and quiet, filled with the subtle scent of fresh cookies and the soft clinking of mugs. You and Chris sit across from each other at the kitchen island, a plate of chocolate chip cookies between you and steaming cups of coffee in your hands.

“So,” Chris says, leaning back slightly in the stool, “you’re still making those cookies I like.”

You smile over your cup. “You think I made them just for you?”

“I choose to believe that,” he says with a grin before taking a bite.

You laugh softly, stirring your coffee. “How’s life back in the city?”

“Busy,” he answers, nodding. “The label wants to reissue an old Bang Theory album, so I’ve been working on it. Lots of meetings, a few studio sessions, lots of… nostalgia.”

You hum, intrigued. “That sounds kind of nice. Do you miss it?”

Chris considers the question for a moment, then shrugs. “Some parts of it, yeah. Others… not so much. Touring at this age isn’t as fun as it used to be.”

You chuckle. “Your back can’t handle the stage dives anymore?”

He snorts into his coffee. “Exactly. What about you? Still working on that book?”

You nod, your smile softening. “Yeah. Actually, I’ve been… into pottery lately.”

Chris pauses mid-sip, eyebrows lifting slightly before he nods. “New hobby, huh?” he chuckles, then takes another cookie. “Good for you.”

You both settle into a brief, comfortable silence before he glances up again. “So… rehearsal dinner. What should I expect?”

You perk up at that. “Oh! It’s at that restaurant by the garden terrace downtown. Casual but elegant. Lots of wine. Julian’s parents are hosting it.”

Chris nods, then takes a breath. “And… his family? What are they like?”

You give him a curious look. “Why? Are you nervous?”

“A little,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, I’m just… her dad. You know? Want to make a good impression.”

You lean forward, grinning. “Wait—you? Chris Bang, lead singer of Bang Theory, is nervous about meeting some suburban in-laws?”

He groans. “Don’t make fun of me.”

You laugh, then soften. “I’m not. I just think it’s sweet.”

He raises an eyebrow, mouth curling into a teasing smirk. “You calling me sweet now? That’s dangerously close to flirting.”

You roll your eyes and take a sip of coffee. “It’s called reassurance.”

Still smiling, Chris leans his elbows on the counter and looks at you. “So, what do you suggest? Show up in leather and play it cool?”

You grin. “I think just be yourself. You’re already charming and likable. You don’t even have to try.”

Chris watches you for a beat, and his smile turns just a little bit softer. “Thanks.”

You shrug, playful. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Oh, it’s already there,” he says, popping the last cookie into his mouth.

He takes a slow sip of his coffee, then lets out a deep sigh, tipping his head back slightly as if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders. “There’s just one problem, though.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

He gestures vaguely to the room upstairs where Riley is resting in Tigerlily’s old room. “Riley. She’s impossible. I swear, she’s glued to that phone like it’s a limb. I can’t get her to talk, help out, or even look up most of the time.”

You chuckle, resting your chin in your hand. “Classic teenager.”

He groans dramatically. “Yeah, well, classic teenager is driving me insane. I’ve tried being cool dad, strict dad, let’s-talk-about-it dad… nothing works. I need backup. I need you.”

You give him a slow, amused look over the rim of your mug. “You need me?”

He nods, with the exasperated sincerity of a man who’s been bested by a teenager. “I’m begging. Please. I don’t think she even knows we’re here. She could be texting someone in another dimension for all I know.”

Laughing softly, you set your mug down and lean back in your chair. “Chris, relax. I’ve got this.”

He narrows his eyes suspiciously. “You sound way too confident.”

You give him a sly smile. “Because I am confident. I know how to handle a teenager.”

He leans forward, elbows on the counter. “Okay, now I’m curious. What’s the game plan?”

You wink. “You’ll see. But let’s just say… I've got it.”

Chris lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. “God, I forgot how terrifyingly effective you can be.”

You grin at him. “Don’t worry. Just leave it to me.”

-

You walk quietly down the hallway and knock gently on Tigerlily’s old bedroom door, the one Riley is staying in now. After a brief pause, you push the door open to find her sitting cross-legged on the bed, phone in hand, headphones hanging loosely around her neck, her thumbs busy tapping away.

“Hey, Riley,” you say softly, offering a warm smile. “Just wanted to check in. Do you need anything? Snacks? Water?”

Riley barely glances up, her tone monotone. “I’m good. Thanks.”

You step inside anyway, gently closing the door behind you before crossing the room and sitting on the edge of the bed. “Okay,” you say, watching her fingers move rapidly across the screen. “Well, I just wanted to thank you for coming.”

At that, she shrugs, eyes still on her phone. “Well, my Dad made me come so...”

You chuckle, not offended at all. “That sounds about right.”

She lets out a small laugh—barely audible, but you catch it. You smile softly and add, “Well, thank you anyway. I’m really glad you’re here.”

Riley hums noncommittally, still not making eye contact, but you don’t push. You let a few seconds pass before casually continuing, “You know… I follow your Instagram.”

That gets her attention. She blinks and glances up at you, just briefly. “You do?”

“I do. You’ve got great style. I love your outfit posts—your mirror selfies are seriously top-tier.”

Riley raises an eyebrow, the corner of her lips twitching slightly. “Really?”

“Mm-hm. I like clothes too. Always have.” You lean in conspiratorially. “Wanna see my wardrobe?”

That’s when her eyes truly light up. She lowers her phone just a little, the blue glow no longer dominating her expression. “Wait, really? Like… now?”

You nod, grinning. “Of course. Come on. I’ll even let you try them on.”

Riley finally sets her phone aside, her posture shifting from uninterested to intrigued in seconds. “Okay… yeah. That sounds kind of cool.”

You stand and hold your hand out toward her. “Come with me then.”

You lead Riley into your wardrobe, flipping on the warm overhead lights as the space glows to life with rows of carefully organized clothing, shoes lined up like museum pieces, and soft fabrics hanging in every hue imaginable.

Riley’s eyes go wide. “Whoa…” she breathes, stepping in like she’s just walked into Narnia. “This is insane.”

You smile as you watch her scan the racks, fingertips grazing along silk, velvet, denim, and tulle. “Insane in the best way, I hope?” you tease, enjoying her wonder.

Every few seconds, she gasps or lets out a quiet “Oh my god,” especially when she stumbles upon something particularly glamorous or vintage. Then she freezes in front of a sleek black number with subtle rhinestone detailing and a high slit—one you’d worn to a fashion event years ago. “Wait. Is this the dress you wore to the Paris thing? I saw a photo on Pinterest. You looked iconic.”

You laugh, a little flattered she noticed. “That’s the one.”

“Can I… can I try it?”

You raise a brow. “Of course you can.”

In minutes, you’re helping her zip it up, smoothing the fabric against her frame as she steps in front of the mirror. It's uncanny how it fits her like a glove. She turns to the side, then full-on beams at her reflection. “I look like I’m about to get photographed on a red carpet.”

“You kinda do,” you say, snapping a few pictures of her with her phone as she poses, giggling in between.

Then your eyes catch on a lace-detailed dress with soft pastel floral prints hanging nearby. You pull it out, holding it up. “This one… I got it after doing a shoot for Italian magazine. They let me keep it. You’d look beautiful in this.”

Riley’s eyes widen with excitement. “Wait, can I try that one too?”

“Absolutely!”

She changes into it quickly, emerging like a flower blooming, delicate and glowing as she twirls in front of the mirror. She watches herself with awe, running her hands along the fabric.

“That,” you say, stepping behind her with a soft smile, “is the perfect dress to wear for the rehearsal dinner tonight.”

She stops spinning and looks at you through the mirror, eyes wide. “Wait, really? I can wear this?”

You nod. “Yes, you can. You’d make that dress proud.”

Without warning, Riley turns and throws her arms around you, hugging you tightly. “Thank you,” she mumbles into your shoulder. “Seriously. Thank you.”

You hold her close, smiling as your heart swells. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Still wearing the dress, Riley continues combing through your wardrobe like it’s a treasure trove. Her fingers glide over hangers until she pauses in front of a garment bag tucked into the corner. It’s slightly dusted but clearly protected with care. “What’s this one?” she asks, curiosity peaking as she gently tugs at the zipper.

You turn just as she peels it open halfway, revealing the edge of intricate lace and delicate beadwork—ivory, timeless, unmistakable. It's a dress you wore when you got married to Chris, it's not even a designer piece, you bought it at a vintage shop in the city Chris’s band was touring in. The sight of the dress evokes the memories and it's so vivid as if you just pulled open a pandora's box. Your breath catches for a moment, your smile faltering just slightly. “Ah…” you walk over casually, your voice soft, “That one’s… it’s torn at the seam.”

Riley looks up at you with wide eyes, clearly still interested but sensing something in your tone. “Oh, okay,” she says, releasing the zipper and stepping back with respect. “Still looks really pretty though.”

You give her a gentle smile and nod. “It used to be.”

She shrugs and moves on to the shoes, gasping at a pair of jeweled heels. “These are insane!”

You wait until her attention is fully stolen by the footwear before stepping back to the corner. Quietly, you zip the bag all the way up, your fingers brushing over the fabric through the plastic. Then, with a soft breath, you tuck it further back into the closet, behind a row of coats. Hidden, again. Where it belongs.

You turn back to Riley with a smile as she holds up two pairs of shoes in each hand, debating which one to wear with the floral dress. “Help me choose?” she grins.

“Sure,” you say, walking toward her again, brushing the past off your shoulders like dust.

-

The sound of Chris’s voice echoes through the house. “Hey! Can I get some help here or am I tying this thing myself and risking public humiliation?”

You head toward his room, already dressed and putting on your earrings. As you enter, Chris turns around and does a once-over with an appreciative grin.

“Well, damn,” he says, eyes twinkling. “You clean up dangerously well.”

You wave him off with a roll of your eyes, “Focus. I’m here to save you from that crooked tie.”

You step in front of him, fingers deftly fixing the knot and as you do, you notice some silver hair on the side of his head. As you straighten the fabric, he tilts his head slightly. “How’s Riley?”

“Handled,” you reply with a pleased smile. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. She’s dressed, she’s excited, and she actually spoke more than three words.”

Chris looks genuinely impressed. “Miracle worker.”

Before you can respond, the soft clack of shoes against the stairs makes both of you turn. Riley steps down carefully, dressed in the floral lace dress you lent her, her makeup subtle and pretty, her hair styled loosely. She’s trying to play it cool, but her eyes are scanning for your reaction.

You gasp dramatically. “Chris. Look!”

Chris immediately joins you in the praise parade. “Oh my god. Is that my Riley bear?!”

Riley rolls her eyes, cheeks a little pink. “It’s just a dress, dad.”

You and Chris start clapping like over-enthusiastic parents. “JUST a dress? You’re glowing!”

Chris ruffles her hair, earning a swat, and you step in. “Okay, okay, hold still—give me your phone, Riley. We’re documenting this transformation.”

She reluctantly hands it over, trying not to smile. You snap a few photos of her, letting her pose. Then Chris steps in beside her, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “Come on, let’s show them where she got her style,” he jokes.

You take several adorable shots of the two of them, and when you lower the phone, Riley looks at you. “Now one with you.”

You blink, surprised. “Me too?”

Chris is already stepping behind the camera. “Come on. In you go.”

You move in beside Riley, wrapping an arm around her as she does the same. Chris captures a few shots, then Riley grins and pulls out her own phone. “Okay, selfie time.”

The three of you squeeze together—Riley sandwiched between her two very proud, very amused parents. The moment she taps the button, all three of you are laughing. Caught in the blur of joy and history and something that, just maybe, feels a little bit like family again.

“This is fun but we should go or else we'd be late for the rehearsal dinner,” you remind them as you grab your purse from the sofa.

The drive to the restaurant is lit with the golden hue of the setting sun, and the soft hum of the road beneath the tires fills the pauses between chatter. You sit in the passenger seat, Riley lounging in the back, headphones tucked away for once as the three of you settle into a rare moment of shared ease.

Chris glances over at you, tapping the steering wheel absently. “So, tell me again about Julian’s family. I need some common ground. I can’t exactly open with ‘Hi, I used to headline stadiums and wreck hotel rooms.’”

You smile. “Julian’s dad was a big-time broker. Wall Street type. Retired now, enjoying the fruits of his labor. They’re older than us by a good stretch.”

Chris exhales, visibly relieved. “Older is good. Older might think I’m mature by default.”

You chuckle. “They go on boat trips every other weekend. Sailing types.”

Chris nods, keeping his eyes on the road. “Boats. I can do boats. Talk about waves, sea breeze, sunscreen—yeah, I’ve got material.”

Then, with a hesitant glance at you, he asks, “Do they know about me?”

Before you can answer, Riley leans forward between the seats, totally deadpan. “You’re not that famous, dad.”

You burst out laughing. “She’s got a point.”

Chris’s mouth drops open in mock offense. “Excuse me?”

Riley shrugs, clearly enjoying herself. “I mean, unless they were obsessed with rock bands in the 90s… probably not.”

Chris pouts and glares at her through the rearview mirror. “You too, Riley?”

You reach over and pat his thigh consolingly. “She’s right. Julian’s parents don’t know about the world tour, the platinum albums, or... the groupies.”

Riley pipes up again, her voice playful, “You know, back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth.”

Chris groans dramatically. “Unbelievable. The women in this car are ganging up on me.”

You and Riley catch each other’s eyes and exchange a conspiratorial smile, both suppressing your laughter. “Better get used to it,” you tease, nudging his arm. “It’s a girls’ world now.”

-

The soft buzz of laughter and clinking silverware filters out from the warmly lit restaurant as you, Chris, and Riley step through the doors. It’s cozy and elegant, decked with white linens, twinkling fairy lights, and thoughtfully arranged floral centerpieces—Tigerlily’s touch, no doubt. The moment she spots the three of you, her face lights up, and she hurries over, Julian in tow.

“Mom!” she beams, throwing her arms around you, then turning to Chris. “Dad! You made it!” She gives him a long hug before pulling back to smile at Riley. “And Riley, you look amazing.”

Julian adds his own greetings, hugging you and Chris warmly. It’s all easy, affectionate, natural. But before Riley can slip away into the corner with her phone again, you gently nudge her forward and catch sight of Maude nearby, cheerful and stylish, and chatting to her girlfriend Alexa.

“Riley, this is Maude,” you say quickly, catching her before she can disappear. “She’s Julian’s sister and knows everyone here. Maude, could I ask you to keep her company?”

Maude grins. “Of course! Come with me, I’ll introduce you to the good mocktail table.”

Riley hesitates, but with a glance back at you—and maybe some hope at escaping parental banter—she follows Maude with a small, grateful nod. You watch her go, a little relieved, and then turn your attention back to the next task: Julian’s parents.

You and Chris approach them together. Julian’s father, dapper in a navy blazer, shakes your hand warmly. His mother, elegant and composed, greets you with a smile and a gracious air. You’re used to this, the polished rhythm of pleasantries, the light conversation about the venue, the weather, the flowers—but beside you, Chris is just slightly stiff, the way he always gets when he’s not sure of the social cues. He’s doing fine, polite and charming, but you can feel it—that slight lag in his rhythm, the way he hesitates before reaching for the wine glass, unsure whether to join in the toast or wait.

So you start guiding, gently, without calling attention to it. When a toast is offered, you clink glasses first so he knows it’s time. When Julian’s mother mentions their yacht trip, you slide in a prompt. “Chris is a fan of the sea too, aren’t you?”

He picks it up with a grateful smile, easing into the conversation. When there’s a lull, you fill it, helping him navigate the small talk minefield. You even whisper reminders now and then—a soft nudge about names or who’s married to whom.

Through it all, Chris stays close, often glancing at you with that familiar mix of gratitude and amusement. He leans over at one point and murmurs near your ear, “I’m way out of my depth here, you know.”

You smile without looking at him. “That’s why I’m here.”

Once Chris has finally found his rhythm with Julian’s parents, tou quietly slip away from the table. You spot him a few feet away, deep in conversation with Julian now—his brow slightly furrowed, his arms crossed, and that unmistakable dad energy radiating off him as he most likely doles out the classic father-of-the-bride threats in the nicest way possible. You chuckle quietly to yourself, amused by the sight. Poor Julian, you think.

At the bar, you thank the bartender as he hands you your drink. You bring the glass to your lips, letting the bubbles fizzle pleasantly on your tongue when a warm voice calls out your name, familiar and unmistakably fond.

“Wow,” Hyunjin breathes as he approaches, eyes shining with awe. “You look…” He pauses, head tilting slightly as his gaze travels from your hair down to your heels. “Beautiful doesn't even begin to cover it.”

You feel the warmth rush to your cheeks as he takes your hand gently in his, not caring if anyone’s watching, and with a playful smile, gives you a slow twirl. The hem of your dress flares softly around your legs as he drinks in the sight of you from every angle, murmuring a quiet, reverent, “Beautiful,” with each pass.

You let out a flustered laugh, brushing a hand over your flushed cheek. “You look gorgeous yourself,” you say, letting your eyes drift over his striped suit, perfectly tailored to his tall, lean figure.

He leans in, gaze flickering to your lips—but you catch him, palm gently meeting the center of his chest to halt him. “Not here,” you murmur lowly, glancing discreetly toward the direction of Julian’s parents. “And definitely not in front of Julian’s parents.”

Hyunjin frowns with a pout, clearly not satisfied with that response. “Then let’s sneak out. Just for a few minutes. I want to kiss you.”

You laugh under your breath, swatting at his chest playfully. “Behave,” you whisper, trying to reel him in. “You’ll cause a scene.”

Just then, a voice cuts in—deeper, familiar. “Who’s this?”

You both turn to find Chris standing a few feet away, his expression neutral but eyes sharp with curiosity. Your breath catches for a moment before you clear your throat and take a step closer to the two men.

“This is… Hyunjin,” you say, gently slipping your hand into Hyunjin’s. “He's the best man and... My boyfriend.”

It’s the first time you’ve said it out loud in front of Chris—and for the briefest moment, something shifts in his face. Just a flicker of something unreadable. Surprise, maybe. Something quieter, deeper. But just as fast, it’s gone.

Chris steps forward, extending a hand toward Hyunjin. “Nice to meet you.”

Hyunjin, ever polite, takes his hand with a firm shake. “It’s really nice to meet you, sir.”

Chris’ brows twitch upward at the sir, and the corner of his mouth quirks slightly. “No need for that. Just Chris is fine.”

Their handshake lingers just a second longer than it needs to, and even though no words are spoken in that pause, you feel it—the silent exchange of acknowledgment, respect… and perhaps a little wariness.

You hold your breath, watching the moment closely, your hand still lightly resting on Hyunjin’s arm. Then Chris releases his grip and offers a small smile. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says simply, looking at you.

And then, from across the room, Tigerlily calls for his dad. “Dad, come here,” she waves her hand in the air, gesturing him to come.

Chris flashes both of you a polite smile. “Sorry. Duty calls.”

As Chris walks off, Hyunjin watches him go, the corners of his mouth twitching up with amusement. As soon as Chris is out of earshot, Hyunjin turns back to you with a sly glint in his eyes, that playful smirk already forming.

“So,” he says, leaning in just enough to make your heart skip, “boyfriend, huh?”

You feel your cheeks heat immediately, your gaze flickering anywhere but his face. “Don’t start,” you mutter, attempting to brush him off—but that only encourages him.

“Oh no, I’m definitely starting,” he grins, eyes lighting up. “You said it so naturally, too. Just—‘this is my boyfriend.’ Like it was the most normal thing in the world.”

“Because it is,” you argue softly, trying not to smile.

He leans in again, voice low and teasing, “Yeah, but to your ex-husband?”

You swat at his arm, flustered and amused. “Shut up.”

He laughs, catching your hand in his. “I’m not judging. Honestly, I’m honored. Just… didn’t expect to be introduced that way tonight.”

You finally glance up at him, your expression softening. “I guess I didn’t either. But it felt right.”

Hyunjin smiles at that, his teasing nature giving way to something more genuine. He squeezes your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. “Well,” he says, eyes sparkling, “for the record, I like being your boyfriend.”

You can’t help the shy grin that spreads across your face, and before you can say anything back, Hyunjin brings your hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles. “And I’m definitely not letting your ex-husband be the only man who’s crazy about you tonight.”

Everyone gradually finds their seats as the waitstaff begins to move through the room, setting plates and pouring water and wine. A soft hum of chatter surrounds the long table, silverware clinking, glasses being lifted in early toasts. The atmosphere is warm, glowing with low golden lights and quiet laughter. Then Julian stands, gently clinking his spoon against his glass to get everyone’s attention.

He clears his throat and glances down at Tigerlily, who looks up at him with a soft, expectant smile. “I’ll try to keep this short before I embarrass myself,” he begins, the room quieting. “But there’s no way I could go into this weekend without saying something about how thankful I am.”

He looks around the room—at his parents, at yours, at all the people seated at the table—and his voice wavers just slightly as he continues, “Tigerlily and I are really lucky. Not just to have found each other, but to be surrounded by people who love us, who raised us, and who’ve taught us what real love looks like.”

You catch Tigerlily’s face as he speaks—her lips pressed together, her eyes shimmering. She's trying not to cry, already reaching for the edge of her napkin. You smile gently, heart full and aching at once. When you glance to the side, your gaze falls on Chris. He’s uncharacteristically quiet, his expression unreadable, jaw slightly tense, eyes fixed on his daughter. You know that look. It mirrors something in your own chest—pride, joy, and that sharp, bittersweet ache that comes with letting go.

Without a word, you slide your hand beneath the table and find his. He immediately laces his fingers with yours, holding on so tightly like he’s anchoring himself to something real, something steady. He finally turns to look at you, his lips tugging into a small, tender smile. You return it with a soft one of your own, no words exchanged—just the silent, lifelong understanding of what it means to love someone so deeply and now watch them begin a life of their own.

Then, as if pulled by the same thread, you both look at Tigerlily. She’s laughing through her tears now, her hand on Julian’s arm, her eyes sparkling with happiness. She looks radiant. In love. Right where she belongs. And in that moment, hand in hand, you and Chris both realize—this is exactly how it's supposed to be.

-

A moment after everyone got home, the house has settled into a gentle hush. You peek into Riley’s room one last time, knocking softly before opening the door just a crack. She’s already tucked into bed, still scrolling on her phone, but she looks up at you.

“Need anything before bed?” you ask, keeping your voice low.

She shakes her head. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

You offer her a small smile. “Alright. Goodnight, Riley.”

She surprises you with a quiet, “Goodnight,” and just as you’re about to close the door, she adds, “Thanks for today.”

Your heart warms at her honesty. “Anytime.”

You close the door gently and make your way downstairs to check in on Chris. You knock on his door, and his voice comes through, muffled but clear. “Yeah, come in.”

You open the door, only to be greeted by the sight of him in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants, barefoot, hair a little messy from travel. You let out an exasperated sigh and avert your eyes.

“Seriously? You could’ve told me you weren’t dressed.”

Chris glances up from his suitcase, entirely unfazed. “What? It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

You shoot him a glare. “That was years ago, Chris. Put on a damn shirt.”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. “You knock, I answer. It’s not my fault you walked in without mental preparation.”

You roll your eyes. “Go to the bathroom.”

He gives you a slow, curious look. “Why?”

You hold up the dye kit in your hands. “Bathroom. Now.”

Chris groans as he drags himself off the bed. “Seriously? What’s wrong with silver?”

“Tigerlily will scold you if she sees those roots showing,” you say as you guide him toward the bathroom. “And it’s not a crime to look your best at your daughter’s wedding.”

He mutters under his breath but follows you anyway. Minutes later, he’s seated on a stool by the sink, a towel draped around his shoulders as you brush the dark dye through his hair with careful hands. “This feels like punishment,” he mumbles.

You nudge his forehead. “Stop moving.”

He grumbles but stays still. The silence settles in comfortably between you, only broken by the soft sound of the brush through his hair and the tap dripping behind the sink. After a while, the dye sets, and you gently guide his head back over the sink to wash it out. Water flows over his scalp as your fingers move through his hair, rinsing with care. His voice comes low, soft under the rush of water.

“I still can’t believe our little girl is getting married tomorrow,” he says, his gaze distant as it rests on the ceiling. “I feel like I blinked and she grew up.”

You pause for a moment, then resume gently rinsing. “She’s still our little girl, Chris.”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “But I missed so much. And now I feel like I’m scrambling to catch up.”

You turn off the water and begin patting his hair dry with a fresh towel, eyes on your hands as he keeps speaking.

“I didn’t always get things right,” he admits. “There are a lot of things I’d do differently now.”

You look down at him—his head still leaned against the edge of the sink, eyes searching yours with something unspoken swimming just beneath the surface. Regret. Grief. Maybe love. You feel your chest pull tight, so you look away before it reaches too far inside you. “What matters is you’re here now,” you say softly, tucking the towel around his shoulders. “That’s what she’ll remember.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks up at you with a kind of quiet intensity that makes your breath catch. You clear your throat and gently step back.

“Dry your hair. Don’t stay up too late.”

He’s still watching you, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

You stop in the doorway and glance back at him, one hand on the frame. “Goodnight, Chris.”

“Goodnight,” he replies, voice low but warm, towel in hand, heart in his eyes.

You slip out of the room, closing the door gently behind you, the silence folding around you like the echoes of something once familiar.

-

The late afternoon sun dips low in the sky, casting a golden glow across the garden as soft chatter floats through the air. The scent of fresh roses and blooming lavender perfumes the breeze, and strings of fairy lights hang from the trees, gently swaying. Everything feels like a dream, a romantic still frame of the perfect moment. You sit on your seat on the bride’s side, nestled between rows of white chairs, surrounded by family and friends dressed in soft pastels and summer suits. The aisle is a winding path lined with petals, leading toward a floral arch that frames the altar, and beyond it, the endless sky.

Julian stands at the front, fidgeting with his cufflinks and taking anxious glances down the aisle. He looks more nervous than you’ve ever seen him, his mouth pressing into a tight line as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

Beside him is Hyunjin, the best man, looking entirely too composed in his sleek black tuxedo. The sunlight catching on his cheekbones like it’s trying to show off for him. He catches your gaze and grins, eyes sparkling.

“You look beautiful,” he mouths, followed by a playful wink.

You feel your cheeks warm as you shake your head at him with a smile, mouthing “Behave.”

Then the music shifts. The gentle notes of the string quartet swell as the bride chorus begins to play. Everyone rises from their chairs. You stand too, breath caught in your throat, eyes fixed on the archway at the start of the aisle.

And then she appears. Tigerlily. Your baby girl. She walks out slowly holding a bouquet of Tiger Lilies, her arm tucked into Chris’, the train of her dress sweeping across the grass. The sunlight catches on the delicate beading of her gown, making her shimmer like something out of a fairytale. Her face is radiant, cheeks flushed, eyes glistening with emotion. You almost lose it. You feel tears prick your eyes, the kind that tug at your soul and make your heart swell with pride and nostalgia all at once.

Chris walks beside her, steady but quiet. His smile is soft, but you know him too well—you see the storm behind his eyes. You know it’s taking everything in him not to crumble. He looks like he’s walking her toward the end of something, not the beginning. Like letting her go is breaking him in the most quiet, graceful way.

They reach the front. Chris lifts her veil and kisses her forehead, saying something that makes her smile through her tears. Then, with a deep breath, he takes her hand and places it in Julian’s. You watch that exchange, your heart clenched and full.

Chris walks over to you and takes the seat beside you. He doesn’t say anything at first, just exhales like he’s been holding his breath the entire walk. “She looked like you,” he whispers, voice low and full of everything he’s feeling.

You smile through your tears. “No. She looked like her own.”

And together, you both turn your eyes toward the altar, watching as your daughter—glowing, loved, fearless—stands at the beginning of her forever.

The ceremony unfolds like a dream under the soft golden hour light, with the gentle rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of birds punctuating the vows. Julian’s voice wavers slightly as he speaks his promises, and Tigerlily’s hand trembles in his—but she’s glowing, absolutely glowing. And when it’s her turn to speak, her words are steady and full of warmth, brimming with all the love she’s always carried in her heart.

You catch Hyunjin stealing a glance at you from across the aisle, and your heart stumbles a little. He doesn't smile this time—not fully. His gaze is calm and steady, almost reverent. Like he's seeing not just you, but the idea of forever with you. Like this moment, this ceremony, is a mirror of something he imagines for the two of you someday.

You glance down, the thought so sudden and visceral that it lodges itself deep in your chest. When you look up again, he’s still watching you. Still quietly imagining that future. But then your attention shifts—to your right, where Chris is sitting still, his hands folded tightly in his lap. His jaw is clenched, eyes glassy, blinking fast to fight the tears. You nudge him lightly with your elbow and lean in.

“You’re crying,” you whisper, teasing gently.

“I’m not,” he mutters, voice thick.

You smile at him, your heart aching in the softest way. You reach out your hand, palm up, inviting. He hesitates for a second. Then takes it. And just like that—your hand in his, Tigerlily’s laughter ringing through the garden as she slides a ring onto Julian’s finger, and Hyunjin's eyes still quietly resting on you across the aisle—it feels like everything has aligned. The past, the present, and the future, all suspended in this one, perfect moment.

Chris squeezes your hand once, tightly, and doesn’t let go until the officiant finally announces: “You may now kiss the bride.”

The guests erupt into applause and joyful cheers, but you stay there, sitting side by side with Chris, hands linked. And somewhere in the space between it all, you find peace. And hope. And the fragile, blooming warmth of something just beginning.

-

The sky has shifted into deep lavender, strings of fairy lights twinkling above the garden as the celebration comes alive with soft music, clinking glasses, and laughter echoing between tables. Tigerlily and Julian share their first dance beneath the glowing canopy, their movements slow and tender, like time has slowed just for them. You watch them with your hand over your heart, your emotions still tangled between pride and awe and that bittersweet ache of letting go.

As their dance ends and the applause fades, you feel a familiar hand reach for yours. Chris gives you a little smirk, bowing with exaggerated flair. “May I have this dance?”

You roll your eyes but slip your hand into his anyway. “You may.”

He leads you onto the dance floor as another slow song begins, his hand settling naturally at your waist, your other hand clasped in his. The rhythm is familiar. Easy.

“She really went and married him,” Chris says after a beat, watching Tigerlily and Julian mingling through the crowd.

“She really did,” you say, smiling.

He sighs dramatically. “Still can’t believe that kid had the nerve to steal my little girl from me.”

You laugh, full and bright. “Chris, she’s not ten anymore.”

“She’s still my baby.”

“She still is. Just… someone else’s baby now too,” you tease, giving his shoulder a little squeeze.

He shakes his head like he can’t stand it, and you soften your smile. “You should move on already.”

“Oh yeah?” he challenges.

You tilt your chin and gesture across the dance floor to where Riley is laughing with Maude, her whole face lit up. “You’ve still got one more daughter to walk down the aisle.”

Chris groans, loud and dramatic. “I’m locking her in the house. She’s never dating. Not on my watch.”

You swat his chest lightly. “Be serious!”

“I am serious.”

You pull back just enough to look him in the eyes and say, “Go ask her to dance.”

He raises a brow. “Right now?”

You give him a gentle push in Riley’s direction. “Yes. Go on, before someone else steals her first dance from you too.”

Chris grumbles, but he grins as he lets you go and heads toward Riley. You watch as she lights up, surprised and a little embarrassed, but delighted all the same as Chris bows again and takes her hand like he did yours. You're smiling as you watch Chris spin Riley into a laugh, the two of them dancing under the soft garden lights like time had rewound just for them. But then—

Strong, familiar arms slide around your waist from behind, and before you can turn, Hyunjin’s voice hums by your ear, low and mischievous. “Excuse me,” he murmurs, “but I believe it’s my turn.”

You barely have time to catch your breath before he spins you into the middle of the dance floor with a dramatic twirl. You laugh, the sound spilling from your chest like it’s made of air and starlight. “Hyunjin—!”

“Shhh,” he grins, pulling you in until your body fits perfectly against his. His hand holds yours firmly, his other palm resting warmly on your lower back. “Let me have this.”

You feel his breath brush your cheek as he leans in, nose nearly touching yours. “I want to kiss you.”

You dart your eyes around, heart hammering. “Not here. Not in front of everyone.”

His lips brush against your temple instead, soft and electric. “When can I kiss you then?” he murmurs into your skin, voice playful but laced with heat.

You fight your smile and reply with a teasing lilt, “Well... Not now.”

Hyunjin chuckles, and with a wink, he twirls you again, the hem of your dress fluttering like petals in bloom. When you spin back into his arms, he pulls you even closer—so close that your chest presses flush to his, your breath caught somewhere between your ribs and his heartbeat. “I’m done waiting,” he whispers against your ear, his voice deep and full of longing. “Come with me.”

Before you can answer, his fingers lace through yours tightly, and he tugs you gently away from the celebration. Past the tables, past the strings of lights, past the slow dancing and laughter. Into the quiet, into the night, into something only the two of you can name.

-

The laughter and clinking of glasses fade into a distant hum as Hyunjin leads you between the tall, leafy hedges lining the garden's edge. The lights from the celebration barely reach this far, just a soft golden spill through the leaves as if the night itself is conspiring to give the two of you this moment.

And then he’s on you. His lips crash into yours like he’s been holding back all evening. Hands cradling your face, he kisses you again and again—urgent, breathless, hungry. Only when your hand comes up to rest against his chest, a gentle push for air, does he finally pull away, panting softly as his lips trail down to your neck. He kisses along your pulse, over the delicate skin just under your jaw, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Hyunjin,” you murmur, breath catching.

He finally stops, brushing a few strands of hair from your face as he cups your jaw with both hands. His eyes are crinkled with a soft smile, tender and dizzyingly full of emotion. “The next wedding,” he says quietly, “is going to be ours.”

You freeze for a beat, heart leaping and stumbling all at once. “Hyunjin…”

“You must think that I’m like most guys who dates for fun, huh?” he asks gently, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I don’t do that. I’m dating you because I want to be with you. I want… this. You. Forever.” His voice isn’t rushed. It’s not pleading. It’s just steady, like it’s the most obvious truth he’s ever said.

You feel a mix of things rise up in you—warmth, affection, fear, disbelief. The way he says it, so certain, so casually serious—it makes your chest tighten. “We agreed to take it slow,” you remind him softly, not out of rejection, but to anchor the moment.

“I know,” he whispers, his thumb now gliding over your lower lip. He leans in and kisses you—just a featherlight touch. “And I will. I’ll wait as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

Another kiss follows, this one deeper, slower, like a vow made without words. When he pulls back, he grins with a twinkle in his eye and murmurs, “But… maybe don’t take too long. I’m dying to see you in a wedding dress.”

You roll your eyes with a breathless laugh, shoving lightly at his chest. “Hyunjin…”

He smiles, presses one last kiss to your forehead, and whispers, “I mean it.”

Hidden within the tall shrubbery, Hyunjin crashes his lips on yours again, slower this time—his lips moving with a kind of reverence that makes your chest ache. You sink into him, your hands curling into the lapels of his suit as his arms wrap tightly around your waist, anchoring you to him like he can’t bear to let go. His kiss deepens, coaxing soft sighs from you, and you feel his fingers sliding into your hair, cradling the back of your head as if the world outside this hidden place doesn’t exist.

And then you hear the crowd erupts into cheers, and from the distance, a familiar sound blares through the night air—the unmistakable opening chords of a Bang Theory classic.

You freeze against Hyunjin’s mouth. He stills too, forehead pressing lightly to yours. “Is that…” he breathes, blinking in disbelief.

“Yup. That’s Chris and his band.” You laugh under your breath and grab Hyunjin’s hand. “Come on.”

He doesn’t hesitate, just lets out a chuckle and runs with you. The two of you tumble out from the hedges like teenagers sneaking out of detention, laughter bubbling between you as you dash back toward the celebration. Lights twinkle overhead, the night air is pulsing with music and nostalgia, and your heart pounds—not just from the running but from the moment you just shared, and the one you’re about to run into.

As you round the corner and reenter the garden’s glow, the music is in full swing, and there he is—Chris on stage, guitar slung over his shoulder, grinning like the rockstar he once was and always will be.

Hyunjin leans in close as you both slow down and catch your breath, his hand still wrapped around yours. “I can’t believe your ex-husband is literally the entertainment,” he says, wide-eyed.

You nudge his side, laughing. “Welcome to my life.”

-

The garden is alive with music, lights twinkling like stars overhead, and the unmistakable sound of The Bang Theory floods the air—loud, raw, and full of heart. People are on their feet, clapping and dancing, and you’re still catching your breath when you spot her—Tigerlily, radiant even under the stage lights, her veil slightly askew as she laughs with Julian by her side.

You weave through the crowd and reach for her hand. “Come on!”

She looks at you, confused for a beat, but then you’re both swept into the music, jumping and dancing like you used to in the side of the stage when she was still small enough to ride your hip. Chris stands center stage, belting out the lyrics with the same fire he had back in the day, but his eyes? They’re all on Tigerlily.

It hits you like a wave. You remember those afternoons when Tigerlily was still tiny, running around barefoot on studio floors while the guys messed with chords and amps—Chris tuning his guitar while she banged on the nearest drum like she belonged there. She did belong there. That loud music, that messy chaos—it was the soundtrack of her childhood. And now here she is, in a wedding dress, jumping and dancing to her father’s band like she used to before she even knew what weddings were.

You and Tigerlily scream the chorus together, laughter spilling out of both of you, your hands joined as you spin her around. Chris catches the moment from the stage—his grin faltering just enough for a shimmer of emotion to shine through before he launches into the next verse like the proudest dad in the world as Tigerlily dances to the soundtrack of her childhood on the very night she’s stepping into her future.

The music is pulsing through the garden like electricity, laughter and cheers erupting louder with each beat, and Chris is thriving in it—completely overtaken by the high of the moment. He’s grinning ear to ear, sweat glistening on his forehead as he shreds through the final chords, nodding his head in rhythm, his whole body moving like he’s twenty-five again and headlining a stadium.

“This one’s for you, my little cub, my Tigerlily!” he shouts into the mic, pointing directly at her with a wild gleam in his eyes.

The crowd erupts. Tigerlily throws her arms up, shouting back, “I love you, Dad!”

And that’s when Chris—caught in the euphoria, lost to the beat and the cheers—does the unthinkable. He backs up two steps, pumps his arms like a stage diver prepping for flight, and with the agility of a man who should not be this agile anymore, he launches himself forward into a full somersault on stage. Gasps ripple through the crowd. Time slows. He flips. He rotates. He almost nails it—

But then, his boot catches something—maybe a coiled cable, maybe the corner of a pedal—and the landing doesn’t come. Not properly.

There’s a loud, crack of his foot slipping. A snap of something else. His arms flail mid-air.

And then—

THUD.

Chris faceplants off the stage with a dramatic, unforgiving crash. The mic hits the ground with a screech. His leg still tangled in the cable. A drink spills nearby. The music cuts out mid-note. The garden is dead silent. Everyone freezes. Mouths open. Eyes wide. And Chris… doesn’t move.

-

The sky starts turning that lazy shade of early evening gold when you pull up to the driveway. The tires crunch softly against the gravel and when the engine cuts off, silence settles for a beat before your phone starts ringing. You grab it from the passenger seat without even checking—some habits are muscle memory by now.

“Hi, Mom,” Tigerlily chirps, her voice crackling slightly through the speaker. “Just landed. It’s sunny. I can smell coconuts.”

You smile as you push open the car door and sling your bag over your shoulder. “You two made it?”

“Mhm. Luggage in tow, no delays, miracle. What about you? What are you up to?”

“Just got back from driving Riley to the airport,” you say, juggling the keys as you step onto your porch. The lock clicks under your hand. “She couldn't stop thanking me for the dress.”

“That’s good,” Tigerlily says. “How’s Dad?”

You step inside the house, voice softening as your eyes land on him right where you left him—stretched across the sofa, casted leg propped stiffly on a pillow, laptop on his lap, the crutches standing by next to the sofa. He’s scowling at the screen, probably editing something with the same intensity he once reserved for writing songs about heartbreak.

“He’s fine,” you say as you shut the door behind you. “Still alive. Still... working.”

Tigerlily hums. “I’m not that worried. He’s with you.”

You pause for half a second, just long enough to let that sink in before you shake your head and move toward the kitchen. “Don’t start. Just enjoy your honeymoon.”

“Okay, okay. Love you and send my love to dad. Bye!”

“Love you, cub,” you murmur before the call drops.

You fill a glass of water at the sink, and behind you, you hear the faint shuffle of headphones coming off. “Hey,” Chris calls, voice hoarse like he hasn’t spoken all day. “How was Riley?”

“She’s good. Boarded safe,” you say, turning with the glass in hand. “Oh, and Tigerlily sends her love.”

You lean against the counter. He looks at you from the couch, hair a little messy, turning curly from the humidity. The house is quiet in a way it hasn’t been for days. You take a sip of water, your eyes meeting his across the space.

“So, Chris,” you say, tilting your head. “What do you wanna do now that it’s just the two of us?”

-

✨ Evermore: Chapter II is available on my Patreon ✨

Please support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!

@svintsandghosts @abiaswreck @drhsthl @biribarabiribbaem @skz-streamer @biancaness @hanniebunch @elizalabs3 @laylasbunbunny @kpopformylife @caitlyn98s @hann1bee @mamieishere @is2cb97 @marvelous-llama @bluenights1899 @sherryblossom @toplinehyunjin @hanjisbeloved @sunnyseungup @skz4lifer @stellasays45 @severeanxietyissues @imseungminsgf @silentreadersthings @rylea08 @hwangjoanna @simeonswhore @yubinism @devilsmatches @septicrebel @rairacha @ven-fic-recs @hyunjiinnnn @schniti-is-in-the-house @jisunglyricist @minh0scat @simplymoo @inlovewithstraykids @angstraykids @lenfilms @inniesfanblog @multi-fandommaniac @tirena1 @nightmarenyxx @nebugalaxy @akindaflora @iknow-uknow-leeknow @satosugu4l @jinniejjam

[wholoveseggs]

Can u make more kol mikaelson smut stories pleaseeee

Rivalry

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Klaus Mikaelson and Kol Mikaelson x Vampire!f!Reader} When Kol interrupts your date with Klaus, the tension between the brothers escalates into a fiery game of wills, and you can’t help but revel (and take full advantage) of the madness.

♡♡ This is dedicated to the many requests I've received for more Kol AND Klaus! Here ya go you filthy animals (affectionate)~ ♡♡

4.7k words - Warnings: smuttty af, threesome, Kol being a teasing menace, jealous and possessive Klaus, furniture breaking, a bit of of chasing, wall breaking, wall sex, standing sex, oral sex (f!receiving), double penetration, blood drinking, ripping clothes (rude!), power dynamics (reader is the boss), && the two wildest originals competing for your affection...

I'll be tagging ya'll in the comments from now on... because tumblr is not built for tagging lots of users... if you want off the tag list just shoot me a DM!!! (I won't be offended ~xo)

Over the years, you have been in a lot of strange situations. It sort of came with the territory of being a vampire. In all of your centuries of living, however, you had never quite been in one as strange as this.

It was one thing to be desired by a man. That happened to you from time to time. And it usually ended with you taking a generous bite out of their neck before leaving them on the floor.

It was a totally different situation, however, when two of the strongest of your species were both trying to seduce you.

The smell of delicious food wafted through the dining room as the servants placed the plates on the table. Klaus sat at the head, a smug look on his face. His gaze sweeping over you like you were one of the hors d'oeuvres.

You knew better than to fall for his charms. But that didn't mean it wasn't a pleasant thought. He had always been rather handsome, and his advances weren't exactly unwanted.

Your gaze fell to the other end of the table, where his younger brother sat, flashing a smirk at you.

If Klaus was charming, then Kol was downright lewd. From the moment he laid eyes on you, he'd made a point to show you exactly what was on his mind.

You shifted in your seat as you recalled his whispered words in your ear, the feel of his breath on your neck. The way he described exactly what he wanted to do with you if given the chance.

Klaus on the other hand had an entirely different approach. One of a much more romantic nature. He had invited you to this private dinner with the intention of getting to know you better. But it seemed that Kol wasn't going to give him the opportunity.

You weren’t sure whether to feel flattered or terrified. Two Original vampires were vying for your attention, and you could practically feel the testosterone thickening the air around you.

It was a strange dynamic, to say the least.

You could tell Klaus was growing irritated. His eyes narrowed at his younger brother, his lips forming a hard line. He didn't want to act aggressive in front of you, this was a delicate game, and he wasn't about to throw away his chances.

Kol knew that, and exploited it mercilessly.

"So, love, have I mentioned how ravishing you look in that dress?" Kol grinned, his gaze slowly moving down your body, burning a path in his wake.

You looked down at your outfit, smoothing the silk against your thighs.

"Thank you, Kol," you replied politely. You could tell that Klaus was silently fuming, his hand tightening on the silverware.

"What's the matter, Nik? You look like someone spit in your drink." Kol remarked, leaning back in his chair.

Klaus shot him a warning glance.

"I don't recall sending you an invitation to this dinner, little brother," Klaus replied coldly, his eyes darkening.

Kol gave a laugh. "If that's the case, why was there a third place setting?"

You could almost feel the way Klaus's blood was boiling, his anger threatening to burst out of him at any moment. But he took a deep breath, glancing at you before answering.

"Because, you compelled the staff to lay it out for you," Klaus said between gritted teeth.

“Details,” Kol replied with a shrug, his gaze flicking back to you. “But really, Nik, aren’t you glad I came? It would be such a shame to leave her here all alone with you. She deserves a bit of excitement.”

You looked from one brother to the other, sensing the growing tension in the room. You could almost feel Klaus's urge to throttle his younger brother, and Kol's gleeful anticipation.

Part of you wanted to laugh at their childish squabble, but the intensity in their eyes told you this wasn’t a game. Kol’s flirtation and Klaus’s brooding anger tugged at something primal within you, and you couldn't deny how much you liked it.

It was a strange dynamic, to say the least. You had a feeling they’d been fighting over women for centuries, and tonight, you were just the latest battle.

But who said you couldn't enjoy it a little bit?

"As much as I appreciate the compliment, Kol, I must say that your behavior is somewhat inappropriate. I'm here on a date with Klaus," you said, smiling sweetly.

Kol smirked, leaning forward as if your words were an invitation rather than a reprimand. “A date with Nik? How quaint. Did he ever tell you how his dates usually end up? With their throat ripped out. Or at the bottom of the ocean. Sometimes both, depending on his mood."

"You're a fine one to talk," Klaus growled, gripping the edge of the table. "We both know you’re the last person who should be commenting on relationships. You’ve left more broken hearts and bodies in your wake than I care to count.”

Kol laughed, the sound light and cutting. “And you haven’t? Please. Should we bring up poor Aurora or Camille? Or are we skipping over that delightful tragedy tonight?”

The mention of her name sent a flicker of pain across Klaus’s face, quickly replaced by simmering anger. “Say another word, and I’ll tear that smug grin off your face.”

Kol leaned forward, his voice dropping into a taunting whisper. “Go ahead, Nik. Show her exactly how much of a monster you really are.”

You cleared your throat, cutting through the escalating tension. Both brothers froze, their gazes snapping to you, as though suddenly remembering you were still there.

“Boys,” you said, your voice calm but laced with amusement, “as much as I’m enjoying this little exchange, it seems a bit counterproductive, don’t you think? After all, you both claim to be interested in me, yet here you are, bickering like children over a toy."

Kol smirked. "Are you suggesting we share?"

Klaus let out a growl, and you held up a hand, cutting him off.

"Now, I can leave, or we can try and have a civilized conversation. But I suggest we stop acting like fools and start behaving like the centuries-old vampires that we are," you said, your words were firm, but the hint of a smile on your lips betrayed the playful tone behind them.

There was a pause as the two brothers stared at you, considering your words.

"What sort of civilized conversation did you have in mind, love?" Klaus asked, his tone dripping with innuendo.

"We are all adults here, let's speak plainly about what we want," you replied, shifting in your seat as you met their piercing gazes.

Kol smirked, his eyes lingering on your breasts a little too long. "I'd like to take that pretty dress off you with my teeth and make you scream so loud the neighbors can hear it."

You chuckled and took a sip of your wine, feeling the flush spread across your cheeks. "That's one idea. Any others?"

Klaus's voice was a low growl, the threat of violence hanging in the air. "I'd like to show you how a real man would please you, make you forget all about this foolish boy at the other end of the table,"

You raised an eyebrow, the corners of your mouth turning up. "A real man. Hmmm. Are you saying I should go ask Elijah to keep me company?"

Klaus and Kol both shot you an offended look.

"Elijah?!" They said in unison, nothing brought them together faster than a chance to insult their elder brother.

You chuckled, reveling in their outrage.

"What?" You smiled coyly. "He's always so well-mannered…"

Klaus let out a frustrated noise. "Now you are just being cruel."

You couldn't help but laugh. The entire situation was ridiculous, and yet somehow it was working.

"I suppose you both have your merits," you said, trailing your fingers along the table. "But I don't see why I should choose between you two… when we could all have a little fun together,"

The brothers glanced at each other, the tension rising between them. They had gleefully walked right into your trap.

Kol recovered first, a cocky grin spreading across his face. "Oh, so that's what you want? You are such a greedy little thing."

"Perhaps," you mused, tilting your head to the side. "But don't tell me the thought doesn't excite you."

You could see the flash of heat in their eyes, the way their gazes trailed over you hungrily.

Kol smirked, a challenging glint in his eyes. "I'm game if Nik is."

Klaus was quiet, observing the two of you with calculating eyes. Trying to figure out how he could still manage to come out on top.

You could practically hear the gears turning in his mind, searching for some angle.

You weren't about to let him ruin the moment, so you rose from your seat, letting your hair fall loosely over your back. Their gazes followed you as you turned towards the door, looking back at them over your shoulder.

"Well, gentlemen, I'll be waiting upstairs. See who can make it to me first," you said with a smirk, before walking out of the room.

The moment the door closed behind you, you could hear a scuffle, furniture being overturned, as the two of them fought for the upper hand.

You laughed to yourself, heading up the stairs, your steps quick and light. This was going to be fun.

When you entered Klaus' room, the window was open, the cool night air flowing through the curtains. The soft light from the candles cast a warm glow over the bed.

You ran a finger over the sheets, feeling the smooth silk against your skin. A wicked smile tugged at your lips, as you slipped off your heels, leaving them by the foot of the bed.

This was a game, and the rules were simple. Make them work for it.

A crash, followed by Kol’s laughter, echoed through the hall. You smiled to yourself, enjoying the chaos you’d left behind.

The door burst open, slamming against the wall. You spun around, feigning surprise, as Klaus stalked into the room. His shirt was torn, blood smeared across his chest, and his eyes burned with feral intensity.

“I see you won the race,” you said, your voice teasing as your eyes roamed over him.

Klaus closed the distance between you in a heartbeat, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you close. He scooped you up and tossed you over his shoulder like a caveman, before turning and carrying you out of the room.

Kol was yelling something from the end of the hall, but you couldn't make out his words. Klaus didn't even look at him, his gaze fixed on his destination.

"Where are we going?" You asked with a laugh as he carried you down the hallway.

"Somewhere Kol can't bother us," he replied, his tone dark.

You giggled as he began to vamp speed, the walls and furniture blurring around you. He carried you up several flights of stairs, past rooms filled with art and books, until he reached a spare bedroom on the uppermost floor.

It was a simple room, the bed neatly made, with a small table and chairs set by the window. It was clear that no one had been in here for quite some time.

You could hear Kol's muffled curses, as he tried to track you down.

"Don't worry, love, I've locked the doors. He'll have to find his own entertainment tonight," Klaus said, his voice rough with desire.

He dropped you onto the bed, climbing on top of you, his eyes blazing. He captured your lips in a hungry kiss, his hands on your waist, pulling your body flush against his own.

His mouth moved down your neck, biting and sucking at your skin, as his hands moved lower, pulling the hem of your dress up.

His touch was possessive, claiming, and you loved it.

A loud crack and a shout rang through the house, as the lock on the door snapped, Kol finally managed to find you.

"Really, Nik, I thought we agreed on sharing," Kol huffed, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, his clothing torn and dirty from the fight.

Klaus didn't bother looking up, his lips trailing lower, finding the exposed skin above your breast.

"We never agreed to anything. The rules are what I say they are," Klaus replied, his voice low and dangerous.

"Both of you stop," you sighed, pushing Klaus back.

He pulled away reluctantly, his eyes burning with desire, but he knew better than to argue. You reached out for Kol, gesturing him to join you on the bed.

"You boys want me? Prove it," you purred, a smile tugging at your lips.

Klaus and Kol looked at each other, both realizing at the same time that they had the same idea.

In a blur of movement, they were on you, their hands tearing at your clothes. Klaus gripped the fabric of your dress, ripping it clean off, the shreds falling to the floor.

"That was expensive," you protested, a playful pout on your lips.

"I'll buy you a new one," he replied, his lips capturing yours, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you up into a sitting position. “So many new ones,”

Kol knelt behind you, his fingers tracing along the curve of your neck, the soft skin of your back. He tugged on the clasp of your bra, unhooking it, and letting the fabric fall away.

Klaus' eyes darkened as he got a full view of your bare chest, the soft, round globes of flesh, the rosy peaks begging to be touched. He lowered his mouth, sucking one nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the hard bud.

You moaned, your hands tangling in his curls, pressing his face closer. His mouth was hot and wet, sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

Kol's hands moved to your hips, pulling you back against him. Klaus let out an irritated growl as his lips were pulled from your skin.

"Don't get greedy, brother," Kol said, his tone teasing. "I think you owe me a chance at this beautiful girl."

Klaus shot him an annoyed look, his hands sliding up your thighs, his fingers teasing over the lace of your panties. You could feel the tension between them, the raw desire threatening to spill over into violence at any moment. Being caught between them felt like being stuck in the middle of a thunderstorm, and you relished the danger of it.

It was overwhelming, the feel of their mouths on you, the way they fought for control. You weren't sure who to give in to first, their hands and mouths bringing you to new heights of pleasure.

Klaus slid your panties off, tossing them to the side before grabbing your hips and pulling you towards him, spreading your legs apart. His lips trailed down your stomach, pausing at the sensitive spot just above your sex.

His eyes met yours as he lowered his head, running his tongue slowly along your slit, before finding your clit. You gasped, your hands tangling in his hair, holding him close. The sensation of his mouth on you was electric, and you could feel your climax building.

Kol watched with hungry eyes, his hand stroking himself through his pants. He could see how close you were, the way your hips moved up to meet Klaus's face.

Kol placed his hand under your chin, tilting your head back towards his. He captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth, showing you how he would do it if he was the one between your thighs.

Klaus looked up at the two of you, feeling a surge of jealousy. He redoubled his efforts, his tongue moving faster, drawing out your pleasure. He wanted you to fall apart on his lips, to know that it was him who made you scream.

Your breath came in short gasps, your body trembling as your orgasm built. You could feel the heat coiling in your belly, the delicious tension growing stronger with every flick of Klaus's tongue.

"So sensitive," Kol whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "I enjoy the way you respond to us. I wonder how many times we can make you come tonight."

He gave your nipple a pinch, making you gasp, his eyes dark with lust, watching as you began to lose control. His hand gripped your hair, holding your mouth against his, as you moaned into his kiss.

Your finger tugged on Klaus' hair, your thighs tightening around his head. He held you down as you came undone, your back arching, your cries muffled against Kol's lips.

He didn't stop, his tongue moving relentlessly as you writhed under him, the pleasure almost too much to bear. Your hips jerked up, trying to get away, but he pinned you down, forcing you to ride it out.

Kol pulled back from the kiss, a satisfied smirk on his lips. His gaze shifted downwards, taking in the sight of his brother buried between your thighs, your body shaking with pleasure.

"Nik, don't be selfish. Let me have a taste," Kol said, his tone teasing.

Klaus finally pulled back, his mouth and chin glistening with your wetness. He shot Kol a quick look of annoyance, before moving to gently kiss along your inner thigh.

You smiled, letting out a happy sigh as you sat up, pulling away from them, letting them admire your naked form. They looked at you with hunger in their eyes, their gazes trailing over your curves.

"You are both far too dressed for this," you said, teasing them.

Klaus and Kol exchanged a glance, before flashing to undress in the blink of an eye. You looked at their bare chests, the smooth muscles and ridges of their abs. They were so different from each other, and yet the same in so many ways.

They stood there, with the same look in their eyes, a wild hunger, a feral need to claim and possess. It made your heart race, knowing that they both wanted you so desperately.

You giggled, kneeling on the bed and reveling in their desire. "Much better."

"Come here," Klaus said, his voice low and commanding.

You shook your head, smiling coyly. "No. I want you both to come to me."

Klaus's eyes flashed, his gaze darkening with lust. He reached out to grab you, but you slipped away, moving back onto the bed.

Kol let out a low chuckle, watching his brother's frustration. "She's a tease, isn't she? But worth the chase."

Your eyes flashed with mischief as you beckoned them closer, watching as they both started to crawl onto the bed.

The moment their knees touched the mattress you quickly got to your feet and bolted, running across the room. You heard them cursing behind you as they gave chase, more crashing sounds of furniture and objects being knocked over.

A pair of hands grabbed you by the waist, lifting you off your feet. You let out a squeal of surprise and delight as Kol turned you around and pressed you into the wall, his body pinning yours.

He grinned, his face inches from yours, his hand moving up to cup your breast. You could feel his cock pressing against your thigh, and you wanted nothing more than to feel him inside you.

"I've got you now," he whispered, his voice rough with desire.

You bit your lip, letting out a soft moan as he rolled his hips, grinding against you.

You reached down, wrapping your fingers around Kol's length, feeling him grow even harder in your hand. He let out a groan, his hips bucking against your touch.

"Greedy little thing," he muttered, his eyes fluttering closed.

You smirked, stroking him slowly, enjoying the way he shuddered against you.

"You like this," you teased, echoing his earlier words.

Kol let out a growl, his hand gripping your thighs, wrapping them around his waist. He pinned you against the wall with his hips, his cock brushing against your entrance. You moaned, he was so close to where you wanted him, his heat making your body ache with need.

"Please," you breathed, arching your back, desperate for more.

He looked down at you, his dark eyes filled with a wicked hunger as he eased his cock inside you. You let out a gasp, feeling him stretch you open, filling you completely.

Kol began to move, his hips rocking slowly, savoring the feel of your tight warmth around him. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a heated kiss.

He pulled you away from the wall as you clung to him, your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you back to the bedroom, lifting you up and down as he went. He felt amazing inside you, his cock hitting all the right spots, making you moan and whimper into his kiss.

The moment you were returned to the bedroom you felt Klaus behind you, his warm hands trailing down your spine, his hard length pressing against your backside. He leaned in, nipping at your earlobe, his breath hot on your neck.

It was intoxicating, being caught between them, their bodies pressed against yours. The way they touched you, the way they moved together, it was enough to drive you mad.

You pulled away from Kol's lips, gasping for air. "Fuck... I need..."

Klaus chuckled, his hand slowly moving down your spine. "What do you need, love? Tell us."

His fingers slid between your ass cheeks, finding the tight ring of muscle. You moaned, arching your back, feeling the tip of his finger pressing against you.

Klaus smirked, his eyes meeting Kol's over your shoulder. "I think she wants this."

Kol let out a low laugh, the rhythm of his hips slow and steady, not quite letting you reach the edge. "That can be arranged."

You gasped, feeling Klaus' finger push inside, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You hadn't been expecting it, but it felt good, the way he worked you open.

Klaus' finger slid deeper, his other hand grabbing your hair, pulling your head back. "You like that, don't you?"

You nodded, unable to form words, your mind overwhelmed by the pleasure.

Klaus chuckled, his lips brushing against your neck. "You are such a naughty girl. I believe you have done this before, haven't you?"

"Yes," you breathed, your hips moving against them, desperate for more.

Kol groaned, his cock twitching inside you. "Fuck... I didn't think you could be any more perfect, but here you are."

"Mmm," Klaus hummed in agreement, his fingers moving in and out of you, his lips trailing along your jaw. "She's exquisite."

You let out a gasp as you felt the blunt tip of his cock press against your ass. He was gentle, easing his way inside, taking his time to make sure you were ready.

Kol's eyes were dark with lust, his lips parted as he watched Klaus take you. He held you tighter, his hands gripping your hips, as he increased his pace.

You moaned, feeling yourself stretched around their cocks, the pressure building inside you. It was too much, too intense, and yet you never wanted it to stop.

You dug your nails into Kol's shoulders, your breath coming in short gasps as they began to move in sync, holding you between them. They set a punishing pace, their movements rough and animalistic. Your moans became louder, echoing off the walls, as they used your body for their own pleasure.

Your head fell back against Klaus' shoulder, your eyes closing as you gave yourself over to them completely. You could feel the heat coiling in your belly, your orgasm building with every thrust.

"Don't stop," you pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper.

Klaus chuckled, his lips trailing along your neck, his hands roaming over your body. "Never."

They both began to kiss along your neck, their tongues running along your veins, your blood pumping fast and steady beneath your skin. You knew what they wanted, it was what all vampires wanted, and you wanted to give it to them.

"Drink from me," you breathed, your voice thick with desire. "Please."

They didn't need to be asked twice, their fangs sinking into your flesh. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, the pain mixing with the overwhelming pleasure of being filled by them both.

It was too much, the connection between you growing stronger with each drop of your blood that they took. Your mind was flooded with their desire, their need for you. You could feel their hunger, their lust, and it was intoxicating, blissful, mind blowing.

The world fell away as you reached your peak, your body shuddering as your orgasm ripped through you. You moaned, burying your face in Kol’s chest, the sound only making them fuck you harder.

Your body tensed, your legs shaking, as you rode out your high. You felt Kol come first, his cock twitching inside you, his release filling you with warmth.

Klaus wasn't far behind, his fangs still buried in your neck as he spilled inside you, his hips jerking against your behind.

Your head was spinning, your body limp in their embrace. Klaus pulled his fangs from your neck, his tongue lapping up the last few drops of your blood.

“My sweet girl,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses along your jaw. “So good for us.”

Klaus carefully eased out of you, letting Kol carry your trembling form over to the bed. He laid you down gently, his touch tender as he brushed the hair from your face.

Your body felt heavy, your limbs like lead, as you tried to catch your breath. It was an effort just to keep your eyes open, your eyelids fluttering closed.

Kol chuckled softly, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “You’re incredible, darling. Utterly exquisite.”

“Damn, I love when you two cooperate,” you said with a giggle, your voice still breathless but laced with amusement.

Kol laughed, settling beside you, his arm draped over your waist. “We aim to please,” he replied, the grin in his voice unmistakable.

Klaus joined you on the bed, pulling the blanket up to cover your naked form. He wrapped an arm around you, his other hand brushing against your hair in slow, soothing strokes.

“Do you often have two men in your bed?” Klaus asked, his tone light but teasing, a small smile playing on his lips.

You smiled, your eyes still closed. “Sometimes,” you replied, the hint of mischief in your voice unmistakable. “But they usually aren’t as resilient as you two. Mortals can be so fragile.”

Kol laughed, shaking his head. “Then it seems we’ve ruined you for anyone else.”

You chuckled, the sound soft and satisfied. “Maybe so.”

Klaus chuckled softly, his lips brushing against your temple. “Rest now, love. You’ll need your strength for later.”

Your eyes fluttered open at that, a grin tugging at your lips. “Are you hoping for round two? Because I need very little rest.”

Kol raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Oh, do you now?”

They both chuckled, exchanging a glance that made your heart race, the heat between you all still simmering. Before you could react, they pounced, their bodies pressing against yours as you let out a delighted squeal.

As their hands roamed over your skin, you felt a warmth deeper than just the physical. The possessiveness in Klaus’s gaze and the playful hunger in Kol’s touch made it clear: you weren’t just a passing fancy to them. You were theirs, and they were yours.

[milkteabinniechan]

♡Inspiration; Motivation - Hyunjin

(This is a milk members exclusive + preview 👀 read the entire story here) <- <- <- <-

pairing: artist! Hyunjin x afab! reader

summary: Hwang Hyunjin has hit a creative block. Nothing inspires him anymore and everyone is waiting for his next big piece. He needs a release, he needs to let go. He needs you.

warnings: mentions of alcohol, angst, fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, dom hyunjin/sub reader, public sex, size difference, cum eating(?)

You picked up another tray of hors d’oeuvres from the kitchen and made your way back out to the crowd. Some people were murmuring that the artist has finally arrived and we're moving towards the front to try to catch a glimpse of him. You motioned your tray towards a few people and offered the tiny pastry cakes and puffs to the rich yuppies around you.

Once your tray is clear you decide to sneak off and walk around the gallery for a minute. You stop at one of your favorite pieces, a simple painting of a long-stemmed single tulip. The petals are painted in a deep purple that nearly turns to black towards the middle of the bud. You stare at the mix of purples and greens and nearly forget that you're technically working, you're on the clock and if your boss saw you with an empty tray again then there would be Hell to pay. You were on your last strike as he loved to remind you.

“I didn't think anyone even noticed this one.” A voice lingered in from behind you. You turned quickly to see a man dressed fairly decent, definitely not one of your co-workers or your boss, so you let your shoulders loosen a bit as you gave him a simple smile. “Yes, it's one of my favorites.” You admit, your eyes staying glued to the tulip. The man sidled beside you, both hands in pockets and a smell of scotch and paint thinner soaked through him.

“I have to admit, this is one that I never ended up hating. She's still pretty to me. She never asked for more, just perfectly content with being my little flower.” His voice was raspy and a bit pained as he spoke. You cautiously turned your head to face him. “This is your piece? Why didn't you sign it?” Your finger pointed to the blank corner of the canvas vacant of a signature. The man smiled wide and let out a low chuckle running his fingers over his shaved head. Another practiced motion when his hair used to hang in front of his face. “I didn't sign it because I don't own her. Sure, I painted it. But she was never mine.”

You tilt your head at the painting, picturing not only a flower but a woman too. Was that what the painting was? A beautiful woman transformed? You straighten your head and look from the flower back to the man. “So what inspires you, Hwang Hyunjin?” Hyunjin's eyes light up in surprise and shock. “You know who I am?”

“Of course I do. You're who everyone is here to see.” You smile softly. Hyunjin's face drops in disdain as he glances at the other room full of people. People who are so eager for the next big thing. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“So,” you fasten your hands on your hips and give him a playful expression. “Everyone wants to know, what inspires you?”

Hyunjin's eyes narrow as he steps towards you, a mischievous smile pulling at his lips. “Do you want the answer I give to the magazines or do you want the real answer?”

His smell grows strong the closer he stands to you. An aroma of hard work and pain and chaos that threatened to consume you if he stepped any closer. Your eyes flickered up to where he was. “The real answer.”

[zraiusxo]

♡ hi! i'm so sorry this took so long, i've just been super busy with this week's finals i completely forgot! but, thanks for waiting so patiently, I'll be tending to the other requests soon. ^^

♡ if you want a tag for the next part, just comment asking for a tag :p

A Game of Composure ,, Older Hange Zoë x Younger Fem!reader (3)

The invitation arrived in an elegant envelope, the kind embossed with gold lettering and weighty enough to suggest importance.

Y/N L/N had expected it. Erwin Smith was nothing if not persistent in his networking endeavors, and his belief in her potential as a future lawyer meant he was always seeking ways to broaden her circle of influence.

This time, it was a formal business banquet—an opportunity to forge connections with the city’s most powerful legal and corporate figures.

This was Y/N's opportunity to meet powerful people. This was her chance to brand herself as a law student with an undeniably bright future ahead of her in high society. She couldn't afford to waste this.

—

The banquet hall was a vision of opulence—high ceilings adorned with chandeliers, crisp white tablecloths, and the quiet hum of classical music beneath the murmur of sophisticated conversation.

Waiters weaved through the guests, silver trays balancing glasses of champagne and finely arranged hors d’oeuvres.

Y/N made her entrance purposefully, pairs of curious eyes flickering onto her figure upon getting a whiff of her intoxicating perfume, turning heads as she stepped forward.

She was dressed in an elegantly fitted black dress, sleek in its simplicity yet commanding in its effect. The fabric sculpted her figure with refined precision, the halter neckline lending an air of sophistication while the open-back design added an edge of quiet seduction.

Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor as she moved through the crowd, posture effortless, her gaze sharp.

And, as expected, she drew attention.

Men—businessmen, corporate lawyers, high-ranking executives—took notice almost immediately. Some subtle, others obvious. It was something she was used to. Power attracted power, after all, and she had long since learned how to navigate it.

She accepted a glass of wine from a passing waiter, offering a polite nod to Erwin, who had already begun introducing her to influential figures. He smirked knowingly, pleased at the effect she had on the room.

What she didn’t expect, however, was the pair of menacing dark brown eyes watching her from across the banquet.

—

Hange Zoë had no business being irritated. They were aware of this.

It had been a month—thirty-two days, to be exact—since they last spoke. And in that time, they had found themselves thinking about Y/N more than they cared to admit. About her charming wit, her confidence, the way she wielded intelligence like a finely honed blade.

And now, here she was. Stunning, composed, effortlessly in command of every man’s attention in the room.

Hange swirled their drink absent-mindedly, watching from the shadows of polite conversation as yet another businessman leaned in toward Y/N, clearly enraptured.

They had never seen her in this particular setting before—among those who sought to impress rather than challenge her. It was… frustrating.

She was entertaining them, but not engaged.

Hange could see it in the way her lips curled at the corners, polite but impersonal.

In the way she nodded, listening but unimpressed.

It was the same mask she wore at intellectual gatherings, the same calculated presence she used to disarm people.

It was infuriating that these men thought they were captivating her.

And perhaps, most infuriating of all, was the possibility that one of them actually might.

—

“Doll face.”

Y/N turned at the familiar voice, her expression shifting only slightly before she took a sip of her wine. “Dr. Zoë,” she greeted smoothly. “I wasn’t aware you’d be attending.”

Hange tilted their head, expression unreadable. “Neither were you, it seems.”

She didn’t respond immediately, instead letting her gaze flicker over them. Hange had dressed formally—atypical, but undeniably striking.

Their suit was sharp, tailored, but still slightly disheveled in the way only they could pull off. A loosened tie, sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the veins along their forearms. The glasses they wore only added to the effect.

Y/N raised a brow. “You clean up well.”

“Funny,” Hange said, voice low, “I was about to say the same about you.”

She hummed. “What stopped you?”

Hange took a sip of their drink, gaze lingering. “Too many people have already told you tonight. Didn’t want to add to the noise.”

Y/N hummed. “And yet, here you are. Contributing.”

Hange exhaled a quiet laugh. “Touché.”

—

The businessmen who had been speaking to Y/N lingered nearby, clearly hesitant to leave. Hange noted them with mild disdain before turning back to her.

“I didn’t realize businessmen were your type.”

Y/N’s red-stained lips twitched, the corners of her lips lifting. “I wasn’t aware I had a type.”

Hange leaned in slightly, just enough to invade her space. “You certainly have their attention.”

“Do I?” she murmured, looking up at them despite wearing heels. “And here I thought you weren’t one to notice these things.”

Hange’s gaze darkened, unnoticeable behind their thick rimmed glasses, but it was impossible to miss the way their voice dropped an octave. “I notice a lot of things.”

The air between them thickened, charged. Y/N tilted her head, watching them closely with piercing eyes. “You sound… irritated.”

Hange exhaled sharply, stepping even closer. Their voice was lower now, rougher. “It’s fascinating.”

“What is?”

“The way you command attention. The way you pretend you don’t enjoy it.”

Y/N held their gaze. “And what makes you think I’m pretending?”

Hange’s fingers brushed her wrist lightly—a fleeting touch, deliberate. “Because you’re not interested in them.”

She let the silence stretch, parting her lips a second too long before finally speaking. “And who,” she murmured, “do you think I am interested in?”

Hange smirked, slow and knowing. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

Before she could respond, the businessman from earlier returned, clearing his throat. “Miss L/N, I was wondering if you’d like to—”

“I’m afraid she’s occupied,” Hange interrupted smoothly, not even glancing at him.

Y/N arched a brow but said nothing as the man hesitated, watching the blonde-haired man begrudgingly excused himself.

Hange turned back to her, satisfaction evident in their brown eyes. “Much better.”

Y/N exhaled a quiet laugh. “Was that necessary?”

“Absolutely.”

She studied them with narrowed eyes, watching their gaze drift down her form before quickly flickering back up to her eyes. “Are you jealous, Dr. Zoë?”

Hange didn’t blink. “Very.”

Y/N chuckled—slow and knowing.

“Well then,” she murmured, finishing her wine without breaking eye contact, “I suppose I’ll allow it.”

Hange chuckled, shaking their head in an attempt to hide the red that crept up their cheeks. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” she echoed their words from earlier.

Hange sighed, a rueful grin pulling at their lips. “God help me.”

And then, for the first time that evening, Y/N allowed herself a genuine smile.

Because, despite everything, she had missed them too.

♡ you've reached the end! thanks so much for reading, i appreciate the comments you left on my precious post! this was super rushed but i hope you enjoy reading this, thank you. :3

♡ oh forgot to say but i'll try to continue this as soon as i have time to spare. :'>

[captain-hawks]

JUST ONE LOOK

♡ — keigo takami x f!reader

Your mysterious shopping bag of lingerie can only go unmentioned and unworn for so long before Keigo’s nosiness wins out. Naturally, he takes matters into his own hands…and finds out a thing or two about himself along the way.

18+ ONLY

wc — 2.5k

prompt — oral fixation, lingerie, praise

additional content —  established relationship, smut, masturbation, panty kink, light voyeurism, allusion to unprotected p in v + creampie, cum eating, needy/horny keigo

╰┈➤ kinktober masterlist

Keigo shifts from where he’s seated uncomfortably on the couch for what might be the hundredth time in the past ten minutes. Thousandth, even.

He’s fairly certain that he’s on the verge of losing his mind—if the continuous tremor of anticipation rippling through his feathers is anything to go by. He’s accidentally sent no less than eight of them zipping across the room today without warning, much to the chagrin of your cat. 

So maybe he’s just a little on edge.

Two weeks ago, you cheerfully walked through the front door of your shared apartment, kicking off your shoes as you attempted to maneuver your way through the entry hall with a large assortment of shopping bags clutched in your hands. Keigo had kissed you on the forehead and swiftly took the cumbersome bags from you, ushering you off to where takeout and a movie were already queued up in the living room waiting for your arrival. 

He’d preened a bit as you twirled back around, stealing a kiss from his lips before bounding off toward the smell of food. Meanwhile, Keigo nearly dropped the bags himself moments later when he tried to get them all through your bedroom door at the same time, one of them ultimately falling to the floor in the process.

After stowing the rest of them away in the corner, he turned around for the lone fallen soldier—a small, nondescript black bag with matching tissue paper. But as he went to pick it up to add it to your pile that you’d inevitably sift through tomorrow morning, he froze in place, eyes catching sight of a flash of bright red lace peeking out from the wrappings. Like a beacon. 

While he knew better than to pry—he’d learned his lesson after he was feeling particularly nosey one Christmas Eve—he couldn’t help the wolfish grin that spread across his face as he tucked the bag away with the rest. No matter the article of clothing, Keigo had a thing for seeing you in red. 

A very, very big thing.

A “sorry for popping a boner in the middle of the restaurant, but your red lipstick is distracting me” thing.

A “sorry, I know we just got to the gala, but you’re in a little red dress, and I think I might come in my pants before they start bringing the hors d’oeuvres out if we don’t go fuck in the bathroom” kind of thing.

And it’s not that you didn’t already have any red lingerie, because you certainly did. Keigo had ruined and ripped more of them than he could count. But the thought that you’d discreetly brought something new home to surprise him? Well, that had a bolt of arousal shooting straight to his groin, cock jumping excitedly in his sweatpants without an ounce of shame. 

But it’s been fifteen and a half days now, not that he’s counting. 

Fifteen and half days of waiting for you to reveal your little surprise to him, his dick now sore from constantly being half hard with anticipation every second that he’s around you.

Valentine’s Day, your birthday, his birthday, your anniversary—it’s not close enough to any significant date that he can think of that perhaps you’d be waiting for. So the fact that you might just come strutting into the bedroom after a shower suddenly wearing them any old night of the week? 

Keigo knows he can be a little dramatic sometimes. 

(Really, he’s well aware.)

(He thinks it makes him a bit more charming and endearing—or at least that’s what you’ve told him.)

And maybe he has a tendency to over exaggerate his needs a bit, like when he texts you in the middle of the work day and says he’s going to die if he can’t come steal you for a quickie on your lunch break. 

(Not that you mind one bit.)

But he’s definitely not exaggerating when he decides in the bathroom that he’s completely and totally lost it past the point of no return now, because his goddamn dick is too hard to even take a piss. He’s been toying with the idea of just outright telling you he saw them, offering you pleading eyes and a little flutter of his wings as he coyly asks when you’re going to wear them for him. 

…but then if you did have a surprise planned, he’ll feel terrible for spoiling it. 

So maybe he’ll just go take a peek.

For science.

To tide himself over.

(You know how needy he is, and he’s taking it upon himself to make the unilateral decision that you’d understand. You’d take pity on him and his aching dick.)

He carefully makes his way into the bedroom, quiet as a mouse—even though he’s fully aware you won’t be home from work for another three hours. The lingerie is surprisingly easy to find, shiny black bag primly folded over and tucked into the back corner of your sock drawer. 

Just a look.

One look, and he can go be an impatient, horny weirdo jerking off to the thought of you wearing them once he has a mental image of the full spread.

But—

Keigo quirks a brow as he takes the single piece of lingerie out of the bag, a feather darting out from his left wing to prod at the material. The red thong hanging from his pointer finger has a lacy waistband, a silky satin pouch of material in the front, and a thin string in the back, which connects to the waistband with a small, delicately-placed bow.

Something about them looks…different than your other panties, the rest of the dainty little thongs tucked away in the drawer above your socks that he’s intimately familiar with. Eyes darting back to the bag, he spies a piece of paper lying curled up at the bottom. It’s just the receipt, and he’s not sure what exactly compels him to do it, but all of his questions are immediately answered when his eyes begin to scan the thin, white sheet. 

Written in bold, capital letters in the middle of the paper, itemizing the purchase, are the words: MEN’S THONG.

Oh.

And suddenly the way the front of the material is a bit larger than he’s used to seeing…makes sense.

Keigo quietly tucks the panties back into the bag, putting it back where he found it before closing the drawer and walking out of your bedroom. He spends approximately twenty-six minutes sitting on the couch, watching a cooking show without absorbing a single bit of what’s being said. Another eleven minutes are spent rearranging the order of your plants sitting along one of the windowsills and agonizing over whether or not the painting hanging above the fireplace is straight. 

He accidentally feeds the cat twice.

Just shy of forty-five minutes have passed when Keigo finally stalks back into the bedroom and digs the thong out of the drawer, hastily tossing the bag aside. His clothes end up in a similar state, carelessly discarded on the floor a moment later. 

He can offer little explanation as to why he ends up in bed, wings relaxed as he leans back against the cushioned headboard, gaze trained on his lower half. Already hard as a rock, Keigo’s thick cock barely fits in the panties despite the fact that they’re made for men, his engorged balls taking up most of the space inside. Flushed head poking out from the waistband, he’s transfixed by the way the precum dripping from his slit leaves a dark, wet stain on the satin. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realizes the color of the panties is a near perfect match for his wings.

While he’s not sure what your plan was here, Keigo thinks you’ve probably let this purchase sit as you contemplate the right time to find the way to say, “Hey babe, would you mind wearing a thong for me?”

And in theory, Keigo’s not quite sure how he may have initially responded, in all honesty. 

In theory.

In practice, the moment he realized what he was holding in his hands, he was overcome with the uncontrollable desire to know what it would feel like to stroke his cock through the satin. To fuck his fist till he’s spurting hot cum all over the panties. To feel your pretty little pussy squeezing down on him when he ruts into you while he’s wearing them, lacy waistband straining tightly against his hips.

“Oh fuck,” Keigo moans, roughly running a hand over his hair as he begins to palm himself through the panties.

You bought these for him.

He’s so fucking hard, his dick is going to explode.

More precum leaks out of him, leaving behind a slippery, damp surface for the satin to slide up and down his cock as he begins to rock his hips upward into his closed fist. Eyes falling shut, he bites his lip and groans, forcing himself to take it slow and savor the tremors of pleasure simmering inside of him. There’s a small part of him that wonders how he’s going to wash the inevitable mess out of the thong when he’s finished without you noticing, but that’s a problem for future Keigo who can think straight once his balls aren’t floating with an overabundance of cum. 

—

On a normal day, Keigo knows you’re home before your key even turns in the lock.

But today, you make it all the way into the slightly ajar doorway to your bedroom, and even then, he doesn’t notice your presence. 

The sight before you takes your breath away—Japan’s number two hero, wings twitching and toes curling, moaning and panting and outright fucking whimpering as he jerks off while wearing a bright red thong. Not a single scenario that you imagined while buying the panties can even hold a candle to this.

Completely mesmerized by the way his thighs tremble with the effort to maintain a semblance of control, you can’t help but stand there and quietly observe for a few moments. You know what it feels like to be beneath him, atop him, beside him when he gets like this—desperate and aching and a little bit feral. But watching him from afar like this carves out a new place inside of you, a new pocket of hunger you hadn’t even realized existed until this moment. 

“Baby,” Keigo finally breathes out as he realizes he’s not alone, golden eyes trained on you as he continues to stroke himself through the thong. 

He exhales a shaky breath when you settle down beside him on the bed, head leaning against the headboard as he turns it to the side. 

“Found your present,” he admits, though his attempts to look remorseful are nullified by his rough voice and flushed face. “Sorry I spoiled the surprise.”

Another moan escapes his throat, and his eyes fall shut as he arches his back, squeezing firmly at the base of his shaft, not quite ready to finish just yet. You shift slightly, thighs rubbing together as your cunt clenches around nothing, wetness beginning to seep into your underwear. 

You could climb into Keigo’s lap right now, letting your tits spill out of your breezy little sundress as you bunch up the skirt, shuddering at the feeling of his fingers rubbing you through your panties. He’d hook a finger in them, tugging them aside before sinking two digits right into your pussy, just the way you like it. You’d squeeze his rock hard erection through his silky, red thong, mirroring the way he stretched your own panties to the side to reveal the full length of his thick, weeping cock. Together, you’d make a filthy, wet, sticky mess—and merely seeing his panties covered in your cum and his own would find you begging him to bend you over and take you again, roughly fucking you into the mattress till you’re sobbing his name and filled deeply with his seed.

But you can save that for tomorrow.

Later tonight, even.

Right now, you’re overcome with the need to watch him bring himself to completion. You lean in, mouth ghosting over his as you let your tongue gently slide over his bottom lip. He shivers. 

“This is better than any way I imagined giving them to you.”

He captures your tongue between his lips, mouth slotting over yours in a messy kiss. 

“Can I fuck you in these?” 

“Only if you get cum all over them for me first,” you implore him, fingertips caressing the stubble on his jaw.

Keigo moans at your request, the steady rhythm he’s fallen into while fucking his fist faltering, the heavy strokes growing sloppy.

“Feels so good,” he chokes out.

You can’t help but run a hand over your breasts, a breathy sound falling from your lips as you thumb at your peaked, tender nipples. His lust-blown eyes don’t miss the movement, and you squeeze your tits, letting them swell over the low-cut neckline of your dress.

Carding your fingers through his hair, you whisper against the shell of his ear, “I’m so wet just watching you, Keigo.”

“Fuck, baby,” he grunts. “How wet?”

Leaning back to hold his gaze, you trail a hand beneath your dress and into your underwear, running a finger along your damp slit. You moan in response, unable to deny yourself the pleasure of plunging two fingers into your slippery cunt.

“Show me,” he exhales, toned laced with desperation.

Your pussy twitches in protest when you pull your digits out, but it’s entirely worth it for what happens next—

Placing your fingers in front of Keigo, you expect he’ll offer you a cheeky smile as he licks a broad stroke along the digits, tasting the arousal that’s coating them. Instead, his lips fall open, and he takes your fingers directly into his mouth. The ache between your thighs grows at the sensation of his tongue languidly licking them clean, but he doesn’t stop there. He begins to suck on the digits, replacing the juices from your cunt with his own saliva, golden eyes going hazy as he moans around them.

Heat spreads beneath your skin, desire clawing its way through every crevice of your body, and your own breathing goes ragged at the sight before you. At this rate, Keigo’s going to need to fuck every single one of your holes in those cum-soaked panties tonight before you’ve had your fill of him. 

“Good boy,” you murmur, watching the way his wings splay even wider at the praise. “Make a mess.”

Keigo groans loudly at that, his strokes growing erratic as he finally lets his impending climax consume him entirely. Seemingly endless ropes of cum spill from his cock, the thick, eager spurts flooding his panties and painting the length of his chest. 

“I hope you saved some for me,” you say when he’s finished, a playful smile on your face as you gesture toward the way his softening shaft is still twitching slightly, small dribbles of cum continuing to weakly leak out of him.

Looking down, he begins to laugh at himself, taking a deep breath as he runs a hand through his messy hair. “I hope you planned on buying mor—”

He chokes mid-sentence as you lean down and begin mouthing at his cock through his panties, running your tongue over the cum that’s leaking through the material. 

— likes, comments, &/or reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[paus-princesa]

A/N: Hiii guys! I am still alive and well and will post a bunch of my drafts this week so stay tunned > ~ < feedback is appreciated ♡

🤍Chapter One: Where It All Begins 🤍

Her POV

It was the kind of event I usually dreaded.

A star-studded gala for young talents across all fields—sports, film, music, even tech. The kind with too many flashes, too many overly confident boys in tailored suits, and the type of small talk that felt like swallowing glitter: pretty on the outside, but hollow as hell.

I had shown up out of obligation. My agent insisted it was good PR. "Mingle," she'd said. "Network. Maybe smile a little."

But all I wanted was to survive the evening, maybe steal a few hors d'oeuvres, and disappear without anyone asking me about my upcoming projects or "what it's like being young and successful."

So there I was, leaning against a pillar in my floor-length babyblue gown, sipping sparkling water and scanning the room like it was a movie set I didn’t quite belong in. I didn’t realize how tightly I was gripping my clutch until my knuckles turned white.

And then I saw him.

Across the room, standing awkwardly near a high table, was a young man who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. Handsome, lean, dressed in a classic black suit that couldn’t quite hide how stiff he was in it. His curls were just a little unruly, his hands clasped in front of him, and his eyes—dark and quiet—kept scanning the crowd with the kind of nervous energy that felt... painfully familiar.

He looked lost.

Then I noticed how everyone around him was speaking English. Fast, glossy, charming English. The kind you grow up swimming in when you're part of this scene. And he—he was just standing there, politely nodding, clearly not following.

Without thinking, I crossed the room.

"¿Estás bien?" I asked, gently.

His head snapped up. Surprise flickered across his face, then relief. A faint smile tugged at his lips.

"Sí, sí. Solo... no entiendo mucho."

His voice was soft, careful. The kind you lean in for. The kind that makes you want to protect it.

I smiled, suddenly shy.

"Sorry—I mean, lo siento. I just saw you standing here and thought... you looked like you needed someone to talk to. En español."

He chuckled. It was small but genuine.

"Gracias."

There was a long pause. Not awkward, just suspended. Like the space between heartbeats.

And then, I rambled.

God, I rambled.

"Absolutely! Here's a revised version of her rant with a mix of Spanish, English, and a bit of German, just like you asked—adorably rambling, flustered, and full of genuine admiration:

---

She stood in front of him, breath hitching for a second, and then it tumbled out all at once:

“Vale, esto es raro, lo sé, pero—yo te vi jugar, en serio, fue increíble. Like—wirklich unglaublich. No soy fan del fútbol, o sea, no lo era, pero tú… tú haces que parezca arte. Incluso yo, que no entiendo las reglas, podía ver lo bueno que eres. So good. Y no solo eso, es cómo te mueves, cómo... cómo te lanzas por cada balón como si fuera lo más importante del mundo. Como si te importara más el equipo que tu "

She stopped just to breathe and collect her thoughts, eyes wide with both awe and nerves, then pressed on without giving him a chance to respond, cheeks flushed but determined.

"Siempre estás cuidando de todos. Se nota. En cada partido. Aunque yo solo haya visto unos cuantos clips… bueno, muchos clips ahora. Y entrevistas. Y—ugh, esto suena tan creepy, no quería sonar como una loca. Ich bin nicht verrückt, wirklich!"

She finally laughed awkwardly, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Solo… quería decirte eso. Que lo que haces importa. Que tú importas. Y que... bueno, si nadie más te lo ha dicho hoy—eres increíble, Pedro”

My eyes flicked to his face before I realized I was staring.

“Sorry. I’m talking too much. I just—wanted to say that I think you’re incredible.”

He blinked. And then smiled.

The kind of smile that could power a small city.

I exhaled, finally.

"I’m sorry. Again. I’m normally more composed than this."

He shook his head. "No, está bien. Me gusta oírte hablar."

And just like that, I was done for.

Pedro’s POV

I had no idea what I was doing there.

Everyone else looked like they belonged. Confident, fluent in English, laughing with that easy, expensive charm that made me feel like a kid who had snuck into an adult party. I kept close to the wall, trying not to fidget with the cuffs of my suit.

I understood maybe every fifth word. Smiled when I thought it was appropriate. Nodded too much.

I was already counting down the minutes until I could leave when she walked up to me.

She was like a dream—graceful but not intimidating, beautiful in a way that made my breath catch, and speaking to me in Spanish like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I must have looked like an idiot.

But she didn’t seem to mind.

She just talked.

And I listened.

God, how I listened.

Her voice was quick and warm, and it mixed Spanish with English and even a few German words here and there. She waved her hands a lot when she spoke, especially when she got passionate about something. And she got passionate about me.

She said I played like it meant something. That I gave everything. That she saw me.

People talk about talent, stats, performance. But she talked about heart.

I couldn’t stop looking at her. And I knew—I knew—right then and there, I would never forget this girl.

We ended up on the balcony, away from the noise.

The sky was dark and full of city light. She leaned into me, her hands resting on my shoulders, her fingers in my hair. I had my hands on her waist, holding her like she might float away.

We talked about everything and nothing. Her filming schedule. My training. Silly stuff. Deep stuff. The animal she said I reminded her of (a red panda, apparently). I laughed more in one hour than I had all month.

And when the silence came, it wasn’t empty. It was full of something new.

I leaned in. She did too.

Our faces were inches apart. Her breath on my lips.

I asked softly, “¿Puedo besarte?”

Her eyes melted.

And just as her lips parted to say yes—

Someone opened the balcony door.

She had to leave.

A flight. A set. A life.

She squeezed my hand and whispered, "Write me."

And then she was gone.

I didn’t stop smiling for days.

My teammates teased me. The media noticed. Fans made collages of my "post-event glow."

But they didn’t know the half of it.

They didn’t know that two days later, I sent the biggest care package of my life to a film set in Canada:

– My game-worn jersey, signed.

– A plush red panda.

– A long, hand-written letter that I rewrote six times.

– A custom-designed necklace: my initials, my number, a small diamond, and a silly charm only she’d get.

– My favorite Catalan and Canarian snacks.

– A hoodie that still smelled like me.

– My phone number.

And at the bottom of the note:

"Dime que sí. Déjame invitarte a una cita. O diez. O todas las que quieras."

Let me take you on a date. Or ten. Or as many as you’ll allow.

She didn’t text for two days.

I nearly went mad.

And then—

"Is this my obsessed future husband?"

I nearly dropped my phone.

To be continued in Chapter Two...

~ princesa 🦋

[ivyyisbored22]

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭— 𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐅𝐅

Note: Check Description and other chapters first to understand the story ^^♡

Chapter 20

Bang Chan

The pre-launch event is a vision of sophistication and style. The venue was shimmering with crystal chandeliers and opulent decorations.

Guests were dressed in their finest, mingled and sipped champagne as they admired the displays of my new luxury line.

My parents had flown in from Tokyo this morning, their presence adding both comfort and weight to my already mounting pressure.

My father’s quiet approval was like an anchor, holding me steady, though the unspoken expectations in his sharp gaze left no room for error.

My mother was the perfect complement to him. Offering smiles and soft encouragement that eased some of my tension.

As the absolute perfectionist, Han truly outdid himself hosting my event. Every detail was immaculate, from the floral arrangements to the champagne flutes etched with Aurelius's emblem.

He moved through the room like a conductor orchestrating a symphony, ensuring that everything ran smoothly.

I spotted Changbin, Lee Know and Seungmin by the hors d’oeuvres table, chatting animatedly and glancing my way occasionally. While I.N, Felix and Hyunjin were by the centerpiece display, admiring the intricate craftsmanship of one of the signature pieces from my new line.

Then my gaze fell on Aria. She was by the main seating area, her elegance effortlessly stealing the spotlight.

She wore a rich red dress gown that hugged her figure perfectly, the soft fabric shimmering under the chandeliers. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing her face, which held an expression of quiet confidence as she conversed with a small group of guests.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from her. She belonged to this world as much as I did—no, more. While I often felt like I was playing a role, she was the real deal, commanding attention without even trying.

When she felt me watching her, her gaze snapped to me, the faintest colour of pink blooming on her cheeks. She excused herself from a model she was conversing with and walked towards me, her steps that made my chest clench in a way it never did before.

"How are you feeling?" Aria asked as she fixed my already fixed tie, her fingers lingering a little longer than necessary, the touch grounding me in a way I didn’t realize I needed.

"Better now," I murmured, my lips curling into a small smirk as I watched her delicate features up close. The faint pink in her cheeks deepened at my words, though she tried to hide it with a roll of her eyes.

"Smooth," she teased, smoothing down the lapel of my suit jacket. "But don’t think I didn’t notice you standing there, brooding like some tragic hero in a romance novel."

I chuckled, leaning in slightly. "And yet, you came over anyway. Couldn’t resist me, huh?"

She playfully rolled her eyes, her smile never leaving her face. I slipped my hand around her waist pulling her close to me, our breaths inches away, I could feel her heart thunder as her eyes widened in suprise.

"Chris," she hissed softly. "No PDA," her hands pressed on my chest, the diamond accent wedding ring on her finger shimmering under the light.

I smirked, not loosening my grip on her waist. "Come on, Aria," I murmured, my thumb grazing the small of her back. "Let me have a moment."

She sighed, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips as she glanced around the room, making sure no one was paying too much attention. But I knew better.

Just then, a loud, familiar voice broke through the intimate bubble we had wrapped ourselves in.

"Get a room." Changbin's teasing drawl cut through the air, making Aria jolt slightly in my arms. I turned my head to see him standing with Lee Know and Seungmin, all of them grinning like they had caught us red-handed.

Seungmin chimed in with his usual dry humor. "If you’re done staring at your wife like she hung the moon, Han’s been looking for you. Speech time, Romeo."

The day progressed smoothly, investors, designers and models were roaming through the marble floor, it was time for my speech. I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. Aria giggled softly, stepping back and adjusting my tie once more.

"They're right," she said, amusement dancing in her eyes. "You have an empire to impress tonight."

"I’d rather impress you." I said, my smirk never leaving my face which made the guys roll their eyes and dramatically huff at us.

I spotted Han stomping towards me from the other end of the hall. "Chris!" He weaved through the crowd with the air of a man managing ten things at once. "Speech. Now. Don’t make me drag you up there myself."

Felix, I.N and Hyunjin trailed behind him, both grinning like they were thoroughly enjoying my predicament.

Aria laughed softly, pressing a hand to my arm. "Go," she said gently. "Show them why you're the best."

I gave her one last look, my heart thrumming in my chest, before nodding. "Alright, let’s do this." And made my way to the stage with Han beside me, his clipboard in hand, his face full of anticipation.

The crowd gathered near the stage, their faces expectant as I stepped up to the microphone. I cleared my throat, the buzz of conversation quieting instantly.

"Good evening, everyone," I began, my voice steady despite the storm of nerves raging within me.

"Thank you for being here tonight to celebrate not just a new launch, but a vision. One that reflects dedication, countless sleepless nights, and a relentless pursuit of excellence."

I continued, ignoring the relentless banging of my heart behind my chest. "This line is not just about luxury; it’s about redefining what it means to value quality, artistry, and purpose in every detail."

The room erupted in applause as I continued and concluded my speech, my mother's face swelled with pride, my friends clapping and showing a thumbs down as a tease that made me chuckle on stage, my father giving me a small nod of approval, Aria's radiant smile and sparkling eyes that felt more rewarding than the ovation.

I nodded, my hand on my chest and stepped down from the stage, shaking hands and accepting congratulations from the guests and investors who were impressed with line and the idea behind it.

"Well done, Christopher Bang." My father’s voice carried a rare warmth, and when I turned to face him, there was a glint of something in his eyes—pride, perhaps, or approval, though he'd never say it outright.

He extended his hand, firm and steady, a gesture that spoke volumes more than words ever could. I grasped it tightly, swallowing down the emotion rising in my throat.

"Thank you, father."

He nodded, his lips twitching slightly as if considering a smile but deciding against it. He clapped my shoulder before my mother pulled me to her tight embrace.

I hadn't hugged in a long time, the moment her hands wrapped around my neck, I melted into her warmth.

"I'm proud of you my little boy. So so proud." She held my face in her hands, her eyes sparkling with tears and the light shinning above us.

The emotions surrounding around me felt overwhelming in the best way possible, if my pre launch brought this my pride and anticipation, I could feel that the official launch would go beyond expectation.

After a moment with my parents I turned towards my friends, who were engrossed in a conversation with Aria. She mingled so easily with them, as if she had known them forever.

I walked towards them, my steps steady yet drawn by an invisible thread pulling me closer to her. Aria's eyes crinkling with genuine amusement as she spoke with Hyunjin.

I felt a flicker of something hot and possessive rise in my chest, tightening my jaw just slightly. There was nothing to it, nothing inappropriate, so I maintained a neutral expression— but Hyunjin was still him.

Charming and charismatic.

The moment they heard my footsteps, they all turned to me, Han raising his glass with an arched brow and smirk.

"Congratulations Mr. Bang," Aria was the first to speak, her eyes landing on me with a smile radiating pride.

My hand naturally found its place on her waist, a gesture that felt both protective and grounding. Her body stilled at my touch, and she looked up at me that melted every trace of my irritation.

"Thank you Mrs. Bang," I kissed her temple that made the guys play disgusting expressions on their face and groan in unison.

"You probably should have given a speech about how whipped you are," Lee Know smirked, swirling the champagne in his glass. "Might’ve been more entertaining than your whole ‘luxury and innovation’ talk."

Felix snorted, nudging Hyunjin. "I’m telling you, mate, we should’ve made a bingo card for how many times he looked at Aria during the speech."

"Right? I lost count after the first five minutes," Hyunjin chimed in, a teasing glint in his eyes.

I rolled my eyes, adjusting my hold on Aria’s waist, but a small smile tugged at my lips. "Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Hyunjin," I shot back smoothly. "Maybe you should take notes."

Hyunjin placed a hand over his heart dramatically. "Ouch, Chris."

Satisfaction crossed my face, Aria chuckled softly beside me, her fingers tracing absent patterns over my suit jacket.

As we continued chatting, clinking glasses, the evening took a turn when a group of older guests, known for their traditional views and sharp tongues, approached.

"Mr. Bang Chan," began Mr. Whitmore, a seasoned businessman with silver hair and a condescending smile.

"I must say, it's quite a bold move to venture into sustainable luxury. But I can't help but wonder, does it really hold the same allure as traditional luxury? I mean, recycled materials and all that."

A prickle of irritation threatened to crawl up my shoulders but kept my expression neutral. I straightened my jacket, "I believe innovation often comes from thinking outside the box, Mr. Whitmore. Or in this case, outside the traditional luxury bubble."

My father had often brought up about his critiques, how his opinions held weight in the industry, but I never expected him to voice them so bluntly at my own event.

Mr. Whitmore’s sharp blue eyes twinkled with something between amusement and skepticism.

“Thinking outside the bubble is admirable, Mr. Bang, but let’s not forget that tradition has built this industry. Your approach might appeal to the younger crowd, but can it truly stand against the timeless elegance that define luxury?"

His wife, Mrs. Whitmore, a woman draped in pearls and aged arrogance, chimed in with a tight-lipped smile.

“And let’s not forget, dear,” she said, her gaze flitting briefly to Aria the me, “luxury is about exclusivity, not accessibility. The very essence of it is lost when you start considering sustainability. It’s a fleeting trend, wouldn’t you agree?”

A muscle in my jaw twitched, my hand curled into a gentle fist before I felt a warm hand wrap around it.

"Fleeting trends, Mrs. Whitmore?" Aria echoed sweetly, her eyes locking onto the older woman’s with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

"You see," Aria continued, "luxury isn’t just about rarity anymore; it’s about evolution. People want more than just exclusivity, they want purpose."

Mrs. Whitmore’s smile faltered slightly, but Aria pressed on, her voice as light as silk but with a razor-sharp undertone.

"They want to wear something that tells a story beyond just a price tag. And if I may say so, Christopher’s collection doesn’t just scream exclusivity; it whispers longevity, responsibility, and a touch of actual relevance in today’s world if I must say."

Changbin coughed behind his glass, clearly trying to stifle a laugh, while I.N openly grinned, thoroughly enjoying the scene unfolding before him.

Mr. Whitmore chuckled dryly, though I could see his grip tightening around his glass. "That's a bold claim. But relevance rarely stands the test of time, young lady."

Aria tilted her head, her expression unfazed. "I think time will tell, Mr. Whitmore. Just as it has with those who doubted the rise of electric cars, digital currencies, and..."

She glanced at his wife’s ornate necklace, "...sustainable pearls."

I bit the inside of my cheek to suppressing a smirk. But at the same time I couldn't help but feel something more than just gratitude. I had spent my life working on things alone or with only those I let in my world, it's been years since someone stood up for me.

The feeling left me momentarily worldless.

Mrs. Whitmore absentmindedly clutched her pearl necklace, her expression turning dirty no matter how hard she tried to hide it.

Mr. Whitmore's smile thinned. "You seem quite invested in Mr. Bang’s venture, Mrs. Bang." Aria’s eyes sparkled mischievously as she leaned in just slightly.

"I am, Mr. Whitmore. After all, when you believe in someone, and their vision, you tend to support them wholeheartedly. Isn’t that what true luxury is all about? The privilege of choice?"

There it was. A low mist of silence fogged around us, I placed a gentle hand on the small of Aria’s back, my heart swelling that newfound unfamiliar feeling.

"And that’s precisely why we’re here today," I added, my voice calm yet firm. "To redefine luxury with a purpose that extends beyond the surface."

Mr. Whitmore regarded us for a moment, then gave a short nod, clearly realizing he wouldn’t get the upper hand. "Well, Mr. and Mrs. Bang," he said, swirling his drink. "I suppose time will indeed tell."

With that, he and his wife drifted off into the crowd, leaving a lingering tension in the air before it was broken by Han’s low whistle and handed Aria a new glass of champagne.

I turned my head to her. "You didn't have to do that." I finally said, swallowing the thick lump that had quickly formed in my throat.

Aria turned to me, knitting her brows together and taking a sip from her glass. "Do what?" She asked nonchalantly.

"Defend me."

She observed me for a second before her lips curled into a smirk and chuckled.

"There's nothing wrong in defending my husband." The smoothness of her voice painted a new layer of warmth over my heart. She regarded me for a second more before she turned and spotted my mother.

"Oh excuse me," Aria handed her glass to me and walked over to my mother who was smiling at her.

I watched her as she walked away, her dress shimmering like rich fine wine under the chandeliers, drawing every eye in the room without even trying.

Still holding the champagne glass she’d handed me, I turned it in my hand, her words echoing in my mind.

There's nothing wrong in defending my husband.

It wasn’t just the words, but the way she said them, like it was a title she wore with pride, despite everything we’d been through.

I looked up from the glass, seven pairs of eyes were glued to me, each one of them unsure what to say but playing a grin of their own.

"You look like someone just recited a love poem to you.” Lee Know said laughing, I shot him a glance, though the corner of my mouth twitched.

“Shut up.”

He raised his hands up in surrender, the rest of the guys laughing and conducting a new banter as the evening continued.

Slowly one by one guests started leaving until it was only me, Aria, Han, Lee Know and the staff behind. Changbin and Hyunjin left with Felix to drop him off at the airport for a fashion show in Barcelona, I.N left soon after them to prepare for a photoshoot tomorrow.

Seungmin left the moment he got a call about a new client and my parents bid their goodbyes as the crowd died down.

"Well that's a wrap." Han stretched his arms above his head, letting out a satisfied sigh. "A successful pre-launch, a very flustered Mr. Bang, and a free bottle of champagne for my efforts. I'd say tonight was a win."

Lee Know smirked, nudging me with his elbow. "Flustered is an understatement. I think we just witnessed a new side of our dear Christopher tonight—soft and pretty whipped."

I shot him a dry look. "You better leave before I make you stay and cleanup."

Han laughed, slapping Lee Know on the back. "Let's go before he actually makes us mop the floors."

But before they left, Lee Know winked at me and we shook hands. "Nice work though tonight, Chris. You did good."

I clapped him on the shoulder, as well as Han, watching them exit the venue, my gaze flickering to Aria as she was sitting on one of the chairs in the now-empty seating area.

She was rubbing her temple, her posture slightly slouched in a way that betrayed her exhaustion. My brows furrowed as I walked toward her. "What’s wrong?"

She sighed, leaning back against the chair. "These heels," she muttered, glaring down at the strappy stilettos. "I swear they look amazing, but they feel like torture devices right now."

I dropped to one knee in front of her without hesitation, as if I'm not wearing a five thousand dollar suit, my hands already reaching for her ankle.

"Chris," she gasped softly, startled, her eyes darting around the nearly empty venue. "You don't have to—"

I silenced her with a look, my fingers working the delicate buckle of her heel. Her lips parted slightly, eyes softening as I moved to the other foot, the warmth of her skin under my touch making my heart race in ways I didn’t want to acknowledge.

I could feel her gaze burning into me, and when I glanced up, the way she looked at me, tender yet amused, sent a slow heat crawling up my neck.

"You’re full of surprises, Mr. Bang," she murmured.

"Don't get used to it." I replied sarcastically with a smirk—my pulse continued to race like a running cheetah anytime I did these intimate gestures—standing up with both her heels in hand.

Before she could protest, I bent down and swept her into my arms effortlessly, cradling her against my chest.

"Chris!" she gasped, her arms instinctively wrapping around my neck. "Put me down! Someone might see!"

"Let them," I said with a shrug, carrying her down the marble steps with an ease that made her blush deepen. "Besides, you can't walk barefoot in here."

She sighed dramatically, but the way she nuzzled closer to me betrayed her appreciation. As we stepped outside, the cool air hit my skin, my Rolls Royce was waiting by the entrance.

Our driver gave us a knowing look but remained professional as he opened the door, I gently placed Aria inside before setting her heels beside her and climbed in from the other side.

As the engine purred to life, Aria leaned her head back, a content sigh escaping her lips. "I'm proud of you Chris," she murmured, peeking at me through her lashes.

I glanced at her, placing my hand on her knee, my thumb brushing her dress. "Thank you, sweetheart." I said softly, feeling the weight of the night settle around us.

As we drove through the night city lighys, I let myself enjoy the silence, the warmth of her presence beside me, the quiet hum of the road ahead and success running through my veins.

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

Taglist: @bowsnbang @bangchannie97lov @hwasmints @laurenalpha123 @mrs-hwangh @greyyeti @sociallyawkward18 @stephanieeeyang @piscesrising01 @jaquisos @de-uns-tempos-pra-ca @princess-sunshyn @my-neurodivergent-world @ladyeagle @nchhuhi @machaandlofi

If you want to be added to the taglist, let me know <3 (If I missed someone please lmk)

Thank you for reading!

xx,Ivyy

Next Chapter

[luveline]

Hi Jade! I wanted to request something with Prince Steve and his soulmate. I feel like we’ve started to see them warm up to each other but maybe we could see reader start to meet Steve’s friends and see that she’s got more people standing behind her? Like maybe Robin and Eddie teasing Steve about something embarrassing in front of her or I know she hasn’t shown up yet but I could totally see Nancy as like a lady in waiting/tutor to teach her all about proper manners but in the process she spills all these stories about Steve growing up?

thank you for requesting ♡ prince steve au fem, 1k

A knock at the door, an impatient huff. "Are you ready yet?" 

"Come in, Steve." 

He wedges into your rooms, a basket in his hands. "Why are you on the floor?" 

"Can't tie my stupid shoes," you complain, dropping your hands down, knee pulled up, too warm for all the fuss. 

Steve nearly drops the basket, he's that enthusiastic to help you out. He kneels by your feet and takes the laces of your shoes into his hands, pulling them tight, his eyebrows pinched tighter. "That okay?" he asks, pausing his loop. 

"Yeah. Thank you." 

"They didn't teach you how to tie your shoes back home? We need outreach immediately." 

You laugh and lay back on the plush rug behind you. "It's the weird eyelets. You royals do everything weird. Like picnicking." 

"So many points. These aren't eyelets, they're lace hooks. You're pretty much as royal as I am, or you will be in a matter of days. And," —he finishes tying your boot, pulling the other toward him with a small laugh— "Robin wanted a picnic. She's not royal. None of your points make any sense." 

"You'll be a wretched husband." 

Steve takes your hands and pulls you up into a sitting position. He doesn't let them go, transferring both into one so he has a hand free to straighten up your cardigan. "And you'll be a cherished wife." 

Steve pulls you onto your feet. Together, you walk through the selenite halls of the palace to the prince's private gardens, where a gazebo the colour of the sky stands shading refreshments from the eager sun. Helping themselves to the hors d'oeuvres are a tall Eddie and a shorter partner in crime, Robin. Nancy lays out in the grass next to who you assume to be her boyfriend, a handsome guy with two books in his hands, still closed. He squints in the sun, waving as you and Steve approach. 

"Hey!" he greets. "You're late."

"Don't get up," Steve jokes, waving back at him and Nancy, who's barely lifted her head. "Not like I'm anyone important." 

"Very, very hard to find you important when you're wearing shorts," Eddie says. 

Steve shrugs. "She likes them." 

You realise belatedly and with horror that you're she. How does he know you like his nice shorts? Either way, his indifference so long as you like them makes you flush, leaving his side in search of a cold drink to drown yourself in.

"Did you bring the bat?" Steve asks Jonathan behind you. 

"Hey, babe," Eddie says, offering you a glass cup set with pressed flowers in the sides, "you okay?" 

"Is that lemonade?" you ask, pointing at one of the small water dispensers. Their glass shells shine with condensation, more ice cubes than liquid inside. It's a cloudy white with blood orange slices cut and garnishing the top, their juice seeping downward slowly. 

"Sure is. Prince Stevie's favourite, as always. Don't know where the sudden love for oranges came from, do you?" 

You've had a love for them since you got here and tried them for the first time. Oranges are expensive, and so the palace kitchen has them in abundance. Steve clearly noticed. "Wouldn't you know?" you ask. "Don't you choose his meals?" 

"As if. I'm a glorified cleaning boy," Eddie says. He scoops a bagel covered in cream cheese and fresh cut salmon from a silver tray and takes a big bite. "Just stick around for the food." 

"They won't let him back into the engineers workshop on account of his bad manners, he'll be a dishwasher forever," Robin says grandly, rounding the table to stand on your other side. 

"Says you, lady's maid." 

Robin was supposed to be a lady's maid. Sick gig, good pay, she had all the grades and none of the decorum, but Steve wouldn't let them get rid of her, and after an intense training program that taught her to wield a titanium blade longer than her arm as an extension of it, she was instated as his personal guard instead. They're all job hoppers —Nancy started as a lady's maid but now apprentices as a royal tutor, and her boyfriend worked for the palace's news room but now works under the sous chef. 

You did anything you could to stay alive, and now your full time job is princess, so. You're not judging. 

"What's Nancy's boyfriends name?" you whisper. "Jon?" 

"Jonathan. I don't think anybody calls him Jon," Robin whispers back. 

"She's lying. His name is Gordon." Eddie glares at Robin. "She's trying to trip you up." 

A smack erupts through the air, chased by Steve's pleased whoop. "Yes! Baby, did you see that?" 

"I'm not trying to trip you up," Robin says, "don't listen." 

"She totally is." 

"Baby?" Steve calls, yards away in the bluegrass, a bat held at his side. "Guys, stop harassing her. Jesus." 

"We're not harassing her, Stevie, slow your roll. This is a common social phenomenon called teasing, maybe you've heard of it? You do it with friends," Eddie says, nudging your arm. 

Friends, you think. Steve's looking at you, waiting for confirmation that you're alright. "I didn't see it, Steve. Do it again!" 

Steve immediately jogs backwards, goading Jonathan into pitching another ball. He has a good arm, the ball soaring just right for Steve to curl back and send it wide across the green grass of the garden. It hits a long banner across the way, smack dab on its painted target as he'd aimed for, falling practically on top of the first. 

It's an impressive arc. You clap your hands together and cheer, though the rules of this game escape you. You think it's supposed to be darts without sharp points, but you're more concerned with the lines of Steve's bicep as he rests the bat on his shoulder, his triumphant sun-kissed smile.

"Did you see that one, baby?" Robin asks. 

"He's so impressive, isn't he?" Eddie adds, grinning. 

Steve throws them the bird, his cheeks pink. 

"That's an example of what not to do in a formal setting," Nancy says, her skirt moving like water as she puts her face in her hand, her elbow on her knee. 

"You're getting good at this tutoring stuff," Jonathan says. 

Steve meanders your way to beg a consolation hug (he puts his arm across your shoulder, muttering about mean friends and their unjust jokes). "They're the worst," he mutters, his hair brushing your ear, goosebumps erupting down your arms. 

"I think they're nice," you say. 

He hums in your ear. "You would. Wretched wife." 

[madamechrissy]

♡ Time after Time ♡

♡ ♡ Pairings ♡ ♡ CEO! Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader

♡ ♡ Warnings ♡ ♡ MDNI- Just sexual tension in this chap hehe, more explicit as we go. Gojo is still kinda a dick lol

♡ ♡ Word Count ♡ ♡ 3.9k

♡ ♡ Summary ♡ ♡ Gojo Satoru is your boss And you've been his head assistant for over two years now. You do everything for him, including and not limited to cleaning his messes, picking out his clothes, and writing his speeches. Sixteen hour days... night calls... You are tired of being overworked and at his beck and call. You decide you are going to put in your two weeks notice. He is shocked, and wants to try to keep you, because you're the best. But you know better. Right? . You really wanna fucking quit. You also wanna fuck him. Also, fuck him.

A/N (Kinda has 'two weeks notice' vibes a bit! No use of y/n.)

Chapter 1 - Masterlist - Playlist

Chapter 2

The ballroom was unbelievable, even grander than most of the events you had helped Gojo prepare for. Shimmering chandeliers hung above your heads, casting a warm glow along the men and women below them. An orchestra was spread out playing all over, violinists in balconies, cellists and bassists joined the dance floor, along with waiters and waitresses serving hors d'oeuvres and champagne.

As your heels tapped along the marble floor, you both  made your way into the ballroom, Gojo on your arm. You couldn't help but notice the way heads turned to you both. His charisma was undeniable. Women swooned as they passed, men nodded in respect. Men’s eyes went up and down you, and there were whispers abound at the sight of you two.

“Told you that dress is killer.” Gojo murmured in your ear. You felt your cheeks overheat into a blush.

“They’re looking at you.” You mumble. Gojo looks down at you with a smirk.

“Not only me. But it’s true, I do just walk and make women wet.” He winked at you, and you rolled your eyes, unable to hide a smile.

“You’re too much.” As the words fell out, you saw his grin, and cursed yourself.

“Shit, not like that…”

Suguru Geto came up to you both, then, tall and elegant in a navy blue suit, long dark hair tied back in a top knot, the bottom half flowing. He always looked good, just like Gojo. The two were partners of Kamo tower, and owned a casino together, long friends but they also had a lot of banter between them, as if there was some competition the two held.

Geto was bowing over your hand, taking it and kissing it, like you were in some 1800’s movie. You smiled. Gojo scowled. Geto’s eyes took in your outfit, lingering at your chest, and then peeking over at Gojo, who tensed next to you. Geto had a smirk on his face before looking back at you with dark brown eyes.

“You look exquisite, my lady.” He teased, and you giggled, making Gojo’s grip on your arm tighten.

“Thank you very much, Sir. How are you this evening?”

“Better now that you’re here.”

“That’s enough.” Gojo’s voice cut them off, and you and Geto couldn't help but grin at each other. “Shitheads.”

“You!” Geto and you grinned at each other.

“It’s like two children.” Gojo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with frustration. Geto and you always got along well. He was Nanami’s boss, so you know he overworked his employees too, but it seemed he was easier on them than Gojo was with you. No 2AM coke binge rescues or the like.

“Dance later?” Geto asked you. You nodded.

“Of course. We’ll see if the old ballroom courses of my childhood are still any good.” You mused with a little wink.

“And me? Your date ?” Gojo whispered.

“Fake date. Kinda.” He scowls at you. “Yes, you too. I guess.”

Geto snorted at you. “Catch you two later. Gojo, try not to embarrass yourself please.”

“Never.” Gojo held two long fingers in a salute, yanking you away and sauntering over to a waitress. She melted as Gojo smiled. Bastard had charm.

He hands you a glass of wine. “Thank you.”

He nods his head and you take a sip of the pink liquid, tart but sweet, letting it hit your tongue, moaning in delight. When your eyes open, he’s staring at you, intensely with those damn devil eyes. You tilt your head curiously, but before you say anything, one of the main donor couples comes up to you both. Older couple, stuck up but obviously, they regard you.

“May I introduce my assistant, and date, tonight.” Gojo tells them your name, then, and they greet you formally. “She’s a Yale grad. Law school. Don’t ask me how I convinced her to work for me.” Gojo gave a charming grin.

“It’s so lovely to meet you, we’ve heard a lot about Mr. Gojo’s mysterious assistant.” The woman says, and you tried not to show how uncomfortable you were under the scrutiny. Gojo just… talked you up? Wow.

“Indeed. You’ve helped catapult Mr. Gojo in quite a manner. Makes sense that you’d be in law.” The man agreed.

“Oh, thank you two. It’s such a pleasure.” You shake both of their elegantly gloved hands, smiling cordially. “It definitely has been a good partnership for us both. We have been making moves.”

Gojo stiffened. “I will catch you two later.” He unceremoniously dragged you to a balcony, then, as if you’d teleported it was so fast.

You blink, taking in your surroundings, the cool night air hitting your bare shoulders and back, making you shiver. Gojo had backed you up against the railing, an arm on either side of you on the balustrade, leaning down to peer into your eyes, his own shimmering from the moonlight outside. You briefly just let yourself lose it in them. But only for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” You ask softly, and try to peer behind him, however he’s too tall, shoulders too broad, trapping you.

“You said it like you’re leaving.” He bit out the words.

“Well, I probably am.”

“Give me a chance to change your mind.”

You sigh. “Gojo, this show you’re putting on or whatever… like acting as if you’re interested in me now… it’s weird. Let’s not end on horrible terms.”

You reach out to his shoulders, and he pushes forward, intimidating, towering over you even as he bent at the waist. You lick your lips. His eyes darted to them like a hawk.

“Give me the two weeks to change your mind. If you still want to leave me, then I will not complain. Deal?”

You sigh, hating the nearness, the way he made you ache. Your body came alive with his nearness. “Fine. I will give it some thought. Also I wouldn’t leave without finding and training someone.”

“I want you, though. To work… for me.” He trailed off, looking to the side, as if even he was confused at his words.

“I’ll give it some time, okay. Back off psycho.” You shove had his hard chest, ignoring how good it feels against your palms. He grins, glinting in the night, as did the silver of his hair that fell low over his brow.

“Good girl.” He teased you, and you sighed, reaching up to slick back the little spike of his hair that had fallen. It grew quiet between you both, your hand pausing there, breath catching in your chest.

“Your hair was…”

“Yeah.”

“Mmm.”

The thudding of your hearts melded together, the noises of the music and chattering distant.

“You gonna dance with me too? Or just Suguru.”

You laugh a bit, letting your hand fall. “I’ll dance with you too.”

“Bet I dance better than you.”

“Bet taken.” You shoved him off, and he let you go finally, walking back into the decadent hall.

You two talk to numerous donors and other CEOs, breaking off at a certain point so he could tackle the older ladies, you the older men. Nanami pops into your field of vision, then. You grow embarrassed, thinking about what had just happened in the limo, what you’d said…

Nanami’s glasses are off, a rare sight, similar to Gojo’s shades, and his light green eyes were showing. He smiles at you, with a little glass plate of treats in one hand.

“Hungry?” He asks. You nod, popping a little tart into your mouth.

“Delicious. Ugh thank you! I forgot to eat anything.” You nibble on another, and he gives you a tired half smile.

“Working on the birthday hmm? Fucking Gojo.”

“I know. It hasn’t been the worst, though. I really… didn’t have any plans anyway. But I wanted to relax.”

“No plans… sounds like me.” He sighed with a little chuckle, and then his eyes narrowed, and you noticed Gojo’s scowling across the room at the two of you. “What’s his deal today?”

“He found out I may quit and he’s super fucking pissed.” You grumble.

“Quit? And leave me alone in the shithole?” Nanami frowned, and you felt bad suddenly.

“I wasn’t a hundred percent yet, but now Gojo wants to try to convince me to stay here.”

“Well yeah, you do everything but change and feed the little asshole.” You cover a laugh with your hand, and Gojo walks toward you all, thankfully getting stopped by one of his colleagues, but he manages to shoot a piercing gaze your way. “No, he looks mad at me. Hmm.”

You want to fall into the earth as you think of what you had said in the limo once more, and Gojo was back on the prowl, standing tall in the sea of swaying bodies.

Fuck don’t say anything, Satoru.

“What’s wrong?” Nanami calls your name, shaking you out of your reverie. You plaster on a fake smile.

“Oh, nothing.”

“Hmm.” He eyes you then. “You look beautiful by the way, birthday girl.”

You flush under his praise, looking down, shy like some little school girl again. A compliment from Nanami was always sincere. “Thank you, Nanami.”

“ Thank you, Nanami .” Came Gojo’s silken voice, higher pitched as it mocked you openly. Nanami grimaced next to you.

Nanami tensed, nodding. “Gojo.”

“Kento.” Gojo practically bit the word out.

They scowled at each other for a long moment, and soon Geto had joined, enjoying himself thoroughly. He called out your name.

“Dance, love?” Geto holds out his hand, and you watch as Nanami and Gojo both scowl at him.

“She’s promised me one.” Gojo snatches your hand up. You glare up at him, snatching it right back.

“I was going to ask for one with the birthday girl.” Nanami was so sweet, you think to yourself, even if he looked like he wanted to punch Gojo. You also wanted to punch Gojo.

“My my, you’re the lady of the evening.” Came another voice, and you turned to see Ieri Shoko, Geto’s partner. She also wore a black gown, shorter, cinching in at the waist. Her dark circles rivaled yours and Nanami’s, no, they were deeper. But it kind of suited her pretty face.

“Hello, Shoko.” Gojo winked at her. She rolled her eyes.

“Gojo… you’re…. Here. Hmm.” Shoko shrugged, irritating Gojo to no end, and you lived for it, unable to conceal your grin. “Who will you dance with first, hmm?” She asked you.

Shit.

You looked at them all, then looked back at her with a smirk. “You, Shoko?”

She laughed softly at that, rubbing your shoulder, shaking you just a bit. “I’d pick Nanami.”

“Bitch.” Gojo got a stomp on the foot, and grunted, scowling over to Shoko. “Ahem. My apologies. I’ll dance with Shoko, she’s begging me, you know, and get a dance after.”

“Fuck I don’t want to…”

Shoko got led out to the floor by Gojo, then, and you watched on in amusement, ignoring some odd budding feeling that joined that.

“You two dance first. I will catch you after. I’m quite enjoying this show.” Geto winked at you, popping a snack into his mouth and heading on, leaving you with Nanami, which grew more awkward as you struggled to keep your mind off of earlier. Nanami holds his hand out, and you put yours in his.

You two step out, amongst the crowded ballroom floor, and before you know it, you are gracefully dancing with Nanami Kento, his steady hazel gaze upon you. Yes, they were hazel, you determined.

As you twirled and swayed, you felt a sudden surge of unease wash over you for some reason. You glanced towards the far end of the room, where Gojo watched you, his piercing blue eyes fixed intently upon you as he danced.

A flicker of anger flashed across his handsome features, his usually playful demeanor replaced by an icy glare, directed where Nanami’s hands rested on your waist. Your heart pounded in your chest as you continued to dance with Nanami, your every move seemingly observed by Gojo's watchful gaze.

“You’re quite the dancer.” Nanami said softly, and you focused back on him, then, your feet moving in sync with his own in a fluid, slow motion.

“You’re always so nice to me.”

“You’re a good person. Not too many in this industry. Or the world, for that matter.”

“Always so serious.” You teased, hand tightening a bit on the tan jacket he wore, feeling his well muscled arms underneath. “But thank you. I always appreciate you, it’s nice to have someone at work to feel comfortable with. I think we would hang out and be friends if allowed to have a life.”

Nanami’s eyes took you in, seriously, appraising you. “I think I could squeeze in time to… hang out… as you say. If you stay.” The words sounded so odd coming from Nanami, as if he were just too elegant to say ‘hang out.’. You smirk.

“Netflix and chill, you mean?” Nanami turned red, clearing his throat and spinning you around. “I’m teasing!”

“Ahem.”

“You’re blushing. The Nanami Kento.” You flutter your eyelashes at him, and his grip tightens just a bit as he lets out the smallest laugh.

“I would…”

“Song’s over.” Gojo came sauntering up, then. “You know, Kento, my little assistant here said that out of anyone in the office, she-”

Gojo’s next words were muffled by your hand, one hand yanking him down by his shirt so he could bend far enough for your hand to reach. Nanami blinked, confused, and Gojo licked your palm, making you yank it back. You let out a fake laugh, nudging Gojo with your elbow harshly.

“Aha I said you were my best… co worker!” You proclaimed proudly.

“She said you’re hot as-”

“Hot as a friend! Sure did!” You shoved Gojo away, or tried to, however he was surprisingly heavy for being skinny. He didn’t budge, amused expression, practically fucking devious. He raised a brow, one side of his mouth tilting up.

Nanami frowned. “Hot as a friend.” He carefully repeated. You wanted to smack yourself. Would Gojo really ruin the one possible crush you had by making you super awkwardly ruin it?

He sure would.

“She means to say she’d ride…”

“Ride a… horse sometime! It’s a dream of mine.” Nanami blinked. “Ahem, Satoru, care to dance?” You asked, your voice high pitched, crackling. Gojo's lush lips curled into a smirk as he extended his hand, his grip surprisingly gentle.

“As the Lady commands.” He gives you a mocking bow, eyes looking up at you, and you smile at Nanami apologetically, knowing you’ve confused the ever loving shit out of him.

“Thank you for the dance, Nanami.” You smile, and his eyes narrow at Gojo before he nods, walking off. As you step into Gojo’s embrace, you jerk, for it’s like a hum of electricity when his hands hit your waist. Big, giant hands, wrap around your small waist with ease. He made you feel extra small.

“Never thought you’d ask.” Gojo took you and spun you by the arm, in a fancy little pirouette, before bending you backwards over his forearm, slipping you back up and making you gasp.

“Jesus… you sure can fucking move.” You murmur, in confusion, but you had to admit you were impressed.

He knew, too, with his self satisfied grin. “You haven’t seen shit yet, baby girl.” Gojo spun you again, bringing him against your chest, lifting your leg to wrap around his own, bending forward.

“Baby girl again, hmm?” Your voice was breathy. It was hot to be just tossed back and forth into and out of his arms, as the music played. “Why call me that?”

“Because I like to.” He stood you up to where you were back against him, and small applause shot out, making you realize they’d watched you all.

“I stroked your ego too much.”

“You should stroke other things.”

“Satoru!” You huffed, vivid imagery of what at the moment was hard pressed against your tummy. You gulp. “You’re amazing though. At dancing.”

“I’m amazing at everything.”

“And so modest.” Your eyes roll back, shaking your head at him. Gojo eases you against him as the song changes, and your hands go up against his chest, finding him warm, firm, heartbeat slow and steady.

“Fuck modesty. It’s bullshit.”

“Is it?”

“Mmm.” Why did the man basically purr and moan his words? It made it difficult to stay irritated with him. “So… since it’s my job to convince you to stay, why don’t you come on the boat with me tomorrow?”

“Your boat?” You ask, confused. Gojo would take girls on his boat over the weekend and party. That was about all his boat got used for.

“Yes, my boat.”

“I can’t swim.”

Gojo laughed then, shaking his head. “I’ll get you a life jacket, princess. No worries. I’m an excellent swimmer. If you fall I’ll catch you.”

You both paused, because for a moment there was something there, something sincere. You studied him, swaying side to side. “Will you?”

He gave a little nod. “It occurs to me though you’ve spent non-stop time by my side for over two years, we hardly know each other. Maybe… maybe we should try to fix it. Before you leave… if you leave, you should actually know me. Yeah?”

You nod. “I think I’d like that. You’re being oddly mature. Are you feeling okay?” You teased to ease the tension, but Gojo was rather serious.

“I didn’t like you dancing with Kento.”

You grin. “Oh?”

“Oh.”

“You almost told him… ugh!”

“Lucky I didn’t. ‘I’d fuck Nanami’ I swear…”

“He is hot.” You shrug. His hands tighten around you, fingers digging in tender flesh.

Your eyes shot up, drinking in the beautiful man, those blue eyes doing things. “Bet you beg me to fuck you on the boat..”

“Bet I never do!” You hiss back. There was the Gojo you were used to.

“We’ve danced for three songs, you know.”

“I…” You sighed, realizing indeed they were surrounded by different people, different melodies. “Huh.”

“I could give you a birthday orgasm in the bathroom. Oof!” You punched him subtly in the stomach, shaking your hand and wincing as it tingled. “The fuck! You’re such a bitch.”

“You’re a pervert. Dick.” You turned from him, but he followed you, much to your dismay, gripping you by your wrist, standing behind you.

“I am so generous and you just abuse me.”

“Child.” You did not leave the embrace however.

“Deep down…” He whispered, bending down, caressing your bare back, all the way up your spine, slowly. You felt pleasure surge through you. “You want this. Maybe you always did.”

“Did not. Do not.” You let out a tiny little cry, covering your mouth, whirling to look at him, bent down, wild fucking look on his face.

“You melt with a touch. Imagine me trying.”

His voice was husky, pulling you back into an embrace. You were toward the hall, now, away from most of the guests. Some had started to head out. Had you lost time in his arms? Just what the fuck was going on with you…

“I told you, fucking me won’t make me stay.”

“So I could?”

“No! Ugh.”

“You’re not even trying to get away.”

You shut your eyes, and you realized you were exhausted, but also just fucking intrigued. “Why’d you never… not that I wanted you too! But…”

“Because you are a stuck up bitch. Not because you’re not hot. You are. Very… very hot.”

“Fuck you I am not stuck up!”

“Let me rephrase. You come off that way? You’re kind of scary.”

You laughed, then, realizing you were losing your shit. “Scary? Me.”

“Kind of. Intimidating.” Gojo was laughing with you.

“Me?”

“Mmhmm. Probably why men don’t hit on you much. You’re so fucking… nerdy and so serious. Look like you’d tie me up and force me to watch your powerpoint presentations or some shit. That’s probably your kink.”

At that you lost it, shaking your head, laughing so hard tears fell from the corners of your eyes, holding your tummy. You walked off, and Gojo followed, a confused smile on his face as he watched you lose your mind.

“Fuck off… I don’t have… a kink.”

“None?” Gojo followed you out to one of the balconies, leaning his back against it as you leaned forward with your arms. The twinkling stars glittered across the black expanse of the sky. “How do you not have any kink? Breeding, CCNC, bdsm…”

“Uh… no clue.”

“Well, when’s the last time you had sex? The 1800s?”

You snort loudly. “Um… basically. College.” Gojo’s eyes looked like they were about to pop out of his head. “Stuff it, Satoru.”

“My assistant is a whole nun!”

“Am not!”

“Damn near a virgin.” He taunts you, hand sliding across the railing, against your own hand, resting atop it.

“No… though I’d take back the couple of experiences I’ve had. They were… shitty to say the least.” You shiver in disgust as you think of the drunk couple of evenings, which was about all you had to judge by.

“That’s tragic. No wonder you’re bitchy.”

“I’m not a bitch!”

Gojo gave you that crooked grin. “What kind of boss would I be if I didn’t offer to lick the bitchiness out of you?”

“Oh my god!” You buried your face in your hands with a chuckle. “You’re ridiculous. This only works with women because you’re hot, you know.”

“I’m hot, huh?” He wiggled his brows, and you glared.

“You’re exhausting.”

“Want me to take you home? Or… my place?”

“Home sounds good.”

“I’ll text Kiyotaka.” Gojo whipped out his phone, thumbs hitting with quick precision. “He’ll be here in a few. Now, boat?”

“I thought I would get a day off tomorrow?”

“You do. Get off all over-”

“Oh god. I’ll go wait out front.”

You push off, shoving him out of your way. “I’ll have Kiyotaka pick you up tomorrow night.”

“I didn’t agree?”

“ You know you want to. ” Came his sing-song voice. “Come on, live a little.”

“Fine. But forreal bring a lifejacket.” You head toward the entrance, saying your goodbyes to those you knew. Blushing like a mess when Nanami evaluated you with curious eyes, and when you apologized for not dancing with Geto, whose gaze was amused.

Fucking Gojo.

Who was following you, by the way, hands in his pockets, heading down the stairs to where the car already was. Kiyotaka really looked tired. You slid into the open door with a thank you, but Gojo did not let Kiyotaka shut it. He held it open, leaning against the opening, making you look as the white dress shirt stretched over his lean chest.

You shift in your seat, and he catches you like a hawk. “I’d love to leave but I do have to finish a conversation or two. I would take care of that for you.”

“That!?” He looked to your lap, making you shift again, crossing your legs, then uncrossing them with a huff.

“Oh. Happy birthday, assistant.” He leaned in, far too close, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear. You thought wildly he may kiss you…

How would you react?

Push him away. Right?

Right?

Gojo leaned back, grinning like the devil that he was.

“Thank you, Satoru.” You sigh, leaning back and shutting your eyes as Gojo shut the door, tapping the hood.

What the fuck.

Chapter 3

Ao3 chap:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55424137/chapters/140689789#workskin

[pollyypocket]

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄 (𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐)

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : billie eilish x fem!reader

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : Claire is best friends with billie eilish but what happens when she finds out she has a song written about their complicated relationship

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : alcohol

PART 1 HERE

                                         ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“Obviously it is…” she then rambled on about everything until she got shut up with a kiss…

Claire pulled away instantly… shocked. She wasn’t expecting the girl to kiss her. Not that she didn’t want to kiss Billie. She wanted to talk. She wanted to understand the other girl's point of view. 

“I shouldn’t have done that” Claire was stunned with tears in her eyes. She felt a sense of guilt and worry. . “I…” speechless was all she felt. 

“Let’s just speak” with that Billie pulled Claire outside into her garden. People were dotted around smoking, drinking or just chatting near the pool.

The girls sat down together under a tree. A decorated blossom tree that the girls used to sit under all the time and write together. It held special memories for the both of them. To others it was just a blossom tree that stood in the corner of her garden. The garden was lit up with fairy lights scattered around to create a homely feel.

“Talk to me” 

Claire was pretty straight forward when it came to confrontation. She knew it could be positive or negative but preferred to talk to others about how each of them feel rather than pushing them away and never solving whatever was happening. Years ago Claire used to push away anyone that became close to her; she never spoke to anyone about how she felt and thought it was easier to not mention it than speak. It was a way of protecting herself from many previous friendships or relationships that had negative impacts on anyone she tried to speak to before either shut her down or not listen to her at all. Billie opened up to her one day about something that was going on in her life. It made her realize that talking is better than ignoring everything with the right people. She was grateful for it, it taught her to keep in touch with people more and that it made everything feel more relaxing and mature.

The girl sighed before speaking…“Lunch is about you. I’ve liked you for ages. I wanted to tell you straight up but I was already writing the lyrics to lunch as a way to express my feelings in my diary but I tried to push everything down and away thinking that it was silly and that it would ruin our friendship. I mean my family already loves you, and I don’t want anything to change between us. The song was me expressing my feelings of what went on between us that one night. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Finneas said he could tell I liked you after that night. He knew everything by just watching the way we interacted”

“I understand where you’re coming from but you could have just told me”

 Claire leaned close to Billie’s face making intense eye contact while flicking her eyes down to her lips. “I like you too Bil” The two girls kissed, both giggling in between. 

“Hor-fucking-ay” they snapped their heads toward the boy stood across the garden who was walking towards them. 

“It was about time this happened” Finneas sat down next to them, jokingly ruining the moment. He joined them both sat under the tree. “I’ve been waiting for this my whole life… Anyone could see how in love you two were” Billie pushed his head while all 3 of them laughed in unison just enjoying the moment of her favorite people being in the same place.

 “I’m off. Proud of you both” with that Claire got up and walked back into the house but not before pecking Billie on the lips which caused Finneas to fake gag. 

                                         ︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The next day Claire couldn’t stop smiling. She danced around the house to the newly released album attempting to sing the lyrics until she heard her doorbell ring. Claire walked towards the door unlocking it to reveal the ocean eyed girl. 

“Hey” “Hey!”. The two walked toward the living room both throwing themselves on the couch. It was silent. Not an awkward silence but a comforting silence until Claire started giggling. 

“What are you laughing at?” Billie replied with a laugh. The girl didn’t answer but kept laughing which caused the other girl to start tickling her. 

“Stop Bil stop, I can't breathe, '' the girl said in between breaths. Suddenly the girls' faces were close together and soon closed the gap. 

“I love you” Billie smiled ear to ear “I love you too.”...

Liked by billieeilish, radvxz and 1,394,304 others

claire: oh i love you miss.

billieeilish: i love you.

user: THE LAST PIC... HELLO?

A/N : idk what to write for part 3 so might leave it as this for now 😔 TYSM FOR THE LOVE xx

[ieatcocoa]

A Lasting Impression ♡

Characters: Lucifer/OC/Lilith

Switching POVS

Word count: 3.2k

Important: 18+ minors do not interact. fem dom! Lilith, sub top! Lucifer, fem!reader, threesome, fingering, open relationship, penetrative sex, teasing, oral sex, character uses she/they pronouns.

I made this for a close friend of mine, his OC’s name is Ciel, and she is an overlord in the underworld.

Literally, my first time writing smut…so…

Boarder credits to plutism !

The eternal crimson light radiates above Pentagram City. It illuminates among crumbling sidewalks whose jagged edges are nearly as sharp as a local thief's blade, leaving behind twisted shadows that linger longer than the pungent odor of regret and sex. Dried blood sticks to any available surface, acting as the only reminder of a being's existence after being viciously gored. The light is a terrifying symbol of one's vulnerability to death, where a person's entire being is stripped down to its core and made visible to their true self.

Most hide away as best they can to maintain their sense of seclusion. Stability.

It would be a lie to suggest Ceil is not among them. She has always found solace in the darkness. That is only natural, as it was the first thing she saw when she entered hell. Many assume that when you meet your demise, you are rudely dropped into a flaming inferno and forced to live out the rest of your days as a helpless slave to the man himself. However, after Ciel's final breath and the way the cold air felt against their blue lips, everything became numb. She seemed caught between time and space, followed by an endless nothingness. They imagine it was their punishment to be alone, with only encounters from the depths of her memory bank. But then there came a light, similar to the one she bears witness to before her…

Nestled in the heart of the city's junction, the enormous white and gold estate is a beacon of splendor and charm. Its pristine facade, adorned with intricate golden accents, shimmers under the gentle caress of moonlight, casting a mesmerizing glow that enchants all who behold it. It's almost absurd that something so heavenly is here. As expected, its inhabitants are the embodiment of grace and delicacy.

Lucifer and Lilith Morningstar.

Every sinner knows them, regardless of how recently they have 'dropped.'

Respect is difficult, yet even the meanest brutes can bite their tongues when graced by royalty. Ceil longs for that kind of authority. Talk of the town is like a never-ending telephone game, misconstrued or added on for flare. When others became aware of her presence, there was an unprecedented wave of rumors, specifically in the Pride ring.

That may be why they were invited during their daily tea hour with Rosie. The beautifully sealed envelope exudes an aura of grandeur. Its seal, meticulously stamped with the emblem of the hosting organization, adds an air of exclusivity and importance to the contents within. As they run their fingers along its smooth surface, they can almost feel the excitement radiating from within, promising an evening of elegance.

The king and queen had invited her to their home.

To their party.

To them.

Ciel knew she couldn't pass up this opportunity, which is how she ended up here. Within the walls of the magnificent mansion, the gala unfolds like a scene from a fairy tale. Crystal chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, casting a soft, golden glow over the exquisitely decorated ballroom. Elaborate floral arrangements adorn every corner, their vibrant hues adding to the lavish surroundings.

Guests, fitted in their finest attire, mingle amidst the grandeur, their laughter and conversation filling the air. Servants move gracefully among the crowd, offering trays of decadent hors d'oeuvres and glasses of fine champagne.

At the center of the room, a raised dais hosts a band of talented musicians, their melodies weaving through the crowd with allure. The music swells and dances, carrying with it an irresistible energy that beckons guests to the dance floor.

That’s when she saw them.

The royal pair attracts attention with their elegance and poise. The handsome man with the tousled blonde hair was the first to catch their eye. Despite his stature, his presence fills the room with undeniable charisma. His rosy cheeks hint at his jovial nature, while his piercing eyes sparkle with intelligence.

Beside him is his counterpart, a tall and remarkably gorgeous woman with olive-toned skin that sparkles in the mellow candlelight. Sculpted with refinement, cascading waves of dark hair frame her delicate features.

Together, they epitomize the perfect balance of strength and grace, their union symbolizing harmony and unity within the royal court. As they engage in conversation, their easy rapport and shared laughter illuminate the room, captivating all who have the privilege of beholding them.

Ciel is held hostage by the image of such a delicacy. If she had not been able to feel the gazes of other bystanders, she would have drooled like a starving animal or a dunce.

Amidst the crowd, Lucifer notices the young woman seated alone at a table, her presence a calling to him. He approaches with a stride and a knowing smile on his lips.

As he reaches her table, he offers a drink with a courteous nod. She meets his eyes with a mixture of surprise and curiosity, her demeanor guarded yet intrigued by his attention.

“Hello there, a drink?” The champagne in his hand sparkles tauntingly as Ciel takes hold, giving it a small taste. “Why thank you.”

Lucifer takes a seat beside them, manuring ever so gracefully that his pristine tailcoat tucks perfectly underneath him. “Are you that new face I’ve heard so much about? I must say, you are much less intimidating in person.” The mild jazz playing in the background does not drown out his voice.

"Mm, it seems I am; my name is Ciel. Take passing conversations with a grain of salt, as they are often misconstrued.”

“I see.”

“And what about yourself? You’re not at all what the book makes you out to be.” Ciel looked at him carefully, a gentle smile gracing their lips. Lucifer’s bushed brows shot up in amusement. “I understand an introduction is not needed! How grand! Are you pleasantly surprised I’m not some horrid beast?”

“Would it be wrong of me to say yes?” She teased.

Funny. He likes that.

As the night wears on and the champagne flows freely, they are drawn together by shared laughter and lighthearted banter. Their eyes sparkle with mischief as they exchange playful quips and witty remarks, the intoxicating effects of the bubbly heightening their sense of camaraderie.

With each passing moment, their inhibitions fade, replaced by a growing sense of desire. Their laughter becomes more animated, and their touches linger a fraction longer, igniting a subtle yet undeniable spark between them.

However, amidst their playful flirtation, a shadow of guilt tugs at the overlord's conscience. She steals furtive glances towards his wife, who converses amiably with an acquaintance just a few feet away. Summoning her wit, she offers a sly remark, "Your Majesty, your charm is as dangerous as it is delightful. I fear I may be getting swept away in a current where I shouldn't be swimming."

The king's demeanor momentarily gives way to a thoughtful silence, his expression becoming unreadable as he weighs the words. For a fleeting moment, the air between them crackles with tension, as if suspended in anticipation of his response.

Then, with a subtle shift in his countenance, his features softened, and his eyes were alight with a glimmer of delight. With measured grace, he leans in slightly. "Ah, my dear, perhaps it is the allure of the forbidden that makes life's dance all the more thrilling."

Hm…

“A beauty she is.” Ciel sighs as their eyes drift across the captivating woman again, no longer masking her words with subtlety.

“Lilith? Indeed.” He responded.

“How would she feel about her husband chatting up a stranger?”

“Is this not a social event? Conversation is the pinnacle, sweetheart.”

“Conversation maybe. Flirting is not.” Ciel quips back.

“Ah ha! I see now. Is that what is bothering you? Lilith is not ignorant of my proclivities; in fact, she welcomes them with open arms!” He expresses himself gleefully, animating with his arms outstretched.

“It still feels wrong to be this friendly behind her back.” The once sweet fizz of the drink now burned unpleasantly at Ciel's throat. There is a beat of silence.

“Would you like for us to all get better acquainted?”

How could they deny an offer as sweet as that?

The ascent up the grand staircase is a haze. The soft glow of candlelight flickers against the walls, casting intricate shadows that sway with every movement. As they reach the top of the stairs, the air becomes thick with suspension.

Is this the appropriate thing to do?

Scents of jasmine linger in the air, mingling with the heady aroma of musky cologne, creating an intoxicating allure that pulls Ciel forward, ceasing any previous doubts.

Guided by the faint sound of murmured voices, she stands before the elaborate doors of the king and queen's private bedroom. The wood is warm beneath her fingertips as she pushes them open, revealing a sanctuary of luxury beyond.

The inside of the room is bathed in a soft, golden light, casting a halo around Lucifer and Lilith as they recline upon the plush bed. The queen's eyes are alight with a playful spark, and her voice is a melodic whisper as she welcomes them into their intimate domain. With a graceful gesture, she invites her to join them, her words laced with a subtle invitation that ignites a flicker of desire within Ciel's chest.

“No need to be shy, lovely. Your presence is much appreciated.”

Time feels as though it were moving through a thick puddle of molasses. Lingering touches dance along Ciel's skin; the feeling is so overwhelming that a soft whine escapes her lips. It was not her intention to come and seduce the most prominent individuals in the underworld, but she was pleased with the outcome. Little did she know, the feeling was mutual. Lucifer watches from a distance, his eyes ablaze with tension, his demeanor poised yet brimming with desire.

He knew it was not his turn.

He knows to wait patiently.

His gaze never wavers as he observes the exchange between Ciel and his goddess, a silent witness to the unfolding tableau of intimacy. With a tender smile, Lilith reaches out, her fingers grazing Ciel's cheek in a gesture of affection. In that brief touch, a current of electricity courses through, heightening the intensity of the moment. “I've heard so much about you; please forgive me. I just needed to see you for myself.” “You’re much prettier in person.” And then, as if guided by an invisible force, Lilith leans forward, her lips meeting theirs in a gentle yet impassioned kiss.

In that stolen moment of intimacy, the world outside fades away, leaving only the desperation of her and Lucifer, who watches with bated breath, his need now mirrored in the depths of his eyes. He can feel the distinctive strain against his pants.

All three let out short huffs as they hastily dropped their garments. It was too hot, too sticky. Ciel sought comfort in the cold air wafting throughout the chamber, being able to feel herself slip away in the confinements of pleasure. The only thing that drew her back was the distinct ticking of the grandfather clock.

“How do you feel?” Lilith is imbued with a sultry allure, carrying like a whispered caress throughout the air.

The duvet that was once neatly tucked into the soft mattress below was now thrown aside by the movement of bare bodies. Lilith has them right where she wants them. Their legs spread prettily enough for her to see the glimmer of the slick coat along her fingers. Ciel's cunt flutters greedily as the skillful fingers push inside once more. A mewl escapes her lips as she tries to form coherent thoughts. It was all too much. The tips of her fingers press snuggly against the sensitive tissue, making her chase for more.

It’s to no avail.

Each time she experiences that wonderful feeling, it is abruptly taken away, leaving her bewildered and dazed.

“Confined.” Ciel manages to sputter out after the loss of Lilith's touch. “I understand that, darling. What do you seek?” Lilith asks as she presses against her soft and sticky walls once again. She hisses, annoyed by the teasing. With a sharp retort poised on their lips, they muster the courage to respond with a sly remark, hoping to regain control of the conversation. “Release.”

But as the words leave their mouth, a wave of instant regret washes over, like a cold shower extinguishing the fire of their defiance. They realize too late the weight of their words and the potential consequences of their impulsive retort. Lilith's mouth curls into a grin as she makes a disapproving sound with her tongue.

No.

“Greedy thing.”

Please!

Ciel finds themselves consumed by an insatiable desire for her touch once more. Every fiber of their being yearns for the electrifying sensation of her fingers against their skin, aching for the pleasure it brings. Her voice trembles with intensity as they plead, their words an impassioned request for her return. Lilith coos gently, wiping away the salty tears that collected at their lash line. A forgiving queen she is. “Shh shh… I’ll ask you again.“

A murmur echoes within the room, laced with an ethereal appeal that holds them transfixed. "What do you seek?" With trembling breath, they confess their deepest longing, their voice barely a whisper, “Power.”

“Good girl.”

The stretch of Lucifer’s cock lacked the familiar, painful ache Ciel was accustomed to. He glides inside smoothly and bottoms out fully. Lilith’s preparation had made it easy; a puddle of arousal coats the underside of their body. Never in his life would he compare the beauty of another to his love, but this one? This one was making it increasingly difficult. Her walls had him entrapped, earning a low groan from him. So soft, even the jagged stitches that etched across her body felt gentle. His pulse flutters as he drags an earnest finger over the raised skin. He could not explain the growing impulse that rose within him, as he frequently acted on it. Lucifer presses a long kiss on the scar at the junction of her navel. “You’re doing so well, taking me so well.” He softly murmurs while pressing his finger against her sensitive nub, causing Ciel to cry out. His pace quickens and the sound of skins hitting against one another grows in passion-filled intensity.

Ciel's muffled squeak was met with the sweet taste of Lilith, a mixture of nectar and lust. The mound, so snuggly pressed against her lips, flutters with need. “Sweetheart—!” Lilith whimpers.

What a beautiful voice.

Ciel had no time to enjoy the sweet sound as Lucifer's rhythmic hip movements clouded her mind. She could hear the distinctive sound of lips meeting one another in a feverish haze. So passionate. They feel a sense of awe and reverence wash over them as if witnessing a sacred union that transcends mortal understanding.

“I love you.”

It was not said to her, though the effects were all the same. Ciel wailed loudly as their hips stuttered, their orgasm rushing over them so hard it left a dull pulse within. He groans in response to the connection between the inseparable duo becoming tighter. He presses his hands against her thighs, massaging the sweat-coated fat in between.

“You’re okay, lovely. I got you.”

The smooth exchange between the two leads Lilith to rush after her release; she can feel the coil inside snap. Coming down from her high duey sweat beads at her forehead, she was satisfied.

Ciel yearns for the snug embrace of Lucifer, their bodies still entwined in the aftermath of their passionate encounter. It took a moment for her to gasp for breath before her eyes trailed downward. He hadn’t cum.

She could cry.

Lilith, ever so perceptive, notices their discomfort and moves to reassure them. She offers a warm and understanding smile as she softly touches their cheek. "How precious. Do not be troubled, my dear." She says softly, her voice a soothing melody amid their turmoil. Drawing them up into a tender embrace, the queen whispers words of reassurance, her voice a balm to their wounded pride. With her gentle guidance, Ciel begins to feel the weight of embarrassment lift from their shoulders. “This is not your doing. Luci requires a little extra attention.” She gently pulls Ciel aside, then lays her husband down.

He had waited patiently, so who was she to deny his release?

Ciel peeks in marvel as she kisses him up his jaw, her fingers gripping his cock securely and slowly pumping it while cooing.

“My dove?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Can you feel me?” With that, her free hand glides three fingers into his inviting hole, delicately pumping in and out. She receives no response; instead, Lucifer lets out a pitched whine, and he puffs out a strangled breath. To see someone as significant as him come undone so effortlessly made the familiar warmth of yearning pool in Ciel's gut.

“Are you paying attention?”

In their oblivious state, she fails to register the question, their mind preoccupied with the grandeur of the moment. Her laughter fills the air, quickening their heart with realization. A rush of warmth floods their cheeks as they finally comprehend the implications of the words. With an impish glint in their eye, Ciel teasingly inches closer to her, their movements slow and deliberate, like a predator closing in on its prey.

How ironic.

Hearts race with excitement at the audacity of their actions. “Whatever for, your majesty?” With a charming smile, the queen leans closer, almost meeting lips for another kiss. How she wishes she could taste her once more, the flavor forever grained into her mind. This was no mistake. She is thankful for the rumors, the yearly gala, and the chance to savor such a delight.

The air surrounding them thickens as Lucifer moans once more before cumming, and the sticky remnants drip from her fingers as she brings them up to Ciel's mouth. They do not hesitate to suck, and the taste is as sweet as hers. Heavenly.

“Why for our next rendezvous, of course.”

Author's Note: thank you so much for reading ! If anyone is here for an update on my Alastor fic I'll be working on it soon enough! Let me know if anyone wants a variant version where it's x gn reader. much love! p.s my ask box is open pls come talk with me.